Gavrilo shuddered. . . It had been so quickly done! He felt that the
cursed weight and fear that he experienced in the presence of this
moustached and lean bandit had, as it were, slipped off and rolled away
from him. Could he escape, now? Breathing freely, he looked around
him. On the left rose a black hull without masts, like an immense
empty, deserted coffin. The waves beating against its sides awakened
heavy echoes therein, resembling long-drawn sighs. On the right,
stretched the damp wall of the quay, like a cold heavy serpent. Behind
were visible black skeletons, and in front, in the space between the
wall and the coffin, was the sea, silent and deserted, with black
clouds hanging over it. These clouds were slowly advancing, their
enormous, heavy masses, terrifying in the darkness, ready to crush man
with their weight. All was cold, black and of evil omen. Gavrilo was
afraid. This fear was greater than that imposed on him by Tchelkache;
it clasped Gavrilo's breast in a tight embrace, squeezed him to a
helpless mass and riveted him to the boat's bench.
Perfect silence reigned. Not a sound, save the sighs of the seas; it
seemed as though this silence was about to be suddenly broken by some
frightful, furious explosion of sound that would shake the sea to its
depths, tear apart the dark masses of clouds floating over the sky and
bury under the waves all those black craft.
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