In May the regiment went into camp, which, year after year, was pitched
in the same spot outside the town, and not far from the railway. The
young officers had, whilst the camp was on, according to the
regulations, to live in wooden barracks near their respective companies;
but Romashov continued to enjoy his own dwelling in the town, as the
officers' barracks of the 6th Company had long been in a ruinous and
uninhabitable condition, on account of there being no money available
for repairs. Every day he had to journey four times between the town and
the camp. In the morning off to the camp for drill, thence back to the
officers' mess in the town for his dinner; after that, off to the
afternoon exercises, and, finally, at night, his last walk back to his
home. This fatiguing life was seriously affecting his health. After the
first fortnight he began to get thin and hollow-eyed, and soon lost the
fresh colour of his cheeks.
Even the rest, officers as well as men, fared little better.
Preparations were being made for the great General Review, and nobody
ventured to speak of fatigue or weariness. The Captains of companies
exhausted the utmost strength of their men by two or three hours' extra
drill every day. During all the drill the smacking sound of ears being
boxed and other maltreatment was heard all over the plain. More than
once Romashov noticed how the Captains, in a furious rage, like wild
beasts, attacked the poor recruits, and boxed the ears of the entire
line from first to last; but, nevertheless, the "non-coms." displayed
the greatest cruelty. They punished with unbridled rage the slightest
mistake in marching or manual exercise; teeth were knocked out, drums of
the ears were broken, and the defenceless victims were thrown down
senseless. But none of all these martyrs ever entertained the thought of
drawing a sword. It was just as if the whole regiment had become the
prey of a wild hypnosis or had been attacked by nightmare. And all these
terrors and sufferings were multiplied by a fearful heat, for May this
year was unusually hot.
Wherever you went an unnatural nervousness was discernible. The most
absurd quarrels would, all of a sudden, break out during meals at the
officers' mess. They insulted each other, and sought quarrels without
rhyme or reason. The soldiers, with their sunken cheeks and sallow eyes,
looked like idiots. Never, during the few hours' rest they were allowed
to enjoy, was a laugh heard from the tents; never a joke. At night,
after bugle-call, the rank and file were ordered to get into line for
games and singing, and with an absolutely apathetic expression of voice
and features they howled the old campsong--
"Oh, the gallant Russian soldier,
Fear with him can find no place;
He, when bombs are bursting round him,
Calls them 'brother' to their face."
Then a dance would be played on the harmonium, and the ensign would roar
out--
"Gregorash, Skvortzov, up and dance, you hounds!"
The two recruits obeyed the order without a murmur, but in both their
song and dance there lay something dead, mechanical, and resigned, at
which one was inclined to weep.
Only in the 5th Company were they easy-going and free, and there the
drills began every day an hour later than the rest and were concluded an
hour earlier. You might have fancied that every member of it had been
specially chosen, for they all looked lively, well-fed. The lads of the
5th Company looked their officers bravely and openly in the face, and
the very _rubashka_[19] was worn with a certain aristocratic elegance.
Their commander, Stelikovski--a very eccentric old bachelor and
comparatively rich (he drew from some unknown quarter two hundred
roubles every month), was of an independent character, with a dry
manner, who stood aloof from his comrades, and lastly, was in bad odour
on account of his dissolute life. He attracted and hired young girls
from the lower class, often minors, and these he paid handsomely, and
sent back to their native places after the lapse of a month. Corporal
punishment--nay, even threats and insulting words--were strictly
forbidden in his company, although, as far as that goes, there was by no
means any coddling of the men, who, however, in appearance, and
readiness, and capability, were not inferior to any company of guardsmen
in existence. Being himself masterful, cool, and self-reliant in the
highest degree, he was also able to implant those qualities firmly in
his subordinates. What, in other companies, could not be attained after
a whole week's drill amid threats, yells, and oaths, blows and stripes,
Stelikovski attained with the greatest calm in a single day. He was a
man of few words, seldom raised his voice, and when, on occasion, he did
speak, the soldiers stood as if carved in stone. Among the officers he
was shunned and hated, but worshipped by his men--a state of things
that, most certainly, was unique in the whole of the Russian Army.
