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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of My First Battle by Adam Mickiewicz
+
+
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no
+restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under
+the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or
+online at http://www.gutenberg.org/license
+
+
+
+Title: My First Battle
+
+Author: Adam Mickiewicz
+
+Release Date: March 7, 2009 [Ebook #28277]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+
+***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MY FIRST BATTLE***
+
+
+
+
+
+ Adam Mickiewicz
+
+ MY FIRST BATTLE
+
+ A SERGEANT’S STORY
+
+
+
+
+
+
+They envy Attila, who fought a thousand battles, and in the thousandth
+still felt that, which he called _gaudia certaminum_, that is, the delight
+in the slaughter. Oh, that old general was a lecher of blood. As far as I
+am concerned, holding the rank of light artillery sergeant, I confess,
+that I was truly in love with war, but only during the first week of my
+military career, and that only one single time I tasted Attila’s delight.
+For this reason my honeymoon and first battle will never leave my memory.
+
+The first battle has the most particular similarity to first love. How
+many hopes! how many illusions! before this ceremonial action, which
+resolves the fate of nations, any recruit feels obliged to play at least
+a role… as a hero of history or a romance.
+
+It finally comes to the trial and you stand before it with impatience and
+a certain anxiety, experiencing once mortal terror, then again a crazed
+joy; now fear pierces you, now the pride of the triumphant picks you up..
+In one hour you pass through crowds of emotions, and you collect keepsakes
+for your whole life! but in order to feel it in full force, you must have
+the heart of a virgin, the heart of a recruit.
+
+Someone said that every man can compose a good romance, telling only the
+simple story of his first love. This insight encouraged me to describe the
+first battle, in which I was. You need to know that this battle is only an
+episode of a famous war, that in it we achieved a great victory, and that
+in its time it won us the admiration of the European people. Admittedly,
+these are times long past, because people have well forgotten both about
+our defeats and about our triumphs. In spite of this, the Polish soldier
+will never forget about the Battle of Stoczek.
+
+After the revolution of the 29th of November(1), I decided to join the
+ranks, and I pondered, whether to the infantry, or to the cavalry? To make
+a definite choice, I ran through the streets of Warsaw, eyeing closely the
+uniforms of several regiments. I stopped ahead of a battalion of
+grenadiers, who marched in tight rows, silently, in order and seriously.
+Each moustachiod, with chevrons on his shoulders. These were the remains
+of the Napoleonic legions. As they passed, they were yielded to with the
+utmost respect, and they were whispering in the crowd: “There are my
+soldiers! there are our defenders!” I envy them, I thought, it’s a
+beautiful thing to be a grenadier! And I approached the division, and
+having taken the place beside the drummer, I marched in the grenadiers’
+step, singling out the commander, to whom I immediately wished to offer my
+services.
+
+Suddenly, on the other side of the street, a new military meteor appeared
+to me. He was a Krakus(2) on a white horse, in a white _sukmana_(3), in a
+red cap with a white feather, which cut like a swan through black waves of
+crowding townsfolk. He turned his horse beautifully; he welcomed
+pedestrians with a nod, with cavalrymen squeezed hands, and to beautiful
+ladies, standing in windows, sent grateful kisses. All eyes turned towards
+him; men clapped, women smiled in silence; and the beautiful Krakus became
+the god of the moment.
+
+It came to my mind right away, that a Krakus’ uniform at my age and height
+would suit me better, and so my true calling manifested itself: God had
+made me a Krakus!
+
+So I turned in the direction of the cavalry barracks; but halfway across
+the road I fell into the immeasurable crowd who captured me into itself
+and bore towards the tollbooths. The people pressed to meet the newly
+approaching rows. A stranger figure rode at the front; it was it is an old
+Capuchin in habit and on a horse, in one hand a lance and the other
+blessing people with a cross, who kissed his legs. Behind the Capuchin
+followed a thousand archers from the Augustów forests. They had slung
+double-barrelled guns and badger skin bags with claws and bared teeth,
+whitening on green jackets. Another thousand villagers, armed with crooked
+scythes and axes, brought up the rear of the procession. Never had the
+entrance of the most beautiful regiments, even the entrance of Prince
+Józef at the head of victorious legions, aroused such enthusiasm, as this,
+with which the people of Warsaw greeted badger skin bags and bark clogs.
