A RACE FOR LIFE.
It has been already mentioned that Boris had promised to instruct his
master in the art of calling various animals. In this art Boris was
marvellously expert, and could imitate the cry of the wolf, lynx, and
other creatures so exactly that if any member of the particular family
whose language he was imitating chanced to be within hearing, it would
invariably respond to his call--sometimes to its destruction, if it
did not find out in time that it had been made the victim of a gross
deception. The practice of this art was a source of unfailing delight
and amusement to the Tsar during that weary drive of hundreds of miles
through the plains and forests of northern and central Russia; for most
of the journey was performed by land, though the Dwina offered a good
water-way for a considerable distance.
The aptitude of Boris for imitation extended to the calling of birds
as well as beasts, and many were the tree-partridges that were lured
by him to their doom, and subsequently eaten by the monarch with much
enjoyment as a welcome change from the sour cabbage-soup and black
bread and salt, which were for the most part all that the party could
get to subsist upon.
It was rarely, indeed, that wolf or lynx ventured to approach close
enough to the carriage of the Tsar to permit of a successful shot
with his old matchlock; but these animals, wolves especially, were
frequently seen at a distance, appearing for an instant amid the gloom
of the dense pines, but rapidly disappearing as soon as they had
ascertained that they had been deceived. But once, when within two
or three days' journey of Moscow, this now favourite pastime of the
Tsar came near to involving himself and Boris in a fate which would
have saved the present writer the trouble of following any further the
fortunes of Boris, and would have caused the history of Russia, and
indeed that of Europe, to be written in an altogether different manner,
for the stirring pages of the life and work of Peter the Great would
never have been penned at all.
Boris, as usual, was reclining easily in the front seat of the
travelling carriage, idly smoking and chatting, and now and again, at
the bidding of Peter, who occupied the back seat, sending out loud
invitations in wolf language, in the hope that some wandering member of
the family might happen to be within call and respond to his advances.
Of a sudden Boris's cries were answered; a melancholy howl was
distinctly heard by both men to proceed from within the heart of the
dense forest through which the road lay. The howl appeared to proceed
from a distance of half-a-mile, and was instantly followed by a second
a little further away. The Tsar quickly sat up, gun in hand, while
Boris excitedly reiterated his cries, producing tones so pathetically
melancholy that the wolf would be hard-hearted indeed that could resist
so touching an appeal for companionship. To his surprise, however,
there came not one reply but several; half-a-dozen wolves, seemingly,
had heard the invitation, and were hastening to respond to it. This was
splendid. The young Tsar was now extremely excited.
"Howl away, Boris," he whispered; "there are several of them. We are
sure of a shot this time!"
Nothing loath, Boris continued his howlings, and at each repetition
the number of wolves that took part in the responding calls appeared
to increase, until some twenty distinct voices could be made out, each
coming from a slightly different quarter.
Ivan the driver turned half round and crossed himself; then he spat on
the ground--a sure sign of discontent in a Russian; then he addressed
the young Tsar with the easy familiarity of an old Russian servant.
"Stop it, Peter, the son of Alexis," he said; "there are too many
wolves here! My horses will lose their heads if they see them.--Don't
howl any more, Boris Ivanitch, if you love your life!"
Boris himself was looking somewhat grave, for he was well aware of the
truth of old Ivan's remark that there were too many wolves--it was a
pack, not a doubt of it; and the character of wolves when in a pack is
as different from that of the same animals when alone or in pairs as is
the harmless malevolence of a skulking beggar in the streets compared
with the mischief-making capacity of an armed and howling mob of roughs
and blackguards. But the Tsar had never seen a pack of wolves, and knew
little of the dangers of which both Boris and Ivan were well aware;
therefore he directed the former to continue his calls, bidding Ivan,
at the same time, keep a proper hold upon his horses if he was afraid
of them.
Old Ivan crossed himself once more and spat a second time, but he
gathered up the reins as the Tsar commanded. As for Boris, he looked
graver than ever, and howled in a half-hearted manner.
In a very few moments the vanguard of the wolf-host made its
appearance. First one gaunt, gray-pointed snout appeared amid the pines
on the right of the road, then another; almost at the same instant
three cantering forms hove into view close behind; and two more were
seen taking a survey in front of the horses' heads.
