Book Two: 1805 - Chapter XVIII

by Leo Tolstoy

　　Prince Bagration, having reached the highest point of our rightflank, began riding downhill to where the roll of musketry was heardbut where on account of the smoke nothing could be seen. The nearerthey got to the hollow the less they could see but the more theyfelt the nearness of the actual battlefield. They began to meetwounded men. One with a bleeding head and no cap was being draggedalong by two soldiers who supported him under the arms. There was agurgle in his throat and he was spitting blood. A bullet had evidentlyhit him in the throat or mouth. Another was walking sturdily byhimself but without his musket, groaning aloud and swinging his armwhich had just been hurt, while blood from it was streaming over hisgreatcoat as from a bottle. He had that moment been wounded and hisface showed fear rather than suffering. Crossing a road they descendeda steep incline and saw several men lying on the ground; they also meta crowd of soldiers some of whom were unwounded. The soldiers wereascending the hill breathing heavily, and despite the general'spresence were talking loudly and gesticulating. In front of themrows of gray cloaks were already visible through the smoke, and anofficer catching sight of Bagration rushed shouting after the crowd ofretreating soldiers, ordering them back. Bagration rode up to theranks along which shots crackled now here and now there, drowningthe sound of voices and the shouts of command. The whole air reekedwith smoke. The excited faces of the soldiers were blackened withit. Some were using their ramrods, others putting powder on thetouchpans or taking charges from their pouches, while others werefiring, though who they were firing at could not be seen for the smokewhich there was no wind to carry away. A pleasant humming andwhistling of bullets were often heard. "What is this?" thoughtPrince Andrew approaching the crowd of soldiers. "It can't be anattack, for they are not moving; it can't be a square- for they arenot drawn up for that."

　　The commander of the regiment, a thin, feeble-looking old man with apleasant smile- his eyelids drooping more than half over his old eyes,giving him a mild expression, rode up to Bagration and welcomed him asa host welcomes an honored guest. He reported that his regiment hadbeen attacked by French cavalry and that, though the attack had beenrepulsed, he had lost more than half his men. He said the attack hadbeen repulsed, employing this military term to describe what hadoccurred to his regiment, but in reality he did not himself knowwhat had happened during that half-hour to the troops entrusted tohim, and could not say with certainty whether the attack had beenrepulsed or his regiment had been broken up. All he knew was that atthe commencement of the action balls and shells began flying allover his regiment and hitting men and that afterwards someone hadshouted "Cavalry!" and our men had begun firing. They were stillfiring, not at the cavalry which had disappeared, but at Frenchinfantry who had come into the hollow and were firing at our men.Prince Bagration bowed his head as a sign that this was exactly whathe had desired and expected. Turning to his adjutant he ordered him tobring down the two battalions of the Sixth Chasseurs whom they hadjust passed. Prince Andrew was struck by the changed expression onPrince Bagration's face at this moment. It expressed theconcentrated and happy resolution you see on the face of a man whoon a hot day takes a final run before plunging into the water. Thedull, sleepy expression was no longer there, nor the affectation ofprofound thought. The round, steady, hawk's eyes looked before himeagerly and rather disdainfully, not resting on anything althoughhis movements were still slow and measured.

　　The commander of the regiment turned to Prince Bagration, entreatinghim to go back as it was too dangerous to remain where they were."Please, your excellency, for God's sake!" he kept saying, glancingfor support at an officer of the suite who turned away from him."There, you see!" and he drew attention to the bullets whistling,singing, and hissing continually around them. He spoke in the toneof entreaty and reproach that a carpenter uses to a gentleman whohas picked up an ax: "We are used to it, but you, sir, will blisteryour hands." He spoke as if those bullets could not kill him, andhis half-closed eyes gave still more persuasiveness to his words.The staff officer joined in the colonel's appeals, but Bagration didnot reply; he only gave an order to cease firing and re-form, so as togive room for the two approaching battalions. While he was speaking,the curtain of smoke that had concealed the hollow, driven by a risingwind, began to move from right to left as if drawn by an invisiblehand, and the hill opposite, with the French moving about on it,opened out before them. All eyes fastened involuntarily on this Frenchcolumn advancing against them and winding down over the uneven ground.One could already see the soldiers' shaggy caps, distinguish theofficers from the men, and see the standard flapping against itsstaff.

