into the deep
water a barge that has grounded on a reef.

The pillar snapped, and the cheese house tottered and fell with its load
of beams and cheeses on the triangle of Muscovites; it crushed, wounded,
and killed; where the ranks had just now been standing lay beams, corpses,
and cheeses white as snow, stained with blood and brains. The triangle was
shattered into bits, and now in the centre of it the sprinkling-brush
thundered, the razor flashed, and the switch slashed; from the mansion
rushed a throng of gentry, and the Count from the yard gate sent his
cavalry against the scattered fugitives.

Now, only eight yagers with a sergeant at their head still defended
themselves; the Warden ran against them, but they boldly stood their
ground and aimed nine musket barrels straight at the brow of the Warden;
he flew to meet the shot, brandishing the blade of his penknife. The Monk
saw it, and ran across Gerwazy's path; he fell and tripped Gerwazy. They
fell at the very moment when the platoon fired; hardly had the bullets
whistled over him, when Gerwazy rose, and jumped up into the smoke. He
straightway sheared off the heads of two yagers; the rest fled in
confusion, the Warden chased and slashed them. They ran across the yard,
Gerwazy on their track; they rushed into the door of a shed standing open,
and Gerwazy entered the shed at their heels. He vanished in the darkness,
but did not quit fighting, for through the door could be heard groans,
yells, and frequent blows. Soon all became silent; Gerwazy came out alone,
with a bloody sword.

Now the gentry had won the field; they pursued, slashed, and stabbed the
dispersed yagers. Rykov alone remained, and cried that he would not lay
down his arms; he was still fighting, when the Chamberlain went up to him,
and, raising his sabre, said in an impressive tone:--

"Captain, you will not soil your honour by accepting quarter; unhappy, but
valiant knight, you have given ample proof of your daring: now abandon
hopeless resistance; lay down your arms, before we disarm you with our
sabres. You will preserve life and honour; you are my prisoner."

Rykov, overcome by the dignity of the Chamberlain, complied, and gave over
to him his naked sword, bloody to the hilt, saying:--

"Brother Poles, woe is me that I did not have even a single cannon!
Suvorov said well: 'Remember, comrade Rykov, never to attack the Poles
without cannon!' Well! The yagers were drunk, the Major let them drin