"No, he is dead."
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.