Генрик Сенкевич
The Deluge. Vol. 2
CHAPTER XXVI
It is easy to imagine Sapyeha's amazement when Kmita not only returned safely himself, but brought with him a number of tens of horsemen and his old servant. Kmita had to tell the hetman and Oskyerko twice what had happened, and how it had happened; they listened with curiosity, clapping their hands frequently and seizing their heads.
"Learn from this," said the hetman, "that whoso carries vengeance too far, from him it often slips away like a bird through the fingers. Prince Boguslav wanted to have Pole's as witnesses of your shame and suffering so as to disgrace you the more, and he carried the matter too far. But do not boast of this, for it was the ordinance of God which gave you victory, though, in my way, I will tell you one thing, – he is a devil; but you too are a devil! The prince did ill to insult you."
"I will not leave him behind in vengeance, and God grant that I shall not overdo it."
"Leave vengeance altogether, as Christ did; though with one word he might have destroyed the Jews."
Kmita said nothing, and there was no time for discussion; there was not even time for rest. He was mortally wearied, and still he had determined to go that night to his Tartars, who were posted in the forests and on the roads in the rear of Boguslav's army. But people of that period slept soundly on horseback. Pan Andrei simply gave command then to saddle a fresh horse, promising himself to slumber sweetly on the road.
When he was mounting Soroka came to him and stood straight as in service.
"Your grace!" said he.
"What have you to say, old man?"
"I have come to ask when I am to start?"
"For what place?"
"For Taurogi."
Kmita laughed: "You will not go to Taurogi, you will go with me."
"At command!" answered the sergeant, striving not to show his delight
They rode on together. The road was long, for they had to go around by forests, so as not to fall into Boguslav's hands; but Kmita and Soroka slept a hundred fold, and came to the Tartars without any accident.
Akbah Ulan presented himself at once before Babinich, and gave him a report of his activity. Pan Andrei was satisfied. Every bridge had been burned, the dams were cut; that was not all, the water of springtime had overflowed, changing the fields, meadows, and roads in the lower places into muddy quagmires.
Boguslav had no choice but to fight, to conquer or perish; it was impossible for him to think of retreat.
"Very well," said Kmita; "he has good cavalry, but heavy. He will not have use for it in the mud of to-day."
Then he turned to Akbah Ulan. "You have grown poor," said he, striking him on the stomach with his fist; "but after the battle you will fill your paunch with the prince's ducats."
"God has created the enemy, so that men of battle might have some one to plunder," said the Tartar, with seriousness.
"But Boguslav's cavalry stands in front of you."
"There are some hundreds of good horses, and yesterday a regiment of infantry came and intrenched itself."
"But could they not be enticed to the field?"
"They will not come out."
"But turn them, leave them in the rear, and go to Yanov."
"They occupy the road."
"Then we must think of something!" Kmita began to stroke his forelock with his hand: "Have you tried to steal up to them? How far will they follow you out?"
"A furlong, two, – not farther."
"Then we must think of something!" repeated Kmita.
But that night they thought of nothing. Next morning, however, Kmita went with the Tartars toward the camp lying between Suhovol and Yanov, and discovered that Akbah Ulan had exaggerated, saying that the infantry was intrenched on that side; for they had little ditches, nothing more. It was possible to make a protracted defence from them, especially against Tartars, who did not go readily to the attack of such places; but it was impossible for men in them to think of enduring any kind of siege.
"If I had infantry," thought Kmita, "I would go into fire."
But it was difficult even to dream of bringing infantry; for, first, Sapyeha himself had not very many; second, there was no time to bring them.
Kmita approached so closely that Boguslav's infantry opened fire on him; but he did not care. He rode among the bullets and examined, looked around; and the Tartars, though less enduring of fire, had to keep pace with him. Then cavalry rushed out and undertook to flank him. He retreated about three thousand yards and turned again. But they had ridden back toward the trenches. In vain did the Tartars let off a cloud of arrows after them. Only one man fell from his horse, and that one his comrades saved, carried in.
Kmita on returning, instead of riding straight to Suhovola, rushed toward the west and came to the Kamyonka.
This swampy river had overflowed widely, for that year the springtime was wonderfully abundant in water. Kmita looked at the river, threw a number of broken branches into it so as to measure the speed of the current, and said to Ulan, —
"We will go around their flank and strike them in the rear."
