Strona 860 z 3800

The Horse Guards were galloping, but still holding in their

horses. Rostov could already see their faces and heard the

command: "Charge!" shouted by an officer who was urging his

thoroughbred to full speed. Rostov, fearing to be crushed or

swept into the attack on the French, galloped along the front as

hard as his horse could go, but still was not in time to avoid

them.

The last of the Horse Guards, a huge pockmarked fellow, frowned

angrily on seeing Rostov before him, with whom he would

inevitably collide. This Guardsman would certainly have bowled

Rostov and his Bedouin over (Rostov felt himself quite tiny and

weak compared to these gigantic men and horses) had it not

occurred to Rostov to flourish his whip before the eyes of the

Guardsman's horse. The heavy black horse, sixteen hands high,

shied, throwing back its ears; but the pockmarked Guardsman drove

his huge spurs in violently, and the horse, flourishing its tail

and extending its neck, galloped on yet faster. Hardly had the

Horse Guards passed Rostov before he heard them shout, "Hurrah!"

and looking back saw that their foremost ranks were mixed up with

some foreign cavalry with red epaulets, probably French. He could

see nothing more, for immediately afterwards cannon began firing

from somewhere and smoke enveloped everything.