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“Didactic material on the topic: “Repetition of what was studied in grade V. Boris Zhitkov - compositions

The rowers were breathing heavily, and the acrid smell of sweat hung over the entire shiurma. Now there was no music, only the drum was beating to give time to the rowers.

Gritsko was exhausted. He only held on to the oar shaft in order to move in time with everyone. But he couldn’t quit, he couldn’t help bending: they would hit him on the back with a rear oar.

This living machine moved to the beat of the drum. The drum accelerated its beat, the machine accelerated, and people began to bend and fall on the cans more often. It seemed that the drum moved the car, the drum drove the galley forward.

The subcommittees looked with all their eyes: the captain tried the shiurma, and it was impossible to lose face. The lashes went around bare backs: the sub-committees gave steam to the car.

Suddenly a whistle from the stern - one and two. The sub-committees shouted something, and some of the rowers took their hands off the oars. They sank down and sat on the deck.

Gritsko did not understand what was the matter. His negro neighbor sat on deck. Gritsko was hit on the back with a whip and clutched tighter at the roll. The negro grabbed his hands and pulled him down. And then a roll of the front oar flew into the back and knocked Gritsk to the ground in time - the committee was already aiming with a whip.

It was the captain who ordered four of each six to row. He wanted to see what the move would be when a third of the team was resting.

Now there were four rowers at each oar. Two at the side were resting, sinking onto the deck. Gritsko had already torn his hands in blood. But the usual galleys had a palm like a sole, and the valek did not rub their hands.

Now the galley was on the high seas.

The west wind drove a light swell and rinsed the sides of the ship. The wet gilded gods at the stern gleamed even brighter. The heavy flag came to life completely and rippled in the fresh wind: the noble flag straightened out, stretched itself.

18. Starboard tack

The committee gave a short whistle.

The drum is silent. It was the commander who ordered to stop rowing.

The rowers began to pull the oars onto the deck in order to lay them along the side. The sailors removed the awning. He escaped from his hands and fought in the wind. Others climbed the battens: they gave away the seasons, with which the twisted sails were tightly tied to the battens.

These were triangular sails on long flexible rails. They were on all three masts. New, bright white. And on the front was a colored crucifix, under it were three coats of arms: the Pope of Rome, the Catholic* King and the Venetian Republic. The coats of arms were connected by a chain. This meant a strong, indestructible military alliance of three states against the infidels, against the Saracens, Moors, Arabs, Turks.

* Spanish.

The sails were tight in the wind. On the free corner of the sail was a rope - a sheet. The sailors pulled for it, and the captain gave orders how to pull it: the course of the ship depends on this. The sailors knew their places, each knew his tackle, and they rushed to fulfill the captain's order. They stepped on the exhausted rowers, as if on a load.

The sailors were hired volunteers; as a sign of this, they left mustaches. And the galleys were convicts, slaves, and the sailors trampled them.

The galley tipped to port and glided smoothly over the swell. After the drum, the groan of the cans, the noise of the oars, it became calm and quiet on the ship. The rowers sat on the deck with their backs against the cans. They stretched out their swollen, numb hands and panted heavily.

But behind the splashing of the swell, behind the talk of the flags that fluttered on the butts of the battens, the gentlemen in the stern under the trellis did not hear the talk, vague muttering, like noise, and even, like surf. This is a shiurma from oar to oar, from can to can passed the news. They flew around the entire deck, from bow to stern, went along the port side and moved to the starboard.

19. Comites

The subcommittees did not see a single open mouth, not a single gesture: tired faces with half-open eyes. Rarely does anyone turn and jingle a chain.

Subcommittees have a keen eye and a delicate ear. They heard amid the muffled mutterings, the jingling of chains, the splashing of the sea - they heard the sound of rats scratching.

"Quiet on deck, the damned have grown bolder!" - the subcommittee thought and listened - where?

Gritsko leaned against the side and hung his shaven head between his knees, with a tuft of hair on top of his head. Shaking his head, he thought about rowing and said to himself:

Once again, I'll die.

The Negro turned away from his Turkish neighbor and almost fell on Gritsk. He pressed his hand. The Cossack wanted to free her. But the Negro gripped it tightly, and Gritsko felt that something small and hard was being thrust into his hand. Then I took it apart - a piece of iron.

The Negro glanced with a half-open eye, and Gritsko realized that he couldn't even blink an eyebrow.

I took the iron. Gently felt - toothy.

Small hard toothed piece. Gritska broke into a sweat. He breathed harder. And the negro closed his eyes completely and leaned still more with his black slippery body on Gritskov's hand.

The sub-committees passed, stopped and looked closely at the exhausted Negro. Gritsko froze. He sagged all over with fear and cunning: let them think that he was barely alive, he was so tired.

The committees were talking, and Gritsko was waiting: they would suddenly rush in and catch him on the spot.

He didn't understand what they were saying about the ill-purchased Negro.

A horse, a real horse, but it will die. They're dying of boredom, rascals, the subcommittees said. They went further, to the tank: there they were waiting for dinner.

A tanned bare leg slipped cautiously between Gritsk and the Negro.

The Cossack was offended:

"It's quiet, but the wine is pissing."

The foot wiggled its toes.

"More teasing!" Gritsko thought.

I wanted to push my foot into the wet sole. And the foot again impatiently, quickly moved its toes.

The negro opened his eyes and looked at his leg. Gritsko understood. Wearily, he shifted his position, leaned on that bare leg, and stuck that stub of the file between his fingers.

The Negro didn't move. Gritsko didn't move when his leg stretched back to the neighbors.

A gust of cheerful wind ran into the galley, and with it the swell slapped heavily on the starboard side. The spray blew over naked bodies.

People twitched and tinkled their chains. And in this noise, Gritsko clearly heard the sound rustling up to him:

* Yakshi - good.

The first word that Gritsko understood in the galley. Trembled, rejoiced. The words seemed familiar. Where? He raised his eyes, and this is a Turk that leaned on a black negro, squinted his eyes and looked carefully, seriously.

The Cossack almost shouted at the top of his lungs with joy:

Yakshi! Yakshi!

Yes, I caught on. And after all, he knew only three words: urus *, yakshi yes alla **. And when the sailors splashed again on deck to pick up the sheets, Gritsko managed to croak:

* Urus - Russian.

**Alla is God.

Yakshi, yakshi!

The Turk only rolled his eyes.

This wind "came" - it began to blow more from the bow. The galley picked up the sheets and went steeper towards the wind.

Everyone was waiting for Signor Pietro Galliano to turn back to return to the port before sunset. The inspection is over. No one knew the secret thoughts of the captain.

The captain gave the order to the committee. He handed it to the rowers closest to the stern, the "stroke", they passed to the next that they held the oars by the handle, and the team rushed along the galley to the forecastle using this live telephone.

But the farther the words went along the line of rowers, the more and more words were added to the captain's command, incomprehensible words that even the subcommittees would not understand if they heard. They did not know this convict language of the galleys.

The captain demanded that the priest come to him from his cabin. And the shiurma added her order to this.

The words were carried by the wind, and only a neighbor heard them.

Soon the chaplain was stomping along the middle walkways, picking up his cassock*. He was in a hurry and, while rolling, stepped unsteadily along the narrow walkways and, balancing with his free hand, waved his rosary.

* Sutana - attire of Catholic priests.

Father! - said the captain. - Bless the weapons against the infidels.

The suite looked at each other.

So that's why the galley has been starboard-tacking hard-boiled for three hours in a row, without changing course!

At your own risk and fear. The guerrilla feat was started by Galliano.

The infidels, continued the captain, had taken possession of the galley of the patrician Roniero. Genoese sailors were not ashamed to tell what happened before their eyes. Should I wait for the Council's blessing?

Already armed people in armor, with muskets, spears, crossbows, crowded on the forecastle. The gunners stood by the bow guns.

The chaplain recited Latin prayers and sprinkled cannons, muskets, crossbows, went down and sprinkled stones that served as cannonballs, clay pots with a fiery composition, balls with sharp spikes that are thrown onto the deck when attacking enemies. He only avoided sprinkling the lime, although it was tightly sealed in the tarred pots.

"Black Sails"

They wrapped the oars in rags so that the tree would not knock or rattle. And water was poured from above so that it would not creak, damn it.

The night is dark, thick, even stick a stick.

The Cossacks are rowing up to the Turkish coast, and the water does not splash: the oar is carefully taken out of the water, like a child from a cradle.

And the boats are big and sprawling. The noses are sharp and point upwards. There are twenty-five people in each boat, and there is enough room for twenty more.

Old Pilip in the lead boat. He leads.

The shore has already become visible: it stands like a black wall in the black sky. Fucking, fucking Cossacks and become-listen.

The night breeze pulls well from the shore. Hear everything. So the last dog on the shore stopped talking. Quiet. You can only hear how the sea rustles with sand under the shore: the Black Sea breathes a little.

Here they got the bottom with an oar. Two got out and wade ashore, to reconnaissance. A large, rich aul is here, on the shore, among the Turks.

And the rooks are all here. They are standing, listening - the lads of the dogs would not mess up. Yes, not like that!

Here it turned a little red under the shore, and the cliff overhead became visible. With teeth, with waterholes.

And the hubbub rose in the village.

And the light was brighter, brighter, and crimson smoke swirled, curled over the Turkish village: the Cossacks set fire to the aul from both edges. The dogs strayed, the horses neighed, the people howled, wailed.

Rooks rushed to the shore. The Cossacks left two people in the boat, climbed up the cliff to the steep. Here it is, corn, - it stands like a wall above the very aul.

Cossacks lie in corn and watch how the Turks drag all their goods into the street: chests, and carpets, and dishes, everything is on fire, as in the daytime, you can see.

Looking out, whose hut is richer.

The Turks are rushing about, the women are roaring, they are dragging water from the well, the horses are being led out of the stalls. Horses fight, break, rush between people, trample on good and are carried away to the steppe.

A heap of belongings is piled on the ground.

How Pilip hoots! The Cossacks jumped up, rushed to the Turkish good and, well, grab what anyone can do.

The Turks were stunned, yelling in their own way.

And the Cossack grabbed and - into the corn, into the darkness, and disappeared into the night, as if he dived into the water.

The boys had already stuffed the boats with carpets, and silver jugs, and Turkish embroideries, but suddenly Gritsko decided to take the woman with him - just for laughs.

They stopped digging out scimitars from under the bundles in their belongings and rushed after Gritsk.

