been known to make a show of wild beasts; now
"wild beasts showed off the man."[1] At these interviews no free speech
was possible between the fellow-Poles, as the guards were always
present. They could only exchange the sympathy of sorrowing looks and
equally sad, but guarded, words.

[Footnote 1: J. Niemcewicz, _op. cit_.]

So long as the army marched through Poland, Kosciuszko had the mournful
satisfaction of receiving here and there on the road some last token of
recognition and honour from his compatriots. At one spot where the
Russian officers quartered themselves on the castle of the Sanguszkos,
while Kosciuszko and his companions were lodged in the wretched village
inn, the Princess, unable to show her compassion in any other way,
provided the Poles with all their meals, prepared by her _chef_. Another
Polish princess, whose mansion was twenty miles distant, and who was no
other than Ludwika Lubomirska, sent over her young son with clothes and
books for the prisoners. They were still in this village when a courier
arrived, bearing the news of the fall of Warsaw, and of the massacre of
Praga which has gained for the name of Suvorov its eternal infamy in the
history of Poland. Thirteen thousand of the civilian inhabitants of
Warsaw, men, women, and children, were put to the sword, immolated in
the flames, or drowned in the Vistula as they fled over a broken bridge
before the fury of the Russian soldiers. Thus ended the Rising of
Kosciuszko. If under one aspect it closed in failure, on the other side
it had proved to the admiration and belated sympathy of all Europe how
Poles could fight for freedom. Moreover, it laid the foundation for
those later Polish insurrections in the cause of liberty which, no less
heroic than the Rising of Kosciuszko, and with a sequel as tragic, are
honoured among the world's splendid outbursts of nationalism.

Following close on this blow came painful partings between Kosciuszko
and his devoted comrades, Kniaziewicz, Kopec, and the remaining Polish
officers. Kosciuszko, with Niemcewicz and Fiszer, were separated from
the main army, and sent on under the escort of a small body of Russian
officers and soldiers. With hearts torn by grief they said farewell to
their friends, never expecting to see them again. Haunted by the thought
of the unknown fate before them and by the terrible news from their
country, they set out through a snowstorm that blotted out all
discernible objects, the hor