But from the side of the river no one came with assistance.
The enemy had let Kmita pass the ford purposely, and then covered the ford with such a dreadful shower from cannons and muskets that no living foot could pass through it.
The troops of Pan Korsak tried first, and turned back in disorder; next the squadron of Voynillovich went to the middle of the ford, and turned back,—slowly, it is true, for that was the king’s regiment, one of the most valiant in the army, but with a loss of twelve noted nobles and nineteen soldiers.
The water in the ford which was the only passage through the river was plashing under the blows of balls as under a dense pouring rain. Cannon-balls flew to the other bank, casting around clouds of sand.
Gosyevski himself rode up on a gallop, and when he had seen this, he knew that it was impossible for one living man to reach the opposite bank.
And still that might decide the fate of the battle. Then the forehead of the hetman frowned sternly. For a while he looked through his glass along the whole line of the enemy’s troops, and cried to the orderly,—
“Rush to Hassan Bey; let the horde pass the deep bank as it can, and strike the tabor. What they find in the wagons will be theirs! There are no cannon there; it will be only hand to hand.”
The horseman sprang forward with what breath was in his horse; but the hetman advanced to where under willows on the meadow stood the Lauda squadron, and halted before it.
Volodyovski was at the head of the squadron, gloomy and silent; but he looked in the eyes of the hetman, and his mustaches quivered.
“What do you think?” asked the hetman; “will the Tartars cross?”