War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy [127]
The soldiers laughed. A moment later an adjutant arrived with the same order.
This was Prince Andrei. The first thing he saw on riding out into the space occupied by Tushin’s cannon was an unharnessed horse with a shattered leg that was whinnying near the harnessed horses. Blood was pouring from its leg as from a spout. Among the limbers several men lay dead. One cannonball after another flew over him as he rode on, and he felt a nervous shiver run down his spine. But the thought alone that he was afraid picked him up again. “I can’t be afraid,” he thought and slowly dismounted among the cannon. He delivered the order and did not leave the battlefield. He decided that the guns would leave the position and be taken away in his presence. Together with Tushin, stepping over the bodies and under the dreadful fire of the French, he got busy with removing the guns.
“Another superior just came, and he turned tail quickly,” the fireworker said to Prince Andrei, “not like Your Honor.”
Prince Andrei said nothing to Tushin. The two men were so busy that they seemed not even to see each other. Having limbered up the two remaining guns of the four (one smashed cannon and a unicorn20 were abandoned), Prince Andrei rode up to Tushin.
“Well, good-bye,” said Prince Andrei, offering his hand to Tushin.
“Good-bye, dear heart,” said Tushin, “you good soul! Good-bye, dear heart,” Tushin said with tears, which for some reason suddenly came to his eyes.
XXI
The wind grew still, black clouds hung low over the place of battle, merging on the horizon with powder smoke. It was getting dark, and the glow of the fire showed more clearly in two places. The cannonade became weaker, but the crackle of gunfire behind and to the right was heard more often and close. As soon as Tushin with his guns, driving around or over the wounded, came out from under fire and descended into the ravine, he met the superiors and adjutants, among whom were the staff officer and Zherkov, who had been sent twice and had twice failed to reach Tushin’s battery. All of them, interrupting each other, gave and conveyed orders of how and where to go, and reproached and reprimanded him. Tushin had no orders to give and rode silently behind them on his artillery nag, fearing to speak, because he was ready at every word to burst into tears, not knowing why himself. Though the order was to abandon the wounded, many of them dragged after the troops, asking to be put on the guns. The dashing infantry officer who had run out of Tushin’s lean-to before the battle was put on Matvevna’s carriage, a bullet in his stomach. At the foot of the hill a pale hussar junker, holding one arm with his other hand, came up to Tushin and asked for a seat.
“Captain, for God’s sake, I’ve bruised my arm,” he said timidly. “For God’s sake, I can’t walk. For God’s sake!”
It was clear that this junker had already asked for a seat more than once elsewhere and everywhere had been refused. He asked in an irresolute and pitiful voice.
“Tell them to give me a seat, for God’s sake.”
“Give him a seat, give him a seat,” said Tushin. “You, uncle, spread a greatcoat under him,” he turned to his favorite soldier. “And where’s the wounded officer?”
“We unloaded him, he died,” someone answered.
“Give this one a seat. Sit down, my dear, sit down. Spread the greatcoat under him, Antonov.”
The junker was Rostov. He was holding one arm with the other hand, was pale, and his lower jaw was trembling feverishly. He was seated on Matvevna, the same cannon from which they had unloaded the dead officer. The greatcoat spread under him had blood on it, which stained Rostov’s breeches and hands.
“What, are you wounded, dear heart?” asked Tushin, coming to the cannon on which Rostov was sitting.
“No, bruised.”
“Why is there blood on the side plate?” asked Tushin.
“That officer bloodied it, Your Honor,” the artillerist replied, wiping the blood with the sleeve of his greatcoat and as if apologizing for the unclean state the gun was in.
They were barely able, with the help of