Caucasus -- Fiction; Russia -- History -- Nicholas I, 1825-1855 -- Fiction
The night was dark, warm, and still. Only on one side of the sky the
stars were shining, the other and greater part was overcast by one huge
cloud stretching from the mountaintops. The black cloud, blending in
the absence of any wind with the mountains, moved slowly onwards, its
curved edges sharply defined against the deep starry sky. Only in front
of him could the Cossack discern the Térek and the distance beyond.
Behind and on both sides he was surrounded by a wall of reeds.
Occasionally the reeds would sway and rustle against one another
apparently without cause. Seen from down below, against the clear part
of the sky, their waving tufts looked like the feathery branches of
trees. Close in front at his very feet was the bank, and at its base
the rushing torrent. A little farther on was the moving mass of glassy
brown water which eddied rhythmically along the bank and round the
shallows. Farther still, water, banks, and cloud all merged together in
impenetrable gloom. Along the surface of the water floated black
shadows, in which the experienced eyes of the Cossack detected trees
carried down by the current. Only very rarely sheet-lightning, mirrored
in the water as in a black glass, disclosed the sloping bank opposite.
The rhythmic sounds of night—the rustling of the reeds, the snoring of
the Cossacks, the hum of mosquitoes, and the rushing water, were every
now and then broken by a shot fired in the distance, or by the gurgling
of water when a piece of bank slipped down, the splash of a big fish,
or the crashing of an animal breaking through the thick undergrowth in
the wood. Once an owl flew past along the Térek, flapping one wing
against the other rhythmically at every second beat. Just above the
Cossack’s head it turned towards the wood and then, striking its wings
no longer after every other flap but at every flap, it flew to an old
plane tree where it rustled about for a long time before settling down
among the branches. At every one of these unexpected sounds the
watching Cossack listened intently, straining his hearing, and screwing
up his eyes while he deliberately felt for his musket.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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