en home," said Goussiev. "I shall die and they will
never know."

"They will know," said the sailor in his deep voice. "When you die they
will put you down in the log, and at Odessa they will give a note to the
military governor, and he will send it to your parish or wherever it
is...."

This conversation made Goussiev begin to feel unhappy and a vague desire
began to take possession of him. He drank water--it was not that; he
stretched out to the port-hole and breathed the hot, moist air--it was
not that; he tried to think of his native place and the snow--it was not
that.... At last he felt that he would choke if he stayed a moment
longer in the hospital.

"I feel poorly, mates," he said. "I want to go on deck. For Christ's
sake take me on deck."

Goussiev flung his arms round the soldier's neck and the soldier held
him with his free arm and supported him up the gangway. On deck there
were rows and rows of sleeping soldiers and sailors; so many of them
that it was difficult to pick a way through them.

"Stand up," said the bandaged soldier gently. "Walk after me slowly and
hold on to my shirt...."

It was dark. There was no light on deck or on the masts or over the sea.
In the bows a sentry stood motionless as a statue, but he looked as if
he were asleep. It was as though the steamer had been left to its own
sweet will, to go where it liked.

"They are going to throw Pavel Ivanich into the sea," said the bandaged
soldier. "They will put him in a sack and throw him overboard."

"Yes. That's the way they do."

"But it's better to lie at home in the earth. Then the mother can go to
the grave and weep over it."

"Surely."

There was a smell of dung and hay. With heads hanging there were oxen
standing by the bulwark--one, two, three ... eight beasts. And there was
a little horse. Goussiev put out his hand to pat it, but it shook its
head, showed its teeth and tried to bite his sleeve.

"Damn you," said Goussiev angrily.

He and the soldier slowly made their way to the bows and stood against
the bulwark and looked silently up and down. Above them was the wide
sky, bright with stars, peace and tranquillity--exactly as it was at
home in his village; but below--darkness and turbulence. Mysterious
towering waves. Each wave seemed to strive to rise higher than the rest;
and they pressed and jostled each other and yet others came, fierce and
ugly, and hurled themselves into the fray.

There is neither sense nor