The Daughter of the Commandant Part 17

"Who goes there?"

Not knowing the pa.s.s-word, I wanted to pa.s.s them without reply, but in the same moment they surrounded me, and one of them seized my horse by the bridle. I drew my sword, and struck the peasant on the head. His high cap saved his life; still, he staggered, and let go the bridle. The others were frightened, and jumped aside. Taking advantage of their scare, I put spurs to my horse, and dashed off at full gallop.

The fast increasing darkness of the night might have saved me from any more difficulties, when, looking back, I discovered that Saveliitch was no longer with me. The poor old man with his lame horse had not been able to shake off the robbers. What was I to do?

After waiting a few minutes and becoming certain he had been stopped, I turned my horse's head to go to his help. As I approached the ravine I heard from afar confused shouts, and the voice of my Saveliitch.

Quickening my pace, I soon came up with the peasants of the advance guard who had stopped me a few minutes previously. They had surrounded Saveliitch, and had obliged the poor old man to get off his horse, and were making ready to bind him.

The sight of me filled them with joy. They rushed upon me with shouts, and in a moment I was off my horse. One of them, who appeared to be the leader, told me they were going to take me before the Tzar.

"And our father," added he, "will decide whether you are to be hung at once or if we are to wait for G.o.d's suns.h.i.+ne!"

I offered no resistance. Saveliitch followed my example, and the sentries led us away in triumph.

We crossed the ravine to enter the settlement. All the peasants' houses were lit up. All around arose shouts and noise. I met a crowd of people in the street, but no one paid any attention to us, or recognized in me an officer of Orenburg. We were taken to a "_izba_," built in the angle of two streets. Near the door were several barrels of wine and two cannons.

"Here is the palace!" said one of the peasants; "we will go and announce you."

He entered the "_izba_." I glanced at Saveliitch; the old man was making the sign of the cross, and muttering prayers. We waited a long time. At last the peasant reappeared, and said to me--

"Come, our father has given orders that the officer be brought in."

I entered the "_izba_," or the palace, as the peasant called it. It was lighted by two tallow candles, and the walls were hung with gold paper.

All the rest of the furniture, the benches, the table, the little washstand jug hung to a cord, the towel on a nail, the oven fork standing up in a corner, the wooden shelf laden with earthen pots, all was just as in any other "_izba_. Pugatchef sat beneath the holy pictures in a red caftan and high cap, his hand on his thigh. Around him stood several of his princ.i.p.al chiefs, with a forced expression of submission and respect. It was easy to see that the news of the arrival of an officer from Orenburg had aroused a great curiosity among the rebels, and that they were prepared to receive me in pomp. Pugatchef recognized me at the first glance. His feigned gravity disappeared at once.

"Ah! it is your lords.h.i.+p," said he, with liveliness. "How are you? What in heaven's name brings you here?"

I replied that I had started on a journey on my own business, and that his people had stopped me.

"And on what business?" asked he.

I knew not what to say. Pugatchef, thinking I did not want to explain myself before witnesses, made a sign to his comrades to go away. All obeyed except two, who did not offer to stir.

"Speak boldly before these," said Pugatchef; "hide nothing from them."

I threw a side glance upon these two confederates of the usurper. One of them, a little old man, meagre and bent, with a scanty grey beard, had nothing remarkable about him, except a broad blue ribbon worn cross-ways over his caftan of thick grey cloth. But I shall never forget his companion. He was tall, powerfully built, and appeared to be about forty-five. A thick red beard, piercing grey eyes, a nose without nostrils, and marks of the hot iron on his forehead and on his cheeks, gave to his broad face, seamed with small-pox, a strange and indefinable expression. He wore a red s.h.i.+rt, a Kirghiz dress, and wide Cossack trousers. The first, as I afterwards learnt, was the deserter, Corporal Beloborodoff. The other, Athanasius Sokoloff, nicknamed Khlopusha,[63]

was a criminal condemned to the mines of Siberia, whence he had escaped three times. In spite of the feelings which then agitated me, this company wherein I was thus unexpectedly thrown greatly impressed me. But Pugatchef soon recalled me to myself by his question.

"Speak! On what business did you leave Orenburg?"

