A boyish, round-faced, little officer, quite a child, evidently only just out of the cadets’ school, and very conscientious in looking after the two cannons put in his charge, addressed Pierre severely.

“Permit me to ask you to move out of the way, sir,” he said. “You can’t stay here.”

The soldiers shook their heads disapprovingly as they looked at Pierre. But as the conviction gained ground among them that the man in the white hat was doing no harm, and either sat quietly on the slope of the earthwork, or, making way with a shy and courteous smile for the soldiers to pass, walked about the battery under fire as calmly as though he were strolling on a boulevard, their feeling of suspicious ill-will began to give way to a playful and kindly cordiality akin to the feeling soldiers always have for the dogs, cocks, goats, and other animals who share the fortunes of the regiment. The soldiers soon accepted Pierre in their own minds as one of their little circle, made him one of themselves, and gave him a name: “our gentleman” they called him, and laughed good-humouredly about him among themselves.

A cannon ball tore up the earth a couple of paces from Pierre. Brushing the earth off his clothes, he looked about him with a smile.

“And how is it you’re not afraid, sir, upon my word?” said a broad, red-faced soldier, showing his strong, white teeth in a grin.

“Why, are you afraid then?” asked Pierre.

“Why, to be sure!” answered the soldier. “Why, she has no mercy on you. She smashes into you, and your guts are sent flying. Nobody could help being afraid,” he said laughing.

Several soldiers stood still near Pierre with amused and kindly faces. They seemed not to expect him to talk like any one else, and his doing so delighted them.

“It’s our business—we’re soldiers. But for a gentleman—it’s surprising. It’s queer in a gentleman!”

“To your places!” cried the little officer-boy to the soldiers, who had gathered round Pierre. It was evidently the first, or at most, the second time, this lad had been on duty as an officer, and so he behaved with the utmost punctiliousness and formality both to the soldiers and his superior officer.

The roar of cannon and the rattle of musketry were growing louder all over the field, especially on the left, where Bagration’s earthworks were, but from where Pierre was, hardly anything could be seen for the smoke. Moreover, watching the little fraternal group of men, shut off from all the world on the battery, engrossed all Pierre’s attention. His first unconscious delight in the sights and sounds of the battlefield had given way to another feeling, ever since he had seen the solitary dead soldier lying on the hayfield. Sitting now on the slope of the earthwork, he watched the figures moving about him.

By ten o’clock some twenty men had been carried away from the battery; two cannons had been disabled, and more and more frequently shells fell on the battery, and cannon balls came with a hiss and whir, flying out of the distance. But the men on the battery did not seem to notice this: merry chatter and jokes were to be heard on all sides.

“Not this way, my pretty,” shouted a soldier to a grenade that came whistling towards them.

“Give the infantry a turn!” another added with a chuckle, as the grenade flew across and fell among the ranks of the infantry.

“What, see a friend coming, do you?” another soldier jeered at a peasant, who had ducked low at the sight of a flying cannon ball.

Several soldiers gathered together at the earthwork, looking at what was being done in front.