"Put the tools together," Ossip shouted. "And look alive
there, and make for the bank."

"Aye, and a fine Easter Day it will be for us on THAT bank!"
growled Sashok.

Meanwhile, it was the river rather than the town that seemed to
be motionless--the latter had begun, as it were, to quiver and
reel, and, with the hill above it, to appear to be gliding
slowly up stream, even as the grey, sandy bank some ten sazheni
from us was beginning to grow tremulous, and to recede.

"Run, all of you!" shouted Ossip, giving me a violent push as
he did so. Then to myself in particular he added: "Why stand
gaping there?"

This caused a keen sense of danger to strike home in my heart,
and to make my feet feel as though already the ice was escaping
their tread. So, automatically picking themselves up, those feet
started to bear my body in the direction of a spot on the sandy
bank where the winter-stripped branches of a willow tree were
writhing, and whither there were betaking themselves also Boev,
the old soldier, Budirin, and the brothers Diatlov. Meanwhile
the Morduine ran by my side, cursing vigorously as he did so,
and Ossip followed us, walking backwards.

"No, no, Narodetz," he said.

"But, my good Ossip--"