whole Russian army. Shaking with fear, they wavered at the advance of
the dead, gave way suddenly in a panic, and finally fled in whatever
direction their eyes happened to look.

The brigand Napoleonder sat on his horse, holding his sides with
laughter, and shouted: "Aha! My old men are not to your taste! I
thought so! This isn't like playing knuckle-bones with children and old
women! Well, then, my honorable Messrs. Dead Men, I have never yet felt
pity for any one, and you needn't show mercy to my enemies. Deal with
them after your own fashion."

"As long as it is so," replied the corpse-soldiers, "we are your
faithful servants always."

Our men fled from Kulikova-field to Pultava-field; from Pultava-field to
the famous still-water Don; and from the peaceful Don to the field of
Borodino, under the very walls of Mother Moscow. And as our men came to
these fields, one after another, they turned their faces again and
again toward Napoleonder, and fought him with such fierceness that the
brigand himself was delighted with them "God save us!" he exclaimed,
"what soldiers these Russians are! I have not seen such men in any other
country."

But, in spite of the bravery of our troops, we were unable to stop
Napoleonder's march; because we had no word with which to meet his word.
In every battle we pound him, and drive him back, and get him in a
slip-noose; but just as we are going to draw it tight and catch him, the
filthy, idolatrous thief bethinks himself and shouts "Bonaparty!" Then
the dead men crawl out of their graves in full uniform, set their teeth,
fix their eyes upon their officers, and charge! And where they pass the