The Deluge. Vol. 1

"Who could be in agreement with them? They know how to fight, they know how to take booty; but when it comes to divide with their father, I must tear my part from them at risk of my life. Such is the pleasure I have; but they are like wild bulls. I beg your grace to the cabin, for the cold bites out here. For God's sake! such a guest, such a guest! And under the command of your grace we took more booty than during this whole year. We are in poverty now, wretchedness! Evil times, and always worse; and old age, too, is no joy. I beg you to the cabin, over our lowly threshold. For God's sake! who could have looked for your grace here!"

Old Kyemlich spoke with a marvellously rapid and complaining utterance, and while speaking cast quick, restless glances on every side. He was a bony old man, enormous in stature, with a face ever twisted and sullen! He, as well as his two sons, had crooked eyes. His brows were bushy, and also his mustaches, from beneath which protruded beyond measure an underlip, which when he spoke came to his nose, as happens with men who are toothless. The agedness of his face was in wonderful contrast to the quickness of his movements, which displayed unusual strength and alertness. His movements were as rapid as if a spring stirred him; he turned his head continually, trying to take in with his eyes everything around, – men as well as things. Toward Kmita he became every minute more humble, in proportion as subservience to his former leader, fear, and perhaps admiration or attachment were roused in him.

Kmita knew the Kyemliches well, for the father and two sons had served under him when single-handed he had carried on war in White Russia with Hovanski. They were valiant soldiers, and as cruel as valiant. One son, Kosma, was standard-bearer for a time in Kmita's legion; but he soon resigned that honorable office, since it prevented him from taking booty. Among the gamblers and unbridled souls who formed Kmita's legion, and who drank away and lost in the day what they won with blood in the night from the enemy, the Kyemliches were distinguished for mighty greed. They accumulated booty carefully, and hid it in the woods. They took with special eagerness horses, which they sold afterward at country houses and in towns. The father fought no worse than the twin sons, but after each battle he dragged away from them the most considerable part of the booty, scattering at the same time complaints and regrets that they were wronging him, threatening a father's curse, groaning and lamenting. The sons grumbled at him, but being sufficiently stupid by nature they let themselves be tyrannized over. In spite of their endless squabbles and scoldings, they stood up, one for the other, in battle venomously without sparing blood. They were not liked by their comrades, but were feared universally, for in quarrels they were terrible; even officers avoided provoking them. Kmita was the one man who had roused indescribable fear in them, and after Kmita, Pan Ranitski, before whom they trembled when from anger his face was covered with spots. They revered also in both lofty birth; for the Kmitas, from old times, had high rank in Orsha, and in Ranitski flowed senatorial blood.

It was said in the legion that they had collected great treasures, but no one knew surely that there was truth in this statement. On a certain day Kmita sent them away with attendants and a herd of captured horses; from that time they vanished. Kmita thought that they had fallen; his soldiers said that they had escaped with the horses, the temptation in this case being too great for their hearts. Now, as Pan Andrei saw them in health, and as in a shed near the cabin horses were neighing, and the rejoicing and subservience of the old man were mingled with disquiet, he thought that his soldiers were right in their judgment. Therefore, when they had entered the cabin he sat on a plank bed, and putting his hands on his sides, looked straight into the old man's eyes and asked, -

"Kyemlich, where are my horses?"

"Jesus! sweet Jesus!" groaned the old man. "Zolotarenko's men took the horses; they beat us and wounded us, drove us ninety miles; we hardly escaped with our lives. Oh, Most Holy Mother! we could not find either your grace or your men. They drove us thus far into these pine-woods, into misery and hunger, to this cabin and these swamps. God is kind that your grace is living and in health, though, I see, wounded. Maybe we can nurse you, and put on herbs; and those sons of mine went to roll off the logs, and they have disappeared. What are the rogues doing? They are ready to take out the door and get at the mead. Hunger here and misery; nothing more! We live on mushrooms; but for your grace there will be something to drink and a bite to eat. Those men took the horses from us, robbed us, – there is no denying that! And they deprived us of service with your grace. We shall not have a bit of bread for old age, unless your grace takes us back into service."

"That may happen too," answered Kmita.

Now the two sons of the old man came in, – Kosma and Damian, twins, big fellows, awkward, with enormous heads completely overgrown with an immensely thick bush of hair, stiff as a brush, sticking out unevenly around the ears, forming hair-screws and fantastic tufts on their skulls. When they came in they stood near the door, for in presence of Kmita they dared not sit down; and Damian said, -

"The cellar is cleared."

"'Tis well," answered old Kyemlich, "I will go to bring mead."

Here he looked significantly at his sons.

"And Zolotarenko's men took the horses," said he, with emphasis; and went out of the cabin.

Kmita glanced at the two who stood by the door, and who looked as if they had been hewn out of logs roughly with an axe.

"What are you doing now?"

"We take horses!" answered the twins at the same time.

"From whom?"

"From whomsoever comes along."

"But mostly?"

"From Zolotarenko's men."

"That is well, you are free to take from the enemy; but if you take from your own you are robbers, not nobles. What do you do with those horses?"

"Father sells them in Prussia."

"Has it happened to you to take from the Swedes? Swedish companies are not far from here. Have you attacked the Swedes?"

"We have."

"Then you fall on single men or small companies; but when they defend themselves, what then?"

"We pound them."

"Ah, ha, you pound them! Then you have a reckoning with Zolotarenko's men and with the Swedes, and surely you could not have got away dry had you fallen into their hands."

Kosma and Damian were silent.

"You are carrying on a dangerous business, more becoming to robbers than nobles. It must be, also, that some sentences are hanging over you from old times?"

"Of course there are!" answered Kosma and Damian.

"So I thought. From what parts are you?"

"We are from these parts."

"Where did your father live before?"

"In Borovichko."

"Was that his village?"

"Yes, together with Pan Kopystynski."

"And what became of him?"

"We killed him."

"And you had to flee before the law. It will be short work with you Kyemliches, and you'll finish on trees. The hangman will light you, it cannot be otherwise!"

Just then the door of the room creaked, and the old man came in bringing a decanter of mead and two glasses. He looked unquietly at his sons and at Kmita, and then said, -

"Go and cover the cellar."

The twins went out at once. The old man poured mead into one glass; the other he left empty, waiting to see if Kmita would let him drink with him.

But Kmita was not able to drink himself, for he even spoke with difficulty, such pain did the wound cause him. Seeing this, the old man said, -

"Mead is not good for the wound, unless poured in, to clear it out more quickly. Your grace, let me look at the wound and dress it, for I understand this matter as well as a barber."

Kmita consented. Kyemlich removed the bandage, and began to examine the wound carefully.

"The skin is taken off, that's nothing! The ball passed along the outside; but still it is swollen."

"That is why it pains me."

"But it is not two days old. Most Holy Mother! some one who must have been very near shot at your grace."

"How do you know that?"

"Because all the powder was not burned, and grains like cockle are under the skin. They will stay with your grace. Now we need only bread and spider-web. Terribly near was the man who fired. It is well that he did not kill your grace."

"It was not fated me. Mix the bread and the spider-web and put them on as quickly as possible, for I must talk with you, and my jaws pain me."