IT was getting dusk on the 8th of November, the last day of the battle of Krasnoe, when the soldiers reached their halting-place for the night. The whole day had been still and frosty, with now and then a few light flakes of snow. Towards evening the sky began to grow clearer. Through the snowflakes could be seen a dark, purplish, starlit sky, and the frost was growing more intense.

A regiment of musketeers, which had left Tarutino three thousand strong, but had now dwindled to nine hundred, was among the first to reach the halting-place, a village on the high road. The quartermasters, on meeting the regiment, reported that all the cottages were full of sick and dead Frenchmen, cavalrymen, and staff-officers. There was only one cottage left for the colonel of the regiment.

The colonel went on to his cottage. The regiment passed through the village, and stacked their guns up at the furthest cottages along the road.

Like a huge, many-legged monster, the regiment set to work preparing its food and lodging for the night. One party of soldiers trudged off, knee-deep in the snow, into the birch copse, on the right of the village, and the ring of axes and cutlasses, the crash of breaking branches, and the sounds of merry voices were immediately heard coming thence. Another group were busily at work all round the regimental baggage-waggons, which were drawn up all together. Some fed the horses, while others got out cooking-pots and biscuits. A third section dispersed about the village, getting the cottages ready for the staff-officers, carrying out the dead bodies of the French lying in the huts, and dragging away boards, dry wood, and straw from the thatch roofs, to furnish fuel for their fires and materials for the shelters they rigged up.

Behind the huts at the end of the village fifteen soldiers were trying with merry shouts to pull down the high wattle wall of a barn from which they had already removed the roof.

“Now then, a strong pull, all together!” shouted the voices; and in the dark the huge, snow-sprinkled boards of the wall began to give. The lower stakes of the wattle cracked more and more often, and at last the wattle wall heaved over, together with the soldiers, who were hanging onto it. A loud shout and the roar of coarse merriment followed.

“Work at it in twos! give us a lever here! that's it. Where are you coming to?”

“Now, all together.… But wait, lads! … With a shout!” …

All were silent, and a low voice of velvety sweetness began singing a song. At the end of the third verse, as the last note died away, twenty voices roared out in chorus, “O-O-O-O-O! It's coming! Pull away! Heave away, lads! …” but in spite of their united efforts the wall hardly moved, and in the silence that followed the men could be heard panting for breath.

“Hi, you there, of the sixth company! You devils, you! Lend us a hand … We'll do you a good turn one day!”

Twenty men of the sixth company, who were passing, joined them, and the wattle wall, thirty-five feet in length, and seven feet in breadth, was dragged along the village street, falling over, and cutting the shoulders of the panting soldiers.

“Go on, do. … Heave away, you there.… What are you stopping for? Eh, there?” …

The merry shouts of unseemly abuse never ceased.

“What are you about?” cried a peremptory voice, as a sergeant ran up to the party. “There are gentry here; the general himself's in the hut here, and you devils, you curs, you! I'll teach you!” shouted the sergeant, and sent a swinging blow at the back of the first soldier he could come across. “Can't you go quietly?”

The soldiers were quiet. The soldier who had received the blow began grumbling, as he rubbed his bleeding face, which had been scratched by his being knocked forward against the wattle.

“Ay, the devil; how he does hit a fellow! Why, he has set all my face bleeding,” he said in a timid whisper, as the sergeant walked away. “And you don't enjoy it, eh?” said a laughing voice; and the soldiers, moderating their voices, moved on. As they got out of the village, they began talking as loudly again, interspersing their talk with the same meaningless oaths.

In the hut by which the soldiers had passed there were assembled the chief officers in command, and an eager conversation was going on over their tea about that day's doings and the man?uvres proposed for the night. The plan was to execute a flank movement to the left, cut off and capture the viceroy.

By the time the soldiers had dragged the fence to its place they found blazing fires, cooking supper on all sides. The firewood was crackling, the snow was melting, and the black shadows of soldiers were flitting to and fro all over the space between trampled down in the snow.

Axes and cutlasses were at work on all sides. Everything was done without a word of command being given. Wood was piled up for a supply of fuel through the night, shanties were being rigged up for the officers, pots were being boiled, and arms and accoutrements set to rights.

The wattle wall was set up in a semicircle to give shelter from the north, propped up by stakes, and before it was built a camp-fire. They beat the tattoo-call, counted over their number, had supper, and settled themselves round the fires—some repairing their foot-gear, some smoking pipes, others stripped naked trying to steam the lice out of their clothes.

