“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. Kirdyanga, a very old but wise Cossack, had been sitting for some time in his kuren, as if he knew nothing of what was going on. “What is it, gentles? What do you wish?” he inquired. “Come, they have chosen you for Koschevoi.” “Have mercy, gentles!” said Kirdyanga. “How can I be worthy of such honour? Why should I be made Koschevoi? I have not sufficient capacity to fill such a post. Could no better person be found in all the army?” “Come, I say!” shouted the Zaporozhtzi. Two of them seized him by the arms; and in spite of his planting his feet firmly they finally dragged him to the square, accompanying his progress with shouts, blows from behind with their fists, kicks, and exhortations. “Don’t hold back, you son of Satan! Accept the honour, you dog, when it is given!” In this manner Kirdyanga was conducted into the ring of Cossacks. “How now, gentles?” announced those who had brought him, “are you agreed that this Cossack shall be your Koschevoi?” “We are all agreed!” shouted the throng, and the whole plain trembled for a long time afterwards from the shout.