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Soldiers floundering knee-deep in mud pushed the guns and wagons

themselves. Whips cracked, hoofs slipped, traces broke, and lungs

were strained with shouting. The officers directing the march

rode backward and forward between the carts. Their voices were

but feebly heard amid the uproar and one saw by their faces that

they despaired of the possibility of checking this disorder.

"Here is our dear Orthodox Russian army," thought Bolkonski,

recalling Bilibin's words.