es disappeared," write the ancient annalists, "and the heads of
the Russians fell under the swords of the Tartars as the grass falls
before the scythe."

Instead of pressing on to Novgorod, for some unknown reason Bati
turned south, and, marching two hundred miles, laid siege to the
strong fortress of Kozelsk, in the principality of Kalouga. The
garrison, warned of the advance of the foe, made the most heroic
resistance. For four weeks they held their assailants at bay, banking
every effort of the vast numbers who encompassed them. A more
determined and heroic defense was never made. At last the fortress
fell, and not one soul escaped the exterminating sword. Bati, now
satiated with carnage, retired, with his army, to the banks of the
Don. Yaroslaf, prince of Kief, and brother of Georges II., hoping that
the dreadful storm had passed away, hastened to the smouldering ruins
of Vladimir to take the title and the shadowy authority of Grand
Prince. Never before were more conspicuously seen the energies of a
noble soul. At first it seemed that his reign could be extended only
over gory corpses and smouldering ruins. Undismayed by the magnitude
of the disaster, he consecrated all the activity of his genius and the
loftiness of his spirit to the regeneration of the desolated land.

In the spacious valleys of the Don and its tributaries lived the
powerful nation of the Polovtsi, who had often bid defiance to the
whole strength of Russia. Kothian, their prince, for a short time made
vigorous opposition to the march of the conquerors. But, overwhelmed
by numbers, he was at length compelled to retreat, and, with his army
of forty thousand men, to seek a refuge in Hungary. The country of the
Polovtsi was then abandoned to the Tartars. Having ravaged the
central valleys of the Don and the Volga, these demoniac warriors
turned their steps again into southern Russia. The inhabitants,
frantic with terror, fled from their line of march as lambs fly from
wolves. The blasts of their trumpets and the clatter of their horses'
hoofs were speedily resounding in the valley of the Dnieper. Soon from
the steeples of Kief the banners of the terrible army were seen
approaching from the east. They crossed the Dnieper and surrounded the
imperial city, which, for some time anticipating the storm, had been
making preparation for the most desperate resistance. The ancient
annalists say that the noise of their innumerable chariots, the lowing
of camel