　　"They march splendidly," remarked someone in Bagration's suite.

　　The head of the column had already descended into the hollow. Theclash would take place on this side of it...

　　The remains of our regiment which had been in action rapidlyformed up and moved to the right; from behind it, dispersing thelaggards, came two battalions of the Sixth Chasseurs in fine order.Before they had reached Bagration, the weighty tread of the mass ofmen marching in step could be heard. On their left flank, nearest toBagration, marched a company commander, a fine round-faced man, with astupid and happy expression- the same man who had rushed out of thewattle shed. At that moment he was clearly thinking of nothing but howdashing a fellow he would appear as he passed the commander.

　　With the self-satisfaction of a man on parade, he stepped lightlywith his muscular legs as if sailing along, stretching himself tohis full height without the smallest effort, his ease contrasting withthe heavy tread of the soldiers who were keeping step with him. Hecarried close to his leg a narrow unsheathed sword (small, curved, andnot like a real weapon) and looked now at the superior officers andnow back at the men without losing step, his whole powerful bodyturning flexibly. It was as if all the powers of his soul wereconcentrated on passing the commander in the best possible manner, andfeeling that he was doing it well he was happy. "Left... left...left..." he seemed to repeat to himself at each alternate step; and intime to this, with stern but varied faces, the wall of soldiersburdened with knapsacks and muskets marched in step, and each one ofthese hundreds of soldiers seemed to be repeating to himself at eachalternate step, "Left... left... left..." A fat major skirted abush, puffing and falling out of step; a soldier who had fallenbehind, his face showing alarm at his defection, ran at a trot,panting to catch up with his company. A cannon ball, cleaving the air,flew over the heads of Bagration and his suite, and fell into thecolumn to the measure of "Left... left!" "Close up!" came thecompany commander's voice in jaunty tones. The soldiers passed in asemicircle round something where the ball had fallen, and an oldtrooper on the flank, a noncommissioned officer who had stopped besidethe dead men, ran to catch up his line and, falling into step with ahop, looked back angrily, and through the ominous silence and theregular tramp of feet beating the ground in unison, one seemed to hearleft... left... left.

　　"Well done, lads!" said Prince Bagration.

　　"Glad to do our best, your ex'len-lency!" came a confused shout fromthe ranks. A morose soldier marching on the left turned his eyes onBagration as he shouted, with an expression that seemed to say: "Weknow that ourselves!" Another, without looking round, as thoughfearing to relax, shouted with his mouth wide open and passed on.

　　The order was given to halt and down knapsacks.

　　Bagration rode round the ranks that had marched past him anddismounted. He gave the reins to a Cossack, took off and handed overhis felt coat, stretched his legs, and set his cap straight. Thehead of the French column, with its officers leading, appeared frombelow the hill.

　　"Forward, with God!" said Bagration, in a resolute, sonorousvoice, turning for a moment to the front line, and slightly swinginghis arms, he went forward uneasily over the rough field with theawkward gait of a cavalryman. Prince Andrew felt that an invisiblepower was leading him forward, and experienced great happiness.

　　The French were already near. Prince Andrew, walking besideBagration, could clearly distinguish their bandoliers, red epaulets,and even their faces. (He distinctly saw an old French officer who,with gaitered legs and turned-out toes, climbed the hill withdifficulty.) Prince Bagration gave no further orders and silentlycontinued to walk on in front of the ranks. Suddenly one shot afteranother rang out from the French, smoke appeared all along theiruneven ranks, and musket shots sounded. Several of our men fell, amongthem the round-faced officer who had marched so gaily andcomplacently. But at the moment the first report was heard,Bagration looked round and shouted, "Hurrah!"

　　"Hurrah- ah!- ah!" rang a long-drawn shout from our ranks, andpassing Bagration and racing one another they rushed in an irregularbut joyous and eager crowd down the hill at their disordered foe.