'Then,' he said, 'don't miss him.'
That was what I meant also, and before the Russian had time to reload, I shot him through. Mortally wounded, he did not, however, fall at once, but reeled back, and, glaring at me, fell over the officer's horse at the barrier. The Adjutant-Major gave him a thrust with his sword. Just then I found myself near the Colonel, who was completely worn out and fit for nothing more. He was alone except for his sapper. The Adjutant-Major came up, his sword covered with blood, saying that, to get back to the Colonel, he had been forced to cut his way with the sword, and that he had a bayonet wound in his thigh. As he spoke, the sapper, who was supporting the Colonel, was struck in the chest by a ball. The Colonel instantly said:
'Sapper, you are wounded?'
'Yes, sir,' said the sapper, and, taking the Colonel's hand, he made him feel the hole the ball had made.
'Then go back.'
The sapper replied that he was strong enough to stay and die with him if necessary.
'And, after all,' said the Adjutant-Major, 'where could he go, in the midst of the enemy? We do not know where we are, and I can see that we shall have to wait here, fighting, till daylight.'
We had indeed lost all idea of our locality, blinded by the glare from the fires.
Five minutes after the sapper had been wounded, the Russians, whom we had held blockaded in the farm, seeing that they ran a chance of being burnt alive, offered to surrender. They sent a non-commissioned officer through a perfect storm of balls to make the proposal. The Adjutant-Major therefore sent me with the order to stop firing.
'Stop firing!' said one of our wounded men; 'the others may stop if they please, but as I am wounded, and very likely dying, I shall go on as long as I have cartridges to fire with.'