The Market Square in Kraków was not unfamiliar to Lieutenant Jan Stelnicki; his family city townhome was here in the old capital, and he had played here, knew all the streets that led to it. It was only now, however, after having visited dozens of towns and cities with General Tadeusz Kościuszko that he realized how large this square was. Even Warsaw’s square couldn’t compete.
Today he was thankful the square was so huge, for it teemed with humanity. The rows of three and four-storied buildings were bursting with people hanging from the roofs and windows. All about, one could sense History in the air. This day, the twenty-fourth of March would live forever, and—God-willing—would mark the beginning of the end of foreign influences in the Commonwealth. Just as the white storks were returning now to their Polish roofs after a long winter, so too—Jan prayed—would Polish patriots, peasant and noble, soon return to their homes.
Like everyone else, he stood in the sunny but cool morning, awaiting the appearance of Kościuszko. With the little commander, he had seen more than town squares. He had seen battle and blood, bravery and death. He had seen, as he saw today in the press of the crowd, the love of liberty in nobles, in gentry, in townsmen, in Jews, in peasants. How could such a cause fail? he wondered, feeling the emotions of the crowd rushing about and through him like a river.
Before the partition in ’92, he had experienced victory and defeat. At Dubienka he had taken a sword wound to his right shoulder, but the victory there was so sweet he seemed not to notice the pain. The real sorrow of that campaign came when Frederick William of Prussia broke his promise to protect Poland’s independence. And it came when Prince Ludwig marched his Lithuanian troops away from battle.
But the campaign truly fell to pieces when certain magnates convinced the king he had no choice but to join the Confederacy of Targowica. The king’s own nephew, General Józef Poniatowski, who had overseen a fine victory at Zieleńce, resigned his commission in protest, along with General Kościuszko. Jan was glad his wound had kept him from Warsaw for that black day. Kościuszko had come back bowed, but not broken. Never broken, Jan thought, not Kościuszko.
Jan had spent much of ’93 in Paris with Kościuszko, who harbored hopes of enlisting the French in the Polish cause. The little general was a man who persevered. In time, however, word came that a new revolutionary spirit was afoot in Poland and they returned. Kraków was free because on the twelfth of the month General Madaliński took it back from the Russians.
General Kościuszko entered the square now and the crowd erupted in cheers, chants, and shouting. The pandemonium went on many minutes. Madaliński stood with him, and if he resented the fact that Kościuszko was stealing his thunder after only arriving the previous day, he didn’t show it.
Kościuszko walked to the middle of the square, not far from where Jan stood with his contingent. He wore his white striped long coat, white breeches, white shirt, red vest, and over the ruff at his neck lay the ribbon that held his Polish military cross. On his head he wore, as did Jan now, the four-cornered hat of the peasant, red with a black sheepskin rim at its base.
Why not take the hat of the peasant? Jan thought as he looked about at the masses. After all, the cause would be nothing without the peasants. There were thousands here with their scythes, ready to follow the little general.
The crowd grew hushed and the general spoke to their hearts, vowing to fight for the liberty, the integrity, the independence of his native land. He issued manifestoes to every class of man—for they were all here today—calling them forward to give unselfishly to the Commonwealth. It was his intention to “unite the hearts, hands, and endeavors of the whole land.”
Kościuszko then proclaimed the Act of Insurrection, taking on dictatorial powers and establishing a provisional constitution that granted freedom to the peasants and land to anyone who took up arms for the Commonwealth.
“Feel at last your strength,” he called, as if to the nation at large. “Put it wholly forth. Set your will on being free and independent. By unity and courage you shall reach this honored end. Prepare your soul for victories and defeats. In both, the spirit of true patriotism should maintain its strength and energy. All that remains to me is to praise your Rising, and to serve you so long as Heaven permits me to live!”
The little general raised his peasant cap in the air and the crowd roared wildly, lifting him aloft and carrying him away.
Jan twisted his own red four-cornered cap in his hand. His heart felt as if it would burst with pride.
If only Anna were here to see this, he thought. Anna, with her eyes like emerald lightning. And then the tears came.