im. 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. When we came near, some Bashkirs
drove back the crowd, and we were presented to Pugatchef.

The bells ceased clanging, and the deepest silence reigned again.

"Where is the Commandant?" asked the usurper. Our "_ouriadnik_" came
forward and pointed out Ivan Kouzmitch. Pugatchef looked fiercely upon
the old man and said to him, "How was it you dared to oppose me, your
rightful Emperor?"

The Commandant, enfeebled by his wound, collected his remaining
strength, and replied, in a resolute tone--

"You are not my Emperor; you are a usurper and a robber!"

Pugatchef frowned and waved his white handkerchief. Several Cossacks
immediately seized the old Commandant and dragged him away to the
gallows. Astride on the crossbeam, sat the disfigured Bashkir who had
been cross-examined on the preceding evening; he held a rope in his
hand, and I saw the next moment poor Ivan Kouzmitch swinging in the air.
Then Iwan Ignatiitch was brought before Pugatchef.

"Swear fidelity," Pugatchef said to him, "to the Emperor, Petr'
Fedorovitch!"[55]

"You are not our Emperor!" replied the lieutenant, repeating his
Commandant's words; "you are a robber, my uncle, and a usurper."

Pugatchef again gave the handkerchief signal, and good Iwan Ignatiitch
swung beside his old chief. It was my turn. Boldly I looked on Pugatchef
and made ready to echo the answer of my outspoken comrades.

Then, to my inexpressible surprise, I saw among the rebels Chvabrine,
who had found time to cut his hair short and to put on a Cossack caftan.
He approached Pugatchef, and whispered a few words in his ear.

"Hang him!" said Pugatchef, without deigning to throw me a look. The
rope was passed about my neck. I began saying a prayer in a low voice,
offering up to God a sincere repentance for all my sins, imploring Him
to save all those who were dear to my heart. I was already at the foot
of the gallows.

"Fear nothing! Fear nothing!" the assassins said to me, perhaps to give
me courage, when all at once a shout was heard--

"Stop, accursed ones!"

The executioners stayed their hand. I looked up. Saveliitch lay
prostrate at the feet of Pugatchef.

"Oh! my own father!" my poor follower was saying. "What need have you of
the death of this noble child?