Book Fifteen: 1812-13 - Chapter VIII

by Leo Tolstoy

　　One would have thought that under the almost incredibly wretchedconditions the Russian soldiers were in at that time- lacking warmboots and sheepskin coats, without a roof over their heads, in thesnow with eighteen degrees of frost, and without even full rations(the commissariat did not always keep up with the troops)- theywould have presented a very sad and depressing spectacle.

　　On the contrary, the army had never under the best materialconditions presented a more cheerful and animated aspect. This wasbecause all who began to grow depressed or who lost strength weresifted out of the army day by day. All the physically or morallyweak had long since been left behind and only the flower of thearmy- physically and mentally- remained.

　　More men collected behind the wattle fence of the Eighth Companythan anywhere else. Two sergeants major were sitting with them andtheir campfire blazed brighter than others. For leave to sit bytheir wattle they demanded contributions of fuel.

　　"Eh, Makeev! What has become of you, you son of a bitch? Are youlost or have the wolves eaten you? Fetch some more wood!" shouted ared-haired and red-faced man, screwing up his eyes and blinkingbecause of the smoke but not moving back from the fire. "And you,Jackdaw, go and fetch some wood!" said he to another soldier.

　　This red-haired man was neither a sergeant nor a corporal, but beingrobust he ordered about those weaker than himself. The soldier theycalled "Jackdaw," a thin little fellow with a sharp nose, roseobediently and was about to go but at that instant there came into thelight of the fire the slender, handsome figure of a young soldiercarrying a load of wood.

　　"Bring it here- that's fine!"

　　They split up the wood, pressed it down on the fire, blew at it withtheir mouths, and fanned it with the skirts of their greatcoats,making the flames hiss and crackle. The men drew nearer and littheir pipes. The handsome young soldier who had brought the wood,setting his arms akimbo, began stamping his cold feet rapidly anddeftly on the spot where he stood.

　　"Mother! The dew is cold but clear.... It's well that I'm amusketeer..." he sang, pretending to hiccough after each syllable.

　　"Look out, your soles will fly off!" shouted the red-haired man,noticing that the sole of the dancer's boot was hanging loose. "What afellow you are for dancing!"

　　The dancer stopped, pulled off the loose piece of leather, and threwit on the fire.

　　"Right enough, friend," said he, and, having sat down, took out ofhis knapsack a scrap of blue French cloth, and wrapped it round hisfoot. "It's the steam that spoils them," he added, stretching outhis feet toward the fire.

　　"They'll soon be issuing us new ones. They say that when we'vefinished hammering them, we're to receive double kits!"

　　"And that son of a bitch Petrov has lagged behind after all, itseems," said one sergeant major.

　　"I've had an eye on him this long while," said the other.

　　"Well, he's a poor sort of soldier..."

　　"But in the Third Company they say nine men were missing yesterday."

　　"Yes, it's all very well, but when a man's feet are frozen how canhe walk?"

　　"Eh? Don't talk nonsense!" said a sergeant major.

　　"Do you want to be doing the same?" said an old soldier, turningreproachfully to the man who had spoken of frozen feet.

　　"Well, you know," said the sharp-nosed man they called Jackdaw ina squeaky and unsteady voice, raising himself at the other side of thefire, "a plump man gets thin, but for a thin one it's death. Takeme, now! I've got no strength left," he added, with suddenresolution turning to the sergeant major. "Tell them to send me tohospital; I'm aching all over; anyway I shan't be able to keep up."

　　"That'll do, that'll do!" replied the sergeant major quietly.

　　The soldier said no more and the talk went on.

　　"What a lot of those Frenchies were taken today, and the fact isthat not one of them had what you might call real boots on," said asoldier, starting a new theme. "They were no more than make-believes."

　　"The Cossacks have taken their boots. They were clearing the hut forthe colonel and carried them out. It was pitiful to see them, boys,"put in the dancer. "As they turned them over one seemed still aliveand, would you believe it, he jabbered something in their lingo."

　　"But they're a clean folk, lads," the first man went on; "he waswhite- as white as birchbark- and some of them are such finefellows, you might think they were nobles."

　　"Well, what do you think? They make soldiers of all classes there."

　　"But they don't understand our talk at all," said the dancer witha puzzled smile. "I asked him whose subject he was, and he jabbered inhis own way. A queer lot!"

　　"But it's strange, friends," continued the man who had wondered attheir whiteness, "the peasants at Mozhaysk were saying that whenthey began burying the dead- where the battle was you know- well,those dead had been lying there for nearly a month, and says thepeasant, 'they lie as white as paper, clean, and not as much smellas a puff of powder smoke.'"

　　"Was it from the cold?" asked someone.

　　"You're a clever fellow! From the cold indeed! Why, it was hot. Ifit had been from the cold, ours would not have rotted either. 'But,'he says, 'go up to ours and they are all rotten and maggoty. So,' hesays, 'we tie our faces up with kerchiefs and turn our heads away aswe drag them off: we can hardly do it. But theirs,' he says, 'arewhite as paper and not so much smell as a whiff of gunpowder.'"

　　All were silent.

　　"It must be from their food," said the sergeant major. "They used togobble the same food as the gentry."

　　No one contradicted him.

　　"That peasant near Mozhaysk where the battle was said the men wereall called up from ten villages around and they carted for twenty daysand still didn't finish carting the dead away. And as for thewolves, he says..."

　　"That was a real battle," said an old soldier. "It's the only oneworth remembering; but since that... it's only been tormenting folk."

　　"And do you know, Daddy, the day before yesterday we ran at themand, my word, they didn't let us get near before they just threwdown their muskets and went on their knees. 'Pardon!' they say. That'sonly one case. They say Platov took 'Poleon himself twice. But hedidn't know the right charm. He catches him and catches him- nogood! He turns into a bird in his hands and flies away. And there's noway of killing him either."

　　"You're a first-class liar, Kiselev, when I come to look at you!"

　　"Liar, indeed! It's the real truth."

　　"If he fell into my hands, when I'd caught him I'd bury him in theground with an aspen stake to fix him down. What a lot of men he'sruined!"

　　"Well, anyhow we're going to end it. He won't come here again,"remarked the old soldier, yawning.

　　The conversation flagged, and the soldiers began settling down tosleep.

　　"Look at the stars. It's wonderful how they shine! You would thinkthe women had spread out their linen," said one of the men, gazingwith admiration at the Milky Way.

　　"That's a sign of a good harvest next year."

　　"We shall want some more wood."

　　"You warm your back and your belly gets frozen. That's queer."

　　"O Lord!"

　　"What are you pushing for? Is the fire only for you? Look how he'ssprawling!"

　　In the silence that ensued, the snoring of those who had fallenasleep could be heard. Others turned over and warmed themselves, nowand again exchanging a few words. From a campfire a hundred pacesoff came a sound of general, merry laughter.

　　"Hark at them roaring there in the Fifth Company!" said one of thesoldiers, and what a lot of them there are!"

　　One of the men got up and went over to the Fifth Company.

　　"They're having such fun," said he, coming back. "Two Frenchies haveturned up. One's quite frozen and the other's an awful swaggerer. He'ssinging songs...."

　　"Oh, I'll go across and have a look...."

　　And several of the men went over to the Fifth Company.