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.
[Illustration: "Bringing up his clenched fists together against the
fellow's chin."
_Page 337._ ]
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.