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War and Peace, book two, chapter 20, read for LibraVox.org by Roger Malene.
The infantry regiments that had been caught unaware as in the outskirts of the wood ran
out of it, the different companies getting mixed and retreated as a disorderly crowd.
One soldier in his fear uttered the senseless cry, cut off that is so terrible in battle,
and that word infected the whole crowd with a feeling of panic.
Surrounded, cut off, were lost, shouted the fugitives.
The moment he heard the firing and the cry from behind, the general realized that something
dreadful had happened to his regiment, and the thought that he, an exemplary officer
of many years' service who had never been to blame, might be held responsible at headquarters
for negligence or inefficiency so staggered him that, forgetting the recalcitrant cavalry
colonel, his own dignity as a general, and, above all, quite forgetting the danger and
all regard for self-preservation, he clutched the crupper of his saddle, and spurring
his horse gallop to the regiment under a hail of bullets which fell around, but fortunately
missed him.
His one desire was to know what was happening, and at any cost, correct or remedy the mistake
if he had made one, so that he, an exemplary officer of 22-year service who had never
been censored, should not be held to blame.
Having galloped safely through the French, he reached a field behind the cops across
which our men, regardless of orders, were running and descending the valley.
That moment of moral hesitation which decides the fate of battles had arrived.
Would this disorderly crowd of soldiers attend to the voice of their commander?
Or would they, disregarding him, continue their flight?
Despite his desperate shouts that used to seem so terrible to the soldiers, despite his
furious purple countenance distorted out of all likeness to his former self and the flourishing
of his saber, the soldiers all continued to run, talking, firing into the air, and disobeying
orders.
The moral hesitation which decided the fate of battles was evidently culminating in a panic.
The general had a fit of coughing as a result of shouting and of the powder smoke and stopped
in despair.
Everything seemed lost.
But at that moment the French who were attacking suddenly and without any apparent reason
ran back and disappeared from the outskirts, and Russian sharpshooters showed themselves
in the cops.
It was Tomokin's company, which alone had maintained its order in the wood, and having
lame and ambush in a ditch now attacked the French unexpectedly.
Tomokin, armed only with a sword, had rushed at the enemy with such a desperate cry and
such mad drunken determination that, taken by surprise, the French had thrown down their
muskets and run.
Dolakov, running beside Tomokin, killed a Frenchman at close quarters and was the first to seize
the surrendering French officer by his collar.
Our fugitives returned, the battalions reformed, and the French who had nearly cut our left
flank and half were for the moment repulsed.
Our reserve units were able to join up and the fight was at an end.
The regimental commander and major econimov had stopped beside a bridge, letting the retreating
companies pass by them when a soldier came up and took hold of the commander's stirrup,
almost leaning against him.
The man was wearing a bluish coat of broadcloth, he had no knapsack or cap, his head was bandaged
and over his shoulder, a French munition pouch was slung.
He had an officer soared in his hand.
The soldier was pale, his blue eyes looked impudently into the commander's face and
his lips were smiling.
Though the commander was occupied and giving instructions to major econimov, he could
not help taking notice of the soldier.
Your Excellency, here are two trophies, said Dolegov pointing to the French soared and
pouch.
I have taken an officer prisoner, I stopped the company.
Dolegov breathed heavily from weariness and spoke in abrupt sentences.
The whole company can bear witness, I beg you will remember this your Excellency.
All right, all right replied the commander and turned to major econimov.
But Dolegov did not go away, he untied the handkerchief around his head, pulled it off
and showed the blood congealed on his hair.
A bayonet wound are remained at the front, remember your Excellency.
Tushin's battery had been forgotten and only at the very end of the action did Prince
Brigadier still hearing the cannonade of the center, send his orderly staff officer,
and later Prince Andrew also, to order the battery to retire as quickly as possible.
When the supports attached to Tushin's battery had been moved away in the middle of the action
by someone's order, the battery had continued firing and was only not captured by the French
because the enemy could not surmise that anyone could have the affrontary to continue firing
from four quite undefined guns.
On the contrary, the energetic action of that battery led the French to suppose that here
in the center, the main Russian forces were concentrated.
Twice they had attempted to attack this point, but on each occasion had been driven back
by Grape Shot from the four isolated guns on the hillock.
Soon after Prince Brigadier had left him, Tushin had succeeded in setting fire to Shone
Goodabourne.
Look at them scurrying, it's burning, just see the smoke, find, grand, look at the smoke,
the smoke exclaimed the artillery men brightening up.
All the guns, without waiting for orders, were being fired in the direction of the conflagration.
As if urging each other on, the soldiers cried in each shot, find, that's good, look at
it, grand.
The fire, fanned by the breeze, was rapidly spreading.
The French columns that had advanced beyond the village went back, but as though in revenge
for this failure, the enemy placed ten guns to the right of the village and began firing
them at Tushin's battery.
In their childlike glee, aroused by the fire and their luck in successfully cannonating
the French, our artillery men only noticed this battery when two balls, and then four
more fell among our guns.
One, knocking over two horses, and another tearing off a munition wagon driver's leg.
Their spirits, once roused, were, however, not diminished, but only changed character.
The horses were replaced by others from a reserve gun carriage.
The wounded were carried away, and the four guns were turned against the ten gun battery.