十一月八日，这是克拉斯诺耶战役的最后一天，当部队到达宿营地的时候，天已经黑下来了。一整天没有一点风，寒冷；天空中飘着零零散散的雪花，透过飘落的雪花，可以看见淡紫色的、灰暗的星空，寒气更加逼人了。

穆什卡捷尔斯基团队在离开塔鲁丁诺时是三千人，而现在只剩下了九百人，这个团队最先到达指定的宿营地（大路旁边的一个村庄），迎接这个团队的打前站的人说，村里所有的房子都住满了生了病的和死亡了的法国人、骑兵和参谋人员。只还有一间房子可以让团长住。

团长到他的住处去了。团队经过村子，在大路边上的住房旁边架起了枪。

这个团队就像一头巨大的、多脚的动物，他们开始为自己营造窝穴和准备食物了。一部份士兵三五成群地分散开来，他们蹚过没膝深的雪地，走进村子右边的桦树林中，立刻就听到了刀砍斧劈的声音，树枝折断的声音和欢快的说笑的声音；另一部份士兵在团队的大车和马匹集中的地方，取出大锅和面包干，饲喂马匹；第三部分士兵分散到村子里的各个地方，为参谋人员准备住处。他们把停放在所有房子里的法国人的尸体搬运出去，然后，拖来一些木板、干柴和从屋顶上扯下来的禾草，准备生起火堆和做挡风用的篱笆。

大约有十五名士兵在村庄边上的一间房屋后面，快活地喊叫着摇晃一间棚屋的高大的篱笆墙，这间棚屋的屋顶已经被掀掉了。

“喂，喂，加把劲呀，大家一起用力推呀！”齐声喊叫着。那墙上面有雪的高大的篱笆墙来回晃动着，墙上的冰棱发出咔嚓咔嚓的响声。下面的墙桩越来越咔嚓发响，终于那堵高大的篱笆墙连同推它的士兵们一齐倒了下来，爆发出一阵粗犷的、欢快的哈哈大笑声。

“抓住！两个两个地抓住！把棍子拿过来！就这样。你在往哪推？”

“喂，加点油……停一停，伙计们……咱们喊号子吧！”

大家都默不作声，于是一个低沉的像天鹅绒般动听的声音唱了起来，在唱到第三节末尾时，紧接着最后一个音，二十个人的声音一齐喊起来：“哦哦哦哦！来呀！加点油呀！一齐干呀！弟兄们呀！……”，不管怎样一齐使劲，那堵篱笆墙几乎纹丝不动，在稍似停止的静寂中，可以听见人们沉重的喘息声。

“喂，你们六连的！鬼东西，滑头鬼！来帮一把……也有用得着我们的时候。”

进入村庄的二十来个人，全都过来帮忙了：于是那一堵有十多米长，两米多宽的篱笆墙被压弯了，像刀切一般压在呼哧呼哧喘着粗气的士兵们的肩上，沿着村庄里的街道往前移动了。

“走啊，怎么啦……要倒了，咳……怎么停住了？嗯，嗯……”

不停地说一些快活的、各种各样的骂人的脏话。

“你们干什么？”突然一名士兵向他们跑过来，厉声问道。

“大人们都在这儿；将军就在屋里，你们这些魔鬼，狗狼养的。我揍你们！”司务长喊道，他顺手给首先碰到的士兵背上打了一拳。“你不能小声点吗？”

士兵们都不吭声了。那个挨了打的士兵，撞到篱笆上，擦破了脸，满脸都是血。

“瞧，鬼东西，打的好重，弄的满脸都是血。”司务长走后，他怯生生地小声说。

“怎么样，你不喜欢吗？”一个笑着的声音说道；于是，士兵们放低了嗓门，继续往前走。一走到村外，他们就又像先前那样大说大笑，照旧说那些无聊的骂人的话。

士兵们经过一间小屋，屋内聚集了一些高级军官，他们一边喝茶，一边热烈谈当天的事情和明天进行的运动战。打算由左翼行动，切断代理总督（缪拉）并活捉他。

当士兵们把篱笆墙拖到指定地点时，到处都生起了做饭的营火，木柴噼啪作响，雪正在融化。在营地被踏碎的雪地上到处都晃动着士兵们的身影。

四面八方都响起了刀砍斧劈的声音。没有下达任何命令，一切都已准备就绪。拖来了过夜所需的木柴。为军官们架好帐篷，大锅里煮着饭，武器和装备都安置妥当。

八连拖来的篱笆墙朝北面竖立成半圆形，用枪支撑住，墙前生起了火堆。响起了晚点名的鼓声，吃过晚饭，在火堆旁准备过夜——有一些在补鞋袜，有的在吸烟，还有一些脱光了衣服，烘烤衣衫里面的虱子。