Not one of the soldiers, who were loading the gun, said a word, only the recruit mumbled something like, “ I say, all bloody,” and Antonov, scowling, angrily cleared his throat; but it was manifest that the thought of death had passed through the mind of each. Everybody went to work with a vim. The gun was loaded in a twinkle, and the cannoneer, in bringing the shot, made a couple of steps around the place on which the wounded man lay groaning.
VIII.
Every one who has been in an action has no doubt experienced that strange and strong, though not at all logical, feeling of disgust with the place where one has been killed or wounded. In the first moment my sol- diers were obviously experiencing this feeling, when it was necessary to lift up Velenchiik and carry him to the vehicle which had just come up. Zhdanov angrily went up to the wounded man, in spite of his increasing shrieks took him under his arms, and raised him. “ Don’t stand around! Take hold of him! “ he shouted, and imme- diately some ten men, even superfluous helpers, surrounded him. But the moment he was moved away, Velenchiik began to cry terribly and to struggle.
“Don’t yell like a rabbit! “ said Antonov, rudely, hold- ing his leg, “ or we will throw you down.”
The wounded man really quieted down, and only occa- sionally muttered, “ Oh, I shall die! Oh, brothers!”
When he was laid on the vehicle he stopped groaning, and I heard him speaking with his comrades in a soft, but audible voice, — he evidently was bidding them good- bye.
During an action, nobody likes to look at a wounded man, and I, instinctively hastening to get away from this spectacle, ordered that he be taken at once to the ambu- lance, and walked over to the guns; but a few minutes later I was told that Velenchiik was calling me, and I went up to the vehicle.
In the bottom of it, clinging with both hands to the edges, lay the wounded man. His healthy, broad face had completely changed in a few seconds: he looked rather haggard and had aged by several years; his lips were thin, pale, and compressed under an evident strain; the restless, dull expression of his glance had given way to a clear, quiet gleam, and on his blood-stained forehead and nose already lay the imprint of death.
Notwithstanding the fact that the least motion caused him untold sufferings, he asked them to remove the money-pouch which was tied around his left leg, below the knee.
A terrible oppressive sensation overcame me at the sight of his white healthy leg, when the boot was taken off, and the pouch was ungirded.
“Here are three roubles and a half,” he said to me, as I took the purse into my hand; “ you keep them for me.”
The vehicle started, but he stopped it.
“I was making an overcoat for Lieutenant Sulimovski. He has given me two roubles. For one rouble and a half I bought buttons; the remaining half-rouble is in the bag with the buttons. Give it to him!”
“Very well, very well,” I said, “ only get well, my friend!”
He made no reply; the vehicle started, and he again began to sob and groan in the most heartrending manner. It looked as though, having arranged all his worldly affairs, he no longer saw cause for restraining himself, and considered it permissible to alleviate his suffering.
IX.
“Where are you going? Come back! Where are you going? “ I cried to the recruit, who, having put his reserve hnstock under his arm, and with a stick in his hand, was coolly following the vehicle in which the wounded soldier was lying.
But the recruit only looked lazily at me, muttered something, and went ahead, so that I had to send a soldier after him. He doffed his red cap, and, smiling stupidly, gazed at me.
“Where are you going? “ I asked.
“To the camp.”
“What for?”
“Why, Velenchuk is wounded,” he said, smiling again.
“What have you to do with that? You must remain here.”
He looked at me in surprise, then coolly wheeled around, put on his cap, and went back to his place.
The engagement was favourable to us: it was reported that the Cossacks had made a fine attack and had taken three Tartar bodies; the infantry was provided with wood, and lost only six wounded, and in the artillery only Ve- lenchuk and two horses were put out of action. To atone for these losses, they cut out about three versts of tim- ber, and so cleared the place that it was impossible to recognize it: in place of the dense forest now was opened up an immense clearing, covered with smoking fires and with the cavalry and infantry moving toward the camp.
