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incisively than ever; the gunners brought up the cartridges, loaded and fired with passionate celerity and zeal. They no longer walked; they sprang about as if they were moved by springs. The thunder-cloud was close overhead. Every face seemed to flash fire, and Pierre, now standing by the old colonel, felt as if the explosion was at hand; then the young lieutenant came up to the chief and saluted with his hand to the peak of his cap.

"I have the honor to inform you that there are only eight rounds left. Must we go on?"

"Grape-shot!" cried the colonel, instead of answering him; and at that moment the little lieutenant gave a cry, and dropped like a bird shot on the wing.

Everything whirled and swam before Pierre's eyes. A rain of ball was clattering on the breastwork, the men, and the guns. Pierre, who had not thought much about it hitherto, now heard nothing else. On the right some soldiers were running and shouting "Hurrah!"- but backwards surely, not forwards. A ball hit the earthwork close to where he was standing, and made the dust fly; at the same instant a black object seemed to leap up and bury itself in something soft. The militiamen, made the best of their way down the slope again.

"Grape-shot!" repeated the old commander. A sergeant in much agitation ran to him, and told him in terrified undertones. that the ammunition was all spent. He might have been a house-steward telling his master that the wine had run short. "Rascals! what are they about?" cried the officer; he looked round at Pierre, his heated face streaming with perspiration, and his eyes flashing with a fever of excitement. "Run down to the reserve and fetch up a caisson," he added furiously to one of the soldiers.

"I will go," said Pierre.

The officer did not answer, but stepped aside. fire!"

"Wait - don't

The man who had been ordered to fetch up the caisson ran against Pierre.

"It is not your place, master!" he said; and he set off as fast as he could go, down the slope. Pierre ran after him, taking care to avoid the spot where the boy lieutenant was lying. Two, three balls flew over his head, and fell close to him.

"Where am I going?" he suddenly asked himself when he was within a few feet of the ammunition stores. He stopped,

not knowing where to go. At the same instant a tremendous shock flung him face downwards on the ground; a sheet of flame blinded him; and a terrible shriek, ending in an explosion and rattle all round him, completely stunned him. When he presently recovered his senses, he was lying on the ground with his arms spread out. The caisson he had before seen had vanished; in its place the scorched grass was strewn with green boards, half burnt up, and with rags of clothing; one horse, shaking off the remains of his shafts, started away at a gallop; his mate, mortally injured, lay whinnying piteously.

Pierre, half crazy with terror, started to his feet, and ran back to the battery, as being the only place where he could find shelter from all these catastrophes. As he went he was surprised to hear no more firing, and to find the work occupied by a number of new-comers whom he could not recognize. The colonel was leaning over the breast work as though he were looking down at something; and a soldier, struggling in the hands of some others, was shouting for help. He had not had time to understand that the commanding officer was dead, and the soldier a prisoner, when another was killed under his eyes by a bayonet thrust in the back. Indeed, he had scarcely set foot in the redoubt when a man in a dark-blue uniform, with a lean brown face, threw himself on him, sword in hand. Pierre instinctively dodged, and seized his assailant by the neck and shoulder. was a French officer; but he dropped his sword and took Pierre by the collar. They stood for a few seconds face to face, each looking more astonished than the other at what he had just done.

It

"Am I his prisoner or is he mine?" was the question in both their minds.

The Frenchman was inclined to accept the first alternative; for Pierre's powerful hand was tightening its clutch on his throat. He seemed to be trying to speak, when a ball came singing close over their heads, and Pierre almost thought it had carried off his prisoner's—he ducked it with such amazing promptitude. He himself did the same, and let go. The Frenchman, being no longer curious to settle which was the other's prize, fled into the battery; while Pierre made off down the hill, stumbling over the dead and wounded, and fancying in his panic that they clutched at his garments. As he got to the bottom he met a dense mass of Russians, running as if they were flying from the foe, but

all rushing towards the battery. This was the attack of which Yermolow took all the credit; declaring to all who would listen to him that his good star and daring alone could have carried it through. He pretended that he had had his pockets full of crosses of St. George, which he had strewn all over the mamelon. The French, who had captured the redoubt, now in their turn fled, and the Russians pursued them with such desperate determination that it was impossible to stop them.

The prisoners were led away from the spot; among them was a wounded general who was at once surrounded by Russian officers. Hundreds of wounded, French and Russians,— their faces drawn with anguish, were carried off the mamelon, or dragged themselves away. Once more Pierre went up; but those who had been his friends there were gone: he found only a heap of slain, for the most part unknown to him, though he saw the young lieutenant still in the same place by the earthwork, sunk · in a heap in a pool of blood; the ruddy-faced gunner still moved convulsively, but was too far gone to be carried away. Pierre fairly took to his heels. "They must surely leave off now," he thought. "They must be horrified at what they have done." And he mechanically followed in the wake of the procession of litters which were quitting the field of action.

