Just as he began to ride away from the battery, more shots rang out, this time in the wood on the left. Since it was too far to go himself, Prince Bagration dispatched Zherkov to tell the senior general – the one whose regiment had been inspected by Kutuzov at Braunau – to retreat with all speed beyond the ravine, because the right flank would probably not be able to hold the enemy much longer. Tushin and the battalion that was supposed to cover him were forgotten. Prince Andrey listened carefully to what was said between Prince Bagration and the commanding officers, and to any orders issued, and he was astounded to observe that no orders were really given; Prince Bagration was just trying to pretend that everything they were being forced to do, every accidental development or anything brought about by individual commanders, was happening, if not according to his orders, then at least as part of his plan. Prince Andrey noticed, on the other hand, that even though everything was happening by pure chance and had nothing to do with the commander’s volition, the tact shown by Prince Bagration meant that his presence there was of enormous value. Commanding officers who rode up to Bagration looking desperately worried quickly regained their composure; soldiers and officers hailed him with good cheer, they found his presence reinvigorating and he put a swagger and new courage into their steps.
CHAPTER 18
After riding up to the highest point on our right flank, Prince Bagration started off downhill, where a continuous rattle of gunfire rang out and nothing could be seen for the smoke. The further they descended into the hollow the less they could see, but the more sharply they could sense the proximity of actual battle. They began to come across wounded men. Two soldiers were dragging a third along with his arms around their necks. His head was covered with blood; he had lost his cap. He was hawking and spitting blood, a bullet having evidently got him in the mouth or throat. Another man came towards them, walking sturdily on his own with no gun, moaning and groaning, and shaking his wounded arm as pain hit him, while the blood poured down his greatcoat like liquid from a bottle. To judge by his face he seemed more scared than hurt: he had been wounded only a moment before. They crossed the road and started down a steep incline, where they saw several men lying on the sloping ground. Then they were met by a crowd of soldiers, some of them not wounded. These soldiers, gasping for breath as they hurried uphill, took no notice of the general and went on shouting to each other with much waving of their arms. Ahead of them through the smoke they could now see whole ranks of grey coats, and once the commanding officer set eyes on Bagration he ran off after the retreating mass of soldiers, shouting for them to come back. Bagration rode up to the ranks, where noisy sporadic fire drowned all speech including the officers’ shouted commands. The air was thick with gunsmoke. The soldiers’ faces were all animated and smudged with gunpowder. Ramrods plunged in and out, powder was poured into pans, charges came out of pouches, guns fired. What they were firing at couldn’t be seen for the smoke that hung undispersed by the wind. Much of the time the air was full of sweet sounds – the whine and whistle of bullets.
‘What’s all this?’ wondered Prince Andrey, as they rode up to the crowd of soldiers. ‘It can’t be the front line – they’re all bunched up together. It can’t be an assault group – nobody’s moving. And they’re certainly not forming a square.’
