The doobish complied at once, and took out the sticks, which he had brought in his pocket, being well acquainted with the usual end of such occurrences. The kettle-drums resounded, and soon dark crowds of Zaporoghians were seen swarming like bees into the square. All assembled in a circle, and after the third beating of the drum, came at last the chiefs: the Koschevoï with the mace, token of his dignity; the judge, with the seal of the Ssiecha; the secretary, with his inkstand, and the essaool with the staff. The Koschevoï, and the other dignitaries, took off their caps, and bowed on every side to the Cossacks, who stood haughtily holding their arms a-kimbo.
"What means this assembly? What do you wish, gentlemen?" said the Koschevoï.
Clamours and scolding words put a stop to his speech.
"Lay down thy mace, lay it down directly, devil's son!—we do not want thee any more!" shrieked some Cossacks from the crowd. Some of the sober koorens seemed to resist, but tipsy and sober koorens came to blows. The shouts and noise became general.
The Koschevoï tried to speak, but knowing that the infuriated self-willed crowd might perhaps beat him to death for it, and that such was almost always the end of such riots, he bowed very low, laid down the mace, and disappeared among the people.
"Do you order, gentlemen, that we too lay down the tokens of our rank?" said the judge, the secretary, and the essaool, ready to resign the seal, the inkstand, and the staff.
"Not you; you may remain; we only wanted to drive away the Koschevoï, because he is an old woman, and we need a man for a Koschevoï!"
"Whom will you choose for your Koschevoï?" asked the dignitaries.
"Choose Kookoobenko!" cried one side.
"We will not have Kookoobenko!" cried the other. "'Tis early for him; his mother's milk is yet wet upon his lips!"