Chương Chương 10 · The Siege.
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THE SIEGE.
In approaching Orenburg, we saw a crowd of convicts, with shaven heads,
and with faces disfigured by the hangman’s pincers. They were at work
on the fortifications, under the direction of the soldiers of the
garrison. Some were carrying away in wheel-barrows the earth and refuse
which filled the moat, others with shovels were digging up the ground;
on the rampart the masons were carrying stones and repairing the walls.
The sentinels stopped us at the gate and demanded our passports. As
soon as the sergeant heard that I came from Bailogorsk, he took me
straight to the General’s house.
I found him in the garden. He was inspecting the apple-trees, which the
autumn winds had stripped of their leaves, and, with the help of an old
gardener, was carefully covering them with straw. His face expressed
tranquillity, health, and good-nature. He was much pleased to see me,
and began questioning me about the terrible events of which I had been
an eye-witness. I related everything to him. The old man listened to me
with attention, and continued the meantime to lop off the dry twigs.
“Poor Mironoff!” said he, when I had finished my sad story; “I feel
very sorry for him, he was a good officer; and Madame Mironoff was a
good woman,--how clever she was at pickling mushrooms! And what has
become of Masha, the Captain’s daughter?”
I replied that she was still at the fortress in the hands of the pope
and his wife.
“That is bad, very bad. Nobody can place any dependence upon the
discipline of robbers. What will become of the poor girl?”
I replied that the fortress of Bailogorsk was not far off and that,
without doubt, his Excellency would not delay in sending thither a
detachment of soldiers to deliver the poor inhabitants.
The General shook his head dubiously.
“We shall see, we shall see,” said he, “we have plenty of time to
talk about that. Do me the pleasure of taking a cup of tea with me:
a council of war is to be held at my house this evening. You may be
able to give us some trustworthy information concerning this rascal
Pougatcheff and his army. And now go and rest yourself for a little
while.”
I went to the quarter assigned to me, where Savelitch had already
installed himself, and where I awaited with impatience the appointed
time. The reader will easily imagine that I did not fail to make my
appearance at the council which was to have such an influence upon my
fate At the appointed hour I repaired to the General’s house.
I found with him one of the civil officials of the town, the director
of the custom-house, if I remember rightly, a stout, red-faced old
man in a silk coat. He began to question me about the fate of Ivan
Kouzmitch, whom he called his gossip, and frequently interrupted my
discourse with additional questions and moral observations, which, if
they did not prove him to be a man well versed in military matters,
showed at least that he possessed sagacity and common sense. In the
meantime the other persons who had been invited to the council had
assembled. When they were all seated, and a cup of tea had been handed
round to each, the General entered into a clear and detailed account of
the business in question.
“And now, gentlemen,” continued he, “we must decide in what way we
are to act against the rebels: offensively or defensively? Each of
these methods has its advantages and disadvantages. Offensive warfare
holds out a greater prospect of a quicker extermination of the enemy;
defensive action is safer and less dangerous.... Therefore let us
commence by putting the question to the vote in legal order, that is,
beginning with the youngest in rank. Ensign,” continued he, turning to
me, “will you please favour us with your opinion?”
I rose, and after having described, in a few words, Pougatcheff and his
followers, I expressed my firm opinion that the usurper was not in a
position to withstand disciplined troops.
My opinion was received by the civil officials with evident
dissatisfaction. They saw in it only the rashness and temerity of
a young man. There arose a murmur, and I distinctly heard the word
“greenhorn” pronounced in a whisper. The General turned to me and said
with a smile:
“Ensign, the first voices in councils of war are generally in favour of
adopting offensive measures. We will now continue and hear what others
have to say. Mr. Counsellor of the College, tell us your opinion.”
The little old man in the silk coat hastily swallowed his third cup of
tea, into which he had poured some rum, and then replied:
“I think, your Excellency, that we ought to act neither offensively nor
defensively.”
“How, Sir Counsellor?” replied the astonished General. “Tactics present
no other methods of action; offensive action or defensive....”
“Your Excellency, act diplomatically.”
“Ah! your idea is a very sensible one. Diplomatic action is allowed by
the laws of tactics, and we will profit by your advice. We might offer
for the head of the rascal ... seventy or even a hundred roubles ...
out of the secret funds....”
“And then,” interrupted the Director of the Customs, “may I become a
Kirghis ram, and not a College Counsellor, if these robbers do not
deliver up to us their leader, bound hand and foot.”