Tushin's companion officer had been killed at the beginning of the engagement, and within
an hour, seventeen of the forty men of the gun's crews had been disabled, but the artillery
men were still as merry and lively as ever.
Twice they noticed the French appearing below them, and then they fired grape shot at
them.
Little Tushin, moving feebly and awkwardly, kept telling his orderly to refill my pipe
for that one, and then, scattering sparks from it, ran forward, shading his eyes with
a small hand to look at the French.
Like Adam Lads, he kept saying, seizing the guns by the wheels and working the screws
himself.
Amid the smoke, deafened by the incessant reports which always made him jump, Tushin,
not taking his pipe from his mouth, ran from gun to gun, now aiming, now counting the
charges, now giving orders about replacing dead or wounded horses and harnessing fresh
ones, and shouting in his feeble voice, so high pitched and irresolute.
His face grew more and more animated.
Only when a man was killed or wounded, did he frown and turn away from the sight, shouting
angrily at the men who, as is always the case, hesitated about lifting the injured or dead.
The soldiers, for the most part, handsome fellows, and, as is always the case in an artillery
company, a head and shoulders taller, and twice as broad as their officer, all looked
at their commander like children in an embarrassing situation, and the expression on his face
was invariably reflected on theirs.
Owing to the terrible uproar in the necessity for concentration and activity, Tushin did
not experience the slightest unpleasant sense of fear, and the thought that he might be killed
or badly wounded, never occurred to him.
On the contrary, he became more and more elated.
It seemed to him that it was a very long time ago, almost a day since he had first seen
the enemy and fired the first shot, and that the corner of the field he stood on was well
known and familiar ground.
Though he thought of everything, considered everything, and did everything the best of officers
could do in his position, he was in a state akin to feverish delirium or drunkenness.
From the deafening sounds of his own guns around him, the whistle and thud of the enemy's
cannonballs, from the flushed and perspiring faces of the crew bustling around the guns,
from the sight of the blood of men and horses, from the little puffs of smoke on the enemy
side, always followed by a ball flying past and striking the earth, a man, a gun, a horse.
From the sight of all these things, a fantastic world of his own had taken possession of
his brain, and at that moment afforded him pleasure.
The enemy's guns were in his fancy, not guns, but pipes, from which occasional puffs
were blown by an invisible smoker.
There, he's puffing again, muttered, tushin' to himself, as a small cloud rose from the
hill, and was born in a streak to the left by the wind.
Now, look out for the ball, we'll throw it back.
What do you want, your honor, asked in artillerymen, standing close by, who heard him muttering?
Nothing, only a shell, he answered.
Come along, our Matt Vevna, he said to himself.
Matt Vevna, daughter of Matthew, was the name his fancy gave to the farthest gun of the
battery, which was large and of an old pattern.
The French swarming around their guns seemed to him like ants.
In that world, the handsome drunkard, number one of the second gun's crew, was Uncle.
Tushin looked at him more often than that anyone else, and took delight in his every movement.
The sound of musketry at the foot of the hill, now diminishing, now increasing, seemed
like someone's breathing.
He listened intently to the ebb and flow of these sounds.
Ah, breathing again, breathing, he martyred to himself.
He imagined himself as an enormously tall, powerful man, who was throwing cannonballs
at the French with both hands.
Now then, Matt Vevna, dear old lady, don't let me down.
He was saying, as he moved from the gun, when a strange, unfamiliar voice called above
his head, capped in Tushin, capped in, Tushin turned round in dismay.
It was the staff officer who had turned him out of the booth at Grunth.
He was shouting in a gasping voice.
Are you mad?
You have twice been ordered to retreat, and you...
Why are they down on me, thought Tushin, looking in alarm at his superior?
I don't, he martyred, holding up two fingers to his cap, but the staff officer did not finish
what he wanted to say.
A cannonball, flying close to him, caused him to duck and bend over his horse.
He paused, and just as he was about to say something more, another ball stopped him.
He turned his horse and galloped off.
Retire, all to retire, he shouted from a distance.
The soldiers laughed, a moment later, an adjutant arrived with the same order.
It was Prince Andrew.
The first thing he saw on riding up to the space where Tushin's guns were stationed,
was an unharnessed horse with a broken leg that lay screaming pitiously beside the
harnessed horses.
That was gushing from its leg, as from a spring.
Among the limbers lay several dead men.
One ball after another passed over, as he approached, and he felt a nervous shutter run
down his spine.
But the mere thought of being afraid roused him again.
I cannot be afraid, thought he, and dismounted slowly among the guns.
He delivered the order and did not leave the battery.
He decided to have the guns removed from their positions, and withdrawn in his presence.
Together with Tushin, stepping across the bodies and under a terrible fire from the French,
he attended to the removal of the guns.
A staff officer was here a minute ago, but skipped off, said in artillerymen to Prince
Andrew.
Not like your honor, Prince Andrew said nothing to Tushin.
They were both so busy as to seem not to notice one another.
And having limbered up the only two cannon that remained uninjured out of the four, they
began moving down the hill.
One shatter gun and one unicorn were left behind.
Prince Andrew rode up to Tushin.
Well, till we meet again, he said, holding out his hand to Tushin.
Good bye, my dear fellow, said Tushin.
Dear soul, good bye, my dear fellow, and for some unknown reason, tears suddenly filled
his eyes.
