‘I do not think so. One had to die for example, he said; but, saving your dignity, he does not regard this rebellion as very serious or dangerous, once you are out of the way.’
‘Well, one day I may return. We shall for ever be rivals, Mazeppa and I; to-day he wins—to-morrow it may be my turn. I think I hear galloping hoofs. I am glad to have spared you, Kostigin, but I shall kill the next that interferes with me. Ride back and tell him so; I do not mean to be spied upon!’
I mounted Ajax, who was now well breathed. He moved a little stiffly at first, but he was unhurt, and carried me well. A mile away I waited, anxious to know whether I was still pursued; but I could hear no sound of galloping hoofs, and presently I rode easily forward, convinced that Kostigin had argued well, and that the pursuit was over.
Then I altered my course, and made through forest and waste until I passed in safety into Russian territory.
But when I was nearing Moscow, riding easily through the forest near Preobrajensky, I met with a very notable adventure, which I must here relate.
It was very early in the morning of a beautiful summer’s day, and as I approached within a league of the Tsar Peter’s house, the same at which I had often visited him a year ago or more (when he had caused Mazeppa to compete with me, and had promised that I should one day be Hetman in virtue of the excellence of my horsemanship), I suddenly heard the commotion of galloping hoofs, and looking out I spied furiously riding towards me at frantic speed a half-naked youth, who seemed mad with alarm, and rode blindly forward, scarcely seeing where he went or what he did.
And to my boundless surprise I recognised this frantic rider for the Tsar Peter himself—for him who is at this day known as Piotr Veleeki, Peter the Great; whose slightest word or frown is feared or hailed by millions of subjects; the conqueror of Charles of Sweden; a second Alexander the Great; the maker of a new Russia; the greatest Russian that God’s sun ever shone upon. Dear saints! when I think of all this and then of that picture of the frightened rider, I console myself with the thought that there are ups and downs for all men, and not only for me!
Yes, it was the Tsar Peter himself, dressed in his night-shirt and nothing more, frantic with terror, galloping he knew not whither.
‘Out of the way, there, or you are a dead man!’ he shrieked. ‘I will run you through: I swear it—clear out of the way!’
I did as the Tsar bade me, but I cried out, ‘Highness, I am a friend—Chelminsky the Cossack. Is there danger? I am on your side!’