Boris the Bear-Hunter

CHAPTER XXVIII.
HOW THE SWEDES ERECTED A GIBBET FOR BORIS.

Now that Russia was, or would be, a maritime power, the Tsar was determined that those around him, of every grade, should learn something of naval affairs. While, therefore, the beginnings of the city of St. Petersburg were in progress, the sovereign devised means whereby as many as possible of his favourite companions and officers, as well as humbler classes of his subjects, should at least have the opportunity of learning the use of sails and oars. Peter organized entertainments for his people, inviting large numbers to sup with him each evening in a tent upon an island, which could only be approached by means of boats or sailing yachts, for of course there were as yet no bridges. Peter provided the craft as well as the supper, but the guests were obliged to navigate for themselves. Many, the majority indeed, of these had never set foot in a boat of any sort in their lives, and, notwithstanding the honour which an invitation to his Majesty's board undoubtedly carried with it, they would gladly have gone without both the honour and the sailing, too. The Tsar's guests were invited to step into the first boat that came, and whether this happened to be a rowing or sailing boat they were expected to find their way unassisted by experts to the imperial sea-girt pavilion. If this plan was productive of confusion and exciting incident while the unfortunate guests set out supperwards, it is easy to imagine that the scenes when these same gentlemen returned after their meal and its accompanying potations must have been doubly entertaining. Wrecks and drenchings were the rule; prosperous journeys and the haven safely won the exception. The Tsar stood upon his island and watched the approach of his expected guests as one who goes to the play; their frantic efforts to manage oar and sail gave him the most exquisite delight, his happiness reaching its culmination whenever one of them, more awkward than the rest, was upset. No one was permitted to drown, for either the Tsar himself or Boris or other competent persons were ever at hand to rescue the shipwrecked; and many a poor dripping wretch was brought ashore by the hunter, to eat his supper in the miserable anticipation of more boating to be done afterwards.

Meanwhile a new fortress began to take shape, close to the old one, and the city of St. Petersburg was commenced.

Boris returned to Moscow in the autumn, and spent the winter with his family, to the great content of his devoted Nancy. But his peaceful home-life did not last very long; for with the return of spring the troops were called out once more to finish that which had been so well begun in the previous year, and the hunter bade farewell to his belongings, little thinking that he should come very nigh, during this summer's campaign, to forming a meal for the Swedish crows—nearer, indeed, than ever before.

There were two fortresses which the Tsar felt must be his before he could feel quite secure in the possession of the Neva—namely, Dorpat, and his old friend Narva, where the Russian arms had received their first salutary check, and where Boris had so nearly had his brains blown out as he swam for life in the blood-stained river whose surface hissed in the hail of the Swedish bullets.

With the siege of Dorpat we are not concerned, for Boris was not present. Suffice it to say that it fell before the Russian assault during the summer months, and that its fall greatly encouraged the other half of the Russian army which sat before the walls of Narva, among which latter was Boris. Weeks passed, but Narva, mindful of former achievements, still held out, and besiegers and besieged alike grew very tired of the weary business of bombarding one another, and longed for something more exciting. Then the ingenious spirit of Menshikoff devised a plan which promised at least the chance of a few lively moments. Early in August the Russian troops before the city divided themselves under cover of night into two portions. One half retired out of sight of the city, where they arrayed themselves in Swedish uniforms, and returning when it became light, with drums beating and flags flying, fell upon the Russian lines, to the intense delight of the beleaguered ones within the city, who imagined that history was here repeating itself, and that Charles himself had arrived once more in the nick of time to relieve his faithful city, and to cut the Russians to pieces. Their delight was still greater when the supposed Swedish hosts hotly pressed the Russians, who slowly but surely gave way before them towards the walls of the city. So well did the Russians perform this wholesale piece of play-acting, that not for one moment did the troops within the city doubt the reality of the victory which their friends outside appeared to be gaining over the besiegers. With the intensest excitement they watched the progress of the fight; and when there was no longer any doubt as to which side was winning, they threw open the gates of Narva and sallied out to assist in the rout of the enemy. Then the fleeing hosts turned savagely upon them, and what was a thousand times worse, the late assailants of the latter, Swedes though they appeared to be, now took sides with their defeated foes and fell upon them also. The brave Narva garrison fought well, though they were surprised and demoralized by the deception of which they were the victims. They fell back in good order towards the town; and though they lost several hundreds of their men, they succeeded in getting home again and shutting their gates in the face of the Russians, of whom they carried away one or two prisoners.

Boris had acted as one of the pseudo-Swedes, and had fought with his usual dash, both while the cartridges had been blank ones and the swords ash staves, and also afterwards when the curtain fell upon the opening farce and the real play began. He had pressed, at the head of his men, to the very gates of Narva, and was fighting desperately to effect an entrance, when something crashed upon him from the walls above, the gates of the city turned black in his eyes, and as he fell senseless at the almost-entered haven, the last retiring squad of Swedish soldiers picked him up and carried him into the city, his men vainly struggling to effect a rescue, and many of them falling as he had beneath the showers of large stones and sand-bags hurled upon their heads from above.

When Boris recovered his senses he found himself in a small cell in the citadel, aching all over, and sick and weary. He was still in the Swedish uniform which he had donned for the purpose of carrying out the ruse of Menshikoff. A tall Swedish guardsman stood at the door. Boris was visited during the day by many of the leaders of the garrison troops in Narva, and was questioned by them at great length as to matters upon which he had not the remotest intention to enlighten them. One of the officials who thus catechised the poor hunter recognized him as having been the sham pilot in the Archangel affair of a year or two ago—the Swede having been at that time on board the frigate captured by means of the hunter's successful deception. Boris was unwise enough to laugh heartily as the official recalled this circumstance, a proceeding which much incensed his interviewer. It appeared that the commandant of Narva and his officers were not in the best of humours, by reason of the trick played upon them by the Russians, and were inclined to make an example of Boris, especially now that he was recognized as having already outwitted them on a previous occasion.

