continued Kmita, "all the rest are a joke."
"This seems impossible to me," said Kordetski; "for, first, who will undertake to do it?"
"A certain poor fellow," said Kmita; "but he is resolute, his name is Babinich."
"You!" cried the priest and Charnyetski together.
"Ai, father, benefactor! I was with you at confession, and acknowledged all my deeds in sincerity; among them were deeds not worse than the one I am now planning; how can you doubt that I will undertake it? Do you not know me?"
"He is a hero, a knight above knights," cried Charnyetski. And seizing Kmita by the neck, he continued: "Let me kiss you for the wish alone; give me your mouth."
"Show me another remedy, and I will not go," said Kmita; "but it seems to me that I shall manage this matter somehow. Remember that I speak German as if I had been dealing in staves, wainscots, and wall plank in Dantzig. That means much, for if I am disguised they will not easily discover that I am not of their camp. But I think that no one is standing before the mouth of the cannon; for it is not safe there, and I think that I shall do the work before they can see me."
"Pan Charnyetski, what do you think of this?" asked the prior, quickly.
"Out of one hundred men one might return from such an undertaking; but audaces fortuna juvat [fortune favors the bold]."
"I have been in hotter places than this," said Kmita: "nothing will happen to me, for such is my fortune. Ai, beloved father, and what a difference! Ere now to exhibit myself, and for vainglory, I crawled into danger; but this undertaking is for the Most Holy Lady. Even should I have to lay down my head, which I do not foresee, say yourself could a more praiseworthy death be wished to any man than down there in this cause?"
The priest was long silent, and then said at last, —
"I should try to restrain you with persuasion, with prayers and imploring, if you wished to go for mere glory; but you are right: this is a question affecting the honor of the Most Holy Lady, this sacred place, the whole country! And you, my son, whether you return safely or win the palm of glory, you will gain the supreme happiness, – salvation. Against my heart then I say, Go; I do not detain you. Our prayers, the protection of God, will go with you."
"In such company I shall go boldly and perish with joy."
"But return, soldier of God, return safely; for you are loved with sincerity here. May Saint Raphael attend you and bring you back, cherished son, my dear child!"
"Then I will begin preparations at once," said Pan Andrei, joyfully pressing the priest. "I will dress in Swedish fashion with a jacket and wide-legged boots. I will fill in the powder, and do you, father, stop the exorcisms for this night; fog is needful to the Swedes, but also to me."
"And do you not wish to confess before starting?"
"Of course, without that I should not go; for the devil would have approach to me."
"Then begin with confession."
Charnyetski went out of the cell, and Kmita knell down near the priest and purged himself of his sins. Then, gladsome as a bird, he began to make preparations.
An hour or two later, in the deep night, he knocked again at the prior's cell, where Pan Charnyetski also was waiting.
The two scarcely knew Pan Andrei, so good a Swede had he made himself. He had twirled his mustaches to his eyes and brushed them out at the ends; he had put his hat on one side of his head, and looked precisely like some cavalry officer of noted family.
"As God lives, one would draw a sabre at sight of him," said Charnyetski.
"Put the light at a distance," said Kmita; "I will show you something."
When Father Kordetski had put the light aside quickly, Pan Andrei placed on a table a roll, a foot and a half long and as thick as the arm of a sturdy man, sewn up in pitched linen and filled firmly with powder. From one end of it was hanging a long string made of tow steeped in sulphur.
"Well," said he, "when I put this flea-bane in the mouth of the cannon and ignite the string, then its belly will burst."
"Lucifer would burst!" cried Pan Charnyetski. But he remembered that it was better not to mention the name of the foul one, and he slapped his own mouth.
"But how will you set fire to the string?" asked Kordetski.
"In that lies the whole danger, for I must strike fire. I have good flint, dry tinder, and steel of the best; but there will be a noise, and they may notice something. The string I hope will not quench, for it will hang at the beard of the gun, and it will be hard to see it, especially as it will hide itself quickly in burning; but they may pursue me, and I cannot flee straight toward the cloister."
"Why not?" asked the priest.
"For the explosion would kill me. The moment I see the spark on the string I must jump aside with all the strength in my legs, and when I have run about fifty yards, must fall to the ground under the intrenchment. After the explosion I shall rush toward the cloister."
"My God, my God, how many dangers!" said the prior, raising his eyes to heaven.
"Beloved father, so sure am I of returning that even emotion does not touch me, which on an occasion like this ought to seize me. This is nothing! Farewell, and pray the Lord God to give me luck. Only conduct me to the gate."
"How is that? Do you want to go now?" asked Charnyetski.
"Am I to wait till daylight, or till the fog rises? Is not my head dear to me?"
But Pan Andrei did not go that night, for just as they came to the gate, darkness, as if out of spite, began to grow light. Some movement too was heard around the great siege gun.
Next morning the besieged were convinced that the gun was transferred to another place.
The Swedes had received apparently some report of a great weakness in the wall a little beyond the bend near the southern bastion, and they determined to direct missiles to that spot. Maybe too the prior was not a stranger to the affair, for the day before they had seen old Kostuha (Konstantsia) going out of the cloister. She was employed chiefly when there was need of giving false reports to the Swedes. Be that as it may, it was a mistake on their part; for the besieged could now repair in the old place the wall so greatly shaken, and to make a new breach a number of days would be needed.
The nights were clear in succession, the days full of uproar. The Swedes fired with terrible energy. The spirit of doubt began again to fly over the fortress. Among the besieged were nobles who wished to surrender; some of the monks too had lost heart. The opposition gained strength and importance. The prior made head against it with unrestrained energy, but his health began to give way. Meanwhile came reinforcements to the Swedes and supplies from Cracow, especially terrible explosive missiles in the form of iron cylinders filled with powder and lead. These caused more terror than damage to the besieged.
Kmita, from the time that he had conceived the plan of bursting the siege gun, secreted himself in the fortress. He looked every day at the roll, with heart-sickness. On reflection he made it still larger, so that it was almost an ell long and as thick as a boot-leg. In the evening he cast greedy looks toward the gun, then examined the sky like an astrologer. But the bright moon, shining on the snow continually, baffled his plan.
All at once a thaw came; clouds covered the horizon, and the night was
