“Twenty-five prisoners.”
“Did many escape?”
“All are taken.”
“Only send you, soldier, even to hell! Well done! Take them at once to the torture, I will examine them.”
Then the castellan turned, and when departing said,—
“But be in readiness, for perhaps we may move on the enemy without delay.”
“How is that?” asked Zagloba.
“Be quiet!” said Volodyovski.
The prisoners, without being burned, told in a moment what they knew of the forces of the markgraf,—how many cannons he had, what infantry and cavalry. Charnyetski grew somewhat thoughtful; for he learned that it was really a newly levied army, but formed of the oldest soldiers, who had taken part in God knows how many wars. There were also many Germans among them, and a considerable division of French; the whole force exceeded that of the Poles by several hundred. But it appeared from the statements of the prisoners that the markgraf did not even admit that Charnyetski was near, and believed that the Poles were besieging Karl Gustav with all their forces at Sandomir.
The castellan had barely heard this when he sprang up and cried to his attendant: “Vitovski, give command to sound the trumpet to horse!”