"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.

Balaban, hetman of a kuren, soon after fell to the ground also from a
waggon. Three mortal wounds had he received from a lance, a bullet,
and a sword. He had been one of the very best of Cossacks, and had
accomplished a great deal as a commander on naval expeditions; but
more glorious than all the rest was his raid on the shores of
Anatolia. They collected many sequins, much valuable Turkish plunder,
caftans, and adornments of every description. But misfortune awaited
them on their way back. They came across the Turkish fleet, and were
fired on by the ships. Half the boats were crushed and overturned,
drowning more than one; but the bundles of reeds bound to the sides,
Cossack fashion, saved the boats from completely sinking. Balaban
rowed off at full speed, and steered straight in the face of the sun,
thus rendering himself invisible to the Turkish ships. All the
following night they spent in baling out the water with pails and
their caps, and in repairing the damaged places. They made sails out