At this sight all that mighty audience set up a hooting.  “Coward!  Dog!  Pig of an Englishman!” they yelled; and the louder they yelled the more quickly did Grey Dick run, till at last even Hugh grew puzzled wondering what was in his mind and hoping that he would change it soon.  So the audience hooted, and Grey Dick ran and the giant Swiss lumbered along after him, bellowing triumphantly and brandishing his battle-axe, which, it was noted, never seemed to be quite long enough to reach his flying foe.

When this had gone on for two or three minutes, Grey Dick stumbled and fell.  The Swiss, who was following fast, likewise tripped and fell over him heavily, whereon the multitude shouted: 

“Foul play!  A dirty, foreign trick!”

In an instant Dick was up again, and had leapt upon the prostrate Swiss, as all thought, to kill him.  But instead the only thing he did was to get behind him and kick him with his foot until he also rose.  Thereat some laughed, but others, who had bets upon their champion, groaned.

Now the Swiss, having lost his shield in his fall, rushed at Dick, grasping his axe with both hands.  As before, the Englishman avoided the blow, but for the first time he struck back, catching the giant on the shoulder though not very heavily.  Then with a shout of “St. George and England!” he went in at him.

Hither and thither sprang Dick, now out of reach of the axe of the Swiss and now beneath his guard.  But ever as he sprang he delivered blow upon blow, each harder than the last, till there appeared scars and rents in the fine white mail.  Soon it became clear that the great Swiss was overmatched and spent.  He breathed heavily, his strokes grew wild, he over-balanced, recovered himself, and at last in his turn began to fly in good earnest.

Now after him went Dick, battering at his back, but, as all might see, with the flat of his axe, not with its edge.  Yes, he was beating him as a man might beat a carpet, beating him till he roared with pain.

“Fight, Ambrosio, fight!  Don’t fly!” shouted the crowd, and he tried to wheel round, only to be knocked prostrate by a single blow upon the head which the Englishman delivered with the hammer-like back of his axe.

Then Dick was seen to kneel upon him and cut the lashings of his helmet with his dagger, doubtless to give the coup de grace, or so they thought.

“Our man is murdered!” yelled the common people, while those of the better sort remained shamed and silent.

Dick rose, and they groaned, thinking that all was done.  But lo! stooping down he helped the breathless Swiss, whom he had disarmed, to his feet.  Then, taking him by the nape of the neck, which was easy, as his helmet was off, with one hand, while in the other he held his bared knife, Dick thrust him before him till they reached the tribune of the Doge.