se I think of!...

49

Schtolz. Jackson. Vieren. The man with the wounded leg. Kitser.
Dutzman. Khokhriakov. Fost. Pashinsky. Kart. Fedor. Laksman. Vassiliev
(son). Kobylinsky. Perkel. Niestadt. Cymes. Leibner. Vert. Wang-Lee.
Frenkel. The fat Kister. Vygardt....

(_a few lines scratched out_)

50

The "Kitai" was at the pier when we--the detachment of twelve,
guarding a silent man and a hysterical woman--came there under the
cover of night; it was raining, though the air was warm. The Irtysh
stood fragrant with this odor of a big, noble river. The waters--in
which sank Yermak under his heavy corselet--the same waters were
carrying toward the unknown--the Imperial Family.

Though their departure was supposed to be made in secrecy, there was
a crowd of people on the pier--we tried to chase them away, but they
stood there. An ascetic figure was standing on the next pier, lit only
by a few lanterns. This black figure lifted a cross and blessed the
Emperor, who tenderly released his hand from the spasmatic grip of his
terrified wife and made the sign of the cross.

"Quit that, Reverend scoundrel," I heard Khokhriakov's voice. "Who
asked _you_ to come?"

The priest answered:

"Thou knowest not what thou art committing."

"Ah, shut up! To hell with your citations, you old idiot!

"Take him down over there. Isn't there anyone to choke him?"
continued Khokhriakov bending over the hand-rails. "This ass is
propagating,--don't you see, comrades?"

No one, however, moved. This crowd around the Bishop all answered.
Their answer,--a blunt roaring,--sounded like distant thunder and
there was such a frightening unity in this dull noise,--that I had the
shivers.

"You cowards!" bellowed the sailor, "I'll have to come back and finish
with the pope myself! It will not be the first one, anyhow. It's too
late now! Be damned you all! Go ahead!" The gangplanks dropped.

The steamer started to move.

The priest stood still blessing her passengers,--the Emperor, the
Empress, the bolsheviki,--the crew,--all, all of them. And, wet under
the rain, this figure vested in black, with a shiny cross lifted high
in the air, will for a long time remain in my memory.

The Mansion was black; not a light in the windows. The four girls,
left alone in this nest of rattlesnakes,--were probably sitting in
some far distant corner,--crying, trembling, praying,--and waiting for
the worst, which they feared was coming.