“But who is the oldest here?” asked many voices.
“Uncle is the oldest,” cried suddenly Roh Kovalski, with such a thundering voice that all turned toward him.
“It is a pity that he has no squadron!” said Yahovich, Jyromski’s lieutenant.
But others began to cry: “Well, what of that? Are we bound to choose only a colonel? Is not the election in our power? Is this not free suffrage? Any noble may be elected king, not merely commander.”
Then Pan Lipnitski, as he did not favor Jyromski, and wished by all means to prevent his election, raised his voice,—
“As true as life! You are free, gracious gentlemen, to vote as may please you. If you do not choose a colonel, it will be better; for there will be no offence to any man, nor will there be jealousy.”
Then came a terrible uproar. Many voices cried, “To the vote! to the vote!” but others, “Who here is more famous than Pan Zagloba? Who is a greater knight? Who is a more experienced soldier? We want Pan Zagloba! Long life to him! Long life to our commander!”
“Long life to Pan Zagloba! long life to him!” roared more and more throats.
“To the sabres with the stubborn!” cried the more quarrelsome.
“There is no opposition! By acclamation!” answered crowds.