+Now there wasn’t applause, or smiles, but shouts, thundering hurrah! and
+blessings, mixed with loud crying. Because the people, surprised by their
+own instincts, could seize the noble and beautiful side of the image. At
+the sight of these priests, of these farmers who had left monastic cells
+and their forests, in order to beat the enemies of the homeland, people
+understood the whole horror of danger, and also comprehended with complete
+trust that it was the only means of defense.
+
+I was overcome by a sudden temptation to steal immediately behind the
+scythe or double-barrelled gun and to join the row with the peasants in
+order to share with them the triumphant entry to the capital. But how to
+do it? how to fit myself in with the bold and taunting movements of
+Mazowian scythe-bearers, or the grim expressions and wild shooters from
+the Nieman? How to match them in the height and breadth of their backs?
+amongst these giants I would look like a rabbit among wolves. So what will
+I do with myself? Should I be a Krakus, or a grenadier! This uncertainty
+cost me dearly.
+
+A colonel of my acquaintance met me in passing, and patting me on the
+shoulder, said: “I am in command of a guerrilla unit; some of my people
+have already left for the field, I myself am setting off today from
+Warsaw, I need gunners; perhaps you know where I can find them?”
+
+“I know about one,” I said, assuming a military posture; “you need a
+gunner, here you have him!”
+
+“Agreed!” the colonel said, “put on a uniform and be at my place this
+evening at ten o’clock exactly, do you understand?”
+
+Soldiers were being recruited in this manner during the uprising. That day
+at eleven at night I marched in uniform by the cannons. During the march
+we trained ourselves in the use of weapons, and I added so much urgency,
+that after three days I was appointed sergeant and a cannon was placed
+under my orders. The envious claimed that I had owed my rank to the
+colonel’s peculiar considerations.
+
+After all, I myself was surprised, confused and almost ashamed at such a
+sudden promotion. My head spun and only after a few hours of astonishment
+did I start to feel the influence of my new dignity. Involuntarily I
+adopted a martial and more serious face; having gravely stretched my right
+hand, I laid it on my property, on the muzzle of the cannon. This large
+piece of bronze, I thought to myself, will be a pillar in the temple of my
+fame; will be the first step in my knightly profession, or perhaps even
+lead me to the throne! A well aimed cannon often settles the fate of a
+war. And how did Napoleon get his start, if not as a gunner? Full of these
+dreams I fell in love with my bronze cannon as if with a young girl and
+from then on I was always beside her. I examined her defects and
+attributes, I debated character and got to know most precisely her entire
+composition and nature; physical as moral. She is so well engraved in my
+memory, that I could paint her portrait from memory. I knew sound of her
+voice so well that I could have recognised it amongst the roar of the
+liveliest cannonade, even if it were Leipzig, or Ostrołęka. My beloved
+cannon! what happened to you? into whose hands did you fall? Certainly
+nobody will caress you as I did… Only that thought comforts me. She was
+admittedly a little eight pounder, but to me she was huge, as she was
+pregnant with my entire future. As well as well settled, simple to
+manoeuvre and with a strangely accurate shot. A whole day was barely
+enough for me in fulfilling my duties by the beloved cannon, and at night
+I didn’t stop thinking about the object of my love. And so, one night I
+dreamed of battle, and who did I see opposite me? Field Marshall von
+Diebitsch! At once I take aim—poof! and my cannon ball cuts him in two. I
+took off, to tear off his head and carry it still warm to our
+Commander-in-Chief, Prince Radziwiłł; but the corpse of von Diebitsch was
+so heavily defended, that until I awoke completely into reality, instead
+of the head of the Muscovite leader, I held the head of the gunner
+sleeping opposite me. Another night a worse thing happened to me: I
+dreamed that the Muscovite cavalry fell on us unexpectedly; they killed me
+in advance, then cut down my gunners, and finally a Muscovite cuirassier
+mounted my cannon like a horse and started to plug it, looking at me with
+contemptuous eyes. Then I felt all the torments of the husband of Lucretia
+and the torments of the father of Virginia. Although I was already a cold
+and stiff corpse, nevertheless I gathered all my strength to give some
+sign of life and adjusting to myself, I managed at last to scream so
+strongly, that I both woke myself and alarmed the entire camp. Having
+jumped to my feet, and just as day was beginning to break, my eyes seek my
+cannon and I see with no little joy, that she’s there, that she sits free
+and calm on her carriage.
