Heavy banks of ragged clouds floated across the sky. The sea was calm. The water, black and thick, like oil, gave off a humid, saline smell and lazily lapped against the ship’s sides and the beach, gently rocking Chelkash’s boat. Far from the shore loomed the dark hulls of ships, their masts pointing to the sky, tipped with different coloured lights. The sea, reflecting these lights, was dotted with innumerable coloured patches, which shimmered on its soft, black, velvety surface. The sea was sound asleep, like a labourer after a hard day’s work.

“We’re off!” said Gavrila, dropping his oars into the water.

“Aye, aye!” said Chelkash, pulling hard with his steering oar to bring the boat into the strip of water between the barges. The boat sped swiftly over the slippery water, and with each stroke of the oars the water was lit up with a bluish phosphorescent radiance that trailed like a long, soft, fluttering ribbon from the boat’s stern.

“Does your head still ache?” Chelkash asked in a kindly voice.

“Something awful! ... It’s ringing like a bell.... I’ll splash some water over it in a minute.”

“There’s no need to do that. Take this. It’ll help your inside, and you’ll soon get better,” said Chelkash, handing Gavrila a flask.

“I doubt it.... Well, God bless us....”

A soft gurgling sound was heard.

“Hey, you! That’s enough!” said Chelkash, stopping the boy from drinking more.

The boat pushed ahead again, noiselessly and swiftly winding its way among the ships.... Suddenly it shot out from among the crowd of ships, and the sea—infinite and mighty—spread out before them into the blue distance, where mountains of clouds towered out of the water—some violet and grey with puffy yellow borders, others greenish, the colour of sea water, and others of a dull, leaden hue, of the kind which throw heavy, mournful shadows. The clouds moved slowly, now merging with and now skirting each other, mingling their colours and forms, absorbing each other and again emerging in new shapes, majestic and frowning.... There was something sinister in the slow movement of this soulless mass. It seemed as though over there, on the edge of the sea, their number was infinite, and that they would eternally creep across the sky in this indifferent manner with the malicious object of preventing it from shining again over the slumbering sea with its millions of golden eyes—the multi-coloured stars, living and dreamily radiant, exciting lofty desires in men to whom their pure radiance is precious.

“The sea’s fine, isn’t it?” asked Chelkash.

“Not bad! Only it makes me feel afraid,” answered Gavrila, pulling strongly and steadily at the oars. The water was barely audible as it splashed under the strokes of the long oars and shone with the warm bluish light of phosphorus.

“Afraid! You boob!” exclaimed Chelkash contemptuously.

He, the thief, loved the sea. His vibrating nervous nature, thirsting for impressions, could not contemplate enough the dark, boundless, free and mighty expanse. He felt hurt when he heard this answer to his enquiry about the beauty of the thing he loved. Sitting in the stern, he cleaved the water with his oar and calmly gazed ahead, feeling that he would like to glide far away over its velvety surface.

The sea always gave him a warm expansive feeling which filled his whole soul and purged it somewhat of the dross of everyday life. He appreciated this, and loved to see himself a better man, here, amidst the water and the air, where thoughts of life, and life itself, always lose, the former their painful acuteness, and the latter all value. At night, the sound of the sea’s soft breathing as it slept floats evenly over its surface, and this limitless sound fills a man’s soul with serenity, and gently subduing its evil impulses rouses in it mighty dreams....

“Where’s the tackle?” Gavrila suddenly asked, looking anxiously into the bottom of the boat.

Chelkash started.

“The tackle? I’ve got it here, in the stern.”

He felt ashamed at having to lie to this boy, and he also regretted the thoughts and feelings that had been disturbed by this boy’s question. It made him angry. The familiar sense of burning rose in his breast and throat, and this irritated him still more.

“Now look here!” he said to Gavrila in a hard, stern voice. “You sit still and mind your own business. I hired you to row. Do the job I hired you for. If you wag your tongue too much, you’ll be sorry for it! Do you understand me?”

The boat shivered for a moment and stopped. The oars remained in the water, causing it to foam. Gavrila wriggled uncomfortably on his seat.

“Row! ”

A foul oath shook the air.