Now and then the water splashed over the guns and green ammunition wagons whose wheels rang against the bottom. But the sturdy little horses all pulled together, churning the water, until finally they clambered up on to the opposite bank with dripping manes and tails.

Immediately the crossing was completed, the general’s face suddenly became thoughtful and serious. He turned his horse and trotted off with his cavalry down the broad glade which opened out in the middle of the forest before us; a cordon of Cossacks spread out around the edges.

In the forest we spotted a man on foot dressed in a Circassian coat and a tall sheepskin cap ... then a second ... and a third ... One of the officers said, ‘They’re Tartars’, and at that moment a puff of smoke appeared from behind a tree, followed by the report, then another. Our rapid fire drowned the enemy’s and only occasionally did a bullet come flying past with a sound like the slow buzz of a bee, as if to show us that not all the shots were ours. First the infantry, at the double, followed by the field guns at a trot, joined the cordon. I could hear the guns booming, then the metallic sound of flying grapeshot, the hiss of rockets, the crackle of rifles. All over the broad glade could be seen cavalry, infantry and artillery. Puffs of smoke from the guns, rockets and rifles mingled with the dewy verdure and the mist. Colonel Khasanov galloped over to the general and sharply reined in his horse.

‘Your Excellency,’ he said, touching his cap, ‘shall I order the cavalry to charge? The enemy’s colours are in sight.’ And he pointed with his whip at some mounted Tartars headed by two men on white horses bearing poles decorated with bits of red and blue cloth.

‘Carry on — and good luck!’ the general replied.

The colonel turned his horse on the spot, drew his sabre and shouted, ‘Hurrah!’

‘Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!’ echoed from the troops and the cavalry flew after him.

Everyone watched with great enthusiasm as one colour appeared, then a second, a third, fourth, fifth ...

Without waiting for us to attack, the enemy hid in the forest from where they opened fire with their rifles. The bullets flew thicker.

‘Quel charmant coup d’oeil!’ the general remarked, rising slightly, English-style, in the saddle of his slim-legged black horse.

‘Charrmant,’ replied the major, rolling his r’s and striking his horse as he rode over to the general. ‘C’est un vrrai plaisirr que la guerre dans un aussi beau pays,’ he said.

‘Et surtout en bonne compagnie,’ the general added, pleasantly smiling. The major bowed.

Just then, an enemy cannon ball flew past with a nasty hiss and struck something. Behind us we heard the moan of a wounded soldier. This moan had such a peculiar effect on me that the spectacle immediately lost all its charm. However, I seemed to be the only one to notice it — the major was laughing with great gusto; another officer was repeating with the utmost composure what he had just been saying; and the general was looking the other way and saying something in French with the most tranquil of smiles.

‘Shall we return their fire?’ the artillery commander asked, galloping up.

‘Yes, let’s give them a fright!’ the general replied nonchalantly, lighting a cigar.

The battery took up position and the firing began. The earth groaned under the shots, lights continually flashed and my eyes were blinded by the clouds of smoke through which it was almost impossible to make out the gun crews at work.

The village was bombarded and Colonel Khasanov galloped up once more and then rode off to it at the general’s command. The war cry rang out again and the cavalry disappeared in clouds of dust. It was a truly magnificent scene. But the one thing that spoilt the general impression for me, an inexperienced onlooker, who had not taken part, was all that movement, animation and shouting, which seemed quite superfluous. I could not help comparing it to a man swinging an axe to cut only thin air.

9

Our troops had occupied the village, in which not one of the enemy was left by the time the general arrived with his suite, to which I had attached myself. The long clean huts with their flat earthen roofs and pretty chimneys were scattered over small stony hillocks, through which flowed a stream. On one side were green sunlit gardens with enormous pear and plum trees, while on the other were the strange shadows cast by the tall, erect headstones in the cemetery and the long poles with balls and multicoloured flags fixed to their ends which marked the graves of the dhzigits, the bravest warriors.

The troops were drawn up outside the gates.

A few moments later dragoons, Cossacks and infantrymen poured down the crooked lanes with evident delight and the deserted village immediately sprang to life. Somewhere a roof came crashing down, an axe rang out against a strong wooden door. Somewhere else a haystack, a fence and a hut were set on fire and a thick column of smoke rose into the clear air. A Cossack dragged a sack of flour and a carpet along; a soldier emerged from a hut, gleefully carrying a tin basin and some bits of old cloth. Another, with outstretched arms, was trying to catch two hens that were cackling and beating their wings by a fence. A third soldier, who had found a huge pot of milk, drank some and then threw it down with loud guffaws.

The battalion with which I had left N — fortress was also in the village.