Next morning I found Pougatcheff surrounded by his officers, throwing money to the crowd. He beckoned me to approach, told me to leave instantly for Orenberg, and to tell the garrison to expect him in a week. If they threw open the gates to him they would be well treated: if they resisted they must expect terrible consequences. He then turned to the crowd, and, to my horror, presented Chvabrine to them as their future governor! Chvabrine! Marie’s traducer!
When Pougatcheff had left the square, I hastened to Father Garasim’s house to learn that Marie was in a fever and quite delirious. I rushed to her room—how changed she was! She did not know me. How could I leave the poor orphan at Bélogorsk while Chvabrine remained governor? Suddenly, however, I thought that I might make all haste to Orenberg and return with a strong force, drive the rebels away, and claim my bride. I seized the poor girl’s burning hand, kissed it, took leave of her good protectors, and was soon on my way, determined not to lose a moment.
As we approached Orenberg we saw the state prisoners with their shaven heads and disfigured faces, hard at work upon the fortifications. I was conducted direct to the general, who was lopping the fruit trees in the garden. I related to him the misfortunes of Bélogorsk, and pressed for help. He replied that there would be a council of war in the evening, and that he would be happy to see me at it. I was there punctually. A cup of tea was given to each guest, after which the general called upon all present to deliberate upon the state of affairs. The question was, should the Imperial troops act on the offensive or defensive? He declared that he should require an opinion from each individual; and, as usual, he should begin by asking the opinion of the junior officers. He then turned to me. I stated that the rebels were not in a condition to resist a disciplined army, and therefore urged the propriety of acting vigorously on the offensive: hereupon a little civil functionary, who was taking his third cup of tea with the help of an admixture of rum, suggested that operations should be confined to an offer of seventy or one hundred roubles for the head of Pougatcheff. Every voice was for defensive measures; and, when all present had delivered their opinions, the general, tapping the ashes out of his pipe, declared that he was of the same opinion as the ensign. I looked proudly about me; but the conclusion of the general’s speech turned the triumph to the side of my opponents, for this gallant old soldier declared that he could not assume the responsibility of acting against the decision of the majority; therefore, preparations must be made for a siege, and we must depend upon the fire of the artillery, and the force of vigorous sorties. I returned to my quarters in a state of wretched despondency. Poor Marie!
Pougatcheff was true to his message. He appeared before Orenberg with a considerable force, and the siege lasted long—with various fortune—until the people within the walls were almost starving. One day when some of our cavalry had dispersed a strong body of Cossacks, I was about to dispatch a loiterer with my Turkish sword, when he raised his hat and saluted me by name. I recognised the ouriadnik of Bélogorsk. He had a letter for me—I tore it open—it was from Marie. It informed me that she was the forced occupant of Chvabrine’s house, and that within three days she would be compelled to marry him or be at his mercy. The girl implored me to fly to her succour.
Almost mad, I spurred my horse, rode at full gallop to the general’s house, threw myself without ceremony into his room, and asked him to give me a battalion of soldiers and fifty Cossacks to drive the rebels out of Bélogorsk. The old soldier began to argue the matter coolly. This exasperated me, and I told him that the daughter of our late valiant commander was in the hands of Chvabrine, and that he was about to force her to marry him. The general thought that she might be very happy with him for a time, and that afterwards, when he had shot him on the ramparts of Orenberg, it would be time enough for me to marry the charming widow. There was no hope of softening the old man. I wandered away in despair. Out of this despair, grew a desperate resolution.