Peter was in a high state of excitement; he thought nothing of the
danger of the moment--it is doubtful whether he realized it. His
gun-barrel was raised and pointed now at one gray form, now at another,
as each in turn appeared to offer a better chance of a successful
shot. Just as he fired, however, the horses had caught sight of the
leaders of the pack, but a few paces from their noses, and the sudden
apparition so startled them that all three shied with one accord,
bringing the wheel of the tarantass into a gigantic rut, and so nearly
upsetting the carriage that the gun flew out of Peter's hands as he
clutched at the side of the vehicle to save himself from being pitched
out.
The next instant the horses, entirely beyond the control of poor Ivan,
were dashing along the road at full gallop, the wolves accelerating
their easy canter in order to keep up. It now became apparent that
there were many more of these grim-looking creatures present than
had at first seemed to be the case; indeed, the wood on either side
of the roadway appeared to swarm with their gaunt figures, while
numbers followed behind, and a few headed the carriage. Even Peter,
now that his gun was lost to him, began to feel that the position
was not so agreeable as he had thought; while Boris said little, but
watched gravely the slightest movement of the leaders of the wolf-mob,
loosening the knife at his side the while and bidding Peter do the same.
"How far to the next post-station, Ivan?" the Tsar shouted presently.
"Twelve versts," Ivan shouted back, without turning his head.
It was all the old man could do to keep the horses' heads straight; so
mad were they with terror that they would have rushed wildly into the
forest at the side of the road if permitted to do so.
Twelve versts are eight English miles, and Boris was well aware that
the wolves would be unlikely to content themselves with passively
following or accompanying the carriage for so great a distance;
they would, he knew, attack the horses before very long, for their
excitement would carry them away into what wolves with cool heads would
consider an indiscretion. Occasionally a wolf would push ahead of its
fellows, impelled by the desire to have the first taste of blood,
advancing its gray nose so close to the side of the carriage that Boris
or his master was able to aim a vicious dig at it, and once or twice a
howl of pain attested to the fact that the blow had reached and either
scratched or gashed the indiscreet assailant.
And so, for several miles, matters remained. Boris began to take heart,
for half the journey had been accomplished, and if nothing more serious
were attempted by the wolves than had been ventured by them up till
now, there was no reason to fear any evil consequences. The wolves
would pursue them thus up to within a few yards of the village, and
then slink back into the woods to reflect upon what might have been had
they been more enterprising.
Peter clearly shared the favourable view of Boris; no gloomy fears
oppressed his sturdy mind. He laughed as he gashed at the trespassers,
calling them all the bad names in the Russian vocabulary, including
"cholera," which is a favourite term of abuse in that country, for
sufficiently apparent reasons, and "Pharaoh," which, with less obvious
point, is to a Russian the most irritating and offensive of all the bad
names you can call him.
But while the two young men were thus busily engaged in the hinder
portion of the carriage, a cry from old Ivan on the box caused them to
desist from their exciting occupation and to look ahead. Not a moment
too soon had the old driver uttered his warning note. Three huge wolves
had pushed in front of their fellows and had commenced their attack
upon the horses, just as Boris had feared would be the case. The fierce
brutes were leaping up on either side, attempting to seize the horses
by the throat, but making their springs as yet in a half-hearted way,
as though they had not quite worked themselves up to the necessary
point of audacity. The poor horses, however, at each spring of their
assailants, jerked up their heads in terror, losing their step, and
thus causing a new danger, for at the present rate of speed a stumble
from any of the three might have had fatal results to the occupants of
the carriage.
Boris realized the danger in a moment. Quickly directing his companion
to remain where he was and attend to the attack from the rear, he
sprang upon the coach-box, and thence upon the back of the shaft-horse.
The other two horses were attached to the carriage by pieces of rope
only, fastened to leather collars about their necks; and it was these
two outsiders against whose flanks and throats the wolves were now
directing their attacks. Boris with difficulty obtained a position upon
the back of one of them, lying along its spine and hitching his feet
into the rope at either side, while he clasped the leather collar with
one hand and held his long sharp knife in the other. In this awkward
and insecure position he managed to slash at the wolves, two of which
were now making determined springs, as though resolved at all hazards
to pull the unfortunate horse down and put an end to this prolonged
chase.
It was a good fight. Boris aimed his blows well, and before a couple
of hundred yards had been covered one of the rash assailants, leaping
rather higher than before, received a dig from the big knife that sent
him yelping and somersaulting among his fellows, and a detachment of
them quickly fell behind to eat him up. This did not affect the rest,
however, and Boris found that he had about as much as he could do to
beat off the constantly increasing number of assailants.
