Though stunned with its fall, the infuriated lynx, which vies with the tiger for ferocity when at bay, instantly seized the Tsar by the leg—the imperial limb being clad, luckily for the imperial feelings, in thick Russian thigh-boots—whereupon Peter caught the animal's neck with one great hand, and deftly passed his knife across its yellow throat with the other. The sharp teeth loosened their hold of the leather hunting-boots, the terrible claws relaxed, the wicked, yellow-green eye grew slowly dim, and the lynx lay dead at Peter's feet.
The Tsar was as pleased as a schoolboy with his success, and together he and Boris skinned the creature as a memento of the exploit.
Afterwards, as the pair strolled together through the woods, the talk fell upon politics and the projects of Peter. War was certain and imminent, the Tsar said; Poland had joined with him in an engagement to drive the Swede out of the Baltic.
"Only think of it, my Bear-eater," said Peter, "the Baltic!—ports, Boris, seaports! How we shall fight for our windows. If it takes us a score of years, we shall have them!"
The Tsar spoke more prophetically than he knew of; for those ports were won indeed, but the final winning of them actually did cost Russia twenty years of fighting by sea and land, so stubborn was the struggle.
Then came the question as to what part Boris should play in these weighty projects which were so soon to be embarked upon; and at this point the hunter's exultation received a check, for Peter spoke as though it must be taken for granted that Boris would recommence his career at the foot of the ladder—he must enlist. That, the Tsar explained, was indispensable; for he could not stultify himself by taking Boris back straight into all the ranks and dignities of his former position. What would the rest of the officers of the Preobrajensk think? Yes, Boris must enlist.
Boris looked foolish, but said nothing. For the life of him, he could not tell whether the Tsar was pleased to joke with him or was serious.
"I am only a major myself, you know," continued Peter, "and I cannot have officers admitted into the regiment at a grade senior to my own; that would delay my promotion."
"Very well then, your Majesty," said Boris, simply because he could think of nothing else to say, "then I enlist."