The Doll - Bolesaw Prus [78]
Then something unexpected happened. Near us, drums rattled and fifes shrilled in a terrifying manner. The same behind us. Someone yelled ‘Forward!’ and goodness knows how many voices echoed the cry like groans or howls. The column moved forward slowly, then faster, began running…The firing almost ceased and only single shots were heard…I hit my chest against something hard, men pushed me from all sides, I pushed too…
‘Kill the Huns!’ Katz shrieked in an inhuman voice, rushing ahead. As he could not extricate himself from the throng, he raised his rifle and brought its butt down on the packs of comrades in front. Finally it grew so crowded that my chest began giving way and I could not breathe. I was lifted up, then let fall, and I realised I was not even standing on the ground, but on a man who was gripping my leg.
At this moment the shouting crowd moved ahead and I fell down, my left hand sliding in blood. By me an Austrian officer was lying on his side, a young man, with very aristocratic features. He looked at me, his eyes darkening with inexpressible grief, and he whispered hoarsely: ‘No need to kick…We Germans are human beings too…’ He put one hand to his side and groaned pitifully.
I ran after the column. Our men were already on the hill where the Austrian batteries had stood. Climbing up after the others, I saw one cannon on its side, the other harnessed and surrounded by our men. I came upon an unusual scene. Some of our men were clutching the cannon wheels, others pulling it off the carriage: Katz stabbed a horse of the first pair with his bayonet, and an Austrian bombardier was trying to hit him on the head with a cleaning-rod. I seized the bombardier by his collar and hurled him to the ground. Katz wanted to stab him. ‘What are you doing, you madman?’ I shouted, pushing his bayonet away.
Then Katz hurled himself furiously at me, but an officer nearby knocked his bayonet away with a sabre. ‘What are you interfering for?’ Katz shrieked at the officer, ‘What are you interfering for?’
The two cannons were captured, the hussars hurried after the others. Far ahead our men were standing singly and in groups, firing after the retreating Austrians. Now and then a wandering enemy bullet whistled over our heads or tore into the earth, with a little cloud of dust. The buglers blew the ‘Fall-in’.
An hour later, the regimental bands were playing at various points of the huge battlefield. The adjutant hurried over to congratulate us. The buglers and drummers struck up the call for prayers. We took off our helmets, the ensign bearers raised the banners and the entire army, weapons at their feet, thanked the Hungarian God for victory.
Gradually the smoke died away. As far as the eye could see we saw what looked like scraps of white or navy-blue paper scattered in disorder on the trampled grass in various places. Several carts were moving around the field, and some people were placing these scraps in them. The rest remained. ‘So this is what they were born for,’ Katz sighed, leaning on his rifle, overcome by melancholy.
This was just about the last of our victories. From this time on the banners bearing the three rivers went in front of, rather than behind, the enemy, until finally at Vilagos, they fell from their poles like autumn leaves.
When he learned this, Katz threw his sword on the ground (we were both officers by then) and said that he would now shoot himself. I recalled, however, that Napoleon was already installed in France. So I encouraged him, and we crept over to Komorna. We watched for relief for a month: from Hungary, France, even Heaven. Finally Komorna surrendered.
On that day, I remember Katz prowling around the gunpowder store with the same look on his face as when he had wanted to stab the recumbent bombardier. Several