Part 5 (2/2)

At times Bartek fancied he must be asleep. All the while the storm raged more fiercely round the house, and the cries and voices multiplied strangely in the whistling of the wind.

Suddenly every hair of Bartek's head stood on end under his helmet.

For it seemed as if somewhere from out of the dark, rain-clad depths of the forest somebody were groaning, and repeating: 'At home, at home, at home!'

Bartek started back, and struck the floor with the b.u.t.t end of his rifle to wake himself. He regained consciousness somehow and looked up. The prisoners lay in the corner, the lamp was burning brightly, the wind was howling,--all was in order.

The light fell full on to the face of the younger prisoner--a child's or girl's face. As he lay there with closed eyes, and straw under his head, he looked as if he were already dead.

Never in his life had Bartek been so wrung with pity! Something distinctly gripped his throat, and an audible cry was wrung from his breast.

At that moment the elder prisoner turned wearily on to his side, and said, 'Good-night, Wladek.' Silence followed. An hour pa.s.sed.

The wind played like the Pognebin organ. The prisoners lay silent.

Suddenly the younger prisoner, raising himself a little by an effort, called, 'Karol?'

'What?'

'Are you asleep?'

'No.'

'Listen! I am afraid. Say what you like, but I shall pray.'

'Pray, then.'

'Our Father, which art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy Name, Thy Kingdom come.'

Sobs suddenly interrupted the young prisoner's words, yet the broken voice was still heard: 'Thy--will--be--done!'

'Oh Jesu!' something cried in Bartek, 'Oh Jesu!'

Impossible! He could stand it no longer.--Another moment, and exclaiming 'Lord, I am only a man!' he had leapt through the window into the wood. Let come what may! Suddenly measured steps were heard echoing from the direction of the hall: it was the patrol, the Sergeant with it. They were changing the guard!

Next day Bartek was drunk all day from early morning. The following day likewise....

But fresh advances, fighting, and marches took place during the days following, and I am glad to say that our hero regained his equilibrium. A certain fondness for the bottle, in which it is always possible to find pleasure and at times forgetfulness, remained with him after that night, however. For the rest, in battle he was more terrible than ever; victory followed in his wake.

CHAPTER VI

Some months had pa.s.sed, and the Spring was now well advanced. The cherry trees at Pognebin were in blossom and the young corn was sprouting abundantly in the fields. One day Magda, seated in front of the cottage, was peeling some rotten potatoes for dinner, fitter for cattle than for human beings. But it was Spring-time, and poverty had visited Pognebin. That could be seen too by the saddened and worried look on Magda's face. Possibly in order to distract herself, the woman, closing her eyes, sang in a thin, strained voice:

Alas, my Jasienko has gone to the war! he writes me letters; Alas, and I his wife write to him,--for I cannot see him.

The sparrows twittered in the cherry trees as if they were trying to emulate her. She stopped her song and gazed absently at the dog sleeping in the sun, at the road pa.s.sing the cottage, and the path leading from the road through the garden and field. Perhaps Magda glanced at the path because it led across to the station and, as G.o.d willed, she did not look in vain that day. A figure appeared in the distance, and the woman shaded her eyes with her hand, but she could not see clearly, being blinded by the glare. Lysek woke up, however, raised his head, and giving a short bark, began to grow excited, p.r.i.c.king up his ears and turning his head from side to side. At the same moment the words of a song reached Magda indistinctly. Lysek sprang up suddenly and ran at full speed towards the newcomer. Then Magda turned a little pale.

'Is it Bartek,--or not?'

She jumped up so quickly that the bowl of potatoes rolled on to the ground: there was no longer any doubt; Lysek was bounding up to his shoulder. The woman rushed forward, shouting in the full strength of her joy: 'Bartek! Bartek!'

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