Every time these veterans gave fire, five or six Cossacks came on like
the wind, with their lances lowered; but it did not frighten them: they
leaned against a tree and levelled their bayonets. Other veterans came
up, and then some loaded, while others parried the blows. Scarcely had
they torn open their cartridges when the Cossacks fled right and left,
their lances in the air. Some of them turned for a moment and fired
their large pistols behind like regular bandits. At length our men
began to march toward the city.
Those old soldiers, with their great shakos set square on their heads,
their large capes hanging to the back of their calves, their sabres and
cartridge-boxes on their backs, calm in the midst of these savages,
reloading, trimming, and parrying as quietly as if they were smoking
their pipes in the guard-house, were something to be admired. At last,
after seeing them come out of the whirlwind two or three times, it
seemed almost an easy thing to do.
Our sergeant commanded them. I understood then why he was such a
favorite with the officers, and why they always took his part against
the citizens: there were not many such. I wanted to call out, "Make
haste, sergeant; let us make haste!" but neither he nor his men hurried
in the least.
As they reached the foot of the glacis, suddenly a large mass of
Cossacks, seeing that they were escaping, galloped up in two files, to
cut off their retreat. It was a dangerous moment, and they formed in a
square instantly.
I felt my back turn cold, as if I had been one of them.
Our sharpshooters behind the ammunition wagons did not fire, doubtless
for fear of hitting their comrades; our gunners on the bastion leaned
down to see, and the file of Cossacks stretched to the corner near the
drawbridge.
There were seven or eight hundred of them. We heard them cry, "Hurra!
hurra! hurra!" like crows. Several officers in green cloaks and small
caps galloped at the sides of their lines, with raised sabres. I
thought our poor sergeant and his thirty men were lost; I thought
already, "How sorry little Sâfel and Sorlé will be!"
But then, as the Cossacks formed in a half-circle at the left of the
outworks, I heard our gun-captain call out, "Fire!"
I turned my head; old Goulden struck the match, the fusee glittered,
and at the same instant the bastion with its great baskets of clay
shook to the very rocks of the rampart.
I looked toward the road; nothing was to be seen but men and horses on
the ground.
Just then came a second shot, and I can truly say that I saw the
grape-shot pass like the stroke of a scythe into that mass of cavalry;
it all tumbled and fell; those who a second before were living beings
were now nothing. We saw some try to raise themselves, the rest made
their escape.
The firing by file began again, and our gunners, without waiting for
the smoke to clear away, reloaded so quickly that the two discharges
seemed to come at once.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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