Gritsko and the woman threw, running ache through the corn, a stone down the cliff and ticking to the boats.

And the Turks after him from the shore are pouring in like potatoes. They climb into the water on the Cossacks: from the fire, from the scream, like crazy, they rushed to swim.

Here, from the cliff, they began to shoot from muskets and threw their own fire.

The Cossacks are fighting back. Yes, do not shoot from the muskets at the shore - it became even darker under the cliff, as the glow was breathing over the village. They would not kill their own. They fight with sabers and retreat ford to the boats.

And so, who did not have time to jump into the boat, the Turks chopped those. Only one was taken prisoner - Gritsk.

And the Cossacks leaned heavily on the oars and - into the sea, away from Turkish bullets. They rowed until the fire became barely visible: a red eye blinks from the shore.

Then they moved north, quickly, so that the chase would not overtake.

Two rowers sat on each bench, and there were seven benches on each boat: the Cossacks struck fourteen oars, and the helmsman himself ruled the fifteenth oar. This was three hundred years ago. So the Cossacks went on boats to the Turkish shores.

Grits came to his senses. The whole body is beaten up. It hurts, it hurts. It's dark all around.

Only with fiery rulers the day shines in the crack of the barn. I felt all around: straw, manure.

"Where am I?"

And suddenly I remembered everything. I remembered and it took my breath away. Better to be killed. And now they will skin the living. Or the Turks will impale. That's why they left him alive. So I decided. And he was sick of anguish and fear.

"Maybe I'm not alone here - everything will be more fun."

And asked aloud:

Is there anyone alive?

No, one.

They rattled the lock, and people entered. Light hit the door. Gritsko is not happy with the world. Here it is, death has come. And he can't get up.

Weakened legs, limp all over. And the Turks tease, kick with their feet - get up!

Hands twisted back, pushed out the door. People are standing on the street, watching, muttering something. An old bearded man in a turban bent down and picked up a stone. He waved with anger and hit the escorts.

But Gritsko does not even look around, he looks ahead - where is the stake? And it’s scary, and he can’t help but look: because of every turn, the stake is waiting. And the legs are like not their own, like they are attached.

The mosque has passed, but the stake is still missing. We left the village and went along the road to the sea.

"So, they will drown," the Cossack decided. "All the flour is less."

Near the shore stood a felucca - a large boat, sharp at both ends. The bow and stern were famously lifted up, like the horns of the Turkish month.

Gritsko was thrown to the bottom. Half-naked rowers took up the oars.

3. Karamusal

"That's right, they're bringing the fire," the Cossack decided.

Gritsko saw from the bottom only the blue sky and the rower's bare, sweaty back.

It suddenly became easier to row. Grits threw back his head: he sees the prow of the ship above the felucca itself. A thick stem curved up out of the water. Two eyes are painted on its sides, and the round cheekbones of the Turkish karamusal protrude like puffed cheeks. As if the ship was puffed up with anger.

As soon as Gritsko had time to think about whether they had brought him here, everything was ready. The felucca stood at the high steep side, and the Turks began to climb onto the ship along a rope ladder with wooden steps. Gritsk was whipped around the neck with a rope and dragged aboard. Almost suffocated.

On deck, Grits saw that the ship was large, about fifty paces long.

Two masts, and on the slats lowered above the deck, the retracted sails are tightly twisted.

The foremast looked forward. From the masts went to the side of the rope - shrouds. Tight - they held the mast when the wind pressed against the sail. There were barrels at the sides.

A whole wagon was piled up at the stern. Large, covered with thick material. The entrance to it from the deck was hung with carpets.

Guards with daggers and scimitars stood at the waist at the entrance to this aft pavilion.

From there, an important Turk stepped out slowly - in a huge turban, with the widest silk belt; from his belt protruded two handles of daggers with a gold notch, with semi-precious stones.

Everyone on deck fell silent and watched the Turk speak.

Kapudan, kapudan, they whispered near Gritsk.

The Turks parted. Kapudan (captain) looked into Gritsk's eyes, he looked like he was poking with a crowbar. He was silent for a whole minute and kept looking. Then he bit off a word and turned round to his carpeted tent at the stern.

The guards grabbed Gritsk and led him to the prow.

The blacksmith came, and Gritsko did not have time to blink, as the chains began to speak on his arms and legs.

They opened the hatch and shoved the prisoner into the hold. Gritsko crashed into a black hole, hit the logs below, his chains. The hatch did not close tightly, and sunlight penetrated through the cracks in bright sheets of sunlight.

“Now they won’t kill me,” thought the Cossack, “they would have killed them right away, there, on the shore.”

And he rejoiced at the chains and the dark hold.

Gritsko began to climb up the hold and consider where he was. Soon I got used to the semi-darkness.

The whole ship inside was made of ribs *, thick, four inches each. The ribs were not intact, butted, and densely set. And behind the ribs were already boards. Between the boards, in the cracks, resin. Along the bottom, in length, over the ribs, there was a log in the middle **. Thick, hewn. It was on him that Grits crashed down, as he was pushed off the deck.

* These ribs are called frames.

** This log covering the frames is called the keelson.

And a healthy spine! - And Gritsko patted the log with his palm.

Gritsko rumbled with his shackles - the smithy was moving.

And from above, an elderly Turk in a green turban looked through the crack. I watched who was tossing and turning so cool. And spotted a Cossack.

Yakshi Urus*, he muttered to himself. - You can get money for it.

Gotta feed.

* Good Russian.

In Tsargrad, Gritsko stood in the bazaar and next to him was a Bulgarian slave.

A Turk in a green turban traded a Cossack with a kapudan for a silver nargile* and now he was selling it at the market.

* Nargile - hookah, a device for smoking.

The bazaar was all bazaars a bazaar. It seemed that a whole city of lunatics gathered to try the voices. People tried to shout down donkeys, and donkeys - each other. Loaded camels with huge packs of carpets on their sides, swaying, stepped importantly among the crowd, and in front of them the Syrian yelled and cleared the way for the caravan: rich carpets were brought from Syria to the Constantinople market.

The guards pushed the ragged thief with his lips, and the boys, clean-shaven, naked-headed, saw them off in a dense crowd.

Green flower beds rose above the crowd carts with greenery. Turkish housewives, hung with black veils, scolded the garden merchants with piercing voices.

Flies hovered over a bunch of sweet, fragrant melons. Tanned people threw golden melons from hand to hand, luring the buyer with a cheap price.

The Greek hit the pan with a spoon - he called to his tavern.

With Gritsk, the Turks sold five Arapchat boys. He told them to shout their price and, if they did not try hard, he would beat the pair with a whip.

Nearby, an Arab was selling camels. Buyers pushed, rushed, ebbed, and a river with a whirlpool flowed past.

Who was not there! The Arabs also walked: easily, as if on springs, they rose at every step.

Turkish merchants with half a dozen black servants poured forward with a fat belly.

Passed the Genoese in beautiful coats with waistcoats; they were dandies and all laughed, chatted, as if they had come to a merry masquerade. Each has a sword with an intricate handle on his side, gold buckles on his boots.

Pedlars of cold water with a goat skin on their backs were spinning in the midst of the crowd.

The noise was such that thunder from the sky - no one would have heard. And then suddenly this din doubled - everyone around screamed, as if they had been thrown on the coals.

The owner of Gritsk grabbed to whip his blacks. The Cossack began to look at what had happened. The bazaar parted: someone important was walking - you see, the main merchant here.

The Venetian captain was moving, in a caftan with gold and lace. He did not walk, but acted like a peacock. And with him a whole retinue of embroidered, motley youth.

The Bulgarian began to be baptized so that they could see: the Christian soul is tormented.

Perhaps they will buy it, because people are baptized. And Grits stared at the embroidered caftans.

And now the embroidered caftans stood in front of the goods: in front of Gritsk, the Arabs and the devout Bulgarian. They put their hands on their hips, and the captain, embroidered with gold, shook with laughter. Behind him, the whole retinue began to laugh hard. They bent, they rolled over. It was funny for them to watch how the black-haired people, raising their heads to the sky, howled their price with one voice.

The captain turned to the owner with an important mine. The gilded companions frowned, as if on cue, and made stern faces.

The Bulgarian crossed himself so that his hand was not visible.

The people fled, surrounded the Venetians, everyone poked around, squeezed: some winked at the owner, some tried to lure rich merchants to them.

In the evening, the Turks took Gritsk and the Bulgarian ashore and transported him on a felucca to a Venetian ship.

The Bulgarian all the way kept repeating to Gritsk in various ways that they were bought by Christians. They ransomed them from the busurmans and released them.

Gritz said:

What are we to them, brothers and sisters, what will they redeem us? It's bad to give a penny to the lords!

The ship was not like the Turkish caramusal, on which Gritsk was brought to Tsargrad. Like a proud bird, the ship lay on the water, its multi-tiered stern raised high. He so easily touched the water with his steeply curved body, as if he had just come down to rest and soak in the warm water.

It seemed that now it would disband the sails-wings and fly up. His reflection curled in the water like flexible snakes. And above the red evening water, the brocade flag hovered heavily and importantly behind the stern. On it was a cross and an icon in a golden bright aureole.

The ship stood in a clean place, at a distance from a heap of Turkish caramusals, as if afraid of getting dirty.

Square windows were cut into the side of the ship - seven windows in a row, running the length of the ship. Their doors were affably lifted up, and in the depths of these windows (ports), like an evil pupil, the muzzles of bronze cannons gleamed.

Two high masts, one in the bow*, the other in the middle**, were tightly reinforced with ropes. On these masts there were two crossbeams - yards. They hung on topenants, and, like reins, braces came from their ends (noks). On the third mast, which stuck out in the very stern ***, there was only a flag. The Bulgarian did not take his eyes off him.

* Foremast.

** Main mast.

*** Mizzen mast.

Gritsko admired the ship. He could not think that all this web of ropes was gear, necessary gear, without which it was impossible to steer the ship like a horse without a bridle. The Cossack thought that everything was messed up for the sake of force; should have been gilded.

And from the very tower of the stern, the captain, Senor Peruchio, looked from the side. He ordered the Turk to bring the slaves before sunset, and now he was angry that he was late. How dare? Two rowers piled on the oars with all their might, but the lazy felucca did not respond well to the course against the current of the Bosphorus.

A crowd of people stood at the side, when, finally, the sweaty rowers grabbed the rope (fallen) and pulled themselves up to the ship.

"Well," thought Grits, "by the neck again..."

