What did he care for danger, for the melancholy beauty of the Volga sunset, for the fatal bullet which—in battle, or from round some corner—would put an end to his life? The thirst for life, burning energy, were seething in him....
The planks cracked beneath his bare heels.
"Just you wait, only give us time, we'll take Syzran and Samara—the whole Volga will be ours...."
A filmy veil obscured the sunset glow.
The steamer showed no lights.
The banks seemed to be disappearing into the night.
Khvedin, seeking an outlet for his energy, invited Ivan Ilyich to play cards with him.
"If you don't want to play for money, let's play for smacks on the nose. But proper ones!"
They sat down in the captain's cabin to play for smacks.
In his excitement, Khvedin overbid, ran up a tally of three hundred smacks, and was so carried away that he almost cheated, but Ivan Ilyich, who kept a sharp lookout ("You can't get away with that with me, mate!"), won.
Seating himself comfortably on the stool, he began to hit his opponent's nose with the greasy cards.
Khvedin's nose was very soon as red as beetroot.
"Where did you learn that?"
"I learned it when I was a German prisoner," said Telegin.
"Don't turn your phiz away!
Two-hundred-and-ninety-seven."
"Mind! No bending of the cards! If you do, I'll...."
"No nonsense! You're allowed to tend the last three!"
"Go on, then, you scamp!"
But before Telegin could strike again, the captain came into the cabin.
His jaw was trembling.
He held his leap in his hand.
Drops of sweat were running down the bald top of his head.
"You can do what you like to me, Comrade-gentlemen," he said despairingly. "I'm ready for anything. But whatever you say I'm not going on any further... it's certain death...."
Flinging down the cards, Khvedin and Telegin went on deck.
In front and to the left the electric lights of Syzran shone as bright as stars.
A huge river steamer, brilliantly lit up, was moving slowly along the shore: the great white St. Andrew's flag, the imposing outlines of heavy guns, the figures of officers walking up and down the deck, could be made out with the naked eye....
"We can't go back, Comrades.
At all costs we must go on," whispered Khvedin.
"If only we can get to Batraki, we can stop and unload."
He ordered the whole crew to gather in the hold, in readiness for a battle.
The tricolour was hoisted, and the lights were lit.
At last the tug was observed from the big steamer.
Brief whistles ordered it to reduce speed.
A voice boomed out from a megaphone:
"Who are you?
Where are you headed for?"
"The tug Kalashnikov.
Headed for Samara," replied Khvedin.
"Why did you light up so late?"
"We were afraid of the Bolsheviks."
Khvedin lowered the megaphone to murmur in Telegin's ear: "If we only had a torpedo! I sent to Astrakhan for torpedoes. They're just a pack of dawdlers in the Astrakhan Soviet."
After a silence the reply came from the steamer:
"You may proceed."
The captain put on his cap with a trembling hand.
Khvedin, his teeth bared, his eyes narrowed, watched the lights of the vessel.
Then he spat and returned to the cabin.
"Go on, finish, you devil!" he shouted at Telegin, lighting a cigarette and snapping the match in two.
An hour later they left Syzran behind them.
As they neared Batraki, Telegin was let over the side in a sloop.