“Why not, y’r honour?” said Nikita, as he came up and stood by the captain. “I have seen them nightingales and am not afraid of ’em; but there’s that guest who was here a moment ago drinking your wine, he cut his sticks soon enough when he heard ’em; went past our tent like a ball, doubled up like some animal.”
“Well, someone must ride over to the Chief of Artillery,” said the captain to me in a grave and authoritative tone, “to ask whether we are to reply to the shots or not. We can’t hit anything, but we can shoot for all that. Be so good as to go and ask. Order a horse to be saddled, you’ll get there quicker; take Polkan, if you like.”
Five minutes later the horse was brought, and I started to find the Chief of Artillery.
“Mind, the watchword is pole ,” whispered the careful captain, “or you’ll not be allowed to pass the cordon.”
It was barely half a mile to where the Chief of Artillery was stationed. The whole way lay among tents. As soon as I had left the light of our own watch-fires behind, it was so dark that I could not even see my horse’s ears—only the watch-fires, which now seemed very near, now