But a ladder was lowered from the ship, a simple rope ladder, the hands of the slaves were untied, and the owner showed: climb up!

What beautiful, smart people surrounded Gritsk! He saw the Poles, but where is there!

The middle of the deck, where Gritsko stood, was the lowest point. At the bow, a superstructure began with a steep wall *.

* Superstructure - in the sea - tank.

At the stern, the superstructure was even higher and rose in steps of three stories. Doors of magnificent carving led there. Yes, and everything around was adjusted, fitted and forcibly butchered. Nothing ended in a stump: everywhere there was either a curl or an intricate pretzel, and the whole ship looked as dandy as those Venetians who crowded around the slaves. The slaves were turned around, pushed, then laughed, then asked something incomprehensible, and then everyone began to laugh in unison. But then a clean-shaven man squeezed through the crowd.

The dress was simple. The look is direct and fierce. Behind the belt is a short lace. He busily took Gritsk by the collar, turned him around, gave him a knee and pushed him forward. The Bulgarian himself rushed after him.

Again a closet somewhere below, next to the water, darkness and the same smell: a strong smell, sure. The smell of a ship, the smell of tar, wet wood and bilge water. This was mixed with the spicy smell of cinnamon, allspice and some other aromas that the ship's cargo breathed. Expensive, tasty cargo, for which the Venetians ran across the sea to the Asian shores. The goods came from India.

Gritsko sniffed these strong aromas and fell asleep with grief on the damp boards.

I woke up because someone was running on it. Rats!

It's dark, narrow, like in a box, and invisible rats are jumping and scurrying about. They don't know how many. The Bulgarian in the corner whispers something with fear.

Give them! Are you afraid to offend the pansky rat? - shouts Gritsko and, well, spank with his fist, wherever he hears a rustle. But long, nimble ship rats deftly jumped and darted. The Bulgarian beat Gritsko in the dark with his fists, and Gritsko hit the Bulgarian.

Gritsko laughed, and the Bulgarian almost cried.

But then there was a knock on the door, the bolt screeched, and the dim half-light of the early morning poured into the closet. Yesterday's man with a whip was shouting something at the door, hoarsely, corrosively.

Let's go! - said Gritsko, and both left.

There were already other people on the deck - not yesterday. They were poorly dressed, shaved, with gloomy faces.

Under the bow superstructure, a round hole was made in the deck. There was a pipe coming out of it. It opened in the nose from the outside. It was a key. A rope passed from the ship to the anchor through it. About forty people pulled this rope. He was two hands thick; he came out of the water wet, and people could hardly hold him. The man with the whip, subcommittee, brought in two dozen more people. He pushed Gritsk there too.

The Cossack pulled, lived. He became more cheerful: still with the people!

The subcommittee lashed out when things seemed to go wrong. A thick, wet rope, like a lazy snake, slowly crawled out of the hawse, as if from a hole. Finally became. The sub-committee cursed, cracked his whip. People slid along the already wet deck, but the rope did not go any further.

And upstairs, on the forecastle, they were stomping, and one could hear incomprehensible words shouting in command. People were already climbing onto the masts along the rope steps - faded.

Thick ropes - shrouds - went from the middle of the mast to the sides. Between them, the faded lines were stretched. People with their bare feet hit these faded shoes as they walked, and they entered the bare sole, it seemed, tore it in half. But the soles of the sailors were so wet that they did not feel the bleed.

The sailors did not walk, but ran along the shrouds easily, like monkeys through branches.

Some ran to the lower yard and climbed onto it, others climbed onto the platform that was in the middle of the mast (mars), and from it they climbed along other shrouds

(sten-shantam) higher and climbed onto the upper yard. They, like bugs, crawled along the yards.

On Mars stood their chief - Mars foreman - and commanded.

There was also work on the nose. A thin bowsprit, crossed with a blinder, stuck out with a sharp beak. And there, over the water, clinging to the tackle, people worked. They were preparing the front sail - the blind.

A fresh wind blew from the northeast, strong and stubborn. No rips, smooth as a board.

The brocade flag was no longer on the stern mast - the mizzen. There, now, a simpler flag fluttered in the wind. It was as if this morning wind had blown away all yesterday's crimson holiday. In the gray predawn everything seemed business-like, stern, and the sharp cries of the foremen, like blows of a whip, cut the air.

7. Left tack

And all around in the roadstead the Turkish grubby caravels had not yet woken up, the Spanish caravels swayed sleepily. Only on the long English galleys people stirred: they washed the deck, scooped water from overboard with buckets on ropes, and people stood on the bow and watched how the Venetian was removed from the anchor, -

it doesn't always go smoothly.

But then the captain appeared at the stern of the Venetian ship. What is an anchor?

The anchor could not be undermined by people. The captain grimaced and ordered the rope to be cut. Not the first anchor left the ship in a long parking lot. Three more remained in stock. The captain in an undertone gave the command to the assistant, and he shouted to set the blind.

In an instant, a white sail flew up under the bowsprit. The wind hit him, blew hard, and the bow of the ship began to lean towards the wind. But the wind also pressed the high multi-tiered stern, which itself was a good wooden sail; this prevented the ship from turning.

Again the team - and on the front (fore) mast between the yards the sails stretched. They were tied to the yards, and the sailors only waited for the command of the marshal to let go of the tackle (bull pride), which pulled them to the yards.

Now the ship had completely turned into the wind and moved smoothly along the Bosphorus to the south. The current drove him on.

And on the shore stood a crowd of Turks and Greeks: everyone wanted to see how this proud bird would fly.

A fat Turk in a green turban affectionately stroked a wide belt on his stomach: there were Venetian ducats.

The sun flared up from behind the Asiatic shore and splashed bloody light into the Venetian sails. Now they were on all three masts. The ship lay lightly on the starboard side, and it seemed that the sun blew its light and gave way.

And the water parted, and in both directions from the bow a live wave left at an angle.

The wind was blowing from the left - the ship was on the left tack.

The sailors were removing gear. They rolled the ropes into round coils (skeins), laid them and hung them in their places. And the head of the team, Arguzin, suddenly appeared behind everyone. Each sailor, without even looking, felt with his back where the Arguzin was. Arguzin seems to have a hundred eyes - he sees everyone at once.

On the high poop, the captain walked importantly with his retinue. A committee followed closely behind them. He followed the captain's every move: the important captain sometimes gave orders simply by moving his hand. The committee had to catch this gesture, understand it and instantly transmit it from the poop to the deck. And there was already someone to give steam to this car that was moving about the tackle.

8. Giving

By noon, the ship left the Dardanelles and entered the blue waters of the Mediterranean.

Gritsko looked from the side into the water, and it seemed to him that the transparent blue paint was dissolved in the water: dip your hand and take out the blue one.

The wind picked up and the ship turned right. The captain glanced at the sails and waved his hand. The committee whistled, and the sailors rushed, as if they had broken, to pull the braces in order to turn the yardarms in the wind by the ends. Gritsko stared, but the Arguzin hit him on the back with a whip and pushed him into a crowd of people who were pushing, choosing a brace.

Now the sails were straight across the ship. Slightly burying its nose, the ship followed the swell. She caught up with him, raised the stern and slowly rolled under the keel.

The team was given lunch. But Gritska and the Bulgarian were given crackers each. The Bulgarian was seasick and did not eat.

The thin whistle of the commander from the stern alarmed everyone. The team threw lunch, everyone jumped out on deck. From the stern, the committee was shouting something, his assistants were subcommittees

They rolled head over heels down onto the deck.

On the quarterdeck stood the entire retinue of the captain and looked into the distance from the side. Nobody paid any attention to Gritsko.

At the hatch the sailors were pulling out a black canvas coiled in heavy, fat kites. Arguzin shouted and whipped the backward ones. And the sailors rushed up the shrouds, climbed onto the yards. The sails were removed, and the people, leaning their chests on the yards, bending over in half, folding in half, raked the sail to the yards with all their might in the wind. The lower (sheet) ends dangled in the air like tongues, -

anxiously, furiously, and ropes were lowered from above and these black canvases were quickly tied to them.

Gritsko, his mouth open, looked at this fuss. The marshals were shouting something below, and the committee was running all over the ship, running up to the captain and again flying like a stone onto the deck. Soon, instead of white as a cloud, black sails appeared.

They puffed out tight between the yards.

The wind was no longer heard, and the ship rushed on.

But the alarm on the ship did not go away. Anxiety flared up. People appeared on the deck whom the Cossack had never seen before: they were in iron helmets, on their elbows, sharp iron cups stuck out on their knees. Shoulder pads and breastplates, polished to a shine, burned in the sun. Crossbows, crossbows, muskets *, swords on the side. Their faces were serious, and they looked in the same direction as the captain from the high poop.

* Muskets - heavy, ancient guns, ending in a bell.

And the wind grew stronger, it drove the swell forward and merrily tore white scallops of foam from the shafts in passing and threw them into the stern of the ship.

9. Red sails

Gritsko stuck his head out over the side and began to look where all the people on the ship were looking. He saw far astern, to the left, among the swell, glowing, red sails. They either burned in the sun like tongues of flame, then fell into the swell and disappeared. They flashed astern and, apparently, frightened the Venetians.

It seemed to Grits that the ship with red sails was smaller than the Venetian one.

But Gritsko did not know that from Mars, from the mast, they saw not one, but three ships, that they were pirates who were chasing on ships narrow like snakes, chasing under sails and helping the wind with oars.

With red sails they demanded battle and frightened the Venetians.

And the Venetian ship set black, "wolf" sails, so that it was not so visible, so as to become completely invisible as soon as the sun went down.

The fresh wind easily drove the ship, and the pirates did not approach, but they walked behind, as if tied.

The ship's priest, the chaplain, was ordered to pray to God stronger than the wind, and he knelt before the painted statue of Antony, bowed and folded his hands.

And behind the stern, fiery sails flared out of the water.

The captain looked at the sun and wondered if it would soon set up there in the west.

But the wind was steady, and the Venetians hoped that the night would protect them from the pirates. It seemed that the pirates were tired of rowing and began to fall behind. At night, you can turn, change course, but there is no trace on the water. Let them search then.

But when the sun was sliding down from the sky and there were only two hours left until complete darkness, the wind got tired of blowing. He began to falter and weaken. The swell began to roll more lazily past the ship, as if the sea and the wind were working in the evening.

People began to whistle, turning to the stern: they believed that this would cause the wind from behind. The captain sent to ask the chaplain: what about Anthony?