+
+Her open jaws seemed to draw the coolness of the morning, and the gleaming
+surface reflected the first rays of sunshine. I lay down again on the wet
+ground, but this time as a precaution I held on to a spoke.
+
+So passed a whole week, my first week after marrying the beautiful eight
+pounder: the honeymoon of an artillery sergeant, the happiest week of my
+life! I kept busy every moment, in the belief that I had already achieved
+the purpose of my existence in world; my soul went completely into the
+beloved cannon.
+
+Meanwhile we drew closer and closer to the banks of the Vistula; ice was
+already giving way in many places and here and there you could see water
+appearing. Our colonel, with a long pole in his hand, was first to go
+through the ice, wading in the water up to his knees, then he ordered us
+to follow him. Follow him with our cannons over such weak ice? At this
+order I went pale as death, because our entire military future could
+drown. In the end we passed happily and we stopped on the opposite bank
+with the shout: Long live Poland!
+
+That same evening saw the joining of the corps, with the front sent from
+Warsaw. They awaited us impatiently; because young soldiers have an
+elevated opinion of the power of artillery, and it worried them very much
+that on the eve of the expected battle they had no cannons. Having heard
+the rattle of cannon wheels, the whole camp lost possession of itself in
+joy: “our artillery approaches! Long live the artillery!” they called from
+all sides and ran to meet us, and placed us in the centre of the camp.
+
+We also enthusiastically greeted our comrades. Until then marching in
+loneliness, now we were in a crowd of brave soldiers, whose number gave
+itself significance to the eye. That raised our confidence. Only
+altogether there weren’t more than twelve squadrons, filling a wide area.
+Proudly we looked at a forest of stuck lances, on which new flags sparkled
+with colours, still not knowing blood or dust. After a cheerful and grand
+supper we lay down to sleep, swung with the sound of military music and
+the singing of the mazurka.
+
+At dawn, when our corps entered the village, mixed shouts reached us. We
+pulled in; they sent for reconnaissance and it turned out that these were
+shouts of victory! The first triumph! You should have seen, how pleased we
+were with them. These Cossacks, bearded, disarmed, walked with heads
+lowered and with sour expressions. As they went by us, our young soldiers
+jeered at them, cursed or threatened. And I had a desire to do the same,
+but the duty attached to the rank didn’t permit it, so severely
+reprimanding them, I said: “Poles! respect misfortune! The fate of war is
+often doubtful! Death to our enemies! Mercy to the conquered! Long live
+Poland!”
+
+The soldiers calmed down, taken aback by the nobility of my emotions and
+sententious eloquence. For some time my attention turned to one old
+gunner, riding beside me, who constantly climbed in his stirrups, lifted
+his head, neck craned over the shoulders of his comrades.
+
+“What are you looking at, Mateusz?”
+
+“At those beasts, sergeant, may the hangman take them”… and pointed his
+finger at hills, which were ahead of us. I saw then, how something was
+blackening the hilltop. Where they bushes, or the caps of the Muscovite
+infantry? I didn’t have time to look longer, because the officers came
+running, calling with all their might: “Forward artillery! stand in
+position!” We moved, every horse jumping. A cannon shot and the ball,
+having killed one of our horses, rained earth on us and flew onwards,
+ricocheting. We occupied the hill, directly opposite the enemy, who
+doubled fire.
+
+A wide plain, surrounded by bushes and forest, stretched before us. In the
+centre of it, on the hill, rolled a Muscovite battery of twelve heavy
+gauge cannons who powdered us with cannon balls and grenades. Behind the
+battery you could see thick ranks of cavalry, standing motionless. Our
+cavalry similarly stood calmly, leaving time for the operations of the
+artillery.
