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It was Dokhtrov again whom they sent to Formnsk and from there to Mlo-Yaroslvets, the place where the last battle with the French was fought and where the obvious disintegration of the French army began; and we are told of many geniuses and heroes of that period of the campaign, but of Dokhtrov nothing or very little is said and that dubiously. And this silence about Dokhtrov is the clearest testimony to his merit.
It is natural for a man who does not understand the workings of a machine to imagine that a shaving that has fallen into it by chance and is interfering with its action and tossing about in it is its most important part. The man who does not understand the construction of the machine cannot conceive that the small connecting cogwheel which revolves quietly is one of the most essential parts of the machine, and not the shaving which merely harms and hinders the working.
On the tenth of October when Dokhtrov had gone halfway to Formnsk and stopped at the village of Aristvo, preparing faithfully to execute the orders he had received, the whole French army having, in its convulsive movement, reached Murat’s position apparently in order to give battle—suddenly without any reason turned off to the left onto the new Kalga road and began to enter Formnsk, where only Broussier had been till then. At that time Dokhtrov had under his command, besides Drokhov’s detachment, the two small guerrilla detachments of Figner and Seslvin.
On the evening of October 11 Seslvin came to the Aristvo headquarters with a French guardsman he had captured. The prisoner said that the troops that had entered Formnsk that day were the vanguard of the whole army, that Napoleon was there and the whole army had left Moscow four days previously. That same evening a house serf who had come from Brovsk said he had seen an immense army entering the town. Some Cossacks of Dokhtrov’s detachment reported having sighted the French Guards marching along the road to Brovsk. From all these reports it was evident that where they had expected to meet a single division there was now the whole French army marching from Moscow in an unexpected direction—along the Kalga road. Dokhtrov was unwilling to undertake any action, as it was not clear to him now what he ought to do. He had been ordered to attack Formnsk. But only Broussier had been there at that time and now the whole French army was there. Ermlov wished to act on his own judgment, but Dokhtrov insisted that he must have Kutzov’s instructions. So it was decided to send a dispatch to the staff.
For this purpose a capable officer, Bolkhovtinov, was chosen, who was to explain the whole affair by word of mouth, besides delivering a written report. Toward midnight Bolkhovtinov, having received the dispatch and verbal instructions, galloped off to the General Staff accompanied by a Cossack with spare horses.
It was a warm, dark, autumn night. It had been raining for four days. Having changed horses twice and galloped twenty miles in an hour and a half over a sticky, muddy road, Bolkhovtinov reached Litashvka after one o’clock at night. Dismounting at a cottage on whose wattle fence hung a signboard, GENERAL STAFF, and throwing down his reins, he entered a dark passage.
“The general on duty, quick! It’s very important!” said he to someone who had risen and was sniffing in the dark passage.
“He has been very unwell since the evening and this is the third night he has not slept,” said the orderly pleadingly in a whisper. “You should wake the captain first.”
“But this is very important, from General Dokhtrov,” said Bolkhovtinov, entering the open door which he had found by feeling in the dark.
The orderly had gone in before him and began waking somebody.
“Your honor, your honor! A courier.”
“What? What’s that? From whom?” came a sleepy voice.
“From Dokhtrov and from Alexy Petrvich. Napoleon is at Formnsk,” said Bolkhovtinov, unable to see in the dark who was speaking but guessing by the voice that it was not Konovntsyn.
The man who had wakened yawned and stretched himself.
“I don’t like waking him,” he said, fumbling for something. “He is very ill. Perhaps this is only a rumor.”
“Here is the dispatch,” said Bolkhovtinov. “My orders are to give it at once to the general on duty.”
“Wait a moment, I’ll light a candle. You damned rascal, where do you always hide it?” said the voice of the man who was stretching himself, to the orderly. (This was Shcherbnin, Konovntsyn’s adjutant.) “I’ve found it, I’ve found it!” he added.
The orderly was striking a light and Shcherbnin was fumbling for something on the candlestick.
“Oh, the nasty beasts!” said he with disgust.
By the light of the sparks Bolkhovtinov saw Shcherbnin’s youthful face as he held the candle, and the face of another man who was still asleep. This was Konovntsyn.
When the flame of the sulphur splinters kindled by the tinder burned up, first blue and then red, Shcherbnin lit the tallow candle, from the candlestick of which the cockroaches that had been gnawing it were running away, and looked at the messenger. Bolkhovtinov was bespattered all over with mud and had smeared his face by wiping it with his sleeve.
“Who gave the report?” inquired Shcherbnin, taking the envelope.
“The news is reliable,” said Bolkhovtinov. “Prisoners, Cossacks, and the scouts all say the same thing.”
“There’s nothing to be done, we’ll have to wake him,” said Shcherbnin, rising and going up to the man in the nightcap who lay covered by a greatcoat. “Peter Petrvich!” said he. (Konovntsyn did not stir.) “To the General Staff!” he said with a smile, knowing that those words would be sure to arouse him.
And in fact the head in the nightcap was lifted at once. On Konovntsyn’s handsome, resolute face with cheeks flushed by fever, there still remained for an instant a faraway dreamy expression remote from present affairs, but then he suddenly started and his face assumed its habitual calm and firm appearance.
“Well, what is it? From whom?” he asked immediately but without hurry, blinking at the light.
While listening to the officer’s report Konovntsyn broke the seal and read the dispatch. Hardly had he done so before he lowered his legs in their woolen stockings to the earthen floor and began putting on his boots. Then he took off his nightcap, combed his hair over his temples, and donned his cap.
“Did you get here quickly? Let us go to his Highness.”
