Overhead someone gave a loud shout, several sailors ran by, they seemed to be dragging something bulky over the deck, something fell with a crash. Again they ran by.⁠ ⁠… Had something gone wrong? Gusev raised his head, listened, and saw that the two soldiers and the sailor were playing cards again; Pavel Ivanitch was sitting up moving his lips. It was stifling, one hadn’t strength to breathe, one was thirsty, the water was warm, disgusting. The ship heaved as much as ever.

Suddenly something strange happened to one of the soldiers playing cards.⁠ ⁠… He called hearts diamonds, got muddled in his score, and dropped his cards, then with a frightened, foolish smile looked round at all of them.

“I shan’t be a minute, mates, I’ll⁠ ⁠…” he said, and lay down on the floor.

Everybody was amazed. They called to him, he did not answer.

“Stephan, maybe you are feeling bad, eh?” the soldier with his arm in a sling asked him. “Perhaps we had better bring the priest, eh?”

“Have a drink of water, Stepan⁠ ⁠…” said the sailor. “Here, lad, drink.”

“Why are you knocking the jug against his teeth?” said Gusev angrily. “Don’t you see, turnip head?”

“What?”

“What?” Gusev repeated, mimicking him. “There is no breath in him, he is dead! That’s what! What nonsensical people, Lord have mercy on us⁠ ⁠… !”