Soon after him, the koorennoï ataman Balaban fell also. Three deadly wounds from spear, from bullet, and from sabre, had fallen to his lot. He had been one of the bravest Cossacks; many times had he led the Cossacks over sea; but most glorious of all had been his campaign to the Anatolian coast. Many sequins had they then taken, much costly Turkish goods, stuffs, and ornaments. But grief was in store for them on their return; they fell in, poor fellows, with Turkish cannon. As the ship fired her broadside, half of their boats went wheeling round and upset, and many Cossacks were drowned in the sea; but the boats did not sink, thanks to the bundles of reeds tied to their edges. Balaban fled at the utmost speed of his oars, took his stand straight under the sun, so as not to be seen by the Turkish ship. All night long after this did the Cossacks bale out the water from the boats with their scoops and caps, and mend the rent planks; of their Cossack trowsers they made sails, caught the wind, and escaped from the swiftest of all the Turkish ships. And not only did they safely return to the Ssiecha, but brought a gold embroidered dress to the abbot of the monastery of Kieff, and a plate of pure silver for the church of the Ssiecha. And long afterwards was the Cossacks' feat the theme of the musician's praises. But Balaban bent down his head, and feeling the approach of death, slowly said, "It seems to me, gentlemen brothers, that my death is a good death! Seven have I cut down with my sword, nine have I pierced with my spear, many have I trampled under my steed's feet, and so many have I hit with my bullets, that I cannot recollect their number. So then, may the Russian land flourish for ever!" and away his soul took its flight.