The table had been moved out from the wall, and spread with a soiled
table-cloth, in the same room in which Volodya had presented himself to
the colonel on the preceding evening. The battery commander now offered
him his hand, and questioned him about Petersburg and his journey.
“Well, gentlemen, I beg the favor of a glass with any of you who drink
vodka. The ensigns do not drink,” he added, with a smile.
On the whole, the battery commander did not appear nearly so stern
to-day as he had on the preceding evening; on the contrary, he had the
appearance of a kindly, hospitable host, and an elder comrade among the
officers. But, in spite of this, all the officers, from the old captain
down to Ensign Dyadenko, by their very manner of speaking and looking
the commander straight in the eye, as they approached, one after the
other, to drink their vodka, exhibited great respect for him.
The dinner consisted of a large wooden bowl of cabbage-soup, in
which floated fat chunks of beef, and a huge quantity of pepper and
laurel-leaves, mustard, and Polish meat-balls in a cabbage leaf,
turnover patties of chopped meat and dough, and with butter, which
was not perfectly fresh. There were no napkins, the spoons were of
pewter and wood, there were only two glasses, and on the table stood
a decanter of water with a broken neck; but the dinner was not dull;
conversation never halted.
At first, their talk turned on the battle of Inkerman, in which the
battery had taken part, as to the causes of failure, of which each one
gave his own impressions and ideas, and held his tongue as soon as
the battery commander himself began to speak; then the conversation
naturally changed to the insufficiency of calibre of the light guns,
and upon the new lightened cannons, in which connection Volodya had an
opportunity to display his knowledge of artillery.
But their talk did not dwell upon the present terrible position of
Sevastopol, as though each of them had meditated too much on that
subject to allude to it again. In the same way, to Volodya's great
amazement and disappointment, not a word was said about the duties
of the service which he was to fulfil, just as though he had come to
Sevastopol merely for the purpose of telling about the new cannon and
dining with the commander of the battery.
While they were at dinner, a bomb fell not far from the house in which
they were seated. The walls and the floor trembled, as though in an
earthquake, and the window was obscured with the smoke of the powder.
“You did not see anything of this sort in Petersburg, I fancy; but
these surprises often take place here,” said the battery commander.
“Look out, Vlang, and see where it burst.”
Vlang looked, and reported that it had burst on the square, and then
there was nothing more said about the bomb.
Just before the end of the dinner, an old man, the clerk of the
battery, entered the room, with three sealed envelopes, and handed them
to the commander.
“This is very important; a messenger has this moment brought these from
the chief of the artillery.”
All the officers gazed, with impatient curiosity, at the commander's
practised fingers as they broke the seal of the envelope and drew forth
the _very important_ paper. “What can it be?” each one asked himself.
It might be that they were to march out of Sevastopol for a rest, it
might be an order for the whole battery to betake themselves to the
bastions.
“Again!” said the commander, flinging the paper angrily on the table.
“What's it about, Apollon Sergiéitch?” inquired the eldest officer.
“An officer and crew are required for a mortar battery over yonder,
and I have only four officers, and there is not a full gun-crew in
the line,” growled the commander: “and here more are demanded of me.
But some one must go, gentlemen,” he said, after a brief pause: “the
order requires him to be at the barrier at seven o'clock.... Send the
sergeant! Who is to go, gentlemen? decide,” he repeated.
“Well, here's one who has never been yet,” said Tchernovitzky, pointing
to Volodya. The commander of the battery made no reply.
“Yes, I should like to go,” said Volodya, as he felt the cold sweat
start out on his back and neck.
“No; why should you? There's no occasion!” broke in the captain. “Of
course, no one will refuse, but neither is it proper to ask any one;
but if Apollon Sergiéitch will permit us, we will draw lots, as we did
once before.”
All agreed to this. Kraut cut some paper into bits, folded them up, and
dropped them into a cap. The captain jested, and even plucked up the
audacity, on this occasion, to ask the colonel for wine, to keep up
their courage, he said. Dyadenko sat in gloomy silence, Volodya smiled
at something or other, Tchernovitzky declared that it would infallibly
fall to him, Kraut was perfectly composed.
Volodya was allowed to draw first; he took one slip, which was rather
long, but it immediately occurred to him to change it; he took another,
which was smaller and thinner, unfolded it, and read on it, “I go.”
“It has fallen to me,” he said, with a sigh.
“Well, God be with you. You will get your baptism of fire at once,”
said the commander of the battery, gazing at the perturbed countenance
of the ensign with a kindly smile; “but you must get there as speedily
as possible. And, to make it more cheerful for you, Vlang shall go with
you as gun-sergeant.”