战争与和平(上)-第357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！


conscious　of　his　own　weight；　and　looking　round　at　the　hussars　moving　up　from　behind　in　the　darkness；　he　rode　up　to　Denisov。
“Vassily　Fyodorovitch；　you　will　trust　me　with　some　commission？　Please…for　God’s　sake…”　he　said。　Denisov　seemed　to　have　forgotten　Petya’s　existence。　He　looked　round　at　him。
“One　thing　I　beg　of　you；”　he　said　sternly；　“to　obey　me　and　not　to　put　yourself　forward。”
All　the　way　Denisov　did　not　say　another　word　to　Petya；　he　rode　on　in　silence。　By　the　time　that　they　reached　the　edge　of　the　wood；　it　was　perceptibly　getting　light　in　the　open　country。　Denisov　whispered　something　to　the　esaul；　and　the　Cossacks　began　riding　by　Petya　and　Denisov。　When　they　had　all　passed　on　Denisov　put　his　spurs　to　his　horse；　and　rode　downhill。　Slipping　and　sinking　back　on　their　haunches；　the　horses　slid　down　into　the　hollow　with　their　riders。　Petya　kept　beside　Denisov。　The　tremor　all　over　him　was　growing　more　intense。　It　was　getting　lighter　and　lighter；　but　the　mist　hid　objects　at　a　distance。　When　he　had　reached　the　bottom；　Denisov　looked　back　and　nodded　to　the　Cossack　beside　him。
“The　signal；”　he　said。　The　Cossack　raised　his　arm；　and　a　shot　rang　out。　At　the　same　moment　they　heard　the　tramp　of　horses　galloping　in　front；　shouts　from　different　directions；　and　more　shots。
The　instant　that　he　heard　the　first　tramp　of　hoofs　and　shouts；　Petya　gave　the　rein　to　his　horse；　and　lashing　him　on；　galloped　forward；　heedless　of　Denisov；　who　shouted　to　him。　It　seemed　to　Petya　that　it　suddenly　became　broad　daylight；　as　though　it　were　midday；　at　the　moment　when　he　heard　the　shot。　He　galloped　to　the　bridge。　The　Cossacks　were　galloping　along　the　road　in　front。　At　the　bridge　he　jostled　against　a　Cossack　who　had　lagged　behind；　and　he　galloped　on。　In　front　Petya　saw　men　of　some　sort—the　French　he　supposed—running　across　the　road　from　right　to　left。　One　slipped　in　the　mud　under　his　horse’s　legs。
Cossacks　were　crowding　about　a　hut；　doing　something。　A　fearful　scream　rose　out　of　the　middle　of　the　crowd。　Petya　galloped　to　this　crowd；　and　the　first　thing　he　saw　was　the　white　face　and　trembling　lower…jaw　of　a　Frenchman；　who　had　clutched　hold　of　a　lance　aimed　at　his　breast。
“Hurrah！…Mates…ours…”　shouted　Petya；　and　giving　the　rein　to　his　excited　horse；　he　galloped　on　down　the　village　street。
He　heard　firing　in　front。　Cossacks；　hussars；　and　tattered　Russian　prisoners；　running　up　from　both　sides　of　the　road；　were　all　shouting　something　loud　and　unintelligible。　A　gallant…looking　Frenchman；　in　a　blue　coat；　with　a　red；　frowning　face；　and　no　cap；　was　keeping　back　the　hussars　with　a　bayonet。　By　the　time　that　Petya　galloped　up；　the　Frenchman　had　fallen。　“Too　late　again；”　flashed　through　Petya’s　brain；　and　he　galloped　to　the　spot　where　he　heard　the　hottest　fire。　The　shots　came　from　the　yard　of　the　manor…house　where　he　had　been　the　night　before　with　Dolohov。　The　French　were　ambushing　there　behind　the　fence　in　among　the　bushes　of　the　overgrown　garden；　and　firing　at　the　Cossacks　who　were　crowding　round　the　gates。　As　he　rode　up　to　the　gates；　Petya　caught　a　glimpse　in　the　smoke　of　Dolohov’s　white；　greenish　face；　as　he　shouted　something　to　the　men。　“Go　round。　Wait　for　the　infantry！”　he　was　shouting；　just　as　Petya　rode　up　to　him。
“Wait？　…　Hurrah！…”　shouted　Petya；　and　without　pausing　a　moment；　he　galloped　towards　the　spot　where　he　heard　the　shots；　and　where　the　smoke　was　the　thickest。　There　came　a　volley　of　shots　with　the　sound　of　bullets　whizzing　by　and　thudding　into　something。　The　Cossacks　and　Dolohov　galloped　in　at　the　gates　after　Petya。　In　the　thick；　hovering　smoke　the　French　flung　down　their　arms　and　ran　out　of　the　bushes　to　meet　the　Cossacks；　or　fled　downhill　towards　the　pond。　Petya　was　galloping　on　round　the　courtyard；　but　instead　of　holding　the　reins；　he　was　flinging　up　both　arms　in　a　strange　way；　and　slanting　more　and　more　to　one　side　in　the　saddle。　The　horse　stepped　on　to　the　ashes　of　the　fire　smouldering　in　the　morning　light；　and　stopped　short。　Petya　fell　heavily　on　the　wet　earth。　The　Cossacks　saw　his　arms　and　legs　twitching　rapidly；　though　his　head　did　not　move。　A　bullet　had　passed　through　his　brain。
