The next day the bombardment continued with the same violence. About
eleven o’clock in the forenoon Volodia Koseltzoff joined the officers of
his battery. He became accustomed to these new faces, asked them
questions, and, in his turn, shared his impressions with them. The
modest but slightly pedantic conversation of the artillery-men pleased
him and inspired his respect. On the other hand, his own sympathetic
appearance, his timid manner, and his simplicity predisposed these
gentlemen in his favor. The oldest officer of the battery, a short,
red-haired captain with a foretop, and with well-smoothed locks on his
temples, brought up in the old traditions of artillery, amiable with
ladies, and posing for a savant, asked him questions about his
acquaintance with this science or that, about the new inventions, joked
in an affectionate way about his youth and his handsome face, and
treated him like a son, all of which charmed Volodia. Sub-lieutenant
Dedenko, a young officer with an accent of Little Russia, with shaggy
hair and a torn overcoat, pleased him also, in spite of his loud voice,
his frequent quarrels, and his brusque movements, for under this rude
exterior Volodia saw a brave and worthy man. Dedenko eagerly offered his
services to Volodia, and tried to prove to him that the cannon at
Sebastopol had not been placed according to rule. On the other hand,
Lieutenant Tchernovitzky, with high-arched eyebrows, who wore a
well-cared-for but worn and mended overcoat, and a gold chain on a satin
waistcoat, did not inspire him with any sympathy, although superior to
the others in politeness. He continually asked Volodia details about the
emperor, the minister of war, related with factitious enthusiasm the
heroic exploits accomplished at Sebastopol, expressed his regrets at the
small number of true patriots, made a show of a great deal of knowledge,
of wit, of exceedingly noble sentiments, but in spite of all that, and
without being able to tell why, all these discourses sounded false in
his ears, and he even noticed that the officers in general avoided
speaking to Tchernovitzky. The yunker, Vlang, whom he had waked up the
evening before, sat modestly in a corner, kept silent, laughed sometimes
at a joke, always ready to recall what had been forgotten, presented to
the officers in turn the small glass of brandy, and rolled cigarettes
for all. Charmed by the simple and polite manners of Volodia, who did
not treat him like a boy, and by his agreeable appearance, his great,
fine eyes never left the face of the new-comer. Urged by a feeling of
great admiration, he divined and forestalled all his wishes, a fact
which the officers immediately noticed, and which furnished the subject
of unsparing jokes.
A little before dinner second-captain Kraut, relieved from duty on the
bastion, joined the little company. A blond, fine-looking fellow, of a
lively turn of mind, proud possessor of a pair of red mustaches, and
side-whiskers of the same color, he spoke the language to perfection,
but too correctly and too elegantly for a pure-blooded Russian. Quite as
irreproachable in duty as in his private life, perfection was his
failing. A perfect comrade, to be counted on beyond proof in all affairs
of interest, he lacked something as a man, just because everything in
him was an accomplishment. In striking contrast with the ideal Germans
of Germany, he was, after the example of the Russian Germans, in the
highest degree practical.
“Here he is! here’s our hero!” shouted the captain at the moment Kraut
came in, gesticulating and clanking his spurs. “What’ll you have,
Frederic Christianovitch--tea or brandy?”
“I am having some tea made, but I won’t refuse brandy while I am
waiting, for my soul’s consolation! Happy to make your acquaintance!
Please get fond of us, and be well-disposed towards us,” he said to
Volodia, who had arisen to salute him. “Second-captain Kraut! The
artificer told me you came last evening.”
“Allow me to thank you for your bed, which I profited by last night.”
“Did you at least sleep comfortably there? Because one of the legs is
gone, and no one can repair it during the siege. You have to keep
wedging it up.”
“So then you got out of it safely?” Dedenko asked him.
“Yes, thank God! but Skvortzoff was hit. We had to repair one of the
carriages; the side of it was smashed to pieces.”
He suddenly arose and walked up and down. It could be seen that he felt
the agreeable sensation of a man who has just come safe and sound out of
great danger.
“Now, Dmitri Gavrilovitch,” he said, tapping the captain’s knee in a
friendly manner, “how are you, brother? What has become of your
presentation for advancement? Has it finally been settled?”
“No; nothing has come of it.”
“And nothing will come of it,” said Dedenko; “I’ve proved it to you
already.”
“Why will nothing come of it?”
“Because your statement is badly made.”
“Ah, what a violent wrangler!” said Kraut, gayly. “A truly obstinate
Little Russian. All right; you will see that they will make you
lieutenant to pay for your mortification.”
“No, they won’t do anything.”
“Vlang,” added Kraut, speaking to the yunker, “fill my pipe and bring it
to me, please.”
Kraut’s presence had waked them all up. Chatting with each one, he gave
the details of the bombardment, and asked questions about what had taken
place during his absence.