The soldiers then exhibited themselves, each with what he could do; the Kyemliches, Kosma, and Damian, immense and awkward figures, amused the king by breaking horseshoes, which they broke like canes; he paid them a thaler apiece, though his wallet was empty enough, for all his money, and even the diamonds and “parafanaly” (paraphernalia) of the queen, had been spent on the army.
Pan Andrei exhibited himself by throwing a heavy hatchet, which he hurled upward with such force that it was barely visible, and then he sprang under the instrument with his horse and caught it by the handle as it fell. At sight of this the king clapped his hands.
“I saw that done,” said he, “by Pan Slushka, brother of the vice-chancellor’s wife, but he threw not so high by half.”
“This is customary with us in Lithuania,” said Pan Andrei; “and when a man practises it from childhood he becomes skilful.”
“Whence have you those scars across the lip?” asked the king of him once, pointing to Kmita’s scars. “Some one went through you well with a sabre.”
“That is not from a sabre, Gracious Lord, but from a bullet. I was fired at by a man who put the pistol to my mouth.”
“An enemy or one of ours?”
“One of ours; but an enemy whom I shall yet call to account, and till that happens it is not proper for me to speak of it.”
“Have you such animosity as that?”
“I have no animosity, Gracious Lord, for on my head I bear a still deeper scar from a sabre, through which cut my soul almost left me; but since an honorable man did it I harbor no offence against him.” Kmita removed his cap and showed the king a deep furrow, the white edges of which were perfectly visible. “I am not ashamed of this wound,” said he, “for it was given me by such a master that there is not another like him in the Commonwealth.”