Although the enemy continued to harass us with artillery and musketry fire, until we reached the brook by the cemetery, where we had forded in the morning, the retreat was successfully accomplished. I was already beginning to dream of cabbage soup and a leg of mutton with buck- wheat groats, which were awaiting me in the camp, when the information was received that the general had ordered the construction of redoubts, and that the third battal- ion of the К regiment and a detachment of four batteries were to remain here until to-morrow.
The wagons with the wood and the wounded, the Cossacks, the artillery, the infantry with their guns, and wood on their shoulders, — all passed by us, with noise and songs. All faces expressed animation and pleasure, induced by the past danger and the hope for a rest. But the third battahon and we were to postpone these pleasant sensa- tions for the morrow.
X.
While we, of the artillery, were still busy about the ordnance, and placing the limbers and caissons, and pick- eting the horses, the infantry had stacked their arms, built camp-fires, constructed booths of boughs and corn- stalks, and were boiling their buckwheat grits.
It was growing dark. Pale blue clouds scudded over the sky. The fog, changed into a drizzly, damp mist, wet the earth and the overcoats of the soldiers; the horizon grew narrower, and the surroundings were overcast with gloomy shadows. The dampness, which I felt through my boots and behind my neck, the motion and conversa- tion, in which I took no Part, the viscous mud, in which my feet sHpped, and my empty stomach, put me in a very heavy and disagreeable mood, after a day of physical and moral fatigue. Velenchuk did not leave my mind. The whole simple story of his military life uninterruptedly obtruded on my imagination.
His last minutes were as clear and tranquil as all his life. He had hved too honestly and too simply for his whole-souled faith in a future, heavenly Hfe to be shaken at such a decisive moment.
“Your Honour,” said Nikolaev, approaching me, “ you are invited to take tea with the captain.”
Making my way between the stacked arms and the fires, I followed Nikolaev to Bolkhov’s, dreaming with pleasure of a glass of hot tea and a cheerful conversation, which would drive away my gloomy thoughts. “ Well, have you found him? “ was heard Bolkhov’s voice from a corn-stalk tent, in which a candle was glimmering.
“I have brought him, your Honour! “ was Nikolaev’s reply in a heavy bass.
In the booth, Bolkhov sat on a felt mantle, his coat being unbuttoned, and his cap off. Near him a samovar was boiling, and a drum stood with a lunch upon it. A bayonet, with a candle on it, was stuck in the ground. “ Well, how do you like this? “ he said, proudly, survey- ing his cosy little home. Indeed, the booth was so com- fortable, that at tea I entirely forgot the dampness, the darkness, and Velenchiik’s wound. We talked about Moscow and about objects that had no relation whatso- ever to the war and to the Caucasus.
After one of those minutes of silence, which frequently interrupt the most animated conversations, Bolkhov glanced at me with a smile.
“I suppose our morning conversation must have ap- peared very strange to you? “ he said.
“No. Why should it? All I thought was that you were very frank, whereas there are some things which we all know but which one ought not to mention.”
“Not at all! If I had a chance of exchanging this life for a most wretched and petty life, provided it were without perils and service, I should not consider for a minute.”
“Why do you not go back to Russia? “ I said.
“Wliy? “ he repeated. “ Oh, I have been thinking of it quite awhile. I cannot return to Russia before receiv- ing the Anna and the Vladimir crosses, — the Anna deco- ration around my neck and a majorship, as I had expected when I came out here.”
“But why should you, when, as you say, you feel unfit for the service here?”
“But I feel myself even more unfit to return to Russia in the condition in which I left it. This is another tradi- tion, current in Russia and confirmed by Pdssek, Slyeptsov, and others, that all one has to do is to come to the Cau- casus, in order to be overwhelmed with rewards. Every- body expects and demands tliis of us; and here I have been two years, have taken Part in two expeditions, and have not received anything yet.
I have so much egotism that I will not leave this place until I am made a major with the Vladimir and Anna around my
