He gave his orders with intrepid coolness--though under a shower of
musketry and a cannonade which carried death in every round--that
they should draw off towards the flank of the battery. He thought not
of himself; and in a few minutes the scattered soldiers were
consolidated into a close body, squared with pikemen, who stood like
a grove of pines in a day of tempest, only moving their heads and
arms. Many of the Russian horse impaled themselves on the sides of
this little phalanx, which they vainly attempted to shake, although
the ordnance was rapidly weakening its strength. File after file the
men were swept down, their bodies making a horrid rampart for their
resolute brothers in arms, who, however, rendered desperate, at last
threw away their most cumbrous accoutrements, and crying to their
leader, "Freedom or death!" followed him sword in hand, and bearing
like a torrent upon the enemy's ranks, cut their way through the
forest. The Russians, exasperated that their prey should not only
escape, but escape by such dauntless valor, hung closely on their
rear, goading them with musketry, whilst they (like a wounded lion
closely pressed by the hunters, retreats, yet stands proudly at bay)
gradually retired towards the camp with a backward step, their faces
towards the foe.
Meanwhile the palatine Sobieski, anxious for the fate of the day,
mounted the dyke, and looked eagerly around for the arrival of some
messenger from the little army.
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