+
+I noticed that soldiers of different weapons throughout the battle
+preserved the stance and the facial expression characteristic of
+themselves. And as the artilleryman has neither the cavalry’s
+extravagance, nor the infantry’s impatience, but attentive to command,
+fast and accurate amid all the commotion, appearing calm, though his eyes
+burned with the smoke, bloodshot, eyebrows furrowed, face pale, mouth
+clenched, speech short and hard, expressing fierce, suppressed and
+concentrated fury.
+
+In the middle of this fire, even though death swept past their heads, they
+didn’t stop making jokes; every time each cannon ball ricocheted, the
+young soldiers made a point of talking to it, and to give it advice. A
+ricocheting cannon ball can be seen from afar, as it jumps across the
+field, so if it was going to one side, to the left, they were calling to
+it: “Where are you going, blind man! get to the right!” and if it was
+going straight, they encouraged it: “good, good!” and so they spoke to it
+until it fell right in the middle of the enemy line and then they were
+applauding it.
+
+I don’t know now, how many hours that cannonade lasted. Although we passed
+each other feverishly beside the cannon, in the same way this play lasted
+too long, to not wish for nightfall. The Russian artillery had an obvious
+advantage over us, both in numbers, and in cannon gauge. They had already
+hit a few of our people, many were wounded, but everyone, although
+extremely tired, equally didn’t sink in spirits and nobody even thought
+about retreat.
+
+Suddenly from the left cannons roared horribly. The Muscovites had placed
+a new battery right there, which fired at us from the side. We turned two
+of our cannons against this new threat, with whom we needed to chat; but
+our position was becoming more and more unpleasant, because six field
+cannons to answer twenty heavy gauge cannons is no small matter! Our
+soldiers, at the sight of this imbalance of power, seemed to be stirred.
+Now their movements weakened, now our shots happened less frequently, and
+what’s more the anecdotes and jokes ceased completely.
+
+It seems that our commander was waiting until the Muscovites separated
+their forces, in order to profit from that moment and strike them; I
+suppose, although they aren’t tempting themselves to debate the battle
+plan. I only know that at the most critical moment we heard from the left
+a horse’s hoofbeat, rushing at a gallop and a few minutes later that
+second battery went silent, when it was conquered.
+
+Our commander turned around and dashed to the main strength of our troops,
+calling: “Forward at a trot! everyone forward!” And our entire cavalry,
+drawn up in two rows, moved out, passing our battery. “They’re going to
+charge!” cried our gunners and at once we ceased firing. How did it look?
+The young lancers with eager gaze, fevered face, burst impatiently
+forward, but advised or unadvised they still needed to obey the strict
+orders of the commander, who still repeated: “Trot! forward! trot!” You
+could see from the movement of the flags, how feverishly the soldiers’
+hands were twitching. In the end the trumpets sounded, flags descended and
+now they kicked themselves off towards the enemy. “Forward! Gallop!
+everyone forward!”
+
+They took off—we stayed by our cannons, doing nothing, and even thinking
+nothing. The artillery recently so busy and noisy, now seemed to be
+petrified. Our souls flew far and rested on the tips of the lances. Now
+the Muscovites are close! Already the Muscovite ranks are deploying, in
+order to receive them. The gunners climbed on the gun carriages, on the
+ammunition carts and stare into space, looking ahead with gaping mouths;
+it was so quiet that you could hear the flight of a fly. Each of us felt,
+that on this clash hung our fate, the fate of our army, perhaps even our
+homeland! It was a moment of expectation and terrible uncertainty, luckily
+lasting only a few minutes. Our cavalry clashed with the Muscovites on the
+high ground, both lines clashed with each other and mixed.
+
+In the whole of this mass it boiled and the whole mass disappeared, like a
+dust cloud driven by the wind.
+
+I don’t know who, but someone among us shouted at the top of his
+lungs—that shout broke the deathly silence, because he proclaimed victory,
+however nobody accompanied him. Because we, young soldiers, still we
+weren’t understanding, nor guessing the outcome of this battle, but
+besides that we feared to yield to premature joy. “Wait!” someone or other
+said—“as yet there’s nothing certain; nothing to be seen, everyone seems
+to have disappeared!”
