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Volume I, Part Two, Chapter VI

Two of the enemy's cannonballs had already flown across the bridge, where there was a crush. Half-way across stood Prince Nesvitsky, who had alighted from his horse and whose stout body was jammed against the railings. He looked back, smiling, to his Cossack who stood a few paces behind him holding two horses by their bridles. Just as Prince Nesvitsky wanted to move on, the soldiers and carts pressed on him again and jammed him again against the railings, and there was nothing for him to do but smile.

— What a fellow you are, brother! — the Cossack was saying to a baggage-train soldier with a cart, who was pressing onto the infantry crowded close to his wheels and horses, — what a fellow you are! You can't wait: don't you see the general wants to pass.

But the baggage-man, paying no attention to the title of general, shouted at the soldiers who were blocking his way:

— Hey! countryman! keep to the left, wait a bit!

But the countrymen, crowded shoulder to shoulder, catching their bayonets and without a break, moved over the bridge in one solid mass. Looking down over the rails, Prince Nesvitsky saw the rapid, noisy, low waves of the Enns, which rippling, merging, and eddying round the piles of the bridge, chased one another along. Looking at the bridge, he saw equally uniform living waves of soldiers, shoulder-knots, shakos with covers, knapsacks, bayonets, long muskets, and, under the shakos, faces with broad cheekbones, sunken cheeks, and careless tired expressions, and feet moving through the sticky mud dragged onto the planks of the bridge. Sometimes through the uniform waves of soldiers, like a splash of white foam on the waves of the Enns, an officer in a cloak would squeeze his way, his face different from those of the men; sometimes like a chip of wood whirling in the river, an unmounted hussar, an orderly, or an inhabitant was carried along the bridge by the waves of infantry; sometimes like a log floating down the river, an officer's or company's baggage cart, piled high and covered with leather covers, would float over the bridge, hemmed in on all sides.

— See, it's like a dam burst, — said the Cossack, stopping hopelessly. — Are there many more of you over there?

— A million all but one! — replied a cheerful soldier in a torn coat, winking as he passed by; another, an older soldier, followed him.

— When he (he — the enemy) begins to pepper the bridge now, — said the old soldier gloomily to a comrade, — you'll forget to scratch yourself.

And the soldier passed on. After him came another soldier riding on a cart.

— Where the devil have you shoved the foot-wraps? — said an orderly, running behind the cart and fumbling in the back of it.

And this one passed with the cart.

Following this came merry and evidently tipsy soldiers.

— How he let him have it, my dear fellow, with the butt end straight in the teeth... — one soldier in a much tucked up coat was saying joyfully, with a wide swing of his arm.

— That's it, the sweet ham, — answered another with a loud laugh.

And they passed on, so that Nesvitsky did not find out who was struck in the teeth, or what the ham had to do with it.

— How they hurry! Now that he has let off a cold one, one would think they'll all be killed, — said a noncommissioned officer angrily and reproachfully.

— As it flew past me, uncle, the cannonball, — said a young soldier with an enormous mouth, hardly able to restrain his laughter, — I simply died of fright. Really, by God, I was so frightened, it was awful! — said the soldier, as if boasting of having been frightened.

And he too passed on. After him followed a cart unlike any that had gone before. It was a German team of two horses, loaded, it seemed, with a whole house; behind the cart, which was driven by a German, was tied a handsome, piebald cow with an enormous udder. A woman with a baby at her breast, an old woman, and a healthy, red-cheeked German girl were sitting on feather beds. Evidently these fleeing inhabitants had been allowed to pass by special permission. The eyes of all the soldiers turned towards the women, and while the cart moved on at a foot's pace, all the remarks of the soldiers related solely to the two women. Almost all faces wore the same smile of indecent thoughts about that woman.

— Look, that sausage is making off too!

— Sell me the mothér, — said another soldier, laying stress on the last syllable, addressing the German, who with downcast eyes walked with long strides, looking angry and frightened.

— See how she's rigged herself out! The devils!

— If only you could be quartered with them, Fedotov!

— Did you see, brother!

— Where are you going? — asked an infantry officer who was eating an apple, also half-smiling and looking at the pretty girl.

The German shut his eyes, indicating that he did not understand.

— If you like, take it, — said the officer, offering the girl the apple.

