Boris the Bear-Hunter

by Frederick Whishaw

FOOTNOTE:

[1] Mishka is the familiar Russian name for a bear.

CHAPTER III.
BORIS CHANGES MASTERS.

Boris, when he returned to the village that same afternoon, enjoyed a veritable triumph at the hands of his delighted fellows. He was honest enough to confess his indebtedness to the stranger, but this did not make the slightest difference in the gratitude of the peasants; and indeed the service which Boris had rendered them, in thus ridding them of an infliction worse than the most terrible blight, was no slight one. A large bear, when so disposed, and when allowed to work his wicked will upon the corn-fields of a village, will very speedily either consume or trample into hay the entire grain wealth of the community; so that the gratitude of the peasants was proportionate to their clear gain in the death of one of the two monster pests which had come, like a scourge upon the village, to devour the fatness thereof.

Boris was carried shoulder-high through the one street of the place; while the carcass of the dead robber, slung by his four legs to a pole, was borne behind, escorted by a booing, yelling crowd of women and children. A bonfire was lighted at night in honour of the hunter and his achievement, when portions of the bear were cooked and eaten, more as an expression of contempt for the late owner of the flesh than for love of the food. Most of the carcass was given to the dogs, however, and they, at least, were delighted with the feast.

Boris was well feasted with vodka and with other delicacies equally bad for him; but being a sensible youth and steady withal, he did not retire at night in the degraded condition of most of his fellow-villagers. He was elated, no doubt, not by the fumes of the spirits, however, but by the sense of triumph; yet the more he pondered over his fight and victory, the more clearly did he realize his indebtedness to the timely aid of the strong young giant who had come to his assistance. As he lay and dozed, half conscious, through the hot hours of the summer night, Boris weaved the adventure of the day into a thousand fantastic shapes, in all of which, however, the stranger played an important part: sometimes he was his own patron saint; then he was a benevolent lieshui, or wood-spirit, a class of beings fully believed in by the peasants, but, according to popular tradition, more likely to take the part of the bear than of Boris in a fight between the two. In a word, the stranger assumed so many various shapes in the hunter's overwrought brain at night, that when day came Boris was by no means certain whether the stranger had in reality existed at all, and was inclined to fancy that the whole thing had been a dream as he lay and slept after the death of the bear, which he had slain single-handed.

Half hoping that this might prove to be the case—for the idea that he had almost been worsted by a bear, however huge, was an unwelcome thought to so renowned a hunter—Boris determined, nevertheless, that he would at least journey as far as the town, which was but a mile or two distant, in order to learn for himself whether there indeed existed a young giant of the name of Petka.

Boris set out at the appointed hour for Archangel and the house of the burgomaster. The house was easily found, for it was the principal building of the place, and was so grand, indeed, to look upon that Boris scarcely liked his mission. What if the whole thing should have been a dream? Why, what a fool he would appear, coming to this grand place and inquiring for some one who did not exist; all these serfs and dressed-up people about the front door would laugh at him, and tell him to go home and drink less vodka the next time he killed a bear. However, Boris reflected, if any one should laugh at him, laughers were easily knocked down. He was as good a man, and perhaps a trifle better, than any of these embroidered chaps. Let them laugh if they liked; their mirth might cost them a little of their embroidery! So Boris pulled himself together, and marched up to the porch of the big wooden structure which had been pointed out to him as the house of the burgomaster. A stately doorkeeper, dressed, in spite of the warmth of the season, in a gold-laced kaftan and a high fur cap, listened to the young peasant's inquiry with some bewilderment. Was there any one living there of the name of Petka? Boris had asked,—a young fellow about his own age? Boris believed he was a barin, but could not be sure; he gave this address.

"Petka?" repeated the astonished porter. "What do you mean? Petka who? What's his family name?"

"I only know he called himself Petka; he said sometimes he was known as Petrushka," said Boris, beginning to feel assured that he was the victim of a dream. "He was a tall, well-set-up sort of a fellow," he continued, "as big as I am, or bigger. Come now; is he here, or is he not? I warn you I am not a man to annoy; I am Boris the Bear-Hunter."

It was not meant as an idle boast. Had the doorkeeper been a native of the town he would have known well enough who the bearer of this name was; but it so happened that this man was a new arrival from Moscow, whence he had come with the retinue of his master the Tsar, and therefore the title meant nothing to him, but savoured only of boasting and the conceit of local celebrity.

"Well," he said, "you can go home again and hunt your bears at leisure; there's no Petka, nor yet Petrushka, here. As for annoying you, I know nothing about that, but you are going the right way to get yourself a taste of the knout, my friend; and if you don't clear out of this street in double quick time, I shall summon those who are very well able to make you cry, though you may be the best bear-sticker that ever walked. Now then, off you go!"

The fellow laid his hand upon the hunter's arm, as though to put his threat of violence into execution; but in doing so he made a great mistake. Boris was fearless and independent; he was unaccustomed to threats and interference. As a rule people were afraid of him, and showed him deference: what right had this man to browbeat and threaten him? Boris's hot blood resented the insult, and in a moment the man lay sprawling at his feet, bellowing loudly for help, crying and swearing in a breath, in a manner which is natural to the Russian peasant. His cries instantly brought around the pair a host of serfs and servants, who quickly hustled Boris within the passage, and made as though they would lay hold of him. But this the high-spirited hunter of bears would not submit to, and, with his back to the wall, he hit out right and left with so good effect that the number of his assailants was considerably reduced in very quick time indeed.

This was a row quite after Boris's own heart, and he was thoroughly enjoying himself among the noisy crowd of shouting and whining serving-men, when a loud voice broke in above the noise—a voice that Boris seemed to recognize, and at the sound of which every other voice in that noisy hall died away into instant silence. The fallen assailants of Boris uprose from the earth and ranged themselves in line, prepared to denounce the foe or to excuse themselves according as occasion arose. But the new arrival exacted no explanations.

"Why," he cried, "it's my friend the bear-eater! Come along this way, Bear-eater, and tell me all about this disturbance. Have you killed so few bears of late that you must needs work off your spare energies at the expense of my poor servants? Well, well, if you were to rid me of a score or two of the thieving rogues, I should do well enough without them, I daresay. But what is it all about?"

"The man with the embroidery wanted to give me the knout because I asked for you by the name of Petka," said Boris, feeling that there was more in all this than he had quite understood. This must be something like a barin, who could talk in so airy a way of a "score or two" of his servants. "You said your name was Petka, didn't you?"

"Assuredly," said the other, leading the way into a private chamber; "Petka or Petrushka, sometimes Peter—I answer to all these names. But come now, to business. I like the look of you, Boris. I want Russians with strong bodies and brave hearts; I shall have work for them. Do you feel inclined to enter my service? I will pay you well if you serve me well. Now, then, no wasting words, for I am due down at the harbour—is it yes or no?"

"But I am not my own master," said the astonished Boris. "I am the property of my barin, who employs me to hunt the bears and wolves. I cannot say I will leave him and serve you, though I like the look of you well enough. Besides, what do you want me for—to kill bears?"

"You shall hunt the bears to your heart's content," said the barin; "and as for your master, I will see that he does not object to your transfer to my service. Is it agreed? come, yes or no."

"Yes, then," said Boris, who both spoke and acted as in a dream. The mastery of this young giant over him seemed so complete that he could not have answered otherwise than in the affirmative even if he had wished to do so. He was drawn by a power stronger than himself.

"Very well," said the other, writing rapidly, "excellently well; shake hands upon it. Take this to your master, and come to this place to enter upon your service to-morrow morning. You may ask for Piotr [Peter] Alexeyevitch, and I shall be ready to receive you. Now I must go sailing with Meinheer de Kuyper. Stay; your hand-grip now. Good! that's more like a grip than any I have felt for some time. I shall like you, I think; only serve me faithfully."

Peter Alexeyevitch, as he had called himself, left the room with these words. But Boris preserved somewhat painful reminiscences of his new friend and master for several hours, for the return hand-grip had been such that the bones of his hand had ground together in the mighty clasp.

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CHAPTER IV.
BORIS GOES A-SAILING.

It was all very well for Boris to tell his new friend that he would enter his service; but when, away from the glamour of his presence, he considered the matter in cold blood, it appeared to him to be a somewhat audacious proceeding on his part to coolly bring to his master a note from some one else, whom he could only describe as a tall and masterful young barin of the name of Peter Alexeyevitch, stating that somebody proposed to deprive his lawful lord of the services of his paid serf and servant, the bear-hunter! Why, after all, should his lord consent to so audacious a proposal from a total stranger? There was no reason that Boris knew why he should do so; in all probability he would refuse, and perhaps punish Boris besides for his impertinence and disloyalty in proposing such a thing, or at least being a consenting party to such a proposal. Hence Boris entered the barin's house at Dubinka in some trepidation, and gave his letter into the master's own hands, quite expecting an angry reception.

"Well, Boris, so you killed one of the two bears, I'm told," began the barin. "You've come for your 'tea-money,' I suppose? Well, you have deserved it this time, and I shall pay it with pleasure. What's this?—a letter? from whom?"

"That's what I can't tell your Mercifulness," said Boris. "Petka, he calls himself, but I don't know who he is, excepting that he is a gentleman like yourself, and very big and strong—like me."

The barin took the letter and glanced at it; then he flushed, and uttered an exclamation of surprise. Then he laughed, and patted Boris kindly on the back.

"Bravo, Boris!" he said, "you have made a useful friend. Do you know whom this letter is from?"

"From Petka, of course!" said blunt Boris.

"Your friend is the Tsar of all the Russias, my son; and, moreover, he has requested me to transfer you to his service. You are a lucky boy, Boris, and I hope you may do your new master credit. Serve him well. He is Peter, the Hope of the Nation; all Russia looks to him, for he promises much. You are a lucky fellow, Boris, and you may be a great man yet."

Astonishment and wonder had caused the bear-hunter to collapse into a chair, a liberty he would never have thought of taking except under extraordinary circumstances. The Tsar! it was actually the Tsar himself who had stepped forward to save his humble life. Boris pinched his leg to see whether he was awake or asleep: it was all right, he was not dreaming. And he had called him "Petka," and the Tsar had not promptly cut off his head for the impertinence! Perhaps he would to-morrow when he went to the burgomaster's house in the morning. And those were the Tsar's servants with whose whining forms he had carpeted the floor of the entrance hall! Assuredly he would pay for all this with his head.

In a dazed condition Boris left the barin's presence, and walked home to his father's cottage, wondering whether it would not be wiser, on the whole, to disappear into the depths of the forest until such time as the Tsar should have left Archangel and returned to Moscow? But worthier thoughts quickly succeeded these promptings of cowardice. Boris recalled the Tsar's kind words—he had taken a fancy to the bear-hunter, he said; and again, "Russia had need of strong arms and brave hearts!" If this was so, and he could please the magnificent young Tsar by doing it, he should unreservedly place his life and his service at Peter's disposal.

The next morning found Boris once again at the house of the burgomaster. This time the embroidered functionary in charge of the front entrance, mindful of his experience of the preceding day, was careful to keep his conversation void of offence, and to preserve a respectful demeanour to the owner of two such powerful fists. Acting perhaps on orders received, he ushered the young bear-hunter directly into the presence of his new master.

Peter sat at a table, busily employed in manipulating a model sailing-vessel, explaining the uses of the various sails and other portions of the ship's furniture to a stolidly attentive companion, who sat and listened and smoked, and occasionally bowed his head in assent to the propositions laid down by his handsome young companion. There could not well be a greater contrast between any two men than existed between these two—the one, a short, thick-set, squat-figured, Dutch-built caricature of a man; the other, tall, far beyond the ordinary height of man, straight as any one of all the millions of pines that stood sentinel over his vast dominions, noble and majestic, the very incarnate spirit of majesty.

Peter paused in his lesson to greet the new-comer.

"De Kuyper," he said, "look here! This is a fellow who calls himself a bear-hunter, and I saw him the other day running away from a bear for dear life, like a hare from a hound—it was grand! If I had not interfered, the bear would have deprived me of the services of an excellent soldier, or sailor, or keeper, or whatever I may decide to make of him—eh, Boris?"

"I will serve your Majesty with my life blood in whatever manner you may be pleased to use me," said Boris, kneeling before the young Tsar and touching the ground with his forehead; "and I entreat you to forgive my ignorance yesterday, and my impertinence in treating you as little better than my equal——"

"Nonsense," said Peter; "get up. I hate cringing and all foolery. You shall show me what you are good for; I shall see that you have ample opportunity. Meanwhile let's have no talk about equality or inferiority. You will find that they who serve me well are my equals in all but the name. For the present you are my special body-servant, to attend me wherever I go. And first you shall attend me on board De Kuyper's ship, and we shall see what prospect there is of making a sailor of you.—Come on, De Kuyper, the wind is getting up. We shall have a glorious sail.—Come on you too, Boris."