But the wind had subsided completely. He immediately lay down, and everyone felt that no force could lift him: he was all bloated and now he was not breathing. A glossy oil swell rolled fatly across the sea, calm, swaggering. And fiery tongues behind the stern began to approach. They slowly overtook the ship. But the watchmen shouted from Mars that there were already four of them, and not three. Four pirate ships!

The captain ordered bread to be served. He took the whole bread, salted it and threw it overboard into the sea. The team buzzed deafly: everyone understood that a dead calm had come. If there is a breeze, it won't be until midnight.

People crowded around the chaplain and were already grumbling loudly: they demanded that the monk give them Anthony for reprisal. Enough wallowing at your feet, if they still don’t want to listen to you! They went into the chapel-chapel under the poop, plucked the statue from its foot, and dragged the whole crowd to the mast.

The captain saw this and remained silent. He decided that the sin would not be his, but the sense could still come out. Perhaps Antony will speak differently in the hands of the sailors. And the captain pretended not to notice. In a sinful deed, he had already thrown two golden ducats into the sea. And the sailors bolted Antony to the mast and cursed him in whispers in different languages.

The calm stood on the sea calm and strong, like a dream after work.

And the pirates trimmed the line of their ships in order to attack the ship at once.

They were waiting for the retards.

On the second deck, the gunners stood by the copper guns. Everything was ready for battle.

They prepared clay pots with dry lime to throw it in the face of the enemy when they climbed onto the ship. They diluted soap in a barrel to pour it on the enemy deck when the ships grappled side by side: let the pirates fall on the slippery deck and slide in the soapy water.

All the soldiers, there were ninety of them, were preparing for battle; they were silent and concentrated. But the sailors hummed: they did not want to fight, they wanted to leave on their light ship. They were offended that there was no wind, and they decided to pull the ropes tighter on Anthony: so that he knew! One threatened with a stick, but did not dare to strike.

And the black "wolf" sails sagged on the yards. They clapped on the masts as the ship rocked like a mourning canopy.

The captain was in his cabin. He ordered wine to be served. Drinking, not drunk.

He hit the table with his fist - there is no wind. Every minute he went out on deck to see if the wind was blowing, if the sea had turned black from the ripples.

Now he was afraid of a fair wind: if it started, he would capture the pirates earlier and bring them to the ship when he had just managed to take the course. Or maybe he can leave?

The captain decided: let there be some kind of wind, and promised in his heart to give his son to the monks if the wind blows even in an hour.

And on deck the sailor shouted:

In his water, what to watch, there is no time to wait!

It was funny for Gritsk to watch how people were seriously discussing: to put the statue head down or tie it around the neck?

The pirates were very close. It was evident how often the oars struck. You could also make out a bunch of people on the prow of the leading ship. The red sails were removed: they now interfered with the course.

The masts with long flexible rails swayed in the swell, and it seemed that it was not a long galley at oars hurrying to the ship, but a centipede crawling towards a tidbit and beating the water with impatience with its paws, shaking its flexible mustache.

Now there was no time for the statue, no one was waiting for the wind, everyone began to prepare for battle. The captain came out wearing a helmet. He was red with wine and excitement. A dozen shooters climbed onto the mars to hit the enemy with arrows from above. Mars was fenced with a wooden board. Loopholes were cut in it. The arrows began to silently place. Suddenly one of them shouted:

Goes! Goes!

Everyone on deck turned their heads up.

Who goes? shouted the captain from the quarterdeck.

The wind is coming! Counter from the West!

Indeed, from Mars, others could also see a black border near the horizon: it was the wind that rippled the water, and it seemed dark. The lane widened, approaching.

The pirates were coming too. Only a quarter of an hour remained, and they would come up to the ship, which still dangled its black sails like a paralyzed cripple.

Everyone was waiting for the wind. Now the hands did not try weapons - they trembled slightly, and the soldiers looked around now at the pirate ships, then at the growing strip of wind in front of the ship.

Everyone understood that this wind would drive them towards the pirates. Will it be possible to cross the wind (Gulfwind) across the pirates and escape from under their noses?

The captain sent a committee to Mars to see if the wind was strong, if the dark band was moving fast. And the committee set off on the shrouds with all its might. He climbed through the hole (dog hole) to the Mars, jumped on board and ran higher along the shrouds. He could barely catch his breath when he reached the mars-ray, and for a long time he could not get enough air to shout:

It's a flurry! Senor, it's a flurry!

Whistle - and the sailors rushed to the yards. They did not need to be urged on - they were sailors and knew what a squall was.

The sun in a crimson fog was heavy, wearily rolled over the horizon. Like a furrowed brow, a sharp cloud hung over the sun. The sails have been removed. They tied it tightly under the yards. The ship held its breath and waited for a squall. No one looked at the pirates, everyone looked ahead.

Here he is humming ahead. He hit the masts, the yards, the high stern, howled in the rigging. The leading breaker hit the ship in the chest, splashed foam on the forecastle, and rushed on. Amidst the roar of the wind, the comite's whistle pierced his ears loudly and confidently.

The team put a slanting mizzen on the stern. Marseille was placed on the foremast -

but how it was reduced! - the reef-season tied its upper half into a tourniquet, and it, like a black knife, hung over the Mars.

The red sunset foreshadowed the wind, and like frothy blood, the sea rushed towards the dead swell.

And along this crowd, listing famously to the port side, the Venetian ship rushed forward.

The ship came to life. The captain came to life, he joked:

It seems that Antony was too frightened. These robbers and the miser will force to fork out.

And the crew, slapping their bare feet on the wet deck, dragged the unfortunate statue back to its place with reverence.

Nobody thought about pirates now. The squall had given them trouble, too, and now the thickened bloody gloom closed the ship from them. A strong steady wind was blowing from the west. The captain raised his sails and went south to get away from the pirates during the night. But the ship did not sail well with a side wind - it was blown to the side, it drifted heavily. The high poop took a lot of wind. The pot-bellied sails did not allow sailing at a sharp angle, and the wind began to rinse them, as soon as the helmsman tried to go sharper, "cooler".

In the confusion, the Arguzin forgot about Gritsk, and he stood at the side and did not take his eyes off the sea.

13. In tow

In the morning the wind "departed": it began to blow more from the north. The pirates were nowhere to be seen. The captain consulted the map. But during the night clouds overtook, and the captain could not determine from the height of the sun where the ship was now. But he knew about.

All the people who steered the ship involuntarily, without any effort of thought, followed the course of the ship, and an idea formed in their minds, vague but inevitable: people knew in which direction the earth was, how far they were from it, and they knew where direct the ship to go home. So the bird knows where to fly, although it does not see the nest.

And the captain confidently commanded the helmsman where to steer. And the helmsman steered the ship according to the compass as the captain ordered him to. And the committee whistled and gave the captain's command how to turn the sails to the wind. The sailors pulled the braces and "brassed" the sails, as ordered by the committee.

Already on the fifth day, approaching Venice, the captain ordered the sails to be changed to white and the parade flag to be placed behind the stern.

Gritsk and the Bulgarian were put in chains and locked in a stuffy closet in the bow.

The Venetians were afraid: the shore was close, and who knows? It happened that the slaves jumped from the side and swam to the shore.

Another anchor was being prepared on the ship, and the Arguzin, without leaving, watched as he was tied to a thick rope.

It was noon. The wind barely worked. He completely fell and lazily joked with the ship, ran in stripes, rippled the water and played pranks with sails. The ship barely moved through the frozen water - it was smooth and seemed thick and hot.

The brocade flag fell asleep and hung heavily on the flagpole.

Haze rose from the water. And, like a mirage, the familiar domes and towers of Venice rose from the sea.

The captain ordered the boat to be lowered. A dozen rowers took up the oars.

The impatient captain ordered the ship to be towed to Venice.

14. Bucentaur

They dragged the captives out of the closet, took them to a rich pier. But our guys could not see anything: there were guards all around, pushing, pulling, groping, and two vied with each other trading slaves: who is more. Argued, quarreled; the Cossack sees - they are already counting the money. They tied his hands behind his back and led him on a rope.

They led along the embankment, along calm water. On the other side of the house, the palaces stand above the very shore and are cloudy reflected in the water, shimmering.

Suddenly he hears Gritsko: something rhythmically rustles on the water, splashes, as if breathing noisily. He looked back and froze: a whole two-story palace was moving along the canal.

The Cossack had never seen such a house on earth. All in curls, with gilded columns, with shining lanterns at the stern, and the bow turned into a beautiful statue. Everything was intricately intertwined, entwined with carved garlands. On the top floor, people could be seen in the windows; they were in brocade, in silks.

Well-dressed rowers sat on the lower floor. They rowed harmoniously, raising and lowering the oars as one person.

Bucentaur! Bucentaur! - people roared around. Everyone stopped on the shore, moved closer to the water and looked at the floating palace.

The palace drew level with the church on the shore, and suddenly all the rowers sharply and violently hit the water three times with their oars and shouted three times:

Al! al! al!

It was Bucentaur, in the old fashion, saluting the old church.

This is the main Venetian nobleman went out to take an oath to the sea. Oath of allegiance and friendship. Get engaged like a bride and groom.

Everyone looked after the floating palace, stood - did not move. Gritsko was also standing with guards. I looked at the raid, and there were no ships of any kind!

Spanish galleass with high spars, with steep sides, slender and piercing. They stood like lurking predators, affectionate and polite for the time being. They all stood together in a group, their company, as if they had come to the Venetian raid not to trade, but to look out.

Hanseatic merchant ships sat densely, sprawling on the water. They came in a waddle from afar, from the north. The Hanseatic ships busily opened their holds and turned out tightly stuffed goods in order.

A flock of boats circled around them; the boats were pushing, making their way to the side, and the Hanseatic merchant in turn stuffed them with goods and sent them ashore.

Portuguese caravels, like ducks, swayed on a lazy wave. On the high poop, on the raised forecastle, there were no people to be seen. The caravels were waiting for the cargo, they were resting, and the people on the deck were lazily picking with needles with daggers.

They sat on the deck around the weather-beaten mainsail and put on thick patches of gray canvas.

15. Galley

The galley was stern to the shore. A carpeted gangway led from the shore to the galley. The ledge at the side was open. This side rose above the deck in a boastful curve.

Beads and edges ran along it in a thin thread, and near the deck, like a rosary, there were semicircular slots for oars - twenty-five from each side.

