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.
"Be pleased to tell the Illustrious," he said, to Sir Geoffrey, "that this braggart having surrendered, I spared his life and now return him to his brother the Page quite unharmed, since I did not wish to wound one who was in my power from the first.