At length the 15th of May arrived, when the Great Review, ordered by the
Brigadier-General, was to take place. In all the companies, except the
5th, the non-coms. had their men drawn up by 4 a.m. The poor, tortured,
drowsy, gaping soldiers were trembling as though with cold in their
coarse shirts, although the air was mild and balmy and the weather
serene, and their gloomy, depressed glances and sallow, greyish, chalky
faces gave a painful impression in the gleaming, bright summer morning.
When the clock struck six, the officers began to join their companies.
The regiment had not to be assembled and in line before 10 a.m., but,
with the exception of Stelikovski, not one of the Captains thought of
letting their poor wearied soldiers have their proper sleep and gain
strength for the toils awaiting them that day. On the contrary, never
had their fussiness and zeal been greater than on this morning. The air
was thick with oaths, threats, and insults; ear-boxing, slaps on the
mouth, kicks, and blows with the fist rained down, at each slightest
blunder, on the miserable, utterly exhausted soldiers.
At 9 a.m. the companies marched to the parade-ground, about five hundred
paces in front of the camp. Sixteen outposts, provided with small,
multi-coloured flags for signalling, were stationed in an absolutely
straight line about half a verst long, so as to mark out, with
mathematical accuracy, the points where each company's right wing should
be placed at the parade past the Brigadier-General. Lieutenant Kováko,
who had been allotted this highly important task, was, of course, one of
the heroes of the day, and, conscious of this, he galloped, like a
madman--red, perspiring, and with his cap on his neck--backwards and
forwards along the line, shouting and swearing, and also belabouring
with his sabre the ribs of his lean white charger. The poor beast, grown
grey with age and having a cataract in its right eye, waved its short
tail convulsively. Yes, on Lieutenant Kováko and his outposts depended
the whole regiment's weal and woe, for it was he who bore the awful
responsibility of the sixteen companies' respective "gaps" and
"dressing."
Precisely at ten minutes to 10 a.m., the 5th Company marched out of
camp. With brisk, long, measured steps, that made the earth tremble,
these hundred men marched past all the other companies and took their
place in the line. They formed a splendid, select corps; lithe, muscular
figures with straight backs and brave bearing, clean, shining faces, and
the little peakless cap tipped coquettishly over the right ear. Captain
Stelikovski--a little thin man, displaying himself in tremendously wide
breeches--carelessly promenaded, without troubling himself in the least
about the time his troops kept when marching, five paces on the side of
the right flank, peering amusedly, and now and then shaking his head
whimsically now to the right, now to the left, as though to control the
troops' "dressing" and attention. Colonel Liech, the commander of the
battalion, who, like the rest of the officers, had been, ever since
dawn, in a state of examination-fever and nervous irritability, rushed
up to Stelikovski with furious upbraidings for having "come too late."
The latter slowly and coolly took out his watch, glanced at it, and
replied in a dry, almost contemptuous tone:
"The commander of the regiment ordered me to be here by ten o'clock. It
still wants three minutes to that hour. I do not consider I am justified
in worrying and exerting my men unnecessarily."
"Don't, if you please," croaked Liech, gesticulating and pulling his
reins. "I must ask you to be silent when your superior officer makes a
remark."
But he only too well understood that he was wrong and would get the
worst of it, and he rode quickly on, and visited his wrath on the 8th
Company, whose officers had ordered the knapsacks to be opened.
"What the deuce are you about? What is this foolery? Are you thinking of
opening a bazaar or a general shop? This is just like beginning a hunt
by cramming the hounds with food. Close your knapsacks and put them on
quickly. You ought to have thought of this before."
At a quarter to eleven they began dressing the companies on the lines
laid down. This was for all a very minute, tedious, and troublesome
task. Between the _échelons_ long ropes were tightly stretched along the
ground. Every soldier in the front rank was obliged to see, with the
most painful accuracy, that his toes just grazed the tightly-stretched
rope, for in that lay the fundamental condition of the faultless
dressing of the long front. Moreover, the distance between the toes,
like the breadth of the gun-stock and the somewhat inclined position of
the upper part of the body, had to be the same along the whole line.
While anxiously superintending these details the Captains often flew
into a towering rage. Frantic shouts and angry words of command were
heard everywhere: "Ivanoff, more forward, you--Syaroschtan, right
shoulder forward, left back!"