De Kuyper was the fortunate skipper of the first foreign vessel which had entered the port of Archangel during the present season, after the disappearance of the ice had left the harbour open to arrivals from abroad. Peter had instantly boarded the Drei Gebrüder on its appearance, and having himself purchased the cargo, and handsomely rewarded the skipper and crew for their enterprise, carried away De Kuyper to be his guest and favourite companion until his departure from Archangel. Under the Dutch skipper's guidance, Peter was laying the foundations of that nautical experience which was so often to stand him in good stead in after life.

Boris was no sailor—indeed, he had never been fifty yards from the shore upon shipboard, though he had ventured very much further in swimming. His sensations, therefore, as the lumbering old vessel plunged through the waves, were the reverse of enviable. Peter himself handled the rudder, and gave all the necessary orders for managing the sails, insisting upon Boris doing his share of the work in spite of the misery of sea-sickness which sat heavily upon the poor landsman.

It was a splendid day—hot on shore, but delightfully cool and pleasant out at sea. The wind blew freshly from the north and east, and Peter crowded on all the sail he could. The clumsy old vessel, squat-built and broad in the beam like her master, strained and groaned beneath the weight of canvas, but sped along at a rate which filled the young Tsar's soul with the wildest delight. As usual, when particularly happy, he was boisterous and very noisy, poking fun at De Kuyper, Boris, and the sailors, and from time to time singing snatches of his favourite songs.

It so happened that a small boat which was attached by a short length of tow-rope to the stern of the Drei Gebrüder presently broke adrift, in consequence of the strain, and floated away astern. The young Tsar was annoyed. He loved a good boat, and disliked to see one needlessly lost before his eyes.

"De Kuyper," he shouted, "have you a swimmer on board? Send one of your Dutchmen after it! Come, look sharp about it! They're not afraid surely? Why, I'll go myself; see here!"

Before the horrified skipper could prevent him, the rash young Tsar had thrown away his kaftan and boots, and was in the act of mounting the bulwark, when a strong hand seized his shoulder and pulled him back. The Tsar flushed with anger, and raised his big right hand to strike the man who had presumed to take so great a liberty; but Boris pushed back the lifted arm with a sweep of his own, leaped upon a hen-coop near at hand, so to the bulwark of the vessel, and in an instant was overboard, battling with the waves, and making good progress towards the fast-disappearing boat, now far astern. The Tsar's face was all beaming with delight in a moment.

"De Kuyper!" he cried, "look at the lad—a Russian lad, mind you, skipper; none of your Dutchmen! Would your Dutchmen swim those waves? I think not. I tell you, skipper, that bear-hunter is a man after my own heart. Did you observe him push me aside—glorious!—as though I had been the cabin-boy? Oh, for ten thousand such Russians!"

De Kuyper grunted and took the rudder, which Peter in his excitement had neglected.

"Your bear-hunter had better look sharp and get into that boat," he muttered, "for the sky looks squally, and we shall have a knock-about before we reach Archangel. The sooner we get him and the boat aboard the better I shall be pleased!"

Boris meanwhile was fast gaining upon the lost boat. Soon he had reached it and was hauling himself over the side. The oars were safe, so that he had little difficulty in propelling the small craft towards the larger vessel, which had put about, and was now coming round as quickly as possible, in order to take up the recovered boat and its occupant.

With some considerable difficulty, owing to the roughness of the sea, this was at last effected; and Boris felt that he was amply repaid for the risk he had run by the few words of the Tsar, and his mighty grip of the hand.

"Bear-eater," he had said, "you are my brother; let that be understood between us."

After this episode neither sea-sickness nor the discomfort of sitting in wet clothes could divert the mind of Boris from the thought of his exceeding great joy. He had been called "brother" by the young Tsar—the god-like Peter, who had been hailed almost from his cradle as the hope of Russia; of whom even the unlettered Boris in far-off Archangel had heard distant and indistinct rumours, as of some prince of fairyland, come from no one knew where, to work wonders for his empire, and astonish the world by his power and magnificence! Now he had seen this wonder of the age with his own eyes—he had spoken with him—was his servant—had received his approbation, nay, had been called "brother" by him.

Boris, musing thus on his great good fortune, suddenly became aware of a commotion on board. A squall had violently struck the vessel, and she was heeling over till her rail lay deep in the surging sea, and her deck sloped like the side of one of his beloved snow-hills. Peter, at the helm, was shouting orders to the seamen, with his eyes fixed upon the sails, while the vessel plunged and lay over till the seas washed her fore and aft.

De Kuyper rushed to the rudder.

"Steady her—steady, Tsar!" he shouted, "or we shall founder in a minute!"

Peter, wanting experience and unused to squalls and emergencies, was thinking only of the splendid excitement of rushing through the big waves as fast as the ship could be made to go; the danger of the moment was nothing to him. Perhaps he did not realize it; he certainly did not heed it.

"Steady her, I tell you!" shrieked the skipper once more. "Here; let me come! I won't go to the bottom for a hundred Russian kings. Let go, I say!"

Peter's face flushed angrily.

"Keep away, De Kuyper, keep away," he cried; "don't anger me. This is glorious!"

But De Kuyper knew that this was no time for the politeness of courts and the deference due to princes. He seized Peter by the shoulders and forced him from the tiller.

"I'm skipper of this vessel," he shouted, "and I intend to be obeyed while aboard of her. You shall command when we get ashore, if we ever do!"

Peter let go his hold of the clumsy tiller-shaft, looking for a moment like a thunder-cloud. During that moment he revolved in his mind whether or not he should take up that squat little Dutch skipper in his great arms and throw him overboard; but better impulses prevailed. The vessel quickly righted under De Kuyper's experienced guidance, and flew through the water actually quicker than before, and upon a more even keel. In a moment Peter had recovered his equanimity. He burst into a roar of laughter, and brought his big hand with a whack upon the little Dutchman's shoulder.

"Skipper," he cried, in his hearty loud tones of approval, "forgive me! You are a better sailor than I am, and a plucky fellow to boot. I love a man who stands up to me. You Dutchmen are a fine race, and good sailors."

De Kuyper, the excitement over and the danger past, was much upset by the recollection of his rudeness to one who, though his inferior in the art of sailing, was so immeasurably his superior in position and importance. He apologized profusely and humbly, and on his knees begged to be forgiven.

"Get up," said Peter, "and don't be a fool, skipper. I liked you far better when you forced me away from the tiller. I was a fool, and you told me so; that is what I like in a man."

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CHAPTER V.
HOW PETER THE GREAT WAS KNOCKED OVER.

Before Boris had been very long in the service of the Tsar he had become quite an expert sailor; indeed, he and his young master were scarcely ever absent from shipboard of one kind or another. Archangel was at this time Russia's one outlet to the sea. St. Petersburg was not yet built, nor Cronstadt thought of; the Baltic ports had still to be wrested from their proprietors; only the little northern port at the mouth of the Dwina was open to receive the ships and commerce of the world. Consequently, as the season proceeded, vessels of all nationalities, including English, appeared with their merchandise at this distant market; and Peter passed many weeks in the most congenial occupation of studying each vessel that entered the port, sailing about in them, making friends with their captains, and learning everything he could gather of the history and circumstances of the people to which each belonged. Boris, too, learned many marvels concerning this planet of ours and its inhabitants, undreamed of hitherto. The young hunter was constantly in attendance on Peter—waited upon him at dinner, slept at his door at night, sailed with him, walked abroad with him, and was, in a word, his inseparable companion.

The villagers at Dubinka greatly deplored the departure of Boris from among them; for what were they going to do without him when the winter-time came round, and the wolves began to be both numerous and assertive? Who was to keep them in check now that the great Boris was gone? Even now they had the best of reasons for acutely deploring the hunter's absence. It will be remembered that whereas there had been two bears engaged in the plundering of the peasants' corn-fields, only one of these had been accounted for by Boris before his departure. The second bear had disappeared for some little time after the death of its liege lord; but the days of her mourning being now accomplished, she had reappeared, and with appetite largely improved by her period of abstinence. Her depredations became so serious at last that it was resolved by the council of the peasants to send into the town a request to Boris to devote his earliest leisure to a personal interview with the widow of his late antagonist.

Boris received the message of the good folks of Dubinka with delight. The very mention of a bear aroused all his old sporting instincts, and he went straight to the Tsar to obtain his permission to absent himself for a day.

"Ho, ho!" laughed Peter. "So you want to be eaten up again, do you? I doubt whether I can spare you; you have made yourself too useful to me. Had you not better stay? It is safer here."

Boris blushed. "The bear isn't born yet, sire," he said, "that will make me run again. The bear you killed had caught me napping. I shall never leave my spear again, to eat strawberries."

"Well, well," said Peter, "you shall go on one condition—that I go with you to see you safely through with the adventure."

And so it came about that Boris and his master walked out very early one summer morning to relieve the peasants of Dubinka of their unwelcome visitor. The two young giants called first at the house of the starost, or principal peasant of the place, whom they aroused from his slumbers and carried off with them into the fields at the edge of the forest, to show them the exact spot at which the robber had concluded her supper on the previous evening; for it was probable that she would recommence her plundering at or about the same spot. The starost brought the hunters to the place they sought, approaching it in abject terror, and scudding home again like a hare, lest the bear should pursue him back over the fields.

Boris was the Tsar's master in their present occupation, and thoroughly understood what he was about. The pair concealed themselves in a dense clump of cover at the edge of the wood. Just in front of their ambush lay the oat-field last honoured by the attentions of the bear. A large portion of it looked as though a battle had been fought on it, so downtrodden and crushed were the tall, delicate stalks. It was arranged that Peter should hold the spear, while Boris was to be content with the hunting-knife, one which the Tsar had brought with him, a long and business-like blade, both tough and sharp, as a blade needs to be to be driven through the thick hide of a bear. The young monarch was anxious to try his "'prentice hand" with the spear, for he had never handled one excepting on that memorable occasion when he gave the final push to the huge brute which had first winded and then overpowered poor Boris. The hunter very carefully explained the exact way in which Peter must poise his body, how he must grip the spear-shaft, and how he must plant his feet so as to balance his body conveniently and at the same time obtain a purchase with his heel which should enable him to support any, even the greatest, strain. Then the two men waited in silence for the arrival of the widow of the late lamented Mr. Bruin.

It was still very early, about four o'clock. There was no sound to break the repose of the young day, save the boisterous song which now and again some little bird set up for a moment, and as suddenly broke off, finding itself to be the only singer. The pines swayed solemnly in the faint morning breeze, sending down showers of bright dewdrops far and wide. A hare was playing quietly in the oat-field, quite unconscious of the presence of its natural enemy, man; and presently a proudly-clucking grouse walked out with her brood into the oat-strown space beyond the wood, and there demonstrated to her young hopefuls how easily a breakfast could be picked up by people who knew where to look for it. In the far distance a family of cranes could be heard at intervals, exchanging confidences upon the adventures of the past night and the delights of a hearty breakfast of frog.

Suddenly, and without apparent reason, the hare raised its head, sniffed the air, and in a moment was scuttling full speed across the field, heading for the village, as though it had remembered a message for the starost which it had omitted to deliver while he was on the spot. The careful grouse at the same moment rose from the earth with a loud cluck, and darted away, followed by her little brood. Over the tops of the pines they went, far away into the heart of the forest.

In another moment the reason for this abrupt departure of bird and beast became apparent. Shuffling awkwardly along, and mumbling in a querulous way as she went, as though complaining that she had been called up to breakfast earlier than was necessary, came the wicked old widow-bear, marching straight for the standing oats, as though everything in the district belonged to her. She was a huge creature, a fitting helpmate for the gigantic old warrior whom Peter had slain. Slowly she picked her way along, swinging her heavy body and half-turning her great head at each step, looking alternately to right and to left in a perfunctory manner, as though making a concession to the principle of precaution, while declining to believe in the possibility of misadventure.

Boris's finger was at his lip, enjoining patience and prudence, for the impulsive young Tsar was excited, and quite capable of ruining the chances of a successful hunt by doing something rash and ill-timed. Boris touched the Tsar's arm and whispered. Peter was to creep cautiously along and place himself in the very spot at which the bear had issued from the forest. When there, he was to hold his spear ready for action and await events. Boris himself would walk out into the oat-field, in full view of the bear, who would probably not charge him. Most likely she would hurry back to the cover, entering the wood where she had left it; and if Boris could influence her course, he would encourage her to choose that particular direction. Then the Tsar must suddenly step out from his ambush and receive the bear upon his spear; and if matters went smoothly, the impetus of her flight would bring her down upon him, whether she liked it or not.

