“After we had waited for some time, we saw a party of Ghiláks coming toward us, with Orkún at the head; all were armed with spears. ‘You see,’ said the boys, ‘the Ghiláks are coming to fight.’—‘Well, let them come. Get your knives ready, boys, and don’t let yourselves be taken without a struggle. Stand on your guard! Not a man must be taken alive! If one is to be killed, it cannot be helped—that’s his fate; but stand up and defend yourselves as long as you have breath in your body! Let us escape or perish together! Make a bold stand, boys!’
“We suspected the Ghiláks without any cause. When Orkún saw that we were preparing to defend ourselves against an attack, he disarmed his people, giving all the spears to one man, and thus approached us. When we became convinced that the Ghiláks were dealing honorably with us, we went with them to the spot where their boats were hauled up, ready for us. There were two of them, of different sizes. The larger boat would hold eight, and the rest of the party were to go in a small one.
“The boats were ours; but we could not cross at present, for the wind had sprung up from the direction of the Amúr, and large waves were dashing on our shore. In rough weather it would be impossible to cross in such boats, and we therefore were obliged to remain on shore two days longer.
“Meanwhile, the provisions gave out, and, beside the fish that Orkún had kindly given us, we had nothing but berries to keep us alive. This lasted us four days. A worthy and honest Ghilák was Orkún; I often think of him now, God bless him!
“Another day passed, and still the wind prevented us from starting. It was a great disappointment. The night wore away, and yet the wind had not abated; it was hard to bear! During these four windy days the Amúr shore stood out clearer than ever, for the fog had entirely disappeared. All this time, Burán remained seated on a rock, his eyes fixed on the opposite shore. He neither spoke nor did he, like the others, go in search of berries. Whenever one of us, taking pity on him, brought him berries, he ate them, but would not take the trouble to get them for himself. It may have been that the heart of the old man was sick with longing, or perhaps he was conscious of the approach of death.
“Finally, our patience was exhausted, and we made up our minds that when night came on we would start. Not daring to run the risk in the daytime, lest the soldiers from the outpost should perceive us, we thought we might venture by night with less risk of detection, hoping, by God’s help, to cross in safety.
“In the straits, the wind blew as hard as ever; whitecaps danced here and there, and the seagulls shrieked like evil spirits. The rocky shore groaned as the sea dashed madly against it.
“ ‘Let us lie down and sleep, boys,’ I said; ‘the moon rises at midnight, and then, by God’s help, we will start; that will be no time to rest, and we shall need all our strength for the journey.’
“They heeded my advice, and all threw themselves on the ground. We had selected a place on the shore, near the cliffs, where we could not be seen from below—trees concealing us. Burán alone did not fall asleep—he sat watching the west. When we lay down the sun was still high above the horizon, and it was quite early in the evening.
“I made the sign of the cross, listened for a while to the wind whistling through the forest, then dropped asleep. We were off our guard, unconscious that misfortune was about to befall us.
“How long we slept, I cannot say. All at once I heard Burán calling me. I awoke and saw that the sun was about to set, and that the sea had grown calm. Burán, with widely dilated eyes, was standing beside me.
“ ‘Get up; they have come after our souls already …’ he exclaimed, pointing to the bushes.
“I started, and in the direction towards which he was pointing I saw the soldiers, the nearest one aiming at us, another following him; while three more were running down the hill, pointing their guns at us. I was wide-awake in a moment, and called to the boys. They too woke, and sprang instantly to their feet. The nearest soldier was the only one who had time to fire before we were upon them.”
A suppressed emotion choked Vasíli’s voice; he hung his head. A partial darkness enveloped the yourt, for he had forgotten to throw in fresh logs.
“I ought not to have told this story,” he said.
“Why not? But you must finish it, now that you have begun!”
“Well, there is not much to tell; you can easily guess the rest. There were but five of them, and we were twelve. Besides, they expected to catch us asleep, and shoot us down like woodcocks; instead of that, we hardly gave them time to combine their forces or to decide what they ought to do. … You know, we had long knives. … They fired one hasty volley, and missed. … Then, as they had started down the hill, they were unable to stop. Would you believe it!” he continued, in a mournful voice, lifting his sad eyes, “they did not even know how to defend themselves—beating the air with their bayonets, as if defending themselves from a pack of hounds, while we beset them like a pack of wolves! … One soldier grazed my leg with his bayonet; I stumbled and fell, and he over me, Makárof falling on us both. We got up—Makárof and
