“I know about one,” I said, assuming a military posture; “you need a gunner, here you have him!” “Agreed!” the colonel said, “put on a uniform and be at my place this evening at ten o’clock exactly, do you understand?” Soldiers were being recruited in this manner during the uprising. That day at eleven at night I marched in uniform by the cannons. During the march we trained ourselves in the use of weapons, and I added so much urgency, that after three days I was appointed sergeant and a cannon was placed under my orders. The envious claimed that I had owed my rank to the colonel’s peculiar considerations. After all, I myself was surprised, confused and almost ashamed at such a sudden promotion. My head spun and only after a few hours of astonishment did I start to feel the influence of my new dignity. Involuntarily I adopted a martial and more serious face; having gravely stretched my right hand, I laid it on my property, on the muzzle of the cannon. This large piece of bronze, I thought to myself, will be a pillar in the temple of my fame; will be the first step in my knightly profession, or perhaps even lead me to the throne! A well aimed cannon often settles the fate of a war. And how did Napoleon get his start, if not as a gunner? Full of these dreams I fell in love with my bronze cannon as if with a young girl and from then on I was always beside her. I examined her defects and attributes, I debated character and got to know most precisely her entire composition and nature; physical as moral. She is so well engraved in my memory, that I could paint her portrait from memory. I knew sound of her voice so well that I could have recognised it amongst the roar of the liveliest cannonade, even if it were Leipzig, or Ostrołęka. My beloved cannon! what happened to you? into whose hands did you fall? Certainly nobody will caress you as I did… Only that thought comforts me. She was admittedly a little eight pounder, but to me she was huge, as she was pregnant with my entire future. As well as well settled, simple to manoeuvre and with a strangely accurate shot. A whole day was barely enough for me in fulfilling my duties by the beloved cannon, and at night I didn’t stop thinking about the object of my love. And so, one night I dreamed of battle, and who did I see opposite me? Field Marshall von Diebitsch! At once I take aim—poof! and my cannon ball cuts him in two. I took off, to tear off his head and carry it still warm to our Commander-in-Chief, Prince Radziwiłł; but the corpse of von Diebitsch was so heavily defended, that until I awoke completely into reality, instead of the head of the Muscovite leader, I held the head of the gunner sleeping opposite me. Another night a worse thing happened to me: I dreamed that the Muscovite cavalry fell on us unexpectedly; they killed me in advance, then cut down my gunners, and finally a Muscovite cuirassier mounted my cannon like a horse and started to plug it, looking at me with contemptuous eyes.