The wind, though still light, blew freely over the sea, yet the clouds were motionless and seemed plunged in some gray, dreary dream.
"Come, mate, pull yourself together! it's high time!
Why, what a fellow you are; as though all the breath had been
knocked out of your skin, and only a bag of bones was left!
My dear fellow! It's all over now! Hey!"
It was pleasant to Gavrilo to hear a human voice, even though
Chelkash it was that spoke.
"I hear," he said softly.
"Come, then, milksop. Come, you sit at the rudder and I'll take the oars, you must be tired!"
Mechanically Gavrilo changed places. When Chelkash, as he changed places with him, glanced into his face, and noticed that he was staggering on his shaking legs, he felt still sorrier for the lad. He clapped him on the shoulder.
"Come, come, don't be scared! You've earned a good sum for it.
I'll pay you richly, mate. Would you like twenty-five roubles, eh?"
"I—don't want anything. Only to be on shore."
Chelkash waved his hand, spat, and fell to rowing, flinging the oars far back with his long arms.
The sea had waked up. It frolicked in little waves, bringing them forth, decking them with a fringe of foam, flinging them on one another, and breaking them up into tiny eddies. The foam, melting, hissed and sighed, and everything was filled with the musical plash and cadence. The darkness seemed more alive.