战争与和平(上)-第270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！


　his　own　soul　too。
At　ten　o’clock　the　infantry；　who　had　been　in　advance　of　the　battery　in　the　bushes　and　about　the　stream　Kamenka；　retreated。　From　the　battery　they　could　see　them　running　back　past　them；　bearing　their　wounded　on　their　guns。　A　general　with　a　suite　came　on　to　the　redoubt；　and　after　talking　to　the　colonel　and　looking　angrily　at　Pierre；　went　away　again；　ordering　the　infantry　standing　behind　the　battery　guarding　it　to　lie　down；　so　as　to　be　less　exposed　to　fire。　After　that　a　drum　was　heard　in　the　ranks　of　the　infantry；　more　to　the　right　of　the　battery；　and　shouts　gave　the　word　of　command；　and　from　the　battery　they　could　see　the　ranks　of　infantry　moving　forward。
Pierre　looked　over　the　earthwork。　One　figure　particularly　caught　his　eye。　It　was　the　officer；　walking　backwards　with　a　pale；　boyish　face。　He　held　his　sword　downwards　and　kept　looking　uneasily　round。
The　rows　of　infantry　soldiers　vanished　into　the　smoke；　but　they　could　hear　a　prolonged　shout　from　them　and　a　rapid　musketry　fire。　A　few　minutes　later　crowds　of　wounded　men　and　a　number　of　stretchers　came　back　from　that　direction。　Shells　fell　more　and　more　often　in　the　battery。　Several　men　lay　on　the　ground；　not　picked　up。　The　soldiers　bustled　more　busily　and　briskly　than　ever　about　the　cannons。　No　one　took　any　notice　of　Pierre　now。　Twice　he　was　shouted　at　angrily　for　being　in　the　way。　The　senior　officers　strode　rapidly　from　one　cannon　to　another　with　a　frowning　face。　The　officer…boy；　his　cheeks　even　more　crimson；　gave　the　soldiers　their　orders　more　scrupulously　than　ever。　The　soldiers　served　out　the　charges；　turned　round；　loaded；　and　did　all　their　work　with　exaggerated　smartness。　They　moved　as　though　worked　by　springs。
The　storm　cloud　was　swooping　closer；　and　more　brightly　than　ever　glowed　in　every　face　that　fire　which　Pierre　was　watching。　He　was　standing　near　the　senior　officer。　The　little　officer…boy　ran　up；　his　hand　to　his　shako；　saluting　his　superior　officer。
“I　have　the　honour　to　inform　you；　colonel；　only　eight　charges　are　left；　do　you　command　to　continue　firing？”　he　asked。
“Grapeshot！”　the　senior　officer　shouted；　looking　away　over　the　earthwork。
Suddenly　something　happened；　the　boy…officer　groaned；　and　whirling　round　sat　down　on　the　ground；　like　a　bird　shot　on　the　wing。　All　seemed　strange；　indistinct；　and　darkened　before　Pierre’s　eyes。
One　after　another　the　cannon　balls　came　whistling；　striking　the　breastwork；　the　soldiers；　the　cannons。　Pierre；　who　had　scarcely　heard　those　sounds　before；　now　could　hear　nothing　else。　On　the　right　side　of　the　battery；　soldiers；　with　shouts　of　“hurrah；”　were　running；　not　forward；　it　seemed　to　Pierre；　but　back。
A　cannon　ball　struck　the　very　edge　of　the　earthwork；　before　which　Pierre　was　sitting；　and　sent　the　earth　flying；　a　dark；　round　mass　flashed　just　before　his　eyes；　and　at　the　same　instant　flew　with　a　thud　into　something。　The　militiamen；　who　had　been　coming　into　the　battery；　ran　back。
“All　with　grapeshot！”　shouted　the　officer。
The　sergeant　ran　up　to　the　officer；　and　in　a　frightened　whisper　（just　as　at　a　dinner　the　butler　will　sometimes　tell　the　host　that　there　is　no　more　of　some　wine　asked　for）　said　that　there　were　no　more　charges。
“The　scoundrels；　what　are　they　about？”　shouted　the　officer；　turning　to　Pierre。　The　senior　officer’s　face　was　red　and　perspiring；　his　piercing　eyes　glittered。　“Run　to　the　reserves；　bring　the　ammunition…boxes！”　he　shouted　angrily；　avoiding　Pierre　with　his　eyes；　and　addressing　the　soldier。
“I’ll　go；”　said　Pierre。　The　officer；　making　no　reply；　strode　across　to　the　other　side。
“Cease　firing　…　Wait！”　he　shouted。
The　soldier　who　had　been　commanded　to　go　for　the　ammunition　ran　against　Pierre。
“Ah；　sir；　it’s　no　place　for　you　here；”　he　said；　as　he　ran　away。
Pierre　ran　after　the　soldier；　avoiding　the　spot　where　the　boy…officer　was　sitting。
One　cannon　ball；　a　second　and　a　third　flew　over　him；　hitting　the　ground　in　front；　on　each　side；　behind　Pierre　as　he　ran　down。　“Where　am　I　going？”　he　suddenly　wondered；　just　as　he　ran　up　to　the　green　ammunition…boxes。　He　stopped　short　in　uncertainty　whether　to　go　back　or　forward。　Suddenly　a　fearful　shock　sent　him　flying　backwards　on　to　the　ground。　At　the　same　instant　a　flash　of　flame　dazed　his　eyes；　and　a　roar；　a　hiss；　and　a　crash　set　his　ears　ringing。