The girl smiled and took it. Nesvitsky, like everyone else on the bridge, did not take his eyes off the women till they had passed. When they had gone by, the same sort of soldiers came, with the same sort of talk, and at last all stopped. As often happens, the horses in a company's cart became restive at the end of the bridge, and the whole crowd had to wait.

— And why are they stopping? There's no order! — the soldiers said. — Where are you shoving? Devil! Can't you wait? It will be worse if he fires the bridge. See, they've jammed the officer too, — said the stopped crowds from different sides, looking at one another, and all pressed forward towards the exit.

Looking down under the bridge at the waters of the Enns, Nesvitsky suddenly heard a sound new to him, of something large rapidly approaching... and of something plumping into the water.

— See where it reaches! — said a soldier standing near, looking round sternly at the sound.

— Encouraging us to get on quicker, — said another uneasily.

The crowd moved on again. Nesvitsky realized that it was a cannonball.

— Hey, Cossack, bring my horse! — he said. — Now then, you! stand aside! make way! make way!

With a great effort he reached his horse. Shouting continually, he moved forward. The soldiers squeezed together to give him room; but pressed on him again so that they crushed his leg, and those nearest him were not to blame, because they were being pressed still harder.

— Nesvitsky! Nesvitsky! You mug! — a hoarse voice was heard from behind at that moment.

Nesvitsky looked round and saw, some fifteen paces away, separated from him by the living mass of moving infantry, Vaska Denisov, red, black, tousled, with his cap on the back of his head and his pelisse thrown jauntily over his shoulder.

— Tell these devils, these fiends, to make way, — shouted Denisov, evidently in a fit of rage, his coal-black eyes, with their inflamed whites, flashing and rolling as he waved his unsheathed saber, which he held in his small bare hand as red as his face.

— Eh! Vasya! — answered Nesvitsky joyfully. — What are you doing?

— The squadron can't pass, — shouted Vaska Denisov, angrily showing his white teeth and spurring his handsome black horse, Bedouin, who, twitching his ears at the bayonets he stumbled against, snorting, scattering foam around from his bit, jingling, beat the planks of the bridge with his hoofs, and seemed ready to jump over the railings of the bridge if his rider would let him.

— What's this? like sheep! exactly like sheep! Out of the way... make way!... Stop there! you cart, devil! I'll hack you with my saber! — he shouted, actually drawing his saber and beginning to wave it.

The soldiers with frightened faces pressed closer to one another, and Denisov joined Nesvitsky.

— Why aren't you drunk today? — said Nesvitsky to Denisov when he rode up to him.

— They don't even give you time to get drunk! — answered Vaska Denisov. — They drag the regiment this way and that all day. If we're to fight, let's fight. But this is the devil knows what!

— What a dandy you are today! — said Nesvitsky, looking at his new pelisse and shabraque.

Denisov smiled, took a handkerchief diffusing a smell of perfume out of his sabretache, and thrust it under Nesvitsky's nose.

— I can't help it, I'm going into action! I shaved, brushed my teeth, and scented myself.

Nesvitsky's imposing figure, accompanied by his Cossack, and the determination of Denisov, waving his saber and shouting desperately, had such an effect that they squeezed through to the other side of the bridge and stopped the infantry. Nesvitsky found the colonel at the exit, to whom he had to deliver the order, and, having executed his commission, rode back.

Having cleared the way, Denisov stopped at the entrance to the bridge. Carelessly restraining his stallion that was rearing and pawing to get to its companions, he watched his squadron advancing towards him. Transparent sounds of hoofs resounded on the planks of the bridge, as if several horses were galloping, and the squadron, with the officers in front, four abreast, stretched across the bridge and began to emerge on the other side.

The halted infantrymen, crowded in the trampled mud by the bridge, looked at the clean, smart hussars marching past them in good order, with that special feeling of ill-will, alienation, and mockery with which different branches of the service usually meet.

— Smart lads! Only fit for the Podnovinskoye!

— What's the use of them! They only take them about for show! — said another.

— Infantry, don't kick up the dust! — joked a hussar whose horse, playing, splashed mud over an infantryman.

— I'd like to put a knapsack on you and drive you for a couple of marches, your laces would be worn out, — said the infantryman, wiping the mud off his face with his sleeve; — otherwise it's not a man, but a bird sitting there!

— Zikin, if they put you on a horse, you'd look smart, — joked a corporal at a thin little soldier bent under the weight of his knapsack.

— Take a stick between your legs, that'll be a horse for you, — retorted the hussar.