People were running past the windows beneath the banked-up earth at the side of the lines.
Bang-bang... eyes were dazzled, ears deafened.... A terrifying voice cried:
"No leaning out of the windows!"
A hand grenade burst.
The carriage swayed.
The teeth of the passengers chattered, chattered....
Men were clambering on to the steps of the carriage, pushing the door open with the butt ends of their rifles.
Brandishing hand grenades, their rifles knocking against one another in the crush, nine or ten men came tumbling into the compartment, breathing stertorously.
"Collect your things and get out into the fields."
"Get a move on, or else...."
"Mishka, cover the bourgeois with your hand grenade."
The passengers cowered.
A fair-haired lad with a fierce, pale face, threw himself forward, raising a hand grenade, standing there motionless for a moment with his hand over his head.
"We're going, we're going, we're going," moaned the voices of the passengers.
And without any more protest, not uttering a word, they crept out of the train—some with suitcases, some with nothing but a pillow or a kettle.... One man, in pince-nez, his beard pushed sideways, actually smiled as he made his way through the throng of bandits.
The night air was chilly.
The stars formed an exquisite canopy over the steppe.
Katya sat down with her bundle on a pile of rotting sleepers.
Since they hadn't started killing at once, they probably wouldn't kill them at all.
She felt as weak as if she had just recovered from a fainting fit.
"I might as well be sitting here on the sleepers, as roaming the streets of Ekaterinoslav without a crust of bread." She felt the chill on her shoulders, and yawned.
In the train, tall peasants were dragging boxes from the luggage racks and throwing them out of the windows.
The man in pince-nez made an attempt to climb up the embankment to the train.
"Gentlemen, gentlemen, I have scientific apparatus in there, for God's sake be careful, it's very fragile...."
The others hissed at him, dragging him back by his waterproof into the crowd of passengers.
Just at that moment a mounted detachment rode up in the darkness with a rattling of stirrups and stamping of hoofs.
A powerfully-built man in a tall cap galloped a horse-length ahead of them, swaying in the saddle.
The passengers huddled together.
The detachment drew up beside the carriage with raised rifles and swords.
The powerful man in the high cap cried in resonant tones:
"No losses, lads?"
"No, no! We're unloading the stuff. Send us carts," replied several voices.
The man in the tall cap turned his horse's head and rode into the crowd of passengers.
"Show your papers," he ordered, putting his horse through its paces, so that the froth from its muzzle flew into the fear-dilated eyes of the passengers.
"Don't be afraid.
You are under the protection of the people's army of Ataman Makhno.
We'll only shoot officers and gendarmes." His voice rose menacingly, "—and speculators in the property of the people."
Again the man in the waterproof thrust himself forward, adjusting his pince-nez.
"Excuse me, I can give you my word of honour that there are no people belonging to the categories you mentioned among us. No one but peaceful citizens. My name is Obruchev, teacher of physics...."
"A teacher," said the powerful man reproachfully, "and going about with a pack of swine!
Move aside!
Don't touch that one, lads, he's a teacher."
A candle was brought out of the train.
The inspection of papers began.
And true enough there were neither officers nor gendarmes among the passengers.
The clean-shaven man. in the blue serge suit fidgeted about, nearer to the candle than anyone else.... He was no longer dressed in blue serge, but in a worn peasant coat and a soldier's peaked cap.
Where could he have got these things? He must have had them with him in his suitcase.
He patted the grim-visaged bandits on the shoulders in the friendliest manner.
"I'm a singer, glad to meet you, friends.
We artistes need to study life, I'm an artiste."