The male population of the village spend their time on military
expeditions and in the cordon—or “at their posts”, as the Cossacks say.
Towards evening, that same Lukáshka the Snatcher, about whom the old
women had been talking, was standing on a watch-tower of the
Nízhni-Protótsk post situated on the very banks of the Térek. Leaning
on the railing of the tower and screwing up his eyes, he looked now far
into the distance beyond the Térek, now down at his fellow Cossacks,
and occasionally he addressed the latter. The sun was already
approaching the snowy range that gleamed white above the fleecy clouds.
The clouds undulating at the base of the mountains grew darker and
darker. The clearness of evening was noticeable in the air. A sense of
freshness came from the woods, though round the post it was still hot.
The voices of the talking Cossacks vibrated more sonorously than
before. The moving mass of the Térek’s rapid brown waters contrasted
more vividly with its motionless banks. The waters were beginning to
subside and here and there the wet sands gleamed drab on the banks and
in the shallows. The other side of the river, just opposite the cordon,
was deserted; only an immense waste of low-growing reeds stretched far
away to the very foot of the mountains. On the low bank, a little to
one side, could be seen the flat-roofed clay houses and the
funnel-shaped chimneys of a Chéchen village. The sharp eyes of the
Cossack who stood on the watch-tower followed, through the evening
smoke of the pro-Russian village, the tiny moving figures of the
Chéchen women visible in the distance in their red and blue garments.
Although the Cossacks expected _abreks_ to cross over and attack them
from the Tartar side at any moment, especially as it was May when the
woods by the Térek are so dense that it is difficult to pass through
them on foot and the river is shallow enough in places for a horseman
to ford it, and despite the fact that a couple of days before a Cossack
had arrived with a circular from the commander of the regiment
announcing that spies had reported the intention of a party of some
eight men to cross the Térek, and ordering special vigilance—no special
vigilance was being observed in the cordon. The Cossacks, unarmed and
with their horses unsaddled just as if they were at home, spent their
time some in fishing, some in drinking, and some in hunting. Only the
horse of the man on duty was saddled, and with its feet hobbled was
moving about by the brambles near the wood, and only the sentinel had
his Circassian coat on and carried a gun and sword. The corporal, a
tall thin Cossack with an exceptionally long back and small hands and
feet, was sitting on the earth-bank of a hut with his _beshmet_
unbuttoned. On his face was the lazy, bored expression of a superior,
and having shut his eyes he dropped his head upon the palm first of one
hand and then of the other. An elderly Cossack with a broad
greyish-black beard was lying in his shirt, girdled with a black strap,
close to the river and gazing lazily at the waves of the Térek as they
monotonously foamed and swirled. Others, also overcome by the heat and
half naked, were rinsing clothes in the Térek, plaiting a fishing line,
or humming tunes as they lay on the hot sand of the river bank. One
Cossack, with a thin face much burnt by the sun, lay near the hut
evidently dead drunk, by a wall which though it had been in shadow some
two hours previously was now exposed to the sun’s fierce slanting rays.
Lukáshka, who stood on the watch-tower, was a tall handsome lad about
twenty years old and very like his mother. His face and whole build, in
spite of the angularity of youth, indicated great strength, both
physical and moral. Though he had only lately joined the Cossacks at
the front, it was evident from the expression of his face and the calm
assurance of his attitude that he had already acquired the somewhat
proud and warlike bearing peculiar to Cossacks and to men generally who
continually carry arms, and that he felt he was a Cossack and fully
knew his own value. His ample Circassian coat was torn in some places,
his cap was on the back of his head Chéchen fashion, and his leggings
had slipped below his knees. His clothing was not rich, but he wore it
with that peculiar Cossack foppishness which consists in imitating the
Chéchen brave. Everything on a real brave is ample, ragged, and
neglected, only his weapons are costly. But these ragged clothes and
these weapons are belted and worn with a certain air and matched in a
certain manner, neither of which can be acquired by everybody and which
at once strike the eye of a Cossack or a hillsman. Lukáshka had this
resemblance to a brave. With his hands folded under his sword, and his
eyes nearly closed, he kept looking at the distant Tartar village.
Taken separately his features were not beautiful, but anyone who saw
his stately carriage and his dark-browed intelligent face would
involuntarily say, “What a fine fellow!”
“Look at the women, what a lot of them are walking about in the
village,” said he in a sharp voice, languidly showing his brilliant
white teeth and not addressing anyone in particular.
Nazárka who was lying below immediately lifted his head and remarked:
“They must be going for water.”
“Supposing one scared them with a gun?” said Lukáshka, laughing,
“Wouldn’t they be frightened?”
“It wouldn’t reach.”
