The air had suddenly grown cooler. They felt the closeness of the Dnieper. It gleamed in the distance; its dark ribbon stood out against the horizon and fanned them with its cold waves, gradually spreading out as they rode on and finally engulfing half the surface of the land. This was the place where the Dnieper, hitherto locked in its banks, finally triumphed and broke free, roaring like the sea, the islands that had been hurled into its center pressing its waters even further out of its banks, its waves spreading wide over the earth, meeting neither rock nor mound. The Cossacks dismounted and climbed onto a ferry, and after a three-hour passage reached the shores of Khortitsa Island, where the Sech, which moved so often, was located in those days.

Onshore, a crowd of people was arguing with the ferrymen. The Cossacks rebridled their horses, and Taras assumed a dignified air, tightened his belt, and proudly ran his fingers over his mustache. His sons also eyed each other from head to foot with a mixture of apprehension and indefinable pleasure, and the whole company rode off to the settlement that lay about half a verst from the Sech.* They were deafened by fifty blacksmith hammers pounding in twenty-five smithies dug into the earth and covered with turf. Strong tanners sat outside under canopies, kneading bull hides with their powerful fingers. Peddlers sat behind piles of flint, tinder, and powder. An Armenian was hanging expensive shawls. A Tatar was roasting mutton with dough on a spit. A Jew, his head craning forward, was tapping vodka from a barrel. But the first man they came across was a Zaporozhian Cossack. He was lying asleep in the middle of the road, his arms and legs spread out. Taras Bulba could not refrain from stopping and admiring him.

“Look how splendid he is, stretched out! I’ll be damned, but he makes a fine figure!” he said, stopping the horses.

And it was a very bold picture indeed: the Cossack lay stretched out on the street like a lion. His long forelock lay a good foot across the dirt. His wide trousers, made of precious crimson material, were tar-spattered to show how little he cared for them. Bulba stood admiring him awhile and then rode on along the narrow street. It was cluttered with workshops going about their daily business, and bustling with people of all nations. This settlement, reminiscent of a fair, dressed and fed the Sech, which knew only how to carouse and fire weapons.

Finally they passed the settlement and saw a few scattered huts, some covered with turf, some with felt in Tatar fashion. Cannons stood on some of the roofs. Here there were no fences to be seen, nor the kind of awninged huts on little stilts that filled the settlement. There was a small rampart and a wooden barricade that stood completely unguarded, testifying to a terrible indifference. A few robust Zaporozhian Cossacks, who were lying about in the middle of the road with tobacco pipes in their mouths, looked at the travelers without interest and did not move. Taras and his sons rode carefully among them, calling out “Greetings, brothers!”

“Greetings to you!” the Zaporozhians called back.

The whole field was filled with a colorful tangle of Cossacks. By their weather-beaten faces it was clear that these men had been forged in battle, having tasted every adversity. So this was the Sech! This was the source from which surged all those proud men, strong as lions! From here freedom and Cossackry had spilled over the whole Ukraine!

The travelers rode out onto a vast square on which the council usually gathered. A bare-chested Zaporozhian was sitting on a large overturned keg. He had his shirt in his hands and was slowly darning it. The travelers’ path was blocked again, this time by a large crowd of musicians, in the midst of whom danced a young Zaporozhian, throwing his arms into the air, his hat at a jaunty angle.

“Musicians, more life!” he shouted.