"You are wounded!"

"A mere trifle."

The hour of doom had come. The Russian cannon announced the day. The
Russians were in possession of Studzianka, and thence were raking the
plain with grapeshot; and by the first dim light of the dawn the major
saw two columns moving and forming above the heights. Then a cry of
horror went up from the crowd, and in a moment every one sprang to his
feet. Each instinctively felt his danger, and all made a rush for the
bridge, surging towards it like a wave.

Then the Russians came down upon them, swift as a conflagration. Men,
women, children, and horses all crowded towards the river. Luckily for
the major and the Countess, they were still at some distance from the
bank. General Eble had just set fire to the bridge on the other side;
but in spite of all the warnings given to those who rushed towards the
chance of salvation, not one among them could or would draw back. The
overladen bridge gave way, and not only so, the impetus of the frantic
living wave towards that fatal bank was such that a dense crowd of
human beings was thrust into the water as if by an avalanche. The
sound of a single human cry could not be distinguished; there was a
dull crash as if an enormous stone had fallen into the water--and the
Beresina was covered with corpses.

The violent recoil of those in front, striving to escape this death,
brought them into hideous collision with those behind then, who were
pressing towards the bank, and many were suffocated and crushed. The
Comte and Comtesse de Vandieres owed their lives to the carriage. The
horses that had trampled and crushed so many dying men were crushed