Zagloba hurried to catch his breath, and said, with chattering teeth and broken voice,—
“For God’s sake! The cold wind is blowing on me, and I am all in a sweat. Paralysis will strike me. Pull the clothes off some fat Swede and give them to me, for everything on me is wet,—wet, and it is wet in this place. I know not what is water, what is my own sweat, and what is Swedish blood. If I have ever expected in my life to cut down so many of those scoundrels, I am not fit to be the crupper of a saddle. The greatest victory of this war! But I will not spring into water a second time. Eat not, drink not, sleep not, and then a bath! I have had enough in my old years. My hand is benumbed; paralysis has struck me already; gorailka, for the dear God!”
Charnyetski, hearing this, and seeing the old man really covered completely with the blood of the enemy, took pity on his age and gave him his own canteen.
Zagloba raised it to his mouth, and after a while returned it empty; then he said,—
“I have gulped so much water in the Pilitsa, that we shall soon see how fish will hatch in my stomach; but that gorailka is better than water.”
“Dress in other clothes, even Swedish,” said Charnyetski.
“I’ll find a big Swede for Uncle!” said Roh.
“Why should I have bloody clothes from a corpse?” said Zagloba; “take off everything to the shirt from that general whom I captured.”
“Have you taken a general?” asked Charnyetski, with animation.
“Whom have I not taken, whom have I not slain?” answered Zagloba.