"Then why on the walls?" said the Tsar. "That must be for our edification. They haven't another Hummert, have they, or any deserter from us; or—" Peter's countenance suddenly changed—"it can't surely be for Boris Ivanitch! They would never dare!—Here, men! a hundred roubles to the gunner who brings down yonder gallows on the walls—fire, quick, every one of you!"
Crash went the big guns one after the other, sending the stonework flying around the spot indicated, and scattering the crowds of people who could be distinguished surrounding the gibbet; and, finally, a shot struck the gallows itself, either full or at a ricochet, and the erection disappeared. Peter gave orders that the fortunate gunner should receive his reward, and hurried away to see after the immediate despatch of the storming party.
Meanwhile Boris, on the evening preceding the events just narrated, had been informed by a friendly sentry that he was to be publicly executed on the following morning. He did not sleep the worse for this information. He had lived up till now with his life in his hand, and had stood many a time face to face with death, and yet survived it. If by the mercy of God he should escape this time also, why, so much the better; if it was decreed that he should die, well, that was no reason why he should fret all night and destroy his nerve, in case it were wanted in the morning.
At sunrise Boris was led out upon the ramparts; and certainly his heart sank when he caught sight of the gallows upon which these Swedish fellows meant to suspend his long body. He was still bound at the wrists as he marched up to the place of execution; but they would not surely hang him in thongs? Boris vehemently protested as the final arrangements were being made, imploring the officer of the guard to loose his wrists; but in vain. When all was ready he was seized by soldiers, and in another instant would have been carried to the gibbet and set swinging there, when, at this critical moment, big shot from the Russian lines began to fly high and low and in every direction, and soldiers and crowd were scattered in an instant to all points of the compass.
"Bringing up his clenched fists together against the
fellow's chin."
Page [337].
Boris thought this a good opportunity to make his first move for freedom. He raised his foot and tripped up one of the men who held him by the arm, the guards with Boris between them being in full run at the moment. The man fell. Thus freed of one hindrance to his movements, Boris quickly turned upon his second custodian, and bringing up his clenched fists together with tremendous force against the fellow's chin sent him flying backwards.
The crowd were fortunately too busy rushing hither and thither for shelter from the Russian cannon-balls to take much notice of the prisoner and his doings, and Boris was able to dodge round the corner of a house and into a yard with a gate to it before his bewildered guards had recovered their feet. Kicking the gate shut behind him, Boris rushed down the yard and into the back door of a house. Here he found himself within a kitchen, in which a woman was busy preparing food, presumably for some one's breakfast Boris appealed to her to cut his thongs, which she (he being still in his Swedish uniform) immediately did, without asking questions. Having heartily thanked the amiable cook, he went back to the yard and prospected through the key-hole of the gate.
The Russian gunners had made good practice, he observed, during the last few minutes. The crowd was dispersed; the gallows had disappeared—shot away, doubtless; many dead soldiers lay about the walls and in the street below—there was one just outside the yard gate.