Amid a universal silence, there was heard a shot behind us in the camp. Our drummers took note of it, and gave the tattoo. When the last roll died down, Zhdánov was the first to rise; he took off his cap, and we all followed his example.
Amid the deep hush of the night was heard the hamonious chorus of male voices:
"Our Father which art in heaven. Hallowed be Thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done, as in heaven, so in earth. Give us to-day our daily bread. And forgive us our sins; for we also forgive every one that is indebted to us. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil."
"It was in the year '45 that one of our men was contused in the same spot," said Antónov, after we had put on our caps, and had seated ourselves again at the fire. "We carried him for two days on the ordnance—Zhdánov, do you remember Shevchénko? We left him there under a tree."
Just then an infantry soldier, with immense whiskers and moustache, and wearing his cartridge-box, walked over to us.
"Countrymen, may I have some fire to light my pipe with?" he said.
"Light it, there is plenty of fire here," remarked Chíkin.
"Countryman, you are, I suppose, telling about Dargí," the foot-soldier said, turning to Antónov.
"Yes, about the year '45, at Dargí," replied Antónov.
The foot-soldier shook his head, closed his eyes, and squatted down near us.
"It was dreadful there," he remarked.
"Why did you leave him?" I asked of Antónov.
"He had terrible pain in his abdomen. As long as we stood still, it was all right; but the moment we moved, he shrieked terribly. He entreated us to leave him, but we pitied him. But when he began to harass us, and