+
+Finally, the part of the mass that we could see, as it vanished from our
+sight, started to come towards us. By their colours we recognised our
+lancers and by the war cry: Poland Is Not Yet Lost.(4)
+
+Now there’s no doubt, victory is ours! The approaching mass presented a
+peculiar spectacle. In it you could see a lot of foot soldiers with
+diverse weapons, in addition wagons, ammunition carts, artillery pieces…
+There were Muscovite prisoners, captured with the artillery and the whole
+encampment.
+
+I wouldn’t be able to describe our joy, this frantic joy! How can it be!
+their whole artillery! this mighty artillery in our hands. We rushed
+headlong upon these cans, pressing them, caressing them, and I myself for
+a moment forgot about my love, the eight-pounder.
+
+Beautiful they were, these Russian cannons, so huge, new, well mounted and
+stocked with everything.
+
+“Look, sergeant” the gunner Mateusz called out “look at what red, shining
+cannons these cursed Muscovites(5) have!”
+
+I started with a delicate hand to stroke the polished bronze surface, and
+everyone repeated in chorus: “Oh, but how these muscovite cans do shine!”
+“and what a calibre” noticed one gunner, “that’s the calibre for me!”
+“that’s no peashooter!”
+
+I started measuring the muzzle of the cannon, and the soldiers repeated:
+“those jaws are no joke!”
+
+Then, when we started examining the harness, then again they called as a
+choir: “Oh, what sturdy straps those cursed Muscovites have!”
+
+Nobody will guess in the end, what caused us the greatest joy; it was none
+other than ordinary oats, taken as spoils. Our cavalry didn’t have any
+more fodder, but the Muscovites had it in ample amounts; their wagons,
+caissons, gun carriages even, were full of oats. Soldiers rushed on them
+hungrily, filling sacks with them, cartridge cases, pockets, and saying
+that they had never seen such beautiful oats.
+
+The leader rode up and at the sight of him a shout of enthusiasm and
+worship thundered. Perhaps he was very tired, because despite a cool day,
+sweat flowed from him in drops.
+
+We surrounded him in a dense crowd. Amid the general commotion and bursts
+of joy, he alone was calm and silent, though visibly moved.
+
+“My children,” he said to us, “I promised to lead you to the enemy; you
+promised to beat him—and so both you and I have kept our words.”
+
+Such was our memorable day at Stoczek. With night falling stories began by
+the camp’s bonfires, there were no listeners, because everyone spoke;
+everyone bravely acquitted themselves in battle, everyone had
+jokes—because everyone was happy.
+
+If that blessed hour comes to me, that I can again fight for my country,
+to see the Muscovite army in panic, to seek out my beloved eight pounder
+and to hurl cannon balls from it at golden roofs of the Tsarist capital
+city, then I will call myself happy; but even then I wouldn’t be able to
+feel that, which I experienced in the first battle, in the memorable
+Battle of Stoczek.
+
+
+
+
+
+ 1 1831.
+
+ 2 A soldier of the Cracovian cavalary. “Krakus” is an alternative name
+ of _Krak_, the legendary founder of Cracow, and is used to refer to
+ an inhabitant of the city.
+
+ 3 A type of tunic, of Turkish influence, typical of Cracow.
+
+ 4 The first line of “Dąbrowski’s Mazurka”, now the National Anthem of
+ Poland.
+
+ 5 Untranslatable: Mateusz here uses the non-human form, echoing his
+ earlier use of “beasts”
+
+
+
+
+
+
+***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MY FIRST BATTLE***
+
+
+
+CREDITS
+
+
+March 7, 2009
+
+ Project Gutenberg TEI edition 1
+ Translated by Jimmy O’Regan (With thanks to Mariusz Florczak,
+ Sebastian & Ania Mikulicz, Tomasz Mikulicz, and Joe O’Regan,
+ Sr., for their assistance).
+
+
+
+A WORD FROM PROJECT GUTENBERG
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