"I should like to see them singe our scalp locks!" said Popovitch, prancing about before them on his horse; and then, glancing at his comrades, he added, "Well, perhaps the Lyakhs speak the truth: if that fat-bellied fellow leads them, they will all find a good shelter.""Why do you think they will find a good shelter?" asked the Cossacks, knowing that Popovitch was probably preparing some repartee.
"Because the whole army will hide behind him; and the devil himself couldn't help you to reach any one with your spear through that belly of his!"The Cossacks laughed, some of them shaking their heads and saying, "What a fellow Popovitch is for a joke! but now--" But the Cossacks had not time to explain what they meant by that "now.""Fall back, fall back quickly from the wall!" shouted the Koschevoi, seeing that the Lyakhs could not endure these biting words, and that the colonel was waving his hand.
The Cossacks had hardly retreated from the wall before the grape-shot rained down.On the ramparts all was excitement, and the grey-haired Waiwode himself appeared on horseback.The gates opened and the garrison sallied forth.In the van came hussars in orderly ranks, behind them the horsemen in armour, and then the heroes in brazen helmets; after whom rode singly the highest nobility, each man accoutred as he pleased.These haughty nobles would not mingle in the ranks with others, and such of them as had no commands rode apart with their own immediate following.Next came some more companies, and after these the cornet, then more files of men, and the stout colonel;and in the rear of the whole force the little colonel.
"Keep them from forming in line!" shouted the Koschevoi; "let all the kurens attack them at once! Block the other gate! Titarevsky kuren, fall on one flank! Dyadovsky kuren, charge on the other! Attack them in the rear, Kukubenko and Palivod! Check them, break them!" The Cossacks attacked on all sides, throwing the Lyakhs into confusion and getting confused themselves.They did not even give the foe time to fire, it came to swords and spears at once.All fought hand to hand, and each man had an opportunity to distinguish himself.
Demid Popovitch speared three soldiers, and struck two of the highest nobles from their saddles, saying, "Good horses! I have long wanted just such horses." And he drove the horses far afield, shouting to the Cossacks standing about to catch them.Then he rushed again into the fray, fell upon the dismounted nobles, slew one, and throwing his lasso round the neck of the other, tied him to his saddle and dragged him over the plain, after having taken from him his sword from its rich hilt and removed from his girdle a whole bag of ducats.
Kobita, a good Cossack, though still very young, attacked one of the bravest men in the Polish army, and they fought long together.They grappled, and the Cossack mastering his foe, and throwing him down, stabbed him in the breast with his sharp Turkish knife.But he did not look out for himself, and a bullet struck him on the temple.The man who struck him down was the most distinguished of the nobles, the handsomest scion of an ancient and princely race.Like a stately poplar, he bestrode his dun-coloured steed, and many heroic deeds did he perform.He cut two Cossacks in twain.Fedor Korzh, the brave Cossack, he overthrew together with his horse, shooting the steed and picking off the rider with his spear.Many heads and hands did he hew off; and slew Kobita by sending a bullet through his temple.
"There's a man I should like to measure strength with!" shouted Kukubenko, the hetman of the Nezamaikovsky kuren.Spurring his horse, he dashed straight at the Pole's back, shouting loudly, so that all who stood near shuddered at the unearthly yell.The boyard tried to wheel his horse suddenly and face him, but his horse would not obey him; scared by the terrible cry, it bounded aside, and the Lyakh received Kukubenko's fire.The ball struck him in the shoulder-blade, and he rolled from his saddle.Even then he did not surrender and strove to deal his enemy a blow, but his hand was weak.Kukubenko, taking his heavy sword in both hands, thrust it through his mouth.The sword, breaking out two teeth, cut the tongue in twain, pierced the windpipe, and penetrated deep into the earth, nailing him to the ground.His noble blood, red as viburnum berries beside the river, welled forth in a stream staining his yellow, gold-embroidered caftan.
But Kukubenko had already left him, and was forcing his way, with his Nezamaikovsky kuren, towards another group.
"He has left untouched rich plunder," said Borodaty, hetman of the Oumansky kuren, leaving his men and going to the place where the nobleman killed by Kukubenko lay."I have killed seven nobles with my own hand, but such spoil I never beheld on any one." Prompted by greed, Borodaty bent down to strip off the rich armour, and had already secured the Turkish knife set with precious stones, and taken from the foe's belt a purse of ducats, and from his breast a silver case containing a maiden's curl, cherished tenderly as a love-token.
But he heeded not how the red-faced cornet, whom he had already once hurled from the saddle and given a good blow as a remembrance, flew upon him from behind.The cornet swung his arm with all his might, and brought his sword down upon Borodaty's bent neck.Greed led to no good: the head rolled off, and the body fell headless, sprinkling the earth with blood far and wide; whilst the Cossack soul ascended, indignant and surprised at having so soon quitted so stout a frame.
The cornet had not succeeded in seizing the hetman's head by its scalp-lock, and fastening it to his saddle, before an avenger had arrived.
