“Is this the second battalion of the M—— regiment?” asked Praskukhin,
hastening up to the spot, and running against the soldiers who were
carrying earth in sacks.
“Exactly so.”
“Where is the commander?”
Mikhaïloff, supposing that the inquiry was for the commander of the
corps, crawled out of his pit, and, taking Praskukhin for the colonel,
he stepped up to him with his hand at his visor.
“The general has given orders ... that you ... are to be so good as to
go ... as quickly as possible ... and, in particular, as quietly as
possible, to the rear ... not to the rear exactly, but to the reserve,”
said Praskukhin, glancing askance at the enemy's fires.
On recognizing Praskukhin and discovering the state of things,
Mikhaïloff dropped his hand, gave his orders, and the battalion started
into motion, gathered up their guns, put on their cloaks, and set out.
No one who has not experienced it can imagine the delight which a man
feels when he takes his departure, after a three-hours bombardment,
from such a dangerous post as the lodgements. Several times in the
course of those three hours, Mikhaïloff had, not without reason,
considered his _end_ as inevitable, and had grown accustomed to the
conviction that he should infallibly be killed, and that he no longer
belonged to this world. In spite of this, however, he had great
difficulty in keeping his feet from running away with him when he
issued from the lodgements at the head of his corps, in company with
Praskukhin.
“Au revoir,” said the major, the commander of another battalion, who
was to remain in the lodgements, and with whom he had shared his
cheese, as they sat in the pit behind the breastworks—“a pleasant
journey to you.”
“Thanks, I hope you will have good luck after we have gone. The firing
seems to be holding up.”
But no sooner had he said this than the enemy, who must have observed
the movement in the lodgements, began to fire faster and faster. Our
guns began to reply to him, and again a heavy cannonade began. The
stars were gleaming high, but not brilliantly in the sky. The night was
dark—you could hardly see your hand before you; only the flashes of
the discharges and the explosions of the bombs illuminated objects for
a moment. The soldiers marched on rapidly, in silence, involuntarily
treading close on each other's heels; all that was audible through the
incessant firing was the measured sound of their footsteps on the dry
road, the noise of their bayonets as they came in contact, or the sigh
and prayer of some young soldier, “Lord, Lord! what is this!” Now and
then the groan of a wounded man arose, and the shout, “Stretcher!”
(In the company commanded by Mikhaïloff, twenty-six men were killed
in one night, by the fire of the artillery alone.) The lightning
flashed against the distant horizon, the sentry in the bastion shouted,
“Can-non!” and the ball, shrieking over the heads of the corps, tore up
the earth, and sent the stones flying.
“Deuce take it! how slowly they march,” thought Praskukhin, glancing
back continually, as he walked beside Mikhaïloff. “Really, it will be
better for me to run on in front; I have already given the order....
But no, it might be said later on that I was a coward. What will be
will be; I will march with them.”
“Now, why is he walking behind me?” thought Mikhaïloff, on his side.
“So far as I have observed, he always brings ill-luck. There it comes,
flying straight for us, apparently.”
After traversing several hundred paces, they encountered Kalugin, who
was going to the casemates, clanking his sword boldly as he walked, in
order to learn, by the general's command, how the work was progressing
there. But on meeting Mikhaïloff, it occurred to him that, instead of
going thither, under that terrible fire, which he was not ordered to
do, he could make minute inquiries of the officer who had been there.
And, in fact, Mikhaïloff furnished him with a detailed account of the
work. After walking a short distance with them, Kalugin turned into the
trench, which led to the casemate.
“Well, what news is there?” inquired the officer, who was seated alone
at the table, and eating his supper.
“Well, nothing, apparently, except that there will not be any further
conflict.”
“How so? On the contrary, the general has but just gone up to the top
of the works. A regiment has already arrived. Yes, there it is ... do
you hear? The firing has begun again. Don't go. Why should you?” added
the officer, perceiving the movement made by Kalugin.
“But I must be there without fail, in the present instance,” thought
Kalugin, “but I have already subjected myself to a good deal of danger
to-day; the firing is terrible.”
“Well, after all, I had better wait for him here,” he said.
In fact, the general returned, twenty minutes later, accompanied by the
officers, who had been with him; among their number was the yunker,
Baron Pesth, but Praskukhin was not with them. The lodgements had been
captured and occupied by our forces.
After receiving a full account of the engagement, Kalugin and Pesth
went out of the casemates.