“We will think about it, and speak of it again,” replied: the General.
“But, in any case, we must take military precautions. Gentlemen, give
your votes in regular order.”
The opinions of all were contrary to mine. All the civil officials
expatiated upon the untrustworthiness of the troops, the uncertainty
of success, the necessity of being cautious, and the like. All agreed’
that it was more prudent to remain behind the stone walls of the
fortress under the protection of the cannon, than to try the fortune of
arms in the open field. At length the General, having heard all their
opinions, shook the ashes from his pipe and spoke as follows:
“Gentlemen, I must declare to you that, for my part, I am entirely of
the same opinion as the ensign; because this opinion is founded upon
sound rules of tactics, which nearly always give the preference to
offensive action rather than to defensive.”
Then he paused and began to fill his pipe. My vanity triumphed. I
cast a proud glance at the civil officials, who were whispering among
themselves with looks of displeasure and uneasiness.
“But, gentlemen,” continued the General, heaving a deep sigh, and
emitting at the same time a thick cloud of tobacco smoke, “I dare not
take upon myself such a great responsibility, when it is a question of
the safety of the provinces confided to me by Her Imperial Majesty, my
Most Gracious Sovereign. Therefore it is that I fall in with the views
of the majority, who have decided that it is safer and more prudent to
await the siege inside the town, and to repel the attack of the enemy
by the use of artillery and--if possible--by sallies.”
The officials in their turn now glanced at me ironically. The council
separated. I could not but deplore the weakness of this estimable
soldier, who, contrary to his own conviction, resolved to follow the
advice of ignorant and inexperienced persons.
Some days after this memorable council we heard that Pougatcheff,
faithful to his promise, was marching on Orenburg. From the lofty walls
of the town I observed the army of the rebels. It seemed to me that
their numbers had increased since the last assault, of which I had
been a witness. They had with them also some pieces of artillery which
had been taken by Pougatcheff from the small fortresses that had been
conquered by him. Remembering the decision of the council, I foresaw a
long incarceration within the walls of Orenburg, and I was almost ready
to weep with vexation.
I do not intend to describe the siege of Orenburg, which belongs to
history and not to family memoirs. I will merely observe that this
siege, through want of caution on the part of the local authorities,
was a disastrous one for the inhabitants, who had to endure hunger
and every possible privation. It can easily be imagined that life in
Orenburg was almost unbearable. All awaited in melancholy anxiety
the decision of fate; all complained of the famine, which was really
terrible. The inhabitants became accustomed to the cannon-balls falling
upon their houses; even Pougatcheff’s assaults no longer produced any
excitement. I was dying of ennui. Time wore on. I received no letters
from Bailogorsk. All the roads were cut off. Separation from Marla
Ivanovna became insupportable to me. Uncertainty with respect to her
fate tortured me. My only diversion consisted in making excursions
outside the city. Thanks to the kindness of Pougatcheff, I had a good
horse, with which I shared my scanty allowance of food, and upon
whose back I used to ride out daily beyond the walls and open fire
upon Pougatcheff’s partisans. In these skirmishes the advantage was
generally on the side of the rebels, who had plenty to eat and drink,
and possessed good horses. Our miserable cavalry were unable to cope
with them. Sometimes our famished infantry made a sally; but the depth
of the snow prevented their operations being successful against the
flying cavalry of the enemy. The artillery thundered in vain from the
summit of the ramparts, and had it been in the field, it could not
have advanced on account of our emaciated horses. Such was our style
of warfare! And this was what the civil officials of Orenburg called
prudence and foresight!
One day, when we had succeeded in dispersing and driving off a
tolerably large body of the enemy, I came up with a Cossack who had
remained behind his companions, and I was just about to strike him with
my Turkish sabre, when he suddenly took off his cap and cried out:
“Good day, Peter Andreitch; how do you do?”
I looked at him and recognized our orderly. I cannot say how delighted
I was to see him.
“Good day, Maximitch,” said I to him. “How long is it since you left
Bailogorsk?”
“Not long, Peter Andreitch; I only returned from there yesterday. I
have a letter for you.”
“Where is it?” cried I, perfectly beside myself with excitement.
“I have it here,” replied Maximitch, placing his hand upon his bosom.
“I promised Palasha that I would give it to you somehow.”