A strange idea occurred to me. It seemed to me that Providence, in bringing me a second time before Pugatchef, opened to me a way of executing my project. I resolved to seize the opportunity, and, without considering any longer what course I should pursue, I replied to Pugatchef--

"I was going to Fort Belogorsk, to deliver there an orphan who is being oppressed."

Pugatchef's eyes flashed.

"Who among my people would dare to harm an orphan?" cried he. "Were he ever so brazen-faced, he should never escape my vengeance! Speak, who is the guilty one?"

"Chvabrine," replied I; "he keeps in durance the same young girl whom you saw with the priest's wife, and he wants to force her to become his wife."

"I'll give him a lesson, Master Chvabrine!" cried Pugatchef, with a fierce air. "He shall learn what it is to do as he pleases under me, and to oppress my people. I'll hang him."

"Bid me speak a word," broke in Khlopusha, in a hoa.r.s.e voice. "You were too hasty in giving Chvabrine command of the fort, and now you are too hasty in hanging him. You have already offended the Cossacks by giving them a gentleman as leader--do not, therefore, now affront the gentlemen by executing them on the first accusation."

"They need neither be overwhelmed with favours nor be pitied," the little old man with the blue ribbon now said, in his turn. "There would be no harm in hanging Chvabrine, neither would there be any harm in cross-examining this officer. Why has he deigned to pay us a visit? If he do not recognize you as Tzar, he needs not to ask justice of you; if, on the other hand, he do recognize you, wherefore, then, has he stayed in Orenburg until now, in the midst of your enemies. Will you order that he be tried by fire?[64] It would appear that his lords.h.i.+p is sent to us by the Generals in Orenburg."

The logic of the old rascal appeared plausible even to me. An involuntary shudder thrilled through me as I remembered in whose hands I was.

Pugatchef saw my disquiet.

"Eh, eh! your lords.h.i.+p," said he, winking, "it appears to me my field-marshal is right. What do you think of it?"

The banter of Pugatchef in some measure restored me to myself.

I quietly replied that I was in his power, and that he could do with me as he listed.

"Very well," said Pugatchef; "now tell me in what state is your town?"

"Thank G.o.d," replied I, "all is in good order."

"In good order!" repeated Pugatchef, "and the people are dying of hunger there."

The usurper spoke truth; but, according to the duty imposed on me by my oath, I a.s.sured him it was a false report, and that Orenburg was amply victualled.

"You see," cried the little old man, "that he is deceiving you. All the deserters are unanimous in declaring famine and plague are in Orenburg, that they are eating carrion there as a dish of honour. And his lords.h.i.+p a.s.sures us there is abundance of all. If you wish to hang Chvabrine, hang on the same gallows this lad, so that they need have naught wherewith to reproach each other."

The words of the confounded old man seemed to have shaken Pugatchef.

Happily, Khlopusha began to contradict his companion.

"Hold your tongue, Naumitch," said he; "you only think of hanging and strangling. It certainly suits you well to play the hero. Already you have one foot in the grave, and you want to kill others. Have you not enough blood on your conscience?"

"But are you a saint yourself?" retorted Beloborodoff. "Wherefore, then, this pity?"

"Without doubt," replied Khlopusha, "I am also a sinner, and this hand"

(he closed his bony fist, and turning back his sleeve displayed his hairy arm), "and this hand is guilty of having shed Christian blood. But _I_ killed my enemy, and not my host, on the free highway and in the dark wood, but not in the house, and behind the stove with axe and club, neither with old women's gossip."

The old man averted his head, and muttered between his teeth--

"Branded!"

"What are you muttering there, old owl?" rejoined Khlopusha. "I'll brand you! Wait a bit, your turn will come. By heaven, I hope some day you may smell the hot pincers, and till then have a care that I do not tear out your ugly beard."

"Gentlemen," said Pugatchef, with dignity, "stop quarrelling. It would not be a great misfortune if all the mangy curs of Orenburg dangled their legs beneath the same cross-bar, but it would be a pity if our good dogs took to biting each other."

Khlopusha and Beloborodoff said nothing, and exchanged black looks.

I felt it was necessary to change the subject of the interview, which might end in a very disagreeable manner for me. Turning toward Pugatchef, I said to him, smiling--