THE RUSSIAN TROOPS were crossing Moscow from two o’clock at night to two o’clock in the day, and took with them the last departing inhabitants and wounded soldiers.
The greatest crush took place on the Kamenny bridge, the Moskvoryetsky bridge, and Yauzsky bridge. While the troops, parting in two about the Kremlin, were crowding on to the Moskvoryetsky and Kamenny bridges, an immense number of soldiers availed themselves of the stoppage and the block to turn back, and slipping stealthily and quietly by Vassily the Blessed, and under the Borovitsky gates, they made their way uphill to the Red Square, where some instinct told them they could easily carry off other people’s property. Every passage and alley of the Gostinny bazaar was filled with a crowd, such as throngs there at sales. But there were no ingratiating, alluring voices of shopmen, no hawkers, no motley, female mob of purchasers—everywherewere the uniforms and overcoats of soldiers without guns, going out in silence with loads of booty, and coming in empty-handed. The shopkeepers and shopmen （they were few） were walking about among the soldiers, like men distraught, opening and shutting their shops, and helping their assistants to carry away their wares. There were drummers in the square before the bazaar beating the muster-call. But the roll of the drum made the pillaging soldiers not run up at the call as of old, but, on the contrary, run away from the drum. Among the soldiers in the shops and passages could be seen men in the grey coats, and with the shaven heads of convicts. Two officers, one with a scarf over his uniform, on a thin, dark grey horse, the other on foot, wearing a military overcoat, stood at the corner of Ilyinka, talking. A third officer galloped up to them.
“The general has sent orders that they positively must all be driven out. Why, this is outrageous！ Half the men have run off.”
“Why, are you off too？ … Where are you fellows off to？” … he shouted to three infantry soldiers, who ran by him into the bazaar without guns, holding up the skirts of their overcoats. “Stop, rascals！”
“Yes, you see, how are you going to get hold of them？” answered another officer. “There’s no getting them together; we must push on so that the last may not be gone, that’s the only thing to do！”
“How’s one to push on？ There they have been standing, with a block on the bridge, and they are not moving. Shouldn’t a guard be set to prevent the rest running off？”
“Why, come along！ Drive them out,” shouted the senior officer.
The officer in the scarf dismounted, called up a drummer, and went with him into the arcade. Several soldiers in a group together made a rush away. A shopkeeper, with red bruises on his cheeks about his nose, with an expression on his sleek face of quiet persistence in the pursuit of gain, came hurriedly and briskly up to the officer gesticulating.
“Your honour,” said he, “graciously protect us. We are not close-fisted—any trifle now … we shall be delighted！ Pray, your honour, walk in, I’ll bring out cloth in a moment—a couple of pieces even for a gentleman —we shall be delighted！ For we feel how it is, but this is ****** robbery！ Pray, your honour！ a guard or something should be set, to let us at least shut up …”
Several shopkeepers crowded round the officer.
“Eh！ it’s no use clacking,” said one of them, a thin man, with a stern face; “when one’s head’s off, one doesn’t weep over one’s hair. Let all take what they please！” And with a vigorous sweep of his arm he turned away from the officer.
“It’s all very well for you to talk, Ivan Sidoritch,” the first shopkeeper began angrily. “If you please, your honour.”
“What’s the use of talking！” shouted the thin man; “in my three shops here I have one hundred thousand worth of goods. How’s one to guard them when the army is gone？ Ah, fellows, God’s will is not in men’s hands！”
“If you please, your honour,” said the first shopkeeper, bowing.
The officer stood in uncertainty, and his face betrayed indecision. “Why, what business is it of mine！” he cried suddenly, and he strode on rapidly along the arcade. In one open shop he heard blows and high words, and just as the officer was going into it, a man in a grey coat, with a shaven head, was thrust violently out of the door.
This man doubled himself up and bounded past the shopkeepers and the officer. The officer pounced on the soldiers who were in the shop. But meanwhile fearful screams, coming from an immense crowd, were heard near the Moskvoryetsky bridge, and the officer ran out into the square.
“What is it？ What is it？” he asked, but his comrade had already galloped off in the direction of the screams. The officer mounted his horse and followed him. As he drew near the bridge, he saw two cannons that had been taken off their carriages, the infantry marching over the bridge, a few broken-down carts, and some soldiers with frightened, and some with laughing faces. Near the cannons stood a waggon with a pair of horses harnessed to it. Behind the wheels huddled four greyhounds in collars. A mountain of goods was piled up in the waggon, and on the very top, beside a child’s chair turned legs uppermost, sat a woman, who was uttering shrill and despairing shrieks. The officer was told by his comrades that the screams of the crowd and the woman’s shrieks were due to the fact that General Yermolov had come riding down on the crowd, and learning that the soldiers were straying away in the shops, and crowds of the townspeople were blocking the bridge, had commanded them to take the cannons out of their carriages, and to make as though they would fire them at the bridge. The crowd had made a rush; upsetting waggons, trampling one another, and screaming desperately, the bridge had been cleared, and the troops had moved on.
