He told them off himself in small detachments. The convicts dispersed sadly and silently, only too glad to get out of his sight. Immediately after the gangs went off, the Major betook himself to the guard-house, where he began to make his dispositions as to the “ringleaders,” but he did not push matters far. It was easy to see that he wanted to be done with the whole business as soon as possible. One of the men charged told us later that he had begged for forgiveness, and that the officer had let him go immediately. There can be no doubt that our Major did not feel firm in the saddle; he had had a fright, I fancy, for a mutiny is always a ticklish thing, and although this complaint of the convicts about the food did not amount really to mutiny (only the Major had been reported to about it, and the Governor himself), yet it was an uncomfortable and dangerous affair. What gave him most anxiety was that the prisoners had been unanimous in their movement, so their discontent had to be got over somehow, at any price. The ringleaders were soon set free. Next day the food was passable, but this improvement did not last long; on the days ensuing the disturbance, the Major went about the prison much more than usual, and always found something irregular to be stopped and punished. Our sergeant came and went in a puzzled, dazed sort of way, as if he could not get over his stupefaction at what had happened. As to the convicts, it took long for them to quiet down again, but their agitation seemed to wear quite a different character; they were restless and perplexed. Some went about with their heads down, without saying a word; others discussed the event in a grumbling, helpless kind of way. A good many said biting things about their own proceedings as though they were quite out of conceit with themselves. “I say, pal, take and eat!” said one. “Where’s the mouse that was so ready to bell the cat?” “Let’s think ourselves lucky that he did not have us all well beaten.” “It would be a good deal better if you thought more and chattered less.” “What do _you_ mean by lecturing me? Are you schoolmaster here, I’d like to know?” “Oh, you want putting to the right-about.” “Who are you, I’d like to know?” “I’m a man! What are you?” “A man! You’re----” “You’re----” “I say! Shut up, do! What’s the good of all this row?” was the cry from all sides. On the evening of the day the “mutiny” took place, I met Petroff behind the barracks after the day’s work. He was looking for me. As he came near me, I heard him exclaim something, which I didn’t understand, in a muttering sort of way; then he said no more, and walked by my side in a listless, mechanical fashion. “I say, Petroff, your fellows are not vexed with us, are they?” “Who’s vexed?” he asked, as if coming to himself. “The convicts with us--with us nobles.” “Why should they be vexed?” “Well, because we did not back them up.”