Every day Boris was examined by the authorities, but all to no purpose. Gradually it dawned upon the governor that there was nothing to be done with this long-limbed Russian, whose legs stuck out of his Swedish garments, and whose tongue could not be induced to wag. He might just as well be hung on the ramparts at once, as a warning to other Russian deceivers who presumed to play-act in Swedish uniforms. So Boris was given to understand that he might prepare for his end, which would be brought about on the gallows, and in the uniform which he had dared to desecrate.

Even to Boris, who believed so implicitly in his own star, this communication came with somewhat of a shock. To be hung on the gallows like a common spy, and in full view of his own people too—for the execution was to take place upon the ramparts—this was rather more than even Boris could contemplate with serenity! One thing was certain—he must escape, if he was shot a thousand times in the attempt; anything would be preferable to hanging on a gibbet.

But there was no question of escape at present. The window, so called, was too small to admit of the passage of a full-sized human being; and Boris was certainly full-size. The door of the cell was but the entrance to a stone corridor which, in its turn, was jealously locked and guarded, and led into a courtyard full of soldiers. Besides this, the poor hunter was heavily chained. There could be no talk of escape here. However, they could not rear a gallows in this little room and hang him here; they must take him outside to die—and then! Well, then, Boris promised himself, he would have a merry five seconds or five minutes with somebody's sword, or, failing that, with his own fists, which he had learned to use with some skill while in England.

Meanwhile the Russians outside the walls were growing deadly tired of this long siege. A new general, a foreigner named Ogilvie, had been brought down by the Tsar to watch the siege. Ogilvie declared that if the Russians peppered away at Narva until doomsday, in the present disposition of their guns, they would never take the city. The guns must be placed differently. If this were done, and a sharp fire kept up for two days, he would guarantee that the place could be stormed with success on the third day. Ogilvie's advice was taken. The guns were brought round to the eastern side of the walls, and a terrific bombardment was commenced and kept up for two days.

On the morning of the third day, at sunrise, the Tsar, with his new general and a group of officers, was up and about preparing for the attack upon the besieged city which was to take place that day. The fire of the last two days had been marvellously successful, and the Tsar was in the best of spirits as he visited the guns which had been so well served on the preceding day. Peter distributed rewards among the gunners, and bade them recommence their practice immediately. He swept the walls with his telescope, considering which spot should be selected as the breach to be stormed by his brave soldiers; for there were several weak places, and it would be well to concentrate his fire upon one or two.

"Ogilvie," said Peter, after a prolonged stare through the glass, "what do you make of the erection upon the eastern ramparts? What are they doing? It looks to me more like a crane than anything else—probably to raise stones for patching their walls. They really might save themselves the trouble."

Ogilvie took the glass. "It's no crane," he said; "it's a gallows. Some poor fellow going to be hung, I suppose."

"Then why on the walls?" said the Tsar. "That must be for our edification. They haven't another Hummert, have they, or any deserter from us; or—" Peter's countenance suddenly changed—"it can't surely be for Boris Ivanitch! They would never dare!—Here, men! a hundred roubles to the gunner who brings down yonder gallows on the walls—fire, quick, every one of you!"

Crash went the big guns one after the other, sending the stonework flying around the spot indicated, and scattering the crowds of people who could be distinguished surrounding the gibbet; and, finally, a shot struck the gallows itself, either full or at a ricochet, and the erection disappeared. Peter gave orders that the fortunate gunner should receive his reward, and hurried away to see after the immediate despatch of the storming party.

Meanwhile Boris, on the evening preceding the events just narrated, had been informed by a friendly sentry that he was to be publicly executed on the following morning. He did not sleep the worse for this information. He had lived up till now with his life in his hand, and had stood many a time face to face with death, and yet survived it. If by the mercy of God he should escape this time also, why, so much the better; if it was decreed that he should die, well, that was no reason why he should fret all night and destroy his nerve, in case it were wanted in the morning.

At sunrise Boris was led out upon the ramparts; and certainly his heart sank when he caught sight of the gallows upon which these Swedish fellows meant to suspend his long body. He was still bound at the wrists as he marched up to the place of execution; but they would not surely hang him in thongs? Boris vehemently protested as the final arrangements were being made, imploring the officer of the guard to loose his wrists; but in vain. When all was ready he was seized by soldiers, and in another instant would have been carried to the gibbet and set swinging there, when, at this critical moment, big shot from the Russian lines began to fly high and low and in every direction, and soldiers and crowd were scattered in an instant to all points of the compass.

Boris thought this a good opportunity to make his first move for freedom. He raised his foot and tripped up one of the men who held him by the arm, the guards with Boris between them being in full run at the moment. The man fell. Thus freed of one hindrance to his movements, Boris quickly turned upon his second custodian, and bringing up his clenched fists together with tremendous force against the fellow's chin sent him flying backwards.

The crowd were fortunately too busy rushing hither and thither for shelter from the Russian cannon-balls to take much notice of the prisoner and his doings, and Boris was able to dodge round the corner of a house and into a yard with a gate to it before his bewildered guards had recovered their feet. Kicking the gate shut behind him, Boris rushed down the yard and into the back door of a house. Here he found himself within a kitchen, in which a woman was busy preparing food, presumably for some one's breakfast Boris appealed to her to cut his thongs, which she (he being still in his Swedish uniform) immediately did, without asking questions. Having heartily thanked the amiable cook, he went back to the yard and prospected through the key-hole of the gate.

The Russian gunners had made good practice, he observed, during the last few minutes. The crowd was dispersed; the gallows had disappeared—shot away, doubtless; many dead soldiers lay about the walls and in the street below—there was one just outside the yard gate.

This was the very opportunity the hunter required. He opened the gate and dragged the man inside, where he despoiled him of his sword. He recognized the fellow as one of the guards from whose hands he had escaped a few minutes since: clearly he had been in the act of following Boris into the yard when he was shot down.

Now Boris was ready for anything. If they came to fetch him here, at this gateway—well, it was narrow, and, barring accidents, he thought he could defend it against swords all day!

