Approaching Orenbourg, we saw a crowd of convicts, with shaved heads and
faces disfigured by the pincers of the public executioner. At that time
red-hot irons were applied to tear out the nostrils of the condemned.
They were working at the fortifications of the place under the
supervision of the garrison pensioners. Some carried away in
wheel-barrows the rubbish that filled the ditch, others threw up the
earth, while masons were examining and repairing the walls. The sentry
stopped us at the gate and asked for our passports. When the sergeant
heard that we were from Belogorsk he took me at once to the General, who
was in his garden. I found him examining the apple trees, which
autumnal winds had already despoiled of their leaves; assisted by an
old gardener, he covered them carefully with straw. His face expressed
calmness, good humor and health. He seemed very glad to see me, and
questioned me about the terrible events I had witnessed. The old man
heard me attentively, and whilst listening, cut off the dead branches.
“Poor Mironoff!” said he, when I had finished my story; “it is a pity;
he was a brave officer; and Madame Mironoff a kind lady, an expert in
pickling mushrooms. What has become of Marie, the Captain’s daughter?”
“She is in the fortress, at the house of the Greek priest.”
“Aye! aye! aye!” exclaimed the General. “That’s bad, very bad; for it is
impossible to depend upon the discipline of brigands.”
I observed that the fortress of Belogorsk was not far off, and that
probably his Excellency would send a detachment of troops to deliver the
poor inhabitants.
The General shook his head, doubtfully. “We shall see! we shall see!
there is plenty of time to talk about it; come, I beg you, to take tea
with me. Tonight there will be a council of war; you can give us some
precise information regarding this Pougatcheff and his army. Meantime,
go and rest.”
I went to my allotted quarters, where I found Saveliitch already
installed. I awaited impatiently the hour indicated, and the reader may
believe that I did not fail to be present at this council, which was
to influence my whole life. I found at the General’s a custom-house
officer, the Director, as well as I can remember a little old man,
red-faced and fat, wearing a robe of black watered silk. He questioned
me about the fate of the Captain Mironoff, whom he called his chum,
and often interrupted me by sententious remarks, which, if they did
not prove him to be a man well versed in war, showed his natural
intelligence and shrewdness. During this time other guests arrived. When
all had taken their places, and to each had been offered a cup of tea,
the General carefully stated the questions to be considered.
“Now, gentlemen,” said he, “we must decide what action is to be taken
against the rebels. Shall we act offensively, or defensively? Each of
these ways has its advantages and disadvantages. Offensive war presents
more hope of a rapid extermination of the enemy, but defensive war
is safer and offers fewer dangers. Let us then take the vote in legal
order; that is, consult first the youngest in rank. Ensign,” continued
he, addressing me, “deign to give your opinion.”
I rose, and in a few words depicted Pougatcheff and his army. I affirmed
that the usurper was not in a condition to resist disciplined forces.
My opinion was received by the civil service employes with visible
discontent. They saw nothing in it but the levity of a young man. A
murmur arose, and I heard distinctly the word “hare-brained” murmured in
a low voice. The General turned to me smiling, and said:
“Ensign, the first votes (the youngest) in war councils, are for
offensive measures. Now let us continue to collect the votes. The
College Director will give us his opinion.”
The little old man in black silk, a College Director, as well as a
customs officer, swallowed his third cup of tea, well dashed with a
strong dose of rum, and hastened to speak:
“Your Excellency,” said he, “I think that we ought to act neither
offensively nor defensively.”
“What’s that, sir?” said the General, stupefied; “military tactics
present no other means; we must act either offensively or defensively.”
“Your Excellency, act _subornatively_.”
“Eh! eh! Your opinion is judicious,” said the General; “subornative
acts--that is to say, indirect acts--are also admitted by the science
of tactics, and we will profit by your counsel. We might offer for the
rascal’s head seventy or even a hundred roubles, to be taken out of the
secret funds.”
“And then,” interrupted the man in silk, “may I be a Kirghis ram,
instead of a College Director, if the thieves do not bring their chief
to you, chained hand and foot.”
“We can think about it,” said the General. “But let us, in any case,
take some military measures. Gentlemen, give your votes in legal order.”
All the opinions were contrary to mine. All agreed, that it was better
to stay behind a strong stone wall, protected by cannon, than to tempt
fortune in the open field. Finally, when all the opinions were known,
the General shook the ashes from his pipe and pronounced the following
discourse:
“Gentlemen, I am of the Ensign’s opinion, for it is according to the
science of military tactics, which always prefers offensive movements to
defensive.” He stopped and stuffed the tobacco into his pipe. I glanced
exultingly at the civil service employes, who, with discontented looks,
were whispering to each other.
“But, gentlemen,” continued he, giving out with a sigh a long puff of
smoke, “I dare not assume the responsibility. I go with the majority,
which has decided that we await in this city the threatened siege,
and repulse the enemy by the power of artillery, and if possible, by
well-directed sorties.”
The council broke up. I could not but deplore the weakness of the worthy
soldier, who, contrary to his own convictions, decided to follow the
opinion of ignorant inexperience.
Some days after this famous council of war, Pougatcheff, true to his
word, approached Orenbourg. From the top of the city walls I made a
reconnaissance of the rebel army. It seemed to me that their number had
increased ten-fold. They had more artillery, taken from the small forts
captured by Pougatcheff. Remembering our council, I foresaw a long
captivity behind the walls of Orenbourg, and I was ready to cry with
chagrin. Far from me the intention of describing the siege of Orenbourg,
which belongs to history and not to family memoirs. Suffice it to say,
that this siege was disastrous to the inhabitants, who had to
suffer hunger and privations of every kind. Life at Orenbourg became
insupportable. The decision of fate was awaited with anguish. Food was
scarce; bombshells fell upon the defenseless houses of citizens. The
attacks of Pougatcheff made very little excitement. I was dying of
_ennui_. I had promised Accoulina that I would correspond with her, but
communication was cut off, and I could not send or receive a letter
from Belogorsk. My only pastime consisted in military sorties. Thanks
to Pougatcheff I had an excellent horse, and I shared my meager pittance
with it. I went out every day beyond the ramparts to skirmish with
Pougatcheff’s advance guards. The rebels had the best of it; they
had plenty of food and were well mounted. Our poor cavalry were in no
condition to oppose them. Sometimes our half-starved infantry went
into the field; but the depth of the snow hindered them from acting
successfully against the flying cavalry of the enemy. The artillery
vainly thundered from the ramparts, and in the field it could not
advance, because of the weakness of our attenuated horses. This was our
way of making war; this is what the civil service employes of Orenbourg
called prudence and foresight.
One day when we had routed and driven before us quite a large troop, I
overtook a straggling Cossack; my Turkish sabre was uplifted to strike
him when he doffed his cap and cried out: “Good day, Peter, how fares
your health?”