hilt of a sword or the mount of a gun. The kazáks were not addicted to decking themselves out gaily for battle: their chain-armour and their doublets were plain, and their black, red-crowned caps glowed darkly afar.
Two kazáks rode out from the ranks of the Zaporozhtzi. One was quite young, the other was older; both were fierce in words, and not bad specimens of kazáks in action—Okhrim Nash, and Mykita Golokopytenko. Behind them rode Demid Popovich, a stalwart kazák, who had been hanging about the Syech for a long time, who had been present at the siege of Adrianople, and undergone a great deal in the course of his existence. He had been burned in the conflagration, and had run away to the Syech, with tarred and blackened head and singed moustaches. But Popovich had become stout, had grown long locks of hair behind his ears, had raised moustaches black as pitch, and was a gallant fellow when it came to biting speeches, was Popovich.
"Aha, red kaftans on all the army—but what I'd like to know is, whether the strength of the troops matches them!"
"I'll give it to you!" shouted the fat Colonel from above. "I'll bind you all! Surrender your guns and horses, slaves! Have you seen how I