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Sentences for "campfires "
" We collected all the scrap wood from the construction site to use for campfires when we go hiking.
Crowds gathered in festive mood to build campfires on the beach, dance to the blare of radios, photograph by blinding flashlight the turtles’ night-time egg laying, even ride the backs of the giant leatherbacks and poke open their heavy-lidded eyes.
And then, as the bright sun rose, and the smoke from the campfires drifted off down the vales, making such a scene of idyllic beauty, then all the hills and valleys echoed with the sound of revéille calling to action, awakening to new hope and the new day's new opportunities.
A mile or two to our north and west the campfires of the Turks were already glowing.
In a moment the men came running gaily from their campfires and began loading.
The troops of the vanguard were stationed before Wischau, within sight of the enemy's lines, which all day long had yielded ground to us at the least firing.
The Emperor's gratitude was announced to the vanguard, rewards were promised, and the men received a double ration of vodka.
The campfires crackled and the soldiers' songs resounded even more merrily than on the previous night.
Denisov celebrated his promotion to the rank of major, and Rostov, who had already drunk enough, at the end of the feast proposed the Emperor's health.
""Not 'our Sovereign, the Emperor,' as they say at official dinners,"" said he, ""but the health of our Sovereign, that good, enchanting, and great man! Let us drink to his health and to the certain defeat of the French!"" That same night, Rostov was with a platoon on skirmishing duty in front of Bagration's detachment.
His hussars were placed along the line in couples and he himself rode along the line trying to master the sleepiness that kept coming over him.
An enormous space, with our army's campfires dimly glowing in the fog, could be seen behind him; in front of him was misty darkness.
Rostov could see nothing, peer as he would into that foggy distance: now something gleamed gray, now there was something black, now little lights seemed to glimmer where the enemy ought to be, now he fancied it was only something in his own eyes.
His eyes kept closing, and in his fancy appeared-now the Emperor, now Denisov, and now Moscow memories-and he again hurriedly opened his eyes and saw close before him the head and ears of the horse he was riding, and sometimes, when he came within six paces of them, the black figures of hussars, but in the distance was still the same misty darkness.
""Why not?.
.
.
It might easily happen,"" thought Rostov, ""that the Emperor will meet me and give me an order as he would to any other officer; he'll say: 'Go and find out what's there.
' There are many stories of his getting to know ""It's wonderful what a lot of our troops have gathered, lads! Last night I looked at the campfires and there was no end of them.
A regular Moscow!"" From above on the left, bisecting that amphitheater, wound the Smolensk highroad, passing through a village with a white church some five hundred paces in front of the knoll and below it.
This was Borodino.
Below the village the road crossed the river by a bridge and, winding down and up, rose higher and higher to the village of Valuevo visible about four miles away, where Napoleon was then stationed.
Beyond Valuevo the road disappeared into a yellowing forest on the horizon.
Far in the distance in that birch and fir forest to the right of the road, the cross and belfry of the Kolocha Monastery gleamed in the sun.
Here and there over the whole of that blue expanse, to right and left of the forest and the road, smoking campfires could be seen and indefinite masses of troops-ours and the enemy's.
The ground to the right-along the course of the Kolocha and Moskva rivers-was broken and hilly.
Between the hollows the villages of Bezubova and Zakharino showed in the distance.
On the left the ground was more level; there were fields of grain, and the smoking ruins of Semenovsk, which had been burned down, could be seen.
""Ah, ours! And there?.
.
.
"" Pierre pointed to another knoll in the distance with a big tree on it, near a village that lay in a hollow where also some campfires were smoking and something black was visible.
He looked at his watch.
It was still only four o'clock.
He did not feel sleepy.
The punch was finished and there was still nothing to do.
He rose, walked to and fro, put on a warm overcoat and a hat, and went out of the tent.
The night was dark and damp, a scarcely perceptible moisture was descending from above.
Near by, the campfires were dimly burning among the French Guards, and in the distance those of the Russian line shone through the smoke.
The weather was calm, and the rustle and tramp of the French troops already beginning to move to take up their positions were clearly audible.
It was growing light, the sky was clearing, only a single cloud lay in the east.
The abandoned campfires were burning themselves out in the faint morning light.
There was a bridge ahead of him, where other soldiers stood firing.
Pierre rode up to them.
Without being aware of it he had come to the bridge across the Kolocha between Gorki and Borodino, which the French (having occupied Borodino) were attacking in the first phase of the battle.
Pierre saw that there was a bridge in front of him and that soldiers were doing something on both sides of it and in the meadow, among the rows of new-mown hay which he had taken no notice of amid the smoke of the campfires the day before; but despite the incessant firing going on there he had no idea that this was the field of battle.
He did not notice the sound of the bullets whistling from every side, or the projectiles that flew over him, did not see the enemy on the other side of the river, and for a long time did not notice the killed and wounded, though many fell near him.
He looked about him with a smile which did not leave his face.
The French attributed the Fire of Moscow au patriotisme feroce de Rostopchine, * the Russians to the barbarity of the French.
In reality, however, it was not, and could not be, possible to explain the burning of Moscow by making any individual, or any group of people, responsible for it.
Moscow was burned because it found itself in a position in which any town built of wood was bound to burn, quite apart from whether it had, or had not, a hundred and thirty inferior fire engines.
Deserted Moscow had to burn as inevitably as a heap of shavings has to burn on which sparks continually fall for several days.
A town built of wood, where scarcely a day passes without conflagrations when the house owners are in residence and a police force is present, cannot help burning when its inhabitants have left it and it is occupied by soldiers who smoke pipes, make campfires of the Senate chairs in the Senate Square, and cook themselves meals twice a day.
In peacetime it is only necessary to billet troops in the villages of any district and the number of fires in that district immediately increases.
How much then must the probability of fire be increased in an abandoned, wooden town where foreign troops are quartered.
""Le patriotisme feroce de Rostopchine"" and the barbarity of the French were not to blame in the matter.
Moscow was set on fire by the soldiers' pipes, kitchens, and campfires, and by the carelessness of enemy soldiers occupying houses they did not own.
Even if there was any arson (which is very doubtful, for no one had any reason to burn the houses-in any case a troublesome and dangerous thing to do), arson cannot be regarded as the cause, for the same thing would have happened without any incendiarism.
The sun had set long since.
Bright stars shone out here and there in the sky.
A red glow as of a conflagration spread above the horizon from the rising full moon, and that vast red ball swayed strangely in the gray haze.
It grew light.
The evening was ending, but the night had not yet come.
Pierre got up and left his new companions, crossing between the campfires to the other side of the road where he had been told the common soldier prisoners were stationed.
He wanted to talk to them.
On the road he was stopped by a French sentinel who ordered him back.
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