The plan of attack thus settled, Peter withdrew under cover of the bushes and pine trunks to take up the position assigned him, while Boris boldly stepped forth from his ambush, and made for a point beyond the place where the bear was now busy gobbling the grain greedily, and emitting grunts of satisfaction and high content. So well occupied was she, indeed, that she took no notice of the hunter's approach until Boris was nearly level with her. Then she raised her head with a grunt, and expressed her surprise and displeasure in a loud roar. For a moment it appeared likely that she would charge Boris, who, having nothing but a hunting-knife wherewith to defend himself, might in that event have fared badly; for he would have died rather than turn his back upon her and run, since Peter was at hand to see. But timid counsels prevailed, and Mrs. Bruin quickly determined to take the safer course. She twisted her bulky body round, and made off, as Boris had foretold, straight for the spot at which she had left the forest. Boris ran after her, shouting, in hopes of accelerating her speed; and in this he was entirely successful. Straight down for the Tsar's ambush she raced, and close at her heels went Boris, shouting instructions to Peter as he sped. The result of all this speed and excitement was that by the time the great creature had reached the spot where Peter awaited her, the impetus of her flight was so great that she was upon him, as he stepped out to meet her, ere she had time to swerve sufficiently to avoid him.

The Tsar had stepped forth at precisely the right moment, and was ready with poised spear to receive the rush. His feet had gripped the earth as tightly as in the somewhat slippery condition of the ground was practicable. With a roar the monster hurled herself upon the spear-point, uttering a second and very bitter cry as she felt the steel enter into her vitals.

The shock of her rush was terrific. Peter, strong as he was and firmly as he had planted himself, was knocked off his feet in an instant, and ere Boris could realize the full horror of the situation, the most valuable life in all Russia lay at the mercy of an enraged and maddened she-bear. Peter fell backwards; but as the huge brute precipitated herself upon the top of him, the good spear-shaft of seasoned wood caught in the ground, and for a moment held her suspended, so that she could reach her enemy with neither teeth nor claws.

That moment saved the Tsar's life. Boris was but a few yards behind, and it was the work of an instant for him to cast himself headlong upon the carcass of the roaring, blood-stained brute, and with an accurately placed thrust of the knife in her throat put an end in the nick of time to her cravings for vengeance. With his additional weight thrown suddenly into the scale the good spear-shaft snapped in two, and bear and hunter together toppled over upon the prostrate figure of Russia's Tsar.

"That moment saved the Tsar's life."
Page [54].

"Thank you, Brother Boris," said the Tsar quietly, rising from the ground and wiping the bear's blood from his clothes. "It was well done; we are quits. When you see me over-proud, my son, you shall remind me of this morning, and how an old she-bear sent me head over heels. Now let's get home to breakfast."

---

CHAPTER VI.
A TASTE OF THE KNOUT.

Thus were laid and cemented the foundations of a friendship destined to last for many a long, history-making year. Boris was a man after Peter's own heart, and from those early Archangel days until the end of their lives the two were rarely parted for long, excepting when the exigencies of public affairs necessitated the departure of one of them for distant portions of the realm.

The summer in Archangel is a short one, and by the end of August autumn is in full progress, with icy warnings of winter at night-time. Peter the Tsar had, besides, many important duties which called for his presence at the capital, Moscow; and towards the end of July it became necessary to bring his delightful seaside holiday to an end, and return to sterner duties at home. Peter decided to travel in a three-horse tarantass, a springless carriage slung upon a pole instead of springs—comfortable enough on soft country roads, but desperately jolting on stony ones.

Boris had begged to be allowed to accompany his beloved patron and friend, in order that he might instruct the Tsar in the art of "calling" wolves and perhaps lynxes, and thus while away a few of the tedious hours of the long journey. Peter was delighted to acquiesce in this arrangement; for if there was one thing in the world that this most energetic of sovereigns could not tolerate, it was to sit idle with no possibility of finding food for observation for his eyes or new facts and new ideas for assimilation in his ever active and receptive brain. So the two posted on in front of the long procession of servants and luggage, comfortably housed in a covered tarantass, drawn by three horses abreast, and driven by a notable driver renowned for his skill in persuading that erratic animal, the Russian pony, to move along faster than had been its intention when it started. Ivan arrived at this happy result by a judicious mixture of coaxing and abuse, calling the ponies every pet name in the Russian vocabulary at one moment, and sounding the very depths and shoals of the language of the slums at the next. Ivan was never silent for a moment, but spoke to his ponies incessantly; and these latter generously decided as a rule that they must do their best for such an orator.

Through the tumble-down villages of northern Russia the tarantass flew, while the inhabitants stared round-eyed as it passed, not dreaming for a moment that it was their Tsar who glided by, but taking him for one of the many traders who posted between the seaport and the capital in tarantasses crammed with merchandise of every description. Peter was well armed with matchlock and pistols, for there was the possibility of a rencontre with wolves or robbers, and it was well to be prepared for every contingency.

The two young men frequently stopped at some village traktir, or inn, as they passed, to refresh themselves with a meal of peasant fare and a chat with the village people, whose opinions about his august self Peter loved to learn. Since they had not the slightest idea of the identity of their questioner, the Tsar gathered much information of great value to himself in indicating which way, to use a familiar expression, "the cat jumped" with regard to popular opinion upon some of the important questions of the day.

Most peasants, Peter found, were convinced that the Tsar was more than human. Exaggerated versions of his intelligence and vigour as child and boy had reached them, and it was a common belief that the young prince had been specially sent by Providence to right the wrongs of the Russian people, and to make life for the peasantry a sweet dream of marrow and fatness and exemption from work.

The priests, on the other hand, had widely different ideas upon the subject. The young Tsar, they said, mournfully shaking their heads, was a fine young fellow, no doubt, but his character was full of danger for Holy Russia. He was too liberal and progressive. Progress was the enemy of Russia and of the Holy Church. Russia required no western civilization imported within her peaceful borders. She was not a secular country, but the specially favoured of the church, and foreigners and foreign manners and so-called civilization would be the curse of the country, and Peter threatened to introduce both. He was all for progress, and the priests did not believe in progress.

Occasionally discussion waxed warm at the traktirs visited by the two young men, and once or twice blows were exchanged.

Once a party of drunken peasants uproariously declared that the Tsar Peter was a mere usurper, and that if he had had his deserts he would have been "put away" long since in some monastery or castle, never more to be heard of. Peter flushed when he heard this, for the question of his right to the throne of Russia was always to him a sore point; whereupon Boris, seeing that his master was annoyed, sprang up and knocked the speaker down. The landlord then rushed in, and finding that two strangers had set a company of his regular customers by the ears, bade them depart from his house that instant.

Peter laughed good-naturedly, but on the landlord becoming abusive he seized the man by the neck and trousers and pitched him upon the top of the stove. Then Boris and the Tsar took the rest of the company, who fought with drunken desperation, and pitched them up, one after the other, to join the landlord, until there were nine men in all huddled together on the wide top of the stove, whining and afraid to come down again.

Peter was perfectly good-humoured throughout, and enjoyed the fun; but the landlord was naturally furious, and when his two tall guests, having paid their reckoning, left the house, he took the opportunity of scrambling down from his prison and going for the village policeman, whom he despatched at full speed after the travellers. The policeman, being well mounted, overtook the tarantass, and explained his mission, when Peter immediately gave orders to the driver to turn the horses' heads and return to the village.

There the pair, to their great amusement and delight, were placed in the village lock-up, pending inquiries by the village council of peasants; and there they still were when, with bells jingling, and horses galloping, and dust flying, and with much shouting and pomp, the Tsar's retinue drove into the place, and pulled up at the traktir.

It so happened that the whole of Peter's late antagonists, including, of course, the landlord, were still present, having all by this time climbed down from the stove. They were discussing, in the highest good-humour and with much self-satisfaction, the promptitude with which the landlord had avenged the insult to his customers, and discussing also what punishment would be suitable for the delinquents now confined in the village lock-up. The arrival of the Tsar's retinue broke up the deliberations, however, and the peasants retired to the far end of the room in order to make way for the crowd of kaftaned and uniformed servants of the Tsar, who quickly monopolized all the tables and chairs, and settled themselves for a quarter of an hour's rest and refreshment.

The visitors were noisy, and took to ill-using the peasants and chaffing the irate landlord. One of them threw a glass of vodka in his face, and asked him if that was the only sort of stuff he had to offer to gentlemen of quality? The landlord sputtered and raged, and, in the pride of his late successful capture of two travellers, threatened. His threats largely increased the merriment of his guests, who thumped him on the back and roared with laughter. One seized him by the nose in order to cause his mouth to open wide, when he dashed down his throat the contents of a huge tumblerful of kvass, a kind of beer very nauseous to any palate save that of a Russian peasant. The poor landlord choked and sputtered and abused, but succeeded in escaping out of the room, returning, however, in a few minutes armed with authority in the shape of the ooriadnik, or village policeman, whom he requested instantly to "arrest these men."

The little policeman glanced at the uproarious company in a bewildered way. He was not a coward, and he relied much upon the power of the law—of which he was the embodiment—to overawe the minds of all good Russians. Besides, had he not, a few minutes since, successfully arrested and locked up two giants, in comparison with whom these noisy people were mere puppets? He therefore pulled himself together, and tentatively laid his hand upon the arm of one who seemed to be quieter than the rest of the party; he was smaller, anyhow, and would therefore do very well to practise upon first. But the man shook him off and warned him.

"Don't be a fool," he said; "get out of this and let us alone. Don't you see we could strangle you and the whole villageful of peasants if we pleased? Go home while you can walk on two legs, and let us alone!"

But the plucky little ooriadnik was not so easily discouraged.

"You may threaten as much as you please," he said, "but you will find I am not afraid of a party of tipsy cowards like you. Why, it isn't half-an-hour since I arrested, all by myself, a couple of fellows three times your size. Didn't they fight, too!"

The Tsar's servants interchanged glances.

"Where are the two men you speak of?" some one asked.—"What were they driving in, and where were they coming from?" said another.

"They're in the village lock-up at this moment," said the ooriadnik; "and that's where you'll be in another minute or two."

Some of the party looked serious, some burst into roars of laughter, others started up excitedly.

"You must show us this lock-up first," said the small person whose arrest was half accomplished; "we can't submit to be huddled into a little hole of a place incapable of holding more than the two you have there already!"

"Oh, there's plenty of room for you, never fear!" said the brave ooriadnik. "Come along, by all means, and see for yourself!"

The policeman foresaw an easy way to effect the arrest of at least one or two of those present, and they would serve as hostages for the rest. He would push them in as they stood at the door of the lock-up, and fasten the bolt upon them!

So the whole party adjourned to the lock-up. The door was opened, and there, to the horror of his frightened servants, sat the Tsar of all the Russias, unconcernedly playing cards with Boris the Bear-Hunter.

One official instantly seized the ooriadnik by the throat and pinned him to the wall; another performed the same service on the landlord. Others threw themselves upon the floor at Peter's feet and whined out incoherent reproaches that their beloved sovereign should have trusted himself to travel so far in advance of his faithful servants and guards, and thus lay himself open to outrage of this description.

"What is the matter?" asked Peter; "what's all the disturbance about? Let those men go. Get up, all you fools there, and stop whining; there's no harm done.—Listen, Mr. Landlord. You have had me arrested; very well, here I am. I am the Tsar; but what of that? If I have done wrong, I desire to be treated just as any other delinquent would be treated. Call your village council together, and let's have the inquiry over as quickly as possible. We must push on!"

The landlord, followed by the ooriadnik, both in tears and with loud lamentations, threw themselves at Peter's feet, asking his pardon and pleading ignorance of his identity with their beloved Tsar. But Peter insisted upon being treated exactly as any other offender, and the moujiks of the community were convened as quickly as possible to the village court. All these, including the persons whose upheaval upon the stove had been the original cause of all the disturbance, came in terror for their lives—most of them loudly weeping—for there was not one but made sure that the lives of every moujik in the village must of necessity be forfeit, since so terrible an outrage and insult had been inflicted upon the Tsar.

Peter bade the landlord state his case, and instructed the starost, or elder of the community, to question both accuser and accused according to the usual procedure of the village court. But it appeared that both landlord and starost were far too frightened to find their tongues. Then the Tsar took upon himself to state the case. He and his body-servant, he explained, had violently assaulted the landlord of the inn, together with certain of his customers. There had been provocation, but nevertheless the assault was undoubtedly committed. What was the penalty for assault?

The starost, to whom the Tsar addressed this remark, burst into tears and knelt with his forehead tapping the floor at Peter's feet. All the moujiks followed suit, and for some minutes there was naught to be heard save groanings and whinings and bits of the litany in use in the Russo-Greek Church. But neither the starost nor any of his peers of the community offered a reply.

"Speak up, man!" said the Tsar angrily, and then immediately bursting into one of his loud guffaws. "What's the penalty for assault? Speak! I am determined to be told, and by yourself."

Once more the entire company of peasants made as though they would throw themselves upon the ground and whine and pray as they had done before; but when Peter angrily stamped upon the floor, they all, with one accord, renounced the intention and stood quaking in their places.

"Come, come," said Peter impatiently; "don't be a fool, man. You are here to state the law, and you shall state it! What is the penalty for assault?"