A comit with a silver whistle on his chest stood at the stern by the gangway. A handful of officers gathered on the shore.

Waiting for the captain.

Eight musicians in embroidered jackets, with trumpets and drums, stood on the deck and waited for the order to break out the meeting.

The committee looked back at the shiurma - at the rowing team. He peered: in the bright sun it seemed half dark under the awning, and only looking closely did the comit distinguish individual people: black negroes, Moors, Turks - they were all naked and chained by the leg to the deck.

But that's all right: people sit on their cans of six in regular rows to the right and left.

It was calm, and fetid breath rose from the heated water of the canal.

Naked people held huge oars carved from a log: one for six people.

People looked to see that the oars were straight.

A dozen hands held tensely the shaft of a heavy galley oar.

Arguzin walked along the footbridges that stretched along the deck between the rows of cans, and vigilantly looked, so that no one would breathe, did not move.

Two subcommittees - one on the forecastle, the other among the bridges - kept their eyes on the multi-colored shiurma; each had a whip in his hand, and they only looked at which bare back it was time to click.

Everyone languished and suffocated in the steamy smelly air of the canal. But the captain was not there.

16. Ensign

Suddenly everyone shuddered: a trumpet was heard from a distance - a horn played thinly, melodiously. The officers moved along the embankment. The captain appeared in the distance, surrounded by a magnificent retinue. The trumpeters went ahead and played the signal.

The committee darted an eye under the awning, the subcommittees stirred and hastily, just in case, whipped the backs of the unreliable; they only shivered, but were afraid to move.

The captain was approaching. He spoke slowly and importantly in the middle of the procession.

An officer from the retinue gave a sign to the galley, the committee waved to the musicians, and music burst out: the captain stepped into the galley along the carpet.

As soon as he stepped on deck, a huge flag embroidered with gold floated heavily over the stern. It was embroidered with tinsel and silk coat of arms, the family coat of arms of the captain, Venetian nobleman, patrician Pietro Galliano.

The captain looked overboard - into the sleepy, glossy water: the golden reflection of the embroidered flag peeped out of the water. Admired. Patrician Galliano dreamed that his fame and money would ring all over the seas.

He made a stern, haughty face and walked aft with a road, gilded carvings, with columns and figures.

There, under a trellis* covered with an expensive carpet, stood his chair. Not a chair, but a throne.

* Trellis - lattice canopy. It covers the poop of the Venetian galley with a vault.

Everyone was respectfully silent. Shiurma froze, and naked people, like statues, motionless held heavy oars in the air.

The captain moved his hand and the music stopped. With a nod of his head, Galliano beckoned the senior officer. The officer reported that the galley was armed and equipped, that new rowers had been bought, that food, water and wine had been stocked, and that the weapons were in good order. Scrivano (scribe) stood behind with a list at the ready - for reference.

17. Shiurma

Let's see, - said the commander.

He got up from his throne, went down to his cabin at the stern, and looked around at the decorations and weapons that hung on the walls. He went into the cabin and surveyed everything - both stocks and weapons. He checked the crossbowmen: he forced them to pull on a tight crossbow with him. He ordered one crossbow to be immediately thrown overboard; the crossbowman himself almost flew into the water.

The captain was angry. Everyone trembled, and the comit, wriggling obsequiously, showed the captain the shiurma.

Black person. New. Healthy guy... very healthy.

The captain grimaced.

Negroes are rubbish. Good first month. Then they sour and die. A war galley is not for rotten meat.

The committee lowered its head. He bought a negro cheaply and showed the price to the commander at exorbitant prices.

Galliano carefully examined the rowers. They sat in the usual rowing position: the chained leg rested on the footboard, and the other leg of the rower rested on the front jar.

The captain stopped: one rower's hands were trembling from intense, frozen effort.

New? he threw to the committee.

Yes, yes, sir, new, Slav. From the Dnieper. Young strong man...

Turks are the best! - interrupted the captain and turned away from the newcomer.

Nobody would have recognized Gritsk: he was shaved - a bare skull, without a mustache, without a beard, with tufts of hair on the top of his head.

On the chain, like all these chain people. He looked at the chain on his leg and said to himself:

Oh wow! And a mustache through a woman ... I sit like a dog on a chain ...

He had already been lashed by subcommittees more than once, but he endured and kept saying:

And all through it. It just can't be...

He couldn't believe that everything would remain that way in this kingdom, where cokes are chained to the galley, rowers to the deck, where three hundred healthy people tremble before three lashes of comites.

In the meantime, Gritsko held on to the oar shaft. He sat first off the board.

The main rower on the oar was considered the sixth from the side; he was holding the handle.

It was an old convict. He was sentenced to serve in the galley until he repented: he did not recognize the pope, and for this he was tried. He had been rowing for ten years and had no regrets.

Gritsko's neighbor was black - a Negro. It shone like glazed glassware.

Gritsko did not get dirty about him and was surprised. The negro always had a drowsy look, and he blinked his eyes sadly, like a sick horse.

The negro moved his elbow slightly and pointed to the stern with his eyes. The committee raised a whistle to his mouth.

The committee's whistle was answered by the command of the sub-committees, the music burst out, and in time with it, all two hundred people bent forward, even half-rising on their cans.

All the oars, as one, rushed forward. The rowers lifted the rolls, and as soon as the blades of the oars touched the water, all the people twitched, pulling the oars with all their might, stretching out their arms. People were falling back on their cans, all at once.

Banks buckled and groaned. This hoarse sigh was repeated at every stroke of the oars. The rowers heard him, but those who surrounded the captain's throne did not hear. The music drowned out the creaking of the cans and the words that were exchanged between the galleys.

And the galley had already left the shore. Her lush stern was now all visible to the crowded curious.

Everyone admired the figures of the Greek gods, the rare work of the column, the intricate ornament. Patrician Galliano did not spare money, and for ten months the best artists of Venice worked on the bow figure and cutting the stern.

The galley seemed alive. A long water dragon beat the water with a hundred fins.

The heavy flag came to life from the rapid move and began to stir. He turned importantly and swaggered gold in the sun.

The galley went out to sea. It became fresh. A light wind was blowing from the west. But the banks sighed under the awning, and three hundred naked people bent over like worms and flung themselves at the banks.

The rowers were breathing heavily, and the acrid smell of sweat hung over the entire shiurma.

Now there was no music, only the drum was beating to give time to the rowers.

Gritsko was exhausted. He only held on to the oar shaft in order to move in time with everyone. But he couldn’t quit, he couldn’t help bending: they would hit him on the back with a rear oar.

This living machine moved to the beat of the drum. The drum accelerated its beat, the machine accelerated, and people began to bend and fall on the cans more often.

It seemed that the drum moved the car, the drum drove the galley forward.

The subcommittees looked with all their eyes: the captain tried the shiurma, and it was impossible to lose face. The lashes went around bare backs: the sub-committees gave steam to the car.

Suddenly a whistle from the stern - one and two. The sub-committees shouted something, and some of the rowers took their hands off the oars. They sank down and sat on the deck.

It was the captain who ordered four of each six to row. He wanted to see what the move would be when a third of the team was resting.

Now the galley was on the high seas.

18. Starboard tack

The committee gave a short whistle.

The drum is silent. It was the commander who ordered to stop rowing.

The rowers began to pull the oars onto the deck in order to lay them along the side.

The sailors removed the awning. He escaped from his hands and fought in the wind. Others climbed the battens: they gave away the seasons, with which the twisted sails were tightly tied to the battens.

* Spanish.

The sailors were hired volunteers; as a sign of this, they left mustaches. And the galleys were convicts, slaves, and the sailors trampled them.

19. Comites

The subcommittees did not see a single open mouth, not a single gesture: tired faces with half-open eyes. Rarely does anyone turn and jingle a chain.

Subcommittees have a keen eye and a delicate ear. They heard amid the muffled mutterings, the jingling of chains, the splashing of the sea - they heard the sound of rats scratching.

"Quiet on deck, the damned have grown bolder!" - the subcommittee thought and listened

Gritsko leaned against the side and hung his shaven head between his knees, with a tuft of hair on top of his head. Shaking his head, he thought about rowing and said to himself:

Once again, I'll die.

The Negro turned away from his Turkish neighbor and almost fell on Gritsk.

He pressed his hand. The Cossack wanted to free her. But the Negro gripped it tightly, and Gritsko felt that something small and hard was being thrust into his hand. Then I took it apart - a piece of iron.

The Negro glanced with a half-open eye, and Gritsko realized that he couldn't even blink an eyebrow.

I took the iron. Gently felt - toothy.

Small hard toothed piece. Gritska broke into a sweat. He breathed harder. And the negro closed his eyes completely and leaned still more with his black slippery body on Gritskov's hand.

The sub-committees passed, stopped and looked closely at the exhausted Negro. Gritsko froze. He sagged all over with fear and cunning: let them think that he was barely alive, he was so tired.

The committees were talking, and Gritsko was waiting: they would suddenly rush in and catch him on the spot.

He didn't understand what they were saying about the ill-purchased Negro.

A horse, a real horse, but it will die. From longing they die, rascals, -

A tanned bare leg slipped cautiously between Gritsk and the Negro.

The Cossack was offended:

"It's quiet, but the wine is pissing."

The foot wiggled its toes.

"More teasing!" Gritsko thought.

I wanted to push my foot into the wet sole. And the foot again impatiently, quickly moved its toes.

The negro opened his eyes and looked at his leg. Gritsko understood. Wearily, he shifted his position, leaned on that bare leg, and stuck that stub of the file between his fingers.

The Negro didn't move. Gritsko didn't move when his leg stretched back to the neighbors.

A gust of cheerful wind ran into the galley, and with it the swell slapped heavily on the starboard side. The spray blew over naked bodies.

People twitched and tinkled their chains. And in this noise, Gritsko clearly heard the sound rustling up to him:

* Yakshi - good.

The Cossack almost shouted at the top of his lungs with joy:

Yakshi! Yakshi!

Yes, I caught on. And after all, he knew only three words: urus *, yakshi yes alla **.

And when the sailors splashed again on deck to pick up the sheets, Gritsko managed to croak:

* Urus - Russian.

**Alla is God.

Yakshi, yakshi!

The Turk only rolled his eyes.

This wind "came" - it began to blow more from the bow. The galley picked up the sheets and went steeper towards the wind.

Everyone was waiting for Signor Pietro Galliano to turn back to return to the port before sunset. The inspection is over. No one knew the secret thoughts of the captain.

