Chapter V (2)

I had, however, frequently found, that by occasionally listening to what the men had to say, and allowing myself apparently to sympathize with their little weaknesses, I gained the way to their hearts; discovering at the same time the fact that the moujik was not seldom a much better man than his master at the period I write of, which was before the emancipation of the serfs in Russia.

"Allow him to come in, Ivan," I said to the lad, and presently the miner entered. He first looked carefully round him, and then, equally cautiously, he peered underneath the tables and seats in the room--all the time nervously clutching the greasy cap which he held in his hand. He literally shook in his coarse bark shoes; his face was naturally pale, but it was all the paler by contrast with his dark eyes staring from under their heavy eyelids.

"Barrin" (master, in a superior sense), said he, whispering hoarsely from chattering lips, "I have seen the devil!"

"Indeed!" said I, greatly surprised, but of course pretending not to be alarmed in the slightest degree; "where have you been fortunate enough to meet with such good luck?"

"Oh, barrin," answered the man eagerly, "we have got him all right: he is safe at the bottom of an ore-pit in our village; and," he added, confidently, "he can't get out, because the whole of the villagers have surrounded the pit-head."

"That is all right, Ivan," I said; "wait for a few minutes and I will go with you, and we will see if we can catch him."

Ordering three fast horses to be harnessed to my tarantass, and refreshing Ivan with a good glass of vodka (spirits) to shake his benumbed faculties together, away we soon went at the rate of twenty versts an hour to the village from whence Ivan had come.

It would have been perfectly useless for me to have attempted to persuade this man that the person or "party," whoever he or whatever it was they had got in the pit, was not Satan himself. No; the only way to convince a Russian is to prove the matter; and even absolute proof is not always convincing.

On my arrival at the village I at once observed that something very unusual was exciting the attention of the inhabitants, as instead of the usual number of lazy men and women who are generally to be seen standing idling about in the streets of every hamlet, I found the place absolutely deserted; but on an adjacent hill stood the cause of the commotion.

A crowd of people--men, women, and children--were standing round the mouth of an ore-pit, some ten fathoms deep, and about as much like an ordinary English draw-well without the brick-lining as could possibly be conceived. All were talking at once, and all agreed that they had caught no less a personage than the very devil himself, as they felt quite sure that the miner who had last come out of the pit could not possibly be mistaken.

Now came the knotty questions: "How shall we get his Satanic majesty out of his retreat? and who among the spectators would be bold enough to undertake the risk of tackling such an awkward customer?"

The only manner of being hoisted up and down these antiquated examples of mining is by sitting astride a small piece of wood fastened to the end of a not too thick piece of rope, which in its turn is wound up and down by a wooden windlass--not a very desirable mode of descending, even when the men are not sure the "old gentleman" himself is in their neighbourhood, but decidedly dangerous when they think he is.

I therefore, although strongly solicited, declined the honour of descending, and looked about for a substitute. My eye caught sight of one of those rough-and-ready "ne'er-do-weels" who are to be found in Russia as well as in every other country--men who come to the surface of society when some particular daring deed has to be done, and sink out of sight again when the rewards of success have been distributed.

A few glasses of vodka in advance, and three silver roubles in prospective, assisted by friendly pats on the back from his companions, who were afraid to go themselves, were sufficient encouragements to animate this man of valour to the heroic pitch.

The villagers set him astride the piece of wood, and began to lower away; indeed they were in such a hurry to send him down to the presence of the Evil One that I began to fear he would be dropped altogether.

However, he arrived at the bottom in safety; and now was the opportunity for observing, more clearly and closely, how the diabolic idea had seized on the popular mind.

All were in a rampant state of excitement and expectation. The mayor was wondering where he could lock up the infernal prisoner; in fact, doubting whether or not he should send to the nearest town for the assistance of the military.

Two or three suggested that I had made a mistake in not ordering the fire-engines to come, and many more were speculating upon the probability of their envoy having been already devoured by the devil as a return for his temerity.