He then gave me a folded paper and immediately galloped off. I opened
it and, deeply agitated, read the following lines:
“It has pleased God to deprive me suddenly of both father and
mother: I have now on earth neither a relation nor a protector. I
therefore turn to you, because I know that you have always wished
me well, and that you are ever ready to help others. I pray to God
that this letter may reach you in some way! Maximitch has promised
to give it to you. Palasha has also heard from Maximitch that he
has frequently seen you from a distance in the sorties, and that
you do not take the least care of yourself, not thinking about
those who pray to God for you in tears. I was ill a long time, and,
when I recovered, Alexei Ivanovitch, who commands here in place of
my deceased father, compelled Father Gerasim to deliver me up to
him, threatening him with Pougatcheff’s anger if he refused. I live
in our house which is guarded by a sentry. Alexei Ivanovitch wants
to compel me to marry him. He says that he saved my life because
he did not reveal the deception practised by Akoulina Pamphilovna,
who told the rebels that I was her niece. But I would rather die
than become the wife of such a man as Alexei Ivanovitch. He treats
me very cruelly, and threatens that if I do not change my mind and
agree to his proposal, he will conduct me to the rebels’ camp,
where I shall suffer the same fate as Elizabeth Kharloff.[1] I
have begged Alexei Ivanovitch to give me time to reflect. He has
consented to give me three days longer, and if at the end of that
time I do not agree to become his wife, he will show me no further
mercy. Oh, Peter Andreitch! you are my only protector; save a poor
helpless girl! Implore the General and all the commanders to send
us help as soon as possible, and come yourself if you can.
“I remain your poor obedient orphan,
“MARIA MIRONOFF.”
The reading of this letter almost drove me out of my mind. I galloped
back to the town, spurring my poor horse without mercy. On the way I
turned over in my I mind one plan and another for the rescue of the
poor girl, but I could not come to any definite conclusion. On reaching
the town I immediately repaired to the General’s, and presented myself
before him without the least delay.
He was walking up and down the room, smoking his meerschaum pipe. On
seeing me he stopped. Probably; he was struck by my appearance, for he
anxiously inquired the reason of my hasty visit.
“Your Excellency,” said I to him, “I come to you as I would to my own
father: for Heaven’s sake, do not refuse my request; the happiness of
my whole life depends upon it!”
“What is the matter?” asked the astonished old soldier. “What can I do
for you? Speak!”
“Your Excellency, allow me to take a battalion of soldiers and a
company of Cossacks to recapture the fortress of Bailogorsk.”
The General looked at me earnestly, imagining, without doubt, that I
had taken leave of my senses--and, for the matter of that, he was not
very far out in his supposition.
“How?--what? Recapture the fortress of Bailogorsk?” said he at last.
“I will answer for the success of the undertaking,” I replied with
ardour; “only let me go.”
“No, young man,” said he, shaking his head. “At such a great distance
the enemy would easily cut off your communication with the principal
strategical point, and gain a complete victory over you. Communication
being cut off....”
I became alarmed when I perceived that he was about to enter upon a
military dissertation, and I hastened to interrupt him.
“The daughter of Captain Mironoff has written a letter to me,” I said
to him; “she asks for help: Shvabrin wants to compel her to become his
wife.”
“Indeed! Oh, this Shvabrin is a great rascal, and if he should fall
into my hands I will order him to be tried within twenty-four hours,
and we will have him shot on the parapet of the fortress. But in the
meantime we must have patience.”
“Have patience!” I cried, perfectly beside myself. “But in the meantime
he will force Maria Ivanovna to become his wife!”
“Oh!” exclaimed the General. “But even that would be no great
misfortune for her. It would be better for her to become the wife of
Shvabrin, he would then take her under his protection; and when we have
shot him we will soon find a sweetheart for her, please God. Pretty
widows do not remain single long; I mean that a widow finds a husband
much quicker than a spinster.”
“I would rather die,” said I in a passion, “than resign her to
Shvabrin.”
“Oh, oh!” said the old man, “now I understand. You are evidently in
love with Maria Ivanovna, and that alters the case altogether. Poor
fellow! But, for all that, I cannot give you a battalion of soldiers
and fifty Cossacks. Such an expedition would be the height of folly,
and I cannot take the responsibility of it upon myself.”
I cast down my head; despair took possession of me. Suddenly a thought
flashed through my mind: what it was, the reader will discover in the
following chapter, as the old romance writers used to say.
[Footnote 1: A Commandant’s daughter, whom Pougatcheff outraged and
then put to death.]