"Horses cannot swim against the current."
"It goes slowly. They will swim! The water is almost standing."
"The horses will be chilled, and the men cannot endure it. It is cold yet."
"Oh, the men will swim holding to the horses' tails! That is your Tartar way."
"The men will grow stiff."
"They will get warm under fire."
"Kismet (fate)!"
Before it had grown dark in the world, Kmita had ordered them to cut bunches of willows, dry reeds, and rushes, and tie them to the sides of the horses. When the first star appeared, he sent about eight hundred horses into the water, and they began to swim. He swam himself at the head of them; but soon he saw that they were advancing so slowly that in two days they would not swim past the trenches. Then he ordered them to swim to the other bank.
That was a dangerous undertaking. The other bank was steep and swampy. The horses, though light, sank in it to their bellies. But Kmita's men pushed forward, though slowly and saving one another, while advancing a couple of furlongs.
The stars indicated midnight. Then from the south came to them echoes of distant fighting.
"The battle has begun!" shouted Kmita.
"We shall drown!" answered Akbah Ulan.
"After me!"
The Tartars knew not what to do, when on a sudden they saw that Kmita's horse issued from the mud, evidently finding firm footing.
In fact, a bench of sand had begun. On the top of it there was water to the horses' breasts, but under foot was solid ground. They went therefore more swiftly. On the left distant fires were gleaming.
"Those are the trenches!" said Kmita, quietly. "Let us avoid them, go around!"
After a while they had really passed the trenches. Then they turned to the left, and put their horses into the river again, so as to land beyond the trenches.
More than a hundred horses were swamped at the shore; but almost all the men came out. Kmita ordered those who had lost their beasts to sit behind other horsemen, and they moved toward the trenches. First he left volunteers with the order not to disturb the trenches till he should have gone around them to the rear. When he was approaching he heard shots, at first few, then more frequent.
"It is well!" said he; "Sapyeha is attacking!"
And he moved on.
In the darkness was visible only a multitude of heads jumping with the movement of the horses; sabres did not rattle, armor did not sound; the Tartars and volunteers knew how to move in silence, like wolves.
From the side of Yanov the firing became more and more vigorous; it was evident that Sapyeha was moving along the whole line.
But on the trenches toward which Kmita was advancing shouts were heard also. A number of piles of wood were burning near them, casting around a strong light. By this light Pan Andrei saw infantry firing rarely, more occupied in looking in front at the field, where cavalry was fighting with volunteers.
They saw him too from the trenches, but instead of firing they greeted the advancing body with a loud shout. The soldiers thought that Boguslav had sent them reinforcements.
But when barely a hundred yards separated the approaching body from the trenches, the infantry began to move about unquietly; an increasing number of soldiers, shading their eyes with their hands, were looking to see what kind of people were coming.
When fifty yards distant a fearful howl tore the air, and Kmita's force rushed like a storm, took in the infantry, surrounded them like a ring, and that whole mass of men began to move convulsively. You would have said that a gigantic serpent was stifling a chosen victim.
In this crowd piercing shouts were heard. "Allah!" "Herr Jesus!" "Mein Gott!"
Behind the trenches new shouts went up; for the volunteers, though in weaker numbers, recognizing that Pan Babinich was in the trenches, pressed on the cavalry with fury. Meanwhile the sky, which had been cloudy for some time, as is common in spring, poured down a heavy, unexpected rain. The blazing fires were put out, and the battle went on in the darkness.
But the battle did not last long. Attacked on a sudden, Boguslav's infantry went under the knife. The cavalry, in which were many Poles, laid down their arms. The foreigners, namely, one hundred dragoons, were cut to pieces.
When the moon came out again from behind the clouds, it lighted only crowds of Tartars finishing the wounded and taking plunder.
But neither did that last long. The piercing sound of a pipe was heard; Tartars and volunteers as one man sprang to their horses.
"After me!" cried Kmita.
And he led them like a whirlwind to Yanov.
A quarter of an hour later the ill-fated place was set on fire at four corners, and in an hour one sea of flame was spread as widely as Yanov extended. Above the conflagration pillars of fiery sparks were flying toward the ruddy sky.
Thus did Kmita let the hetman know that he had taken the rear of Boguslav's army.
He himself like an executioner, red from the blood of men, marshalled his Tartars amid the fire, so as to lead them on farther.