I resolved to leave Orenberg and go alone to Bélogorsk. Savéliitch tried in vain to dissuade me from my purpose, but without effect. I mounted my horse and rode briskly past the sentinels, out of Orenberg, followed by my faithful servant: who was mounted upon a lean horse, which one of the besieged had given him, having no more food for it. We rode hard; but night had closed in when we approached the great ravine where the main body of the rebels, under Pougatcheff, were encamped. Suddenly four or five lusty fellows surrounded me. I struck at the first with my sword—putting spurs to my horse, at the same time, and so escaped; but Savéliitch was overpowered, and, returning to help him, I was overpowered too, and through the darkness of that terrible night, led before the rebel chief that his guard might know whether they should hang me at once or wait till daylight. I was conducted at once to the isbâ, which was called the czar’s palace. This imperial hut was lighted by two tallow candles, and was furnished like any common isbâ, except that the walls were finely papered. Pougatcheff, surrounded by his officers, recognised me at once, and bade all his attendants retire, except two, one of whom was a prisoner escaped from Siberia. This man’s face was hideously disfigured; his nose had been cut off, and his forehead and cheeks branded with red-hot irons. I told my business frankly, and Pougatcheff declared that the oppressor of the orphan should be hanged. But his officers dissuaded him, and one of them suggested that he should try the effects of a little torture upon me. Pougatcheff then questioned me as to the state of Orenberg; and, although I knew that the people were dying of hunger, I declared that it was excellently provisioned. This reply suggested to one of the chief’s confidential friends, the propriety of having me hanged, as an impertinent liar. But Pougatcheff was a generous enemy, and made me declare to him that the commandant’s daughter was my betrothed, and then he bade his officers prepare supper for us, saying that I was an old friend of his. I would have willingly avoided the festivity, but it was impossible; and I saw two little Cossack girls enter to spread the cloth, sadly enough. I ate my fish soup almost in silence.
The festivity was continued until all present were more or less intoxicated, and until Pougatcheff had fallen asleep in his seat. I was then conducted to the place in which I was to sleep, and was there locked up for the night. On the following morning I found a crowd surrounding a kibitka, in which Pougatcheff was seated. He beckoned me to a seat beside him, and to my astonishment shouted to the stout Tartar driver, “To Bélogorsk!” The kibitka slipped quickly over the snow. In a few hours I should see my beloved Marie.
We drew up, after a rapid journey, before the old commandant’s house. Chvabrine hastened out to meet his sovereign; but was troubled when he saw me. Pougatcheff entered the house, drank a glass of brandy, then asked about Marie. Chvabrine said she was in bed. His chief then ordered the traitor to conduct us to her room. The fellow did so, but hesitated at her door,—pretended to have lost the key—then said that the girl was delirious. Pougatcheff forced the door with his foot; and, to my inexpressible horror I saw my dear betrothed lying upon the floor, in coarse peasant clothing, with bread and water before her. She shrieked when she saw me. Pougatcheff asked her what her husband had been doing to her; but she replied vehemently that she was not his wife, and never would be. Pougatcheff turned furiously upon Chvabrine, and Chvabrine, to my disgust, fell upon his knees at the rebel chief’s feet. Then Pougatcheff told Marie that she was safe; but she recognised in him the murderer of her father and closed her eyes in horror. However, he made Chvabrine write a safe-conduct for Marie and me through all the provinces under the control of his followers; and then he went out to inspect the fortifications. I was left alone, and presently Marie came to me, with a smile upon her pale face, dressed in her own becoming clothes.
We enjoyed the tenderness of our meeting for a time in silence; but presently I told her my plan—how that it was impossible for her to accompany me to Orenberg, where starvation was playing terrible ravages;—how I had arranged that Savéliitch should conduct her to my father’s house. Remembering my father’s letter, she hesitated; but, at length, my arguments prevailed. In an hour my safe-conduct arrived.
We followed in a few hours, travelling in an old carriage that had belonged to Marie’s father, Palachka being in attendance upon Marie. A little after nightfall we arrived at a small town which we believed to be in the possession of the rebels; but, on giving Pougatcheff’s pass-word to the sentinels, we were instantly surrounded by Russian soldiers, and I was hurried off to prison. I demanded an interview with the commanding officer; but this was refused; and I was told the major had ordered Marie to be taken to him. Blind with fury, I rushed past the sentinels direct into the major’s room, where I found him gambling with his officers. In a moment I recognised him,—as the commander—Lowrine, who had lightened my purse at Simbirsk.