Sevastopol Page 17

company with asailor, ran against him.

  "If he were only a fine man," she grumbled,--"Pardon, Your Honor theofficer."

  The poor boy's heart sank lower and lower, and more and more frequentlyflashed the lightnings against the dark horizon, and the bombsscreamed and burst about him with ever increasing frequency. Nikolaeffsighed, and all at once he began to speak, in what seemed to Volodya afrightened and constrained tone.

  "What haste we made to get here from home. It was nothing buttravelling. A pretty place to be in a hurry to get to!"

  "What was to be done, if my brother was well again," replied Volodya,in hope that he might banish by conversation the frightful feeling thatwas taking possession of him.

  "Well, what sort of health is it when he is thoroughly ill! Those whoare really well had better stay in the hospital at such a time. Avast deal of joy there is about it, isn't there? You will have a legor an arm torn off, and that's all you will get! It's not far removedfrom a downright sin! And here in the town it's not at all like thebastion, and that is a perfect terror. You go and you say your prayersthe whole way. Eh, you beast, there you go whizzing past!" he added,directing his attention to the sound of a splinter of shell whizzingby near them. "Now, here," Nikolaeff went on, "I was ordered to showYour Honor the way. My business, of course, is to do as I am bid; butthe cart has been abandoned to some wretch of a soldier, and the bundleis undone.... Go on and on; but if any of the property disappears,Nikolaeff will have to answer for it."

  After proceeding a few steps further, they came out on a square.Nikolaeff held his peace, but sighed.

  "Yonder is your artillery, Your Honor!" he suddenly said. "Ask thesentinel; he will show you."

  And Volodya, after he had taken a few steps more, ceased to hear thesound of Nikolaeff's sighs behind him.

  All at once, he felt himself entirely and finally alone. Thisconsciousness of solitude in danger, before death, as it seemed to him,lay upon his heart like a terribly cold and heavy stone.

  He halted in the middle of the square, glanced about him, to seewhether he could catch sight of any one, grasped his head, and utteredhis thought aloud in his terror:--"Lord! Can it be that I am a coward,a vile, disgusting, worthless coward ... can it be that I so latelydreamed of dying with joy for my father-land, my tsar? No, I am awretched, an unfortunate, a wretched being!" And Volodya, with agenuine sentiment of despair and disenchantment with himself, inquiredof the sentinel for the house of the commander of the battery, and setout in the direction indicated.

  XII.

  The residence of the commander of the battery, which the sentinel hadpointed out to him, was a small, two-story house, with an entranceon the court-yard. In one of the windows, which was pasted over withpaper, burned the feeble flame of a candle. A servant was seated onthe porch, smoking his pipe; he went in and announced Volodya to thecommander, and then led him in. In the room, between the two windows,and beneath a shattered mirror, stood a table, heaped with officialdocuments, several chairs, and an iron bedstead, with a clean pallet,and a small bed-rug by its side.

  Near the door stood a handsome man, with a large moustache,--a sergeant,in sabre and cloak, on the latter of which hung a cross and a Hungarianmedal. Back and forth in the middle of the room paced a shortstaff-officer of forty, with swollen cheeks bound up, and dressed in athin old coat.

  "I have the honor to report myself, Cornet Kozeltzoff, 2d, ordered tothe fifth light battery," said Volodya, uttering the phrase which hehad learned by heart, as he entered the room.

  The commander of the battery responded dryly to his greeting, and,without offering his hand, invited him to be seated.

  Volodya dropped timidly into a chair, beside the writing-table, andbegan to twist in his fingers the scissors, which his hand happenedto light upon. The commander of the battery put his hands behind hisback, and, dropping his head, pursued his walk up and down the room, insilence, only bestowing an occasional glance at the hands which weretwirling the scissors, with the aspect of a man who is trying to recallsomething.

  The battery commander was a rather stout man, with a large bald spoton the crown of his head, a thick moustache, which drooped straightdown and concealed his mouth, and pleasant brown eyes. His hands werehandsome, clean, and plump; his feet small and well turned, and theystepped out in a confident and rather dandified manner, proving thatthe commander was not a timid man.

