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"
Smack
at
'
em
,
lads
!
"
he
kept
saying
,
seizing
the
guns
by
the
wheels
and
working
the
screws
himself
.
Amid
the
smoke
,
deafened
by
the
incessant
reports
which
always
made
him
jump
,
Túshin
not
taking
his
pipe
from
his
mouth
ran
from
gun
to
gun
,
now
aiming
,
now
counting
the
charges
,
now
giving
orders
about
replacing
dead
or
wounded
horses
and
harnessing
fresh
ones
,
and
shouting
in
his
feeble
voice
,
so
high
pitched
and
irresolute
.
His
face
grew
more
and
more
animated
.
Only
when
a
man
was
killed
or
wounded
did
he
frown
and
turn
away
from
the
sight
,
shouting
angrily
at
the
men
who
,
as
is
always
the
case
,
hesitated
about
lifting
the
injured
or
dead
.
The
soldiers
,
for
the
most
part
handsome
fellows
and
,
as
is
always
the
case
in
an
artillery
company
,
a
head
and
shoulders
taller
and
twice
as
broad
as
their
officer
--
all
looked
at
their
commander
like
children
in
an
embarrassing
situation
,
and
the
expression
on
his
face
was
invariably
reflected
on
theirs
.
Owing
to
the
terrible
uproar
and
the
necessity
for
concentration
and
activity
,
Túshin
did
not
experience
the
slightest
unpleasant
sense
of
fear
,
and
the
thought
that
he
might
be
killed
or
badly
wounded
never
occurred
to
him
.
On
the
contrary
,
he
became
more
and
more
elated
.
It
seemed
to
him
that
it
was
a
very
long
time
ago
,
almost
a
day
,
since
he
had
first
seen
the
enemy
and
fired
the
first
shot
,
and
that
the
corner
of
the
field
he
stood
on
was
well-known
and
familiar
ground
.
Though
he
thought
of
everything
,
considered
everything
,
and
did
everything
the
best
of
officers
could
do
in
his
position
,
he
was
in
a
state
akin
to
feverish
delirium
or
drunkenness
.
From
the
deafening
sounds
of
his
own
guns
around
him
,
the
whistle
and
thud
of
the
enemy
's
cannon
balls
,
from
the
flushed
and
perspiring
faces
of
the
crew
bustling
round
the
guns
,
from
the
sight
of
the
blood
of
men
and
horses
,
from
the
little
puffs
of
smoke
on
the
enemy
's
side
(
always
followed
by
a
ball
flying
past
and
striking
the
earth
,
a
man
,
a
gun
,
a
horse
)
,
from
the
sight
of
all
these
things
a
fantastic
world
of
his
own
had
taken
possession
of
his
brain
and
at
that
moment
afforded
him
pleasure
.
The
enemy
's
guns
were
in
his
fancy
not
guns
but
pipes
from
which
occasional
puffs
were
blown
by
an
invisible
smoker
.
"
There
...
he
's
puffing
again
,
"
muttered
Túshin
to
himself
,
as
a
small
cloud
rose
from
the
hill
and
was
borne
in
a
streak
to
the
left
by
the
wind
.
"
Now
look
out
for
the
ball
...
we
'll
throw
it
back
.
"
"
What
do
you
want
,
your
honor
?
"
asked
an
artilleryman
,
standing
close
by
,
who
heard
him
muttering
.
"
Nothing
...
only
a
shell
...
"
he
answered
.
