Jilin did not sleep the whole of that night. The nights were short.
Through a chink he saw that it was getting light. He got up, made the
chink a little bigger and peeped out.
He saw a road at the foot of a hill, to the right of which was a Tartar
hut with two trees near it. A black dog lay on the threshold and a goat
and kids were moving about and swishing their tails. Then he saw a young
Tartar woman coming from the direction of the hill. She wore a coloured
blouse and trousers with a girdle round her waist, high boots on her
feet and a kerchief on her head, on which she was carrying a tin pitcher
of water. Her back moved gracefully as she walked; she was leading a
closely-shaven Tartar boy, who wore nothing but a shirt. The Tartar
woman went into the hut with the water; the red-bearded Tartar of
yesterday came out in a silken tunic, a silver-hilted knife stuck in his
girdle and slippers on bare feet. A high, black sheepskin cap was pushed
far back on his head. He stretched himself as he came out and stroked
his red beard. He gave some order to his servant and went away.
Then two boys rode past. They had been to water their horses and the
horses’ noses were still wet. Some more closely-shaven boys came out,
dressed only in shirts with no trousers. A whole group of them came up
to the shed, and taking up a piece of stick, they thrust it through the
chink. Jilin grunted at them and the boys ran off, yelling, their little
white knees gleaming as they went.
Jilin was thirsty; his throat was parched. “If only some one would
come,” he thought. Soon the door of the shed opened and the red-bearded
Tartar entered with another, shorter than he, and dark. He had bright
black eyes, a ruddy complexion and a short beard. He had a jolly face,
and was always laughing. This man was dressed better than the first, in
a blue silken tunic, trimmed with braid. The knife in his broad girdle
was of silver, the shoes on his feet were of red morocco, embroidered in
silver thread, and over these he wore a thicker pair of shoes. His cap
was high and of white sheepskin.
The red-bearded Tartar entered, muttering some angry words. He leant
against the doorpost, playing with his dagger and looking askance at
Jilin, like a wolf. The dark man, quick and lively and moving as if on
springs, came up to Jilin and squatted down in front of him, showing his
teeth. He clapped Jilin on the shoulder and began to jabber something in
his own language, blinking his eyes and clacking his tongue. “Good
Russ! Good Russ!” he said.
Jilin understood nothing. “I am thirsty; give me some water,” he said.
The dark man laughed. “Good Russ!” he kept on saying.
Jilin made signs with his lips and hands that he wanted some water. The
dark man laughed, and putting his head out at the door, he called to
some one “Dina!”
A little girl came up. She was about thirteen, slight and thin, her face
resembling the dark man’s. She was obviously his daughter. She, too, had
bright, black eyes and a rosy complexion. She was clad in a long blue
blouse with broad sleeves, and loose at the waist--the hem and front and
sleeves were embroidered in red. She wore trousers and slippers and
shoes with high heels over them; she had a necklace round her throat
made out of Russian coins. Her head was bare. Her black plait was tied
with a ribbon, the ends of which were trimmed with silver roubles.
Her father said something to her. She ran away and came back again with
a tin jug of water. She gave it to Jilin and also squatted down in front
of him, huddled up, so that her shoulders came lower than her knees. She
sat staring at Jilin as he drank, as at some strange animal.
Jilin handed her back the jug. She took it and bounded out like a wild
goat. Even her father could not help laughing. He sent her off somewhere
else. She ran away with the jug and brought back some unleavened bread
on a round wooden platter, and huddling down in front of him once more,
she again stared at him open-eyed.
The Tartars went out and locked the door.
After a while the red-bearded man’s servant came up and called to Jilin.
He too, did not know Russian, only Jilin understood that he wanted him
to go somewhere.
Jilin followed him limping, for the shackles impeded his walking. He
followed the servant. They came to a Tartar village, consisting of
about ten houses, a Tartar church with a dome on top in the midst of
them. In front of one house stood three saddled horses; some boys were
holding them by their bridles. The dark little Tartar rushed out of this
house and beckoned to Jilin to come to him. He laughed, jabbered
something in his own tongue and went in again. Jilin came to the house.
The room was large, the mud walls smoothly plastered. Near the front
wall lay a pile of brightly coloured feather beds, on the side walls
hung rich rugs with rifles and pistols and swords fastened to them, all
inlaid in silver. At one wall was a small stove on a level with the
earthen floor, which was beautifully clean. In the near corner a felt
carpet was spread on which were rich rugs and down cushions. On these
rugs, in slippers only, sat some Tartars--the dark one, the red-bearded
one and three guests. All had down cushions at their backs. In front of
them, on a wooden platter, were some millet pancakes, some melted butter
in a cup and a jug of Tartar beer. They took the pancakes up with their
fingers, and their hands were all greasy with the butter.
