They shouted to me to stop, but I took no heed. Some superhuman strength seemed to possess me, and I ran swiftly and lightly over the snow towards the house. Gradually they drew nearer, and then I heard the report of a rifle, but finding myself unhurt, I redoubled my pace.
As the triumphant yells of the galloping Cossacks broke upon my ears, I gained the rear of the house and halted for a moment to discover some safe retreat.
There was none. The doors were fastened as they had been on the day before. Not a moment was to be lost, for already I heard the thud of the horses’ hoofs upon the snow. I had to choose between a brief life of horrible torture that would follow my recapture, and instant death! I chose the latter.
Glancing round wildly, I sought means of suicide. As I did so the yelling soldiers, with revolvers drawn, came tearing round the side of the house.
“Surrender! or we’ll fire!” they cried.
I looked determinedly into their faces. It was a case of life or death, and they were driving me to the latter.
Before they could anticipate my intention or level their weapons at me, I made a dash for a deep well, situate about twenty yards distant, shouting in my despair—
“I’ll kill myself rather than go back!”
A moment later I had jumped headlong into it.