In a word the Colonel was an exceptional man. Without question there was no other officer in the Corps as fit as he to undertake the task of mollifying an excited mob. He went out on the porch and calmly faced the steadily increasing multitude. “Where is the General? Where is he? We want to kill him!” the savage chorus bawled. “What are you thinking of?” the Colonel began. “Come to your senses and consider the order. It was an order to relieve your own comrades, soldiers like yourselves. Now, you know that this was no more than fair. The General simply wanted you to take the places of your comrades.” “But he threatened to shoot us!” interrupted the men. “You did not quite understand. He only said generally that to get obedience one must shoot....” “Shoot!” a hundred voices went up from every side, catching the word but not the meaning. “Shoot! Aha, he wants to shoot! He’s for the old régime himself!” a thousand voices roared, without even giving the ashen-faced Colonel a chance to explain. “Kill him! Show him what shooting is!” raged the vast throng, while the speaker tried vainly to raise his voice and get a hearing. Suddenly some one jerked the stool from under his feet. In an instant a hundred heavy heels had trampled the life out of that noble body. It was a horrible, terrifying scene. Several thousand men had turned into beasts. The lust of blood was in their eyes. They swayed backwards and forwards as if intoxicated, crushing the last signs of life out of their victim, stamping on the corpse in a frenzy. The mob’s thirst for blood became inflamed. The officers realized that every moment was precious. Kostayev thought that the only way to save ourselves was to escape through the rear of the house. “I will go out to them,” I declared. The remaining officers thought me mad and tried to dissuade me. “Belonogov was the idol of his regiment, and see what’s become of him. If you go it is certain death,” they said. Colonel Kostayev disappeared and several of the Staff followed him. I could not see how the situation would be saved by escaping. It might save a couple of lives, although even that was unlikely, but the mutiny would extend and might grow beyond control. “I will go out,” I resolved, crossed myself and dashed into the infuriated mob. “What is the matter?” I shouted at the top of my voice. “What has happened to you? Let me pass!” The crowd separated and made a way for me to the stool. “Look at her!” jeered some voices. “Eh, eh, look at this bird!” echoed others. “Your Excellency!” scoffed one man. “Now,” I began sharply, as soon as I had jumped on the stool. “I am no ‘your Excellency!’ but plain Yashka! You can kill me right away, or you can kill me a little later, five, ten minutes later. But Yashka will not be afraid. “I will have my say. Before you slay me I must speak my mind. Do you know me? Do you know that I am one of you, a plain peasant soldier?” “Yes, we do,” the men answered.