When　he　recovered　his　senses；　Pierre　found　himself　sitting　on　the　ground　leaning　on　his　hands。　The　ammunition…box；　near　which　he　had　been；　had　gone；　there　were　a　few　charred　green　boards　and　rags　lying　scattered　about　on　the　scorched　grass。　A　horse　was　galloping　away　with　broken　fragments　of　the　shafts　clattering　after　it；　while　another　horse　lay；　like　Pierre；　on　the　ground；　uttering　a　prolonged；　piercing　scream。


Chapter　32
PIERRE；　beside　himself　with　terror；　jumped　up　and　ran　back　to　the　battery　as　the　one　refuge　from　the　horrors　encompassing　him。
Just　as　Pierre　ran　up　to　the　redoubt；　he　noticed　that　there　was　no　sound　of　firing　from　the　battery；　but　that　there　were　men　there　doing　something　or　other。　He　had　not　time　to　make　out　what　men　they　were。　He　caught　sight　of　the　senior　officer　lying　with　his　back　towards　him　on　the　earth　wall；　as　though　gazing　intently　at　something　below；　and　he　noticed　one　soldier；　who；　tearing　himself　away　from　the　men　who　were　holding　him；　shouted　“Mates！”　and　he　saw　something　else　that　was　strange。
But　before　he　had　time　to　grasp　that　the　colonel　had　been　killed；　that　the　soldier　shouting　“Mates！”　was　a　prisoner；　another　soldier　was　stabbed　in　the　back　by　a　bayonet　before　his　eyes。　He　had　hardly　run　up　into　the　redoubt　when　a　thin　man　with　a　yellow；　perspiring　face；　in　a　blue　uniform；　ran　up　to　him　with　a　sword　in　his　hand；　shouting　something。　Pierre；　instinctively　defending　himself；　as　they　came　full　tilt　against　each　other；　put　out　his　hands　and　clutched　the　man　（it　was　a　French　officer）　by　the　shoulder　and　the　throat。　The　officer；　dropping　his　sword；　seized　Pierre　by　the　collar。
For　several　seconds　both　gazed　with　frightened　eyes　at　each　other’s　unfamiliar…looking　faces；　and　both　were　bewildered；　not　knowing　what　they　were　doing　or　what　they　were　to　do。　“Am　I　taken　prisoner　or　am　I　taking　him　prisoner？”　each　of　them　was　wondering。　But　the　French　officer　was　undoubtedly　more　disposed　to　believe　he　was　taken　prisoner；　because　Pierre’s　powerful　hand；　moved　by　instinctive　terror；　was　tightening　its　grip　on　his　throat。　The　Frenchman　tried　to　speak；　when　suddenly　a　cannon　ball　flew　with　a　fearful　whiz　close　over　their　heads；　and　it　seemed　to　Pierre　that　the　Frenchman’s　head　had　been　carried　off　by　it；　so　swiftly　had　he　ducked　it。
Pierre；　too；　ducked　and　let　go　with　his　hands。　Giving　no　more　thought　to　the　question　which　was　taken　prisoner；　the　Frenchman　ran　back　to　the　battery；　while　Pierre　dashed　downhill；　stumbling　over　the　dead　and　wounded；　who　seemed　to　him　to　be　clutching　at　his　feet。
But　before　he　had　reached　the　bottom　he　was　met　by　dense　crowds　of　Russian　soldiers；　who；　stumbling　against　each　other　and　tripping　up；　were　running　in　wild　merriment　towards　the　battery。　（This　was　the　attack　of　which　Yermolov　claimed　the　credit；　declaring　that　it　was　only　his　valour　and　good　luck　that　made　this　feat　of　arms　possible；　it　was　the　attack　in　which　he　is　supposed　to　have　strewn　the　redoubt　with　the　St。　George’s　crosses　that　were　in　his　pocket。）
The　French；　who　had　captured　the　battery；　fled。　Our　soldiers　pursued　them　so　far　beyond　the　battery　that　they　were　with　difficulty　stopped。　They　were　bringing　the　prisoners　down　from　the　battery；　among　them　a　wounded　French　general；　surrounded　by　officers。　Crowds　of　wounded；　both　French　and　Russians—among　them　men　Pierre　recognised—walked；　or　crawled；　or　were　borne　on　stretchers　from　the　battery；　their　faces　distorted　by　suffering。
Pierre　went　up　into　the　battery；　where　he　had　spent　over　an　hour；　and　found　no　one　left　of　that　little　fraternal　group　that　had　accepted　him　as　one　of　themselves。　There　were　many　dead　there；　whom　he　had　not　seen　before。　But　several　he　recognised。　The　boy…officer　was　still　sitting　huddled　up　in　a　pool　of　blood　at　the　edge　of　the　earth　wall。　The　red…faced；　merry　soldier　was　still　twitching　convulsively；　but　they　did　not　carry　him　away。
Pierre　ran　down　the　slope。
“Oh；　now