The wretched starost strove to speak, but his lips would not open. He essayed once again, and this time succeeded in whispering,—

"Your High Mercifulness—pardon—it is ten cuts of the knout."

Then his legs failed him once more, and he fell, together with his moujiks, upon the floor, weeping and wailing, and calling upon the Tsar and upon Heaven for mercy. When the hubbub had in part subsided, Peter spoke again.

"Very well," he said. "Ooriadnik, do your duty. Don't be afraid; I prefer to see duty fearlessly done. Take your knout and lay on!"

The unfortunate ooriadnik was sufficiently master of himself to comprehend that it was useless to resist when the Tsar's will had once been expressed. He took his knout in his nerveless hand, and with white face and haggard expression tapped the Tsar's back the necessary number of times, inflicting strokes which would hardly have caused a fly, had one of these insects happened to settle upon Peter's broad back, to raise its head and inquire what the matter was. Then he threw down his knout and grovelled at the Tsar's feet, begging forgiveness.

"Nonsense, man," said Peter, but kindly; "finish your work first, and then we can talk of other matters.—Now, Boris, your turn.—Lay on, ooriadnik, and put a little more muscle into it; this fellow's skin is as hard as leather!"

The ooriadnik, intensely relieved by the Tsar's evident good-humour, laid on with some vigour, and flogged poor Boris in a manner not entirely agreeable to the hunter's feelings, who, nevertheless, did not flinch, though he felt that the young Tsar's manner of amusing himself was somewhat expensive to his friends. Boris lived to learn that this was so indeed. Nothing ever pleased Peter more than to enjoy a hearty laugh at the expense of his familiar companions.

But the ooriadnik's duties were not yet concluded. The Tsar patted him kindly on the back. "Bravo, ooriadnik!" he cried; "you are improving.—Now, then, you gentlemen who threw vodka and kvass at the landlord of the traktir, step out.—Lay on again, ooriadnik, and teach these persons not to waste good vodka!"

Then those servants found that they had committed an error in having assaulted the landlord; for the ooriadnik, having warmed to his work, and remembering the laughter and contempt with which his authority had been treated by these men at the inn, laid on his blows with such good will that the unfortunate culprits howled for mercy, to the huge delight of the Tsar.

After which object-lesson upon the impartiality of true justice, and the duty of respect towards the powers that be, Peter and his retinue resumed their journey.

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[CHAPTER VII.]
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.

"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.

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CHAPTER VIII.
BORIS AND HIS FELLOW-OFFICERS.

The young Tsar was himself surprised, as he sat alone at his evening meal, to find how very heavily the loss of poor Boris weighed upon him. He had scarcely realized how closely the young hunter had wound himself already around his heart—a heart which, in spite of its hardness and waywardness, was capable of forming the warmest attachments. Peter was all through his life on the look-out for men who were after his own ideal, and upon whom he could rely for assistance in carrying out the vast schemes and plans for the good of his people, and the development and aggrandizement of his country, with which his brain was filled from the first. Such a man Peter thought he had found in Boris—one upon whose absolute faithfulness he could rely, and whose courage, as he had seen already more than once, was equal to any emergency. He felt that he could have trained Boris to be the ideal man for his purposes, to be employed far or near with equal confidence, and in any capacity that seemed good to his employer; and instead, here was the poor fellow gone already, a martyr to his devotion to himself! "Why are there not more of my poor Russians like this one?" thought the young Tsar; "and where am I to lay my hand upon such another—even one?" It certainly was most unfortunate and deplorable; so no wonder the Tsar's servants found their master in his most dangerous mood, and left him, as soon as might be, to himself.

Peter ate his cabbage-soup, and sighed as he ate. Why had he not anticipated the sudden action of Boris, and sternly forbidden him to sacrifice himself—ah, why indeed? Peter was not accustomed to personal devotion of this sort. He had not come across a Boris before this one, or he might have guessed what the brave fellow would do, and could have pulled him back into the carriage at the last moment. He would rather have fed those thrice-accursed gray brutes upon the whole of his retinue than that they should have feasted upon that brave heart. Poor Bear-Hunter! he had killed his last bear. What a fight there must have been at the very last before he permitted the skulking brutes to crowd around and pull him down!

Wrapped in these sad reflections, Peter sat before his neglected bowl of soup, when of a sudden the door opened, and the apparition of the very subject of his dismal reflections stood before him. Bootless, dishevelled, and with his clothes, what was left of them, blood-stained and in rags, was it the ghost of Boris as he had appeared at his last moment on earth? Peter was not superstitious, wonderfully little so for a Russian, but for a full minute he gazed in doubt and uncertainty upon the apparition before him. Then he burst into one of his very loudest guffaws.

"Boris!" he cried. "Yes! it is certainly Boris. Come here, my brother. I was already mourning you for dead. How did you escape those accursed gray brutes? Here is a hunter indeed! Come here, my brother." Peter kissed his friend upon both cheeks; then administered a pat on the back which might have felled an ox, laughed aloud once more, and poured into a tumbler an immense draught of strong vodka. "There," he said, "sit down and drink that, my tsar of hunters, and tell me all about it."

"There's little to tell your Majesty," said Boris, taking a big sip at the spirits. "God was very merciful to me; and as the wolves rushed in and dragged the poor horse down, which they did almost immediately after I left you, I grabbed at the branch of a pine and hauled myself up out of their reach just in time—not quite in time to save my boots, in fact; for two active fellows jumped up and pulled them both off my legs. I hope they choked the brutes! Afterwards I settled myself comfortably in the branches of the tree, and threw fir-cones at them while they pulled poor Vaiska the horse to pieces and fought over his carcass. In five minutes there was not as much of Vaiska left as would make a meal for a sparrow. When they had eaten Vaiska, they sat around my tree, watching me and hoping that I should soon let go and fall into their jaws. I howled at them in their own language instead, and they howled back at me. What I said seemed greatly to excite them, for they ran round the tree, and jumped up at me, and licked their lips. I climbed down to a point just above that which they could reach by leaping, and there I reclined at my ease and slashed at them with my knife as long as they were inclined for the game. When they grew tired of it, they sat round the tree licking their chops and looking up at me, and we exchanged complimentary remarks at intervals in their language.

"After a while the rumble and jingle of the carriages of your Majesty's retinue was heard approaching. The wolves pricked up their ears to listen. They made as though they would go back to the road at first, in the hope of picking up more horse-flesh—greedy brutes! as if Vaiska was not enough for them—but thought better of it, there was so much noise and rattle; and as the carriages came nearer and nearer, they grew more and more anxious, until at length, with a final chorus of abuse levelled at me as I sat up in my perch, they one after the other retired into the wood. Then I came down and ran for the village; and here I am, alive to serve your Majesty for many a long year, I trust."

"Glad am I to see you, my prince of hunters," said the Tsar earnestly. "But what of your wounds—is there anything serious? You look as though you had been half-way down their throats; you must have had a nasty gash somewhere to have got all that blood on you. Call the surgeon and let him see to it. I can't afford to lose so much of your good blood, my Boris; Russia has not too much of the right quality."

Boris laughed, and glanced at his saturated shirt and waistcoat. "It's all wolf's blood," he said, "and I wish there were more of it; I haven't a scratch." And this was the simple truth.

So ended happily an adventure which came near to depriving Russia of her greatest son and me of a hero.

Two days after this the Tsar with his following reached the capital, and Boris was given a commission in one of the Streltsi regiments, while retaining his place at the side of his master as body-attendant. In the ranks of the Streltsi our hunter soon learned the simple drill which the soldiers of the Russia of that day had to acquire. The Streltsi were at this time practically the only regular regiments of the country, though they were not destined to remain so long under the progressive rule of their present enlightened Tsar. Being the one armed power in the state, and having on several occasions successfully taken advantage of their position, the Streltsi had been loaded with privileges wrung from rulers and statesmen who were afraid of them, and their present position was most enviable. The men were allowed to marry, and to live at their private homes; to carry on any business or trade they pleased by way of adding to the substantial incomes which they already enjoyed at the expense of the state; and, in a word, to do very much as they liked as long as they attended the easy drills and parades which the regulations enjoined. Hence Boris had plenty of time to spare from his military duties to devote to attendance upon his beloved master.

Peter had a double object in placing Boris in a Streltsi regiment. He was anxious that the hunter should learn all that there was to be learned in so poor a military school of the life and duties of the soldier; but chiefly because he had good reason to mistrust the Streltsi as a body, and it suited his purpose to distribute a few of his more enlightened and devoted adherents among the various regiments, in order that he might rest assured that in case of disaffection among the troops he would hear of it at the first whisper. Peter had not forgotten a certain horrible scene of violence enacted before his eyes by these very regiments in the days of his early childhood, when the entire corps had revolted, and, in presence of himself and his young co-Tsar, had massacred their chiefs and others in the square of the palace of the Kremlin. It is probable that, young as he had been at that time, Peter never forgave the Streltsi for that terrible experience, and that his distrust of them as a danger to the state dated from that day. Growing as time went on, his hatred of them culminated in the horrors attending their ultimate extermination, to which brief reference will be made at a later stage of this narrative.

Meanwhile Boris hastened to acquire all that he could pick up of military knowledge. He did not like this city life, accustomed as he was to the free and healthy open-air existence of the old Dubinka days, neither did he like his fellows in the Streltsi regiment to which he had been appointed; but it was enough for our faithful hunter to know that it was the Tsar's desire that he should associate with these men: so long as he could render service to his beloved master, Boris was content. Nor, in truth, was Boris popular with his comrades. It was well known that the new-comer was the protégé and favourite of the Tsar, and he was distrusted on this account; for the conscience of the regiment was not altogether void of offence towards the young head of the realm, and it was more than suspected that Peter had on that very account placed Boris as a kind of spy upon their inner counsels.

The reason for the dislike entertained by the Streltsi for their Tsar was this:—The elder brother of Peter, Ivan, was still alive and physically in good health; but, as is well known, though he had acted at one time as co-Tsar with Peter, Ivan was quite incapable, by reason of the weakness of his intellect, of taking any real part in the government of the country, and Peter, by his own brother's earnest wish, as well as by the expressed desire of the nation, had assumed the sole authority over the destinies of the country. The Streltsi, full of their own importance as the actual backbone of the state, and on this account "busy-bodies" to a man, were never perfectly satisfied with this state of affairs, and evinced at all times a nervous anxiety as to their duty in the matter. Ivan, they considered, was the real Tsar or Cæsar, successor to the Byzantine and Roman Cæsars, and therefore the lord, by divine right, of Holy Russia. It mattered little that he was incompetent and unwilling to govern; that was regrettable, no doubt, but it did not justify another, either Peter or any one else, sitting in his place and holding a sceptre which did not belong to him. The Streltsi were probably perfectly honest in their opinions. They had nothing to gain by a revolution; their position was assured, and a very good position it was. It was the feeling of responsibility which weighed upon them, and filled them with a restless sense that they ought by rights to interfere.

Peter, acute as he was, undoubtedly realized the exact state of affairs, and was well aware that a constant danger of trouble with his Streltsi regiments stood in the way of the many reforms and projects with which his active brain teemed at all times; and it is probable that he was on the look-out even now for a plausible excuse to rid himself of an incubus which he felt was inconsistent with his own ideas of the fitness of things and with the spirit of the times. Boris was therefore, more or less, that very thing which the regiment believed him to be—namely, a spy upon their actions and intentions.

The hunter was far too simple-minded to comprehend that this was his position. As a matter of fact, unlettered peasant as he was, he knew little of the history of the last few years. He was aware, indeed, of the existence of Ivan, but he had no suspicion whatever of the good faith of his companions towards the Tsar; all of which became, moreover, so apparent to his fellow Streltsi, that they soon learned to look indulgently upon "simple Boris," as he was called, as one who was too much a fool to be a dangerous spy. Hence, though never openly airing their views before their latest recruit, the young officers of the regiment gradually began to disregard the presence of Boris, and to indulge in hints and innuendoes referring to the matter which they had at heart, even though Boris was in the room and sharing in the conversation.

Now Boris, as is the case with many others, was by no means such a fool as he looked. He heard references to matters which he did not understand, and which he knew he was not intended to understand. He observed frequently that parties of officers seated dining at the eating-houses frequented by the regiment would glance at him as he entered the room and moderate their loud tones to a whisper. He overheard such sentences as—"The priests count for much, and they are with us!" or again, "Who is to persuade the Grand Duke that his brother is a mere usurper?" And once Boris thought he caught the Tsar's name, as he entered the room, received with groans, and striding to the table with flushed face, asked whose name the company had received with these manifestations of dislike; whereupon the Streltsi officers had laughed aloud, and replied that they had spoken of a dog which had stolen a bone that didn't belong to it.

The simple-minded Boris laughed also, and said, "What dog?"

Whereat the company roared with laughter, and the major replied with streaming eyes,—

"Oh, a big dog I saw up at the Kremlin, that found a little dog with a nice bone, and bow-wowed at him till the little dog thought he had better let it go with a good grace. We all thought this so mean of the big dog that we hooted him and drank his health backwards!"

