Once the sun had appeared in the clear band of sky just below the stormclouds the wind died down, as if it would not presume to spoil the beauty of a summer morning after a storm; the branches still dripped, but the droplets fell straight to the ground, and a hush lay over everything. The sun was now fully up just above the horizon, though it soon vanished into a long, narrow strip of overhanging cloud, only to emerge brighter still a few minutes later on top of the cloud, breaking out through its edges. Everything was bright and shining. And coinciding with the bright sunlight, as if in response to it, the first shots rang out ahead.
Rostov had no time to think things over and work out how far away these shots had been; one of Count Ostermann-Tolstoy’s adjutants was suddenly on him, galloping up from Vitebsk with an order to advance down the road at a steady pace.
The squadron overtook the infantry and the battery, even though they had also picked up speed, and then the hussars trotted down a hill, through an empty village which had lost all its inhabitants, and up the other side. The horses were beginning to lather and the men were red in the face.
‘Halt! Dress ranks!’ called the divisional commander ahead of them. ‘By the left, forward! Walk on!’
And the hussars made their way past the lines to the left flank of our position, coming to a halt behind our uhlans, who formed the front line. To the right was a dense column of infantry – the reserves – and behind them further up the hill on the line of the horizon where the air was so sweet and clear our cannons stood, picked out in the angled rays of the bright morning sunshine. Ahead of us, across the valley, we could see the enemy’s columns and guns. In the valley itself our advance line had gone into action and was merrily exchanging fire with the enemy.
These shots were music to Rostov’s ears, music he had not heard for such a long time, and he felt his spirits rise.
The hussars stayed where they were for an hour or so. The cannons opened up. Count Ostermann rode up with his suite behind the squadron, stopped for a quick consultation with the colonel of the regiment and rode on uphill towards the big guns.
Just after he had gone a command was roared out among the uhlans.
‘Columns! fall in! Prepare to charge!’
The infantry platoons ahead of them parted to let the cavalry through. The uhlans surged forward, with fluttering streamers atop their lances, and proceeded downhill at a steady pace towards the French cavalry, just now emerging down below on the left.
As soon as the uhlans had moved off down the slope the hussars were ordered uphill to cover the battery. As they moved round to take up the positions vacated by the uhlans, they heard the fizzing and whining of musket-shot from the front, falling short of its target.
This sound, which he had not heard for many a long day, had an even more joyous and energizing effect on Rostov than the musket-shots before them. He rose in the saddle and scanned the battlefield opening out before him as he rode uphill, and his heart went out to the uhlans as they pressed forward. They flew down on the French dragoons, there was some kind of hurly-burly in the smoke and five minutes later the uhlans were dashing back, not towards the spot they had come from, but further left. In among the orange-coloured ranks of uhlans on their chestnut horses, and behind them, a huge mass of blue French dragoons mounted on their greys could now be seen.
CHAPTER 15
Rostov, with the sharp eye of a hunting man, was one of the first to spot these blue dragoons pursuing our uhlans. Nearer and nearer came the scattered hordes of uhlans and the pursuing French dragoons. He could now see individual figures, men that had looked so small at the bottom of the hill, fighting, chasing each other, waving arms and brandishing sabres.
For Rostov it was like watching a hunt. Instinct told him that if his hussars were to attack the French dragoons now they would give in, but the attack would have to come now, this very minute, or it would be too late. He looked round. The captain standing beside him also had his eyes glued on the cavalry down the hill.
‘Andrey Sevastyanych,’ said Rostov, ‘we could get them couldn’t we?’
‘It would be a nice piece of work,’ said the captain, ‘but as a matter of fact . . .’
