After the lapse of about ten minutes, the soldiers began to change
about and to converse together. The most important personages among
them—the two gun-sergeants—placed themselves nearest the officer's
light and bed;—one was old and gray-haired, with every possible medal
and cross except the George;—the other was young, a militia-man, who
smoked cigarettes, which he was rolling. The drummer, as usual, assumed
the duty of waiting on the officer. The bombardiers and cavalrymen
sat next, and then farther away, in the shadow of the entrance,
the _underlings_ took up their post. They too began to talk among
themselves. It was caused by the hasty entrance of a man into the
casemate.
“How now, brother! couldn't you stay in the street? Didn't the girls
sing merrily?” said a voice.
“They sing such marvellous songs as were never heard in the village,”
said the man who had fled into the casemate, with a laugh.
“But Vasin does not love bombs—ah, no, he does not love them!” said one
from the aristocratic corner.
“The idea! It's quite another matter when it's necessary,” drawled the
voice of Vasin, who made all the others keep silent when he spoke:
“since the 24th, the firing has been going on desperately; and what is
there wrong about it? You'll get killed for nothing, and your superiors
won't so much as say ‘Thank you!’ for it.”
At these words of Vasin, all burst into a laugh.
“There's Melnikoff, that fellow who will sit outside the door,” said
some one.
“Well, send him here, that Melnikoff,” added the old gunner; “they will
kill him, for a fact, and that to no purpose.”
“Who is this Melnikoff?” asked Volodya.
“Why, Your Honor, he's a stupid soldier of ours. He doesn't seem to be
afraid of anything, and now he keeps walking about outside. Please to
take a look at him; he looks like a bear.”
“He knows a spell,” said the slow voice of Vasin, from the corner.
Melnikoff entered the bomb-proof. He was fat (which is extremely rare
among soldiers), and a sandy-complexioned, handsome man, with a huge,
bulging forehead and prominent, light blue eyes.
“Are you afraid of the bombs?” Volodya asked him.
“What is there about the bombs to be afraid of!” replied Melnikoff,
shrugging his shoulders and scratching his head, “I know that I shall
not be killed by a bomb.”
“So you would like to go on living here?”
“Why, of course, I would. It's jolly here!” he said, with a sudden
outburst of laughter.
“Oh, then you must be detailed for the sortie! I'll tell the general
so, if you like?” said Volodya, although he was not acquainted with a
single general there.
“Why shouldn't I like! I do!”
And Melnikoff disappeared behind the others.
“Let's have a game of _noski_,[M] children! Who has cards?” rang out
his brisk voice.
[M] A game in which the loser is rapped on the nose with the cards.
And, in fact, it was not long before a game was started in the back
corner, and blows on the nose, laughter, and calling of trumps were
heard.
Volodya drank some tea from the samovár, which the drummer served for
him, treated the gunners, jested, chatted with them, being desirous of
winning popularity, and felt very well content with the respect which
was shown him. The soldiers, too, perceiving that the gentleman put on
no airs, began to talk together.
One declared that the siege of Sevastopol would soon come to an end,
because a trustworthy man from the fleet had said that the emperor's
brother Constantine was coming to our relief with the 'Merican fleet,
and there would soon be an agreement that there should be no firing
for two weeks, and that a rest should be allowed, and if any one did
fire a shot, every discharge would have to be paid for at the rate of
seventy-five kopeks each.
Vasin, who, as Volodya had already noticed, was a little fellow, with
large, kindly eyes, and side-whiskers, related, amid a general silence
at first, and afterwards amid general laughter, how, when he had gone
home on leave, they had been glad at first to see him, but afterwards
his father had begun to send him off to work, and the lieutenant of
the foresters' corps sent his drozhki for his wife.
All this amused Volodya greatly. He not only did not experience the
least fear or inconvenience from the closeness and heavy air in the
bomb-proof, but he felt in a remarkably cheerful and agreeable frame of
mind.
Many of the soldiers were already snoring. Vlang had also stretched
himself out on the floor, and the old gun-sergeant, having spread out
his cloak, was crossing himself and muttering his prayers, preparatory
to sleep, when Volodya took a fancy to step out of the bomb-proof, and
see what was going on outside.
“Take your legs out of the way!” cried one soldier to another, as soon
as he rose, and the legs were pressed aside to make way for him.
Vlang, who appeared to be asleep, suddenly raised his head, and seized
Volodya by the skirt of his coat.
“Come, don't go! how can you!” he began, in a tearfully imploring
tone. “You don't know about things yet; they are firing at us out
there all the time; it is better here.”
But, in spite of Vlang's entreaties, Volodya made his way out of the
bomb-proof, and seated himself on the threshold, where Melnikoff was
already sitting.
The air was pure and fresh, particularly after the bomb-proof—the night
was clear and still. Through the roar of the discharges could be heard
the sounds of cart-wheels, bringing gabions, and the voices of the men
who were at work on the magazine. Above their heads was the lofty,
starry sky, across which flashed the fiery streaks caused by the bombs;
an arshin away, on the left, a tiny opening led to another bomb-proof,
through which the feet and backs of the soldiers who lived there were
visible, and through which their voices were audible; in front, the
elevation produced by the powder-vault could be seen, and athwart it
flitted the bent figures of men, and upon it, at the very summit, amid
the bullets and the bombs which whistled past the spot incessantly,
stood a tall form in a black paletot, with his hands in his pockets,
and feet treading down the earth, which other men were fetching in
sacks. Often a bomb would fly over, and burst close to the cave. The
soldiers engaged in bringing the earth bent over and ran aside; but
the black figure never moved; went on quietly stamping down the dirt
with his feet, and remained on the spot in the same attitude as before.
“Who is that black man?” inquired Volodya of Melnikoff.
“I don't know; I will go and see.”
“Don't go! it is not necessary.”
But Melnikoff, without heeding him, walked up to the black figure, and
stood beside him for a tolerably long time, as calm and immovable as
the man himself.
“That is the man who has charge of the magazine, Your Honor!” he said,
on his return. “It has been pierced by a bomb, so the infantry-men are
fetching more earth.”
Now and then, a bomb seemed to fly straight at the door of the
bomb-proof. On such occasions, Volodya shrank into the corner, and then
peered forth again, gazing upwards, to see whether another was not
coming from some direction. Although Vlang, from the interior of the
bomb-proof, repeatedly besought Volodya to come back, the latter sat on
the threshold for three hours, and experienced a sort of satisfaction
in thus tempting fate and in watching the flight of the bombs. Towards
the end of the evening, he had learned from what point most of the
firing proceeded, and where the shots struck.