They now led a very hard life. The stocks were not taken off, and they
were not let out into the wide world. Unbaked dough was thrown down to
them, as to dogs, and water was let down to them in a pitcher. There was
a stench in the ditch, and it was close and damp. Kostylín grew very
ill, and swelled, and had a breaking out on his whole body; and he kept
groaning all the time, or he slept. Zhilín was discouraged: he saw that
the situation was desperate. He did not know how to get out of it.
He began to dig, but there was no place to throw the dirt in; the master
saw it, and threatened to kill him.
One day he was squatting in the ditch, and thinking of the free world,
and he felt pretty bad. Suddenly a cake fell down on his knees, and a
second, and some cherries. He looked up,--it was Dina. She looked at
him, laughed, and ran away. Zhilín thought: "Maybe Dina will help me."
He cleaned up a place in the ditch, scraped up some clay, and began to
make dolls. He made men, horses, and dogs. He thought: "When Dina comes
I will throw them to her."
But on the next day Dina did not come. Zhilín heard the tramping of
horses; somebody rode by, and the Tartars gathered at the mosque; they
quarrelled and shouted, and talked about the Russians. And he heard the
old man's voice. He could not make out exactly what it was, but he
guessed that the Russians had come close to the village, and that the
Tartars were afraid that they might come to the village, and they did
not know what to do with the prisoners.
They talked awhile and went away. Suddenly he heard something rustle
above him. He looked up; Dina was squatting down, and her knees towered
above her head; she leaned over, and her necklace hung down and dangled
over the ditch. Her little eyes glistened like stars. She took two
cheese-cakes out of her sleeve and threw them down to him. Zhilín said
to her:
"Why have you not been here for so long? I have made you some toys. Here
they are!"
He began to throw one after the other to her, but she shook her head,
and did not look at them.
"I do not want them," she said. She sat awhile in silence, and said;
"Iván, they want to kill you!" She pointed with her hand to her neck.
"Who wants to kill me?"
"My father,--the old men tell him to. I am sorry for you."
So Zhilín said:
"If you pity me, bring me a long stick!"
She shook her head, to say that she could not. He folded his hands, and
began to beg her:
"Dina, if you please! Dear Dina, bring it to me!"
"I cannot," she said. "The people are at home, and they would see me."
And she went away.
Zhilín was sitting there in the evening, and thinking what would happen.
He kept looking up. The stars could be seen, and the moon was not yet
up. The mullah called, and all grew quiet. Zhilín was beginning to fall
asleep; he thought the girl would be afraid.
Suddenly some clay fell on his head. He looked up and saw a long pole
coming down at the end of the ditch. It tumbled, and descended, and came
down into the ditch. Zhilín was happy; he took hold of it and let it
down,--it was a stout pole. He had seen it before on his master's roof.
He looked up: the stars were shining high in the heavens, and over the
very ditch Dina's eyes glistened in the darkness. She bent her face over
the edge of the ditch, and whispered: "Iván, Iván!" and waved her hands
in front of her face, as much as to say: "Speak softly!"
"What is it?" asked Zhilín.
"They are all gone. There are two only at the house."
So Zhilín said:
"Kostylín, come, let us try for the last time; I will give you a lift."
Kostylín would not even listen.
"No," he said, "I shall never get away from here. Where should I go,
since I have no strength to turn around?"
"If so, good-bye! Do not think ill of me!"
He kissed Kostylín.
He took hold of the pole, told Dina to hold on to it, and climbed up.
Two or three times he slipped down: the stocks were in his way. Kostylín
held him up, and he managed to get on. Dina pulled him by the shirt with
all her might, and laughed.
Zhilín took the pole, and said:
"Take it to where you found it, for if they see it, they will beat you."
She dragged the pole away, and Zhilín went down-hill. He crawled down an
incline, took a sharp stone, and tried to break the lock of the stocks.
But the lock was a strong one, and he could not break it. He heard some
one running down the hill, leaping lightly. He thought it was Dina. Dina
ran up, took a stone, and said:
"Let me do it!"
She knelt down and tried to break it; but her arms were as thin as
rods,--there was no strength in them. She threw away the stone, and
began to weep. Zhilín again worked on the lock, and Dina squatted near
him, and held on to his shoulder. Zhilín looked around; on the left,
beyond the mountain, he saw a red glow,--the moon was rising.
