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 The boyar was right. The thunderous roar of the catapult from which the very earth shook indicated that the inundation was coming. In immense, muddy waves, the waters cascaded down into the valley, discoloring the entire surface of the broad lake and covering it with large caps of foam. In place of the clear, smooth mirror of water, the mad waves of a boisterous sea hurled themselves against the rocky banks, swaying, undulating, vascillatingvacillating [sic], forming whirlpools.

It was dreadful to look out over the valley. Here and there groups of Mongols, like tiny isolated islands, showed themselves above the waters. There was not a trace left among them of any kind of military discipline. Like chaff blown about by a strong wind, the army had scattered over the valley, fighting with the waves, here and there moving about with difficulty, screaming and cursing. No one heard or paid any attention to anyone else. Some of the more fortunate stood on the piled-up stones and were at least for the time being safe from the pressure of the flood. Others sank in the water up to their shoulders and to their necks holding themselves up by leaning on their spears or swung their bows high over their heads. But most of them had discarded their bows which like straws now whirled about in the maelstrom. Some had taken off their fur coats and let them float away although their teeth chattered from the cold, hoping somehow to lighten their weight and thus keep themselves afloat. Those who were short caught hold of the taller ones, knocking them down and together with them spluttered and splashed about fighting the waves, until they went down. Others began to swim away though they themselves did not know why or to where they should swim.

The piles of stones hurriedly amassed in the center of the valley could hold only a small number of lucky ones and they were the object of deadly jealousy and witless cursing by those who were drowning. Around each pile there pressed thousands