"Come away! Let the dogs gnaw on where they are!"
"Wait!" answered Volodyovski. They began to count the machines, as new ones appeared in the cut.
"One, two, three--it is evident they have no small supply--four, five, six--they are coming yet--seven, eight--they can kill a dog on our square, for there must be splendid marksmen there--nine, ten--evident as on your hand, for the sun shines on it--eleven--" All at once Pan Michael stopped counting. "What is that?" he asked, in a voice of amazement.
"Where?"
"There on the highest one--a man is hanging!"
Zagloba strained his glance. Indeed, on the highest machine the sun was shining on the naked body of a man, swaying on a rope with the movement of the machine, like a great pendulum.
"True," said Zagloba.
Then Volodyovski grew pale as a sheet, and cried with a terrified voice: "Almighty God! it is Podbipienta!"
A murmur rose on the ramparts like wind through the leaves of trees, Zagloba bent his head, covered his eyes with his hands, and whispered with blue lips, groaning: "Jesus, Mary! Jesus, Mary!"
The murmur changed into a noise of confused words, and then into a roar as of a stormy sea. The men on the ramparts saw that by that infamous cord was hanging the comrade of their sufferings, a knight without reproach. All knew that that was Pan Longin Podbipienta, and terrible anger began to raise the hair on the heads of the soldiers.