“Friends, help—take my watch—my gold watch,” shrieked a man near him.
“Who wants a watch now?” thought Emelian, climbing out to the other side of the trench.
His heart was divided between fear—fear for himself and for his own life—and anger at those wild creatures who were pushing him. In spite of this, the aim with which he had set out—to reach the tents and get hold of a packet with a lottery ticket—still drew him on.
The tents were now close at hand. He could see the distributors quite distinctly and could hear the cries of those who had arrived at the tents and the creaking of the boards on which the people in front were crowding.
Emelian stumbled. He had only about twenty paces more to go when he heard a child’s scream under or rather between his feet. Emelian looked down and saw a bareheaded boy in a torn shirt lying face downwards, crying incessantly, and clutching at his legs. He felt his heart stop beating. All fear for himself immediately disappeared and with it his anger against the rest. He was sorry for the boy and, stooping down, put his arm round his waist, but those behind him were pushing so violently that he nearly fell and let go the child. Summoning his strength for a supreme effort he caught him up again and lifted him on his shoulders. For a moment the crush became less and Emelian managed to carry off the child.
“Give him to me,” cried a coachman who was at Emelian’s side, and taking the boy, raised him above the crowd.
“Run over the people.”
Looking back, Emelian saw how the child walked further and further away, over the heads and shoulders of the swaying mass, now rising above it, now vanishing in the crowd.
Emelian, however, continued to advance. He could not help doing so; but he was no longer attracted by the gifts and had no desire to reach the tents. He thought of the little boy Yasha, of those who had been trampled on, and of those whom he had seen as he crossed the trench.
When he reached the pavilion at last he received a mug and a packet of sweets, but they gave him no pleasure. What pleased him was that the crush was over, and that he could breathe and move about; but his pleasure, however, only lasted a moment, on account of the sight which met his eyes. A woman, in a torn striped shawl and in buttoned boots which stuck straight up, with her brown hair loose and in disorder, was lying on her back. One hand lay on the grass, the other, with closed fingers, was folded below her breast. Her face was white—that bluish white peculiar to the dead. She was the first who had been crushed to death and had been thrown over the fence right in front of the Tsar’s pavilion.
When Emelian caught sight of her, two policemen were standing over her, and a police officer was giving them directions. A minute after a few Cossacks rode up and no sooner had their officer given them some order, than they rode full speed at Emelian and at the others who were standing there, and drove them back into the crowd. Emelian was again caught in the whirl. The crush became worse than ever; and to add to the horror, one and the same everlasting crying and groaning of women and children, and men trampling their fellows under foot—and not able to help doing so. Emelian was no longer terrified or angry with those who were crushing him. He had but one desire—to get out, to be free, to have a smoke and a drink, and to explain the meaning of those feelings which arose in his mind.
He longed for a smoke and a drink, and when at last he managed to get away from the throng, he satisfied his craving for these.
It was not so with Alec and Rina. As they did not expect anything, they moved about among the people who were seated in groups, chatting with the women and children, when the whole people suddenly made a rush for the pavilion, the rumour having spread that the sweets and mugs were being given away contrary to regulations, and before Rina had time to turn round, she was separated from Alec and carried along by the crowd, and was overcome by terror. She tried to be quiet, but could not help screaming out for mercy. But there was no mercy, for they pressed round her more and more. Her dress was torn, and her hat also fell off. She could not be quite sure, but she thought someone snatched at her watch and chain. Though she was a strong girl and might have resisted, she was in mortal fear not being able to breathe. Ragged and battered she just managed to keep on her feet.
But the moment the Cossacks charged the crowd to disperse it, Rina lost hope and directly she yielded to despair, her strength failed her and she fainted. Falling down she was not conscious of anything further.
When she regained consciousness she was lying on the grass. A bearded working man in a torn coat was squatting beside her and squirting water into her face as she opened her eyes; the man crossed himself and spat out the water. It was Emelian.
“Who are you? Where am I?”
“You’re on Khodinka field. Who am I? I’m a man, I’ve been badly crushed myself, but the likes of us can stand a good deal,” said Emelian.
“What’s this?” Rina asked, pointing to the coppers that lay on her breast.
“That’s because people thought you were dead, they gave coppers for your burial. But I had a good look at you and thought to myself: ‘No, she’s alive,’ and I got some
