The captain has dismounted and leads. Again and again he signals "Down" with his riding stick to the neighboring detachments and looks through his field glasses. The other officers also inspect the wood's edge, which is now outlined sharply in the purple morning glow.
The patrols become smaller and smaller and vanish behind the first trees.
A minute of waiting and then we go ahead again. Almost at the same moment comes a short, sharp crackling from far ahead of us. The last report sounds like a sort of distant singing in the clear air. Then silence again.
"Forward," our commandant points with the riding stick. The first company spreads itself out. The others follow slowly in closer order. The situation is not yet cleared up. And again we are rooted for a quarter of an hour to the watery, slippery surface. The wet cold of the earth eats quickly into our bodies. A few of the men lie flat on their backs, using their equipment to protect them from the dampness.
II—"THE WOOD IS FULL OF COSSACKS"
But the sun is now up. With slender, blood-red fingers it grips the tops of the fir trees and casts warm, shining rays over the brown, sun-starved land.
The first news comes back. A lance corporal, with a medal for bravery on his breast, falls flat on the ground before the captain.
"I obediently report: Cossacks. The whole wood is full of Cossacks—all of them dismounted."
"Good!"
Our commander breathes freely. Now we know where we are. We shall soon settle accounts with that pack.