“But, my dear sirs,” he went on, letting out, along with a deep sigh, a dense stream of tobacco smoke, “I dare not take upon myself so great a responsibility, when it comes to the safety of the provinces entrusted to me by her imperial majesty, my most sovereign lady. And so I agree with the majority of voices, which have decided that it is most sensible and safe to await the siege within the town, and to repel the enemy’s assaults by force of artillery and (if it proves possible) by sorties.”
The officials in their turn glanced mockingly at me. The council broke up. I could not help regretting the weakness of the venerable soldier, who, contrary to his own conviction, decided to follow the opinions of uninformed and inexperienced people.
Several days after this illustrious council, we learned that Pugachev, faithful to his promise, was approaching Orenburg. I saw the rebel army from the height of the town wall. It seemed to me that their number had increased tenfold since the time of the last assault, of which I had been a witness. They had artillery with them, taken by Pugachev from the small fortresses he had already subjugated. Recalling the council’s decision, I foresaw a long confinement within the walls of Orenburg and all but wept with vexation.
I will not describe the Orenburg siege, which belongs to history and not to family memoirs. I will say briefly that, owing to the imprudence of the local authorities, this siege was disastrous for the inhabitants, who suffered hunger and all possible distress. It can easily be imagined that life in Orenburg was utterly unbearable. Everyone waited dejectedly for their fate to be decided; everyone groaned about the high prices, which indeed were terrible. The inhabitants got used to cannonballs flying into their courtyards; even Pugachev’s assaults no longer attracted general curiosity. I was dying of boredom. Time was passing. I received no letters from the Belogorsk fortress. All the roads were cut off. Separation from Marya Ivanovna became intolerable for me. Ignorance of her fate tormented me. My only diversion consisted in mounted sorties. Thanks to Pugachev, I had a good horse, with which I shared my scanty food and on which I rode out of town daily to exchange fire with Pugachev’s horsemen. In these skirmishes the odds were usually on the side of the villains, who were well fed, well drunk, and well mounted. The scrawny town cavalry could not overcome them. Occasionally our hungry infantry also took the field; but the deep snow prevented it from acting successfully against the scattered horsemen. The artillery thundered futilely from the high rampart, and in the field it got mired down and was unable to move because the horses were exhausted. Such was the mode of our military action! And this was what the Orenburg officials called prudence and good sense!
Once, when we somehow managed to break up and drive back a rather dense crowd, I ran into a Cossack who had lagged behind his comrades; I was about to strike him with my Turkish saber when he suddenly took off his hat and shouted:
“Hello, Pyotr Andreich! How’s God treating you?”
I looked and recognized our sergeant. I was inexpressibly glad to see him.
“Hello, Maximych,” I said to him. “Have you been away from the Belogorsk fortress for long?”
“Not long, dear Pyotr Andreich; I went back just yesterday. I’ve got a little letter for you.”
“Where is it?” I cried, flushing all over.
“With me,” replied Maximych, putting his hand under his shirt. “I promised Palasha I’d deliver it to you somehow.” Here he handed me a folded piece of paper and galloped off at once. I unfolded it and with trembling read the following lines:
