The Enchanted Wanderer and Other Stories

During the half hour that this went on, Private Postnikov’s heart was quite torn, and he began to feel “doubt of his reason.” He was an intelligent and disciplined soldier, with a clear mind, and he understood perfectly well that for a sentry to leave his post is such an offense that it would lead at once to court-martial, and to running the gauntlet of rod-wielders, and then to hard labor and maybe even the firing squad. But from the direction of the swollen river the moaning again comes drifting closer and closer, and a spluttering and desperate floundering can be heard.

“I’m drowning! … Help, I’m dro-o-owning!”

The Jordan ice hole is right there now … The end!

Postnikov glanced around once or twice more. Not a soul anywhere, only the streetlamps shaking in the wind and glimmering, and the wind intermittently carrying this cry … maybe the last cry …

There was another splash, another brief howl, and a gurgling in the water.

The sentry could not bear it and deserted his post.

V

Postnikov rushed to the gangway, ran with a violently beating heart down onto the ice, then to the water-filled pool and, quickly spotting where the drowning man was still struggling to stay afloat, held out the stock of his gun to him.

The drowning man seized the butt, and Postnikov pulled him by the bayonet and dragged him out onto the bank.

The saved man and his savior were thoroughly soaked, and since of the two of them the saved man was in a state of extreme exhaustion and kept trembling and falling down, his savior, Private Postnikov, could not bring himself to abandon him on the ice, but led him to the embankment and began looking around for someone to hand him over to. And meanwhile, as all this was going on, a sleigh appeared on the embankment, in which sat an officer of the then-existing Palace Invalid Command (later abolished).

This gentleman arriving at just the wrong moment for Postnikov was, it must be supposed, a man of very light-minded character, and somewhat muddleheaded besides, and also a rather impudent fellow. He leaped out of the sleigh and began asking:

“Who is this man … Who are these people?”

“He was drowning, going under,” Postnikov tried to begin.

“Drowning? Who was drowning? You? Why in such a place?”

The other man only spluttered, and Postnikov was no longer there: he had shouldered his gun and gone back to the sentry box.

Whether or not the officer grasped what had happened, he did not go into it any further, but at once picked up the saved man and drove with him to the Admiralty police station on Morskaya Street.

There the officer made a declaration to a policeman that the wet man he had brought in had been drowning in a pool opposite the palace and he, mister officer, had saved him at the risk of his own life.

The man who had been saved was all wet, chilled, and worn out. From fright and terrible exhaustion he fell into unconsciousness, and it made no difference to him who had saved him.

Around him bustled a sleepy police doctor, and in the office they were writing up a report from the verbal declaration of the invalid officer, and, with the suspiciousness peculiar to policemen, were wondering how he had come out of the water perfectly dry. The officer, who was itching to get himself the medal for lifesaving, explained it by a lucky concurrence of circumstances, but his explanation was incoherent and incredible. They went to awaken the police chief and sent to make inquiries.

And meanwhile in the palace this matter was already generating other swift currents.

VI

In the palace guardroom, all the just-mentioned turns after the officer took the saved drowned man in his sleigh were unknown. The officers and soldiers of the Izmailovsky Regiment knew only that one of their soldiers, Postnikov, had abandoned his sentry box and run to save a man, and since this was a grave violation of military duty, Private Postnikov would now certainly be tried and sent under the rods, and all high-ranking persons, from the company to the regimental commander, would get into terrible trouble, against which they could in no way either protest or vindicate themselves.

The wet and trembling Private Postnikov was, naturally, replaced at his post at once and, having been brought to the guardroom, candidly told N. I. Miller everything known to us, and in all its details, up to the point when the invalid officer put the saved drowned man in the sleigh with him and told the driver to gallop to the Admiralty police station.

The danger was growing greater and more inevitable. Naturally, the invalid officer would tell the police chief everything, and he would at once bring the matter to the attention of the superintendant of police, Kokoshkin, who would report it to the sovereign in the morning, and things would get “hot.”

There was no time for lengthy discussions, it was necessary to call in their seniors.