Ivan Mironoff returned to us, and fixed all his attention upon the enemy.  The rebels collected around their chief and suddenly began to advance.  “Be firm, boys,” said the Commandant, “the assault begins.”  At that instant savage war-cries were heard.  The rebels were approaching the fortress with their accustomed fleetness.  Our cannon was charged with grape and canister.  The Commandant let them come within short range, and again put a light to his piece.  The shot struck in the midst of the force, which scattered in every direction.  Only their chief remained in advance, and he, waving his sabre, seemed to be rallying them.  Their piercing shouts, which had ceased an instant, redoubled again.  “Now, children,” ordered the Captain, “open the gate, beat the drum, and advance!  Follow me, for a sortie!”

The Captain, Ignatius and I were in an instant beyond the parapet.  But the frightened garrison had not moved from the square.  “What are you doing, my children?” shouted the Captain; “if we must die, let us die; the imperial service demands it!”

At this moment the rebels fell upon us, and forced the entrance to the citadel.  The drum was silent; the garrison threw down their arms.  I had been knocked down, but I rose and entered, pell-mell, with the crowds into the fortress.  I saw the Commandant wounded on the head, and closed upon by a small troop of bandits, who demanded the keys.  I was running to his aid when several powerful Cossacks seized me and bound me with their long sashes, crying out:  “Wait there, traitor to the Czar, till we know what to do with you.”

We were dragged along the streets.  The inhabitants came out of their houses offering bread and salt.  The bells were rung.  Suddenly, shouts announced that the Czar was on the square, awaiting to receive the oaths of the prisoners.

Pougatcheff was seated in an arm-chair on the steps of the Commandant’s house.  He was robed in an elegant Cossack cafetan embroidered on the seams.  A high cap of martin-skin, ornamented with gold tassels, covered his brow almost to his flashing eyes.  His face seemed to me not unknown.  Cossack chiefs surrounded him.  Father Garasim, pale and trembling, stood, the cross in his hand, at the foot of the steps, and seemed to supplicate in silence for the victims brought before him.

On the square itself, a gallows was hastily erected.  When we approached, the Bashkirs opened a passage through the crowd and presented us to Pougatcheff.  The bells ceased; the deepest silence prevailed.  “Which is the Commandant?” asked the usurper.  Our Corporal came out of the crowd and pointed to Mironoff.  Pougatcheff looked at the old man with a terrible expression, and said to him:  “How did you dare to oppose me, your emperor?”

The Commandant, weakened by his wound, collected all his energy, and said, in a firm but faint voice:  “You are not my emperor; you are a usurper and a brigand.”