CHAPTER XXVIII.HOW THE SWEDES ERECTED A GIBBET FOR BORIS.
Now that Russia was, or would be, a maritime power, the Tsar wasdetermined that those around him, of every grade, should learnsomething of naval affairs. While, therefore, the beginnings of thecity of St. Petersburg were in progress, the sovereign devised meanswhereby as many as possible of his favourite companions and officers,as well as humbler classes of his subjects, should at least have theopportunity of learning the use of sails and oars. Peter organizedentertainments for his people, inviting large numbers to sup with himeach evening in a tent upon an island, which could only be approachedby means of boats or sailing yachts, for of course there were as yetno bridges. Peter provided the craft as well as the supper, but theguests were obliged to navigate for themselves. Many, the majorityindeed, of these had never set foot in a boat of any sort in theirlives, and, notwithstanding the honour which an invitation to hisMajesty's board undoubtedly carried with it, they would gladly havegone without both the honour and the sailing, too. The Tsar's guestswere invited to step into the first boat that came, and whether thishappened to be a rowing or sailing boat they were expected to findtheir way unassisted by experts to the imperial sea-girt pavilion. Ifthis plan was productive of confusion and exciting incident while theunfortunate guests set out supperwards, it is easy to imagine that thescenes when these same gentlemen returned after their meal and itsaccompanying potations must have been doubly entertaining. Wrecks anddrenchings were the rule; prosperous journeys and the haven safely wonthe exception. The Tsar stood upon his island and watched the approachof his expected guests as one who goes to the play; their franticefforts to manage oar and sail gave him the most exquisite delight, hishappiness reaching its culmination whenever one of them, more awkwardthan the rest, was upset. No one was permitted to drown, for either theTsar himself or Boris or other competent persons were ever at hand torescue the shipwrecked; and many a poor dripping wretch was broughtashore by the hunter, to eat his supper in the miserable anticipationof more boating to be done afterwards.
Meanwhile a new fortress began to take shape, close to the old one, andthe city of St. Petersburg was commenced.
Boris returned to Moscow in the autumn, and spent the winter with hisfamily, to the great content of his devoted Nancy. But his peacefulhome-life did not last very long; for with the return of spring thetroops were called out once more to finish that which had been sowell begun in the previous year, and the hunter bade farewell to hisbelongings, little thinking that he should come very nigh, during thissummer'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 hecould feel quite secure in the possession of the Neva--namely, Dorpat,and his old friend Narva, where the Russian arms had received theirfirst salutary check, and where Boris had so nearly had his brainsblown out as he swam for life in the blood-stained river whose surfacehissed in the hail of the Swedish bullets.
With the siege of Dorpat we are not concerned, for Boris was notpresent. Suffice it to say that it fell before the Russian assaultduring the summer months, and that its fall greatly encouraged theother half of the Russian army which sat before the walls of Narva,among which latter was Boris. Weeks passed, but Narva, mindful offormer achievements, still held out, and besiegers and besieged alikegrew very tired of the weary business of bombarding one another,and longed for something more exciting. Then the ingenious spiritof Menshikoff devised a plan which promised at least the chance ofa few lively moments. Early in August the Russian troops before thecity divided themselves under cover of night into two portions. Onehalf retired out of sight of the city, where they arrayed themselvesin Swedish uniforms, and returning when it became light, with drumsbeating and flags flying, fell upon the Russian lines, to the intensedelight of the beleaguered ones within the city, who imagined thathistory was here repeating itself, and that Charles himself had arrivedonce more in the nick of time to relieve his faithful city, and tocut the Russians to pieces. Their delight was still greater when thesupposed Swedish hosts hotly pressed the Russians, who slowly butsurely gave way before them towards the walls of the city. So well didthe Russians perform this wholesale piece of play-acting, that not forone moment did the troops within the city doubt the reality of thevictory which their friends outside appeared to be gaining over thebesiegers. With the intensest excitement they watched the progress ofthe fight; and when there was no longer any doubt as to which side waswinning, they threw open the gates of Narva and sallied out to assistin the rout of the enemy. Then the fleeing hosts turned savagely uponthem, and what was a thousand times worse, the late assailants of thelatter, Swedes though they appeared to be, now took sides with theirdefeated foes and fell upon them also. The brave Narva garrison foughtwell, though they were surprised and demoralized by the deception ofwhich they were the victims. They fell back in good order towardsthe town; and though they lost several hundreds of their men, theysucceeded in getting home again and shutting their gates in the face ofthe Russians, of whom they carried away one or two prisoners.