The sun, shrouded in the cloud of smoke, was still high above the horizon. Away to the left, and particularly round Séménovski, a confused mass swayed and struggled in the distance, and the steady roar of cannon and musketry, far from diminishing, swelled louder and louder; it was like the wild despairing effort of a man who collects all his strength for a last furious cry.

The principal scene of action had been over a space of about two versts, lying between Borodino and the advanced works held by Bagration. Beyond this radius the cavalry at Ouvarow had made a short diversion in the middle of the day; and behind Outitza, Poniatowski and Toutchkow had come to blows: but these were relatively trifling episodes. It was on the plain,

between the village and Bagration's intrenchment,-a tract of open ground almost clear of copse or brushwood, that the real engagement was fought, and in the simplest way. The signal to begin was given on each side by the firing of above a hundred cannon. Then as the smoke rolled down in a thick cloud, the divisions under Desaix and Compans attacked Bagration, while the Viceroy's marched on Borodino. It was about a verst from

Bagration's position to Schevardino, where Napoleon had posted himself; and more than two, as the crow flies, from those advanced works to Borodino. Napoleon could not therefore be aware of what was going on there, for the whole valley was shrouded in smoke. Desaix's men were invisible as soon as they got into the hollow, and when they had disappeared they could be seen no more, as the opposite slope was hidden from view. Here and there a black mass, or a few bayonets, might be seen; still, from the redoubt at Schevardino, no one could be certain whether the hostile armies were moving or standing still. The slanting rays of a glorious sun lighted up Napoleon's face, and he screened his eyes with his hand to examine the defenses opposite. Shouts rose now and then above the rattle of musketry, but the smoke thickened and curtained everything from view. He went down from the eminence and walked up and down, stopping now and then to listen to the artillery, and looking at the field of battle; but neither from where he stood, nor from the knoli, where he had left his generals, nor from the intrenchments, which had fallen into the hands of the French and the Russians alternately, could anything that was happening be discovered.

For several hours in succession, now the French came into view and now the Russians,- now the infantry and now the cavalry; they seemed to surge up, to fall, struggle, jostle, and then, not knowing what to do, shouted and ran forwards or backwards. Napoleon's aides-de-camp, orderly officers, and marshals, rode up every few minutes to report progress: but these reports were necessarily fictitious, because, in the turmoil and fire, it was impossible to know exactly how matters stood; and because most of the aides-de-camp were content to repeat what was told them, without going themselves to the scene of action; because, too, during the few minutes that it took them to ride back again, everything changed, and what had been true was then false. Thus, one of the Viceroy's aides-de-camp flew to tell the Emperor that Borodino was taken, that the bridge over the Kolotcha was held by the French, and to ask Napoleon whether troops should be made to cross it or no. Napoleon's commands were to form in line on the other side and wait; but even while he was giving this order, and at the very time when the aidede-camp was leaving Borodino, the bridge had been recaptured and burnt by the Russians in the conflict with which Pierre had

got mixed up at the beginning of the engagement. Another aide-de-camp came riding up, with a scared face, to say that the attack on the advanced works had been repulsed, that Compans was wounded and Davoust killed; while in fact, the intrenchments had been recaptured by fresh troops, and Davoust had only been bruised.

As the outcome of these reports, which were inevitably inaccurate by the mere force of circumstances, - Napoleon made fresh arrangements, which if they had not been anticipated by prompt action on the spot, must have come too late. The marshals and generals in command, who were nearer to the struggle than he was, and who now and then exposed themselves to fire, took steps without waiting to refer to the Emperor, directed the artillery, and brought up the cavalry on this side or the infantry on that. Often, however, their orders were only half executed, or not heeded at all. The ranks that were ordered to advance, flinched and turned tail as soon as they smelt grape-shot; those who ought to have stood firm, fled or rushed on as they saw the foe rise up before them; and the cavalry, again, would bolt off to catch the Russian fugitives. In this way two regiments of cavalry charged across the ravine of Séménovski, dashed up the hill, turned right round and pelted back again, while the infantry performed much the same feat,- allowing itself to be completely carried away. Hence all the decisions necessitated by the events of the moment were taken by those in immediate command, without waiting for orders from Ney, Davoust, or Murat-much less from Napoleon. They did not hesitate indeed to take the responsibility; since during the struggle a man's sole idea is to escape with his life, and in seeking his own safety he rushes forward or back, and acts under the immediate influence of his own personal excitement.

On the whole, after all, these various movements resulting from mere chance neither helped, nor even altered, the attitude of the troops. Their attacks and blows did little harm: it was the round shot and shell flying across the wide plain that brought death and wounds. As soon as the men were out of range of the cannon, their leaders had them in hand, formed them into line, brought them under discipline; and by sheer force of that discipline, led them back into the ring of iron and fire, where they again lost their presence of mind, and fled headlong, dragging one another into the stampede.