“Well, you are going to see some sharp work for your début.”
I smiled with an altogether martial air as I brushed my coat sleeve, on which a shot that struck the ground thirty yards away had spattered a little dust.
It seems that the Russians observed the ill success of their cannon-balls; for they replaced them with shells, which could more easily be made to reach us in the hollow where we were posted. A large piece of one took off my shako and killed a man near me.
“I congratulate you,” said my captain, as I picked up my shako; “you’re safe now for to-day.”
I was acquainted with the military superstition which believes that the axiom, Non bis in idem, has the same application on a field of battle as in a court of justice. I proudly replaced my shako on my head.
“That is making a fellow salute rather unceremoniously,” I said as gaily as I could. That wretched joke was considered first-rate, in view of the circumstances.
“I congratulate you,” continued the captain; “you will get nothing worse, and you will command a company this evening; for I feel that the oven is being heated for me. Every time that I have been wounded the officer nearest me has been hit by a spent ball; and,” he added in a low tone and almost as if he were ashamed, “their names always began with a P.”
I feigned incredulity; many men would have done the same; many men too would have been, as I was, profoundly impressed by those prophetic words. Conscript as I was, I realised that I could not confide my sensations to any one, and that I must always appear cool and fearless.
After about half an hour the Russian fire sensibly diminished; thereupon we left our sheltered position to march upon the redoubt.
Our regiment consisted of three battalions. The second was ordered to turn the redoubt on the side of the entrance; the other two were to make the assault. I was in the third battalion.