“Thou art he, O hell-dweller, traitor! Thou art that Satan in person! Once thou didst slip from my hands, and now thou art hurrying in disguise to the Swedes. Thou art that Judas, that torturer of women and men! I have thee!”
So saying, he seized Pan Andrei by the shoulder; but Pan Andrei seized him. First, however, the two young Kyemliches, Kosma and Damian, had risen from the bench, almost touching the ceiling with their bushy heads, and Kosma asked—
“Shall we pound, father?”
“Pound!” answered old Kyemlich, unsheathing his sabre.
The doors burst open, and Yuzva’s soldiers rushed in; but behind them, almost on their necks, came Kyemlich’s men.
Yuzva caught Pan Andrei by the shoulder, and in his right hand held a naked rapier, making a whirlwind and lightning with it around himself. But Pan Andrei, though he had not the gigantic strength of his enemy, seized Butrym’s throat as if in a vice. Yuzva’s eyes were coming out; he tried to stun Kmita with the hilt of his rapier, but did not succeed, for Kmita thundered first on his forehead with the hilt of his sabre. Yuzva’s fingers, holding the shoulder of his opponent, opened at once; he tottered and bent backward under the blow. To make room for a second blow, Kmita pushed him again, and slashed him with full sweep on the face with his sabre. Yuzva fell on his back like an oak-tree, striking the floor with his skull.
“Strike!” cried Kmita, in whom was roused, in one moment, the old fighting spirit.
But he had no need to urge, for it was boiling in the room, as in a pot. The two young Kyemliches slashed with their sabres, and at times butted with their heads, like a pair of bullocks, putting down a man with each blow; after them advanced their old father, bending every moment to the floor, half closing his eyes, and thrusting quickly the point of his weapon under the arms of his sons.
But Soroka, accustomed to fighting in inns and close quarters, spread the greatest destruction. He pressed his opponents so sorely that they could not reach him with a blade; and when he had discharged his pistols in the crowd, he smashed heads with the butts of the pistols, crushing noses, knocking out teeth and eyes. Kyemlich’s servants and Kmita’s two soldiers aided their masters.
The fight moved from the table to the upper end of the room. The Lauda men defended themselves with rage; but from the moment that Kmita, having finished Yuzva, sprang into the fight and stretched out another Butrym, the victory began to incline to his side.
Jendzian’s servants also sprang into the room with sabres and guns; but though their master cried, “Strike!” they were at a loss what to do, for they could not distinguish one side from the other, since the Lauda men wore no uniforms, and in the disturbance the starosta’s young men were punished by both sides.
Jendzian held himself carefully outside the battle, wishing to recognize Kmita, and point him out for a shot; but by the faint light of the fire Kmita vanished time after time from his eye—at one instant springing to view as red as a devil, then again lost in darkness.
Resistance on the part of the Lauda men grew weaker and weaker, for the fall of Yuzva and the terrible name of Kmita had lessened their courage; still they fought on with rage. Meanwhile the innkeeper went past the strugglers quietly with a bucket of water in his hand and dashed it on the fire. In the room followed black darkness; the strugglers gathered into such a dense crowd that they could strike with fists only; after a while cries ceased; only panting breaths could be heard, and the orderless stamp of boots. Through the door, then flung open, sprang first Jendzian’s people, after them the Lauda men, then Kmita’s attendants.
Pursuit began in the first room, in the bins before the house, and in the shed. Some shots were heard; then uproar and the noise of horses. A battle began at Jendzian’s wagons, under which his people hid themselves; the Lauda men too sought refuge there, and Jendzian’s people, taking them for the other party, fired at them a number of times.
“Surrender!” cried old Kyemlich, thrusting the point of his sabre between the spokes of the wagon and stabbing at random the men crouched beneath.
“Stop! we surrender!” answered a number of voices.
Then the people from Vansosh threw from under the wagon their sabres and guns; after that the young Kyemliches began to drag them out by the hair, till the old man cried—
“To the wagons! take what comes under your hands! Quick! quick! to the wagons!”
The young men did not let the command be given thrice, but rushed to untie the coverings, from beneath which the swollen sides of Jendzian’s sacks appeared. They had begun to throw out the sacks, when suddenly Kmita’s voice thundered—
“Stop!”
And Kmita, supporting his command by his hand, fell to slashing them with the flat of his bloody sabre.
Kosma and Damian sprang quickly aside.
“Cannot we take them, your grace?” asked the old man, submissively.
“Stand back!” cried Kmita. “Find the starosta for me.”
Kosma and Damian rushed to the search in a moment, and behind them their father; in a quarter of an hour they came bringing Jendzian, who, when he saw Kmita, bowed low and said—
“With the permission of your grace, I will say that wrong is done me here, for I did not attack any man, and to visit acquaintances, as I am going to do, is free to all.”
Kmita, resting on his sabre, breathed heavily and was silent; Jendzian continued—
“I did no harm here either to the Swedes or the prince hetman. I was only going to Pan Volodyovski, my old acquaintance; we campaigned together in Russia. Why should I seek a quarrel? I have not been in Kyedani, and what took place there is nothing to me. I am