They were already in line and extending into column, when suddenly, on a field as bright as in day, from the fire, he saw before him a division of the elector's gigantic cavalry.
A knight led them, distinguishable from afar, for he wore silver-plate armor, and sat on a white horse.
"Boguslav!" bellowed Kmita, with an unearthly voice, and rushed forward with his whole Tartar column.
They approached one another, like two waves driven by two winds. A considerable space divided them; the horses on both sides reached their greatest speed, and went with ears down like hounds, almost sweeping the earth with their bellies. On one side large men with shining breastplates, and sabres held erect in their right hands; on the other, a black swarm of Tartars.
At last they struck in a long line on the clear field; but then something terrible took place. The Tartar swarm fell as grain bent by a whirlwind; the gigantic men rode over it and flew farther, as if the men and the horses had the power of thunderbolts and the wings of a storm.
Some of the Tartars sprang up and began to pursue. It was possible to ride over the wild men, but impossible to kill them at once; so more and more of them hastened after the fleeing cavalry. Lariats began to whistle in the air.
But at the head of the retreating cavalry the rider on the white horse ran ever in the first rank, and among the pursuers was not Kmita.
Only in the gray of dawn did the Tartars begin to return, and almost every man had a horseman on his lariat. Soon they found Kmita, and carried him in unconsciousness to Pan Sapyeha.
The hetman himself took a seat at Kmita's bedside. About midday Pan Andrei opened his eyes.
"Where is Boguslav?" were his first words.
"Cut to pieces. God gave him fortune at first; then he came out of the birch groves and in the open field fell on the infantry of Pan Oskyerko; there he lost men and victory. I do not know whether he led away even five hundred men, for your Tartars caught a good number of them."
"But he himself?"
"Escaped!"
Kmita was silent awhile; then said; —
"I cannot measure with him yet. He struck me with a double-handed sword on the head, and knocked me down with my horse. My morion was of trusty steel, and did not let the sword through; but I fainted."
"You should hang up that morion in a church."
"I will pursue him, even to the end of the world!" said Kmita.
To this the hetman answered: "See what news I have received to-day after the battle!"
Kmita read aloud the following words, —
The King of Sweden has moved from Elblang; he is marching on Zamost, thence to Lvoff against Yan Kazimir. Come, your worthiness, with all your forces, to save king and country, for I cannot hold out alone.
Charnyetski.
A moment of silence.
"Will you go with us, or will you go with the Tartars to Taurogi?"
Kmita closed his eyes. He remembered the words of Father Kordetski, and what Volodyovski had told him of Pan Yan, and said, —
"Let private affairs wait! I will meet the enemy at the side of the country!"
The hetman pressed Pan Andrei's head. "You are a brother to me!" said he; "and because I am old, receive my blessing."
CHAPTER XXVII
At a time when all living men in the Commonwealth were mounting their horses Karl Gustav stayed continually in Prussia, busied in capturing the towns of that province and in negotiating with the elector.
After an easy and unexpected conquest, the quick soldier soon saw that the Swedish lion had swallowed more than his stomach could carry. After the return of Yan Kazimir he lost hope of retaining the Commonwealth; but while making a mental abdication of the whole, he wished at least to retain the greater part of his conquest, and above all Royal Prussia, – a province fruitful, dotted with large towns, wealthy, and adjoining his own Pomerania. But as that province was first to defend itself, so did it continue faithful to its lord and the Commonwealth. The return of Yan Kazimir, and the war begun by the confederation of Tyshovtsi might revive the courage of Prussia, confirm it in loyalty, give it will for endurance; therefore Karl Gustav determined to crush the uprising, and to wipe out Kazimir's forces so as to take from Prussians the hope of resistance.
He had to do this for the sake of the elector, who was ever ready to side with the stronger. The King of Sweden knew him thoroughly, and doubted not for a moment that if the fortune of Yan Kazimir should preponderate, the elector would be on his side again.
When, therefore, the siege of Marienburg advanced slowly, – for the more it was attacked the more stubbornly did Pan Weiher defend it, – Karl Gustav marched to the Commonwealth, so as to reach Yan Kazimir again, even in the remotest corner of the land.
And since with him deed followed decision as swiftly as thunder follows lightning, he raised his army disposed in towns; and before any one in the Commonwealth had looked around, before the news of his march had spread, he had passed Warsaw and had rushed into the greatest blaze of conflagration.
