This is an excerpt from "On the High Uplands: Sagas, Songs, Tales, and Legends of the Carpathians" by Stanisław Vincenz. It tells the story of an adventure had by a band of brigands led by Dmytryk Wasyluk.
On their way, not far from Kamenec upland, they had an extraordinary adventure. They saw a raging horse, bridled but unsaddled, tearing over the upland, neighing and squealing; after a moment or two they saw a fair-haired youth in his 'teens running after it, flying like the wind from a bear chasing both boy and horse.
Dmytryk rushed in front, with Kudil and Czuprej right behind him. Dmytryk had no weapons, but Kudil was carrying an enormous club of pine root studded with iron and stones. Czuprej had his army carbine and bayonet.
The old grey giant was a bear Dmytryk already knew; he was trundling along unhurriedly, as though jokingly pretending to hunt the lad, all his enormous body swaying, while the boy bawled and howled with terror.
In all Holowy and along the White River there was not a living soul who had not heard about that bear. He was the most powerful of all bears, the glory of the Highland wilds, menacing, determined and experienced. The old hunters even declared that he possessed the secret of magic, was impervious to bullets, and vanished unperceived when surrounded.
A quiet whisper ran through the company of youngsters: "It's the old father bear himself, the giant of the wilds."
They could feel glad that they had met him in the open field, on the upland. Even so, Kudil, realizing that the bear was only pretending to chase the boy, stopped running, knowing that as they had no adequate weapons it would be better to keep out of the old bear's way. Dmytryk also halted with Kudil. They shouted to Czuprej; but he paid no attention, clutched his cloak in one hand, carried his carbine as though going into a storming attack, and ran at the bear. He went so fast that his fair shock of hair waved and stood on end. He ran right up to the bear, which halted in astonishment on his hind paws. Taking no definite aim, carried on by the impetus of his run and the weight of his body, he thrust the whole length of his bayonet into the animal below the ribs. The blood spurted out. Now the game with the boy had ended. But a serious game had begun for the bear, and for Czuprej too. For when he tried to drag out the bayonet which he had thrust in so deep, the bear gave a thunderous roar and, turning the carbine as it stuck in his body, hurled himself on Czuprej until the ground drummed.
Czuprej was dragged and rolled over the ground, but he hung on desperately to the butt, opening the wound wider with the bayonet. Tearing it out at last, and rushing away as swiftly as he had run up, he fell, dropped the carbine, and fainted with exhaustion, or was stunned by the fall. And who knows what would have happened if Kudil had not run up at a measured pace, with the club raised above his head? He swung it and brought it down thunderously on the bear's skull, so that something cracked, then jumped away at once. He had given the monster a mighty blow, for the bear staggered. But he was not just any old bear, he was possessed of terrible strength. He recovered at once and gave tongue to a sullen roar while the blood spurted from his throat; then he let himself go in a terrible storm of indignation, complaining to all the upland wilds that such a fate should overtake its age-old hero. All the forests on the slopes began to howl in answer; but he flung himself at Kudil. Kudil withdrew adroitly, but he had barely leapt aside when with one mighty bound the bear, though bleeding heavily, was beside him again. So Kudil was forced to strike once more with the club, and he did not get a good swing to his arm. As the bear was no mean magician he avoided the blow as easily as if he were a man. The club struck the empty air, flew out of Kudil's hands, and rolled away. And in a moment the bear was upon his disarmed opponent.
But at that moment Dmytryk Wasyluk rose before him, shouting and cursing:
"Is it you? You're not the old hero of the uplands, you're a filthy boar, a treacherous Emperor's official. You charmed my heart in the spring, but now you want to tear christened men to pieces like carrion, do you? Clear out, or you'll get the dog's lot that's coming to you!"
Wasyluk threw back his wedding garment1 and stood naked, his hair blowing in the wind: he was so close to the animal that he flung his insults right into his muzzle, lashing the monster with the garment. Everything held its breath, no one stirred, and for a moment the bear halted. Perhaps he recalled his spring acquaintance with Dmytryk, perhaps even then Dmytryk had displayed his magic power, or perhaps the bear, the warrior of the wilds, also observed the young adventurers' custom not to fight anyone who did not have weapons. The struggle appeared to be broken off, everybody seemed to have decided not to fight the monster, and possibly he too had come to his senses. But now Kudil ran to his club, picked it up, and looked round. This exasperated the old bear and, avoiding Dmytryk, he again bounded with a vengeful groan towards Kudil, who fled deliberately, as though seeking a suitable spot from which to aim his blow. And then Wasyluk overtook the bear again, and barred his way. But, now possessed by the fever of battle, the bear opened his jaws and, rearing on his hind legs, roared right over Dmytryk's head. Dmytryk leapt at him like lightning, and thrust the thick, hairy wedding garment into his mouth. Gurgling and choking, the bear flung his arms round Wasyluk and was beginning to hug him when old Klem, a warrior every whit as good as the bear, leaped at him with a long knife, shouting insults, and thus turned the shaggy animal's frenzy on himself. And now unexpectedly Czuprej, who had recovered from his faint, rushed up and finished the animal off with one well-directed thrust of the bayonet into his heart.
