French fiction -- Translations into English; Short stories, French -- Translations into English
I laughed skeptically; most people would have done the same; but most
would also have been struck, as I was, by these prophetic words. But,
conscript though I was, I felt that I could trust my thoughts to no
one, and that it was my duty to seem always calm and bold.
At the end of half an hour the Russian fire had sensibly diminished. We
left our cover to advance on the redoubt.
Our regiment was composed of three battalions. The second had to take
the enemy in flank; the two others formed a storming party. I was in
the third.
On issuing from behind the cover, we were received by several volleys,
which did but little harm. The whistling of the balls amazed me. “But
after all,” I thought, “a battle is less terrible than I expected.”
We advanced at a smart run, our musketeers in front.
All at once the Russians uttered three hurrahs--three distinct
hurrahs--and then stood silent, without firing.
“I don’t like that silence,” said the captain. “It bodes no good.”
I began to think our people were too eager. I could not help comparing,
mentally, their shouts and clamor with the striking silence of the
enemy.
We quickly reached the foot of the redoubt. The palisades were broken
and the earthworks shattered by our balls. With a roar of “Vive
l’Empereur,” our soldiers rushed across the ruins.
I raised my eyes. Never shall I forget the sight which met my view.
The smoke had mostly lifted, and remained suspended, like a canopy,
at twenty feet above the redoubt. Through a bluish mist could be
perceived, behind the shattered parapet, the Russian Grenadiers, with
rifles lifted, as motionless as statues. I can see them still--the left
eye of every soldier glaring at us, the right hidden by his lifted gun.
In an embrasure at a few feet distant, a man with a fuse stood by a
cannon.
I shuddered. I believed that my last hour had come.
“Now for the dance to open,” cried the captain. These were the last
words I heard him speak.
There came from the redoubts a roll of drums. I saw the muzzles
lowered. I shut my eyes; I heard a most appalling crash of sound, to
which succeeded groans and cries. Then I looked up, amazed to find
myself still living. The redoubt was once more wrapped in smoke. I
was surrounded by the dead and wounded. The captain was extended at
my feet; a ball had carried off his head, and I was covered with his
blood. Of all the company, only six men, except myself, remained erect.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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