The captain's words acted like magic, freeing the souls of these men as from a nightmare; and when, a few minutes later, a great pile of firwood sent up shoots of ruddy flame, spreading light and warmth, their spirits rose mightily. They formed a circle round the welcome fire, and one of their number produced a bagpipe, to the plaintive droning of which they fell to dancing that strangest of reels known throughout the Carpathians, and which, executed by these men and in such circ.u.mstances, once more a.s.sumed what was, no doubt, its original character--that of a war-dance.

Taras did not interfere, but looked for Nashko, who once more kept aloof with his own saddened thoughts.

"What is the time?" he inquired.

The Jew was the only one of all these men who possessed a watch, and only Taras and Sophron, besides himself, understood the art of telling the hour by such means.

"Eleven. Are you beginning to be anxious?"

"No! What should have happened? But hark! listen!"

"I hear nothing."

"But I do.... Hark!" and Taras turned to the merrymakers with an imperious "Silence!" They stood still like statues, and the bagpipe ceased wailing.

They could all hear it now--a peculiar, whirring sound, not unlike that of an arrow cutting the air. It came from afar, through the stillness of the night. "It is Julko signalling," the men cried, delightedly; and Taras, taking his own whistle, signalled back. A moment's silence, and again the sound reached them--longdrawn, and thrice repeated.

"You understand its meaning," said Taras to his men. "They have missed the track in the dark. Away with you, Stas and Jemilian; take torches and go to meet them, and keep signalling as you go." The two obeyed, while the rest of the men, at his word, took their places by their horses.

But the minutes pa.s.sed, and nothing was heard save the signalling and counter-signalling in the wood, till at last the sounds seemed blending, and presently the sign was given that the seekers and the sought had met. Ere long their voices could be distinguished, together with the tramping of their steeds.

First of all the Royal Eagle burst upon the waiting band. "We were sadly detained," he reported to the captain; "two full hours we had to lie in ambush by the Pruth, and when the night overtook us we missed our way. But we have caught him all right."

"Not injuring him, I hope!"

"No--that is to say, he suffered no harm at our hands, but fear may have killed him, for all I know."

And, indeed, there was no saying whether it was a living man or a dead body that was being brought before the captain. Julko, not satisfied with lashing the commissioner to the saddle, had ordered a man to mount behind him that he might be supported and saved from striking his head against the low-hanging branches, blindfolded as he was. A cloak also had been thrown round his shivering shoulders. Thus the poor wretch clung helplessly to the neck of the horse that carried him, the men shouting with laughter on beholding his abject figure; but a look of Taras's silenced them.

"Has he fainted?" inquired he of the man whose brawny arm enfolded the commissioner.

"No, captain," was the answer, "it is just his pretence; only a few minutes ago he implored me to let him make his escape, promising me a hundred florins if he got away safely. I felt sorely tempted to pitch into him, but I remembered your injunctions." And the man looked so disappointed, that even Taras could not but smile. "Untie him," he said.

It was done. When the bandage was taken from his eyes Kap.r.o.nski staggered and fell, his head striking the ground. That was no play-acting, for the scene thus suddenly presented to his vision might well have confounded a more courageous and less guilty man: first and foremost the towering figure of Taras, and behind him the band of outlaws armed to the teeth and leaning against their horses, all of them lit up by the lurid glare of their watchfire.

"Put him on his feet," exclaimed the captain, impatiently, two men endeavouring to do so, but they only got him to his knees. "For pity's sake," he whimpered, lifting his folded hands to Taras.

The latter came a step nearer. "Ah!" he cried scornfully, "is it you, friend Ladislas Kap.r.o.nski? Get up, man; you need not shake like that."

The commissioner now managed to stand on his legs, but his head hung on his bosom, and his clasped hands continued in entreaty.

"I am not going to say a word concerning the matter at issue," began Taras, "you men of the law will just go on murdering justice--well, continue in your ways, but...."

At the mention of justice, Kap.r.o.nski gasped, apparently recovering himself. "Yes," he said, with an obsequious bow, "I always told them at the Board it was no use arraigning _you_, who are as daring as you are just; and you have got the people to back you, honoured--much honoured, Mr. Taras."

"Be silent," cried the latter, "I am ashamed of you, for after all you are a man!... It is not on account of these matters, or concerning myself, that I wanted to see you, but because of your having threatened my wife."

"For pity's sake! I did but as I was told!"

"Indeed," said Taras, with so searching a look that the commissioner, unable to meet it, shook afresh. "Indeed! Then why are you trembling like that? Was it not rather an invention of your own cowardly brain?"

"No!" exclaimed Kap.r.o.nski, "I swear by all the saints----"

"I will take your word for what it may be worth. I might well doubt you; you are fully capable of a lie--but the thing in itself is preposterous. That you, who call yourselves guardians of the law, should think even of such a glaring wrong! And how cowardly--how cowardly it is! You, with all the military at your command, are you not able to protect yourselves against me save by attacking my wife and children?"

"Oh, indeed," pleaded Kap.r.o.nski, "did I not do my best to warn them?

But my advice was not taken. I a.s.sure you----"

"No need of farther words; but listen to what I have to say, and take back my message to the Board.... No amount of threatening will prevent my carrying out the sacred duty I have undertaken. And if my wife and my poor children were indeed at your mercy, and I knew they would meet death at your hands for any act of mine, laid upon me by that duty, I would carry out such act unflinchingly. Do you take that in?"

"Ah!--yes--oh!"

"Well, then, listen again. I cannot hinder you from taking my wife and my children to prison, or even from taking their lives. But I tell you this: on the day you make good those threats, it will become my first and highest and most sacred duty to rid the land of the worst of evil-doers--of you, the so-called guardians of the law. Woe to any of you, then, who may fall into my hands! I shall have you hanged, every one, on these trees of ours...."

