The guide pointed out the ford; and the vanguard of cavalry, with
the general and his suite immediately in its rear, began to cross
the river. The water, which reached the horses' breasts, rushed with
extraordinary violence among the white bowlders which in some places
came to the top, and formed foaming, gurgling whirlpools around the
horses' legs. The horses were frightened at the roar of the water,
lifted their heads, pricked up their ears, but slowly and carefully
picked their way against the stream along the uneven bottom. The
riders held up their legs and fire-arms. The foot-soldiers, literally
in their shirts alone, lifting above the water their muskets to which
were fastened their bundles of clothing, struggled against the force
of the stream by clinging together, a score of men at a time, showing
noticeable determination on their excited faces. The artillery-men on
horseback, with a loud shout, put their horses into the water at full
trot. The cannon and green-painted caissons, over which now and then,
the water came pouring, plunged with a clang over the rocky bottom;
but the noble Cossack horses pulled with united effort, made the water
foam, and with dripping tails and manes emerged on the farther shore.
As soon as the crossing was effected, the general's face suddenly took
on an expression of deliberation and seriousness; he wheeled his horse
around, and at full gallop rode across the wide forest-surrounded
field which spread before us. The Cossack horses were scattered along
the edge of the forest.
In the forest appeal's a man in Circassian dress and round cap; then
a second and a third ... one of the officers shouts, "Those are
Tatars!" At this instant a puff of smoke came from behind a tree ... a
report--another. The quick volleys of our men drown out those of the
enemy. Only occasionally a bullet, with long-drawn ping like the hum of
a bee, flies by, and is the only proof that not all the shots are ours.
Here the infantry at double quick, and with fixed bayonets, dash
against the chain; one can hear the heavy reports of the guns, the
metallic clash of grape-shot, the whiz of rockets, the crackling of
musketry. The cavalry, the infantry, converge from all sides on the
wide field. The smoke from the guns, rockets, and fire-arms, unites
with the early mist arising from the dew-covered grass.
Colonel Khasánof gallops up to the general, and reins in his horse
while at full tilt.
"Your Excellency," says he, lifting his hand to his cap, "give orders
for the cavalry to advance. The standards are coming,"[26] and he
points with his whip to mounted Tatars, at the head of whom rode two
men on white horses with red and blue streamers on their lances.
"All right,[27] Iván Mikháïlovitch," says the general. The colonel
wheels his horse round on the spot, draws his sabre, and shouts
"Hurrah!"
"Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!" echoes from the ranks, and the cavalry dash
after him.
All look on with excitement: there is a standard;[28] another; a third;
a fourth!...
The enemy, not waiting the assault, fly into the forest, and open
a musket fire from behind the trees. The bullets fly more and more
thickly.
_"Quel charmant coup d'oeil!"_ exclaimed the general as he easily rose
in English fashion on his coal-black, slender-limbed little steed.
"_Charmant,_" replies the major, who rolls his r's like a Frenchman,
and whipping up his horse dashes after the general. "It's a genuine
pleasure to carry on war in such a fine country," says he.[29]
"And above all in good company," adds the general still in French, with
a pleasant smile.
The major bowed.
At this time a cannon-ball from the enemy comes flying by with a swift,
disagreeable whiz, and strikes something; immediately is heard the
groan of a wounded man. This groan impresses me so painfully that the
martial picture instantly loses for me all its fascination: but no one
beside myself seems to be affected in the same way; the major smiles
apparently with the greatest satisfaction; another officer with perfect
equanimity repeats the opening words of a speech; the general looks in
the opposite direction, and with the most tranquil smile says something
in French.
"Will you give orders to reply to their heavy guns?" asks the commander
of the artillery, galloping up. "Yes, scare them a little," says the
general carelessly, lighting a cigar.
The battery is unlimbered, and the cannonade begins. The ground shakes
under the report; the firing continues without cessation; and the smoke
in which it is scarcely possible to distinguish those attending the
guns, blinds the eyes.
The aul is battered down. Again Colonel Khasánof dashes up, and at the
general's command darts off to the aul. The war-cry is heard again, and
the cavalry disappears in the cloud of its own dust.
The spectacle was truly grandiose. One thing only spoiled the general
impression for me as a man who had no part in the affair, and was
wholly unwonted to it; and this was that there was too much of it,--the
motion and the animation and the shouts. Involuntarily the comparison
occurred to me of a man who in his haste would cut the air with a
hatchet.
[Footnote 26: _znatchki._ This word among the mountaineers has almost
the signification of banner, with this single distinction, that each
jigit can make a standard for himself and carry it.--AUTHOR'S NOTE.]
[Footnote 27: _S Bógom,_ literally "with God," but a mere phrase.]
[Footnote 28: _znatchók._]
[Footnote 29: _C'est un vrai plaisir, que la guerre dans un aussi beau
pays._]