The drum ceased, the
garrison
threw down its arms.
Pushkin - Daughter of the Commandant
"
At the same moment resounded wild war cries. The rebels were racing down
on the fort. Our cannon was loaded with grape. The Commandant allowed
them to approach within a very short distance, and again applied a
match to the touch-hole. The grape struck in the midst of the crowd, and
dispersed it in every direction. The leader alone remained to the fore,
brandishing his sword; he appeared to be exhorting them hotly. The yells
which had ceased for a moment were redoubled anew.
"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.
At the same moment resounded wild war cries. The rebels were racing down
on the fort. Our cannon was loaded with grape. The Commandant allowed
them to approach within a very short distance, and again applied a
match to the touch-hole. The grape struck in the midst of the crowd, and
dispersed it in every direction. The leader alone remained to the fore,
brandishing his sword; he appeared to be exhorting them hotly. The yells
which had ceased for a moment were redoubled anew.
"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.
