square where on a post hung the kettle-drums which were generally beaten to summon the Council; not finding the sticks, which were always kept by the drummer, they seized a billet of wood, and began to thump. The first to respond to the drumbeat was the drummer, a tall man with but one eye, and a frightfully sleepy eye, at that.
"Who dares to beat the drum?" he shouted.
"Hold your tongue! Take your sticks, and beat when you're ordered!" replied the drunken men.
The drummer immediately took from his pocket the sticks which he had brought with him, being very well aware what would be the result of such proceedings. The drums began to thunder, and ere long black bunches of kazáks began to collect, like swarms of bees, in the square. All formed in a ring: and, at last, after the third summons, the chiefs began to arrive,—the Koshevói with his mace, the symbol of his office, in his hand; the Judge, with the seal of the Army; the Scribe, with his inkhorn; and the Yesaúl with his staff. The Koshevói and the chiefs doffed their caps, and bowed on all sides to the kazáks, who stood proudly, with their arms akimbo.
"What means this assemblage? What is your wish, noble sirs?" said the Koshevói. Shouts and abuse interrupted his speech.
