At that time the Poles saw from the bastion of the castle that cavalry was approaching from the direction of Kamenyets. Hearing this, Lantskoronski went out on the bastion himself, with a field-glass, and looked long and carefully. At last he said—
“That is light cavalry from the Hreptyoff garrison; the same cavalry with which Vasilkovski went to Hrynchuk. Clearly they have sent him out this time. I see volunteers. It must be Humyetski!
“Praise be to God!” cried he, after a while. “Volodyovski himself is there, for I see dragoons. Gracious gentlemen, let us rush out again from behind the walls, and with God’s help, we will drive the enemy, not only from the town, but from this side of the river.”
Then he ran down with what breath he had, to draw up his men of Kiev and the squadron. Meanwhile the Tartars first in the town saw the approaching squadron, and shouting shrilly, “Allah!” began to gather in a chambul. Drums and whistles were heard in all the streets. The janissaries stood in order with that quickness in which few infantry on earth could compare with them.
The chambul flew out of the place as if blown by a whirlwind, and struck the light squadron. The chambul itself, not counting the Lithuanian Tartars, whom Lantskoronski had injured considerably, was three times more numerous than the garrison of Jvanyets and the approaching squadrons of reinforcement, hence it did not hesitate to spring on Pan Vasilkovski; but Pan Vasilkovski, a young, irrepressible man, who hurled himself against every danger with as much eagerness as blindness, commanded his soldiers to go at the highest speed, and flew on like a column of wind, not even observing the number of the enemy. Such daring troubled the Tartars, who had no liking whatever for hand-to-hand combat. Notwithstanding the shouting of murzas riding in the rear, the shrill whistle of pipes, and the roaring sound of drums calling to “kesim,”—that is, to hewing heads from unbelievers—they began to rein in, and hold back their horses. Evidently the hearts grew faint in them every moment, as did also their eagerness. Finally, at the distance of a bow-shot from the squadron, they opened on two sides, and sent a shower of arrows at the onrushing cavalry.
Pan Vasilkovski, knowing nothing of the janissaries, who had formed beyond the houses toward the river, rushed with undiminished speed behind the Tartars, or rather behind one half the chambul. He came up, closed, and fell to slashing down those who, having inferior horses, could not flee quickly. The second half of the chambul turned then, wishing to surround him; but at that moment the volunteers rushed up, and the chamberlain came with his men of Kiev. The Tartars, pressed on so many sides, scattered like sand, and then began a rushing about—that is, the pursuit of a group by a group, of a man by a man—in which many of the horde fell, especially by the hand of Pan Vasilkovski, who struck blindly at whole crowds, just as a lark-falcon strikes sparrows or bunting.
But Pan Michael, a cool and keen soldier, did not let the dragoons out of his hand. Like a hunter who holds trained, eager dogs in strong leashes, not letting them go at a common beast, but only when he sees the flashing eyes and white teeth of a savage old boar, so the little knight, despising the fickle horde, was watching to see if spahis, janissaries, or some other chosen cavalry were not behind them.
Pan Lantskoronski rushed to him with his men of Kiev.
“My benefactor,” cried he, “the janissaries are moving toward the river; let us press them!”
Pan Michael drew his rapier and commanded, “Forward!”
Each dragoon drew in his reins, so as to have his horse in hand; then the rank bent a little, and moved forward as regularly as if on parade. They went first at a trot, then at a gallop, but did not let their horses go yet at highest speed. Only when they had passed the houses built toward the water, east of the castle, did they see the white felt caps of the janissaries, and know that they had to do not with volunteer, but with regular janissaries.
“Strike!” cried Volodyovski.
The horses stretched themselves, almost rubbing the ground with their bellies, and hurled back lumps of hard earth with their hoofs.
The janissaries, not knowing what power was approaching to the succor of Jvanyets, were really withdrawing toward the river. One detachment, numbering two hundred and some tens of men, was already at the bank, and its first ranks were stepping onto scows; another detachment of equal force was going quickly, but in perfect order. When they saw the approaching cavalry they halted, and in one instant turned their faces to the enemy. Their muskets were lowered in a line, and a salvo thundered as at a review. What is more, these hardened warriors, considering that their comrades at the shore would support them with musketry, not only did not retreat after the volley, but shouted, and following their own smoke, struck in fury with their sabres on the cavalry. That was daring of which the janissaries alone were capable, but for which they paid dearly, because the riders, unable to restrain the horses, even had they the wish, struck them as a hammer strikes, and breaking them in a moment, scattered destruction and terror. The first rank fell under the force of the blow, as grain under a whirlwind. It is true that many fell only from the impetus, and these, springing
