“Poor Mironov!” he said, when I finished my sad story. “I’m sorry for him: he was a good officer. And Madam Mironov was a kind lady and such an expert at pickling mushrooms! But what about Masha, the captain’s daughter?”
I replied that she remained in the fortress, in the care of the priest’s wife.
“Aie, aie, aie!” the general observed. “That’s bad, very bad. There is no relying on the bandits’ discipline. What will happen to the poor girl?”
I replied that the Belogorsk fortress was not far away and that his excellency would probably not be slow in sending an army to free its poor inhabitants. The general shook his head with a doubtful air.
“We’ll see, we’ll see,” he said. “We still have time to discuss that. Allow me to invite you for a cup of tea: there will be a council of war today at my place. You can give us reliable information about this worthless Pugachev and his troops. In the meantime go and get some rest.”
I went to the quarters assigned to me, where Savelyich was already settling in, and began to wait impatiently for the appointed time. The reader will easily imagine that I did not fail to show up at a council that was to have such influence upon my fate. At the appointed hour I was already at the general’s.
I found there one of the town officials, the director of customs, as I recall, a fat and ruddy-cheeked old man in a brocade kaftan. He started questioning me about the fate of Ivan Kuzmich, whom he called a family friend, and often interrupted my speech with additional questions and moralizing observations, which, if they did not show him to be a man well-versed in the military art, at least revealed his keen wit and innate intelligence. Meanwhile all the other invitees gathered. Among them, apart from the general himself, there was not a single military man. When they had all been seated and served a cup of tea, the general explained, very clearly and extensively, how things stood.
“Now, gentlemen,” he went on, “we must decide how to act against the rebels:
I rose and, first briefly describing Pugachev and his band, stated positively that there was no way the impostor could stand up against regular arms.
My opinion was met by the officials with obvious disapproval. They saw in it the recklessness and boldness of a young man. Murmuring arose, and I clearly heard the word “greenhorn” uttered by someone in a low voice. The general turned to me and said with a smile:
“Mr. Lieutenant, the first votes at military councils are usually given in favor of offensive action; that is in the order of things. We will now continue with the voting. Mr. Collegiate Councilor,30 tell us your opinion!”
The little old man in the brocade kaftan hastily finished his third cup of tea, liberally laced with rum, and answered the general:
“I think, Your Excellency, that we should act neither offensively nor defensively.”
“How’s that, Mr. Collegiate Councilor?” the amazed general rejoined. “Tactics offer no other way: either offensive action or defensive…”
“Your Excellency, act corruptively.”
“Heh-heh-heh! Your opinion is quite sensible. Tactics allow for corruptive actions, and we will make use of your advice. We could promise…maybe seventy roubles for the worthless fellow’s head…or even a hundred…from a special fund…”
“And then,” the director of customs interrupted, “I’m a Kirghiz sheep and no collegiate councilor if these thieves don’t give up their leader to us, bound hand and foot in irons.”
“We’ll think about it and discuss it further,” the general replied. “However, we ought in any case to take military measures as well. Gentlemen, give us your votes in due order.”
All the opinions turned out to be opposed to mine. All the officials spoke of the unreliability of the troops, of the uncertainty of success, of prudence and the like. They all thought it more sensible to stay under cover of the cannon, behind strong stone walls, than to try the fortune of arms in the open field. Finally the general, having listened to all the opinions, knocked the ashes from his pipe and delivered the following speech:
“My dear sirs! I must declare to you that I, for my part, agree completely with the opinion of Mr. Lieutenant: for that opinion is based on all the rules of sound tactics, which almost always prefer the offensive actions to the defensive actions.”
Here he paused and began to fill his pipe. My vanity was triumphant. I cast a proud glance at the officials, who exchanged whispers among themselves with an air of displeasure and uneasiness.
