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