Village corner, Novgorod region. Uglovka (Novgorod region)

Novgorod region : Pridorozhnaya | Chudovo | Volkhov Bridge | Suvorovka | n. Ridges | d. Ridges | Big Vishera | Malaya Vishera| Syuyska | Krasnyonka | Burga | Mstinsky Bridge | Torbino | Leshino | Vyalka | Borovenka | Zaozerye | Vasilkovo | Okulovka | Yablonovka | corner| May Day | Selishche | village Selishche| Erzovka |

Tver region : Lykoshino | Conclusion | Alyoshinka | Berezaika | Guzyatino | Bologoe | Bushevets | Bochanovka | | | | | But before he finished these words, Prince Andrei, feeling tears of shame and anger rising to his throat, was already jumping off his horse and running to the banner.
- Guys, go ahead! he shouted childishly.
"Here it is!" thought Prince Andrei, grabbing the staff of the banner and listening with pleasure to the whistle of bullets, obviously directed precisely against him. Several soldiers fell.
- Hooray! - shouted Prince Andrei, barely holding the heavy banner in his hands, and ran forward with undoubted confidence that the whole battalion would run after him.
Indeed, he ran only a few paces alone. One, another soldier set off, and the whole battalion shouted "Hurrah!" ran ahead and overtook him. The non-commissioned officer of the battalion, running up, took the banner that wavered from the weight in the hands of Prince Andrei, but was immediately killed. Prince Andrei again grabbed the banner and, dragging it by the shaft, fled with the battalion. In front of him, he saw our gunners, some of whom were fighting, others were throwing their cannons and running towards him; he also saw French foot soldiers grabbing the artillery horses and turning the cannons. Prince Andrei with the battalion was already 20 paces from the guns. He heard the unceasing whistle of bullets above him, and the soldiers to the right and left of him ceaselessly groaned and fell. But he did not look at them; he peered only at what was happening in front of him - on the battery. He clearly saw already one figure of a red-haired gunner with a shako knocked to one side, pulling a bannik from one side, while a French soldier was pulling a bannik towards him from the other side. Prince Andrei already saw the clearly bewildered and at the same time embittered expression on the faces of these two people, who apparently did not understand what they were doing.
"What are they doing? - thought Prince Andrei, looking at them: - why does not the red-haired artilleryman run when he has no weapons? Why doesn't the Frenchman prick him? Before he has time to run, the Frenchman will remember the gun and stab him.”
Indeed, another Frenchman, with a gun overweight, ran up to the fighters, and the fate of the red-haired gunner, who still did not understand what awaited him, and triumphantly pulled out the banner, was to be decided. But Prince Andrei did not see how it ended. As if from the full swing of a strong stick, one of the nearest soldiers, as it seemed to him, hit him in the head. It hurt a little, and most importantly, unpleasant, because this pain entertained him and prevented him from seeing what he was looking at.
"What is it? I'm falling? my legs give way, ”he thought, and fell on his back. He opened his eyes, hoping to see how the fight between the French and the artillerymen ended, and wishing to know whether the red-haired artilleryman had been killed or not, whether the guns had been taken or saved. But he didn't take anything. Above him there was nothing but the sky—a high sky, not clear, but still immeasurably high, with gray clouds quietly creeping across it. “How quiet, calm and solemn, not at all the way I ran,” thought Prince Andrei, “not the way we ran, shouted and fought; not in the same way as the Frenchman and the artilleryman dragged each other's bannik with angry and frightened faces - not at all like the clouds crawling across this high, endless sky. How could I not have seen this lofty sky before? And how happy I am that I finally got to know him. Yes! everything is empty, everything is a lie, except for this endless sky. Nothing, nothing but him. But even that is not even there, there is nothing but silence, calmness. And thank God!…"

On the right flank at Bagration at 9 o'clock, the matter had not yet begun. Not wanting to agree to Dolgorukov's demand to start a business and wanting to deflect responsibility from himself, Prince Bagration suggested that Dolgorukov send the commander-in-chief to ask about it. Bagration knew that, at a distance of almost 10 miles, separating one flank from the other, if they did not kill the one who was sent (which was very likely), and if he even found the commander-in-chief, which was very difficult, the sent one would not have time to return earlier evenings.
Bagration glanced at his retinue with his large, expressionless, sleepy eyes, and Rostov's childish face, involuntarily dying with excitement and hope, was the first to catch his eye. He sent it.
- And if I meet his majesty before the commander-in-chief, your excellency? - said Rostov, holding his hand to the visor.
“You can pass it on to His Majesty,” said Dolgorukov hastily interrupting Bagration.
Having changed from the chain, Rostov managed to sleep a few hours before morning and felt cheerful, bold, resolute, with that elasticity of movements, confidence in his happiness and in that mood in which everything seems easy, fun and possible.
All his desires were fulfilled this morning; a general battle was given, he participated in it; moreover, he was an orderly under the bravest general; moreover, he went on an assignment to Kutuzov, and perhaps to the sovereign himself. The morning was clear, the horse under it was kind. His heart was full of joy and happiness. Having received the order, he started his horse and galloped along the line. At first he rode along the line of Bagration's troops, who had not yet entered into action and stood motionless; then he drove into the space occupied by Uvarov's cavalry and here he already noticed movements and signs of preparations for the case; having passed Uvarov's cavalry, he already clearly heard the sounds of cannon and cannon fire in front of him. The shooting intensified.
In the fresh, morning air there were already heard, not as before at unequal intervals, two or three shots, and then one or two cannon shots, and along the slopes of the mountains, in front of Pracen, the rifts of rifle fire were heard, interrupted by such frequent shots from guns that sometimes several cannon shots no longer separated from each other, but merged into one common roar.
One could see how the smoke of the guns seemed to be running along the slopes, chasing each other, and how the smoke of the guns swirled, blurred and merged one with the other. One could see, by the gleam of bayonets between the smoke, moving masses of infantry and narrow bands of artillery with green boxes.
Rostov, on a hillock, stopped his horse for a moment to examine what was being done; but no matter how he strained his attention, he could neither understand nor make out anything of what was being done: some people were moving there in the smoke, some canvases of troops were moving in front and behind; but why? who? where? could not be understood. This sight and these sounds not only did not arouse in him any dull or timid feeling, but, on the contrary, gave him energy and determination.