"Hist! the fuse sings like a nightingale," was the remark of the
artillerist.
"Send for Nikita," said the captain with his perpetually benevolent
smile. "Nikita, don't hide yourself, but listen to the mountain
nightingales."
"Well, your honor," [Footnote: VASHE VUISOKOBLAGORODIE. German,
HOCHWOHLGEBORENER, high, well-born; regulation title of officers from
major to general] said Nikita, who was standing near the captain, "I
have seen them--these nightingales. I am not afraid of 'em; but here was
that stranger who was here, he was drinking up your red wine. When he
heard how that shot dashed by our tents, and the shell rolled by, he
cowered down like some wild beast."
"However, we must send to the commander of the artillery," said the
captain to me, in a serious tone of authority, "and ask whether we shall
reply to the fire or not. It will probably be nothing at all, but still
it may. Have the goodness to go and ask him. Have a horse saddled. Do it
as quickly as possible, even if you take my Polkan."
In five minutes they brought me a horse, and I galloped off to the
commander of the artillery. "Look you, return on foot," whispered the
punctilious captain, "else they won't let you through the lines.
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