Presently the rope was shaken, which is the signal to draw up. Very gently and very nervously this operation commences; a good many of the crowd show signs of running away; and the men at the windlass maintain that it turns very heavily. A few peaceable citizens suggest that, after all, perhaps the better way would be not to bring the prisoner up, but to leave him where he is, with a strong guard always on the watch to see that he did not pop up suddenly and set fire to the village; but seeing that this means only letting go the windlass, and the poor fellow that is attached to it, I insist on their proceeding with the winding-up.

In time the man's head appeared coming out of the darkness, and he called out, "I have got him all right."

The peasants then began to think that, after all, his diabolic majesty was not so awful as they supposed--the captive brought to light proving to be no more than an immense specimen of the Horned Owl of the Ural Mountains, whose enormous eyes shone from his ruffled plumage like two balls of fire.

The disappointment was thoroughly real, as, by the time the affair had finished, the news having spread, people were arriving from the neighbouring villages to see the wonderful sight; and as there was no devil after all, the moujiks did not think it advisable to ask me to treat them to vodka all round, which in Russia is a natural adjunct to the occurrence of anything extraordinary in a village.

But perhaps the greatest disappointment was felt by the poor fellow who made the adventurous descent. He, of course, received his three silver roubles, but he lost the "kudos" for his act of daring.

In answer to the question, "Well, Ivan, how did you manage it all?" he replied:

"Well, Barrin, you see, when I got to the bottom I saw something blazing; so I shut my eyes, made a rush at it, and brought it up in my arms in the best way I could, and here it is."

This same owl--a splendid specimen--I had stuffed, and kept facing my writing-table for a long time afterwards, as a memento of the Russian peasants' belief in the "Devil and all his works."

A BEAR-HUNT IN RUSSIA.

The Russians are not a sporting people, and it is only the bear that gives them anything like a desire for the hunt.

If a moujik can only find bruin in his winter quarters he is happy, as it gives him that which he loves so much--a "pot" shot.

There are always several peasants in every neighbourhood who spend the winter in searching for bear-holes, primarily with the idea of selling the "find" to some local gentleman, or, if that fails, of making a few roubles out of the animal's skin and fat.

The operation of searching is difficult, and even dangerous; the snow is so extremely fine and soft that walking on it without snow-shoes is impossible, and these long narrow slips of wood turned up at the ends, with a piece of leather nailed across the middle into which to place the feet, are difficult things to manage. Going on level ground is easy enough, but up or down hill the wearer of them is very apt to tumble; and then with some three feet of shoe sticking into the snow, and head and arms deeply plunged by the force of the fall, extrication is a work of time and partial suffocation a close probability.

"When, therefore," says Mr. Barry in his _Ivan at Home_, "we have discovered a bear, we let him alone until the snow is on the eve of disappearing, and he can be comfortably approached. By that time, also, he will be waking up from his hibernation, and a little more lively than he would be if we roused him in the midst of his winter slumbers.

"My greatest adventure in bear-hunting came about in the following manner. I was accustomed to pay a reward of twenty-five roubles to the man who found me a bear, and this reward kept my peasants on the look-out. The first moujik who, towards the end of a long winter, came to claim it one fine morning, lived at a distance of some hours' drive from my house. We drove over to his village to arrive towards evening, and sat down to supper in his house, where the head forester met me. After supper we cleared out the moujik and his family, and settled down, my head forester and I, to sleep.

"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.

"Only see, my dear son," she cried, "how rough and angry the lake is now; see what madness it is to venture out in an open boat upon its waves on such a day. If the ferry-boat must go, let it start without you, and do you stay at home, my Steenie, for your poor mother's sake."

"Oh! mother," replied the young man, "you are over-anxious; my business with Carl Wald compels me to go across whether I like it or not, and I cannot disappoint him if the ferry-boat starts at all, and start it will directly from the quay, for I see the passengers gathering together at the top of the steps. Only look now, there is Alec and Nicholas going across, and I cannot stay behind. Then, good-bye, mother, I am off to the _Katharine_." So saying he stepped briskly forward.