The great warrior of the highland wilds was laid low, dragging Dmytryk down with him and coughing out the bloodstained wedding garment. As they lay on the ground Kudil took aim with his club, like an experienced woodcutter wielding his forest axe, and shattered the bear's skull. Urged on by Klem's shouts, others of the group rushed up with axes; but the bear was dead.
Only now were they able to think about the boy, and find out where he had come from. It transpired that Dmytryk's mother had come home to her cottage and, deciphering marks he had notched, had sent her nephew Grak-Januszewski, a boy of about sixteen, to Lodowa Baba with two horses loaded with food, gunpowder and clothing. The lad had sought Dmytryk in vain, and had wandered all over Lodowa Baba. The old bear had seen him, had stolen up closer, and had hurled himself on one of the horses. He had flung it down, broken its back-bone on the spot and started to drag it towards the forest. Grak had a miniature pistol, and at first he ran up to the bear quite boldly with it in his hand. This child was not content with wandering with two fattened nags1 into the old bear's realm, he even faced up to the grizzly old monster with his popgun, as though he were dealing with some bearling, some yearling, that goes wandering through the under-growth looking for berries and tasty sorrel, grumbling to himself and pretending to be a big bear. So, before the lad could even take aim, the harsh, shaggy old warrior, whom no animal, no other bear would even dare to look in the eyes, rushed at him. As is the bear's habit, he snorted at him with a powerful breath, and Grak at once let the pistol drop from his hand. The old forest wanderer was well acquainted with the human tribe, he at once noted the kind of human he had to deal with now. Terrifying the boy with a roar, he chased him a long distance, just to rob him of all desire to amuse himself with a pistol in future, or to attack the potentate, and to make sure that he, the bear, was left in peace to enjoy his well-earned prey. But he knew nothing about Czuprej, he knew nothing about the new band just being formed, which had taken the Highland wilds into its possession.
The youngsters greeted the boy with shouts; he was still trembling a little, weeping with fright and laughing with excitement. Then, standing in a ring round the dead bear, they all wondered at his enormous and powerful bulk. They flayed off his skin, cut out the heart and other parts good to eat, caught the other horse, loaded the rest of the stores on it and hastened with tumultuous shouting and singing to Dmytryk's winter hut. Kudil played on the pipe as gently and sweetly as though they had not just had a serious tussle with a bear, then as yearningly as though he were lamenting the dead forest hero. And Czuprej, though scratched and bruised, shouted and sang to the notes of the pipe:
"How many will there be, Wasyluk, in your company?"
The forests echoed back with innumerable voices, in terror and amazement, and Dmytryk himself answered him in song, composing the song which later was to become famous:
"As many as the leaves in my beech forest."
As Dmytryk's mother had sent all she could, when they reached the cave they feasted not only on fresh bear's meat baked over the fire, but on smoked ham, sheep's cheese, and unleavened cakes. They drank heavily of mead and smuggled Hungarian brandy. As a good omen, and to give themselves strength, they drank hot broth made from the bear's heart. After the meal they danced round the fire, raising their axes and throwing them from one to another. In robber fashion they fired their pistols as they danced.
And then it was that Dmytryk [inspired] in them that spark, that fearless daring, which people of settled life do not know, but which the sacred thunder had kindled in them. He taught them the song, the Hallooing Song, which he had heard from the old Czeremosz and its tributaries, the mountain waterfalls. There they sang it, there they hallooed by the lofty fir on Lodowa Baba, in the high upland:
"Hey, halloo we, halloooo...
We are youngsters daring,
Comrades menacing.
The waterfalls we capture
Thus in the dance, and bounding,
Like lynxes, while ever resounding,
Our halloo rises unending."
Thenceforth that was their song, the song of the Wasyluk band, right to the end of their wanderings.