Driven by anger, revenge, and bitterness, he moved on like a storm. Behind him ten thousand horse trampled the fields, which were still covered with snow; and taking the infantry from the garrisons, he went on, like a whirlwind, toward the far south of the Commonwealth.
On the road he burned and pursued. He was not now that recent Karl Gustav, the kindly, affable, and joyous lord, clapping his hands at Polish cavalry, winking at feasts, and praising the soldiers. Now, wherever he showed himself the blood of peasants and nobles flowed in a torrent. On the road he annihilated "parties," hanged prisoners, spared no man.
But as when, in the thick of the pine-woods, a mighty bear rushes forward with heavy body crushing branches and brush on the way, while wolves follow after, and not daring to block his path, pursue, press nearer and nearer behind, so did those "parties" pursuing the armies of Karl join in throngs denser and denser, and follow the Swedes as a shadow a man, and still more enduringly than a shadow, for they followed in the day and the night, in fair and foul weather; before him too bridges were ruined, provisions destroyed, so that he had to march as in a desert, without a place for his head or anything with which to give strength to his body when hungry.
Karl Gustav noted quickly how terrible his task was. The war spread around him as widely as the sea spreads around a ship lost in the waters. Prussia was on fire; on fire was Great Poland, which had first accepted his sovereignty, and first wished to throw off the Swedish yoke; Little Poland was on fire, and so were Russia, Lithuania, and Jmud. In the castles and large towns the Swedes maintained themselves yet, as if on islands; but the villages, the forests, the fields, the rivers, were already in Polish hands. Not merely a single man, or small detachments, but a whole regiment might not leave the main Swedish army for two hours; for if it did the regiment vanished without tidings, and prisoners who fell into the hands of peasants died in terrible tortures.
In vain had Karl Gustav given orders to proclaim in villages and towns that whoso of peasants should bring an armed noble, living or dead, would receive freedom forever and land as a reward; for peasants, as well as nobles and townsmen, marched off to the woods. Men from the mountains, men from deep forests, men from meadows and fields, hid in the woods, formed ambushes on the roads against the Swedes, fell upon the smaller garrisons, and cut scouting-parties to pieces. Flails, forks, and scythes, no less than the sabres of nobles, were streaming with Swedish blood.
All the more did wrath rise in the heart of Karl, that a few months before he had gathered in that country so easily; hence he could hardly understand what had happened, whence these forces, whence that resistance, whence that awful war for life or death, the end of which he saw not and could not divine.
Frequent councils were held in the Swedish camp. With the king marched his brother Adolph, prince of Bipont, who had command over the army; Robert Douglas; Henry Horn, relative of that Horn who had been slain by the scythe of a peasant at Chenstohova; Waldemar, Prince of Denmark, and that Miller who had left his military glory at the foot of Yasna Gora; Aschemberg, the ablest cavalry leader among the Swedes; Hammerskiold, who commanded the artillery; and the old robber Marshal Arwid Wittemberg, famed for rapacity, living on the last of his health, for he was eaten by the Gallic disease; Forgell, and many others, all leaders skilled in the capture of cities, and in the field yielding in genius to the king only.
These men were terrified in their hearts lest the whole army with the king should perish through toil, lack of food, and the fury of the Poles. Old Wittemberg advised the king directly against the campaign: "How will you go, O King," said he, "to the Russian regions after an enemy who destroys everything on the way, but is unseen himself? What will you do if horses lack not only hay, but even straw from the roofs of cottages, and men fall from exhaustion? Where are the armies to come to our aid, where are the castles in which to draw breath and rest our weary limbs? My fame is not equal to yours; but were I Karl Gustav, I would not expose that glory acquired by so many victories to the fickle fortune of war."
To which Karl Gustav answered: "And neither would I, were I Wittemberg."
Then he mentioned Alexander of Macedon, with whom he liked to be compared, and marched forward, pursuing Charnyetski. Charnyetski, not having forces so great nor so well trained, retreated before him, but retreated like a wolf ever ready to turn on his enemy. Sometimes he went in advance of the Swedes, sometimes at their flanks, and sometimes in deep forests he let them go in advance; so that while they thought themselves the pursuers, he, in fact, was the hunter. He cut off the unwary; here and there he hunted down a whole party, destroyed foot-regiments marching slowly, attacked provision-trains. The Swedes never knew where he was. More than once in the darkness of night they began to fire from muskets and cannons into thickets, thinking that they had an enemy before them. They were mortally wearied; they marched in cold, in hunger, in affliction, and that vir molestissimus (most harmful man) hung about them continually, as a hail-cloud hangs over a grain-field.
