nounce their orthodox faith. Their hetman, Mosiy Schilo,
could not bear it: he trampled the Holy Scriptures under foot, wound the
vile turban about his sinful head, and became the favourite of a pasha,
steward of a ship, and ruler over all the galley slaves. The poor slaves
sorrowed greatly thereat, for they knew that if he had renounced his
faith he would be a tyrant, and his hand would be the more heavy and
severe upon them. So it turned out. Mosiy Schilo had them put in new
chains, three to an oar. The cruel fetters cut to the very bone; and
he beat them upon the back. But when the Turks, rejoicing at having
obtained such a servant, began to carouse, and, forgetful of their
law, got all drunk, he distributed all the sixty-four keys among the
prisoners, in order that they might free themselves, fling their chains
and manacles into the sea, and, seizing their swords, in turn kill the
Turks. Then the Cossacks collected great booty, and returned with glory
to their country; and the guitar-players celebrated Mosiy Schilo's
exploits for a long time. They would have elected him Koschevoi, but
he was a very eccentric Cossack. At one time he would perform some feat
which the most sagacious would never have dreamed of. At another, folly
simply took possession of him, and he drank and squandered everything
away, was in debt to every one in the Setch, and, in addition to that,
stole like a street thief. He carried off a whole Cossack equipment from
a strange kuren by night and pawned it to the tavern-keeper. For this
dishonourable act they bound him to a post in the bazaar, and laid a
club beside him, in order that every one who passed should, according
to the measure of his strength, deal him a blow. But there was not one
Zaporozhetz out of them all to be found who would raise the club against
him, remembering his former services. Such was the Cossack, 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
ga