forgot about my love, the eight-pounder.

Beautiful they were, these Russian cannons, so huge, new, well mounted and stocked with everything.

“Look, sergeant” the gunner Mateusz called out “look at what red, shining cannons these cursed Muscovites5 have!”

I started with a delicate hand to stroke the polished bronze surface, and everyone repeated in chorus: “Oh, but how these muscovite cans do shine!” “and what a calibre” noticed one gunner, “that's the calibre for me!” “that's no peashooter!”

I started measuring the muzzle of the cannon, and the soldiers repeated: “those jaws are no joke!”

Then, when we started examining the harness, then again they called as a choir: “Oh, what sturdy straps those cursed Muscovites have!”

Nobody will guess in the end, what caused us the greatest joy; it was none other than ordinary oats, taken as spoils. Our cavalry didn't have any more fodder, but the Muscovites had it in ample amounts; their wagons, caissons, gun carriages even, were full of oats. Soldiers rushed on them hungrily, filling sacks with them, cartridge cases, pockets, and saying that they had never seen such beautiful oats.

The leader rode up and at the sight of him a shout of enthusiasm and worship thundered. Perhaps he was very tired, because despite a cool day, sweat flowed from him in drops.

We surrounded him in a dense crowd. Amid the general commotion and bursts of joy, he alone was calm and silent, though visibly moved.

“My children,” he said to us, “I promised to lead you to the enemy; you promised to beat him—and so both you and I have kept our words.”

Such was our memorable day at Stoczek. With night falling stories began by the camp's bonfires, there were no listeners, because everyone spoke; everyone bravely acquitted themselves in battle, everyone had jokes—because everyone was happy.

If that blessed hour comes to me, that I can again fight for my country, to see the Muscovite army in panic, to seek out my beloved eight pounder and to hurl cannon balls from it at golden roofs of the Tsarist capital city, then I will call myself happy; but even then I wouldn't be able to feel that, which I experienced in the first battle, in the memorable Battle of Stoczek.