战争与和平(上)-第269章

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


mn。　Pierre　and　the　adjutant　got　off　their　horses　and　walked　on　foot　up　the　hill。
“Is　the　general　here？”　asked　the　adjutant　on　reaching　the　redoubt。
“He　was　here　just　now；　he　went　this　way；”　some　one　answered；　pointing　to　the　right。
The　adjutant　looked　round　at　Pierre；　as　though　he　did　not　know　what　to　do　with　him。
“Don’t　trouble　about　me；”　said　Pierre。　“I’ll　go　up　on　to　the　mound；　may　I？”
“Yes；　do；　you　can　see　everything　from　there；　and　it’s　not　so　dangerous；　and　I　will　come　to　fetch　you。”
Pierre　went　up　to　the　battery；　and　the　adjutant　rode　away。　They　did　not　see　each　other　again；　and　only　much　later　Pierre　learned　that　that　adjutant　had　lost　an　arm　on　that　day。
The　mound—afterwards　known　among　the　Russians　as　the　battery　mound；　or　Raevsky’s　battery；　and　among　the　French　as　“the　great　redoubt；”　“fatal　redoubt；”　and　“central　redoubt”—was　the　celebrated　spot　at　which　tens　of　thousands　of　men　were　killed；　and　upon　which　the　French　looked　as　the　key　of　the　position。
The　redoubt　consisted　of　a　mound；　with　trenches　dug　out　on　three　sides　of　it。　In　the　entrenchments　stood　ten　cannons；　firing　through　the　gaps　left　in　the　earthworks。
In　a　line　with　the　redoubt　on　both　sides　stood　cannons；　and　these　too　kept　up　an　incessant　fire。　A　little　behind　the　line　of　cannons　were　troops　of　infantry。　When　Pierre　ascended　this　mound；　he　had　no　notion　that　this　place；　encircled　by　small　trenches　and　protected　by　a　few　cannons；　was　the　most　important　spot　in　the　field。
He　fancied；　indeed　（simply　because　he　happened　to　be　there）；　that　it　was　a　place　of　no　importance　whatever。
Pierre　sat　down　on　the　end　of　the　earthwork　surrounding　the　battery　and　gazed　at　what　was　passing　around　him　with　an　unconscious　smile　of　pleasure。　At　intervals　Pierre　got　up；　and　with　the　same　smile　on　his　face　walked　about　the　battery；　trying　not　to　get　in　the　way　of　the　soldiers；　who　were　loading　and　discharging　the　cannons　and　were　continually　running　by　him　with　bags　and　ammunition。　The　cannons　were　firing　continually；　one　after　another；　with　deafening　uproar；　enveloping　all　the　country　round　in　clouds　of　smoke。
In　contrast　to　the　painful　look　of　dread　in　the　infantry　soldiers　who　were　guarding　the　battery；　here　in　the　battery　itself；　where　a　limited　number　of　men　were　busily　engaged　in　their　work；　and　shut　off　from　the　rest　of　the　trench；　there　was　a　general　feeling　of　eager　excitement；　a　sort　of　family　feeling　shared　by　all　alike。
The　appearance　of　Pierre’s　unmartial　figure　and　his　white　hat　at　first　impressed　this　little　group　unfavourably。　The　soldiers　cast　sidelong　glances　of　surprise　and　even　alarm　at　him；　as　they　ran　by。　The　senior　artillery　officer；　a　tall；　long…legged；　pock…marked　man；　approached　Pierre；　as　though　he　wanted　to　examine　the　action　of　the　cannon　at　the　end；　and　stared　inquisitively　at　him。
A　boyish；　round…faced；　little　officer；　quite　a　child；　evidently　only　just　out　of　the　cadets’　school；　and　very　conscientious　in　looking　after　the　two　cannons　put　in　his　charge；　addressed　Pierre　severely。
“Permit　me　to　ask　you　to　move　out　of　the　way；　sir；”　he　said。　“You　can’t　stay　here。”
The　soldiers　shook　their　heads　disapprovingly　as　they　looked　at　Pierre。　But　as　the　conviction　gained　ground　among　them　that　the　man　in　the　white　hat　was　doing　no　harm；　and　either　sat　quietly　on　the　slope　of　the　earthwork；　or；　making　way　with　a　shy　and　courteous　smile　for　the　soldiers　to　pass；　walked　about　the　battery　under　fire　as　calmly　as　though　he　were　strolling　on　a　boulevard；　their　feeling　of　suspicious　ill…will　began　to　give　way　to　a　playful　and　kindly　cordiality　akin　to　the　feeling　soldiers　always　have　for　the　dogs；　cocks；　goats；　and　other　animals　who　share　the　fortunes　of　the　regiment。　The　soldiers　soon　accepted　Pierre　in　their　own　minds　as　one　of　their　little　circle；　made　him　one　of　themselves；　and　gave　him　a　name：　“our　gentleman”　they　called　him；　and　laughed　good…humouredly　about　him　among　themselves。
A　cannon　ball　tore　up　the　earth　a　couple　of　paces　from　Pierre。　Brushing　the　earth　off　his　clothes；　he　looked　about　him　with　a　smile。
