“That is making a man salute, without ceremony,” I said, as gaily as I could. That bad joke, in the circumstances, seemed excellent.
“I felicitate you,” responded the captain. “You will get nothing worse, and to-night you will command a company; for well I know that the oven is being heated for me. Every time that I have been wounded the officer nearest me[13] has been touched by a spent ball, and,” he added, in a lower tone, and almost as though ashamed, “their names always commenced with a P.”
I pretended to feel brave; many persons would have done as I did; many persons too would have been as deeply impressed by those prophetic words. Conscript as I was, I realized that I could not confide my sentiments to any one, and that I must always appear coolly intrepid.
After about a half-hour, the Russian fire diminished perceptibly; whereupon we sallied from our cover to march upon the redoubt.
Our regiment was composed of three battalions. The second was ordered to turn the redoubt on the side of the entrance; the two others were to make the assault. I was in the third battalion.
In coming out from behind the species of ridge which had protected us, we were received by several discharges of musketry which did but little damage in our ranks. The whistling of the balls surprised me: often I turned my head, and so drew upon myself divers pleasantries on the part of my comrades who were more familiar with that sound.
“Take it all in all,” I said to myself, “a battle is not such a terrible matter.”
We advanced in double-time, preceded by skirmishers: all at once the Russians gave three hurrahs—three distinct hurrahs—then remained silent, and without firing.
“I don’t like this silence,” said my captain. “It bodes no good for us.”
I thought that our men were a trifle too noisy, and I could not help mentally comparing their tumultuous clamor with the imposing silence of the enemy.