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Buzzard, who was on guard at the mansion, was standing with his

blunderbuss by the threshold, for in that mansion dwelt his dear

Zosia, whom he loved eternally (though she had scorned his

courtship), and in whose defence he was glad to perish.

The line of yagers was already entering the nettles, on the

march, when Bucket touched the trigger, and from the broad mouth

of his blunderbuss let fly a dozen chopped bullets into the midst

of the Muscovites; Buzzard let fly another dozen, and the yagers

fell into confusion. Dismayed by the ambuscade, the line folded

back into a disorderly mass, retreated, and abandoned the

wounded; Baptist finished their slaughter.