War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy [91]
But the supply soldier, paying no heed the denomination of general, shouted at the soldiers who blocked his way:
“Hey, countrymen! keep to the left, hold up!”
But the countrymen, pressed shoulder to shoulder, catching on their bayonets and never pausing, moved across the bridge in a solid mass. Looking down over the railing, Prince Nesvitsky saw the swift, noisy, low waves of the Enns, which, merging, rippling, and swirling around the pilings of the bridge, drove on one after the other. Looking at the bridge, he saw the same monotonous living waves of soldiers, shoulder braids, shakos with dustcovers, packs, bayonets, long muskets, and under the shakos faces with wide cheekbones, sunken cheeks, and carefree, weary faces, and feet moving over the sticky mud that covered the planks of the bridge. Occasionally, amidst the monotonous waves of soldiers, like a spray of white foam on the waves of the Enns, an officer pushed his way through, in a cape, with his physiognomy distinct from the soldiers’ occasionally, like a chip of wood swirled along by the river, a dismounted hussar, an orderly, or a local inhabitant was borne across the bridge by the waves of infantry; occasionally, like a log floating down the river, a company’s or an officer’s cart floated across the bridge, surrounded on all sides, loaded to the top, and covered with leather.
“Look at ’em, it’s like a dam burst,” the Cossack said, stopping hopelessly. “Are there many of you there?”
“One shy of a million,” a merry soldier in a torn greatcoat, passing close by, said with a wink and vanished; after him came another old soldier.
“Once he” (he was the enemy) “starts peppering the bridge,” the old soldier said gloomily, addressing his comrade, “you’ll forget about scratching yourself.”
And the soldier passed by. After him came another soldier on a cart.
“Where the devil did you stuff those foot cloths?” said an orderly, running behind the cart and rummaging in the back.
And this one passed by with the cart.
After him came some merry and apparently tipsy soldiers.
“He just gave it to him, the dear fellow, right in the teeth with his musket butt…” one soldier in a high-tucked greatcoat said joyfully, swinging his arm widely.
“That’s it, the sweet taste of ham,” replied another with a guffaw.
And they passed by, so that Nesvitsky never learned who got it in the teeth and what the ham referred to.
“Look at ’em scurrying! He fires off a cold one, and you’d think they were all getting killed,” a warrant officer said angrily and reproachfully.
“When that cannonball went flying by me, uncle,” a young soldier with a huge mouth said, barely holding back his laughter, “I just went dead. By God, I got scared really bad!” the soldier said, as if boasting that he was scared.
And that one passed by. After him came a cart unlike all those that had driven by so far. It was a German Vorspann and pair, loaded with what seemed like a whole household; behind the Vorspann, led by a German, was tied a beautiful spotted cow with a huge udder. A woman with a nursing baby, an old woman, and a young, healthy German girl with purple-red cheeks were sitting on featherbeds. It was clear that these were local people, who had been allowed to move by special permission. The eyes of all the soldiers turned to the women, and as the cart went by, moving step by step, all the soldiers’ remarks were addressed only to these two women. All the soldiers’ faces bore virtually one and the same smile of indecent thoughts about these women.
“Look, the sausage is also taking off!”
“Sell me the little lady,” another soldier said, with a stress on the last syllable, addressing the German, who, lowering his eyes, walked on with big strides, angry and frightened.
“Look how dressed up she is! The devils!”
“Nice to get billeted on them, Fedotov!”
“I should live so long, brother!”
“Where are you going?” asked an infantry officer, eating