Far be from me any intention of describing the siege of Orenburg, which
belongs to history, and not to a family memoir. In a few words,
therefore, I shall say that in consequence of the bad arrangements of
the authorities, the siege was disastrous for the inhabitants, who were
forced to suffer hunger and privation of all kinds. Life at Orenburg was
becoming unendurable; each one awaited in anxiety the fate that should
befall him. All complained of the famine, which was, indeed, awful.
The inhabitants ended by becoming accustomed to the shells falling on
their houses. Even the assaults of Pugatchef no longer excited great
disturbance. I was dying of ennui. The time passed but slowly. I could
not get any letter from Belogorsk, for all the roads were blocked, and
the separation from Marya became unbearable. My only occupation
consisted in my military rounds.
Thanks to Pugatchef, I had a pretty good horse, with which I shared my
scanty rations. Every day I passed beyond the ramparts, and I went and
fired away against the scouts of Pugatchef. In these sort of skirmishes
the rebels generally got the better of us, as they had plenty of food
and were capitally mounted.
Our thin, starved cavalry was unable to stand against them. Sometimes
our famished infantry took the field, but the depth of the snow
prevented action with any success against the flying cavalry of the
enemy. The artillery thundered vainly from the height of the ramparts,
and in the field guns could not work because of the weakness of the
worn-out horses. This is how we made war, and this is what the officials
of Orenburg called prudence and foresight.
One day, when we had succeeded in dispersing and driving before us a
rather numerous band, I came up with one of the hindmost Cossacks, and I
was about to strike him with my Turkish sabre when he took off his cap
and cried-"Good day, Petr' Andrejitch; how is your health?"
I recognized our "ouriadnik." I cannot say how glad I was to see him.
"Good day, Maximitch," said I, "is it long since you left Belogorsk?"
"No, not long, my little father, Petr' Andrejitch; I only came back
yesterday. I have a letter for you."
"Where is it?" I cried, overjoyed.
"I have got it," rejoined Maximitch, putting his hand into his breast.
"I promised Palashka to give it to you."
He handed me a folded paper, and immediately darted off at full gallop.
I opened it and read with emotion the following lines-"It has pleased God to deprive me at once of my father and my mother. I
have no longer on earth either parents or protectors. I have recourse to
you, because I know you have always wished me well, and also that you
are ever ready to help those in need. I pray God this letter may reach
you. Maximitch has promised me he will ensure it reaching you. Palashka
has also heard Maximitch say that he often sees you from afar in the
sorties, and that you do not take care of yourself, nor think of those
who pray God for you with tears.