Chelkash got up from the stern, still holding the oars in his hands, and
peering with his cold eyes into the pale and twitching face of Gavrilo.
Crouching forward Chelkash was like a cat on the point of springing.
There was the sound of angry gnashing of teeth.
"Who's calling?" rang out a surly shout from the sea.
"Now, you devil, row! quietly with the oars! I'll kill you, you cur. Come, row! One, two! There! you only make a sound! I'll cut your throat!" hissed Chelkash.
"Mother of God—Holy Virgin—" muttered Gavrilo, shaking and numb with terror and exertion.
The boat turned smoothly and went back toward the harbor, where the lights gathered more closely into a group of many colors and the straight stems of masts could be seen.
"Hi! Who's shouting?" floated across again. The voice was farther off this time. Chelkash grew calm again.
"It's yourself, friend, that's shouting!" he said in the direction of the shouts, and then he turned to Gavrilo, who was muttering a prayer.
"Well, mate, you're in luck! If those devils had overtaken us, it would have been all over with you. D'you see? I'd have you over in a trice—to the fishes!"
Now, when Chelkash was speaking quietly and even good-humoredly,
Gavrilo, still shaking with terror, besought him!
"Listen, forgive me! For Christ's sake, I beg you, let me go!
Put me on shore somewhere! Aie-aie-aie! I'm done for entirely!
Come, think of God, let me go! What am I to you?
I can't do it! I've never been used to such things.
It's the first time. Lord! Why, I shall be lost!
How did you get round me, mate? eh? It's a shame of you!
Why, you're ruining a man's life! Such doings."