A STORY OF PETER THE GREAT.
Some hundred and fifty years ago the "Emperor of all the Russias" was Peter the Great; and Peter, with all his faults, was a generous-hearted man, and loved an adventure dearly. It was a cold bleak day in November when our story commences, and the fishermen on the Gulf of Finland could easily foretell a coming storm from the clouds which were gathering on the horizon from the south-east. As the clouds grew darker, the wind blew in louder gusts, and the waves rose with whiter and taller crests, and lashed the shores with an ever-increasing vehemence. Along the beach on the north side of the Gulf of Finland are some twenty or thirty fishermen's huts, which form part of the straggling town of Lachta. Hard by is the spot where a ferry-boat starts—or rather started a century ago—for the opposite side of the gulf some twice or three times a week. As the door of one of these cottages opened, a young sailor came out, followed by his mother, who saw that he was bent on crossing the lake for the purpose of transacting some business at the little village of Liborg, and was vainly endeavouring to stay him by pointing out the signs of the growing storm.
"Only see, my dear son," she cried, "how rough and angry the lake is now; see what madness it is to venture out in an open boat upon its waves on such a day. If the ferry-boat must go, let it start without you, and do you stay at home, my Steenie, for your poor mother's sake."
"Oh! mother," replied the young man, "you are over-anxious; my business with Carl Wald compels me to go across whether I like it or not, and I cannot disappoint him if the ferry-boat starts at all, and start it will directly from the quay, for I see the passengers gathering together at the top of the steps. Only look now, there is Alec and Nicholas going across, and I cannot stay behind. Then, good-bye, mother, I am off to the Katharine." So saying he stepped briskly forward.
"Well, Paul, my man," said Steenie to the old boatman, "here's rather a rough passage across for us; I suppose you will go all the same, though you don't seem to like the looks of the weather a bit better than I do? But I don't see any other boats out this afternoon for certain."
"Oh, Paul! Oh, Steenie! it is just tempting Providence to think of crossing over with such a sea rising, and with the wind almost dead against you," cried the distracted widow.
"As to that, there's always danger afloat," answered Paul, "be it fair or foul; and Providence takes care of us afloat as well as ever he does on land. Here, Alec, let go that rope. Now then, to your oars. She's off now, boys! Helm aport now."
"Port it is," growled the steersman, who evidently had no fancy for the voyage, and had all this time been crying out against the unpropitious state of the weather.
The boatmen who were on the steps and along the beach assured the widow that there was no real danger; and so having bid her son an affectionate farewell, and uttering many a devout prayer for his safe return next week, she went back into her cottage low and depressed in her spirits, and sat watching the boat from her window as it did battle with each crested surge and rose proudly on its course. Need we say that she watched it with a mother's eye, until a projecting cliff shut it wholly out of sight? The storm, however, continued as before, and the mother had but one resource left, to commit her beloved son and the frail boat in which he crossed the waters of the lake to the merciful goodness of that Providence who is "the God of the fatherless and the widow."
Meanwhile the little vessel was battling with the angry waves in a place where there was a narrow passage, some fifty yards broad, between two dangerous shelving sandbanks, well known to the master of the Katharine and his crew. The sandbanks themselves, as it happened, lay partly under the lee of one of the little islands which stud the coast near Lachta; and the current was bearing strong upon the bank upon the leeward. At this moment the Katharine shipped a large quantity of water; as ill-luck would have it, the tiller broke, and before the boat's head could be righted she had drifted upon the edge of the bar of sand, and there she stuck fast. The little bark would have been overwhelmed by the breakers but for the shelter afforded by the corner of the island and the shifting of the wind a point or two round to the north; indeed she was fast filling with water, in spite of the efforts of the passengers to keep her afloat by bailing. To add to the general confusion on board, it now turned out that several of the passengers, who had been drinking at the village inn before starting from Lachta, were fairly intoxicated, and the rest were sinking down bewildered into the apathy of despair, so that only Stephen and two of the boatmen had their wits about them. But though they strove with all their might, they were unable to move the boat from off the sandbank. At this moment, when the waves were breaking over the little Katharine, and had already swept off into deep water one or two hapless passengers, who had lost all heart and courage, a sail was seen approaching.
It was rather a large vessel, with a gallant crew of some twenty men, who had been inspecting a portion of the coast. They had seen the perilous position of old Paul and his boat, and had borne down to his assistance, for in spite of the terrible raging of the wind and waves the captain could not see the poor fellows swept away one by one and drowned without at least making an effort to save them.
The vessel neared the sandbank; but how may she approach close enough to rescue the unfortunate fellows on board the Katharine? A boat is lowered from the vessel, and four as gallant Russian sailors as ever ploughed the fresh waters of Ladoga or the Baltic have rowed up to the spot; but the strength of two of the crew, added to the exertions of Stephen and the boatmen of the Katharine, are not sufficient to move the boat from the firm grasp with which the sand held her keel. They were, therefore, beginning to relax their efforts, when a second boat, with a crew of six stout-hearted fellows, neared the bank, and by vigorous efforts reached the spot in time to reinforce their comrades. Without the loss of a moment, one of the crew, a fine tall muscular Russian, some six feet five inches high, stripped off his outer garments, leaped into the sea, and after swimming a few sharp strokes gained a footing on the sand. This was heavy work indeed, as the sand was not hard and firm, but mixed with mud and slime; but the giant strength of the new arrival turned the scale, and after a few short and sharp heaves the Katharine moved once more. In a few moments she was afloat again, and taken in tow by the other boat.
