Boris the Bear-Hunter

by Frederick Whishaw

No sooner did Charles of Sweden hear of the action of Peter in laying siege to Narva than he took ship with nine thousand troops for Revel and Pernau. Landing at these ports, he marched with all his characteristic energy and marvellous expedition straight across country to Narva, falling upon the Russians from the rear like a sudden terrible tornado. The Russians, with the exception of the Preobrajensk and Semenofski—two of the veteran regiments—ran like sheep, hardly striking a blow in self-defence. They rushed hither and thither headlong, shrieking that the "Germans had betrayed them," and making matters very unpleasant for their foreign officers, many of whom they killed, or chased over the field. The Preobrajensk, with Boris among them, held out bravely, and Boris had the honour of crossing swords with Charles XII. as the latter rode by slashing right and left with his weapon, and doing execution at each passage of his terrible blade. Boris barred his way, guarded a tremendous downward cut at his helm, and lunged fiercely back, striking the Swedish king full in the breast-plate, and causing him to grab with his left hand at the horse's mane in order to prevent himself falling over backwards. Charles was furious, and smote at Boris with such energy that, though Boris guarded the blow, the sword cut his tall Preobrajensk helmet clean in two, but fortunately left his head untouched. Then the hunter's blood was thoroughly up, and he slashed back at the king with such good will that his Majesty was knocked clean off his horse by the force of the blows, though his body remained unwounded. At the same moment the horse itself received a flesh wound and dashed away in terror and pain. But Charles was quickly placed upon a second horse by his people, who thronged around when they perceived his dangerous position, and the king, though he endeavoured to get back to Boris, was unable, because the crowd separated them. Charles turned in his saddle and smiled and waved to Boris. "Well done, Russian," he shouted. "I am glad there are not many of them like you! We'll finish this another day!"

But Boris, together with the rest of his regiment, was being forced back at this moment, fighting for every yard of ground, and he had no time to respond to his Majesty's kind attentions. Bravely the Preobrajensk fought, but the weight of numbers drove them back surely and steadily; and now they were upon the bridge which the Russians themselves had built in order to connect the two portions of their camp, which occupied both sides of the river. Suddenly, the bridge being crammed at the moment with crowds of Russian soldiers and gun-carriages, all retiring face to foe, there was a terrible sound of crashing and rending timbers, which rose above the din of musketry fire, the shouting of officers, and the cries of the wounded, and in an instant Boris found himself struggling in the half-frozen waters of the river, one of several hundred Russians in the same predicament.

As we have had occasion to see during the course of his adventurous career, water had no terrors for Boris; but to the danger of drowning was added on this occasion a far greater peril. The banks were lined with Swedish soldiers, and these men immediately opened fire upon the unfortunate Russians in the water. As Charles wrote to a friend after the battle, "The greatest fun was when the bridge broke and tumbled the Russians into the water. The whole surface of the river was crammed with heads and legs of men and horses sticking up, and my men shot at them as though they were ducks."

It may have been very amusing for Charles XII. to watch, but it was very poor fun for Boris and his unfortunate companions, who were drowned around him in scores, while hundreds of others were killed by the rain of bullets poured upon them from the banks.

Boris felt that this was indeed a critical moment in his career, for if he allowed his head to remain a moment above the surface his life was not worth a moment's purchase. Accordingly, the hunter allowed himself to sink to the bottom, and then swam under water down the current, as fast and as far as his breath would hold out. The water was freezing cold, and he was much hampered in his swimming by the numbers of drowning men whom he was obliged to circumvent as far as possible for fear of being seized and drowned before he could escape from the grip of despair.

Boris came to the surface some twenty yards from the bridge, but the bullets were falling upon the water like hailstones in a sharp shower, and after taking a gulp or two of air he sank once more. He was instantly gripped by a drowning man, who clung to his throat with both hands. Boris felt that his last hour was come, and said the prayer of the dying; nevertheless he gripped the man by the neck also, and it became a strangling match. For ten seconds or so, which seemed an eternity, both men throttled each other in this strange and unnatural duel, and then Boris saw the man's mouth open wide and the water pour in, and the poor fellow's grasp relaxed and let go, and he floated away.

Boris rose to the surface a second time, but little further from the bridge than before. Finding a dead body floating beside him as he rose, he used this as a screen from the fire while he took four or five deep lungfuls of air. He was used to the water now and did not feel it so cold. He dived again, and this time he swam under water for a long distance, coming to the surface far enough from the bridge to be out of the great crush of struggling humanity.

From this point his progress was much easier; and though he was shot at several times, none of the bullets struck him. One Swedish soldier ran down the bank after him, and fired twice as he rose. Boris was obliged to pretend that he was hit in order to rid himself of this tiresome individual. He raised his arms and gave a cry as of one sorely struck, and sank; but came to the surface ten yards further up stream and close under the bank, whence he watched the soldier look out for him to appear at a point lower down, his musket ready to shoot again. Presently the man, satisfied that Boris was "done for," came slowly along towards the bridge, and the hunter bobbed beneath the current, though he stood in shallow water close to the low bank. As he came up again the Swedish soldier was just passing him, but he did not see him, for he was gazing towards the bridge, looking out for more Russian ducks to wing. Boris could not resist the temptation, but stretched out his arm and seized the man by the leg, pulling him violently as he did so. The Swede slipped and fell with a cry of surprise and alarm; but Boris dragged him remorselessly down into the cold stream before he could recover himself, and pushing him out into deep water drowned him then and there as a punishment for his cruelty in shooting poor, struggling Russians as they battled for life with the river.

Almost worn out, Boris, by swimming and diving, succeeded in making his way to a turn of the stream where he was out of sight of the bridge and its tragedies, and he came to the shore for a good rest.