"Very well. That is not a great number. Rouse the men! Stir the fire!"
The Cossacks sprang to their feet at once. The replenished fire blazed high, and lighted the boats and the handful of soldiers under the lieutenant. The guards ran up also to the circle.
Meanwhile the irregular steps of a crowd became distinctly audible. The steps stopped at a certain distance. Immediately some voice inquired in threatening accents,--
"Who is on shore?"
"And who are you?" answered the sergeant.
"Answer, son of the enemy! if not, we will inquire with a musket."
"His Highness, the envoy of Prince Yeremi Vishnyevetski, going to the koshevoi ataman," said the sergeant, with emphasis.
The voices in the crowd were silent; evidently there was a short consultation.
"But come here yourself," cried the sergeant; "don't be afraid! People do not fall upon envoys, and envoys do not attack."
Steps were heard again, and after a while a number of figures came out of the shadow. By the swarthy complexion, low stature, and skin coats with wool outside, the lieutenant knew from the first glance that most of them were Tartars; there were only a few Cossacks among them. The idea flashed like lightning through Skshetuski's brain that if the Tartars were in Hortitsa Hmelnitski had returned from the Crimea.