Chapter XXI

At the end of ten minutes the soldiers got bold and began to talk. Near the officer’s bed, in the circle of light, were placed the highest in rank--the two artificers, one an old gray-haired man, his breast adorned with a mass of medals and crosses, among which the cross of Saint George was wanting, however, the other a young man, smoking cigarettes which he was rolling, and the drummer, who placed himself, as is the custom, at the orders of the officer, in the background. In the shadow of the entrance, behind the bombardier and the medalled soldiers seated in front, the “humbles” kept themselves. They were the first to break silence. One of them, running in frightened from outside, served as a theme for their conversation.

“Eh! say there, you didn’t stay long in the street. Young girls are not playing there, hey?” said a voice.

“On the contrary, they are singing wonderful songs. You don’t hear such ones in the village,” replied the new-comer, with a laugh, and all out of breath.

“Vassina doesn’t like the shells; no, he doesn’t like them!” some one cried from the aristocratic side.

“When it is necessary it is another story,” slowly replied Vassina, whom everybody listened to when he spoke. “The twenty-fourth, for example, they fired so that it was a blessing, and there is no harm in that. Why let us be killed for nothing? Do the chiefs thank us for that?”

These words provoked a general laugh.

“Nevertheless, there is Melnikoff, who is outside all the time,” said some one.

“It is true. Make him come in,” added the old artificer, “otherwise he will get killed for nothing.”

“Who is this Melnikoff?” asked Volodia.

“He is, your Excellency, an animal who is afraid of nothing. He is walking about outside. Please examine him; he looks like a bear.”

“He practises witchcraft,” added Vassina, in his calm voice.

Melnikoff, a very corpulent soldier (a rare thing), with red hair, a tremendously bulging forehead, and light blue projecting eyes, came in just at this moment.

“Are you afraid of bomb-shells?” Volodia asked him.

“Why should I be afraid of them?” repeated Melnikoff, scratching his neck. “No bomb-shell will kill me, I know.”

“Do you like to live here?”

“To be sure I do; it is very entertaining,” and he burst out laughing.

“Then you must be sent out in a sortie. Would you like to? I will speak to the general,” said Volodia, although he knew no general.

“Why not like to? I should like to very much!” and Melnikoff disappeared behind his comrades.

“Come, children, let’s play ‘beggar my neighbor!’ Who has cards?” asked an impatient voice, and the game immediately began in the farthest corner. The calling of the tricks could be heard, the sound of taps on the nose and the bursts of laughter. Volodia in the mean time drank tea prepared by the drummer, offering some to the artificers, joking and chatting with them, desirous of making himself popular, and very well satisfied with the respect they showed him. The soldiers having noticed that the “barine” was a good fellow, became animated, and one of them announced that the siege was soon going to come to an end, for a sailor had told him for a certainty that Constantine, the Czar’s brother, was coming to deliver them with the ‘merican’[H] fleet; that there would soon be an armistice of two weeks to rest, and that seventy-five kopeks would have to be paid for every shot that was fired during the truce.

Vassina, whom Volodia had already noticed--the short soldier with fine great eyes and side-whiskers--related in his turn, in the midst of a general silence, which was next broken by bursts of laughter, the joy that had been felt at first on seeing him come back to his village on his furlough, and how his father had then sent him to work in the fields every day, while the lieutenant-forester sent to fetch his wife in a carriage. Volodia was amused by all these tales. He had no longer the least fear, and the strong odors which filled their reduct did not cause him any disgust. He felt, on the contrary, very gay, and in a very agreeable mood.

Several soldiers were snoring already. Vlang was also lying on the ground, and the old artificer, having spread his overcoat on the earth, crossed himself with devotion and mumbled the evening prayer, when Volodia took a fancy to go and see what was going on out of doors.

“Pull in your legs!” the soldiers immediately said to one another as they saw him get up, and each one drew his legs back to let him pass.

Vlang, who was supposed to be asleep, got up and seized Volodia by the lapel of his coat. “Come, don’t go! what is the use?” he said, in a tearful and persuasive voice. “You don’t know what it is. Bullets are raining out there. We are better off here.”

But Volodia went out without heeding him, and sat down on the very threshold of their quarters by the side of Melnikoff.

The air was fresh and pure, especially after that he had just been breathing, and the night was clear and calm. Through the roar of the cannonade could be heard the creak of the wheels of the carts bringing gabions, and the voices of those working in the magazine. Over their heads sparkled the starry sky, striped by the luminous furrows of the projectiles. On the left was a small opening, two feet and a half high, leading to a bomb-proof shelter, where could be perceived the feet and the backs of the sailors who lived there, and who were plainly heard talking. Opposite rose the mound which covered the magazine, in front of which figures, bent double, passed and repassed. On the very top of the eminence, exposed to bullets and shells which did not stop whistling at that spot, was a tall black figure, with his hands in his pockets, trampling on the fresh earth which was brought in bags. From time to time a shell fell and burst two paces from him. The soldiers who were carrying sacks bent down and separated, while the black silhouette continued quietly to level the earth with his feet without changing his position.

“Who is it?” Volodia asked Melnikoff.

“I don’t know; I am going to see.”

“Don’t go; it is no use.”

But Melnikoff rose without listening to him, went up to the black man, and remained immovable a long time beside him with the same indifference to danger.

“It is the guardian of the magazine, your Excellency,” he said, on his return. “A shell made a hole in it, and they are covering it up with earth.”

When the shells seemed to fly straight upon the bomb-proof quarters Volodia squeezed himself into the corner, and then came out raising his eyes to the sky to see if others were coming. Although Vlang, still lying down, had more than once begged him to come in, Volodia passed three hours seated on the threshold, finding a certain pleasure in thus exposing himself, as well as in watching the flight of the projectiles. Towards the end of the evening he knew perfectly well the number of the cannon and the direction they fired, and where their shots struck.