As a matter of fact he was not again molested, for the garrison had enough to do in defending the breaches in their walls from the storming party to have any time to search for the escaped prisoner. When his fellow-officers and the men of his regiment came scouring into the town an hour afterwards, flushed with victory, and on plunder and prisoners intent, some of them rushed into the house which had been the hunter's shelter since the early morning, and there they found our friend Boris seated in the kitchen over an excellent breakfast, of which some of them were invited to partake, and waited upon by his benefactress, the Swedish cook.

CHAPTER XXIX.
MAZEPPA.

And now the Tsar of Russia, well satisfied with the success of his arms, was for making peace with the King of Sweden. He had made himself master of Ingria and Livonia, but was ready, if necessary, to restore the latter province if he might be allowed to retain the Neva with its two forts of Schlüsselburg and Slotburg.

But Charles XII. would not hear of peace. He would have the Neva forts, he declared, if it should cost him his last soldier to regain them. Then Peter sent ambassadors to the court of St. James in London, to petition for the mediation of Queen Anne. But the ambassadors found the British statesmen, as they declared, too diplomatic and tricky for them, and could get no decided answer. Then the Duke of Marlborough was approached, and handsome bids were made for his good offices, if only he would consent to be peacemaker. The Tsar offered to the duke the title of Prince of Siberia, or of Kief or Vladimir, a large sum of money in gold, and "the finest ruby in Europe." Marlborough did not at once refuse to act as mediator, but, though he seriously considered the proposition, nothing came of Peter's offer, and the matter dropped.

Then the Tsar regretfully realized that there was to be no peace, but that he must make himself ready for war.

The year 1705 began with a victory for Sweden at Gemanerthof, near Mitau; but Peter, hastening up to the front with fresh troops, stormed Mitau and made the honours equal. Neither was there much advantage to either side in 1706, though the Russians were lucky in retiring from the fortress of Grodno, hard pressed by the Swedes, without serious misfortune. Charles himself had awaited the moment when the Russian troops must retire in order to follow them and cut them to pieces, which he probably would have succeeded in doing, but he was delayed for a week by the breaking up of the ice on the River Niemen, and this delay saved the Russians from destruction.

The following year was without military movement on either side, but was spent chiefly in diplomacy—Peter striving for peace, Charles insisting upon war; and when the year went out, it left the latter young monarch occupied in making preparations for the invasion of Russia, and the Tsar equally busy in putting his forces into order for the defence of the fatherland.

Meanwhile Boris, after his terrible experiences in Narva, had been but little engaged in the few military movements of the following year or two, and had spent most of his time at home in Moscow, or rather at Karapselka, with Nancy and the children. His little wolf-maiden was now seven years old, and there was very little of the wolf about her seemingly; for she was as pretty a child as could be found in all Russia. Nevertheless she was strangely and passionately devoted to the woods, and was never so happy as when allowed to accompany her father and mother upon their drives into the forest. In the summer time she would spend the entire day there, wandering about among the pines, or lying couched in a heathery bed at their roots. She was never in the least afraid of wild animals, and loved nothing better than to hear repeated the oft-told tale of her own sojourn among the wolves as a helpless baby. If the truth had been known, she longed in her heart to see a big wolf, and she would undoubtedly have offered to play with it then and there had one appeared, without an atom of fear.

Her little brother Boris, aged six, was a fitting companion to this forest-loving maiden. The boy was the bear-hunter in miniature, strong and hearty, and a stranger to all cravenness.

Nancy and her husband were proud of their children, and were right glad, moreover, to have spent this quiet year with them at Karapselka; for the little ones had not seen much of their father during those troublous war-years. Next year there would be more fighting—any one with his eye on the signs of the times could see that; indeed, half Europe was convinced that 1708 would close with the Swedish king dictating terms of peace from the Kremlin. Why this should have been the opinion of Europe it is difficult to say, for the balance of success up to this point had undoubtedly rested with the Russian arms; but Charles was making great preparations, and was very much in earnest, and his reputation as a successful soldier was very great, and, since he would conduct the new campaign in person, those who knew best made no secret of their conviction that he would carry all before him. As for Charles XII., he himself was perfectly sure that there could be but one end to the struggle. He gave out far and wide that Russia was to be subdued, and that he intended to do it. She was to be forced to disband her new regular armies, and Peter was to be made to restore to the country the Streltsi whom he had abolished, and the old order of things generally. The Neva was to remain, of course, a Swedish river; and as for Dorpat and Narva, and the rest of the places which his fools of generals had allowed Peter to become temporarily possessed of—why, Charles would soon make him disgorge them.

Meanwhile Boris was summoned to the Tsar, who was busy at St. Petersburg building that city under difficulties. Peter wished to send him, he said, on a mission to the hetman of the Cossacks of the Ukraine, to inquire what force the latter could put into the field for the approaching campaign of defence. The hetman bore a name familiar to my readers. He was no other than that Mazeppa whom Voltaire and Byron have made so familiar to readers of poetry as the hero of one of the most romantic episodes ever sung by bard or told as sober truth by historian.

I regret to say that the real Mazeppa was very far from being the romantic hero he is generally supposed to have been. His ride, strapped to the back of a wild horse and pursued by numbers of wolves, is little better than a myth, though founded upon a slight substratum of truth, as will presently be shown.

Born of Cossack parentage, young Mazeppa appears to have served as page to King John Casimir of Poland about the year 1660, twelve years before the birth of Boris; but by reason of his quarrelsome disposition he soon got himself into trouble at court, and retired to his father's estate in Volhynia. Here again Mazeppa fell into disgrace, this time with a neighbouring Polish gentleman. This is where Mazeppa's ride comes in. The Polish neighbour, infuriated at the young Cossack, caused his attendants to strip Mazeppa of his clothes, and to fasten him with thongs to the back of his own horse. In this undignified and uncomfortable position Mazeppa was conveyed to his home, which lay but a mile away, the horse galloping straight to its own stable with its naked master tightly secured to it. After so disgraceful an exposure, Mazeppa disappeared, and he is next heard of as a man of light and leading among the Cossacks of the Ukraine.

