“Now, children,” cried the Commandant, “open the door, beat the drum, and forward!  Follow me for a sally!”

The Commandant, Iwan Ignatiitch, and I found ourselves in a moment beyond the parapet.  But the garrison, afraid, had not stirred.

“What are you doing, my children?” shouted Ivan Kouzmitch.  “If we must die, let us die; it is our duty.”

At this moment the rebels fell upon us and forced the entrance of the citadel.  The drum ceased, the garrison threw down its arms.  I had been thrown down, but I got up and passed helter-skelter with the crowd into the fort.  I saw the Commandant wounded in the head, and hard pressed by a little band of robbers clamouring for the keys.  I was running to help him, when several strong Cossacks seized me, and bound me with their “kuchaks,"[54] shouting—­

“Wait a bit, you will see what will become of you traitors to the Tzar!”

We were dragged along the streets.  The inhabitants came out of their houses, offering bread and salt.  The bells were rung.  All at once shouts announced that the Tzar was in the square waiting to receive the oaths of the prisoners.  All the crowd diverged in that direction, and our keepers dragged us thither.

Pugatchef was seated in an armchair on the threshold of the Commandant’s house.  He wore an elegant Cossack caftan, embroidered down the seams.  A high cap of marten sable, ornamented with gold tassels, came closely down over his flashing eyes.  His face did not seem unknown to me.  The Cossack chiefs surrounded him.  Father Garasim, pale and trembling, was standing, cross in hand, at the foot of the steps, and seemed to be silently praying for the victims brought before him.  In the square a gallows was being hastily erected.  When we came near, some Bashkirs drove back the crowd, and we were presented to Pugatchef.

The bells ceased clanging, and the deepest silence reigned again.

“Where is the Commandant?” asked the usurper.  Our “ouriadnik” came forward and pointed out Ivan Kouzmitch.  Pugatchef looked fiercely upon the old man and said to him, “How was it you dared to oppose me, your rightful Emperor?”

The Commandant, enfeebled by his wound, collected his remaining strength, and replied, in a resolute tone—­

“You are not my Emperor; you are a usurper and a robber!”

Pugatchef frowned and waved his white handkerchief.  Several Cossacks immediately seized the old Commandant and dragged him away to the gallows.  Astride on the crossbeam, sat the disfigured Bashkir who had been cross-examined on the preceding evening; he held a rope in his hand, and I saw the next moment poor Ivan Kouzmitch swinging in the air.  Then Iwan Ignatiitch was brought before Pugatchef.

“Swear fidelity,” Pugatchef said to him, “to the Emperor, Petr’ Fedorovitch!"[55]

“You are not our Emperor!” replied the lieutenant, repeating his Commandant’s words; “you are a robber, my uncle, and a usurper.”