“Enough for you,” he replied with a pleased look. “Much as the rascals rummaged around, I still managed to hide it.” And with those words he pulled from his pocket a long knitted purse full of silver coins.
“Well, Savelyich,” I said to him, “give me half of it now, and take the rest yourself. I’m going to the Belogorsk fortress.”
“Dearest Pyotr Andreich!” my good tutor said in a trembling voice. “Fear God: how can you take to the road in such times, when there’s no getting anywhere on account of the rogues? Have pity on your parents at least, if you have none on yourself. Where are you going? Why? Wait a little: the army will come, they’ll catch all the rascals; then go where the wind blows you.”
But my decision was firmly taken.
“It’s too late to discuss it,” I replied to the old man. “I must go, I can’t not go. Don’t grieve, Savelyich: God is merciful; maybe we’ll see each other again! Look, just don’t be ashamed and don’t scrimp. Buy whatever you may need, even at triple the price. I’m giving you this money. If I’m not back in three days…”
“What are you saying, sir?” Savelyich interrupted me. “As if I’d let you go alone! Don’t even dream of asking! If you’re determined to go, I’ll follow after you even on foot, but I won’t abandon you. As if I’d stay sitting behind a stone wall without you! Do you think I’ve lost my mind? As you please, sir, I won’t stay here without you.”
I knew there was no point in arguing with Savelyich, and I allowed him to prepare for the journey. Half an hour later I mounted my fine horse, and Savelyich a skinny and lame nag given him by one of the inhabitants, who lacked the means to go on feeding it. We rode up to the town gates; the sentries let us through; we rode out of Orenburg.
Darkness was falling. My way led past the village of Berda, Pugachev’s camp. The straight road was covered with snow; but horse tracks could be seen all over the steppe, renewed daily. I rode at a long trot. Savelyich was barely able to follow my pace and kept shouting to me:
“Slow down, sir, for God’s sake, slow down! My cursed nag can’t keep up with your long-legged demon. Where are you hurrying to? A feast would be one thing, but this is more likely under the axe, for all I know…Pyotr Andreich…dearest Pyotr Andreich!…Don’t do us in!…Lord God, the master’s child will perish!”
Soon the lights of Berda began to glimmer. We approached the ravines, the natural fortifications of the village. Savelyich did not lag behind me, nor did he break off his pitiful entreaties. I was hoping to skirt the village successfully, when suddenly I saw right in front of me in the dark some five muzhiks armed with cudgels: this was the advance guard of Pugachev’s camp. They called to us. Not knowing the password, I wanted to ride past them in silence; but they immediately surrounded me, and one of them seized my horse by the bridle. I drew my sword and struck the muzhik on the head; his hat saved him, but he staggered and let go of the bridle. The others panicked and fled; I took advantage of the moment, spurred my horse, and galloped on.
The darkness of the approaching night could have saved me from any danger, but suddenly, looking back, I saw that Savelyich was not with me. The poor old man on his lame horse had not escaped the brigands. What was I to do? After waiting a few minutes for him and making sure that he had been detained, I turned my horse around and went to rescue him.
Approaching the ravine, I heard noise, shouting, and the voice of my Savelyich in the distance. I speeded up and soon was back among the muzhik guards who had stopped me a few minutes earlier. Savelyich was among them. They had dragged the old man off his nag and were preparing to bind him. My arrival heartened them. They fell upon me with shouts and instantly dragged me off my horse. One of them, apparently the chief, told us that he would now take us to the sovereign.
“And it’s as our dear father wills,” he added, “whether we hang you now or wait till daybreak.”
I did not resist; Savelyich followed my example, and the guards led us away in triumph.
We crossed the ravine and entered the village. Lights were burning in all the cottages. Noise and shouts rang out everywhere. In the street I met many people; but in the dark no one noticed us or recognized me as an Orenburg officer. We were brought straight to a cottage that stood at the corner of an intersection. By the gate stood several wine casks and two cannons.
“Here’s the palace,” said one of the muzhiks. “We’ll announce you at once.”
He went into the cottage. I glanced at Savelyich; the old man was crossing himself, silently reciting a prayer. I waited for a long time; finally the muzhik came back and said to me:
“Go in: our dear father orders the officer to be admitted.”