The Ukraine[3] was a sort of no-man's-land, lying between Pole, Russian, Turk, and Tartar. To this happy retreat fled, in former years, every kind of freebooter, robber, and bad character who had made his own home, whether in Russia or Poland or elsewhere, too hot to hold him. These were the first Cossacks of the Ukraine. As time went on and the Cossacks became numerous, large portions of the fertile soil of the country were reclaimed, and a great proportion of the inhabitants gradually settled down as peaceful agriculturists, tilling their own land. Those Cossacks nearest to Poland became independent vassals of the kings of Poland, and were called "registered Cossacks," because their names were entered in a book as "subjects" of the Polish monarch, though they insisted throughout on their absolute independence, and their hetman or chief considered himself the equal of the king, and brooked no condescension or patronage from him. Towards the middle of the seventeenth century, however, the Cossacks threw off the Polish connection and espoused the cause of Russia; the tribe having decided by their votes whether they should enrol themselves under the protectorate of Russia, Poland, or Turkey. Thus the Ukraine became Russian territory, and the Cossacks, though "preserving their privileges," acknowledged the Tsar as their head.

This was the position of affairs when Mazeppa appeared among the Cossacks of the Ukraine.

At this particular juncture there were two hetmans, one being at the head of that larger half of the population which had embraced the protectorate of Russia; the other, chief of a portion of the Cossacks who still coquetted with Pole and Turk and Russian, faithful to none of the three, but always on the look-out for betterment. Mazeppa became secretary to this latter chief. In this capacity he was, a year or two later, despatched to Constantinople with letters to the Sultan containing proposals for the transfer of the allegiance of his wavering master from Russian to Turk.

But Mazeppa never reached Constantinople. He was arrested, papers and all, by agents of the Tsar, and carried off to Moscow. Here, by his diplomatic gifts, Mazeppa not only succeeded in exculpating himself, but contrived so deeply to impress the reigning Tsar, Alexey, Peter's father, with a belief in his merits, that both Alexey and afterwards Peter himself remained his truest friends and benefactors, in spite of every attempt of his enemies—and there were many—to dethrone the idol.

Mazeppa now realized that the Russian was the real "strong man," and that he had espoused the wrong cause. His late employer was arrested and exiled; but a place was found for Mazeppa with the rival hetman, Russia's faithful vassal, Samoilovitch, in whose service he so greatly strengthened his position that in 1687, when Galitsin returned from an unsuccessful campaign in the Crimea, and in order to shield himself threw the blame upon Samoilovitch and his Cossacks, who had been employed to assist him, Mazeppa found means to overthrow his late chief and to get himself elected in his place as hetman of the Cossacks of the Ukraine.

One of Mazeppa's first acts was to hasten to Moscow in order to assure the young Tsar Peter of his loyalty, and, if possible, to make a personal friend of the monarch. In this he proved so successful that, once having accepted and pinned his faith to the Cossack chief, Peter never could be persuaded to doubt his honesty, in spite of every effort to convince him of Mazeppa's perfidy. For many years there was a constant stream of correspondence reaching the Tsar from various sources, warning him of the treacherous disposition of his trusted hetman. All these letters Peter invariably forwarded to Mazeppa, with assurances to the effect that his faith in the latter was quite unshaken. Frequently the Tsar added that the Cossack might consider himself free to deal with his traducers as he pleased. Mazeppa was never backward in taking the hint, and many of his enemies were thus removed out of his way, some with great barbarity.

As for the rights and wrongs of these matters, it is impossible to judge whether Mazeppa was or was not so bad as he was painted. His name is execrated to this day in the national songs and ballads of the Ukraine, where his memory appears to be cordially hated, while the names of his enemies are crowned with all the tribute of honour and love that song can offer. An intimate personal acquaintance of Mazeppa has placed on record his conviction that the famous hetman was always at heart a Pole and detested Russia, and that all his life he was on the look-out for a good opportunity of casting off his allegiance, and transferring it to Pole or Turk or Swede, as soon as any one of these should have proved himself the stronger man. At the same time, in justice to Mazeppa, it must be mentioned that he undoubtedly received more than one invitation from the King of Poland to break with the Tsar, and that he invariably forwarded such proposals to Moscow for Peter's perusal. Probably Mazeppa was a time-server, and was faithful to Russia only so long as Russia appeared to be the rock upon which his house was built. As will presently appear, he eventually, in his old age, made the one great mistake of his life, when his political sagacity, which had befriended him and guided him aright for many a long year, at last failed him and brought about the ruin which his treachery undoubtedly deserved.

Mazeppa received Boris with every mark of honour and respect as the Tsar's emissary. His court at Batourin was that of a king, far more luxurious and refined than that of Peter himself; and Boris was surprised to see the gorgeousness and magnificence of this man, whom he had been accustomed to think of more as a wild Cossack chief than as a monarch surrounded by every luxury and refinement of western civilization.

Mazeppa spoke with tears in his eyes of his love and devotion for Peter, and quite charmed the simple-minded Boris by his eloquent declaration that he would rather be the bear-hunter himself (of whom he said he had heard), and be ever about the person of that most marvellous man, his master, than hetman of the Cossacks of the Ukraine, honourable and dignified though the position might be.

To Boris's questions as to the forces at his disposal and their loyalty to the cause of Russia, Mazeppa replied,—

"My dear man, I have fifty thousand lances; and I would rather each one was buried in my own flesh than turned against the throne of my brother Peter. Why has he sent you? Does he not know that we are brothers, and more than brothers, and that all that I have is his?"

Boris was perfectly satisfied. He could not doubt this man, whose voice shook with feeling as he spoke, and whose eyes were filled with tears when he told of his devotion to the great Tsar, their beloved master.

