Prince Andrew's regiment was among the reserves which till after one
o'clock were
stationed inactive behind Semenovsk, under heavy
artillery fire. Toward two o'clock the regiment, having already lost more
than two
hundred men, was moved forward into a trampled
oatfield in the gap between Semenovsk and the Knoll Battery, where
thousands of men
perished that day and on which an intense,
concentrated fire from several hundred enemy guns was directed between
one and two
o'clock.
Without moving from that spot or firing a single shot the regiment here
lost another third
of its men. From in front and especially from
the right, in the unlifting smoke the guns boomed, and out of the
mysterious domain of
smoke that overlay the whole space in front,
quick hissing cannon balls and slow whistling shells flew unceasingly. At
times, as if to
allow them a respite, a quarter of an hour
passed during which the cannon balls and shells all flew overhead, but
sometimes several
men were torn from the regiment in a minute
and the slain were continually being dragged away and the wounded carried
off.
With each fresh blow less and less chance of life remained for those not
yet killed. The
regiment stood in columns of battalion, three
hundred paces apart, but nevertheless the men were always in one and the
same mood.
All alike were taciturn and morose. Talk was
rarely heard in the ranks, and it ceased altogether every time the thud
of a successful shot
and the cry of "stretchers!" was heard.
Most of the time, by their officers' order, the men sat on the ground.
One, having taken
off his shako, carefully loosened the gathers
of its lining and drew them tight again; another, rubbing some dry clay
between his
palms, polished his bayonet; another fingered the
strap and pulled the buckle of his bandolier, while another smoothed and
refolded his leg
bands and put his boots on again. Some
built little houses of the tufts in the plowed ground, or plaited baskets
from the straw in
the cornfield. All seemed fully absorbed in
these pursuits. When men were killed or wounded, when rows of stretchers
went past,
when some troops retreated, and when great
masses of the enemy came into view through the smoke, no one paid any
attention to
these things. But when our artillery or cavalry
advanced or some of our infantry were seen to move forward, words of
approval were
heard on all sides. But the liveliest attention
was attracted by occurrences quite apart from, and unconnected with, the
battle. It was as
if the minds of these morally exhausted
men found relief in everyday, commonplace occurrences. A battery of
artillery was
passing in front of the regiment. The horse of an
ammunition cart put its leg over a trace. "Hey, look at the trace
horse!... Get her leg out!
She'll fall.... Ah, they don't see it!" came
identical shouts from the ranks all along the regiment. Another time,
general attention
was attracted by a small brown dog, coming
heaven knows whence, which trotted in a preoccupied manner in front of
the ranks with
tail stiffly erect till suddenly a shell fell close
by, when it yelped, tucked its tail between its legs, and darted aside.
Yells and shrieks of
laughter rose from the whole regiment. But
such distractions lasted only a moment, and for eight hours the men had
been inactive,
without food, in constant fear of death, and
their pale and gloomy faces grew ever paler and gloomier.
"Look out!" came a frightened cry from a soldier and, like a bird
whirring in rapid flight
and alighting on the ground, a shell dropped
with little noise within two steps of Prince Andrew and close to the
battalion
commander's horse. The horse first, regardless of
whether it was right or wrong to show fear, snorted, reared almost
throwing the major,
and galloped aside. The horse's terror infected
the men.
"Lie down!" cried the adjutant, throwing himself flat on the ground.
Prince Andrew hesitated. The smoking shell spun like a top between him
and the
prostrate adjutant, near a wormwood plant between
the field and the meadow.
"Can this be death?" thought Prince Andrew, looking with a quite new,
envious glance at
the grass, the wormwood, and the streamlet
of smoke that curled up from the rotating black ball. "I cannot, I do not
wish to die. I love
life- I love this grass, this earth, this air...."
He thought this, and at the same time remembered that people were looking
at him.
"It's shameful, sir!" he said to the adjutant. "What..."
He did not finish speaking. At one and the same moment came the sound of
an explosion,
a whistle of splinters as from a breaking
window frame, a suffocating smell of powder, and Prince Andrew started to
one side,
raising his arm, and fell on his chest. Several
officers ran up to him. From the right side of his abdomen, blood was
welling out making
a large stain on the grass.
The militiamen with stretchers who were called up stood behind the
officers. Prince
Andrew lay on his chest with his face in the grass,
breathing heavily and noisily.
"What are you waiting for? Come along!"
The peasants went up and took him by his shoulders and legs, but he
moaned piteously
and, exchanging looks, they set him down
again.
"Pick him up, lift him, it's all the same!" cried someone.
They again took him by the shoulders and laid him on the stretcher.
"Ah, God! My God! What is it? The stomach? That means death! My God!"-
voices
among the officers were heard saying.
"It flew a hair's breadth past my ear," said the adjutant.
The peasants, adjusting the stretcher to their shoulders, started
hurriedly along the path
they had trodden down, to the dressing
station.
"Keep in step! Ah... those peasants!" shouted an officer, seizing by
their shoulders and
checking the peasants, who were walking
unevenly and jolting the stretcher.
"Get into step, Fedor... I say, Fedor!" said the foremost peasant.
"Now that's right!" said the one behind joyfully, when he had got into
step.
"Your excellency! Eh, Prince!" said the trembling voice of Timokhin, who
had run up
and was looking down on the stretcher.
Prince Andrew opened his eyes and looked up at the speaker from the
stretcher into
which his head had sunk deep and again his
eyelids drooped.
The militiamen carried Prince Andrew to dressing station by the wood,
where wagons
were stationed. The dressing station consisted
of three tents with flaps turned back, pitched at the edge of a birch
wood. In the wood,
wagons and horses were standing. The horses
were eating oats from their movable troughs and sparrows flew down and
pecked the
grains that fell. Some crows, scenting blood,
flew among the birch trees cawing impatiently. Around the tents, over
more than five
acres, bloodstained men in various garbs stood,
sat, or lay. Around the wounded stood crowds of soldier stretcher-bearers
with dismal
and attentive faces, whom the officers keeping
order tried in vain to drive from the spot. Disregarding the officers'
orders, the soldiers
stood leaning against their stretchers and
gazing intently, as if trying to comprehend the difficult problem of what
was taking place
before them. From the tents came now loud
angry cries and now plaintive groans. Occasionally dressers ran out to
fetch water, or to
point out those who were to be brought in
next. The wounded men awaiting their turn outside the tents groaned,
sighed, wept,
screamed, swore, or asked for vodka. Some were
delirious. Prince Andrew's bearers, stepping over the wounded who had not
yet been
bandaged, took him, as a regimental
commander, close up to one of the tents and there stopped, awaiting
instructions. Prince
Andrew opened his eyes and for a long time
could not make out what was going on around him. He remembered the
meadow, the
wormwood, the field, the whirling black ball, and
his sudden rush of passionate love of life. Two steps from him, leaning
against a branch
and talking loudly and attracting general
attention, stood a tall, handsome, black-haired noncommissioned officer
with a bandaged
head. He had been wounded in the head
and leg by bullets. Around him, eagerly listening to his talk, a crowd of
wounded and
stretcher-bearers was gathered.
Like all the others near the speaker, Prince Andrew looked at him with
shining eyes and
experienced a sense of comfort. "But isn't it all
the same now?" thought he. "And what will be there, and what has there
been here? Why
was I so reluctant to part with life? There
was something in this life I did not and do not understand."
HELP