The commander of the 9th Company of Chasseurs, that formed our support, came up to our guns, pointed to three Tartars 11 on horseback skirting the forest some 1,400 yards from us, and, with the fondness for artillery fire common among infantry officers in general, asked me to let off a ball or bomb at them.

“Do you see?” he said with a kind and persuasive smile, as he stretched his hand from behind my shoulder, “in front of those big trees there⁠ ⁠… one on a white horse and in a black Circassian cloak, and two others behind. Do you see? Could you not, please?”

“And there are three more riding at the outskirt of the forest,” said Antonov, who had astonishingly sharp eyesight, coming up to us, and hiding behind his back the pipe he had been smoking. “There, the one in front has taken his gun out of its case. They can be seen distinctly, y’r honor!”