Suddenly, on the other side of the street, a new military meteor appeared to me. He was a Krakus(2) on a white horse, in a white _sukmana_(3), in a red cap with a white feather, which cut like a swan through black waves of crowding townsfolk. He turned his horse beautifully; he welcomed pedestrians with a nod, with cavalrymen squeezed hands, and to beautiful ladies, standing in windows, sent grateful kisses. All eyes turned towards him; men clapped, women smiled in silence; and the beautiful Krakus became the god of the moment. It came to my mind right away, that a Krakus’ uniform at my age and height would suit me better, and so my true calling manifested itself: God had made me a Krakus! So I turned in the direction of the cavalry barracks; but halfway across the road I fell into the immeasurable crowd who captured me into itself and bore towards the tollbooths. The people pressed to meet the newly approaching rows. A stranger figure rode at the front; it was it is an old Capuchin in habit and on a horse, in one hand a lance and the other blessing people with a cross, who kissed his legs. Behind the Capuchin followed a thousand archers from the Augustów forests. They had slung double-barrelled guns and badger skin bags with claws and bared teeth, whitening on green jackets. Another thousand villagers, armed with crooked scythes and axes, brought up the rear of the procession. Never had the entrance of the most beautiful regiments, even the entrance of Prince Józef at the head of victorious legions, aroused such enthusiasm, as this, with which the people of Warsaw greeted badger skin bags and bark clogs. Now there wasn’t applause, or smiles, but shouts, thundering hurrah! and blessings, mixed with loud crying. Because the people, surprised by their own instincts, could seize the noble and beautiful side of the image. At the sight of these priests, of these farmers who had left monastic cells and their forests, in order to beat the enemies of the homeland, people understood the whole horror of danger, and also comprehended with complete trust that it was the only means of defense. I was overcome by a sudden temptation to steal immediately behind the scythe or double-barrelled gun and to join the row with the peasants in order to share with them the triumphant entry to the capital. But how to do it? how to fit myself in with the bold and taunting movements of Mazowian scythe-bearers, or the grim expressions and wild shooters from the Nieman? How to match them in the height and breadth of their backs? amongst these giants I would look like a rabbit among wolves. So what will I do with myself? Should I be a Krakus, or a grenadier! This uncertainty cost me dearly. A colonel of my acquaintance met me in passing, and patting me on the shoulder, said: “I am in command of a guerrilla unit; some of my people have already left for the field, I myself am setting off today from Warsaw, I need gunners; perhaps you know where I can find them?”