Then Mazeppa entertained Boris with much talking, of which he was a master, and with a review of those fifty thousand lances of which he had made mention, or as many of them as he could collect at Batourin. Boris was delighted with their wonderful feats of horsemanship. Whole squadrons would dash forward at the charge, the wiry little ponies holding up their heads till their ears touched the Cossacks' bending figures; then, suddenly, every man would dip down sideways till his hand swept the ground, and again with one accord the entire body would recover their original position. Then a company would gallop past, every man kneeling in his saddle; followed by a second, of which each Cossack stood upright. Then a body of men would dash by, spring from their saddles while at the gallop, and spring back again. Then the entire corps would burst into wild, stirring song, and charge, singing, at an imaginary foe. It was a fine sight, and gave Boris much sincere pleasure; and he returned to give his report to the Tsar, convinced that in Mazeppa and his lances Peter possessed a friendly contingent which would prove of immense service during the coming Swedish attack. How Mazeppa acted, and what is the exact value to be attached to moist-eyed protestations of love and faith from a Cossack of the Ukraine, will be seen in the following pages.

CHAPTER XXX.
RUSSIA'S GREAT DAY.

In the autumn of 1707, Charles XII. made the first move in the great game which was to decide for ever the supremacy of Sweden or of her great rival of the north of Europe. Charles left his camp near Altstadt with forty-five thousand men, marching through Poland; twenty thousand were sent under Lewenhaupt to Riga, and fifteen thousand to Finland; in all, the Swedish king put in the field eighty thousand of the finest troops in the world.

Passing the winter at Grodno, Charles appeared early in the following summer at Borisof. Here he found a Russian army ready to contest his passage over the river Beresina; but he drove the Tsar's troops before him, and defeated them again at Moghilef, and a third time at Smolensk, which point he reached about September 1708.

He was now but ten days' march from Moscow, and there is no doubt that, had he pushed straight on at this time, he might have, as he had promised, dictated terms of peace from the Kremlin. There is no doubt, also, that the Tsar himself began at this period to entertain grave fears for the final outcome of the struggle, and made proposals of peace which would practically have annulled his successes of the past few years. Had Charles either accepted these terms or marched direct to Moscow, the history of Russia from that day to this would have been written very differently; but, fortunately for the Tsar and for Russia, he did neither the one nor the other, and the reason for this was the conviction of a certain individual of whom we have lately heard that the run of luck which had attended the arms of Russia had received a check.

Mazeppa, watching events from his castle at Batourin, observed with disquietude the rapid and victorious advance of the dashing young soldier whom all Europe at that time hailed as a second Alexander of Macedon. He saw his lord the Tsar, in the person of his advanced guards, driven from pillar to post, and flying before the soldiers of Charles like sheep before the sheep-dog; and the politic soul of Mazeppa quaked within him. Still he waited on, unwilling to take decisive action until there remained no doubt whatever as to the final issue of the struggle. When, however, the Swedish hosts arrived at Smolensk, Mazeppa deemed that the moment had come when it behoved him to declare for the stronger, and he despatched letters secretly to Charles at his camp in that city, offering to place at the disposal of the Swedish monarch his entire strength of fifty thousand lances.

On receiving this communication, Charles immediately altered his plans. He quitted the highroad to Moscow, and turned aside into the Ukraine in order to effect a junction with the Cossacks of Mazeppa.

This movement proved a fatal mistake. The Tsar had not been idle during the last few months, and though his troops had met with no success in their efforts to stop the onward march of Charles's hosts, Peter, with his best officers and an army of about one hundred thousand men, had still to be reckoned with before his Majesty of Sweden could carry out his threat of dictating peace from the palace in Moscow.

No sooner had Charles turned aside into the Ukraine, thereby exposing his flank to the Russian attack, than the Tsar saw his advantage, and hastened towards the Borysthenes, or Dnieper, with all the speed he could, at the head of a strong force of fifty thousand picked troops. His object was to cut off the main Swedish body from communication with the army of Lewenhaupt, which was hastening to join Charles in the Ukraine, at a distance of twelve days' march behind him. With this force was the whole of Charles's supply of provisions, upon which the Swedish host relied for its maintenance during the approaching winter. Peter, with whom was of course his faithful bear-hunter, in command of the Semenofski regiment, fell upon Lewenhaupt near the banks of the river Borysthenes. For three days a stubborn fight dragged on, and the brave Swedes strove to break through the opposing ranks of the equally valiant Russians; and when, at length, they cut their way through, and the general joined his master at the river Desna, he found himself at the head of but four thousand men—the rest of his army of twenty thousand fine troops being either dead on the battle-field or prisoners in the hands of the enemy, who had captured also all the guns and ammunition, and, worst of all, the invaluable convoy of supplies upon which the troops of Charles had relied.

This was a great day for the Tsar, and he celebrated his victory by a grand Te Deum in the cathedral at Moscow, leaving Charles and his famishing troops to winter as best they could in the Ukraine, in company with their perfidious ally Mazeppa, who, instead of fifty thousand lances, had provided but six thousand in all, the rest either preferring to remain loyal to Russia, or else joining Charles, but afterwards deserting. The Swedish army spent a wretched winter in the Ukraine, and Charles lost half his men by hunger and cold.

Before departing for Moscow, the Tsar demolished Mazeppa's castle at Batourin; and from that day to this, or until recent years, the name of Mazeppa has been solemnly cursed once a year in all the churches of Russia.

Mazeppa was safe with Charles, however, having discreetly fled before the Tsar appeared, carrying with him two barrels of gold, in which form he had consolidated the greater portion of his possessions.

The winter was spent by the Tsar, as well as by Boris, in busily preparing for the crisis of Russia's fate—a crisis which could not now be longer delayed, for the enemy was at the gates, and with the spring would commence to knock loudly for admittance. When the troops were collected and drilled into shape, Boris received a signal favour from the Tsar in the command of a contingent of these forces, which he was instructed to conduct southwards to Pultowa, a fortified city on the river Vorskla, which had the advantage of commanding the main road to Moscow as well as that of being close to the base of Charles's operations. Boris had charge of large quantities of provisions and ammunition for the use of the army during the coming season.

