“Still I would have those soldiers shot!” muttered Mirski.
Meanwhile Kovalski, seeing that his own men had left him, turned his horse to the attacking ranks.
“For me death is there!” cried he, with a terrible voice.
And he sprang at them, like a thunderbolt. But before he had passed half the distance a shot rattled from Zagloba’s ranks.
Pan Roh’s horse thrust his nose into the dust and fell, throwing his rider. At the same moment a soldier of Volodyovski’s squadron pushed forward like lightning, and caught by the shoulder the officer rising from the ground.
“That is Yuzva Butrym,” cried Volodyovski, “Yuzva Footless!”
Pan Roh in his turn seized Yuzva by the skirt, and the skirt remained in his hand; then they struggled like two enraged falcons, for both had gigantic strength. Butrym’s stirrup broke; he fell to the ground and turned over, but he did not let Pan Roh go, and both formed as it were one ball, which rolled along the road.
Others ran up. About twenty hands seized Kovalski, who tore and dragged like a bear in a net; he hurled men around, as a wild boar hurls dogs; he raised himself again and did not give up the battle. He wanted to die, but he heard tens of voices repeating the words, “Take him alive! take him alive!” At last his strength forsook him, and he fainted.
Meanwhile Zagloba was at the wagon, or rather on the wagon, and had seized in his embraces Pan Yan, the little knight, Mirski, Stankyevich, and Oskyerko, calling with panting voice,—
“Ha! Zagloba was good for something! Now we will give it to that Radzivill. We are free gentlemen, and we have men. We’ll go straightway to ravage his property. Well! did the stratagem succeed? I should have got you out,—if not in one way, in another. I am so blown that I can barely draw breath. Now for Radzivill’s property, gracious gentlemen, now for Radzivill’s property! You do not know yet as much of Radzivill as I do!”