The flag bearer marched about
300 paces off my side. By accident I looked in his direction, saw the
white cloud of smoke of a Russian shell, and where the flag bearer had
been there was nothing more to be seen.
"The enemy meanwhile had taken to flight, and later we saw the Russians
wading through a swamp. Then they got to the River Por and crossed
it--we after them, shooting, wading, out of breath. Of a sudden a
village behind us went up in flames, the light falling on us like the
rays of a huge reflector. Then and there we received a rain of fire, and
saw the enemy had taken possession in good order of the other bank. We
had to fall back, not because we were afraid, but because those were the
orders. The sensation of being in danger of death we did not have.
"Flags and drums are useless things in warfare. What is the use of a
flag which by its bright colors reveals your position, which, as the
brown paint on my sabre shows, it has been intended to conceal? In the
one case even the slightest reflection of light is guarded against,
while in the other a large field of colors undoes all that it has been
wished to accomplish. The drummer, on the other hand, must beat his drum
as he goes to the attack, yet he is expected to run into the enemy
unarmed. He would prefer exchanging his drum for a rifle, so that he
would be able to shoot down a soldier.
"One feels nothing of the presence of the enemy in battle and on the
marches.
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