Boris had acted as one of the pseudo-Swedes, and had fought with hisusual dash, both while the cartridges had been blank ones and theswords ash staves, and also afterwards when the curtain fell upon theopening farce and the real play began. He had pressed, at the head ofhis men, to the very gates of Narva, and was fighting desperately toeffect an entrance, when something crashed upon him from the wallsabove, the gates of the city turned black in his eyes, and as he fellsenseless at the almost-entered haven, the last retiring squad ofSwedish soldiers picked him up and carried him into the city, his menvainly struggling to effect a rescue, and many of them falling as hehad beneath the showers of large stones and sand-bags hurled upon theirheads from above.
When Boris recovered his senses he found himself in a small cell inthe citadel, aching all over, and sick and weary. He was still in theSwedish uniform which he had donned for the purpose of carrying outthe ruse of Menshikoff. A tall Swedish guardsman stood at the door.Boris was visited during the day by many of the leaders of the garrisontroops in Narva, and was questioned by them at great length as tomatters upon which he had not the remotest intention to enlightenthem. One of the officials who thus catechised the poor hunterrecognized him as having been the sham pilot in the Archangel affairof a year or two ago--the Swede having been at that time on boardthe frigate captured by means of the hunter's successful deception.Boris was unwise enough to laugh heartily as the official recalledthis circumstance, a proceeding which much incensed his interviewer.It appeared that the commandant of Narva and his officers were not inthe best of humours, by reason of the trick played upon them by theRussians, and were inclined to make an example of Boris, especially nowthat he was recognized as having already outwitted them on a previousoccasion.
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 donewith this long-limbed Russian, whose legs stuck out of his Swedishgarments, and whose tongue could not be induced to wag. He might justas well be hung on the ramparts at once, as a warning to other Russiandeceivers who presumed to play-act in Swedish uniforms. So Boris wasgiven to understand that he might prepare for his end, which would bebrought about on the gallows, and in the uniform which he had dared todesecrate.
Even to Boris, who believed so implicitly in his own star, thiscommunication came with somewhat of a shock. To be hung on the gallowslike a common spy, and in full view of his own people too--for theexecution was to take place upon the ramparts--this was rather morethan even Boris could contemplate with serenity! One thing wascertain--he must escape, if he was shot a thousand times in theattempt; 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 theentrance to a stone corridor which, i
n its turn, was jealously lockedand guarded, and led into a courtyard full of soldiers. Besides this,the poor hunter was heavily chained. There could be no talk of escapehere. However, they could not rear a gallows in this little room andhang him here; they must take him outside to die--and then! Well, then,Boris promised himself, he would have a merry five seconds or fiveminutes 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 ofthis long siege. A new general, a foreigner named Ogilvie, had beenbrought down by the Tsar to watch the siege. Ogilvie declared that ifthe Russians peppered away at Narva until doomsday, in the presentdisposition of their guns, they would never take the city. The gunsmust be placed differently. If this were done, and a sharp fire keptup for two days, he would guarantee that the place could be stormedwith success on the third day. Ogilvie's advice was taken. The gunswere brought round to the eastern side of the walls, and a terrificbombardment was commenced and kept up for two days.
On the morning of the third day, at sunrise, the Tsar, with his newgeneral and a group of officers, was up and about preparing for theattack upon the besieged city which was to take place that day. Thefire of the last two days had been marvellously successful, and theTsar was in the best of spirits as he visited the guns which had beenso well served on the preceding day. Peter distributed rewards amongthe gunners, and bade them recommence their practice immediately. Heswept the walls with his telescope, considering which spot should beselected as the breach to be stormed by his brave soldiers; for therewere several weak places, and it would be well to concentrate his fireupon one or two.