At last they attacked him at Golamb, not far from the junction of the Vyepr and the Vistula. Some Polish squadrons being ready for battle charged the enemy, spreading disorder and dismay. In front sprang Volodyovski with his Lauda squadron, and bore down Waldemar, prince of Denmark; but the two Kavetskis, Samuel and Yan, urged from the hill the armored squadron against English mercenaries under Wilkinson, and devoured them in a moment, as a pike gulps a whiting; and Pan Malavski engaged so closely with the Prince of Bipont that men and horses were confounded like dust which two whirlwinds sweeping from opposite quarters bring together and turn into one circling column. In the twinkle of an eye the Swedes were pushed to the Vistula, seeing which Douglas hastened to the rescue with chosen horsemen. But even these reinforcements could not check the onset; the Swedes began to spring from the high bank to the ice, falling dead so thickly that they lay black on the snow-field, like letters on white paper. Waldemar, Prince of Denmark, fell; Wilkinson fell; and the Prince of Bipont, thrown from his horse, broke his leg. But of Poles both Kavetskis fell; killed also were Malavski, Rudavski, Rogovski, Tyminski, Hoinski, and Porvanyetski. Volodyovski alone, though he dived among the Swedish ranks like a seamew in water, came out without having suffered the slightest wound.
Now Karl Gustav himself came up with his main force and with artillery. Straightway the form of the battle changed. Charnyetski's other regiments, undisciplined and untrained, could not take position in season; some had not their horses in readiness, others had been in distant villages, and in spite of orders to be always ready, were taking their leisure in cottages. When the enemy pressed suddenly on these men, they scattered quickly and began to retreat to the Vyepr. Therefore Charnyetski gave orders to sound the retreat so as to spare those regiments that had opened the battle. Some of the fleeing went beyond the Vistula; others to Konskovoli, leaving the field and the glory of the victory to Karl; for specially those who had crossed the Vyepr were long pursued by the squadrons of Zbrojek and Kalinski, who remained yet with the Swedes.
There was delight beyond measure in the Swedish camp. No great trophies fell to the king, it is true, – sacks of oats, and a few empty wagons; but it was not at that time a question of plunder for Karl. He comforted himself with this, – that victory followed his steps as before; that barely had he shown himself when he inflicted defeat on that very Charnyetski on whom the highest hopes of Yan Kazimir and the Commonwealth were founded. He could trust that the news would run through the whole country; that every mouth would repeat, "Charnyetski is crushed;" that the timid would exaggerate the proportions of the defeat, and thus weaken hearts and take courage from those who had grasped their weapons at the call of the confederation of Tyshovtsi.
So when they brought in and placed at his feet those bags of oats, and with them the bodies of Wilkinson and Prince Waldemar, he turned to his fretful generals and said, —
"Unwrinkle your foreheads, gentlemen, for this is the greatest victory which I have had for a year, and may end the whole war."
"Your Royal Grace," answered Wittemberg, who, weaker than usual, saw things in a gloomier light, "let us thank God even for this, – that we shall have a farther march in peace, though Charnyetski's troops scatter quickly and rally easily."
"Marshal," answered the king, "I do not think you a worse leader than Charnyetski; but if I had beaten you in this fashion, I think you would not be able to assemble your troops in two months."
Wittemberg only bowed in silence, and Karl spoke on: "Yes, we shall have a quiet march, for Charnyetski alone could really hamper it. If Charnyetski's troops are not before us, there is no hindrance."
The generals rejoiced at these words. Intoxicated with victory, the troops marched past the king with shouts and with songs. Charnyetski ceased to threaten them like a cloud. Charnyetski's troops were scattered; he had ceased to exist. In view of this thought their past sufferings were forgotten and their future toils were sweet. The king's words, heard by many officers, were borne through the camp; and all believed that the victory had uncommon significance, that the dragon of war was slain once more, and that only days of revenge and dominion would come.
