Taras Bulba, and Other TalesGogol, Nikolai Vasilevich
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Taras Bulba, and Other Tales
Gogol, Nikolai Vasilevich
Russia -- Fiction; Short stories
“If it must be so, then let it be so. I am the slave of your will. We
know, and from Scripture too, that the voice of the people is the voice
of God. It is impossible to devise anything better than the whole nation
has devised. But here lies the difficulty; you know, gentles, that
the Sultan will not permit that which delights our young men to go
unpunished. We should be prepared at such a time, and our forces should
be fresh, and then we should fear no one. But during their absence the
Tatars may assemble fresh forces; the dogs do not show themselves in
sight and dare not come while the master is at home, but they can bite
his heels from behind, and bite painfully too. And if I must tell you
the truth, we have not boats enough, nor powder ready in sufficient
quantity, for all to go. But I am ready, if you please; I am the slave
of your will.”
The cunning hetman was silent. The various groups began to discuss the
matter, and the hetmans of the kurens to take counsel together; few were
drunk fortunately, so they decided to listen to reason.
A number of men set out at once for the opposite shore of the Dnieper,
to the treasury of the army, where in strictest secrecy, under water and
among the reeds, lay concealed the army chest and a portion of the
arms captured from the enemy. Others hastened to inspect the boats and
prepare them for service. In a twinkling the whole shore was
thronged with men. Carpenters appeared with axes in their hands. Old,
weatherbeaten, broad-shouldered, strong-legged Zaporozhtzi, with black
or silvered moustaches, rolled up their trousers, waded up to their
knees in water, and dragged the boats on to the shore with stout ropes;
others brought seasoned timber and all sorts of wood. The boats were
freshly planked, turned bottom upwards, caulked and tarred, and then
bound together side by side after Cossack fashion, with long strands of
reeds, so that the swell of the waves might not sink them. Far along the
shore they built fires and heated tar in copper cauldrons to smear the
boats. The old and the experienced instructed the young. The blows and
shouts of the workers rose all over the neighbourhood; the bank shook
and moved about.
About this time a large ferry-boat began to near the shore. The mass of
people standing in it began to wave their hands from a distance. They
were Cossacks in torn, ragged gaberdines. Their disordered garments, for
many had on nothing but their shirts, with a short pipe in their mouths,
showed that they had either escaped from some disaster or had caroused
to such an extent that they had drunk up all they had on their bodies.
A short, broad-shouldered Cossack of about fifty stepped out from the
midst of them and stood in front. He shouted and waved his hand more
vigorously than any of the others; but his words could not be heard for
the cries and hammering of the workmen.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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