After　parleying　with　the　French　senior　officer；　who　came　out　of　the　house　with　a　handkerchief　on　a　sword　to　announce　that　they　surrendered；　Dolohov　got　off　his　horse　and　went　up　to　Petya；　who　lay　motionless　with　outstretched　arms。
“Done　for；”　he　said　frowning；　and　walked　to　the　gate　to　Denisov；　who　was　riding　towards　him。
“Killed？”　cried　Denisov；　even　from　a　distance　recognising　the　familiar；　unmistakably　lifeless　posture　in　which　Petya’s　body　was　lying。
“Done　for；”　Dolohov　repeated；　as　though　the　utterance　of　those　words　afforded　him　satisfaction；　and　he　walked　rapidly　towards　the　prisoners；　whom　the　Cossacks　were　hurriedly　surrounding。　“No　quarter！”　he　shouted　to　Denisov。　Denisov　made　no　reply。　He　went　up　to　Petya；　got　off　his　horse；　and　with　trembling　hands　turned　over　the　blood…stained；　mud…spattered　face　that　was　already　turning　white。
“I’m　fond　of　sweet　things。　They　are　capital　raisins；　take　them　all；”　came　into　his　mind。　And　the　Cossacks　looked　round　in　surprise　at　the　sound　like　the　howl　of　a　dog；　that　Denisov　uttered　as　he　turned　away；　walked　to　the　fence　and　clutched　at　it。
Among　the　Russian　prisoners　rescued　by　Denisov　and　Dolohov　was　Pierre　Bezuhov。


Chapter　12
THE　PARTY　of　prisoners；　of　whom　Pierre　was　one；　was　on　the　22nd　of　October　not　with　the　troops　and　transport；　in　whose　company　they　had　left　Moscow；　though　no　fresh　instructions　in　regard　to　them　had　been　given　by　the　French　authorities。　Half　of　the　transport　with　stores　of　biscuit；　which　had　followed　them　during　the　early　stages　of　the　march；　had　been　carried　off　by　the　Cossacks；　the　other　half　had　got　away　in　front。　Of　the　cavalry　soldiers　on　foot；　who　had　marched　in　front　of　the　prisoners；　not　one　was　left；　they　had　all　disappeared。　The　artillery；　which　the　prisoners　had　seen　in　front　during　the　early　stages；　was　now　replaced　by　the　immense　train　of　Marshal　Junot’s　baggage；　convoyed　by　an　escort　of　Westphalians。　Behind　the　prisoners　came　a　transport　of　cavalry　accoutrements。
The　French　had　at　first　marched　in　three　columns；　but　from　Vyazma　they　had　formed　a　single　mass。　The　symptoms　of　lack　of　discipline；　which　Pierre　had　observed　at　the　first　halt　outside　Moscow；　had　by　now　reached　their　extreme　limits。
The　road　along　which　they　marched　was　strewn　on　both　sides　with　the　carcases　of　dead　horses。　The　tattered　soldiers；　stragglers　from　different　regiments；　were　continually　changing；　joining　the　column　as　it　marched；　and　dropping　behind　it　again。　Several　times　there　had　been　false　alarms；　and　the　soldiers　of　the　cavalry　had　raised　their　guns；　and　fired　and　fled；　trampling　one　another　underfoot。　Then　they　had　rallied　again；　and　abused　one　another　for　their　causeless　panic。
These　three　bodies；　travelling　together—the　cavalry　transport；　the　convoy　of　prisoners；　and　Junot’s　baggage　transport—still　made　up　a　complete　separate　whole；　though　each　of　its　three　parts　was　rapidly　dwindling　away。
Of　the　cavalry　transport；　which　had　at　first　consisted　of　one　hundred　and　twenty　waggons；　only　sixty　were　left；　the　rest　had　been　carried　off　or　abandoned。　Several　waggonloads　of　Junot’s　baggage；　too；　had　been　discarded　or　captured。　Three　waggons　had　been　attacked　and　pillaged　by　stragglers　from　Davoust’s　regiment。　From　the　talk　he　overheard　among　the　Germans；　Pierre　learned　that　a　more　careful　watch　was　kept　over　this　baggage…train　than　over　the　prisoners；　and　that　one　of　their　comrades；　a　German；　had　been　shot　by　order　of　the　marshal　himself　because　a　silver　spoon　belonging　to　the　marshal　had　been　found　in　the　soldier’s　possession。
The　convoy　of　prisoners　had　dwindled　even　more　than　the　other　two　convoys。　Of　the　three　hundred　and　thirty　men　who　had　started　from　Moscow　there　were　now　less　than　a　hundred　left。　The　prisoners　were　a　burden　even　more　irksome　to　the　soldiers　than　the　cavalry　stores　and　Junot’s　baggage。　The　saddles　and　Junot’s　spoons　they　could　understand　might　be　of　some　use；　but　why　cold　and　starving　soldiers　should　stand　as　sentinels；　keeping　guard　over　Russians　as　cold　and　starving；　who　were　continually　dying　and　being　left　behind　on　the　road