Chapter 7

           

           Twooftheenemy’sshotshadalreadyflownacrossthebridge,wheretherewasacrush.HalfwayacrossstoodPrinceNesvítski,whohadalightedfromhishorseandwhosebigbodywasjammedagainsttherailings.HelookedbacklaughingtotheCossackwhostoodafewstepsbehindhimholdingtwohorsesbytheirbridles.EachtimePrinceNesvítskitriedtomoveon,soldiersandcartspushedhimbackagainandpressedhimagainsttherailings,andallhecoulddowastosmile.

           “Whatafinefellowyouare,friend!”saidtheCossacktoaconvoysoldierwithawagon,whowaspressingontotheinfantrymenwhowerecrowdedtogetherclosetohiswheelsandhishorses.“Whatafellow!Youcan’twaitamoment!Don’tyouseethegeneralwantstopass?”

           Buttheconvoymantooknonoticeoftheword“general”andshoutedatthesoldierswhowereblockinghisway.“Hithere,boys!Keeptotheleft!Waitabit.”Butthesoldiers,crowdedtogethershouldertoshoulder,theirbayonetsinterlocking,movedoverthebridgeinadensemass.LookingdownovertherailsPrinceNesvítskisawtherapid,noisylittlewavesoftheEnns,whichripplingandeddyingroundthepilesofthebridgechasedeachotheralong.Lookingonthebridgehesawequallyuniformlivingwavesofsoldiers,shoulderstraps,coveredshakos,knapsacks,bayonets,longmuskets,and,undertheshakos,faceswithbroadcheekbones,sunkencheeks,andlistlesstiredexpressions,andfeetthatmovedthroughthestickymudthatcoveredtheplanksofthebridge.

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