And so they continued for a good while without result, for no man pushed forward from the ranks. One looked at another. There were those who desired to go and had no fear of the Swedes, but indecision restrained them. More than one nudged his neighbor and said, “Go you, and then I’ll go.” The captains were growing impatient, till all at once, when they had ridden up to the district of Gnyezno, a certain man dressed in many colors sprang forth on a hoop, not from the line but from behind the line, and cried,—
“Gracious gentlemen of the militia, I’ll be the volunteer and ye will be jesters!”
“Ostrojka! Ostrojka!” cried the nobles.
“I am just as good a noble as any of you!” answered the jester.
“Tfu! to a hundred devils!” cried Pan Rosinski; under-judge, “a truce to jesting! I will go.”
“And I! and I!” cried numerous voices.
“Once my mother bore me, once for me is death!”
“As good as thou will be found!”
“Freedom to each. Let no man here exalt himself above others.”
And as no one had come forth before, so now nobles began to rush out from every district, spurring forward their horses, disputing with one another and fighting to advance. In the twinkle of an eye there were five hundred horsemen, and still they were riding forth from the ranks. Pan Skorashevski began to laugh with his honest, open laugh.