‘Ah, what a pity!’ I said, involuntarily turning away from this sad spectacle.
‘Of course it’s a pity,’ said an old soldier, who stood leaning on his musket beside me with a gloomy expression on his face. ‘He’s not afraid of anything. How can one do such things?’ he added, looking intently at the wounded lad. ‘He was still foolish and now he has paid for it!’
‘And you?’ I asked. ‘Are you afraid?’
‘What do you expect?’
Chapter XI
FOUR soldiers were carrying the ensign on a stretcher and behind them an ambulance soldier was leading a thin, broken-winded horse with two green boxes on its back containing surgical appliances. They waited for the doctor. Some officers rode up to the stretcher and tried to cheer and comfort the wounded lad.
‘Well, friend Alánin, it will be some time before you will dance again with castanets,’ said Lieutenant Rosenkranz, riding up to the stretcher with a smile.
He probably supposed that these words would raise the young ensign’s spirits, but as far as one could judge by the latter’s coldly sad look the words had not the desired effect.
The captain rode up too. He looked intently at the wounded man and his usually calm and cold face expressed sincere sympathy. ‘Well, my dear Anatól Ivánich,’ he said, in a voice of tender sympathy such as I never expected from him, ‘evidently it was God’s will.’
The wounded lad looked round and his pale face lit up with a sad smile. ‘Yes, I disobeyed you.’
‘Say rather, it was God’s will,’ repeated the captain.
The doctor when he arrived, [as far as could be judged by the shakiness of his legs and the redness of his eyes, was in no fit condition to bandage the patient: however, he] took from his assistant bandages, a probe, and another instrument, rolled up his sleeves and stepped up to the ensign with an encouraging smile.
‘So it seems they have made a hole in a sound spot for you too,’ he said in a carelessly playful tone. ‘Let me see.’
The ensign obeyed, but the look he gave the merry doctor expressed astonishment and reproof which the inebriated practitioner did not notice. He touched the wound so awkwardly, quite unnecessarily pressing on it with his unsteady fingers, that the wounded ensign, driven beyond the limits of endurance, pushed away his hand with a deep groan.
‘Let me alone!’ he said in a scarcely audible voice. ‘I shall die anyway.’
[Then, addressing the captain, he said with difficulty: ‘Please, Captain … yesterday I lost … twenty rubles to Drónov.… When my things are sold … let him be paid.’]
With those words he fell back, and five minutes later when I passed the group that had formed around him, and asked a soldier, ‘How is the ensign?’ the answer was, ‘Passing away.’
Chapter XII
IT was late in the day when the detachment, formed into a broad column and singing, approached the Fort.
[The general rode in front and by his merry countenance one could see that the raid had been successful. In fact, with little loss, we had that day been in Mukay aoul – where from immemorial times no Russian foot had trod.
The Saxon, Kaspar Lavréntich, narrated to another officer that he had himself seen how three Chechens had aimed straight at his breast. In the mind of Ensign Rosenkranz a complete story of the day’s action had formulated itself. Captain Khlópov walked with thoughtful face in front of his company, leading his little white horse by its bridle.]
The sun had hidden behind the snowy mountain range and threw its last rosy beams on a long thin cloud stretching motionless across the clear horizon. The snow peaks began to disappear in purple mist and only their top outline was visible, wonderfully distinct in the crimson sunset glow. The delicate moon, which had risen long since, began to grow pale against the deep azure. The green of the grass and trees was turning black and becoming covered with dew. The dark masses of troops moved with measured sounds over the luxuriant meadows. Tambourines, drums, and merry songs were heard from various sides. The voice of the second tenor of the Sixth Company rang out with full force and the sounds of his clear chest-notes, full of feeling and power, floated through the clear evening air.
1 Novels by the above-mentioned authors.
2 ‘Good evening, Countess.’
3 ‘You know I have sworn to fight the infidels (the unfaithful), so beware of becoming one.’
4 ‘Good-bye then, dear general.’
5 ‘No, au revoir. Don’t forget that I am inviting myself for to-morrow’s soirée.’
6 Frogs in the Caucasus make a noise quite different from the croaking of frogs elsewhere. L. T.
7 In the Caucasus rivers are apt to overflow in July. L. T.
8 Shamyl was the leader (in 1834–59) of the Caucasian hill-tribes in their resistance to Russia.
9A naib was a man to whom Shamyl had entrusted some administrative office. L. T.
10 The word murid has several meanings, but here it denotes something between an adjutant and a bodyguard.
11 The colours among the hillsmen correspond to those of our troops, except that every dzhigit or ‘brave’ among them may make his own colours and carry them. L. T.
12 ‘What a charming view.’
13 ‘Charming … War in such beautiful country is a real pleasure.’
14 ‘Especially in good company.’
15 He is a collective noun by which the soldiers indicate the enemy. L. T.
16 ‘The Guard dies, but does not surrender.’
THE WOOD-FELLING
A CADET’S STORY
Chapter I
IN the middle of the winter of 185– a division of one battery was on service with the detachment operating in that part of the Terek Territory1 called the Great Chéchnya. On the evening of February 14, knowing that the platoon which I in the absence of any officer was commanding, was to join a column told off to fell wood next day, and having given and received the necessary orders, I retired to my tent earlier than usual. As I had not contracted the bad habit of warming my tent with hot charcoal, I lay down without undressing on my bed, which was supported on stakes driven into the ground, drew my fur cap over my eyes, tucked myself up in my sheepskin cloak, and fell into that peculiar, heavy, and deep sleep which comes at times of anxiety and when one is awaiting danger. The expectation of the next day’s affair had this effect on me.
At three next morning, while it was still quite dark, the warm sheepskin was pulled off me and my eyes, heavy with sleep, were unpleasantly struck by the red light of a candle.
‘Get up, please,’ said a voice. I shut my eyes, unconsciously pulled the sheepskin back over myself, and again fell asleep. ‘Get up, please,’ said Dmítry once more, remorselessly shaking me by the shoulder: ‘the infantry are starting.’ The reality suddenly flashed on my mind, I sat up and jumped to my feet. After hurriedly drinking a glass of tea and washing myself with icy water I crept out of the tent and went to the ‘park’ (the place where the cannon were). It was dark, misty, and cold. The dim red light of the night-fires, which gleaming here and there in the camp showed up the figures of the sleepy soldiers who lay near them, seemed only to make the darkness more intense.
Near by, quiet regular snoring could be heard, and from farther off, sounds of movements, voices, and the clatter of the muskets of the infantry preparing to start. There was a smell of smoke, manure, torches, and mist; the morning air caused cold shivers to run down one’s back, and one’s teeth chattered involuntarily.