The trusty hunter safely reached his destination and took over the command of the garrison at Pultowa. And none too soon, as it turned out; for early in the spring Charles set out upon his march for Moscow, and as a first step towards attaining his end, invested the fortress of Pultowa, of which he expected to make short work. But Charles was not so intimately acquainted with the character of Commandant Boris as you, reader, and I; and all his efforts to bring the brave bear-hunter and his men to submission were unavailing. On the contrary, he found them perfectly ready and willing to meet him, in so far as fighting at close quarters was concerned, and many a time did the Russian troops sally out from behind their protecting walls and give battle to their assailants in the open. On one of these occasions, Boris had the honour of crossing swords a second time with his Swedish Majesty. The two men met at the head of their respective parties, Charles being, as usual, on horseback, the hunter afoot. Charles recognized his former adversary immediately. "Ha!" he cried, "Mr. Russian, we are old friends surely? There was a matter we left unfinished; come, lay on now. I am on horseback; you shall have the first blow!"

Boris did not wait for a second invitation, but aimed one of his bravest slashes at the king's head, which the king neatly turned aside, aiming a furious blow at Boris in return, which went near to lopping off one of the hunter's ears. Then the pair had a cut-and-thrust match, each laying on at his best, until something startled the horse of Charles and it swerved aside, just as the sword of Boris descended from a vicious sweep at Sweden's most precious crest. Most unfortunately for Charles, the sharp blade caught his foot in its descent and inflicted a painful wound, while at the same moment the horse bolted and the duel came to an indecisive termination.

On this occasion, as always, the sortie did no more than vex the besiegers, and the enterprising party of Russians were soon driven back. But Boris found that his men liked these sorties, as a change from the dulness of the siege, and he was not the man to refuse them their pleasure from prudential motives.

But the crisis was now at hand. In June, the Tsar, fearing for the safety of Pultowa, hastened to the relief of the garrison with a force of nearly sixty thousand men. He crossed the Vorskla and established himself upon the same side of that river with the besiegers, arranging his lines so that if the army of Charles should attack him and be worsted in the fight they must be driven back to the angle formed by the junction of the Vorskla and the Borysthenes. Here he strengthened his position with redoubts mounted with heavy artillery, and awaited developments; which he could afford to do, for his troops were amply supplied with provisions and ammunition, whereas what was left of Charles's force—about twenty-five thousand men—were in a wretched condition by reason of the hardships they had endured for many months while roughing it in the Ukraine.

The proud Charles, hearing that Peter intended to attack him, immediately decided to take the initiative and be himself the assailant. Still suffering from his wounded foot, he was carried to battle in a litter, and, placing himself at the head of his troops, he advanced to attack the Russian redoubts.

It was scarcely a fair fight, for Peter's force outnumbered that of Charles by two to one, besides having the fortress of Pultowa with its garrison at their back. But so bravely did the Swedes fight that day, that at the first advance they reached and captured the first Russian line of defence, and were actually raising cries of victory when the Russians, encouraged by the Tsar himself, who fought all day at the head of his men, made a tremendous effort and put a new aspect upon the affair. Forth from the walls of Pultowa poured fresh masses of Russians, with Boris at their head; the Swedes, at the point of victory, wavered, but fought bravely on; the Russian guns redoubled their efforts and poured a rain of cannon-balls among the ranks of the assailants; Peter called upon his men to make their effort, and like one man the Russian host, singing their soldier songs as they went, advanced and drove the Swedes before them. In vain the gallant Charles was borne up and down the lines in his litter, shouting, fighting, encouraging; in vain Mazeppa and his Cossacks made charge upon charge—for, in spite of all his faults, it must be admitted that the hetman fought well this day and performed prodigies of valour. The Russians would take no denial, but marched steadily forward. And ever as they advanced they drove the Swedes before them; and ever as the Swedish hosts retired the star of Sweden fell lower and lower in the heavens, until, on the evening of Pultowa, it sank for ever in the waters of the Borysthenes.

Boris, as well as his master, fought like a lion on this Russia's greatest day. His great object during the fight was to come to close quarters with the traitor Mazeppa; but though he was able at one moment to arrive within speaking distance, he could not approach close enough to exchange blows.

"Ha, traitor and liar!" Boris had shouted, as Mazeppa dashed past at the head of his Cossacks, "is this your sworn love and devotion to the Tsar? Come and answer for your lies!"

"My dear man," said the courtly hetman, "the rats leave a falling house. Peter should have made a better fight last year. As for meeting you now, I should be delighted, but there is no time for pleasure to-day, I am too busy. Au revoir!"

Mazeppa certainly was busy, and it was no fault of his that his side failed to gain the day.

Soon the battle became a mere rout. The Swedes were driven steadily onward towards the angle of the two rivers; and here they were forced to surrender to their pursuers, though a few hundred men, among whom were Charles and Mazeppa, succeeded in crossing the waters of the Borysthenes. About ten thousand had fallen on the field or in the redoubts.

That night on the banks of the Borysthenes Peter pitched his tent in joy and gratitude such as no words can describe. Weary as he was with the tremendous exertion and excitement of the day, sleep would not visit the aching eyes or soothe the restless brain of the victorious Tsar, and he left his tent and strolled out in the quiet moonlight in order to breathe the cool air of night and enjoy the luxury of a little calm reflection upon the events of the day.

The July moon lay upon the face of the river, so lately crossed in hot haste by Charles and the traitor Mazeppa. What were they doing at this moment, thought Peter, and where were they, poor wretches?—hurrying on, probably, in terror for their lives, somewhere in the heart of yonder forest, their hopes turned to despair, their lives spoiled, the greatness of Sweden buried for ever in the reddened soil of Pultowa field; while he stood here and contemplated the same events from how widely different a standpoint! To them Pultowa meant ruin, complete and irretrievable; to him it told of a fatherland saved, of an empire whose foundations this day had been secured for ever, of the removal of an hereditary enemy whose existence as a first-class power in the north of Europe must for ever have hampered and prevented the expansion of Russia. And then, what a battle it had been! how his men had fought, and how Charles's soldiers had fought also, to do them justice!

As the conqueror thus mused and watched the moon's broad highway over the water, a man came up and disturbed the Tsar's reflections. It was Boris. He, too, was unable to sleep after this exciting day, and had wandered down to the river side to cool his heated brow in the fresh night air. Peter grasped his old friend's hand solemnly and without a word and wrung it until the bones crunched together; then he took the hunter's arm and walked up and down by the river's bank in silence.