  "Yes," he said, coming to a halt in front of the sergeant; "a measuremust be added to the grain to-morrow, or our horses will be gettingthin. What do you think?"

  "Of course, it is possible to do so, Your Excellency! Oats are verycheap just now," replied the sergeant, twitching his fingers, whichhe held on the seams of his trousers, but which evidently liked toassist in the conversation. "Our forage-master, Franchuk, sent me anote yesterday, from the transports, Your Excellency, saying that weshould certainly be obliged to purchase oats; they say they are cheap.Therefore, what are your orders?"

  "To buy, of course. He has money, surely." And the commander resumedhis tramp through the room. "And where are your things?" he suddenlyinquired of Volodya, as he paused in front of him.

  Poor Volodya was so overwhelmed by the thought that he was a coward,that he espied scorn for himself in every glance, in every word, asthough they had been addressed to a pitiable poltroon. It seemed to himthat the commander of the battery had already divined his secret, andwas making sport of him. He answered, with embarrassment, that hiseffects were on the Grafskaya, and that his brother had promised tosend them to him on the morrow.

  But the lieutenant-colonel was not listening to him, and, turning tothe sergeant, he inquired:--

  "Where are we to put the ensign?"

  "The ensign, sir?" said the sergeant, throwing Volodya into stillgreater confusion by the fleeting glance which he cast upon him, andwhich seemed to say, "What sort of an ensign is this?"--"He can bequartered downstairs, with the staff-captain, Your Excellency," hecontinued, after a little reflection. "The captain is at the bastionjust now, and his cot is empty."

  "Will that not suit you, temporarily?" said the commander.--"I think youmust be tired, but we will lodge you better to-morrow."

  Volodya rose and bowed.

  "Will you not have some tea?" said the commander, when he had alreadyreached the door. "The samovar can be brought in."

  Volodya saluted and left the room. The lieutenant-colonel's servantconducted him downstairs, and led him into a bare, dirty chamber, inwhich various sorts of rubbish were lying about, and where there wasan iron bedstead without either sheets or coverlet. A man in a redshirt was fast asleep on the bed, covered over with a thick cloak.

  Volodya took him for a soldier.

  "Piotr Nikolaitch!" said the servant, touching the sleeper on theshoulder. "The ensign is to sleep here.... This is our yunker," headded, turning to the ensign.

  "Ah, don't trouble him, please," said Volodya; but the yunker, a tall,stout, young man, with a handsome but very stupid face, rose from thebed, threw on his cloak, and, evidently not having had a good sleep,left the room.

  "No matter; I'll lie down in the yard," he growled out.

  XIII.

  Left alone with his own thoughts, Volodya's first sensation was a fearof the incoherent, forlorn state of his own soul. He wanted to go tosleep, and forget all his surroundings, and himself most of all. Heextinguished the candle, lay down on the bed, and, taking off his coat,he wrapped his head up in it, in order to relieve his terror of thedarkness, with which he had been afflicted since his childhood. But allat once the thought occurred to him that a bomb might come and crushin the roof and kill him. He began to listen attentively; directlyoverhead, he heard the footsteps of the battery commander.

  "Anyway, if it does come," he thought, "it will kill any one who isupstairs first, and then me; at all events, I shall not be the onlyone."

  This thought calmed him somewhat.

  "Well, and what if Sevastopol should be taken unexpectedly, in thenight, and the French make their way h
ither? What am I to defend myselfwith?"

  He rose once more, and began to pace the room. His terror of the actualdanger outweighed his secret fear of the darkness. There was nothingheavy in the room except the samovar and a saddle. "I am a scoundrel, acoward, a miserable coward!" the thought suddenly occurred to him, andagain he experienced that oppressive sensation of scorn and disgust,even for himself. Again he threw himself on the bed, and tried not tothink.

  Then the impressions of the day involuntarily penetrated hisimagination, in consequence of the unceasing sounds, which made theglass in the solitary window rattle, and again the thought of dangerrecurred to him: now he saw visions of wounded men and blood, nowof bombs and splinters, flying into the room, then of the prettylittle Sister of