The captain demanded that the priest come to him from his cabin. And the shiurma added her order to this.

The words were carried by the wind, and only a neighbor heard them.

* Sutana - attire of Catholic priests.

Father! - said the captain. - Bless the weapons against the infidels.

The suite looked at each other.

So that's why the galley has been starboard-tacking hard-boiled for three hours in a row, without changing course!

At your own risk and fear. The guerrilla feat was started by Galliano.

The infidels, continued the captain, had taken possession of the galley of the patrician Roniero.

Genoese sailors were not ashamed to tell what happened before their eyes.

Should I wait for the Council's blessing?

Already armed people in armor, with muskets, spears, crossbows, crowded on the forecastle. The gunners stood by the bow guns.

Shiurma already knew that this was not a test, but a campaign.

The old convict, who did not recognize the Pope, whispered something to the front rower. And while on the tank everyone was pulling "Te deum" out loud, the words rustled from can to can as fast as the wind runs through the grass. Incomprehensible short words.

21. Fresh wind

The wind, still the same southwesterly wind, blew merrily and evenly. He started effortlessly, but now he came into force, drove a brisk swell and splashed into the right cheekbone of the galley.

And the galley rummaged through the swell, shook itself, puffed and rushed forward, to another ridge.

It swells, splashes glisten in the sun and fly into the sails, dousing the people that crowded on the forecastle.

There, the soldiers with the subcommittee talked about the campaign. No one knew what Pietro Galliano was up to, where he was leading the galley.

Everyone was given wine after the prayer service; people were anxious and cheerful.

And on the poop deck, under the trellis, the patrician sat on his throne, and the senior officer held before him a map of the sea. The commander stood at a distance at the side and tried to catch what the commander was saying to the officer. But the committee stood in the wind and heard nothing.

The old convict knew that Galliano would meet no enemy here. I knew that in such weather they would leave the Adriatic in the morning, and there ... Let them only attack there ...

The sailors carried the soup to the rowers. They were boiled figs, and there was some oil floating on top. Soup was given at sea every other day - they were afraid that the food would not burden the rowers in their hard work. The Negro did not eat - he yearned on the chain, like a wolf in a cage.

By evening, the wind had subsided, the sails were slack. The committee whistled.

The sailors removed the sails, climbing the battens, and the rowers took up rowing.

And again the drum beat a fraction - it clearly, inexorably beat the time, so that people rushed forward and fell on the banks. And again, all three hundred rowers, like a machine, worked with heavy, long oars.

The negro was stretched with all his weight on the oar, tried, even grinned. Sweat poured from him, he shone like polished, and the jar turned black underneath -

got wet. Then suddenly his strength left this huge man, he went limp, sagged and only held on to the boar with weak hands, and five comrades felt how heavy the oar was: a black body hung like a load and prevented rowing.

The old convict glanced, turned away, and began to lean even harder on the pen.

And the Negro drove with dull eyes around - he no longer saw anything and was collecting the last memory. The memory was broken, and the negro hardly understood where he was, but still, in time with the drum, he bent and reached for the roll of the oar.

Suddenly he let go of his hands: they loosened themselves and released the roll.

The negro collapsed on his back on the jar and rolled down. The comrades looked and quickly turned away: they did not want to look at him, so as not to draw the attention of the subcommittees.

But what will escape the subcommittee?

Already two men with whips were running along the footbridge: they saw that five were rowing, and the sixth was not on Gritskovo Bank. Through the backs of the people the subcommittee lashed the negro.

The negro twitched weakly and froze.

Ah, cattle! Wallow? Wallow? hissed the subcommittee and whipped the Negro with anger and fury.

The negro didn't move. The cloudy eyes stopped. He didn't breathe.

The comit from the utah saw everything with a sharp eye. He said two words to the officer and whistled.

The oars have become.

The galley accelerated forward, the water rustled under the stem.

The committee went along the walkways, the subcommittees made their way between the cans to the negro.

What? Your Negro! Pietro Galliano called after the committee.

The commander moved his shoulder blades, as if the words of the captain had hit him in the back with a stone, and quickened his steps.

He snatched the whip from the subcommittee, clenched his teeth, and with all his strength began to thrash the black corpse with the whip.

Dead!.. Dead, devil! - the committee got angry and cursed.

The galley was losing speed. Comit felt the captain's anger brewing in the quarterdeck. He was in a hurry.

The hard labor blacksmith was already fumbling around the deceased's leg. He noticed that the chain was filed, but said nothing. The rowers watched as the subcommittees lifted and rolled the body of a comrade over the side. For the last time, with all his evil strength, the comit slashed the dead body with a whip, and the body flopped overboard with a noise.

It became dark, and in the stern they lit a lantern over the trellis, a tall, slender lantern half a human height, decorated, with curls, with figures, with naiads on the footboard. He flashed a yellow eye through the mica glasses.

The sky was clear, and the stars burned with a warm light - with a moist eye they looked from the sky at the sea.

Water rose from under the oars in white fiery foam - it was the night sea that burned, and a vague, mysterious stream ran out from under the keel in the depths and curled behind the ship.

Galliano drank wine. He wanted music, songs. The second officer knew how to sing well, and so Galliano ordered the drum to be silenced. The committee whistled. The shot broke off, and the rowers raised their oars.

The officer sang as he sang to the ladies at the feast, and everyone listened: the galleys, the retinue, and the soldiers. The chaplain leaned out of his cabin, sighed and listened to sinful songs.

In the early morning, a fresh tramontane ran and drove the galley south with full wind.

The galley was gybewing, throwing its oblique foresail to the right, and the mainsail to the left.

Like a butterfly spread its wings.

Tired rowers dozed off. Galliano slept in his cabin, and above him swayed and spoke weapons. It hung on the carpet above the bed.

The galley entered the Mediterranean. The watchman on the mast surveyed the horizon.

There, at the top, the mast blossomed like a flower, like a trumpet of a horn. And in this bell, having gone to the shoulders, the sailor sat and did not take his eyes off the sea.

And then, an hour before noon, he shouted from there:

Sail! - and pointed to the south directly in the course of the ship.

Galliano appeared on Utah. The rowers woke up, the soldiers stirred on the forecastle.

The ships were approaching, and now everyone clearly saw how, cutting sharply against the wind in a badewind, the Saracen ship was moving - saeta, long, piercing, like an arrow.

Pietro Galliano ordered the red flag to be raised on the mast - a challenge to battle.

The Saracen Saeta answered with a red flag on the rail - the battle was accepted.

Pietro Galliano ordered to prepare for battle and went down to the cabin.

He came out of there in armor and a helmet, with a sword on his belt. Now he did not sit down in his chair, he walked around the poop - restrainedly, firmly.

He tensed all over, his voice became louder, more true and abrupt. The commander held the blow in himself, and everyone on the ship tensed, prepared. The bridge was made of thick planks. He went in the middle, like a belt, from side to side over the rowers. Warriors must climb onto it in order to smash the Saracens from above with muskets, crossbows, pour stones and arrows when the ships grapple side by side for boarding.

Galliano rushed about how best to hit the enemy.

On the Saet, they took up the oars in order to better manage - it is difficult to go hard against the wind.

24. "Snavetra"

And Galliano wanted to approach "from the wind", so that the Saracens would be lower than him along the wind.

He wanted to hit the saeta on the cheekbone with a sharp nose, pierce, with acceleration walk along all its oars from the port side, break them, turn them off, throw the rowers off the cans and immediately bombard the enemy with arrows, stones, like a hurricane, fall on the damned Saracens.

Everyone got ready and only occasionally spoke in a whisper, abruptly, firmly.

No one looked at the shiurma, and the subcommittees forgot about it.

And the old convict was told in the convict language:

Two hundred chains!

And he answered:

On my whistle immediately.

The Cossack glanced at the old man, did not understand what they were up to and when it was necessary. But the convict turned away his face when Gritsko stared too much.

The wicks were already smoking on the tank. It was the gunners standing by the loaded guns. They waited - maybe the commander of the enemy saeta would want to meet the cores.

The head of the musketeers examined the shooters. It remained to light the wicks on the triggers. The musketeers will press the hook, and the wicks will cling to the seeds *. The then heavy muskets fired like hand cannons.

* Seed - a hole in the breech (rear) part of a gun or gun through which the charge is ignited.

Saeta, without changing course, went towards the Venetians. There were ten minutes left before the meeting.

Ten shooters went to climb the bridge.

And suddenly a whistle, a sharp, piercing, robbery whistle cut his ears.

Everyone turned around and gasped.

The convict shiurma rose to its feet. If the wooden deck suddenly stood on end all over the ship, the crew would not be so amazed. And the soldiers stood for a minute in horror, as if a herd of the dead was rushing at them.

People pulled with their hands as strong as roots sawed chains.

They tore, not sparing their hands. Others tugged at their chained leg. Let the foot off, but break away from the damn jar.

But it was a second, and two hundred people jumped on the banks.

Naked in height, they ran along the benches, howling, with bestial roars. They clanged with fragments of chains on their legs, the chains thrashed against the banks as they ran. Burnt, black, naked people with brutalized faces jumped over tackles, overturned everything along the way. They roared in fear and anger. With bare hands against the armed men who stood on the forecastle!

But a shot rang out from the poop. It was Signor Galliano who snatched the musket from his neighbor and fired it. He fired point-blank at the galleys advancing on him. Pulled the sword from its scabbard. His face was contorted with rage.

Damned traitors! - croaked Galliano, waved his sword, not letting him near the trellis. - Sunxia!

The shot brought to mind the people on the tank. Arrows flew from crossbows.

The rowers fell.

But those who rushed to the tank saw nothing: they howled in an animal voice, did not hear the shots, irresistibly rushed forward, stepped on their dead comrades and climbed in a roaring cloud. They rushed, grabbed their swords with their bare hands, climbed onto spears, fell, and the rear ones jumped over them, rushed, strangled the soldiers by the throat, bit into their teeth, tore and trampled on the committees.

The gunners, not knowing why, fired into the sea.

And the galleys pushed the soldiers off the side, others, distraught, trampled and mutilated the dead soldiers. The Moor of enormous growth crushed everything around with a fragment of a crossbow - both his own and others.

And on the poop, by the trellis, signor Galliano rushed forward to the galleys.

He raised his sword, and for a moment the people stood still: the mad, chained people were stopped by the determination of one man.

But the officers did not have time to support their signor: the old convict rushed forward, hit the commander with his head, and after him the naked crowd flooded the trellis with a howl and a roar.

