The roar of cannon and the rattle of musketry was growing louder all over the field, especially on the left, where Bagration’s earthworks were, but from where Pierre was, hardly anything could be seen for the smoke. Moreover, watching the little fraternal group of men, shut off from all the world on the battery, engrossed all Pierre’s attention. His first unconscious delight in the sights and sounds of the battlefield had given way to another feeling, ever since he had seen the solitary dead soldier lying on the hayfield. Sitting now on the slope of the earthwork, he watched the figures moving about him.
By ten o’clock some twenty men had been carried away from the battery; two cannons had been disabled, and more and more frequently shells fell on the battery, and cannon balls came with a hiss and whir, flying out of the distance. But the men on the battery did not seem to notice this: merry chatter and jokes were to be heard on all sides.
‘Not this way, my pretty,’ shouted a soldier to a grenade that came whistling towards them.
‘Give the infantry a turn! ’ another added with a chuckle, as the grenade flew across and fell among the ranks of the infantry.
‘What, see a friend coming, do you?’ another soldier jeered at a peasant, who had ducked low at the sight of a flying cannon ball.
Several soldiers gathered together at the earthwork, looking at what was being done in front.
‘And they’ve taken the outposts, see, they’re retreating,’ they said, pointing over the earthwork.
‘Mind your own business,’ the old sergeant shouted to them. ‘If they have come back, it’s because they have something to do further back.’
And the sergeant, taking one of the soldiers by the shoulder, gave him a shove with his knee. There was the sound of laughter.
‘Fifth cannon, roll away! ’ they were shouting on one side.
‘Now then, a good pull, all together!’ shouted the merry voices of the men charging the cannon.
‘Ay, she almost snatched “our gentleman’s” hat off,’ the red-faced, jocose soldier laughed, showing his teeth. ‘Hey, awkward hussy!’ he added reproachfully to a cannon ball that hit a wheel and a man’s leg. ‘Now, you foxes there!’ laughed another, addressing the peasant militiamen, who were creeping in and out among the guns after the wounded. ‘Don’t you care for our porridge, hey? Ah, the crows! that pulls them up! ’ they shouted at the militiamen, who hesitated at the sight of the soldier whose leg had been torn off. ‘Oo . . . oo . . . lad,’ they cried f mimicking the peasants, ‘we don’t like it at all, we don’t!’
Pierre noticed that after every ball that fell in their midst, after every loss, the general elation became more and more marked.
The closer the storm cloud swooped down upon them, the more bright and frequent were the gleams of latent fire that glowed like lightning flashes on those men’s faces, called up, as it were, to meet and resist their danger.
Pierre did not look in front at the field of battle; he took no more interest in what was going on there. He was entirely engrossed in the contemplation of that growing fire, which he felt was burning in his own soul too.
At ten o’clock the infantry, who had been in advance of the battery, in the bushes and about the stream Kamenka, retreated. From the battery they could see them running back past them, bearing their wounded on their guns. A general with a suite came on to the redoubt, and after talking to the colonel and looking angrily at Pierre, went away again, ordering the infantry standing behind the battery guarding it to lie down, so as to be less exposed to fire. After that a drum was heard in the ranks of the infantry, more to the right of the battery, and shouts gave the word of command, and from the battery they could see the ranks of infantry moving forward.
Pierre looked over the earthwork. One figure particularly caught his eye. It was the officer, walking backwards with a pale, boyish face. He held his sword downwards and kept looking uneasily round.
The rows of infantry soldiers vanished into the smoke, but they could hear a prolonged shout from them and a rapid musketry fire. A few minutes later crowds of wounded men and a number of stretchers came back from that direction. Shells fell more and more often in the battery. Several men lay on the ground, not picked up. The soldiers bustled more busily and briskly than ever about the cannons. No one took any notice of Pierre now. Twice he was shouted at angrily for being in the way. The senior officer strode rapidly from one cannon to another with a frowning face. The officer-boy, his cheeks even more crimson, gave the soldiers their orders more scrupulously than ever. The soldiers served
sut the charges, turned round, loaded, and did all their work with exaggerated smartness. They moved as though worked by springs.
