I was now an officer, but there was little work for me to do. There was no drill, no mounting guard, no reviewing of troops. Sometimes Captain Mironoff tried to drill his soldiers, but he never succeeded in making them know the right hand from the left. All seemed peace, in spite of my quarrels with Chvabrine. Every day I was more and more in love with Marya, and the notion that we might be disturbed at Fort Bélogorsk by any repetition of the riots and revolts which had taken place in the province of Orenburg the previous year was not entertained. Danger was nearer than we had imagined. The Cossacks and half-savage tribes of the frontier were again already in revolt. _II.--The Rebel Chief_ One evening early in October, 1773, Captain Mironoff called Chvabrine and me to his house. He had received a letter from the general at Orenburg with information that a fugitive Cossack named Pugatchéf had taken the name of the late Czar, Peter III., and, with an army of robbers, was rousing the country, destroying forts and committing murder and theft. The news spread quickly, and then came a disquieting report that a neighbouring fort some sixteen miles away had been taken by Pugatchéf, and its officers hanged. Neither Mironoff nor Vassilissa showed any fear, and the latter declined to leave Bélogorsk, though willing that Marya should be sent to Orenburg for safety. An insolent proclamation from Pugatchéf, inviting us to surrender on peril of death, and the treachery of our Cossacks and of Chvabrine, who went over at once to the rebels, only made the commandant and his wife more resolute. "The scoundrel!" cried Vassilissa. "He has the impudence to invite us to lay our flag at his feet, and he doesn't know we have been forty years in the service!" It was the same when Pugatchéf was actually at our door, and the assault had actually begun. Old Ivan Mironoff blessed his daughter, and embraced his wife, and then faced death. There was no fight in the poor old pensioners who made up our garrison, and both Mironoff and myself were soon captured, bound with ropes, and led before Pugatchéf. The commandant indignantly refused to swear fidelity to the robber chief, and was hanged there and then in the market square; an old one-eyed lieutenant was soon swinging by his side. Then came my turn, and I gave the same answer as my captain had done. The rope was round my neck, when Pugatchéf shouted out "Stop!" and ordered my release. A few minutes later, and poor old Vassilissa, who had come in search of her husband, was lying dead in the market square, cut down by a Cossack's sword. Pugatchéf's arrival had prevented Marya's escape to Orenburg, and she was now lying too ill to be moved, in the house of Father Garassim, the parish priest. Pugatchéf gave me leave to depart in safety, but before Savélütch and I left the fort, the rebel bade me come and see him. He laughed aloud when I presented myself.