The two officers threw themselves into the water. They were drowned by heavy armor.

And the galley without a helmsman began to fly into the wind, and he ruffled, rinsed the sails, and they fought anxiously, frightened.

The heavy standard of Pietro Galliano clapped and muttered over the trellis.

The signor was no longer on the ship - he was thrown overboard.

Komita was torn to shreds by people who had broken the chain. The galley crews scoured the ship, looking for people hiding in the cabins and beating them indiscriminately and without mercy.

25. Overstay

The Saracens did not understand what had happened. They waited for the blow and wondered why the Venetian galley was drifting absurdly, standing in the wind.

Military trick? Change?

And the saeta made a turn, tacked, and headed for the Venetian galley.

The Saracens have prepared a new weapon. They planted poisonous disgusting snakes in the jars and prepared to shower the enemy deck with these jars.

The Venetian shiurma was almost all sailors taken from Mauritanian and Turkish ships; they knew sailing and turned the galley portside to the wind. On the left tack, a Venetian galley went towards the Saracens under the command of a Turk, Gritskov's neighbor. The old convict was hacked to death by Signor Galliano, and he lay under the trellis, with his face buried in the bloodied carpet.

The flag of Galliano was still rustling in the wind on a strong flagpole. The Saracens saw the stern flag in its place - it means that the Venetians do not give up, they go to them.

The Saracens prepared iron hooks to grapple side by side. They sailed on starboard tack towards the galley.

But here a naked man, black and long, climbed onto the trellis. He caught the winding standard around the corner, and it fought and pulled out of his hands, as if alive.

This giant Moor decided to tear down the stern flag. He pulled. The flag didn't budge. He jerked, hung on it - expensive brocade crackled, the flag fell off and, together with the Moor, flew overboard.

All the Turks from the shiurma gathered on the tank; they shouted in Arabic to the Saracens that there was no captain, no soldiers, that they, the galleysmen, were surrendering the ship.

The helmsman led to the wind. The front sail, the foresail, was pulled up with a sheet so that it became against the wind and worked backward, and the back sail, the mainsail, was pulled tight with a sheet, and it weakly worked forward.

The galley lay adrift.

She barely moved forward and prowled, now rolling into the wind, then running out into the wind. The Saranians cautiously approached her, still not trusting.

How many tricks in naval warfare!

The weapon was ready.

The Turks swore by Allah and showed broken chains.

The Saracens stood side by side and went up on deck.

26. Into the drift

They were Moroccan Arabs. They were in beautiful chased helmets and armor - in movable, light scaly armor. In this armor, they moved dexterously and flexibly, and their scales shone in the sun like snakes. The dead galleys lay among the bloody cans, many remained on the chain, shot through by the bullets and arrows of the soldiers.

The galley Moors hastily explained to their countrymen what had happened. They spoke all at once.

The Saracen captain understood everything. He told everyone to be quiet.

Now, after the uproar and roar, for the first time it became quiet, and people heard the sea, how it beat between the sides of the ships.

The galley cautiously moved forward, lying in a drift, waiting for its fate, and only slightly rinsed the corner of the high sail in the wind.

The Saracen captain was silent and looked around at the bloody deck, the dead people and the delicate white wings of the sails. The galleys looked at the Saracen and waited for what he would say. He turned his eyes to the crowd of naked rowers, looked for a minute and said:

I give freedom to Muslims. Let the unbelievers convert to Islam. You raised your hand against your enemies, and they raised their hands.

A muffled murmur passed through the naked crowd.

The Turk, Gritskov's neighbor, came out, stood in front of the Saracen captain, put his hand to his forehead, then to his heart, took a breath with his whole chest, let it out and took it again.

Sheikh! - said the Turk. - Merciful sheikh! We are all one. Shiurma - we are all. Why do some people have freedom and others don't? They were all our enemies, those whom we killed. And we were all on the same chain, rowing with the same oar, both faithful and unfaithful. They beat us with one whip, we ate one bread, sheikh. Together we gained freedom. One let our fate be.

And again it became quiet, only above, like a quivering heart, a light sail was beating.

The sheikh looked into the eyes of the Turk, looked hard, and the Turk rested his eyes on him.

He watched, without blinking, to tears.

And everyone was waiting.

And suddenly the Saracen smiled.

Well you said Muslim. Fine! - He pointed to the dead and added: - Your blood was mixed in battle. There will be one for all. Remove the ship.

He left, jumped to his saeta.

Everyone yelled and chattered and did not know what to do.

They rejoiced, as best they could: some just waved their hands, some pounded the side of the galley with their fists to the point of pain, the other shouted:

Iy-alla! Iy-alla!

He didn't know what he was shouting and couldn't stop.

Gritsko realized that freedom, and yelled along with everyone. He shouted in everyone's face:

And I'm saying! And I'm saying!

The first came to his senses Gritskov Turks. He started calling people to him. He could not shout them down and beckoned with his hands. The Turk pointed to the wounded.

And suddenly the noise subsided.

Shiurma set to work. From the Saracen Saeta came to the rescue.

They forged those who did not have time to cut the chains and remained at their jar.

When they took the body of the old convict, everyone fell silent and looked at the dead face of their comrade for a long time - they could not throw it into the sea. The Saracens did not know him. They picked him up. The chain growled over the side, thundered, and the sea of man took over.

And everyone turned away from the side. They whispered their hard labor language and washed the bloody deck.

Now the flag with the crescent moon fluttered from the mast. The galley obediently walked in the wake of the Saracen Saeta.

The Saracen sailor was now leading the Venetian galley into African captivity.

27. Saracens

The crowd was standing on the shore when the nimble saeta flew into the bay with full sails. Behind her, not lagging behind, as if following her master, a galley with an intricately arranged stern, in elegant white sails on flexible slats, went into her captivity.

Saeta anchored, and the galley behind her moved into the wind and also dropped anchor. Shiurma instantly knocked down and removed the sails.

On the shore they realized that the Saeta had brought a captive. The crowd screamed. The people fired their muskets into the air. It was strange to look at this new, shiny galley, without a scratch, without traces of battle and bashing - here, in the Moorish bay, next to the Saracen Saeta.

The sheikh kept his word: every galley owner was free to go wherever he wanted. And Gritsko explained to his Turk for a long time that he wanted to go home, to Ukraine, to the Dnieper.

And the Turk knew without a word that every slave wanted to go home, but he could not explain to the Cossack that he had to wait for a chance.

The Cossack, finally, understood the most important thing: that the convict comrade would not betray the Turks, and decided: "I will listen to him ..."

And he began to live with the Saracens.

There were about a dozen different ships in the bay.

Some were so cleverly painted with blue paint that it was difficult for a lazy eye to immediately notice them at sea. It was the Saracen pickets who painted their fusts in such a way that they could sneak up on heavy merchant ships unnoticed.

They were small galleys, agile, nimble, with one mast. They were easily thrown up by a small swell in the bay. It seemed that they could not sit still, they were about to break, rush and sting like a poisonous insect.

In brigantines, the stem turned into a sharp and long beak. The brigantines looked forward with this beak, as if they were aiming. The stern arched like a festoon and hung far above the water.

The entire poop was raised. Bronze cannons protruded from the ports of the stern superstructure, three on each side.

The Turk showed the Cossack to the brigantine and muttered something reassuringly.

The Cossack did not understand anything and nodded his head: I understand, they say, well, thank you.

Gritsk wanted to say a lot to the Turkish galley keeper, but he could not do anything and only kept saying:

Yakshi, yakshi.

He sat on the sand, looked at the cheerful bay, at the Saracen ships and thought:

I'll be home in a year... at least in two... what if it's for Christmas! And I remembered the snow. He took a handful of reddish hot sand with his hand, squeezed it like a snowball. Doesn't stick. It crumbled like water.

The Arabs walked past in white burnouses, their black feet creaking on the sand.

They looked evilly at the Cossack. And Gritsko turned away and kept looking at the cheerful bay, towards the wind.

The felucca stood on the shore. She was propped up on the sides with stakes and covered with a sail from above so that she would not dry out in the sun. Slept like a sheet.

The sail hung like a canopy from the side. In its shadow lay the Arabs. They slept with their heads thrust under the very belly of a sleepy felucca, like puppies under a womb.

And the small surf played and tossed shells under the shore. Smooth and sweet.

In the corner of the bay the boys were bathing their horses, somersaulting in the water, floundering.

Wet horses shone in the sun, as if polished. The Cossack looked at the horses.

Suddenly, a riding Arab in a white burnous appeared in the distance, on a black horse.

A long musket stuck out from behind. He rode past the boys, shouted something to them. The boys instantly jumped on horses and galloped from the shore to the quarry.

The Arab was driving towards Gritsk and shouting something to the feluzhniks on the way.

The feluzhniki woke up, blinked from sleep for a minute, and suddenly jumped up like springs. They immediately knocked out the props, stuck around the felucca and, with a cry, pulled it towards the sea. The rider reined in his horse, looked like a beast at Gritsk, yelled menacingly and brandished his whip. Gritsko got up and ran aside.

The Arab scared him with his horse in two leaps. He reared up the horse and turned it in the air. He hit his sides with sharp stirrups and flew on. Soon the whole coast was covered with people - white burnouses, striped mantles. Arab women stood on a hillock.

Everyone was looking out to sea.

It was the watchmen from the mountain who let them know that a sail was coming from the sea. Not a Saracen sail. The felucca was already scouring the bay from ship to ship, transmitting the sheikh's order to get ready to take to the sea.

And a fire was lit on the shore.

Some old, withered woman was standing by the fire and holding a rooster by the wings.

The rooster pawed in the air with its paws and looked at the fire with glassy eyes.

The old woman swayed and mumbled something.

The chest up to the very waist was covered with thick beads, coins, and shells.

The beads strummed iridescently, they also spoke.

The people stood in a circle and were silent.

The old woman threw incense into the fire, and the sweet smoke was carried by the wind to the side, where beyond the cape the bright blue of the Mediterranean Sea was blue.

The old woman was given a knife. She deftly cut off the rooster's head and threw it into the fire.

Everyone moved away: now the most important thing began.

The rooster was plucked by an old woman and deftly worked with black bony fingers and let her feathers fly in the wind.

Now everyone was watching where the rooster feathers would fly. Feathers flew in the wind: they flew to the cape, they flew to the Mediterranean Sea.

So good luck.

And the sheikh gave the order to the Fusts to go to sea.