"Bear-eater," said the Tsar at length, "God has been very good to us this day. The Neva is safe; we shall have the Baltic for our own. You have served me well, my Boris, both this day and for many a day—ask what you will of me!"

But Boris laughed, and said that he had all he desired and there was nothing to ask.

"That is well," said Peter; "the wisest man is he who is the most contented."

After a while the Tsar spoke again. "My Bear-eater," he said, "I am so happy to-night that I even feel glad poor Charles escaped; but not Mazeppa—not Mazeppa! Ha! if I had come within reach of the traitor!" Peter burst out laughing. "Poor fellow," he said, "poor fellow! he thought Charles was our master, my Boris—poor Charles the Twelfth—the new Alexander—who is wandering among the wolves and the pine trees, tired and cold and hungry, in yonder forest—poor fellow!" Then after a pause, "Can you sleep to-night, Boris?" he asked.

Boris could not sleep, he said; he was too much affected by the excitement and wild joy of the battle.

"Neither can I," said Peter. "Sit you down here and tell me a stirring wolf tale or two, or a bear story—something which will take us both from the events of the day. This will ease our brains, and we shall sleep after it."

So the pair settled themselves upon the bank of the Dnieper and watched the moonlight weld its silver ladder over the broad stream, and Boris told many tales of adventure—of Nancy's bear, and of his little Katie carried off by the wolves, and many others. And when he had done, and glanced at his companion, lo! Peter—like that other monarch whom Byron describes as listening on this very night to Mazeppa's tale in the sanctuary of yonder dark forest—Peter, tired out with the joys and exertions of this great day, "had been an hour asleep."

CHAPTER XXXI.
PEACE AT LAST.

The return to Moscow was a joyous procession. Never had the Tsar been so merry, so indulgent to all ranks, and so absolutely free of all traces of his evil temper. Charles had escaped into Turkish territory, indeed; but what cared Peter for that? he was harmless enough now. As for Mazeppa, it was a pity he had escaped; but perhaps the Sultan would hang him, or if he failed to perform this service, likely enough the wretched man would save others the trouble by doing it himself! In any case he was out of mischief's way.

Peter offered up thanks for Pultowa at every shrine and church and monastery on the route to the capital. Further, he gave way to no excessive service of Bacchus during this time, but passed his evenings with Boris and others of his intimates in song and laughter and tale-telling, using the vodka in moderation.

Boris became quite an expert spinner of yarns, most of them about his adventures with bears, as befitted his title of the bear-hunter; but the Tsar himself occasionally treated his hearers to one of his own reminiscences, many of which were of stirring interest. He told, among others, of an adventure in the forest, when, having lost his way, he overtook a soldier, by whom he was not recognized. With this man he had sought shelter in a lonely hut in mid-forest, which had turned out to be the headquarters of a gang of murderous thieves. Here, overcome with weariness, he had fallen asleep in an outhouse, where he had sought repose in company with his new friend. The soldier, however, suspicious of the good faith of his hosts, had preferred to remain awake and watch. During the night, this brave fellow had protected his sleeping companion from the attack of five ruffians, who ascended the ladder one by one and were in turn despatched by the soldier as soon as their heads appeared within the garret window. The Tsar added that the man's conduct when he found out whom he had rescued from assassination was more ridiculous than words can describe, as was his delight when he received his promotion to the rank of corporal, together with one thousand roubles in cash.

Right glorious was the entry into Moscow of the victorious Pultowa heroes. The church and cathedral bells clanged; flower-decked triumphal arches had been reared in every street; gorgeously robed priests and bishops met the troops and chanted litanies of praise, and sprinkled the ranks with holy water; while the wives and children of the returning soldiers marched alongside, singing and laughing and dancing for joy. Nancy was there with her little ones, and Boris took both the tiny wolf-maiden and her brother upon the saddle before him; for the hunter was now a general of brigade and rode a fine black charger whose long tail swept the ground. The children chattered in English as they rode and told their father all the news—that Katie had caught a young fox at Karapselka, and mother had given little Boris a new pony from England which had run away with him into the forest and upset him into a morass, spraining his ankle, but he was all right now; with other information of a like nature.

Those were happy days, and there were happy years to follow. There was war, indeed, for Charles by dint of much perseverance persuaded the Turk to enter the lists against Peter and fight his battles for him; and adventurous war too, for the troops of the Tsar suffered defeat on more than one occasion in the disastrous campaign of the Pruth, where both the Tsar and Boris himself were once well-nigh captured by the Mussulman enemy, and Peter was obliged to surrender the fortress of Azof, the capture of which had been the first exploit of Russian arms under his flag. But in spite of all this, and of the fact that the Tsar was still unable, as the years went on, to conclude a satisfactory peace with Sweden, there was more peace than war during the five or six years which followed Pultowa, and the building of St. Petersburg was the work that occupied most of the sovereign's attention. The greater portion of his time was spent there, superintending the erection of fortress and city, and there he collected a large fleet of both British-made and home-built vessels of war.

Boris lived in the new city with Peter, his house being one of the very first to be erected. Nancy and her children joined him on the Neva banks, and soon became as ardent sailors as the Tsar could desire his subjects to be.

As for Boris himself, he had plenty of congenial occupation in endeavouring to thin the numbers of the wolves which infested the forests around, and even swarmed into the streets of the half-built city. Even as late as 1713, about ten years after the first pile of the new capital had been driven, wolves still occasionally entered the town and carried away children and women during the severe weather, when starvation made them bold; and many were the exciting chases which Boris enjoyed after such depredators, and many were the lives he saved of those who had been seized and carried off by the midnight robbers.

Little Katie, now aged twelve years, and her brother, had an exciting adventure at this time. They had been for a sail in the boat which the Tsar had given them; but the wind having failed them while still in the gulf, they were somewhat late in returning, and landed at the farther end of the city in order to avoid the necessity of rowing home against the current.