"Oh, no, not me--for pity's sake! I was always trying----"

"Well, hanging might be too good for you," said Taras, sternly. "I knew you were an abject coward, but this is worse even than the name you bear.... I regret to send you with an honest man's message. For there is yet another matter to speak about--and you shall tell them I have sworn to you a sacred oath that there is no deceit nor cunning in my request, but pity for the people alone. I earnestly pray the authorities to withdraw the soldiers from Zulawce. The hussars have done mischief enough already, and the infantry may do worse if they stay. There is no need of military occupation, for I give you my word that I shall not enter the village, not even if I knew the mandatar to be at the manor. I should bide my time to get hold of him elsewhere.

Let me repeat it. I shall never set foot within the parish of Zulawce if my request be granted; and since the man lives not who could say that Taras ever broke his word, perhaps even you will believe me."

"Oh!--certainly--yes. I myself----"

"Stop your talking! This, then, is the message you shall bear; but I have a word for yourself also. See that you keep from lying in delivering my message, for the truth sooner or later will come to be known; and if ever I find that you altered one single word of what I have told you, I shall----"

"For pity's sake! I'll never alter a single letter!"

"Well, we shall see. I said I would not harm you in limb or life; but since you have shown yourself such a mean, craven coward, it is meet you should suffer punishment--that punishment which within these mountains is reserved for such meanness;" and, turning to his men, "Cut off his hair!" he said.

"Ah--pity!" groaned Kap.r.o.nski, but it availed him not. He found himself held fast with a merciless grip, while Sophron made short work of the commissioner's well-oiled locks, leaving his head like a field of stubble in the dreary autumn.

"Now tie him to his horse again," said Taras, "blindfolding him as before."

It was done.

"Light the torches! Mount, and let us be off! By the Pruth we will leave him to his own devices."

The signals sounded, the procession formed, vanishing in the deeper shadows of the cleft which leads to the river in the direction of Kossowince....

CHAPTER XV.

AN EYE FOR AN EYE.

Starting from the little wooden bridge which spans the Pruth near Zulawce, and following the river, about an hour's ride will bring you to the village of Kossowince. It is a well-favoured spot, the fertile wheat-fields of the plain spreading round about; yet the village is near enough to the rich green slopes of the rising uplands to obtain considerable returns from cattle-rearing as well. This flourishing place in our own days is known again as the "rich village," its much-envied inhabitants going by the name of the "wheat lords," but there have been times when the poorest cottager of the heath-country would not have exchanged his miserable cabin for the finest homestead at Kossowince. For rivers of tears and streams of blood have flowed here for religion's sake. In the days when Poland held sway, nearly all the inhabitants of the district had forsaken the Byzantine orthodox creed, turning Catholics, if not of their own free will, yet under the combined influence of Romish Jesuits and tyrannical waywodes; very few of the peasantry had courage enough to withstand such persuasion, but of these few were the people of Kossowince. Trusting in their numbers and wealth, the "wheat lords" clung to their ancient faith, although every decade brought them a bitter experience of persecution. The Austrian supremacy eventually put an end to these troubles, and in the days of the good Emperor Joseph the people of Kossowince might cross themselves from the right to the left, or from the left to the right, as they pleased. But when that monarch had been gathered to his fathers, this important difference once more appeared to trouble the ruling powers, most of all his Grace of Lemberg, and the villagers soon had proof that their heresy was being dealt with. Doubtfully they looked into the threatening future, and their horizon grew darker still when they learned that all of a sudden they had fallen under spiritual sway. The lady of the manor, a widowed countess, had seen fit to bequeath the "rich village" for purposes of Romish endowment, and their new mandatar proved to be a secular priest, a certain Victor von Sanecki, sent thither to collect the revenues. He was received with unbounded hatred; yet within the s.p.a.ce of a few months he had known how to gain the confidence, even the goodwill, of the people. For this ghostly steward was thoroughly conversant with agriculture; he proved a good counsellor, and appeared not to take the slightest notice of the heretical tendency of the village. So tolerant was he, that when the elders one day uttered complaints against their pope, Miron Aganowicz, describing him as a worse drunkard than need be, he did his best to find excuses for his reverend brother, the result, of course, being that Miron, who so far had stood in some awe of spiritual censure, drank worse than ever, providing the means by various methods of extortion. But the parish was possessed of some spirit, and the sheep turned against the shepherd; whereupon the pope complained to the civil authorities and was victorious in the contest. The aggrieved peasantry carried their trouble to the ghostly mandatar, but he pointed out to them that the courtesy of his sacred calling did not permit him to interfere, making a similar statement to his brother Miron, who, on the strength of it, oppressed the people more than ever. Matters grew to such a pa.s.s that the parish pet.i.tioned for another pope, and, being refused, declared themselves willing to be rid of Miron at any price, a.s.suring the authorities that they had come to see how foolishly prejudiced they had been in opposing the ruling faith, and that they were quite ready now to profess themselves Roman Catholics, provided that the reverend Sanecki, that excellent man, might be their priest and mandatar in one. This offer was accepted speedily, and on Easter Sunday, in the year of grace 1837, the Greek church of Kosso wince was solemnly dedicated to the Romish rite, Sanecki entering on his functions as the pastor of this converted people.

The event made a stir far and wide; it was evident that the benign wisdom of an amiable priest, within the s.p.a.ce of two short years, had succeeded in overcoming the stubborn resistance which had braved the tyranny of centuries. Not many had the clear-headed judgment, or, indeed, sufficient acquaintance with Sanecki himself, to temper their surprise, seeing he was as unprincipled as he was clever. Victor von Sanecki was the scion of a decayed family of rank, a native of Posen.