Feathers would fly to the village - the Saracens would remain in the bay.

The Arabs rushed to the feluccas.

And the women remained with the old woman by the fire, and for a long time she stormily rattled her beads and muttered ancient incantations in a singsong voice.

Two fusts were the first to break into the sea.

They went to reconnaissance with dark sails on the masts.

They soon became invisible: they seemed to have vanished into thin air.

Brigantines rowed out of the bay on oars.

Gritsko climbed a hillock and watched the Saracen ships and the European sail.

The sail went straight to the bay - calmly and boldly.

29. Slavic nave

Gritskov Turk found his comrade. He dragged Gritsk down to the bank and said something seriously and anxiously. Everyone repeated the same thing, but the Cossack did not understand anything. However, he went after the Turk - he believed him: hard hard labor.

It was the Saracens who gathered all the Christians in a circle so that everyone would be in front of their eyes, so that they would not give their signals. They counted and missed Gritsk.

Christians were sitting in a circle on the shore, and around were Saracens with spears. The Turk brought a Cossack and remained in the circle himself. Gritsko looked around - the whole shiurma was here: the Muslim galley owners did not want to leave their comrades. They sat in front and briefly quarreled with the guards.

But now everyone got up, fussed.

The brigantine returned to the bay. She entered and dropped anchor in her place.

Soon the entire Saracen fleet was in the bay.

Did they retreat, hid in the bay from one ship?

But then a tall ship appeared in the passage. He heavily, wearily entered the bay under one sail. A distant traveler made his way carefully in a strange place.

The guard dispersed. The galleys scattered. The Cossack did not understand what had happened. Decided that the Christians surrendered without a fight.

A dozen feluccas surrounded the ship. Everyone was trying to get aboard.

The Turk, bogged down in the sand, ran to Gritsk and shouted something. He smiled with all his teeth, shouted with all his might into Gritsk's ear separately, so that the Cossack would understand. And everyone laughed, cheerfully, joyfully. Finally he slapped Gritsk on the back and shouted:

Yakshi, yakshi, urus, check yakshi!

And dragged him by the hand by running to the caique.

The narrow caik was already moving away from the shore, the rowers, having rolled up their bloomers, were escorting the caik to a deep place. They were rippled up to their chests, the caik broke out, but people laughed and shouted merrily.

At the cry of the Turk, they looked back. Stopped. They nodded their heads.

The Turk was shoving Gritsk into the water, hurriedly pushing him, pointing to the caik. Gritsko went into the water, but looked back at the Turk. The Turk, raising his legs high, caught up with Gritsk and dragged him further. He laughed and bared his teeth.

The rowers hooted and jumped at once from both sides into a narrow caique. The kaik rushed to the shore in a swell, but the oars were already in place and struck the water in unison.

The surf, playing, put the caik almost on end. The Arabs grinned merrily and leaned forward, so that the shkarmas crackled. Caik rushed, jumped to another ridge once and twice and went beyond the foam of the surf. Gritsko saw that he was being taken to the Christian ship. The caique was slicing through the water like a knife. And the Turk, you know, slapped the Cossack on the back and said:

Yakshi, share the bash!

Gritsko was a little afraid. Maybe they think that he wants to see Christians: he was already with some. Yes, I hoped for a convict comrade. This one understands!

Gritsko climbed up the gangplank behind the Turk onto the ship. He looked at his owners with concern.

What kind of people? Two approached him. They were in white shirts, wide harem pants, and leather leggings. Something familiar flickered in the long mustache and grin.

They approached him laughing.

The Turk, in his own way, said something to them.

And suddenly one said, laughing:

Good afternoon, boy!

The Cossack froze. The mouth gaped, and the breath became. If the cat had barked, if the mast had sung like a human being, he would not have been so surprised.

The Cossack kept looking, frightened, as if awake, batting his eyes. And the Christian sailor laughed. The Turk laughed too, and squatted for joy and tapped Gritsk on the shoulder with his palm:

And deli, deli-sen, deli!

30. To the hut

It was a Slavic ship. He came to the Moors with goods from afar, from the Dalmatian coast, from Dubrovka. The Dubrovniks had a poor ship - everything was from under the ax.

And the Croatian Dubrovniks were simply dressed: in ports and shirts.

The ship smelled of tar and leather.

Not their own, someone else's goods were transported throughout the Mediterranean Sea by a Slavic ship - a draft ship. Like a dray, it looked out from under the tar and tar with which the Dubrovniks smeared both sides and gear. Their sails were in the patches, like a demolition worker's shirt.

The people on the ship warmly greeted the Cossack, and Gritsko could not stop talking. The Turk listened to incomprehensible Slavic speech and kept laughing, rubbing his sides with his palms and baring his teeth.

Then he spoke to the Croats in Turkish.

It is he who asks if we will send you home, - the Croats said to Gritsk and swore to the Turk that they would put the Cossack on the road, he would be at home.

A year later, only the Cossack reached his places. He sat on the mound under the hut and for the hundredth time told his fellow countrymen about captivity, about captivity, about shiurma.

And always ended with one:

Busurmans, busurmans... But I don’t change my trusted brother for that Turk.

Boris Stepanovich Zhitkov - Black sails, read text

See also Zhitkov Boris Stepanovich - Prose (stories, poems, novels ...):

WHAT IF...
And suddenly, in the midst of a hot July day, Epiphany frost would strike! Freezing...

Squall
- He failed completely and with his tiles together! Sailor Kov cursed...

19. Comites

The subcommittees did not see a single open mouth, not a single gesture: tired faces with half-open eyes. Rarely does anyone turn and jingle a chain.

Subcommittees have a keen eye and a delicate ear. They heard amid the muffled murmurings, the jingling of chains, the splashing of the sea - they heard the sound of rats scratching.

"Quiet on deck, the damned have grown bolder!" - the subcommittee thought and listened - where?

Gritsko leaned against the side and hung his shaven head between his knees, with a tuft of hair on top of his head. Shaking his head, he thought about rowing and said to himself:

- Once again, I'll die already.

The Negro glanced with a half-open eye, and Gritsko realized that he couldn't even blink an eyebrow.

I took the iron. Gently felt - toothy.

Small hard toothed piece. Gritska broke into a sweat. He breathed harder. And the negro closed his eyes completely and leaned still more with his black slippery body on Gritskov's hand.

The sub-committees passed, stopped and looked closely at the exhausted Negro. Gritsko froze. He sagged all over with fear and cunning: let them think that he was barely alive, he was so tired.

The committees were talking, and Gritsko was waiting: they would suddenly rush in and catch him on the spot.

He didn't understand what they were saying about the ill-purchased Negro.

- A horse, a real horse, but it will die. They are dying of boredom, rascals,” the subcommittees said. They went further, to the tank: there they were waiting for dinner.

A tanned bare leg slipped cautiously between Gritsk and the Negro.

The Cossack was offended:

"It's quiet, but the wine is pissing."

The foot wiggled its toes.

"More teasing!" Gritsko thought.

I wanted to push my foot into the wet sole. And the foot again impatiently, quickly moved its toes.

The negro opened his eyes and looked at his leg. Gritsko understood. Wearily, he shifted his position, leaned on that bare leg, and stuck that stub of the file between his fingers.

The Negro didn't move. Gritsko didn't move when his leg stretched back to the neighbors.

A gust of cheerful wind ran into the galley, and with it the swell slapped heavily on the starboard side. The spray blew over naked bodies.

People twitched and tinkled their chains. And in this noise, Gritsko clearly heard the sound rustling up to him:

The Cossack almost shouted at the top of his lungs with joy:

- Yakshi! Yakshi!

Yes, I caught on. And after all, he knew only three words: urus, yakshi yes alla. And when the sailors splashed again on deck to pick up the sheets, Gritsko managed to croak:

- Yakshi, yakshi!

The Turk only rolled his eyes.

Everyone was waiting for Signor Pietro Galliano to turn back to return to the port before sunset. The inspection is over. No one knew the secret thoughts of the captain.

The captain demanded that the priest come to him from his cabin. And the shiurma added her order to this.

The words were carried by the wind, and only a neighbor heard them.

Soon the chaplain was stomping along the middle walkways, picking up his cassock. He was in a hurry and, while rolling, stepped unsteadily along the narrow walkways and, balancing with his free hand, waved his rosary.

- Father! the captain said. “Bless the weapons against the infidels.

The suite looked at each other.

At your own risk and fear. The guerrilla feat was started by Galliano.

“The infidels,” continued the captain, “have taken possession of the galley of the patrician Roniero. Genoese sailors were not ashamed to tell what happened before their eyes. Should I wait for the Council's blessing?

Already armed people in armor, with muskets, spears, crossbows, crowded on the forecastle. The gunners stood by the bow guns.

Shiurma already knew that this was not a test, but a campaign.

21. Fresh wind

The wind, still the same southwesterly wind, blew merrily and evenly. He started effortlessly, but now he came into force, drove a brisk swell and splashed into the right cheekbone of the galley.

And the galley rummaged through the swell, shook itself, puffed and rushed forward, to another ridge.

It swells, splashes glisten in the sun and fly into the sails, dousing the people that crowded on the forecastle.

There, the soldiers with the subcommittee talked about the campaign. No one knew what Pietro Galliano was up to, where he was leading the galley.

Everyone was given wine after the prayer service; people were anxious and cheerful.

The sailors carried the soup to the rowers. They were boiled figs, and there was some oil floating on top. Soup was given at sea every other day - they were afraid that the food would not burden the rowers in their hard work. The negro did not eat - he yearned on the chain, like a wolf in a cage.

By evening, the wind had subsided, the sails were slack. The committee whistled.

The sailors removed the sails, climbing the battens, and the rowers took up rowing.

On the chain, like all these chain people. He looked at the chain on his leg and said to himself:

Oh wow! And a mustache through a woman ... I sit like a dog on a chain ...

He had already been lashed by subcommittees more than once, but he endured and kept saying:

And all through it. It just can't be...

In the meantime, Gritsko held on to the oar shaft. He sat first off the board. The main rower on the oar was considered the sixth from the side; he was holding the handle.

It was an old convict. He was sentenced to serve in the galley until he repented: he did not recognize the pope, and for this he was tried. He had been rowing for ten years and had no regrets.

Gritsko's neighbor was black - a Negro. It shone like glazed glassware. Gritsko did not get dirty about him and was surprised. The negro always had a drowsy look, and he blinked his eyes sadly, like a sick horse.