Eclectic Magazine of Foreign Literature, Science, and Art, March 1885Various
History
Eclectic Magazine of Foreign Literature, Science, and Art, March 1885
Various
American literature -- Periodicals; Literature -- Periodicals
Anton was the first to leave, and he could hardly have reached the
street when we were startled by a loud report like the firing of a
pistol. We stared at each other in consternation, and Strogov, running
into the ante-room, looked through the window and listened at the door,
in order to find out what had happened. In a few minutes he came back
with satisfactory tidings. Nothing unusual seemed to be stirring in
the street; and he attributed the report we had heard to the banging
of a door in a neighboring café. So we resumed our conversation and
our tea-drinking with quiet minds. But five minutes later we were
again disturbed; this time by sounds the character of which there was
no mistaking. The trampling of heavy feet in the vestibule, hurried
exclamations, words of command, and the rattling of arms, told us only
too well with whom we had to do.
The police were upon us.
Notwithstanding our desire to resist, we knew that we should be
compelled to yield without a blow. There was not a weapon amongst us.
A few seconds were passed in anxious thought. Then the double-winged
doors were thrown violently open, and we saw that the ante-room
was occupied by a detachment of soldiers, with bayonets lowered and
ready to charge. From the right flank came the words, loud and clear:
“Will you surrender, gentlemen? I am the officer in command of
the detachment.”
I looked round and recognized in the officer with the gendarme uniform
and drawn sword, Soudeikin in person, then a subaltern in the Kieff
gendarmerie, later the famous chief of the political police of the
capital.
Despite the imposing military array, the haughty bearing of the
officer, the glittering bayonets and stern looks of the soldiers, and
the unpleasant sense of having fallen into their toils, the whole
affair seemed to me just a little amusing, and I could not help
smiling, and saying, in answer to Soudeikin's summons, “Are we then a
fortress, Mr. Officer, that you call upon us to surrender?”
“No; but your comrades....” the rest of the sentence, owing to the din,
I did not catch.
“What comrades?” I asked.
“You will soon see,” replied Soudeikin.
Then he ordered his men to search us, after which we were to be taken
to the police office.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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