And where was Stephen all this time? Worn out with fatigue and cold, for he had been immersed some two hours in the chilly waves, and standing in deep water and nearly exhausted by their violence, he had lost his footing on the slippery bank, and having got in a moment beyond his depth was vainly attempting to keep his head above water by swimming in his drenched and dripping clothes, the weight of which in a few minutes more would have carried him down.
"Oh! Steenie, Steenie!" cried the old boatman, Paul, with a loud voice of agony, which would make itself heard even above the roaring of the angry wind and waves; "can none of you save my poor Stephen, the bravest lad that ever trod a deck! He's gone now; and but for his help this day my boat would have been lost."
"He's not lost yet!" cried the tall seaman; and, plunging into the waves, he caught him by the hair of the head just as he was sinking a third time; the next wave would have carried him fairly down, and his life would have been gone beyond recall.
It was but the work of a moment for the strong, tall stranger to swim with the lad towards the boat, which was hovering near; and in another second the gallant crew had lifted him in over the gunwale and laid him at the bottom of the boat. As soon as he showed signs of life, and began to open his eyes, a flask of brandy was applied to his mouth, and he soon revived. The tall man, too, got in, and leaving two of his crew to help old Paul to tow the Katharine ashore, he gave the signal to his men, and they pulled off with all their might in the direction of Lachta. Though the waves were still running high, yet, fortunately, the wind was astern; so the sharp, quick strokes of the crew soon brought the boat to a landing-place from which, a few hours before, poor Stephen had departed in such high spirits, and with such confidence in Paul's seamanship and the ability of the Katharine to make the passage.
As soon as the boat came to the sheltered nook where the steps of the landing-place led up from the sea, Stephen was put ashore, and partly led and partly carried he reached the cottage of his mother. At the sight of her son the poor widow burst into a flood of tears, and began to give way to an agony of joy and grief. A warm bath was soon prepared for her son; and after the application of some gentle restoratives poor Stephen was able to sit up and thank his kind preserver, the tall stranger, who, with his two men behind him, just now lifted up the latch of the cottage-door and had entered the room.
"Gracious Heaven!" exclaimed the grateful mother; "why, sir, you are in wet clothes too! Sit down, sir, by the fire, and accept of my humble fare, while I go and find some of my Steenie's clothes for you to put on, and I dry those dripping garments."
The tall stranger sat down, and, as the widow left the room, gave his two followers a hint not to make known to the boy or his mother who he was. In a few minutes the stranger had retired, and assumed a plain old suit belonging to the young man whose life he had saved, and was engaged in eating some hot bacon which the widow had just placed on the table before him, with many protestations of her eternal gratitude to the saviour of her son.
"May the King of Heaven, who never turns a deaf ear to the widow's prayer, mercifully reward you for saving my Steenie's life! It is not many a sailor, or merchant either, that would have done as you did to-day. Heaven speed you; and may you never forget that the poor widow of Lachta is praying for you night and morning, that the Almighty may increase your store, whenever you are sailing over the stormy sea, or the lakes of Onega and Ladoga."
The tall stranger was about to rise and depart, when suddenly the door opened, and a naval officer entered with a crowd of attendants. It was the captain and mate of the barque which Paul and Steenie had seen in the offing, and which had sent her boats to the rescue of the Katharine.
"My noble master, may it please your majesty," he said, falling on one knee, "the Royal Peter has come safe, and she has towed the Katharine too into the little port of Lachta."
The poor widow fell down upon her knees in astonishment, and faltered forth her apologies for not having recognized his majesty, and for having treated him with such apparent disrespect.
"Nay, nay, my good woman," said the czar, smiling, "how could you know the emperor thus disguised in mud and dirt. But you will know him henceforth. I shall keep your son's clothes in remembrance of this day; and when your boy 'Steenie,' as you call him, wakes up from the sound sleep into which he has fallen, tell him that he will always find a true friend in Peter Alexovitch."
Our readers when they learn that the foregoing story is founded upon a plain historical fact—as they will find upon reading for themselves the "Life of Peter the Great,"—will be grieved to hear that the noble conduct of the emperor on this occasion cost him his life. He had for a long time suffered under a chronic internal disease, which none of the court physicians could effectually combat; and in the month of November, 1724, in which our story is laid, having gone, contrary to the advice of his physicians, to inspect the works on Lake Ladoga, his exposure to the wet and cold, in rescuing the poor ferryman and his crew in the manner related, affected him so seriously that he never afterwards recovered. The emperor went home to his palace at St. Petersburg without loss of time, but his malady increased in spite of all the remedies which the medical skill of Russia could furnish; and gradually he sank under the disease, till death put an end to his sufferings towards the close of the following January.
Such was the end of Peter I. of Russia, deservedly named the "Great;" though he was the strangest compound of contradictions, perhaps, that the world has ever seen. In him the most ludicrous undertakings were mingled with the grandest political schemes. Benevolence and humanity were as conspicuous in his character as a total disregard of human life. He was at once kind-hearted and severe, even to the extent of ferocity. Without education himself he promoted arts, sciences, and literature. "He gave," says one of his biographers, "a polish to his people, and yet he was himself a savage; he taught them the art of war, of which, however, he was himself ignorant; from the sight of a small boat on the river Moskwa he created a powerful fleet, and made himself an expert and active shipwright, sailor, pilot, and commander; he changed the manners, customs, and laws of the Russians, and lives in their memory, not merely as the founder of their empire, but as the father of his country."
Yes; the memory of Peter the Great to this day is dear among all classes of the Russians, from the noblest of the Boyards down to the meanest peasant. But if among the towns and villages of his vast empire there be one in which his name is cherished with especial honour, it is that little fishing town of Lachta; and in proof of our assertion we may add, that the cottage in which "Steenie" and his mother lived and died is still familiarly known to every traveller in those parts as "Peter's House."