“What! Mine would carry beyond. Just wait a bit, and when their feast
comes round I’ll go and visit Giréy Khan and drink _buza_ there,” said
Lukáshka, angrily swishing away the mosquitoes which attached
themselves to him.
A rustling in the thicket drew the Cossack’s attention. A pied mongrel
half-setter, searching for a scent and violently wagging its scantily
furred tail, came running to the cordon. Lukáshka recognized the dog as
one belonging to his neighbour, Uncle Eróshka, a hunter, and saw,
following it through the thicket, the approaching figure of the hunter
himself.
Uncle Eróshka was a gigantic Cossack with a broad, snow-white beard and
such broad shoulders and chest that in the wood, where there was no one
to compare him with, he did not look particularly tall, so well
proportioned were his powerful limbs. He wore a tattered coat and, over
the bands with which his legs were swathed, sandals made of undressed
deer’s hide tied on with strings; while on his head he had a rough
little white cap. He carried over one shoulder a screen to hide behind
when shooting pheasants, and a bag containing a hen for luring hawks,
and a small falcon; over the other shoulder, attached by a strap, was a
wild cat he had killed; and stuck in his belt behind were some little
bags containing bullets, gunpowder, and bread, a horse’s tail to swish
away the mosquitoes, a large dagger in a torn scabbard smeared with old
bloodstains, and two dead pheasants. Having glanced at the cordon he
stopped.
“Hy, Lyam!” he called to the dog in such a ringing bass that it awoke
an echo far away in the wood; and throwing over his shoulder his big
gun, of the kind the Cossacks call a “flint”, he raised his cap.
“Had a good day, good people, eh?” he said, addressing the Cossacks in
the same strong and cheerful voice, quite without effort, but as loudly
as if he were shouting to someone on the other bank of the river.
“Yes, yes, Uncle!” answered from all sides the voices of the young
Cossacks.
“What have you seen? Tell us!” shouted Uncle Eróshka, wiping the sweat
from his broad red face with the sleeve of his coat.
“Ah, there’s a vulture living in the plane tree here, Uncle. As soon as
night comes he begins hovering round,” said Nazárka, winking and
jerking his shoulder and leg.
“Come, come!” said the old man incredulously.
“Really, Uncle! You must keep watch,” replied Nazárka with a laugh.
The other Cossacks began laughing.
The wag had not seen any vulture at all, but it had long been the
custom of the young Cossacks in the cordon to tease and mislead Uncle
Eróshka every time he came to them.
“Eh, you fool, always lying!” exclaimed Lukáshka from the tower to
Nazárka.
Nazárka was immediately silenced.
“It must be watched. I’ll watch,” answered the old man to the great
delight of all the Cossacks. “But have you seen any boars?”
“Watching for boars, are you?” said the corporal, bending forward and
scratching his back with both hands, very pleased at the chance of some
distraction. “It’s _abreks_ one has to hunt here and not boars! You’ve
not heard anything, Uncle, have you?” he added, needlessly screwing up
his eyes and showing his close-set white teeth.
“_Abreks_,” said the old man. “No, I haven’t. I say, have you any
_chikhir?_ Let me have a drink, there’s a good man. I’m really quite
done up. When the time comes I’ll bring you some fresh meat, I really
will. Give me a drink!” he added.
“Well, and are you going to watch?” inquired the corporal, as though he
had not heard what the other said.
“I did mean to watch tonight,” replied Uncle Eróshka. “Maybe, with
God’s help, I shall kill something for the holiday. Then you shall have
a share, you shall indeed!”
“Uncle! Hallo, Uncle!” called out Lukáshka sharply from above,
attracting everybody’s attention. All the Cossacks looked up at him.
“Just go to the upper water-course, there’s a fine herd of boars there.
I’m not inventing, really! The other day one of our Cossacks shot one
there. I’m telling you the truth,” added he, readjusting the musket at
his back and in a tone that showed he was not joking.
“Ah! Lukáshka the Snatcher is here!” said the old man, looking up.
“Where has he been shooting?”
“Haven’t you seen? I suppose you’re too young!” said Lukáshka. “Close
by the ditch,” he went on seriously with a shake of the head. “We were
just going along the ditch when all at once we heard something
crackling, but my gun was in its case. Elias fired suddenly ... But
I’ll show you the place, it’s not far. You just wait a bit. I know
every one of their footpaths ... Daddy Mósev,” said he, turning
resolutely and almost commandingly to the corporal, “it’s time to
relieve guard!” and holding aloft his gun he began to descend from the
watch-tower without waiting for the order.
“Come down!” said the corporal, after Lukáshka had started, and glanced
round. “Is it your turn, Gúrka? Then go ... True enough your Lukáshka
has become very skilful,” he went on, addressing the old man. “He keeps
going about just like you, he doesn’t stay at home. The other day he
killed a boar.”