At 10.30 a.m. the commander of the regiment arrived. He rode on a
powerful chestnut-brown gelding with white legs. Colonel Shulgovich was
an imposing, almost majestic, figure on horseback. He had a firm "seat,"
although he rode in infantry style, with stirrups far too short. In
greeting his regiment he yelled in his tremendous voice, in which a
certain jubilant heroic note in honour of the occasion was audible--
"Good morning, my fine fellows."
Romashov, who remembered his 4th platoon and especially Kliabnikov's
wretched appearance, could not refrain from smiling. "Pretty choice
specimens, in all truth," thought he.
The standards were unfurled amidst the strident notes of the regimental
band. After this came a long and trying moment. Straight away to the
station, from which the Brigadier-General was expected, were posted a
number of signallers who, by certain arranged signs, were to prepare the
regiment for the approach of the Generals. More than once they were
disturbed by a false alarm. The loose, slack ropes were once more
tightened in mad haste, "dressings" and "lines" were ordered, and all
stood for several minutes at the most painful "attention," until
weariness once more asserted its claims, and the poor soldiers
collapsed, yet, at the very last, striving to keep the position of their
feet, at any rate, unmoved. Out in the plain, about three hundred paces
off, the ladies displayed their clothes, parasols, and hats of
variegated and loud colours. Romashov knew very well that Shurochka was
not in that bright, festive group. But every time he glanced in that
direction he felt, as it were, an icy-cold shudder in the region of his
heart, and his quick, nervous breathing bore witness to a strong inward
excitement.
Suddenly, like a strong gust of wind, a rumour ran through the ranks,
and a timorous cry was heard: "He's coming; he's coming!" It was clear
to all that the important, eventful moment was approaching. The
soldiers, who had been since dawn the victims of the prevailing
excitement, dressed in their ranks without orders, but with a certain
nervous haste, and became rigid in apparently lifeless immobility. Now
and then a nervous coughing was heard.
"Ranks, attention!" rang out Shulgovich's order.
Romashov, glancing to the right, discovered, at a good distance down the
plain, a small but dense group of horsemen who, now and then obscured
for an instant by a faint yellow cloud of dust, were rapidly approaching
the front. Shulgovich rode, with a severe and solemn countenance, from
his place in front of the middle company, right out into the plain, most
certainly a good fourth further than the regulations demanded. The
tremendous importance of the moment was reflected in his features. With
a gesture of noble dignity, he first glanced upwards, then calmed the
dark, motionless mass of soldiers by a glance, withering, it is true,
but mingled with tremulous exultation, and then let his stentorian voice
roll over the plain, when commanding--
"Attention! Should--er----"
He purposely kept back the last syllable of that longest word of
command--the so-called "effective" word, just as if an infinite power
and sanctity lay hidden in the pronunciation of those few wretched
letters. His countenance became a bluish-red, the veins in his neck were
strained like thick cords, and, finally, the releasing word was
discernible in the wild-beast-like roar--
"---- arms!"
One--two. A thousand slamming and rattling of hard blows from soldiers'
fists on the stocks of their rifles, and the violent contact of locks
with the coarse metal clasps of belts echoed through the air. At the
same moment the electrifying strains of the regimental march were
audible from the right wing. Like wild, excited, undisciplined children
let loose, the flutes and cornets ran riot, trying by their shrill,
ear-piercing voices to drown the coarse bellowing of trombones and
ophicleides, whilst the thunder of drums and kettledrums, warning and
threatening, exhorted frivolous, thoughtless young men of the
consideration due to the seriousness and supreme importance of the
moment. From the station there rang out, almost like a soothing
piccolo-strain, the whistle of the engine, mingling harmoniously with
the joyful music of the band.
Romashov suddenly felt himself caught, as it were, by a mighty, roaring
wave that, irresistibly and exultingly, carried him away. With a
sensation of joy and courage such as he had never experienced before,
his glance met the sun's gold-steeped rays, and it seemed to him as if,
at that moment, he was, for the first time, conscious of the blue sky
paled by the heat, and the warm verdure of the plain that disappeared in
the far distance. For once he felt young and strong and eager to
distinguish himself; proud, too, of belonging to this magnificent,
motionless, imposing mass of men, gathered together and quelled by an
invisible, mysterious will.
