ave not yet yielded."

And the Cossacks again strained every nerve, as though they had suffered
no loss. Only three kuren hetmans still remained alive. Red blood flowed
in streams everywhere; heaps of their bodies and of those of the enemy
were piled high. Taras looked up to heaven, and there already hovered a
flock of vultures. Well, there would be prey for some one. And there the
foe were raising Metelitza on their lances, and the head of the second
Pisarenko was dizzily opening and shutting its eyes; and the mangled
body of Okhrim Guska fell upon the ground. "Now," said Taras, and waved
a cloth on high. Ostap understood this signal and springing quickly
from his ambush attacked sharply. The Lyakhs could not withstand this
onslaught; and he drove them back, and chased them straight to the spot
where the stakes and fragments of spears were driven into the earth. The
horses began to stumble and fall and the Lyakhs to fly over their heads.
At that moment the Korsuntzi, who had stood till the last by the baggage
waggons, perceived that they still had some bullets left, and suddenly
fired a volley from their matchlocks. The Lyakhs became confused, and
lost their presence of mind; and the Cossacks took courage. "The victory
is ours!" rang Cossack voices on all sides; the trumpets sounded and the
banner of victory was unfurled. The beaten Lyakhs ran in all directions
and hid themselves. "No, the victory is not yet complete," said Taras,
glancing at the city gate; and he was right.

The gates opened, and out dashed a hussar band, the flower of all the
cavalry. Every rider was mounted on a matched brown horse from the
Kabardei; and in front rode the handsomest, the most heroic of them all.
His black hair streamed from beneath his brazen helmet; and from his
arm floated a rich scarf, embroidered by the hands of a peerless beauty.
Taras sprang back in horror when he saw that it was Andrii. And the
latter meanwhile, enveloped in the dust and heat of battle, eager to
deserve the scarf which had been bound as a gift upon his arm, flew on
like a greyhound; the handsomest, most agile, and youngest of all the
band. The experienced huntsman urges on the greyhound, and he springs
forward, tossing up the snow, and a score of times outrunning the hare,
in the ardour of his course. And so it was with Andrii. Old Taras paused
and observed how he cleared a path before him, hewing away and dealing
blows to the right and the left. Taras could