Not finding the sticks, which were kept by the drummer, they seized a piece of wood and began to beat.The first to respond to the drum-beat was the drummer, a tall man with but one eye, but a frightfully sleepy one for all that.
"Who dares to beat the drum?" he shouted.
"Hold your tongue! take your sticks, and beat when you are ordered!"replied the drunken men.
The drummer at once took from his pocket the sticks which he had brought with him, well knowing the result of such proceedings.The drum rattled, and soon black swarms of Cossacks began to collect like bees in the square.All formed in a ring; and at length, after the third summons, the chiefs began to arrive--the Koschevoi with staff in hand, the symbol of his office; the judge with the army-seal; the secretary with his ink-bottle; and the osaul with his staff.The Koschevoi and the chiefs took off their caps and bowed on all sides to the Cossacks, who stood proudly with their arms akimbo.
"What means this assemblage? what do you wish, gentles?" said the Koschevoi.Shouts and exclamations interrupted his speech.
"Resign your staff! resign your staff this moment, you son of Satan!
we will have you no longer!" shouted some of the Cossacks in the crowd.Some of the sober ones appeared to wish to oppose this, but both sober and drunken fell to blows.The shouting and uproar became universal.
The Koschevoi attempted to speak; but knowing that the self-willed multitude, if enraged, might beat him to death, as almost always happened in such cases, he bowed very low, laid down his staff, and hid himself in the crowd.
"Do you command us, gentles, to resign our insignia of office?" said the judge, the secretary, and the osaul, as they prepared to give up the ink-horn, army-seal, and staff, upon the spot.
"No, you are to remain!" was shouted from the crowd."We only wanted to drive out the Koschevoi because he is a woman, and we want a man for Koschevoi.""Whom do you now elect as Koschevoi?" asked the chiefs.
"We choose Kukubenko," shouted some.
"We won't have Kukubenko!" screamed another party: "he is too young;the milk has not dried off his lips yet."
"Let Schilo be hetman!" shouted some: "make Schilo our Koschevoi!""Away with your Schilo!" yelled the crowd; "what kind of a Cossack is he who is as thievish as a Tatar? To the devil in a sack with your drunken Schilo!""Borodaty! let us make Borodaty our Koschevoi!""We won't have Borodaty! To the evil one's mother with Borodaty!""Shout Kirdyanga!" whispered Taras Bulba to several.
"Kirdyanga, Kirdyanga!" shouted the crowd."Borodaty, Borodaty!
Kirdyanga, Kirdyanga! Schilo! Away with Schilo! Kirdyanga!"All the candidates, on hearing their names mentioned, quitted the crowd, in order not to give any one a chance of supposing that they were personally assisting in their election.
"Kirdyanga, Kirdyanga!" echoed more strongly than the rest.
"Borodaty!"
They proceeded to decide the matter by a show of hands, and Kirdyanga won.
"Fetch Kirdyanga!" they shouted.Half a score of Cossacks immediately left the crowd--some of them hardly able to keep their feet, to such an extent had they drunk--and went directly to Kirdyanga to inform him of his election.
