"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, with Sister Sofia Antonovna, the Sister with the small red-rimmed eyes of whom I have spoken on an earlier page.

She was a woman who found in every arrangement in life, whether made by God, the Germans, or the General of our Division, much cause for complaint and dismay.