"Ogilvie," said Peter, after a prolonged stare through the glass, "whatdo you make of the erection upon the eastern ramparts? What are theydoing? It looks to me more like a crane than anything else--probablyto raise stones for patching their walls. They really might savethemselves the trouble."
Ogilvie took the glass. "It's no crane," he said; "it's a gallows. Somepoor fellow going to be hung, I suppose."
"Then why on the walls?" said the Tsar. "That must be for ouredification. They haven't another Hummert, have they, or any deserterfrom us; or--" Peter's countenance suddenly changed--"it can'tsurely be for Boris Ivanitch! They would never dare!--Here, men! ahundred roubles to the gunner who brings down yonder gallows on thewalls--fire, quick, every one of you!"
Crash went the big guns one after the other, sending the stoneworkflying around the spot indicated, and scattering the crowds of peoplewho could be distinguished surrounding the gibbet; and, finally, ashot struck the gallows itself, either full or at a ricochet, and theerection disappeared. Peter gave orders that the fortunate gunnershould receive his reward, and hurried away to see after the immediatedespatch 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 publiclyexecuted on the following morning. He did not sleep the worse for thisinformation. He had lived up till now with his life in his hand, andhad stood many a time face to face with death, and yet survived it. Ifby the mercy of God he should escape this time also, why, so much thebetter; if it was decreed that he should die, well, that was no reasonwhy he should fret all night and destroy his nerve, in case it werewanted in the morning.
At sunrise Boris was led out upon the ramparts; and certainly his heartsank when he caught sight of the gallows upon which these Swedishfellows meant to suspend his long body. He was still bound at thewrists as he marched up to the place of execution; but they would notsurely hang him in thongs? Boris vehemently protested as the finalarrangements were being made, imploring the officer of the guard toloose his wrists; but in vain. When all was ready he was seized bysoldiers, and in another instant would have been carried to the gibbetand set swinging there, when, at this critical moment, big shot fromthe Russian lines began to fly high and low and in every direction, andsoldiers and crowd were scattered in an instant to all points of thecompass.
"Bringing up his clenched fists together against thefellow's chin."_Page 337._ ]
Boris thought this a good opportunity to make his first move forfreedom. He raised his foot and tripped up one of the men who held himby the arm, the guards with Boris between them being in full run at themoment. The man fell. Thus freed of one hindrance to his movements,Boris quickly turned upon his second custodian, and bringing up hisclenched fists together with tremendous force against the fellow's chinsent him flying backwards.
The crowd were fortunately too busy rushing hither and thither forshelter from the Russian cannon-balls to take much notice of theprisoner and his doings, and Boris was able to dodge round the cornerof a house and into a yard with a gate to it before his bewilderedguards had recovered their feet. Kicking the gate shut behind him,Boris rushed down the yard and into the back door of a house. Here hefound himself within a kitchen, in which a woman was busy preparingfood, presumably for some one's breakfast Boris appealed to her tocut his thongs, which she (he being still in his Swedish uniform)immediately did, without asking questions. Having heartily thankedthe amiable cook, he went back to the yard and prospected through thekey-hole of the gate.
The Russian gunners had made good practice, he observed, duringthe last few minutes. The crowd was dispersed; the gallows haddisappeared--shot away, doubtless; many dead soldiers lay about thewalls and in the street below--there was one just outside the yard gate.
This was the very opportunity the hunter required. He opened the gateand dragged the man inside, where he despoiled him of his sword.He recognized the fellow as one of the guards from whose hands hehad escaped a few minutes since: clearly he had been in the act offollowing Boris into the yard when he was shot down.
Now Boris was ready for anything. If they came to fetch him here, atthis gateway--well, it was narrow, and, barring accidents, he thoughthe could defend it against swords all day!
As a matter of fact he was not again molested, for the garrison hadenough to do in defending the breaches in their walls from the stormingparty to have any time to search for the escaped prisoner. When hisfellow-officers and the men of his regiment came scouring into the townan hour afterwards, flushed with victory, and on plunder and prisonersintent, some of them rushed into the house which had been the hunter'sshelter since the early morning, and there they found our friend Borisseated in the kitchen over an excellent breakfast, of which some ofthem were invited to partake, and waited upon by his benefactress, theSwedish cook.