The king gave the army some hours of repose; meanwhile from Kozyenitsi came trains with provisions. The troops were disposed in Golamb, in Krovyeniki, and in Jyrzynie. The cavalry burned some deserted houses, hanged a few peasants seized with arms in their hands, and a few camp-servants mistaken for peasants; then there was a feast in the Swedish camp, after which the soldiers slept a sound sleep, since for a long time it was the first quiet one.
Next day they woke in briskness, and the first words which came to the mouths of all were: "There is no Charnyetski!"
One repeated this to another, as if to give mutual assurance of the good news. The march began joyously. The day was dry, cold, clear. The hair of the horses and their nostrils were covered with frost. The cold wind froze soft places on the Lyubelsk highroad, and made marching easy. The troops stretched out in a line almost five miles long, which they had never done previously. Two dragoon regiments, under command of Dubois, a Frenchman, went through Markushev and Grabov, five miles from the main force. Had they marched thus three days before they would have gone to sure death, but now fear and the glory of victory went before them.
"Charnyetski is gone," repeated the officers and soldiers to one another.
In fact, the march was made in quiet. From the forest depths came no shouts; from thickets fell no darts, hurled by invisible hands.
Toward evening Karl Gustav arrived at Grabov, joyous and in good humor. He was just preparing for sleep when Aschemberg announced through the officer of the day that he wished greatly to see the king.
After a while he entered the royal quarters, not alone, but with a captain of dragoons. The king, who had a quick eye and a memory so enormous that he remembered nearly every soldier's name, recognized the captain at once.
"What is the news, Freed?" asked he. "Has Dubois returned?"
"Dubois is killed."
The king was confused; only now did he notice that the captain looked as if he had been taken from the grave; and his clothes were torn.
"But the dragoons?" inquired he, "those two regiments?"
"All cut to pieces. I alone was let off alive."
The dark face of the king became still darker; with his hands he placed his locks behind his ears.
"Who did this?"
"Charnyetski."
Karl Gustav was silent, and looked with amazement at Aschemberg; but he only nodded as if wishing to repeat: "Charnyetski, Charnyetski, Charnyetski!"
"All this is incredible," said the king, after a while. "Have you seen him with your own eyes?"
"As I see your Royal Grace. He commanded me to bow to you, and to declare that now he will recross the Vistula, but will soon be on our track again. I know not whether he told the truth."
"Well," said the king, "had he many men with him?"
"I could not estimate exactly, but I saw about four thousand, and beyond the forest was cavalry of some kind. We were surrounded near Krasichyn, to which Colonel Dubois went purposely from the highroad, for he was told that there were some men there. Now, I think that Charnyetski sent an informant to lead us into ambush, since no one save me came out alive. The peasants killed the wounded. I escaped by a miracle."
"That man must have made a compact with hell," said the king, putting his hand to his forehead; "for to rally troops after such a defeat, and be on our neck again, is not human power."
"It has happened as Marshal Wittemberg foresaw," put in Aschemberg.
"You all know how to foresee," burst out the king, "but how to advise you do not know."
Aschemberg grew pale and was silent. Karl Gustav, when joyous, seemed goodness itself; but when once he frowned he roused indescribable fear in those nearest him, and birds do not hide so before an eagle as the oldest and most meritorious generals hid before him. But this time he moderated quickly, and asked Captain Freed again, —
"Has Charnyetski good troops?"
"I saw some unrivalled squadrons, such cavalry as the Poles have."
"They are the same that attacked with such fury in Golamb; they must be old regiments. But Charnyetski himself, – was he cheerful, confident?"
"He was as confident as if he had beaten us at Golamb. Now his heart must rise the more, for they have forgotten Golembo and boast of Krasichyn. Your Royal Grace, what Charnyetski told me to repeat I have repeated; but when I was on the point of departing some one of the high officers approached me, an old man, and told me that he was the person who had stretched out Gustavus Adolphus in a hand-to-hand conflict, and he poured much abuse on your Royal Grace; others supported him. So do they boast. I left amid insults and abuse."
"Never mind," said Karl Gustav, "Charnyetski is not broken, and has rallied his army; that is the main point. All the more speedily must we march so as to reach the Polish Darius at the earliest. You are free to go, gentlemen. Announce to the army that those regiments perished at the hands of peasants in unfrozen morasses. We advance!"
The officers went out; Karl Gustav remained alone. For something like an hour he was in gloomy thought. Was the victory at Golamb to bring no fruit, no change to the position, but to rouse still greater rage in that entire country?