"Well," he thought, "before the moon is up I must cross the ravine and
get to the forest."
He got up, threw away the stone, and, though in the stocks, started to
go.
"Good-bye, Dina dear! I will remember you all my life."
Dina took hold of him; she groped all over him, trying to find a place
to put the cakes. He took them from her.
"Thank you," he said, "you are a clever girl. Who will make dolls for
you without me?" And he patted her on the head.
Dina began to cry. She covered her eyes with her hands, and ran up-hill
like a kid. In the darkness he could hear the ornaments in the braid
striking against her shoulders.
Zhilín made the sign of the cross, took the lock of his fetters in his
hand, that it might not clank, and started down the road, dragging his
feet along, and looking at the glow, where the moon was rising. He
recognized the road. By the straight road it would be about eight
versts. If he only could get to the woods before the moon was entirely
out! He crossed a brook,--and it was getting light beyond the mountain.
He walked through the ravine; he walked and looked, but the moon was not
yet to be seen. It was getting brighter, and on one side of the ravine
everything could be seen more and more clearly. The shadow was creeping
down the mountain, up toward him.
Zhilín walked and kept in the shade. He hurried on, but the moon was
coming out faster still; the tops of the trees on the right side were
now in the light. As he came up to the woods, the moon came out entirely
from behind the mountains, and it grew bright and white as in the
daytime. All the leaves could be seen on the trees. The mountains were
calm and bright; it was as though everything were dead. All that could
be heard was the rippling of a brook below.
He reached the forest,--he came across no men. Zhilín found a dark spot
in the woods and sat down to rest himself.
He rested, and ate a cake. He found a stone, and began once more to
break down the lock. He bruised his hands, but did not break the lock.
He got up, and walked on. He marched about a verst, but his strength
gave out,--his feet hurt him so. He would make ten steps and then stop.
"What is to be done?" he thought. "I will drag myself along until my
strength gives out entirely. If I sit down, I shall not be able to get
up. I cannot reach the fortress, so, when day breaks, I will lie down in
the forest for the day, and at night I will move on."
He walked the whole night. He came across two Tartars only, but he heard
them from afar, and so hid behind a tree.
The moon was beginning to pale, and Zhilín had not yet reached the edge
of the forest.
"Well," he thought, "I will take another thirty steps, after which I
will turn into the forest, where I will sit down."
He took the thirty steps, and there he saw that the forest came to an
end. He went to the edge of it, and there it was quite light. Before him
lay the steppe and the fortress, as in the palm of the hand, and to the
left, close by at the foot of the mountain, fires were burning and going
out, and the smoke was spreading, and men were near the camp-fires.
He took a sharp look at them: the guns were glistening,--those were
Cossacks and soldiers.
Zhilín was happy. He collected his last strength and walked down-hill.
And he thought: "God forfend that a Tartar rider should see me in the
open! Though it is not far off, I should not get away."
No sooner had he thought so, when, behold, on a mound stood three
Tartars, not more than 150 fathoms away. They saw him, and darted toward
him. His heart just sank in him. He waved his arms and shouted as loud
as he could:
"Brothers! Help, brothers!"
Our men heard him, and away flew the mounted Cossacks. They started
toward him, to cut off the Tartars.
The Cossacks had far to go, but the Tartars were near. And Zhilín
collected his last strength, took the stocks in his hand, and ran toward
the Cossacks. He was beside himself, and he made the sign of the cross,
and shouted:
"Brothers! Brothers! Brothers!"
There were about fifteen Cossacks.
The Tartars were frightened, and they stopped before they reached him.
And Zhilín ran up to the Cossacks.
The Cossacks surrounded him, and asked:
"Who are you? Where do you come from?"
But Zhilín was beside himself, and he wept, and muttered:
"Brothers! Brothers!"
The soldiers ran out, and surrounded Zhilín: one gave him bread, another
gruel, a third vódka; one covered him with a cloak, another broke off
the lock.
The officers heard of it, and took him to the fortress. The soldiers
were happy, and his companions came to see him.
Zhilín told them what had happened, and said:
"So I have been home, and got married! No, evidently that is not my
fate."
And he remained in the service in the Caucasus. Not till a month later
was Kostylín ransomed for five thousand. He was brought back more dead
than alive.