After a march of three hours, the army came in sight of Volunna,
where the advanced column suddenly halted. Thaddeus, who was about a
half mile to its rear, with a throbbing heart heard that a momentous
pass must be disputed before they could proceed. He curbed his horse,
then gave it the spur, so eagerly did he wish to penetrate the cloud
of smoke which rose in volumes from the discharge of musketry, on
whose wing, at every round, he dreaded might be carried the fate of
his grandfather. At last the firing ceased, and the troops were
commanded to go forward. On approaching near the contested defile,
Thaddeus shuddered, for at every step the heels of his charger struck
upon the wounded or the dead. There lay his enemies, here lay his
friends! His respiration was nearly suspended, and his eyes clung to
the ground, expecting at each moment to fasten on the breathless body
of his grandfather.

Again the tumult of battle presented itself. About an hundred
soldiers, in one firm rank, stood at the opening of the pass, firing
on the now vacillating steadiness of the enemy. Thaddeus checked his
horse. Five hundred had been detached to this post; how few remained!
Could he hope that Sobieski had escaped so desperate a rencontre?
Fearing the worst, and dreading to have those fears confirmed, his
heart sickened when he received orders from Poniatowski to examine
the extent of the loss. He rode to the mouth of the defile. He could
nowhere see the palatine. A few of his hussars, a little in advance,
were engaged over a heap of the killed, defending it from a troop of
Cossacks, who appeared fighting for the barbarous privilege of
trampling on the bodies. At this sight Thaddeus, impelled by despair,
called out, "Courage, soldiers! The prince with artillery!" The
enemy, looking forward, saw the information was true, and with a
shout of derision, took to flight. Poniatowski, almost at the word,