Shulgovich, with his sabre drawn to a level with his face, rode in a
ponderous gallop to meet the General.
Directly the band's rough martial, triumphant strains had ceased, the
General's calm, musical voice rang out--
"Good-day, 1st Company."
The soldiers answered his salutation promptly and joyfully. Again the
locomotive made its voice heard, but this time in the form of a sharp,
defiant signal. The Brigadier-General rode slowly along the line,
saluting the companies in their proper order. Romashov could already
distinguish his heavy, obese figure with the thin linen jacket turned up
in deep folds across his chest and fat belly; his big square face turned
towards the troops; the gorgeous saddle-cloth with his monogram
embroidered in bright colours, the majestic grey charger, the ivory
rings on the martingale, and patent-leather riding boots.
"Good-day, 6th Company."
The soldiers round Romashov replied with a shout that was pretty nearly
destructive both to throats and ear-drums. The General sat his horse
with the careless grace of an accomplished rider. His noble charger,
with the gentle, steadfast glance from his handsome, though slightly
bloodshot eyes, tugged hard at its bit, from which, now and then, a few
white foam-drops fell to the ground, and careered gently on with short,
quick, dancing steps.
"He's grey about the temples, but his moustache is black--dyed,
perhaps," was Romashov's reflection just then.
Through his gold-rimmed _pince-nez_ the General answered with his dark,
clever, youthful and satirically questioning eyes the soldiers' glances
directed at him. When he came up to Romashov he touched the peak of his
cap with his hand. Romashov stood quite still, with every muscle
strained in the most correct attitude of "attention," and he clasped the
hilt of his sabre with such a hard, crushing grip that it almost caused
him pain. A shudder of infinite, enthusiastic devotion rushed through
his whole being, and whilst looking fixedly at the General's face, he
thought to himself in his old naïve, childish way--
"The grey-haired old warrior's glances noted with delight the young
ensign's slender, well-built figure."
The General continued his slow ride along the front, saluting company
after company. Behind him moved his suite--a promiscuous, resplendent
group of staff officers, whose horses shone with profuse rubbing down
and dressing. Romashov glanced at them, too, benevolently, but not one
of them took the slightest notice of him. These spoilt favourites of
fortune had long since had more than enough of parades, reviews, and the
boundless enthusiasm of little, insignificant infantry officers, and
Romashov felt in his heart a bitter, rebellious feeling at the thought
that these superior people belonged to a world quite beyond his reach.
The band suddenly received a sign to stop playing. The General returned
at a sharp trot to the right wing, and after him, in a long, variegated
line, his mounted suite. Colonel Shulgovich galloped off to the 1st
Company. Pulling his reins and throwing all his enormous body back in
the saddle, he yelled in a hoarse and trembling voice--
"Captain Osadchi, advance company. Quick, march!"
Between the commander of the regiment and Captain Osadchi there was an
incessant rivalry, during drill hours, to outdo each other in lung
power, and not many seconds elapsed before the latter was heard to order
in his mighty, rolling bass--
"Company, shoulder arms! Dress in the middle. Forward, march!" Osadchi
had, with fearful sacrifice of time and labour, succeeded in introducing
in his company a new kind of marching. This consisted in the soldiers
raising their foot high in the air in very slow time, and afterwards
putting it down on the ground with the greatest possible force. This
wonderful and imposing manner of moving along the ground excited not
only much interest, but also a certain envy among the other captains of
companies.
But the 1st Company had hardly marched fifty paces before they heard the
General's angry and impatient voice exclaim--
"What the deuce is this? Halt with the company. Halt, halt! Come here to
me, Captain. Tell me, sir, what in the name of goodness that is supposed
to represent. Is it a funeral or a torch procession? Say. March in
three-time. Listen, sir, we're not living in the days of Nicholas, when
a soldier served for twenty-five years. How many precious days have you
wasted in practising this _corps de ballet_? Answer me."
Osadchi stood gloomy, still and silent before his angry chief, with his
drawn sabre pointing to the ground. The General was silent for an
instant, and then resumed his harangue with an expression of sorrow and
irony in his voice--
"By this sort of insanity you will soon succeed in extinguishing the
last spark of life in your soldiers. Don't you think so yourself? Oh,
you luckless ghosts from Ivan the Cruel's days! But enough of this.
