From Caucasian Memoirs: The Degraded Officer

“We stood in the squad. The matters were already ending—cutting through a clearing, and day by day we awaited orders from headquarters to retreat into the fortress. Our division of artillery pieces stood on the slope of a steep mountain ridge that ended in a swift mountain stream called Mechik, and it was supposed to shell the plain lying ahead. On that picturesque plain, groups of non-hostile highlanders would appear here and there—without a shot, especially before evening—riding out out of curiosity to look at the Russian camp…”