Afterwards Boris recalled this and other curious sayings of his companions, and revolved them in his mind as he lay at the Tsar's door at night.

---

CHAPTER IX.
ONE SWORD AGAINST FIVE.

The result of Boris's reflections was that he became suspicious and unhappy. He felt that his position was a delicate and difficult one, and that it would be impossible for him to maintain it under present conditions. Putting two and two together, he had concluded that there was something existing in the minds of his brother officers to which he was no party, and which he feared—though he hesitated to believe it—might be treason against his beloved master. If this should prove to be the case, he reflected, what course ought he to pursue? Should he inform the Tsar, and thus be the means of terrible trouble to the regiment of which he was a member, or allow matters to take their course in the hope that either his suspicions would prove unfounded, or that his companions might shortly see the iniquity of their ways, and return to full loyalty, as behoved true officers of the Tsar? After all, it was merely a suspicion; all that talk about big dogs and little dogs might be the purest nonsense. What right had he to take serious action upon so feeble a suspicion? Boris finally decided that he would do nothing rash and ill-considered; for the generous Tsar would be the first to laugh at him for jumping at ill-based conclusions, and Boris was very sensitive to derision, especially at Peter's mouth.

Very soon after the discussion on canine iniquity recorded above, Boris had the decision as to his duty in these trying circumstances taken out of his hands by the workings of destiny. Sitting over his dinner at the restaurant patronized by the officers of the Streltsi, he found himself listening in spite of himself to the conversation of a group of his companions dining at a table close to his own. The vodka had flowed pretty freely, it appeared, and tongues were growing looser and slipping the leash which restraint and discretion usually put upon them in the presence of Boris. The major, Platonof, was the noisiest speaker—he of the dog story; and Boris several times recognized his somewhat strident voice raised above that of his fellows, who, however, generally hushed him down before his words became distinctly audible. Once Boris overheard his own name spoken by one of the younger officers, whereupon the major said aloud,—

"What! simple Boris—our Bear-hunter? Why, he's a capital fellow is our Boris—he's one of us—we needn't be afraid of Boris.—Need we, Boris?" he continued, looking tipsily over his shoulder at the hunter. "You'll fight for the lord of Russia, won't you, Boris, in case of need?"

"I'll fight for the Tsar with my last drop of blood, if that's what you mean," said Boris, flushing.

"Say the Tsar that should be—the friend of the church and of the priests—in fact, the lord of Russia!" continued Platonof.

"Certainly the lord of Russia," said Boris, "but why the Tsar that 'should be'?"

"Because," hiccoughed the major solemnly, "while Peter remains upon the throne, the lord of Russia reigns only in our hearts. When the Streltsi have ousted the big dog from the little dog's kennel—Peter being the big dog—and given the little dog back his bone—that's Ivan—then—"

Platonof never finished that sentence. Boris had sprung to his feet, and drawing his sword, dashed from the major's hand the tumbler which he tipsily waved before his face as he spoke these significant words. The vodka which the glass contained bespattered half the company as they, too, rose excitedly to their feet.

"Traitors!" cried Boris, "so this is the meaning of your whisperings and secrecy; and but for yonder drunken fool I might have remained in ignorance of your treachery. Out with your swords and defend yourselves if you are men. I am on Peter's side!"

The party consisted of the major and four others. All drew their swords, including Platonof, who was somewhat unsteady, though partly sobered by the turn events had taken. The rest were pale and determined, for they realized the fact that the tipsy major had plunged them into a serious dilemma. Either they must kill this favourite of the Tsar, and incur Peter's wrath on that account, or else he must be allowed to escape alive, but with the certainty that all he had heard would be repeated for Peter's private benefit. And then—well, the young Tsar's character was already sufficiently understood by his subjects to leave no doubt in the minds of these Streltsi officers that he would make a terrible example of them. Under the circumstances there was practically no choice for them: it was Boris's life or theirs; Boris must not leave the room alive.

One of the younger officers sprang to the door and locked it, placing the key in his pocket. Meanwhile Boris had crossed swords with Platonof, but finding that the major was too unsteady to make a fight of it, he pushed him out of the way. Platonof tumbled over the table, dragging the glasses and bottles with him. This was fortunate for Boris, for it placed the table between himself and his adversaries, and prevented overcrowding.

Then the four men fiercely attacked the one, hacking savagely but unscientifically at him, each retreating as he thrust back. Boris had the advantage of a long reach, and before many blows had been exchanged he had put one of his assailants hors de combat with a straight thrust which penetrated his sword-arm. Boris knew, as yet, little swordsmanship, but he had a good natural idea of thrusting straight and quickly, acquired in his bear-hunting days. He had, besides, the advantages of great strength and agility, in both of which qualities he far excelled any of the five men opposed to him, of whom but three were now left to carry on the battle. These three now separated, one presently advancing from either side, while the third endeavoured to get behind him in order to take him in the rear. Boris backed towards the wall, hoping to frustrate his intention, while the others pressed him hard in the endeavour to entice him to follow one of them up. But Boris, waiting until his third assailant was well behind him, suddenly swept round with so terrible a backhander that the unfortunate officer's arm was cut through and half of his body besides. The man dropped where he stood and never moved again.

Then Boris made so savage an attack upon his two remaining opponents that they fled, and were pursued by him twice round the room, fighting as they ran, until Boris, tripping over the sleeping major, fell among the bottles and glasses. During the moment or two which expired before the redoubtable bear-hunter could recover his footing, the two fugitive heroes succeeded in opening the door and escaping, but not before Boris, seizing a heavy wooden stool from the floor, hurled it after them with so true an aim that it struck the hindmost between the shoulders, sending him head first downstairs, to the great injury of his front teeth and the bridge of his nose.

Then Boris endeavoured to arouse Platonof, to bid him see to his wounded friends, but found this impossible. Moreover, he discovered on looking up that the young officer first wounded had taken the opportunity, during Boris's preoccupation with the tipsy major, to escape through the open door. As for the fifth man, Boris soon found that he would need no help from the major or any one else. He therefore administered a final kick to the snoring form of Platonof, and quitted the apartment which had witnessed so exciting a struggle for life.

Then only did Boris discover that he had not come through the fierce fight scathless. His hand was bleeding from a gash over the knuckles, and a pain just above the knee, and a rent in his kaftan, plainly indicated that he had received a second wound more or less severe. He was able to walk home, however, to the palace in the Kremlin, and to attend to his duties about the person of the Tsar. But there the keen glance of Peter detected at once the cut over the fingers, and this discovery was instantly followed by a demand for an explanation.

Boris had firmly resolved that even at the Tsar's bidding he would never reveal the names of his assailants, or say more than was absolutely necessary as to the treasonable words which he had overheard. When therefore the Tsar inquired what was the matter with his hand, Boris blushed and stammered, and said that he had hurt it.

"That much I see already," said Peter. "I see also that this is a sword cut, and that you have a rent in your kaftan. You have been fighting, my Bear-eater, but not with a bear this time, nor yet with a wolf, except it be a human one. Come, who is it? Don't be afraid, man—are we not sworn brothers?"

"It is true, your Majesty, I have fought," said poor Boris, and stopped.

"And pray with whom," Peter insisted, "and with what results? Come, Boris, this is interesting, and you shall tell me all about it ere we sleep to-night. I desire it. Have you killed a man? Speak up; I shall not mind if the cause is good."

"I have killed a man, your Majesty," Boris stammered, "and the cause is good. The man was an officer; he is dead, and therefore I may tell his name—Zouboff, the Streltsi Captain, of my regiment."

"Oho! Zouboff killed—and the cause good!" said the Tsar, looking grave. "And the others of his company—Platonof, Katkoff, Zaitzoff, Shurin—what of them? Those five are never apart. Fear nothing, tell me all. I have watched them, and guessed their disaffection."

Boris was thunderstruck at the Tsar's knowledge, but he was not startled into committing himself.

"There were others, your Majesty, who took his part; but I entreat you not to bid me name them, nor to insist upon the cause of our quarrel. It was but certain drunken nonsense to which I objected. I entreat your Majesty to press me no further."

Peter strode up and down the apartment looking his blackest. For a moment or two it seemed as though the storm would burst; then his eye fell once more upon wounded Boris, and his brow cleared.

"And the rest," he asked kindly, "are they wounded too?"

"Some are wounded; one was too drunk to fight," Boris replied, his cheek flushing with martial ardour as he recalled the circumstances of the late encounter.

"Ho, ho!" laughed the Tsar; "would I had been there to see, my valiant Bear-eater. Now I will tell you what happened before the fight, and you shall narrate to me, without mentioning names, how the fight itself was conducted; that is a fair compromise. First, then, one of them—perhaps Zouboff, who is dead, or drunken Platonof, who deserves to be—made a remark about one Peter Alexeyevitch Romanof which our Boris disapproved of—no matter what he said. Then up strode Boris. 'Sir,' he said, 'you are a liar!' or words to that effect, perhaps striking the speaker with his hand or with the back of his sword. Then out flew all the swords, five traitor swords against one honest and loyal one, and then—well, then comes your part of the story; so put off that melancholy expression and speak up. I love to hear of a good fight."

Boris laughed in spite of himself, for the Tsar's acuteness delighted him and comforted him also; for, he reflected, his puny enemies could surely never triumph over this mighty, all-seeing, all-knowing young demi-god, his master. Therefore Boris made no further difficulty about the matter, but did as Peter bade him, and told the story of his fight in detail, naming no names.

Peter heard the tale with alternate rage and delight.

"Very good, my Bear-hunter," he said, when the recital was ended; "excellently good. You have done well, and for reward I shall take no notice of the individuals concerned. But for your personal intercession they should have hung in chains to-morrow morning from the four corners of their own barracks. I know their names, though you have not mentioned them. Now, good-night, Captain Bear-Eater—you are captain from to-morrow's date—and thank you."

Boris threw himself at the Tsar's feet in gratitude for the magnanimity with which he had consented to forego his just wrath against these traitors—he could have kissed those feet in his joy and in the intensity of his relief—for he felt that though he would have no compunction in slaying these men in fair fight, he could never have forgiven himself had he as informer been the means of bringing them to a disgraceful end upon the gibbet.

"But grant me one more favour, your Majesty," he pleaded. "I will not ask another until I shall have earned the right to do so; but grant me this one I entreat you: send our regiment far away from Moscow; send it to any distant garrison town, but do not let it remain here."

"And why not, my Bear-eater?" asked the Tsar, amused at the earnestness of the appeal.

"Your Majesty knows why not," said Boris; "when a bough is rotten who would lean upon it?"

"When a bough is rotten," repeated the Tsar, looking grave, "it is best cut down and burned. But I will think upon your request—perhaps you are right—though, my Bear-eater, you too would go with them in that case, which would be regrettable. Meanwhile you take care of your own skin, for the Streltsi officers hold together. Keep that good sword loose when you approach the dark corners of the city. I will think of what you have said. Good-night!"

---

CHAPTER X.
A NIGHT AMBUSH.

Contrary to his expectations, Boris found that his position in the regiment after the fracas described in the foregoing chapter was in no respect more unpleasant than it had been before; indeed, it appeared to him that his fellow-officers now treated him with greater consideration. No reference whatever was made to the death of Zouboff, or indeed to any circumstance in connection with the fight at the restaurant. In those days the taking of life was little thought of, and if an officer chose to brawl with others of his regiment, and lose his life in the struggle, that was considered his own look-out, and so much the worse for him. As for punishing those at whose hands he met his death, no one thought of such a thing. Hence matters in the regiment remained very much as they were before; the officers taking care, however, to keep a discreet tongue in the presence of Boris, and to maintain outwardly an appearance of respect for that dangerously formidable young man. As for his late opponents, these glared at him whenever they met on parade or elsewhere, and exchanged no word with their late antagonist; but Boris was not anxious to enter into friendly intercourse with men whom he had, as he considered, actually convicted of treason to the Tsar, and he was glad enough of their coldness towards him. Platonof, having no recollection of the circumstances of that fatal afternoon, was not without a feeling of gratified surprise, when informed of his indiscretion and its results, that he had been permitted to depart alive and in peace, and was inclined to make friendly advances towards the magnanimous young man who had neither dug him between the ribs with a sword thrust—as he undoubtedly might have done—nor delivered him alive and guilty into the hands of an enraged Tsar. But Boris showed no disposition to respond to his advances, and treated him with the same disregard which he showed towards the rest of the party of avowed traitors to his master.

Meanwhile the Tsar had not as yet acceded to the urgent request of Boris that the regiment might be sent out of the capital. Peter was unwilling to make any concession to a feeling of unworthy anxiety for his personal safety; but, at the same time, he now only awaited an opportunity to banish the regiment upon some plausible pretext, for reflection had quite convinced him that the presence of disaffected Streltsi in Moscow was a needless standing danger to the peace of the realm.