It was dusk of a September evening, and the streets through which they had to pass were unfinished and unpopulated; the open country, with the forest but a short distance away, stretching straight from the road on their right, while the river flowed swiftly towards the gulf on their left. Of a sudden they became aware of two gray wolves standing in the midst of the muddy road, blocking their passage. Neither child was afraid of wolves or of any other wild animal that breathes; but they were unarmed, save for the knife which little Boris, like a true son of his father, invariably carried at his side. The children stopped to consult: should they move on, in the hope that the brutes would give way and allow them to pass; or would it be wiser to retire towards the boat and row homewards, in spite of the current? The wolves, however, decided the question for them by opening their savage mouths, showing their business-like teeth, and themselves advancing, in order to carry the war into the enemy's country.

"Get behind me, Katie," said little Boris, "I've got my long knife; I'll take care they shan't touch you!"

But this was not Katie's way. She remained at her brother's side, catching up a thick piece of wood, one of many with which the ground was covered preliminary to road-making.

And now occurred a most unaccountable incident. The foremost wolf made a rush at Katie, stopped, sniffed at her dress, and slunk aside. The other brute behaved very differently. It sprang towards young Boris, who stood up to it and smote bravely at it with his knife, inflicting more than one gash upon nose and head and shoulder. Each time it was struck the wolf whined but came on again, until at length, having had enough of little Boris and his sharp knife, it too slunk away and joined its companion, and the two trotted off towards the forest.

Nancy declared, amid sobs and kisses, as the children related their story, that Katie could never be hurt by a wolf, for every wolf would know by some mysterious instinct of the relationship which her darling little wolf-maiden bore to his kind, and would not touch her. But that rude man, her husband, laughed loud and long at the very idea of such a thing, as I daresay my reader will also; and yet I am half inclined to believe in Nancy's pretty theory, for want of a better.

While at St. Petersburg, Boris took part, for the first time in his life, in a naval engagement. His rank in the navy was now lieutenant, and in this capacity Boris sailed out with the Tsar one fine morning in the flagship of "Rear-Admiral Peter Alexeyevitch" as the Tsar loved to style himself, this being his rank in the navy at that time. A Swedish fleet had been reported in the gulf, and the Russian vessels were now sallying forth to sight the enemy, and if possible to offer them battle. The Tsar-admiral not only came upon the enemy, but engaged and overthrew him also, capturing the Swedish admiral in person, together with a number of his ships. With his prizes in tow, Peter sailed proudly up the Neva and landed at the senate steps, where he was met and requested to attend and present to the authorities a report of his engagement with the enemy. After hearing this report, the senate unanimously decided that, in consideration of his services, Rear-Admiral Peter Alexeyevitch be promoted then and there to the rank of vice-admiral. Thereupon the Tsar immediately hurried back to his ship and hoisted the flag of a vice-admiral. Nothing in the world could have made Peter happier than such recognition of his services as a sailor apart from his position as Tsar.

Boris lived to take the chief part in many adventures both by sea and land. He slew many bears and wolves in all parts of the country, and went through more terrible dangers and sufferings during an ill-omened expedition despatched by his master against Khiva and India, than any which I have narrated in the foregoing pages; but the limits of this volume forbid me to enter into any of these, much as I should like to introduce my readers to the ambitions of Peter in the Indies, and the misfortunes which overtook his arms in those distant parts of the world. Perhaps, if the fates will it, I may find occasion to treat of these thrilling matters another day; but the moment has now arrived when I must describe the closing scene in this present tale of the Tsar's triumphs and his faithful hunter's adventures.

For many years Peter laboured his utmost to make such terms of peace with Sweden as should secure to him those solid advantages which his victories and his perseverance warranted him in demanding. But ardently as he laboured for peace, Sweden, beaten and subdued though she was, still held out for war.

At last, when the eighteenth century was already a score of years old, negotiations were entered into at Nystad which promised to bring forward a satisfactory result. In feverish anxiety the Tsar sailed daily in his yacht about the placid waters of the Gulf of Finland, on the look-out for that longed-for messenger-boat which should bring him the news that peace was signed. One afternoon, the Tsar, with Boris and one or two others, cruised thus close to Cronstadt, when a small vessel was observed sailing with all speed towards St. Petersburg, now the capital city of Russia. It was the messenger-boat, and on board was that treaty of peace for which the Tsar had fought and negotiated and waited for upwards of twenty years. With this priceless document on board, Peter's little yacht fled through the waters; and as it approached the mouth of the Neva it fired first one gun and then many, in token of the glorious news it brought. As the yacht raced up the river, banging its guns and flying every inch of bunting it carried, every gun in the metropolis responded, and every house mounted its flag and sent out its cheering contribution to the thronged streets of the city; for all understood the meaning of the Tsar's noisy little vessel flitting up the Neva in this way. It meant that war was over, and that Russia had leave to grow and prosper and develop. Oxen were roasted whole in the large square in front of the senate, and the Tsar himself carved and dispensed the meat to all who came.

In the evening a display of fireworks was given, and here again Peter, in his capacity of all things to all men, personally superintended the fun and himself fired off the rockets. The senators assembled and proclaimed new titles for their adored sovereign, the maker of Russia: he should be known henceforth as "Emperor," in place of Tsar, and to all time he should be called "The Great," and "Father of his People." That evening there were banquets throughout the city, and the joy of the populace was shown in every way in which a happy people can demonstrate their delight; for all were weary of war and bloodshed, and longed for peace as ardently as their sovereign himself.

Lastly, there was a grand procession to the cathedral of St. Isaac—or rather, this came first though I mention it last; a procession of a fervent, thankful population. The crowds in the streets all joined in as it approached them, and the Tsar walked with the priests and sang and chanted with them as one of themselves. When the procession reached the steps of the cathedral, and the tall Tsar stood upon the highest and faced the multitude, a great shout of joy and praise rang out, such as had not been heard in all Russia before that day; and when, the shouting being ended, the Tsar raised his hand and would speak to the multitude, all were silent to listen. Then Peter the Great raised both arms high over his head,—

"Sursum corda! sursum corda!" cried the Emperor. "Lift up your hearts, O my people!"

And all the people with one voice made answer,—

"We lift them up unto the Lord!"