Allow me instead to ask you, Captain, the name of this young lad."
"Ignati Mikhailovich, your Excellency," replied Osadchi in the dry,
sepulchral, regulation voice.
"Well and good. But what do you know about him? Is he a bachelor, or has
he a wife and children? Perhaps he has some trouble at home? Or he is
very poor? Answer me."
"I can't say, your Excellency? I have a hundred men under my command. It
is hard to remember all about them."
"Hard to remember, did you say?" repeated the General in a sad and
serious voice. "Ah, gentlemen, gentlemen. You must certainly know what
the Scripture says: 'Do not destroy the soul,' and what are you doing?
That poor, grey, wretched creature standing there, may, perhaps, some
day, in the hour of battle, protect you by his body, carry you on his
shoulders out of a hail of bullets, may, with his ragged cloak, protect
you against snow and frost, and yet you have nothing to say about him,
but 'I can't say!'"
In his nervous excitement the General pulled in the reins and shouted
over Osadchi's head, in an angry voice, to the commander of the
regiment--
"Colonel, get this company out of my way. I have had enough. Nothing but
marionettes and blockheads."
From that moment the fate of the regiment was sealed. The terrified
soldiers' absolute exhaustion, the non-coms.' lunatical cruelty, the
officers' incapacity, indifference, and laziness--all this came out
clearly as the review proceeded. In the 2nd Company the soldiers did not
even know the Lord's Prayer. In the 3rd, the officers ran like wild
fowls when the company was to be drilled in "open order." In the 4th,
the manual exercise was below criticism, etc. The worst of all was,
however, that none of the companies, with the exception of the 5th, knew
how to meet a sudden charge of cavalry. Now, this was precisely the
General's hobby; he had published independently copious instructions on
this, in which he pointed out minutely the vital importance of the
troops' mobility and quickness, and of their leader's resolution and
deliberation.
After each company had in turn been reviewed, the General commanded the
officers, both commissioned and non-commissioned, to go out of ear-shot,
after which he questioned the soldiers with regard to their wishes and
grounds of complaint; but everywhere he met with the same good-humoured
reply: "Satisfied with everything, your Excellency." When that question
was put to No. 1 Company, Romashov heard an ensign in it remark in a
threatening voice--
"Just let me hear any one daring to complain; I'll give him
'complaints'!"
For the 5th Company only was the whole review a complete triumph. The
brave, young, lusty soldiers executed all their movements with life and
energy, and with such facility, mobility, and absence of all pedantry
that the whole of the review seemed to officers and men, not a severe,
painful examination, but like a jolly and amusing game. The General
smiled his satisfaction, and soon could not refrain from a "Well done,
my lads"--the first words of approval he uttered during the whole time.
When, however, the ominous pretended charge was to be met, Stelikovski
literally took the old General by storm. The General himself started the
exercise by suddenly shouting to the commander of the company: "Cavalry
from the right, eight hundred paces." Stelikovski formed, without a
second's hesitation and with the greatest calm and precision, his
company to meet the supposed enemy, which seemed to approach at a
furious gallop. With compactly closed ranks--the fore-rank in a kneeling
position--the troops fired two or three rounds, immediately after which
was heard the fateful command: "Quick fire!"
"Thanks, my children," cried the old General joyously--"that's the way
it should be done. Thanks, thanks."
After the oral examination the company was drawn up in open file; but
the General delayed his final dismissal. It was as if it seemed hard to
him to say good-bye to this company. Passing as slowly as possible along
the front, he observed every soldier with particular and deep interest,
and a very delighted smile gleamed through the _pince-nez_ from the
clever eyes beneath the heavy, prominent eyebrows. Suddenly he stopped
his charger, turned round on his saddle to the head of his staff, and
exclaimed--
"No; come here and look, Colonel, what muzzles the rascals have. What do
you feed them on, Captain? Pies? Hi, you thick nose" (he pointed to a
young soldier in the ranks), "your name's Kovál?"
"Mikhail Borichuk, your Excellency," boldly replied the young recruit
with a frank, happy smile.
"Oh, you scamp, I thought you were called Kovál. Well, this time I was
out of my reckoning," said the General in fun, "but there's no harm
done; better luck next time," he added, with the same good-humour.
At these words the soldier's countenance puckered in a broad grin.
