At the station...[t]here was an enormous crowd, because fifty-seven volunteers were leaving for Servia....They pushed, and drove, and shouted, and I was looking on, when I stopped short, for all at once there arose the sound of a choir of boys voices, more beautiful and purer than any woman's. They were chanting an anthem, and seemed like an angelic choir. They were the Archbishop's choristers, praying for the volunteers. Every one uncovered his head, and the tuneful voices in so divine a harmony took my breath away; and when they had finished, and I saw everybody clapping their hands and waving their hats and handkerchiefs, with eyes full of enthusiasm and chests heaving with emotion, I could but do likewise, and shout "Hurrah!" like them, and laugh and cry. The shouts lasted several minutes, and did not cease till the choir struck up the Russian hymn, "Boje, zaria chrani." But prayers for the Emperor sounded flat after those for the men who were going to face death in succouring their brothers. << less