say it, not to upset you, but because maybe you would like to have the sacrament and extreme unction. And if you have any money you had better give it to the senior officer."
"I haven't written home . . Gusev sighed. "I shall die and they won't know."
"They'll hear of it," the sick sailor brought out in a bass voice. "When you die they will put it down in the Gazette, at Odessa they will send in a report to the commanding officer there and he will send it to the parish or somewhere. . . ."
Gusev began to be uneasy after such a conversation and to feel a vague yearning. He drank water — it was not that; he dragged himself to the window and breathed the hot, moist air — it was not that; he tried to think of home, of the frost — it was not that. . . . At last it seemed to him one minute longer in the ward and he would certainly expire.
"It's stifling, mates . . ." he said. "I'll go on deck. Help me up, for Christ's sake."
"All right," assented the soldier with the sling. "I'll carry you, you can't walk, hold on to my neck."
Gusev put his arm round the soldier's neck, the latter put his unhurt arm round him and carried him up. On the deck sailors and time-expired soldiers were lying asleep side by side; there were so many of them it was difficult to pass.
"Stand down," the soldier with the sling said softly. "Follow me quietly, hold on to my shirt. . . ."
It was dark. There was no light on deck, nor
