"Hours before daylight we were on our way to the forest, the snow had begun to melt, and the road was rough for sledging, especially here and there when we came to bare places, where the snow was destroyed by tepid springs, which are very common in some parts of Russia.
"The jolting of the sledge was unpleasant, and so far the journey was a disagreeable one. But the coral magnificence of the ancient forest compensated for bodily discomfort. No person of observation can pass these primeval forests without discovering wonders at every turn. The monster trees—whose thick trunks and arms are twisted into fantastic distortions, darken the road with the thick caverns they form where the wind has uprooted them by dozens, and they lean supported by their branches across the way—seen in the gray morning as we glide along our silent path of snow have a solemn and imposing influence on the mind, like that produced by the ruins of some grand old temple, whose foundation, like that of our Russian forest, is hidden in remote antiquity.
"When we left our sledge and took to struggling through the wood we sank deep in the snow at every step, and were thoroughly glad to arrive at last before the winter residence of our bear. The air-holes left for breathing purposes were freshly discoloured, and showed that bruin was at home, so we got to business without delay.
"Shooting a bear as he emerges from his winter quarters is not unattended with danger, because, if the shots do not happen to be mortal, the animal charges, and the men near the hole are sometimes knocked over and severely injured. It is very necessary, therefore, that the shooter should be supported by a man with a spear, who stands close behind him and receives the bear in case of need on the point of his weapon. This duty can only be intrusted to an old hand, and one who never flinches.
"Besides the gun which the shooter carries in hand, he must have a second in reserve behind him, as bears sometimes "take a great deal of killing." The battery being supposed to be arranged, the moujiks begin to call and talk to the bear. If this does not move him they insert a small tree, and literally 'stir him up with a long pole.' The animal then (generally in a drowsy state) puts his head through the opening, and upon presenting a fair mark is killed. But if he is already awake in his hole before the stirring up process commences he will bolt out with a rush which is far from agreeable.
"On the occasion I am referring to we had made a mistake in our calculations, for after all the bear had given us the slip; but we knew that he could not be far off, as he must only have left his hole a few minutes before. We accordingly separated to hunt him up. I was walking among the brushwood with a man behind me carrying a spare double-barrelled rifle, when I heard the bear growl, but could not see him; presently I made him out about thirty or forty paces off, and looking round to see that my other gun was near, beheld the fellow carrying it in the act of making off as fast as he could. I caught him up and made him stand, and in the meantime the bear was slowly advancing towards us. There was so much underwood that I could not see to make a sure shot, but at last was obliged to fire. The rifle I had in my hand was an English Enfield. I missed the shoulder and struck the brute in the side. I found afterwards that the bullet had gone through him, literally riddling him. He took no notice of this beyond giving a growl. He then came towards me, when I took my second gun and fired point-blank at his forehead; the gun was a smooth-bore and the bullet round; this also had no effect on him beyond causing just a shake of his head and another growl. I had only one barrel left, and did not like the situation, as my spearman was hunting on his own account and had not yet come up; but I for the first time in my life learned by experience the full value of a breech-loader, for I had just time to put a cartridge into the empty barrel, giving me two more chances, when the animal was almost close to me. Stepping aside, I fired into his heart, and he fell dead at my feet.
"This was a lesson to me in the future not to depend upon myself alone in attempting to kill a bear."
A STORY OF PETER THE GREAT.
Some hundred and fifty years ago the "Emperor of all the Russias" was Peter the Great; and Peter, with all his faults, was a generous-hearted man, and loved an adventure dearly. It was a cold bleak day in November when our story commences, and the fishermen on the Gulf of Finland could easily foretell a coming storm from the clouds which were gathering on the horizon from the south-east. As the clouds grew darker, the wind blew in louder gusts, and the waves rose with whiter and taller crests, and lashed the shores with an ever-increasing vehemence. Along the beach on the north side of the Gulf of Finland are some twenty or thirty fishermen's huts, which form part of the straggling town of Lachta. Hard by is the spot where a ferry-boat starts—or rather started a century ago—for the opposite side of the gulf some twice or three times a week. As the door of one of these cottages opened, a young sailor came out, followed by his mother, who saw that he was bent on crossing the lake for the purpose of transacting some business at the little village of Liborg, and was vainly endeavouring to stay him by pointing out the signs of the growing storm.