The poor slaves sorrowed greatly thereat, for they knew that if he had renounced his faith he would be a tyrant, and his hand would be the more heavy and severe upon them.So it turned out.Mosiy Schilo had them put in new chains, three to an oar.The cruel fetters cut to the very bone; and he beat them upon the back.But when the Turks, rejoicing at having obtained such a servant, began to carouse, and, forgetful of their law, got all drunk, he distributed all the sixty-four keys among the prisoners, in order that they might free themselves, fling their chains and manacles into the sea, and, seizing their swords, in turn kill the Turks.Then the Cossacks collected great booty, and returned with glory to their country; and the guitar-players celebrated Mosiy Schilo's exploits for a long time.
They would have elected him Koschevoi, but he was a very eccentric Cossack.At one time he would perform some feat which the most sagacious would never have dreamed of.At another, folly simply took possession of him, and he drank and squandered everything away, was in debt to every one in the Setch, and, in addition to that, stole like a street thief.He carried off a whole Cossack equipment from a strange kuren by night and pawned it to the tavern-keeper.For this dishonourable act they bound him to a post in the bazaar, and laid a club beside him, in order that every one who passed should, according to the measure of his strength, deal him a blow.But there was not one Zaporozhetz out of them all to be found who would raise the club against him, remembering his former services.Such was the Cossack, Mosiy Schilo.
"Here is one who will kill you, dog!" he said, springing upon the Lyakh.How they hacked away! their shoulder-plates and breast-plates bent under their blows.The hostile Lyakh cut through Schilo's shirt of mail, reaching the body itself with his blade.The Cossack's shirt was dyed purple: but Schilo heeded it not.He brandished his brawny hand, heavy indeed was that mighty fist, and brought the pommel of his sword down unexpectedly upon his foeman's head.The brazen helmet flew into pieces and the Lyakh staggered and fell; but Schilo went on hacking and cutting gashes in the body of the stunned man.Kill not utterly thine enemy, Cossack: look back rather! The Cossack did not turn, and one of the dead man's servants plunged a knife into his neck.Schilo turned and tried to seize him, but he disappeared amid the smoke of the powder.On all sides rose the roar of matchlocks.
Schilo knew that his wound was mortal.He fell with his hand upon his wound, and said, turning to his comrades, "Farewell, brother gentles, my comrades! may the holy Russian land stand forever, and may it be eternally honoured!" And as he closed his failing eyes, the Cossack soul fled from his grim body.Then Zadorozhniy came forward with his men, Vertikhvist issued from the ranks, and Balaban stepped forth.
"What now, gentles?" said Taras, calling to the hetmans by name:
"there is yet powder in the power-flasks? The Cossack force is not weakened? the Cossacks do not yield?""There is yet powder in the flasks, father; the Cossack force is not weakened yet: the Cossacks yield not!"And the Cossacks pressed vigorously on: the foemen's ranks were disordered.The short colonel beat the assembly, and ordered eight painted standards to be displayed to collect his men, who were scattered over all the plain.All the Lyakhs hastened to the standards.But they had not yet succeeded in ranging themselves in order, when the hetman Kukubenko attacked their centre again with his Nezamaikovtzi and fell straight upon the stout colonel.The colonel could not resist the attack, and, wheeling his horse about, set out at a gallop; but Kukubenko pursued him for a considerable distance cross the plain and prevented him from joining his regiment.
Perceiving this from the kuren on the flank, Stepan Guska set out after him, lasso in hand, bending his head to his horse's neck.Taking advantage of an opportunity, he cast his lasso about his neck at the first attempt.The colonel turned purple in the face, grasped the cord with both hands, and tried to break it; but with a powerful thrust Stepan drove his lance through his body, and there he remained pinned to the earth.But Guska did not escape his fate.The Cossacks had but time to look round when they beheld Stepan Guska elevated on four spears.All the poor fellow succeeded in saying was, "May all our enemies perish, and may the Russian land rejoice forever!" and then he yielded up his soul.
The Cossacks glanced around, and there was Metelitza on one side, entertaining the Lyakhs by dealing blows on the head to one and another; on the other side, the hetman Nevelitchkiy was attacking with his men; and Zakrutibuga was repulsing and slaying the enemy by the waggons.The third Pisarenko had repulsed a whole squadron from the more distant waggons; and they were still fighting and killing amongst the other waggons, and even upon them.
"How now, gentles?" cried Taras, stepping forward before them all: "is there still powder in your flasks? Is the Cossack force still strong?
do the Cossacks yield?"
"There is still powder in the flasks, father; the Cossack force is still strong: the Cossacks yield not!"But Bovdug had already fallen from the waggons; a bullet had struck him just below the heart.The old man collected all his strength, and said, "I sorrow not to part from the world.God grant every man such an end! May the Russian land be forever glorious!" And Bovdug's spirit flew above, to tell the old men who had gone on long before that men still knew how to fight on Russian soil, and better still, that they knew how to die for it and the holy faith.