Meanwhile another warning from old Ivan caused Boris to look up for
a moment, when he became aware that the second outsider was in need
of instant assistance. A large wolf had succeeded in effecting for a
moment a hold upon the throat of the poor brute, which had, however,
either shaken or kicked it off again with its galloping front legs.
Peter was fully occupied in beating off the increasingly audacious
attacks of the rearguard, while Ivan could, of course, give him no
assistance. Boris quickly made up his mind that something must be done,
and that instantly, or one of the horses must inevitably be pulled
down, with fatal results to all parties. Thereupon Boris slashed with
his knife the rope which attached the left-hand horse; and as the
animal, feeling itself free, darted towards the forest, he was pleased
to see that it was immediately followed by a dozen gray pursuers, which
were thus drawn away from the main body. Horse and assailants quickly
disappeared among the trees, whither the historian is unable to follow
them, and the last tragedy of that steed, and its escape or death, was
played out far away in the heart of the pine forest.
And now recommenced that fierce fight between Boris and his numerous
antagonists which had been interrupted for a moment by the last
recorded incident. Deftly as Boris fought, the wolves were so
aggressive and numerous that it soon became apparent to the hunter that
they were gaining ground upon him, and that in all probability they
would succeed before long in pulling down one of the two remaining
horses, which he was striving so determinedly to defend. Boris was
accustomed to make up his mind quickly in cases of emergency. He
shouted back to the Tsar to hand up to Ivan the long bear-spear which
was strapped to the side of the tarantass. With this weapon he directed
Ivan to prod at those wolves which attacked the shaft-horse, while he
himself confined his attention to those whose springs were aimed at
the remaining outsider. Old Ivan rose to the occasion; he gathered the
reins in one hand, and with the other struck manfully at the brutes
which ever swarmed at flank and throat of the poor shafter. Some of his
blows grazed the horse's shoulder and neck, causing it to rush on with
even greater speed. The post-village was now but a mile away, and if
only Boris could keep off the swarming brutes for a few minutes longer
the Tsar would be safe.
[Illustration: "Slashing at the wolves which swarmed about him."
_Page 81._ ]
On flew the horses, and on hacked Boris; while Peter, in the carriage,
slashed at the hindmost wolves, and old Ivan prodded bravely and
shouted loudly at those in front. If things were to go wrong, and he
should be unable to keep the leaders at bay until the Tsar was in
safety, Boris knew what he would do.
Meanwhile the chase went on for another half-mile. Then the outside
horse, harassed beyond endurance by the ever-increasing number of his
assailants, stumbled repeatedly. In an instant Boris had slashed in two
the cords which attached him to the vehicle, and freed from the incubus
of the carriage, the poor animal darted forward and turned aside into
the forest, Boris himself still lying full length upon its back, but
assuming as quickly as he could a sitting posture. In this position,
still slashing at the wolves which swarmed about him, and waving adieu
to the Tsar with his left hand, he disappeared from sight; and in the
distance the horrified Peter heard the clatter of his horse's hoofs as
the devoted hunter was borne away from him to his doom.
For one wild moment Peter was for bidding Ivan direct the carriage in
pursuit; but the absurdity of such a course was apparent on the face
of it, and the Tsar was obliged, with grief and reluctance, to leave
his faithful servant and friend to his fate. At least half the wolves
or more had followed Boris into the depths of the forest, and Peter and
Ivan together succeeded in keeping the rest at bay long enough to allow
the panting shafter to drag the carriage in safety to within sight of
the village, when, with a gasp of despair, the poor creature stumbled
and fell, causing the carriage to stop suddenly with a jolt that
almost unseated the driver. Peter, with that personal courage in which
he has never been surpassed, leaped out to cut the traces and allow
the gallant animal which had served him so well to gallop for life.
Seeing him on foot, the wolves, unable even now to overcome altogether
their natural terror of man, drew off for a moment, and in that moment
Peter freed the horse, which dashed madly away into the woods like its
fellows, followed by all the wolves with the exception of two or three
which preferred to hang about the two men as they walked on towards the
village, but not daring to approach within striking distance of spear
or knife. When within a few yards of the first dwelling-house of the
village, these disappeared into the forest also, looking round once or
twice ere they finally retreated, and licking their lips, as though
their imagination dwelt upon the delights of a feast that might have
been.
The Tsar was morose and silent; and his attendants, who arrived within
an hour after himself, and who declared that they had met neither
wolves nor Boris, left the young monarch to his supper, avowing to one
another that they had never yet seen the Tsar so terrible to look upon.