But on the trenches toward which Kmita was advancing shouts were heard also. A number of piles of wood were burning near them, casting around a strong light. By this light Pan Andrei saw infantry firing rarely, more occupied in looking in front at the field, where cavalry was fighting with volunteers. They saw him too from the trenches, but instead of firing they greeted the advancing body with a loud shout. The soldiers thought that Boguslav had sent them reinforcements. But when barely a hundred yards separated the approaching body from the trenches, the infantry began to move about unquietly; an increasing number of soldiers, shading their eyes with their hands, were looking to see what kind of people were coming. When fifty yards distant a fearful howl tore the air, and Kmita’s force rushed like a storm, took in the infantry, surrounded them like a ring, and that whole mass of men began to move convulsively. You would have said that a gigantic serpent was stifling a chosen victim. In this crowd piercing shouts were heard. “Allah!” “Herr Jesus!” “Mein Gott!” Behind the trenches new shouts went up; for the volunteers, though in weaker numbers, recognizing that Pan Babinich was in the trenches, pressed on the cavalry with fury. Meanwhile the sky, which had been cloudy for some time, as is common in spring, poured down a heavy, unexpected rain. The blazing fires were put out, and the battle went on in the darkness. But the battle did not last long. Attacked on a sudden, Boguslav’s infantry went under the knife. The cavalry, in which were many Poles, laid down their arms. The foreigners, namely, one hundred dragoons, were cut to pieces. When the moon came out again from behind the clouds, it lighted only crowds of Tartars finishing the wounded and taking plunder. But neither did that last long. The piercing sound of a pipe was heard; Tartars and volunteers as one man sprang to their horses. “After me!” cried Kmita. And he led them like a whirlwind to Yanov. A quarter of an hour later the ill-fated place was set on fire at four corners, and in an hour one sea of flame was spread as widely as Yanov extended. Above the conflagration pillars of fiery sparks were flying toward the ruddy sky. Thus did Kmita let the hetman know that he had taken the rear of Boguslav’s army. He himself like an executioner, red from the blood of men, marshalled his Tartars amid the fire, so as to lead them on farther. They were already in line and extending into column, when suddenly, on a field as bright as in day, from the fire, he saw before him a division of the elector’s gigantic cavalry. A knight led them, distinguishable from afar, for he wore silver-plate armor, and sat on a white horse. “Boguslav!” bellowed Kmita, with an unearthly voice, and rushed forward with his whole Tartar column.