"No, your Excellency, you are not wrong at all," shouted the soldier in
a raised voice. "At home, in the village, I am employed as a farrier,
and, therefore, they call me Kovál."
The General nodded in delight, and he was evidently very proud of his
memory. "Well, Captain, is he a good soldier?"
"Very good, General. All my soldiers are good," replied Stelikovski in
his usual confident tone.
The General's eyebrows were knitted, but his lips kept smiling, and the
crabbed old face gradually resumed its light and friendly expression.
"Well, well, Captain; we will see about that. How is the
punishment-list?"
"Your Excellency, for five years not a single man in my company has been
punished."
The General bent forward heavily and held out to Stelikovski his hairy
hand in the white, unbuttoned glove that had slipped down to the
knuckles.
"I heartily thank you, my friend," he replied in a trembling voice, and
tears glistened in his eyes. The General, like many old warriors, liked,
now and then, to shed a slight tear. "Again my thanks for having given
an old man pleasure. And you, too, my brave boys, accept my thanks," he
shouted in a loud and vigorous voice to the soldiers.
Thanks to the good impression left behind from Stelikovski's
inspection, the review of the 6th Company also went off nearly
satisfactorily; the General did certainly not bestow praise, but neither
were any reproaches heard. At the bayonet attack on the straw mannikin
this company even went astray.
"Not that way, not that way, not that way!" screamed the General,
shaking with wrath in the saddle. "Hold, stop! that's damnable. You go
to work as if you were making a hole in soft bread. Listen, boys. That's
not the way to deal with an enemy. The bayonet should be driven in
forcibly and furiously right in the waist up to the muzzle of your
rifle. Don't forget."
The remaining companies made, one after the other, a hopeless "hash" of
everything. At last the General's outburst of anger ceased. Tired and
listless, he watched the miserable spectacle with gloomy looks, and,
without uttering a word, he entirely excused himself from inspecting the
15th and 16th Companies, exclaiming with a gesture of disgust--
"Enough, enough of such abortions."
There still remained the grand march past, and the parade. The whole
regiment was formed into columns with half companies in front, and
reduced gaps. Again the everlasting markers were ordered out to set the
line of march by their ropes. The heat was now almost unbearable, and
the soldiers could hardly bear any longer the fearful stench that exuded
from their own freely perspiring bodies.
But for the forthcoming "solemn" march past, the men now made a final
effort to pull themselves together. The officers almost besought their
subordinates to strain every nerve for this final proof of their
endurance and discipline. "Brothers, for the honour of the regiment, do
your best. Save yourselves and us from disgracing ourselves before the
General." In this humble recourse on the part of the officers to their
subordinates there lay--besides much else that was little edifying--too,
an indirect recognition of their own faults and shortcomings. The wrath
aroused in such a great personage as the General of the regiment was
felt to be equally painful and oppressive to officers and troops alike,
and it had, to some extent, a levelling effect, so that all were, in an
equally high degree, dispirited, nervous, and apathetic.
"Attention! The band in front!" ordered Colonel Shulgovich, in the far
distance.
And all these fifteen hundred human beings for a second suppressed their
faint inward murmurings; all muscles were once more strained, and again
they stood in nervous, painful expectation.
Shulgovich could not be detected by any eye, but his tremendous voice
again rang across the field--
"Stand at ease!"
Four battalion Captains turned in their saddles to their respective
divisions, and each uttered the command--
"Battalion, stand at----" after which they awaited with feverish
nervousness the word of command.
Somewhere, far away on the field, a sabre suddenly gleamed like
lightning in the air. This was the desired signal, and all the Captains
at once roared--
"---- ease!" whereupon all the regiment, with a dull thud, grounded
their rifles. Here and there was heard the click of a few unfortunate
bayonets which, in the movement, happened to clash together.
But now, at last, the solemn, never-to-be-forgotten moment had arrived,
when the commander of the regiment's tremendous lungs were to be heard
by the world in all their awful majesty. Solemnly, confidently, but, at
the same time, menacingly, like slow rumblings of thunder, the strongly
accentuated syllables rolled across the plain in the command--
"March past!"
In the next moment you might hear sixteen Captains risking their lives
in mad attempt to shout each other down, when they repeated all at
once--
"March past!"
