Bagrationi had sent elite Royal Cavalry, whose quality was far beyond anything the Cossacks could match.
Yet Madalinski and his soldiers resolutely used their bayonets to withstand the repeated charges of those thousand cavalrymen. Though casualties mounted without cease, they did not yield an inch.
Not until more than half a day had passed did the Russian cavalry realize they could not bite through this Polish Infantry force, and they planned to use a gap beside the river valley to bypass them.
But two imposing Winged Hussar Squadrons immediately blocked their path.
Then, with the Polish Infantry joining in a flanking attack, forty or fifty Russians were killed on the spot.
The next day, having suffered losses, the Russian cavalry paused its assault.
At three in the afternoon, nearly another thousand Russian cavalrymen arrived from north of Bryansk.
It turned out that the Russian cavalry commander had already sent someone to request reinforcements from Bagrationi the night before last.
In fact, several thousand Russian Army infantrymen were still behind them, marching along the road eight versts—eight and a half kilometers—from here.
Before dusk fell, two thousand Russian cavalrymen once again charged the defensive line under Madalinski's command.
Since they had not been equipped with cannon—Madalinski knew the cannon were the main force's hope for taking Kursk Fortress, so he had not requested Artillery support—their ability to inflict casualties on the enemy cavalry was extremely limited. The Poles could only keep contracting their line to fill the gaps left by their losses.
Fortunately, the day was overcast, and the sun set at five-thirty. The Russians had no choice but to withdraw first.
In the Polish Army camp, a Lieutenant reported to Madalinski, "Colonel, we have suffered 107 dead and 205 seriously wounded."
Madalinski nodded silently, then said to his adjutant, "Let