The opportunity he sought came in the course of a few months. It became necessary to send troops into the south of Russia in preparation for the contemplated siege of Azof, a fortress of the Mohammedans, and one of the last still held in the country by the once all-conquering Mussulman hosts. The Streltsi of Boris's regiment were ordered to proceed to the Ukraine, where they were to hold themselves at the disposal of the Cossack chieftain or hetman Mazeppa, who had begged of the Tsar some support in order to enable him to maintain and strengthen his lately-acquired position at the head of the warlike tribes he had been called to govern. Peter at all times showed the most loyal regard for this Mazeppa, who was destined in after years to ill repay him for his generosity; and it was in his desire to accede to the Cossacks request for temporary assistance, and at the same time to push on his preparations for the intended Azof campaign, that the Tsar now found an excellent opportunity for ridding Moscow of a dangerous element by despatching this disaffected body of men far away from the seat of government and out of the reach of any ill-advised interference on their part.

The order for their departure—exile, as they termed it—was received with a storm of rage and indignation by all ranks in the regiment. The men had never before been called upon to leave Moscow for prolonged service, though many others of the Streltsi regiments had not been so fortunate. Many of them were married men with large families, and were engaged in various profitable trades and professions, without the exercise of which, they declared, they would be unable to support those dependent upon them. Besides this, each man and officer had a thousand ties and interests which bound him to the capital, and would bear it ill to have these suddenly torn away and himself cast adrift into unknown places and among strange people, and submitted to dangers and discomforts to which he had not been trained, and which he feared to encounter.

All sorts of reasons for the Tsar's sudden ookaz, or edict, were suggested and considered by men and officers. Had he discovered the disaffection of the regiment? If so, how? The affair of Boris and Platonof and his party had not become generally known, at the urgent request of Platonof, who was naturally anxious that his tipsy indiscretion should not be spoken of. Those who were acquainted with the details of the affair, however, had no doubt whatever of the cause which had brought the displeasure of the Tsar upon the regiment: Boris had revealed the whole story. But in that case why had the Tsar's vengeance not been—as the vengeance of Peter was wont to be—immediate and terrible? Why, in other words, were not Platonof and his three friends dangling aloft far above the heads of the crowd, upon improvised gibbets, as a warning to the treasonable and the conspiring? Probably, these men concluded, because the Tsar was somewhat afraid of the Streltsi, and was therefore unwilling to risk giving provocation which might lead to a sudden rising.

Anyhow, it was not the fault of Boris that worse things had not happened than this sufficiently annoying ookaz from the Tsar; and if opportunity arose during the three days remaining to the regiment in Moscow, Boris should be made to regret his position as spy and tale-bearer-in-ordinary to the Tsar. So vowed Platonof and his friends, and with them a few other choice spirits who were acquainted with the state of affairs, and were not averse to a little night work at street corners, provided the dangerous element was eliminated as far as possible!

"Boris, my trusty one, eater of bears and render of wolves," said the Tsar, on the second evening after the issue of the ookaz dismissing the Streltsi from Moscow, "I feel inclined for an evening out. What say you to a visit to Lefort and a taste of his French wine, and perhaps a game or two at cards, to-night? If Lefort is asleep, so much the better; we'll pull him out of bed, and bid him send for Gordon and the rest, and we can order supper while he's dressing."

Lefort, one of Peter's prime favourites, as he well deserved to be when his services to Russia and the Tsar are taken into consideration, was the third of the trio selected by the monarch as his constant companions and advisers, the remaining members of this trinity of favour being Menshikoff and Patrick Gordon, once a Scotsman, and related to some of the best and oldest Scottish families, now a naturalized Russian and the ablest of Peter's generals, as well as his most faithful and honoured servant. Menshikoff had not as yet come into prominence; but Gordon and Lefort—the latter a Russianized foreigner as Gordon was—were already the chosen advisers and friends of the Tsar, both men after his own heart—capable, brave, hard workers, ready at an instant's notice either to drink and fool with their master, to command his armies or direct his fleets, to wrestle with him and engage in any kind of athletic competition, to build boats with him, to make love with him, or, in a word, share with the Tsar in any and every occupation or duty which Peter might call upon them to perform.

It was no uncommon event for the young monarch to suddenly descend thus upon his friends at any hour of the day or night, and General (Patrick) Gordon has left it on record that occasionally these visits were made at the dinner-hour, upon short notice, and sometimes with a retinue of a hundred companions. Thus it was necessary for the friends of the Tsar to keep in the house a constant stock of wine for the consumption of Peter and his following, which might consist of one or two persons, or, as I have said, of a hundred men.

"We will go incognito," Peter added. "Muffle yourself in this cloak, and I will do the same; it is better not to be seen. I love to go among my people in the streets and hear what they say about me."

Nothing loath, Boris took the Tsar's spare cloak, which was much too big for him in spite of his seventy odd inches of bone and muscle, and followed his master from the Kremlin. Through the streets of the old city went the tall pair, pausing here and there in the darker corners in order to listen to the conversation of the townsfolk as they passed. This was a favourite pastime of Peter's, who loved to gather at first-hand the opinions and wishes of his poorer subjects, with whom he was ever the popular hero as well as the beloved sovereign, and from whose lips there was therefore little risk of hearing anything about himself which would sound unpleasant in his ears. On this occasion he heard little of interest. A few remarks were made about the impending departure of the Streltsi, which the people appeared to regret but little. Presently, however, two young Streltsi officers came walking down the street talking confidentially. Peter and Boris withdrew deeper into the shadow and listened.

"Consequently," said one, "there's no doubt whatever about it—we have to thank him and him only for the ookaz."

"What! do you suppose he told the Tsar about what that fool Platonof said, and all that?" said the second officer, who apparently had just been informed by his companion of the encounter between Boris and his assailants.

"Undoubtedly he did, confound him!" said the first; "and that's why we are all off the day after to-morrow."

"Well, why don't we get hold of the spying rascal and"—the officer made a gesture as of a knife at his throat. The other laughed.

"That's just what's going on now, I hope," he said; "for Zaitzoff and a few others have sworn to have him before we go. They watched all last night; and to-night they are keeping guard at the corner of the Uspensky, where he goes for his supper. I hope they kill him—hateful spy!"

Peter almost danced with delight as the footsteps of the men died away in the distance. "Bear-eater, my son, we are in luck!" he whispered excitedly. "Come along quickly. Got your sword?"

Boris rattled his weapon for answer, but he looked grave and preoccupied. "Go home, your Majesty, I entreat you," he said; "don't run into needless danger. I can settle accounts with these men alone."

For a moment the Tsar looked as black as thunder. "What!" he cried; "go home, and miss the play? Don't be a fool, man. Am I to be afraid of my own officers? No, my Bear-eater. You may cut and run from an old bear if you like, but not I from a Streletz, or any number of Streltsi. Come on!" The Tsar ended with one of his loud laughs, and dragged after him poor Boris, whose cheek was red by reason of Peter's allusion to his escapade with the bear.

Through the wretchedly lighted streets they sped until they reached the Uspensky, where, in the distance, they soon espied a group of figures standing at the corner as though awaiting an arrival.

The two tall men, shrouded in their mantles as they were, approached close up to the group of officers before they were recognized.

"It's the Tsar!" some one whispered at length. "Round the corner all, and away—quick!"

Off went the party, scudding down the road like a pack of frightened sheep; but the Tsar's loud voice of authority soon recalled them. They crept back in a huddled, scared group.

"Good evening, Zaitzoff," said Peter. "How are you, Shurin? What, Ulanof, is that you? Good evening, gentlemen all. You are waiting for the pleasure of seeing my friend Boris Ivanitch, I believe. Well, here he is."

No one spoke a word. The Tsar laughed. "Is it not so? Zaitzoff, speak!"

"It is true, your Majesty," said Zaitzoff at length. "We came to meet the gentleman you name, with whom we have a quarrel."

"Oh, indeed!" said the Tsar, in affected surprise; "what, all of you? Do you all desire to quarrel with my friend? It is most flattering, upon my word, gentlemen. And do you still wish to quarrel with Boris Ivanitch, now he is here? Positively I was under the impression that I observed you all racing down the road there, as though anxious to get out of his way!"

"Our quarrel is a private one, your Majesty," said Ulanof; "and if your Majesty will withdraw, we shall proceed with it."

"What!—withdraw? I, his second? No, my good Ulanof, that is impossible; the quarrel must proceed. Boris Ivanitch is here to give you every satisfaction, and I shall act as his second. Now then, gentlemen, who is to lay on first? One would suppose that you had contemplated a combined assault in the—ha! ha!—in the dark, were we not acquainted with the strictly honourable traditions of the Streltsi officers. Come, Zaitzoff, you seem to be the leader of the party; you shall have the first opportunity of depriving the rest of their prey.—Come, Boris, draw!"

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CHAPTER XI.
A BATTLE AGAINST ODDS.

The experience of two months ago, when he had last been called upon to defend his life against some of these very men, had not been lost upon Boris. He had then realized that he was but a poor swordsman, and that he was indebted more to his superior agility and strength than to his skill for his safety on that occasion. True, his antagonists had shown that their knowledge of the science was not greater than his own; but nevertheless Boris had made a mental note of his incapacity, and had registered at the same time a vow to make the science of the sword his principal study until he should have gained at least a fair degree of proficiency. He had not failed to put this good resolution into practice, and had assiduously worked at his fencing daily with an exponent of the art, a German named Schmidt, under whose skilful tuition, and with his natural aptitude for every kind of manly exercise, Boris had quickly acquired no little skill in the use of his somewhat clumsy but formidable Russian weapon.

At the first onset, the Tsar was surprised and delighted to observe that Boris was more than a match for his opponent. Before the swords had been crossed for two minutes, Zaitzoff was disabled and disarmed.

The Tsar bade him give up his sword and retire to the opposite wall, where he might watch the fun with as much comfort as was possible with a hole through his sword-arm and a deepish cut in the shoulder as well. Then Ulanof came to take his place.

Ulanof was a big and heavy man, determined and very powerful, but lacking skill. He made so furious an onslaught upon his antagonist, cutting and slashing and thrusting at him with extreme rapidity though quite without method, that for some moments Boris was fully occupied in defending his own person without attempting to carry the fight into the enemy's camp—in fact he actually lost ground, being surprised into stepping backwards by the unexpectedly furious character of Ulanof's attack upon him. But as soon as the Tsar whispered encouragingly, "Steady, my Bear-eater!" Boris quickly recovered his position, and pulling himself together delivered an equally furious but a more scientific counter-attack upon Ulanof, whose exertions had already deprived him of much breath.

Still fiercely battling, and contesting every inch of ground, Ulanof was now driven backwards yard by yard until he stood at bay with his back to the wall of the house opposite. To that wall Boris speedily spitted him, his sword passing through Ulanof's body and into the wooden side of the house, whence Boris with difficulty drew it forth. As he did so, Ulanof fell with a gasp at his feet, and the officers' list of the Streltsi regiment was shorter by one name.

"Bravo, bravo, my good Boris!" cried the Tsar; "it was well and scientifically done, and after the German method, I perceive. We shall see you sticking bears in the Prussian fashion on our next trip.—Now, gentlemen, how many more of you? Four, is it not?—Now, what say you, Boris, to taking them two at a time? This single process grows tedious. I shall see fair play—is it agreed?"

"With all my heart, your Majesty, if you desire it," said Boris, eying his still untried foes as though to estimate his chances against them, two swords to one.

After a short whispered consultation, these officers, however, stepped forward and informed the Tsar that their honour was satisfied—there was no need for the fight to continue.

But the Tsar would not hear of it. The matter rested with Boris Ivanitch, he declared; and, if Boris so desired it, every one of them should meet him until his honour had obtained ample satisfaction. "As for your honour, gentlemen, you left it at home when you sallied forth this evening like common midnight assassins to fall upon him unawares and murder him. No, officers of the Streltsi, you are here to fight, and fight you shall. If any man shirks, I too have a sword, and with my sword I shall write 'coward' on his body for all men to see!"

Then the two, Katkoff and Shurin, fell upon the one, and the fight recommenced; and a good fight it was. Katkoff was a good swordsman, Shurin was strong and active, and the battle was at first sight unequal. The Tsar would not suffer the pair to separate. If either attempted to edge to one side and take Boris in the flank, the Tsar angrily bade him return to line. The battle was to be fought fair, this much was plainly evident; it behoved Shurin and his partner, therefore, to be careful and watch, and to take the first advantage that offered.

