This one, a young soldier, his face deadly pale, his shako pushed back, and his musket resting on the ground, still stood near the pit at the spot from which he had fired.
He now saw clearly the figure of a red-haired gunner with his shako knocked awry, pulling one end of a mop while a French soldier tugged at the other.
On that very meadow he had ridden over the day before, a soldier was lying athwart the rows of scented hay, with his head thrown awkwardly back and his shako off.
In front came a man wearing a strange shako and a blue cloak, swarthy, sunburned, and with a hooked nose.
He wore an unfastened cloak, wide breeches hanging down in creases, and a crumpled shako on the back of his head.