or reasoning or argument. Semyonov appeared and in Molozov's absence
took the lead. He was, of course, entirely unmoved, and as I now
remember, combed his fair beard with a little tortoiseshell pocket
comb as he talked to us. "Yes, we must move in half an hour. Very
sad ... the whole army is retreating. Why, God knows...."

There arose clouds of dust in the yard where we had had our happy
luncheon. The tents had disappeared. The wounded were once more lying
on the jolting carts, looking up through their pain and distress to a
heaven that was hot and grey and indifferent. An old man whom we had
not seen during the whole of our stay suddenly appeared from nowhere
with a long broom and watched us complacently. We had our own private
property to pack. As I pressed my last things into my bag I turned
from my desolate little tent, looked over the fields, the garden, the
house, the barns.... "But it was ours--OURS," I thought passionately.
We had but just now won a desperately-fought battle; across the long
purple misty fields the bodies of those fallen Russians seemed to rise
and reproach us. "We had won that land for you--and now--like this,
you can abandon us!"

At that moment I cursed my lameness that would prevent me from ever
being a soldier. How poor, on that afternoon, it seemed to be unable
to defend with one's own hand those fields, those rivers, those
hills! "Ah but Russia, I will serve you faithfully for this!" was the
prayer at all our hearts that afternoon....

Semyonov had wisely directed our little procession away from the main
road to O---- which was filled now with the carts and wagons of our
Sixty-Fifth Division. We were to spend the night at the small village
of T----, twenty versts distant; then, to-morrow morning, to arrive at
O----.

The carts were waiting in a long line down the road, the soldiers, hot
and dusty, carried bags and sacks and bundles. A wounded man cried
suddenly: "Oh, Oh, Oh," an ugly mongrel terrier who had attached
himself to our Otriad tried to leap up at him, barking, in the air.
There was a scent of hay and dust and flowers, and, very faintly,
behind it all, came the soft gentle rumble of the Austrian cannon.

Nikitin, splendid on his horse, shouted to Semyonov:

"What of Mr.? Hadn't some one better go to meet him?"

"I've arranged that!" Semyonov answered shortly.

It was of course my fate to travel in the ancient black carriage that
was one of the glories of our Otriad, wi