Boris fought like a lion, or like one of his own bears at bay. In vain Katkoff slashed and Shurin thrust; his sword was always there to intercept, and even to aim an answering blow before the pair were able to repeat the attack. Once a thrust from Shurin touched his cheek and made the blood spirt. Shurin cheered, and redoubled his exertions, well backed up by Katkoff. Then Boris, like an enraged tiger, fell upon the pair so fiercely, raining his blows upon them like hailstones in June, that they gave ground both together. Pursuing his advantage quickly Boris drove them round by the wall, the two whole men and the wounded one moving out of their way as they went, Peter close at their heels to see fair play. One tripped over dead Ulanof and nearly fell, but recovered himself and fought on. Then Boris in his turn tripped and fell on his knee. In an instant the two were upon him, and Shurin's thrust pierced through his left arm, while he just saved his head from the downward blow of Katkoff's weapon. But before Shurin could withdraw his sword, Boris aimed a cut at the arm that held it with such terrible force that it was severed at the wrist. Shurin caught at the kaftan of Boris to pull him over; while Katkoff, seeing that now, if ever, he must make his effort and end this struggle, rained his blows from above. Then Boris, in guarding his shoulder, nevertheless contrived at the same time to administer to Shurin a backhander which laid him flat beside Ulanof, and rising from his kneeling position he so furiously fell upon Katkoff that in a moment the latter was disarmed, his sword flying through the air with a whistle, and alighting point-down upon the low wooden roof of an adjoining house, where it stuck, vibrating with the force of its flight.

"In an instant the two were upon him."
Page [124].

But this was Boris's final effort—tired nature could do no more. He turned, as though to return to Peter's side, but slipped and fell fainting into the Tsar's strong embrace.

Peter looked darkly around at the remains of the party which had been so roughly handled by Boris. "Go!" he said, "get you gone, you that can walk. Leave your swords. You shall hear of me to-morrow. Meanwhile, you that have escaped, be thankful that I am not tempted myself to finish what Boris Ivanitch has left undone. I should know well how to treat midnight assassins. Leave your swords, I say. Now go!"

As the party of discomfited warriors limped and slunk away in the darkness, leaving Shurin and Ulanof behind them, the Tsar tenderly picked up the still unconscious Boris in his great arms, and carried him like a child to the nearest house. Thither he sent his own doctor, a Scotsman of much skill, under whose care Boris very quickly came round, and, his arm being carefully bandaged and treated, he was able to return on foot to the palace, to the delight of his master.

But though Boris was able to make his own way home, he was not destined to come through this matter quite so easily as he had at first believed. His wound proved somewhat obstinate, and the poor hunter tossed for many days upon his plain camp-bed, racked with pain and fever, during which time he longed incessantly for the fresh air, and the forest, and the delights of his old open-air life. All that could be done to relieve his pain and hasten his recovery was done by Macintyre, the Tsar's own doctor, who tended him assiduously, having taken a great liking to this fine specimen of a Russian peasant.

The Tsar himself frequently stole an hour from his various pressing duties in order to sit by his favourite servant and chat over what had been and what was yet to be—fighting over again their battles with bear and wolf, which, to the joy of Boris, Peter solemnly promised should be repeated at the earliest opportunity; and discussing many projects at that time in the brain of the Tsar—such as the development of a standing army, which idea was already beginning to take practical form; the organization of a navy; the building of a capital which should be a seaport; the necessity for recommencing that which Ivan the Terrible had so nearly accomplished, but in which that monarch had eventually failed—namely, the wresting from their lieges of those ports in the Baltic which were absolutely necessary for the development of the empire; and, lastly, Eastern conquest—overland trade with India, and many other dazzling projects upon which the heart of Peter was set.

From the Tsar, also, Boris learned that the banishment of the Streltsi regiment to which the wounded hunter was attached was now an accomplished fact. After the disgraceful conduct of the officers at the corner of the Uspensky, Peter had determined that the regiment should not remain another hour in the capital, but be marched out of it as early as possible on the following morning. The Tsar therefore himself attended the early parade of the regiment, when he read aloud a revised list of officers, in which the names of the six midnight assailants of Boris had no place. In their stead were substituted those of six privates, men who had shown aptitude for military service, and whose good conduct had entitled them to recognition. Then Peter read the names of six officers who, he said, in consequence of conduct which disqualified them for ever from associating with men of their own position in the service, were degraded to the ranks. These men were directed to step out in order to be deprived of their insignia of officer's rank, when Peter himself tore from their shoulders the epaulets of their order. It was observed that but four men appeared instead of six, and that one of these wore his arm in a sling, while another limped as he walked.

After this ceremony, the Tsar bade the commanding officer pass the regiment in review, when Peter himself uttered several words of command; finally in stentorian tones giving the order,—

"Gentlemen of the Streltsi, form in marching order! Right about face! Quick march! to the Ukraine!"

As the Tsar uttered these words, the consternation and surprise of the regiment, men and officers, was indescribable. None had expected this sudden change of date; no one was ready; final arrangements for the winding up or transfer of business had been left by many to the last moment, and were still in abeyance; farewells to families and lovers were still unsaid; many of the men were but half dressed, their long kaftans serving to conceal the shortcomings of the unseen portion of their costume. But none dared disobey the personal ookaz of the masterful young giant whose stern lips had uttered it.

Sobbing and whining the regiment marched slowly through the streets of Moscow, followed by troops of women and children, who sobbed and whined also. The officers strode along looking pale and gloomy, many with tears streaming down their faces. The word had soon passed from street to street, and from house to house, and as the woful procession approached the gates of the city the ranks of the weeping crowd of friends and relatives became largely increased, until, when the regiment had reached the open country, the colonel, who doubtless had matters of his own to attend to, called a halt in order that the unfortunate men might at least take a last farewell of their wives and families ere they marched out into an exile the duration of which none could foretell.

Then ensued a remarkable scene. Most of the men were married, and most of the wives and a great host of children of all ages had heard the news of the sudden departure of their lords, and had hastened after them to get a last glimpse of them, and if possible a last word. No sooner had the ranks obeyed the order to halt, than the lines were instantly invaded by swarms of sobbing women and children, each seeking her own, and calling his name aloud. The confusion became indescribable, the din deafening. Frantic women, unable to find their husbands or lovers, rushed shrieking from line to line, imploring sergeants and soldiers to tell them where to seek their lords. Others, having found their belongings, clung about their necks, while the children clasped the knees of their fathers and cried aloud. For a full hour the scene of woe and noise was prolonged, and then at last the word was given to resume the march, the women and children being forbidden to follow further. Many young wives and girls, however, refused to obey the colonel's command, and followed or accompanied the troops for many miles, wailing and crying and shouting last words of love and farewell to their friends in the ranks.

Thus did Peter rid himself, in a characteristic manner, of a regiment which he knew to be rotten at the core. And thus it happened that Boris remained behind while the rest went into exile.

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CHAPTER XII.
A PERILOUS SLIDE.

To Boris the news that the Streltsi had gone away without him was the best and most acceptable news in the world. To his simple, honest mind the atmosphere of disloyalty and disaffection in which he had been forced to live, as well as the unrest and actual physical danger which were the unavoidable consequence of the unpopularity in which he was held by his fellows, as one outside their own circle and therefore dangerous—all this was intolerable. Boris was not a quarrelsome man, yet he had been forced into several fights already; and if he had proceeded to the Ukraine with the rest he would undoubtedly have been drawn into many other quarrels as soon as the repressive influence of the Tsar's presence had ceased to work upon the minds of his comrades. The departure of the Streltsi, therefore, acted like a tonic upon his system, and his recovery was speedy from this day onwards. Within a week after the scene on the parade-ground Boris was up and about attending once more upon his master, the Tsar, and learning with astonishment the remarkable phases and contrasts of Peter's character—a character which must ever puzzle students and analysts in the inconsistencies and contradictions which it revealed from day to day.

Peter was particularly busy just at this time enrolling soldiers for certain new regiments of Guards which he designed should take the place of the erratic Streltsi. Lefort, of whom mention has already been made, was most energetic in this work, and proved himself a most successful recruiting officer. Foreigners—Englishmen, Germans, and others—were engaged as far as possible to officer these new troops; but Boris, to his great joy, was permitted to exchange from his Streltsi regiment, which he hated, into one of the newly-organized corps.

The Tsar was radiant and happy over the congenial work upon which he was engaged, and worked night and day in order to accomplish the task he had set before himself. Yet, in spite of his activity and energy, and of the amazing amount of work he managed to get through during the day, this remarkable young monarch found time for boisterous carousals almost every evening. At these Boris was expected to attend the Tsar, and did so; but he was never a lover of indoor amusements, and did not take to card-playing and heavy drinking with the zeal infused into the pursuit of such joys by his betters, including Peter himself.

At the court, too, Boris was out of his element. The big bear-hunter was not used to the society of ladies; and though the manners of Peter's court were far from being characterized by all that we in our day understand when we speak of refinement and breeding, yet the measure of their civilization was naturally far beyond that reached by the good folks at Dubinka, or even at Archangel.

The ladies of the court, including the empress, were one and all attracted by the handsome young hunter, now officer, and some made no secret of their admiration. The empress was kind and condescending, and occasionally preached Boris a little sermon on the iniquity of making friends of foreigners, warning him to beware of familiarity with those alien officers who had lately been imported into Russia. These men, the Tsaritsa declared, would be the ruin—they and the foreign institutions and vices which they foreshadowed—of holy Russia and her exclusiveness. The church, she said, and all her dignitaries looked with horror upon the many un-Russian innovations which were the ruling spirit of the day.

Boris thought that the empress ought to know all about the church and her opinions, if anybody did, for the palace, or her own portion of it, was always full of priests and confessors; but he thought it a curious circumstance, nevertheless, that the wife should speak thus of the work upon which the husband was engaged. To his frank and simple mind it appeared unnatural and wrong that the very person in all the world who should have been the first to encourage and help the Tsar in his work of reformation and progress should have neglected no opportunity of hindering and crying it down.

In short, the ladies of the court had for Boris but little attraction; he had not been used to the society of ladies, and did not understand them and their mysterious ways. He was glad when Peter avoided his wife's portion of the palace for days together; and though he did not particularly enjoy the carouses with Lefort and Gordon, and other kindred spirits of the Tsar, yet he preferred these noisy and rowdy gatherings to the society of the ladies. In a word, Boris was not a lady's man, although there were many fair damsels at court and out of it who would fain it had been otherwise.

But Boris had a little adventure early in this first winter in Moscow which laid the foundation of a great and momentous friendship, the greatest and most important of any formed by him throughout his life, even though we include that which united him with his beloved Tsar. The circumstances were romantic, and may be given with propriety in this place.

It has been mentioned that many foreigners were at this time being attracted into Russia by the liberal offers made to them of lucrative employment in the service of the Tsar. Among the officers thus engaged by Peter to train and command his newly-levied troops of the Guard was a certain Englishman of the name of Drury, who, with his wife and little daughter aged twelve, had but lately arrived in the great northern city. Boris had seen and made the acquaintance of the English officer at Peter's palace, and had moreover met the wife and child at the court of the Tsaritsa, where he had admired the little, bright-eyed, flaxen-haired English maiden, and had even played ball with her, and taught her the use of the Russian swing in the courtyard.

Nancy Drury, as she was called, possessed all the love for outdoor amusements and exercise which is the heritage of the British race; and, consequently, no sooner did the early northern winter bring enough frost to cover the narrow Moscow river with a thin layer of ice, than Miss Nancy determined to make the most of the advantages of living "up north," by enjoying an hour's sliding at the very first opportunity. Thus, on the second day after the appearance of the ice, though no Russian would have thought of stepping upon it for at least another week, the child walked fearlessly out to the centre of the stream and commenced her sliding.

The ice was smooth and very elastic, and Nancy found the sliding excellent; but, as might have been expected, at the third or fourth slide the ice gave way beneath even her light feet, and in went Nancy, sprawling forwards as her footing played her false, and thus breaking up a large hole for herself to splash into. Luckily Nancy was a brave child, and did not struggle and choke and go straight to the bottom, or under the ice. She supported herself as best she could upon the sound ice which surrounded the hole she had made, and shouted for assistance.

The streets were full of people; but that circumstance was of little comfort to poor Nancy, had she known it. For if she had found herself in this fix on ninety-nine out of a hundred occasions, she would have received no doubt the deepest sympathy from those on shore, evidenced by much weeping and wailing from the women, and running about and shouting of conflicting instructions and advice on the part of the men; but as for solid assistance, she would have gone to the bottom long before the one man in a hundred or a thousand who could render it to her had arrived upon the scene. Luckily again for Nancy, however, that one man chanced to pass by on this occasion, in the shape of our brave bear-hunter, and in the very nick of time.

Boris grasped the situation at a glance, though without as yet recognizing the child. Kicking off his heavy Russian boots, he ran nimbly over the intervening ice, which lay in broken, floating pieces behind him as he crushed it beneath his feet at each quick step, and reached the child in a twinkling, seizing her in his arms and floating with her for a moment as he reflected upon the best way to get back.

During that moment Nancy recognized her preserver and clung to him, shivering and crying a little, but with an assurance of safety in his strong arms which she did her best to express by burying her face in his breast and half drowning him with her clinging arms about his neck.

