“He’s sneaked within range. There’s the place he fired from,” remarked he.
“The captain must be roused,” said I, and glanced at Guskov.
He had crouched nearly to the earth and stammered, trying to say something, “This … this … is unple … this is … most … absurd.” He said no more, and I did not see how and where he suddenly vanished.
In the captain’s tent a candle was lit, and we heard him coughing, as he always did on waking; but he soon appeared, demanding the linstock to light his little pipe with.
“What’s the matter, old man?” said he, smiling. “It seems I am to have no sleep tonight; first you come with your ‘fellow from the ranks,’ and now it’s Shamyl. What are we going to do? Shall we reply or not? Nothing was mentioned about it in the orders?”
“Nothing at all. There he is again,” said I; “and this time with two guns.”
And, in fact, before us, a little to the right, two fires were seen in the darkness like a pair of eyes, and then a ball flew past, as well as an empty shell—probably one of our own returned to us—which gave a loud and shrill whistle. The soldiers crept out of the neighbouring tents, and could be heard clearing their throats, stretching themselves, and talking.
“Hear him a-whistlin through the fuse-hole just like a nightingale!” remarked an artilleryman.
“Call Nikita!” said the captain, with his usual kindly banter. “Nikita, don’t go hiding yourself; come and listen to the mountain nightingales.”