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"
Draw
sabers
!
"
cried
the
dragoon
officer
,
drawing
his
own
.
Another
still
stronger
wave
flowed
through
the
crowd
and
reaching
the
front
ranks
carried
it
swaying
to
the
very
steps
of
the
porch
.
The
tall
youth
,
with
a
stony
look
on
his
face
,
and
rigid
and
uplifted
arm
,
stood
beside
Vereshchágin
.
"
Saber
him
!
"
the
dragoon
officer
almost
whispered
.
And
one
of
the
soldiers
,
his
face
all
at
once
distorted
with
fury
,
struck
Vereshchágin
on
the
head
with
the
blunt
side
of
his
saber
.
"
Ah
!
"
cried
Vereshchágin
in
meek
surprise
,
looking
round
with
a
frightened
glance
as
if
not
understanding
why
this
was
done
to
him
.
A
similar
moan
of
surprise
and
horror
ran
through
the
crowd
.
"
O
Lord
!
"
exclaimed
a
sorrowful
voice
.
But
after
the
exclamation
of
surprise
that
had
escaped
from
Vereshchágin
he
uttered
a
plaintive
cry
of
pain
,
and
that
cry
was
fatal
.
The
barrier
of
human
feeling
,
strained
to
the
utmost
,
that
had
held
the
crowd
in
check
suddenly
broke
.
The
crime
had
begun
and
must
now
be
completed
.
The
plaintive
moan
of
reproach
was
drowned
by
the
threatening
and
angry
roar
of
the
crowd
.
Like
the
seventh
and
last
wave
that
shatters
a
ship
,
that
last
irresistible
wave
burst
from
the
rear
and
reached
the
front
ranks
,
carrying
them
off
their
feet
and
engulfing
them
all
.
The
dragoon
was
about
to
repeat
his
blow
.
Vereshchágin
with
a
cry
of
horror
,
covering
his
head
with
his
hands
,
rushed
toward
the
crowd
.
The
tall
youth
,
against
whom
he
stumbled
,
seized
his
thin
neck
with
his
hands
and
,
yelling
wildly
,
fell
with
him
under
the
feet
of
the
pressing
,
struggling
crowd
.
Some
beat
and
tore
at
Vereshchágin
,
others
at
the
tall
youth
.
And
the
screams
of
those
that
were
being
trampled
on
and
of
those
who
tried
to
rescue
the
tall
lad
only
increased
the
fury
of
the
crowd
.
It
was
a
long
time
before
the
dragoons
could
extricate
the
bleeding
youth
,
beaten
almost
to
death
.
And
for
a
long
time
,
despite
the
feverish
haste
with
which
the
mob
tried
to
end
the
work
that
had
been
begun
,
those
who
were
hitting
,
throttling
,
and
tearing
at
Vereshchágin
were
unable
to
kill
him
,
for
the
crowd
pressed
from
all
sides
,
swaying
as
one
mass
with
them
in
the
center
and
rendering
it
impossible
for
them
either
to
kill
him
or
let
him
go
.
"
Hit
him
with
an
ax
,
eh
!
...
Crushed
?
...
Traitor
,
he
sold
Christ
...
Still
alive
...
tenacious
...
serves
him
right
!
Torture
serves
a
thief
right
.
Use
the
hatchet
!
...
What
--
still
alive
?
"
Only
when
the
victim
ceased
to
struggle
and
his
cries
changed
to
a
long-drawn
,
measured
death
rattle
did
the
crowd
around
his
prostrate
,
bleeding
corpse
begin
rapidly
to
change
places
.
