My presumption was immediately confirmed. Captain Kraft called for some
vodka, which he called corn-brandy,[22] and threw back his head, and
made a terrible noise like a duck, in draining the glass.
"Well, gentlemen, we rolled about well to-day on the plains of the
Chetchen," he began; but, catching sight of the officer of the day, he
immediately stopped, to allow the major to give his directions.
"Well, you have made the tour of the lines?"
"I have."
"Are the pickets posted?"
"They are."
"Then you may order the captain of the guard to be as alert as
possible."
"I will."
The major blinked his eyes, and went into a brown study.
"Well, tell the boys to get their supper."
"That's what they're doing now."
"Good! then you may go. Well,"[23] continued the major with a
conciliating smile, and taking up the thread of the conversation that
we had dropped, "we were reckoning what an officer needed: let us
finish the calculation."
"We need one uniform and trousers, don't we?"[24]
"Yes. That, let us suppose would amount to fifty rubles every two
years; say, twenty-five rubles a year for dress. Then for eating we
need every day at least forty kopeks, don't we?[25]"
"Yes, certainly as much as that."
"Well, I'll call it so. Now, for a horse and saddle for remount,
thirty rubles; that's all. Twenty-five and a hundred and twenty and
thirty make a hundred and seventy-five rubles. All the rest stands for
luxuries,--for tea and for sugar and for tobacco,--twenty rubles. Will
you look it over?... It's right, isn't it, Nikoláï Feódoruitch?"
"Not quite. Excuse me, Abram Ilyitch," said the adjutant timidly,
"nothing is left for tea and sugar. You reckon one suit for every two
years, but here in field-service you can't get along with one pair of
pantaloons and boots. Why, I wear out a new pair almost every month.
And then linen, shirts, handkerchiefs, and leg-wrappers: all that sort
of thing one has to buy. And when you have accounted for it, there
isn't any thing left at all. That's true, by God![26] Abram Ilyitch."
"Yes, it's splendid to wear leg-wrappers," said Kraft suddenly,
after a moment's silence, with a loving emphasis on the word
"leg-wrappers;"[27] "you know it's simply Russian fashion."
"I will tell you," remarked Trosenko, "it all amounts to this, that our
brother imagines that we have nothing to eat; but the fact is, that we
all live, and have tea to drink, and tobacco to smoke, and our vodka
to drink. If _you_ served with me," he added, turning to the ensign,
"you would soon learn how to live. I suppose you gentlemen know how he
treated his _denshchik_."
And Trosenko, dying with laughter, told us the whole story of the
ensign and his man, though we had all heard it a thousand times.
"What makes you look so rosy, brother?" he continued, pointing to the
ensign, who turned red, broke into a perspiration, and smiled with such
constraint that it was painful to look at him.
"It's all right, brother. I used to be just like you; but now, you
see, I have become hardened. Just let any young fellow come here from
Russia,--we have seen 'em,--and here they would get all sorts of
rheumatism and spasms; but look at me sitting here: it's my home, and
bed, and all. You see" ... Here he drank still another glass of vodka.
"Hah?" he continued, looking straight into Kraft's eyes.
"That's what I like in you. He's a genuine old _Kavkázets._ Kive us
your hant."
And Kraft pushed through our midst, rushed up to Trosenko, and,
grasping his hand, shook it with remarkable feeling.
"Yes, we can say that we have had all sorts of experiences here," he
continued. "In '45 you must have been there, captain? Do you remember
the night of the 24th and 25th, when we camped in mud up to our knees,
and the next day went against the intrenchments? I was then with the
commander-in-chief, and in one day we captured fifteen intrenchments.
Do you remember, captain?"
Trosenko nodded assent, and, pushing out his lower lip, closed his eyes.
"You ought to have seen," Kraft began with extraordinary animation,
making awkward gestures with his arms, and addressing the major.
But the major, who must have more than once heard this tale, suddenly
threw such an expression of muddy stupidity into his eyes, as he
looked at his comrade, that Kraft turned from him, and addressed
Bolkhof and me, alternately looking at each of us. But he did not once
look at Trosenko, from one end of his story to the other.
"You ought to have seen how in the morning the commander-in-chief
came to me, and says, 'Kraft, take those intrenchments.' You know
our military duty,--no arguing, hand to visor. 'It shall be done,
your Excellency,'[28] and I started. As soon as we came to the first
intrenchment, I turn round, and shout to the soldiers, 'Poys, show your
mettle! Pe on your guard. The one who stops I shall cut down with my
own hand.' With Russian soldiers you know you have to be plain-spoken.
Then suddenly comes a shell--I look--one soldier, two soldiers, three
soldiers, then the bullets--vz-zhin! vz-zhin! vz-zhin! I shout,
'Forward, boys; follow me!' As soon as we reach it, you know, I look
and see--how it--you know: what do you call it?" and the narrator waved
his hands in his search for the word.
"Rampart," suggested Bolkhof.
"No.... _Ach!_ what is it? My God, now, what is it?... Yes, rampart,"
said he quickly. "Then clubbing their guns!... hurrah! ta-ra-ta-ta-ta!
The enemy--not a soul was left. Do you know, they were amazed. All
right. We rush on--the second intrenchment. This was quite a different
affair. Our hearts poiled within us, you know. As soon as we got there,
I look and I see the second intrenchment--impossible to mount it.
There--what was it--what was it we just called it? _Ach!_ what was it?"
...
"Rampart," again I suggested.
"Not at all," said he with some heat. "Not rampart. Ah, now, what is
it called?" and he made a sort of despairing gesture with his hand.
"_Ach!_ my God! what is it?" ...
He was evidently so cut up, that one could not help offering
suggestions.
"Moat, perhaps," said Bolkhof.
"No; simply rampart. As soon as we reached it, if you will believe me,
there was a fire poured in upon us--it was hell." ...
At the crisis, some one behind the wigwam inquired for me. It was
Maksímof. As there still remained thirteen of the intrenchments to be
taken in the same monotonous detail, I was glad to have an excuse to go
to my division. Trosenko went with me.
"It's all a pack of lies," he said to me when we had gone a few steps
from the wigwam. "He wasn't at the intrenchments at all;" and Trosenko
laughed so good-naturedly, that I could not help joining him.
[Footnote 22: _gorílka_ in the Malo-Russian dialect.]
[Footnote 23: _nu-s._]
[Footnote 24: _tak-s._]
[Footnote 25: _tak-s._]
[Footnote 26: _Yéï Bogu._]
[Footnote 27: _podviortki._]
[Footnote 28: _slusháïu, váshe Siyátelstvo._]