“And　how　is　it　you’re　not　afraid；　sir；　upon　my　word？”　said　a　broad；　red…faced　soldier；　showing　his　strong；　white　teeth　in　a　grin。
“Why；　are　you　afraid　then？”　asked　Pierre。
“Why；　to　be　sure！”　answered　the　soldier。　“Why；　she　has　no　mercy　on　you。　She　smashes　into　you；　and　your　guts　are　sent　flying。　Nobody　could　help　being　afraid；”　he　said　laughing。
Several　soldiers　stood　still　near　Pierre　with　amused　and　kindly　faces。　They　seemed　not　to　expect　him　to　talk　like　any　one　else；　and　his　doing　so　delighted　them。
“It’s　our　business—we’re　soldiers。　But　for　a　gentleman—it’s　surprising。　It’s　queer　in　a　gentleman！”
“To　your　places！”　cried　the　little　officer…boy　to　the　soldiers；　who　had　gathered　round　Pierre。　It　was　evidently　the　first；　or　at　most；　the　second　time；　this　lad　had　been　on　duty　as　an　officer；　and　so　he　behaved　with　the　utmost　punctiliousness　and　formality　both　to　the　soldiers　and　his　superior　officer。
The　roar　of　cannon　and　the　rattle　of　musketry　were　growing　louder　all　over　the　field；　especially　on　the　left；　where　Bagration’s　earthworks　were；　but　from　where　Pierre　was；　hardly　anything　could　be　seen　for　the　smoke。　Moreover；　watching　the　little　fraternal　group　of　men；　shut　off　from　all　the　world　on　the　battery；　engrossed　all　Pierre’s　attention。　His　first　unconscious　delight　in　the　sights　and　sounds　of　the　battlefield　had　given　way　to　another　feeling；　ever　since　he　had　seen　the　solitary　dead　soldier　lying　on　the　hayfield。　Sitting　now　on　the　slope　of　the　earthwork；　he　watched　the　figures　moving　about　him。
By　ten　o’clock　some　twenty　men　had　been　carried　away　from　the　battery；　two　cannons　had　been　disabled；　and　more　and　more　frequently　shells　fell　on　the　battery；　and　cannon　balls　came　with　a　hiss　and　whir；　flying　out　of　the　distance。　But　the　men　on　the　battery　did　not　seem　to　notice　this：　merry　chatter　and　jokes　were　to　be　heard　on　all　sides。
“Not　this　way；　my　pretty；”　shouted　a　soldier　to　a　grenade　that　came　whistling　towards　them。
“Give　the　infantry　a　turn！”　another　added　with　a　chuckle；　as　the　grenade　flew　across　and　fell　among　the　ranks　of　the　infantry。
“What；　see　a　friend　coming；　do　you？”　another　soldier　jeered　at　a　peasant；　who　had　ducked　low　at　the　sight　of　a　flying　cannon　ball。
Several　soldiers　gathered　together　at　the　earthwork；　looking　at　what　was　being　done　in　front。
“And　they’ve　taken　the　outposts；　see；　they’re　retreating；”　they　said；　pointing　over　the　earthwork。
“Mind　your　own　business；”　the　old　sergeant　shouted　to　them。　“If　they　have　come　back；　it’s　because　they　have　something　to　do　further　back。”　And　the　sergeant；　taking　one　of　the　soldiers　by　the　shoulder；　gave　him　a　shove　with　his　knee。　There　was　the　sound　of　laughter
“Fifth　cannon；　roll　away！”　they　were　shouting　on　one　side。
“Now　then；　a　good　pull；　all　together！”　shouted　the　merry　voices　of　the　men　charging　the　cannon。
“Ay；　she　almost　snatched　‘our　gentleman’s’　hat　off；”　the　red…faced；　jocose　soldier　laughed；　showing　his　teeth。　“Hey；　awkward　hussy！”　he　added　reproachfully　to　a　cannon　ball　that　hit　a　wheel　and　a　man’s　leg。　“Now；　you　foxes　there！”　laughed　another；　addressing　the　peasant　militiamen；　who　were　creeping　in　and　out　among　the　guns　after　the　wounded。　“Don’t　you　care　for　our　porridge；　hey？　Ah；　the　crows！　that　pulls　them　up！”　they　shouted　at　the　militiamen；　who　hesitated　at　the　sight　of　the　soldier　whose　leg　had　been　torn　off。　“Oo　…　oo　…　lad；”　they　cried；　mimicking　the　peasants；　“we　don’t　like　it　at　all；　we　don’t！”
Pierre　noticed　that　after　every　ball　that　fell　in　their　midst；　after　every　loss；　the　general　elation　became　more　and　more　marked。
The　closer　the　storm　cloud　swooped　down　upon　them；　the　more　bright　and　frequent　were　the　gleams　of　latent　fire　that　glowed　like　lightning　flashes　on　those　men’s　faces；　called　up；　as　it　were；　to　meet　and　resist　their　danger。
Pierre　did　not　look　in　front　at　the　field　of　battle；　he　took　no　more　interest　in　what　was　going　on　there。　He　was　entirely　engrossed　in　the　contemplation　of　that　growing　fire；　which　he　felt　was　burning　in　his　own　soul　too。
At　ten　o’clock　the　infantry；　who　had　been　in　advance　of　the　battery　in　the　bush