One single poor sinner far away in detail of the column managed to come
too late. He whined in a melancholy falsetto:
"March pa--!"
The rest of the word was unfortunately lost to the men, and probably
drowned in the oaths and threats of the bystanders.
"Column in half companies!" roared Colonel Shulgovich.
"Column in half companies!" repeated the Captains.
"With double platoon--hollow!" chanted Shulgovich.
"With double platoon--hollow!" answered the choir.
"Dress-ing--ri-ight!" thundered the giant.
"Dress-ing--ri-ight!" came from the dwarfs.
Shulgovich now took breath for two or three seconds, after which he once
more gave vent to his voice of thunder in the command--
"First half company--forward--march!"
Rolling heavily through the dense ranks across the level plain came
Osadchi's dull roar--
"First half company, dress to the right--forward--march!"
Away in the front was heard the merry rattle of drums. Seen from the
rear, the column resembled a forest of bayonets which often enough waved
backwards and forwards.
"Second half company to the middle!" Romashov recognized Artschakovski's
squeaky falsetto.
A new line of bayonets assumed a leaning position and departed. The
thunder of the drums grew more and more faint, and was just about to
sink down, as it were, and be absorbed in the ground, when suddenly the
last sounds of drum-beats were dispersed by the rhythmically jubilant,
irresistible waves of music from the wind instruments. The sleepy
marching time of the companies filing past at once caught fire and life;
languid eyes and greyish cheeks regained their colour, and tired muscles
were once more braced to save the honour of the regiment.
The half companies proceeded to march, one after the other, and at every
step the soldiers' torpid spirits were revived under the influence of
the band's cheerful strains. The 1st Battalion's last company had
already got some distance when, lo! Lieutenant-Colonel Liech advanced
gently on his thin, raven-black horse, followed close at his heels by
Olisár. Both had their sabres ready for the salute, with their
sabre-hilts' knots dangling on a level with their mouths. Soon
Stelikovski's quiet, nonchalant command was heard. High above the
bayonets, the standard lorded on its long pole, and it was now the 6th
Company's turn to march. Captain Sliva stepped to the front and
inspected his men by a glance from his pale, prominent, fishy eyes. With
his miserable shrunken figure stooping, and his long arms, he had a
striking resemblance to an ugly old monkey.
"F-irst half company--forward!"
With a light and elegant step Romashov hurried to his place right in
front of the second half company's pivot. A blissful, intoxicating
feeling of pride came over him whilst he allowed his glance to glide
quickly over the first row of his division. "The old swashbuckler viewed
with an eagle's eyes the brave band of veterans," he declaimed silently,
after which in a prolonged sing-song he gave the order--
"Second half company--forward!"
"One, two," Romashov counted softly to himself, marking time with a soft
stamping on the spot. Pronouncing the word at the right moment was of
infinite importance, as upon it depended the exact carrying out of the
inexorable command that the half company should begin marching with the
proper foot, i.e., with the same foot as the preceding division, "left,
right; left, right." At last a start was made. With head erect, and
beaming with a smile of boundless happiness, he cried in a loud,
resonant voice--
"March!"
A second afterwards he made, as quick as lightning, a complete turn on
one foot towards his men, and commanded, two tones lower in the scale--
"Dress--right!"
The profound solemnity and "infinite beauty" of the moment almost took
away his breath. At that instant it seemed to him as if the music's
waves of melody surrounded him, and were changed into a seething,
blinding ocean of light and fire; as if these deafening brazen peals had
descended on him from on high, from heaven, from the sun. Even now, as
at his last never-to-be-forgotten tryst with Shurochka, he was thrilled
by a freezing, petrifying shudder that made the very hair on his head
stand up.
With joy in their voices and in time with the music, the 5th Company
replied to the General's salute. Nearer and nearer to Romashov sounded
the jubilant notes of the parade march. On the right and onwards, he
could now distinguish the General's heavy figure on his grey horse, and,
somewhat farther off, the ladies' brilliant dresses, which, in the
blinding glare of the noon-day sun, reminded him of the flaming
flower-petals in the old sagas. On the left gleamed the bandsmen's gold
instruments, and it seemed to Romashov as if, between the General and
the band, was drawn an invisible, enchanted thread, the passing of which
was combined peril and bliss.