The recruit suddenly raised above the fire his graceful head within his red cap, for an instant gazed intently at Maksímof and me, then quickly dropped it, and rolled himself up in his cloak. "You see, it was death that was coming upon him this morning when I woke him in the gun-park," said Antónof. "Nonsense!" said Zhdánof, turning over the smouldering log; and all were silent. Amid the general silence a shot was heard behind us in the camp. Our drummers took it up immediately, and beat the tattoo. When the last roll had ceased, Zhdánof was already up, and the first to take off his cap. The rest of us followed his example. Amid the deep silence of the night a choir of harmonious male voices resounded:-- "Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come; thy will be done, as on earth, so in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from the evil one." "It was just so with us in '45: one man was contused in this place," said Antónof when we had put on our hats and were sitting around the fire, "and so we carried him two days on the gun. Do you remember Shevchenko, Zhdánof?... We left him there under a tree." At this time a foot-soldier with tremendous whiskers and mustaches, carrying a gun and a knapsack, came to our fire. "Please give a fellow-countryman a coal for his pipe," said he. "Of course,[29] smoke away; there is plenty of fire," remarked Chikin. "You were talking about Dargi, weren't you, friend?" asked the soldier, addressing Antónof. The soldier shook his head, frowned, and squatted down near us on his heels. "There were all sorts of things there," he remarked. "Why did you leave him?" I asked of Antónof. "He had awful cramps in his belly. When we stood still, he did not feel it; but when we moved, he screeched and screeched. He besought us by all that was holy to leave him: it was pitiful. Well, and when _he_ began to vex us solely, and had killed three of our men at the guns and one officer, then our batteries opened on him, and did some execution too. We weren't able to drag out the guns, there was such mud." "It was muddier under the Indian mountains than anywhere else," remarked the strange soldier. "Well, but indeed it kept growing worse and worse for him; and we decided, Anóshenka--he was an old artillerist--and the rest of us, that indeed there was no chance for him but to say a prayer, and so we left him there. And so we decided. A tree grew there, welcome enough. We left some hard-tack for him,--Zhdánof had some,--we put him against the tree, put a clean shirt on him, said good-by to him, and so we left him." "Was he a man of importance?" "Not at all: he was a soldier," remarked Zhdánof. "And what became of him, God knows," added Antónof. "Many of our brothers were left there."