Now the string sounded loudly, and the feathered arrow left the bow. No eye could catch its flight; but all saw perfectly how a sturdy janissary, standing at an oar, threw out his arms on a sudden, and turning on the spot, dropped into the river. The transparent surface spurted up from his weight; and Pan Mushalski said,—
“For thee, Didyuk.” Then he sought another arrow. “In honor of the hetman,” said he to his comrades. They held their breath; after a while the air whistled again, and a second janissary fell on the scow.
On all the scows the oars began to move more quickly; they struck the clear river vigorously; but the famous bowman turned with a smile to the little knight,—”In honor of the worthy wife of your grace!” A third time the bow was stretched; a third time he sent out a bitt