The dark Tartar jumped up and bade Jilin sit down, not on the rugs, but
on the bare floor. Then he sat down on his rug again, and treated his
guests to more pancakes and beer. The servant made Jilin sit down in the
place assigned to him, took off his overshoes, which he placed by the
door where the other shoes were standing, and sat down on the felt
carpet, nearer to his master. He watched the others eating, his mouth
watering. When the Tartars had finished, a woman came in dressed like
the girl in trousers and a kerchief on her head. She cleared away the
remains, and brought a basin and a narrow-necked jug of water. The
Tartars washed their hands, laid them together, fell on their knees and
said their prayers in their own tongue. When they had finished one of
the guests turned to Jilin and addressed him in Russian.
“You were captured by Kasi-Mohammed,” he said, indicating the
red-bearded Tartar, “but he has given you to Abdul-Murat.” And he
indicated the dark Tartar. “Abdul-Murat is now your master.”
Jilin was silent.
Abdul-Murat now began to speak, pointing at Jilin and laughing. “A
soldier Russ, a good Russ,” he said.
And the interpreter said, “He wants you to write home asking your people
to send a ransom for you. When the money comes, he will let you go.”
Jilin reflected and said, “How much does he want?”
The Tartars deliberated among themselves; the interpreter said, “Three
thousand roubles.”
“I can’t pay as much as that,” Jilin said.
Abdul leapt up and began to gesticulate violently. He was saying
something to Jilin, thinking that he would understand.
“How much will you give?” the interpreter asked.
After reflection Jilin said, “Five hundred roubles.”
At this the Tartars all began talking together. Abdul shouted at the
red-bearded Tartar, jabbering away till he foamed at the mouth. The
red-bearded Tartar merely frowned and clacked his tongue.
They grew silent and the interpreter said, “The master thinks a ransom
of five hundred roubles is not enough. He himself paid two hundred
roubles for you. Kasi-Mohammed was in his debt, and he took you in
payment. He wants three thousand roubles and refuses to let you go for
less. If you won’t pay the money you’ll be flung into a pit and
flogged.”
“The more you show you’re afraid of them, the worse it is,” Jilin
thought. He leapt to his feet and said, “Tell the dog that if he begins
to threaten me, he shan’t have a farthing! I won’t write home at all! I
was never afraid of you, and I’m not going to be now, you dogs!”
The interpreter conveyed his words, and again the Tartars began to speak
all at once.
They jabbered for a long time, then the dark one sprang up and came to
Jilin.
“Russ,” he said, “_djigit, djigit_ Russ!” (Djigit in their tongue means
brave.) He laughed and said a few words to the interpreter, who turned
to Jilin.
“Will you give a thousand roubles?”
Jilin stuck to his own.
“I won’t give more than five hundred, not if you kill me.”
The Tartars conferred together, and sent the servant off somewhere, and
when he was gone they stared now at Jilin, now at the door.
The servant returned, followed by a stout, bare-footed man, in torn
clothes. On his feet were also shackles. Jilin gave an exclamation of
surprise. It was Kostilin. He, too, had been captured then. The Tartars
sat them down side by side, and they began to tell each other of their
experiences, the Tartars looking on in silence. Jilin told Kostilin what
had happened to him, and Kostilin told Jilin that his horse had got
tired, his rifle missed fire, and that this same Abdul had caught him up
and captured him.
Abdul jumped up and began to speak, pointing at Kostilin. The
interpreter explained that they both belonged to the same master, and
that the one who would produce the money first would be the first to be
set free.
“See how quiet your comrade is,” he said to Jilin. “You get angry and he
has written home asking to have five thousand roubles sent him. He will
be well fed, and no one will do him any harm.”
And Jilin said, “My comrade can do what he likes. He may be rich, and I
am not. I won’t go back on my word. You can kill me if you like, but you
get no advantage by that; I won’t write for more than five hundred
roubles.”
The Tartars were silent. Suddenly Abdul sprang up, took out a pen, ink
and a scrap of paper from a little box, put them in Jilin’s hands and
slapping him on the shoulder, said, “Write.” He had agreed to the five
hundred roubles.
“One moment,” Jilin said to the interpreter; “tell him that he must feed
and clothe us well, and that he must put us together so that we don’t
feel so lonely, and he must remove our shackles.”
He looked at Abdul as he spoke and smiled. Abdul too smiled and said,
“You shall have the best of clothes--coats and boots fit to be married
in, and you shall be fed like princes, and you can be together in the
shed if you like, but I can’t take off the shackles because you might
escape. You shall have them removed at night.” He rushed up to Jilin and
slapped him on the shoulder. “Fine fellow! fine fellow!” he said.
Jilin wrote the letter, but did not address it correctly, so that it
should not reach home. “I will escape, somehow,” he thought.
Jilin and Kostilin were taken back to the shed. They were given some
straw, a jug of water and bread, two old coats and some worn boots,
evidently taken from the bodies of dead soldiers. At night their
shackles were removed and they were locked in the shed.