Of soldiers were repeating mentally at each alternate step, Left left left A stout major skirted a bush on the road, puffing and shifting his step. A soldier, who had dropped behind, trotted after the company, looking panic-stricken at his own defection. A cannon ball, whizzing through the air, flew over the heads of Prince Bagration and his suite, and in time to the same rhythm, Left left it fell into the column.
Close the ranks! rang out the jaunty voice of the captain. The soldiers marched in a half circle round something in the place where the ball had fallen, and an old cavalryman, an under officer, lingered behind near the dead, and door bell overtaking his line, changed feet with a hop, got into step, and looked angrily about him. Left left left seemed to echo out of the menacing silence and the monotonous sound of the simultaneous tread of the feet on the ground.
Well done, lads! said Prince Bagration. For your ex slen, slen, slency! rang out along the ranks. A surly-looking soldier, marching on the left, turned his eyes on Bagration as he shouted, with an expression that seemed to say, We know that without telling. Another, opening his mouth wide, shouted without glancing round, and marched on, as though afraid of letting his attention stray. The order was given to halt and take door bell intercom