A wonderfully tender spirit fell over the rough hunter as he felt the confiding hugs of this little English girl, and he realized that she must be saved at all hazards. But it was exceedingly difficult to swim with her in his arms, as those who have tried it will know, especially as his course was impeded by floating ice of sufficient strength and thickness to offer an awkward obstacle to a burdened swimmer. Boris was aware that little Nancy had picked up but little Russian as yet; nevertheless he succeeded in conveying to her that she must not clasp his neck so tightly, or both would presently go to the bottom; also that he intended to help her to climb back upon the ice, but that he would be near if it should break again and let her through. Then, finding a sound edge which looked strong enough for his purpose, with an effort he raised the child sufficiently high to slide her out upon unbroken ice, where Nancy quickly regained her feet and ran lightly to the shore. As for Boris, relieved of his burden, he easily swam to shore, where he found his little friend awaiting him.

To the immense amusement of the onlookers, of whom there was a considerable gathering, Nancy, having first with her little hand helped him out of the water, sprang up into the arms of her big preserver and covered his wet face with kisses. Then the tall hunter and his little English friend walked off together, amid the admiring comments of the crowd, who were unanimous in their opinion that the officer was a molodyets, or, as a British schoolboy would call it, "a rare good chap;" and that the little Anglichanka was very sweet to look upon, and wore very nice clothes.

From this day commenced a firm friendship between these two persons, which strengthened and ripened from week to week and from month to month. They were in some respects an oddly-assorted couple; and yet there was much in common between them, as for instance the intense love which both bore towards the open air and all that appertains to life in the country. Nancy had lived, while still in her English home, far away from the town; her sympathies were all for the fields, the woods, birds, and rabbits, and wild fowl, and the sights and sounds of the country.

Neither Drury nor his wife had the slightest objection to the great friendship existing between their little daughter and this fine young officer of the Tsar; as indeed why should they? On the contrary, they were glad enough to intrust her to one who could be so thoroughly trusted to take good care of her under any and every circumstance and emergency which could arise, whether in the forest or in the streets of the city. Consequently the two were often together; and Boris loved nothing better than to set his little friend in a kibitka, or covered sledge drawn by two horses, and drive out with her into the country, far away beyond the smoke and din of Moscow.

There he would spend a few happy hours in teaching the child the art of tracking and trapping hares, foxes, and larger game, an art in which Nancy proved an apt pupil; while his skill in calling birds and beasts to him proved a source of unfailing delight and amusement to her. Concealed in a tiny conical hut made of fir boughs, and built to represent as far as possible a snow-laden pine tree, the pair would sit for an hour or two and watch the effects of Boris's skilful imitation of the various voices of the forest. Many a time did Nancy enjoy the excitement of hearing and even occasionally of seeing a wolf, as he came inquisitively peering and listening close up to the hut, wondering where in the world his talkative friend had hidden himself, and evidently half beginning to fear that he had been the victim of a hoax. On such occasions a loud report from Boris's old-fashioned matchlock quickly assured the poor wolf that he had indeed been deluded to his destruction, and that this hoax was the very last he should live to be the victim of.

Rare, indeed, was the day when the hunter and his little English friend returned to Moscow without something to show as the result of their drive out into the forest. Whether it was a hare, or a brace of tree-partridges, or the pretty red overcoat of a fox, or the gray hide of a wolf—something was sure to accompany little Nancy when she returned to her father's apartments; for Boris was a hunter whose skill never failed.

Thus the winter passed and the summer came, and another winter, and the Tsar was ever busy with his recruiting, and his drilling, and his revellings, and his designing of ships and fleets. And Boris was busy also with his duty and his pleasure—his duty with his regiment and with his Tsar, and his chief pleasure in the company of the little English girl who had found for herself a place so close to his heart. And Boris was happy both in his pleasure and in his duties, as should be the case with every right-minded person, and is, I trust, with every reader of these lines.

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CHAPTER XIII.
BORIS GOES ON THE WAR-PATH.

One day the Tsar asked Boris whether he would like to be one of the electors of the College of Bacchus, and take part in the election of a new president.

The College of Bacchus was one of the products of those all too frequent uproarious moods of the Tsar, when he and his friends would meet to drink and make a noise, to gamble, wrestle, play with the kegels, or skittles, and, in short, pass a day or a night in those festivities which Peter found necessary in order to work off some of the superabundant energy with which nature had dowered him. The college was, as its name implies, a mere drinking institution, wherein the hardest drinker was king, or pope, or president; and the last president of this society having lately died, it became necessary to elect a successor.

When the Tsar proposed to Boris, however, that the latter should form one of the electors, he doubtless offered the suggestion more by way of banter than in sober seriousness; for none knew better than Peter that such a thing as an election at the College of Bacchus was not at all in Boris's line. It is distinctly to the credit of the many-sided Tsar that he thought none the worse of his faithful hunter because the latter had not proved so good a boon companion as others of his favourites of the day. He was fully conscious of Boris's many excellent qualities, and easily forgave him his shortcomings as a reveller in consideration of his humble birth and upbringing, as well as of his pre-eminence in other directions. Hence when Peter made the suggestion, he was not offended, but only amused, when Boris said, with a grimace, that he thought his Majesty must probably possess many subjects better qualified than a poor bear-hunter for so exalted an office. Peter, with a laugh, agreed that this might be so; but added that he was not so certain that he could find any one better qualified than Boris to act as judge or referee at the election, since it would be the duty of that functionary to keep the peace and to restrain the ardour, if necessary, of the electors, who would be likely to prove an awkward body to manage, and would require both a strong hand and a cool head to keep in order during the excitement of the election.

Since Peter appeared anxious that Boris should act in the capacity last suggested—that of referee—the hunter did not refuse to comply with his request. The experience was of service to him because it gave him once for all so great a horror of the vice of drinking that he never afterwards, to his dying day, took spirits of any kind excepting on special occasions when he considered the stuff to be required medicinally, and then in small quantities.

It was no wonder that a sober-minded man like Boris should have refused to act as one of the electors, as my readers will agree when I explain the function in use at the elections of the College of Bacchus. The body of twelve electors were locked up together in a room which contained a large table in the centre of which was a wine cask, upon which one of them sat astride, representing Bacchus. On either side of this emblematical figure were a stuffed bear and a live monkey.

The hour at which those chosen to elect the new president were locked up was about seven in the evening, from which time until the following morning, when the door was thrown open once more, each elector was obliged to swallow at regular intervals a large glassful of vodka, a spirit nearly, though not quite, so strong as whisky. He whose head proved best able to support this trying ordeal was the chosen president for the following year, or series of years.

The function to which Boris had been called was to see that each elector was supplied with his proper allowance of vodka at the stipulated times, and to prevent any quarrelling between them. The hunter found that the office of judge and peacemaker was no sinecure, and a thousand times during the night did poor Boris bitterly repent his compliance with the Tsar's wishes in this matter, and long for the arrival of morning to put an end to the scene of which he was a thoroughly disgusted and sickened spectator.

This was one of the peculiar ways in which the greatest and by far the ablest and most enlightened monarch that Russia had ever seen amused himself, the sovereign but for whom Russia would have lagged hundreds of years behind in the race of civilization and progress, but for whose foresight and sagacity, too, Russia might never have occupied the position she now holds in the councils of Europe and of the world. This was Peter at his lowest and meanest; and if we shall see him in these pages at his cruelest and most brutal, we shall also have the opportunity, I trust, of viewing this many-sided and truly remarkable man at his highest and noblest—and none was ever nobler and more self-sacrificing and devoted than he when occasion arose for the display of his best qualities, for the truth of which statement let the manner of his death testify.[2]

It must not be supposed that the Tsar himself took part in the degrading ceremony I have just described. Beyond locking and sealing the door upon the electors, and again unlocking it at morning, Peter took no personal part in the proceedings, thus exercising a wise discretion.

Boris came forth from that room feeling that he could never again attend the Tsar at one of his drinking bouts at Lefort's or at Gordon's, or elsewhere; he had seen enough drinking and drunkenness to make him hate the very sight of a vodka bottle. When he told Peter of this, and of his intense desire to be exempted from the duty of attending any further carousals, the Tsar slapped him on the back and laughed in his loud way.

"I am glad, my Bear-eater," he said, "that I have at least one friend who is not afraid of being great when I am little! There are plenty left to drink with me. You shall be a total abstainer, and then I am sure of some one to steady me when I return at nights less master of myself than of Russia. I am glad of your decision, my good Boris; you shall be as sober as you please, so long as I need not follow your example." With that Peter laughed again, louder than ever, and gave Boris a great push by the shoulders, which sent him flying backwards against the wall, and proved conclusively that whatever the Tsar might be "when he returned late at night," he was master of himself, at all events, at this particular moment.

Thus it came about that Boris gradually became practically a teetotaller—which is a rara avis in Russia, and was still more so in those old days when drunkenness was thought little of, and was even habitually indulged in by the honoured head of the realm.

Boris had many friends now, chiefly among the officers of his regiment, with whom, in spite of his humble origin, he was extremely popular. By this time he excelled in all those arts which were the peculiar property of the military—in swordsmanship, in drill, and even in gunnery, upon the practice of which the Tsar laid great stress. Competitions were held among the officers; and here Boris soon displayed a marked superiority over his fellows, his accurate eye and steady hand enabling him to do far better work with the big clumsy ordnance than his fellows, many of whom could rarely boast of a steady hand at any time of day. It was a peculiarity of the Tsar himself, however, who indeed was an exception to all rules, that however deep his potations might have been, either on the previous evening or on the very day of the competition, his hand was always steady and his eye true—in fact, he was at all times the chief rival of Boris for first gunnery honours.

Such was the life in Moscow during the two or three years which our friend passed in the capital at this stage of his career—years which were of incalculable benefit to him as a period of education and experience; years also which were passed very happily, and during which the friendship between the young guardsman and Nancy Drury ever ripened and matured. From Nancy, Boris gradually picked up more than a smattering of the English language, and by the time he had known her for two full years the pair were able to converse in English—a circumstance greatly applauded by Peter, who meditated a visit to our country, and declared that the hunter should go with him and do the talking for him.

But before the plans for a trip to England and the Continent had taken definite shape, events occurred to postpone the journey for a while. The regiment of Guards to which Boris was attached was ordered to proceed to the south of Russia, where the Streltsi were already gathered before the walls of the city of Azof in preparation for a siege. Boris took an affectionate farewell of his beloved master, who bade him God-speed and a quick return home. "Don't get into trouble with your old enemies of the Streltsi," were the Tsar's parting words. "See if you can be the first man into Azof—I expect it of you—and be home as quickly as possible; for what am I to do without my faithful old Sobersides Bear-eater to keep me in order and take care of me?"

Boris laughed at the allusion to his old acquaintances the Streltsi; he had quite grown out of his dislike and horror for those poor misguided men, and was inclined to recall their treatment of him with indulgence and pity rather than with indignation. "I am sure to be back soon, your Majesty," he said, "if the Tartars don't pick me off. We'll soon pepper them out of Azof. And, besides, I have attractions here besides your Majesty's person."

"Ah, the fair Nancy! I had forgotten," said Peter, laughing. "Well, well, my Bear-eater, happy is he who is beloved by a child; their love is better than woman's love, and wears better, too. Now go and bid farewell to your Nancy. Tell her Peter will look after her right well in your absence!"

Boris went straight from the Tsar to the house of the Drurys, where he was ever a welcome guest.

Poor Nancy was very miserable at the prospect of parting with her friend, for she felt that there would be no more long sledge drives for her over the crisp snow roads, no more pleasant days in mid-forest watching for bird and beast, nor jolly skating expeditions along the smooth surface of the river when the wind or thaws had cleared it of its deep snow-mantle, nor happy half-hours spent in laughing over the hunter's attempts to master the pronunciation of her own difficult language. Life would be very dull and miserable for her now, and the colonel informed Boris that Nancy had even spoken of persuading him, Boris, to take her with him to the south. "In fact, Boris Ivanitch," added Drury, "my wife and I both complain that you have quite stolen the child's heart from us; and, if we know anything of Nancy, we shall have our hands full to manage her while you are away."

Nancy had disappeared out of the room, for her feelings had proved too much for her, and Boris regretfully felt obliged to depart at length without seeing the child again. But as he groped his way out of the dark, badly-lighted passage to the front door, he was surprised by a small, light figure bouncing suddenly into his arms, and a flaxen head burying itself in his bosom, while hot tears were freely shed and hot kisses rained over his face and neck and wherever the two soft lips could plant them. With difficulty Boris unclasped the fond arms, and detached the pretty head from his shoulder, and tenderly placed the little feet upon the ground. Then Nancy quickly ran away, and disappeared without a word, though Boris heard a great sob as the dainty figure passed out of sight in the dusky distance of the passage. When the young guardsman, mighty hunter and redoubtable soldier as he was, left the house and strode down the familiar street for the last time, there was a tear in his eye that would not be denied, but rolled deliberately down his cheek till it was dashed away.

On the following morning Boris marched out of Moscow with his regiment, bound for the seat of war, far away in the south, on the Sea of Azof.

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