"Well, Paul, my man," said Steenie to the old boatman, "here's rather a rough passage across for us; I suppose you will go all the same, though you don't seem to like the looks of the weather a bit better than I do? But I don't see any other boats out this afternoon for certain."

"Oh, Paul! Oh, Steenie! it is just tempting Providence to think of crossing over with such a sea rising, and with the wind almost dead against you," cried the distracted widow.

"As to that, there's always danger afloat," answered Paul, "be it fair or foul; and Providence takes care of us afloat as well as ever he does on land. Here, Alec, let go that rope. Now then, to your oars. She's off now, boys! Helm aport now."

"Port it is," growled the steersman, who evidently had no fancy for the voyage, and had all this time been crying out against the unpropitious state of the weather.

The boatmen who were on the steps and along the beach assured the widow that there was no real danger; and so having bid her son an affectionate farewell, and uttering many a devout prayer for his safe return next week, she went back into her cottage low and depressed in her spirits, and sat watching the boat from her window as it did battle with each crested surge and rose proudly on its course. Need we say that she watched it with a mother's eye, until a projecting cliff shut it wholly out of sight? The storm, however, continued as before, and the mother had but one resource left, to commit her beloved son and the frail boat in which he crossed the waters of the lake to the merciful goodness of that Providence who is "the God of the fatherless and the widow."

Meanwhile the little vessel was battling with the angry waves in a place where there was a narrow passage, some fifty yards broad, between two dangerous shelving sandbanks, well known to the master of the _Katharine_ and his crew. The sandbanks themselves, as it happened, lay partly under the lee of one of the little islands which stud the coast near Lachta; and the current was bearing strong upon the bank upon the leeward. At this moment the _Katharine_ shipped a large quantity of water; as ill-luck would have it, the tiller broke, and before the boat's head could be righted she had drifted upon the edge of the bar of sand, and there she stuck fast. The little bark would have been overwhelmed by the breakers but for the shelter afforded by the corner of the island and the shifting of the wind a point or two round to the north; indeed she was fast filling with water, in spite of the efforts of the passengers to keep her afloat by bailing. To add to the general confusion on board, it now turned out that several of the passengers, who had been drinking at the village inn before starting from Lachta, were fairly intoxicated, and the rest were sinking down bewildered into the apathy of despair, so that only Stephen and two of the boatmen had their wits about them. But though they strove with all their might, they were unable to move the boat from off the sandbank. At this moment, when the waves were breaking over the little _Katharine_, and had already swept off into deep water one or two hapless passengers, who had lost all heart and courage, a sail was seen approaching.

It was rather a large vessel, with a gallant crew of some twenty men, who had been inspecting a portion of the coast. They had seen the perilous position of old Paul and his boat, and had borne down to his assistance, for in spite of the terrible raging of the wind and waves the captain could not see the poor fellows swept away one by one and drowned without at least making an effort to save them.

The vessel neared the sandbank; but how may she approach close enough to rescue the unfortunate fellows on board the _Katharine_? A boat is lowered from the vessel, and four as gallant Russian sailors as ever ploughed the fresh waters of Ladoga or the Baltic have rowed up to the spot; but the strength of two of the crew, added to the exertions of Stephen and the boatmen of the _Katharine_, are not sufficient to move the boat from the firm grasp with which the sand held her keel. They were, therefore, beginning to relax their efforts, when a second boat, with a crew of six stout-hearted fellows, neared the bank, and by vigorous efforts reached the spot in time to reinforce their comrades. Without the loss of a moment, one of the crew, a fine tall muscular Russian, some six feet five inches high, stripped off his outer garments, leaped into the sea, and after swimming a few sharp strokes gained a footing on the sand. This was heavy work indeed, as the sand was not hard and firm, but mixed with mud and slime; but the giant strength of the new arrival turned the scale, and after a few short and sharp heaves the _Katharine_ moved once more. In a few moments she was afloat again, and taken in tow by the other boat.

And where was Stephen all this time? Worn out with fatigue and cold, for he had been immersed some two hours in the chilly waves, and standing in deep water and nearly exhausted by their violence, he had lost his footing on the slippery bank, and having got in a moment beyond his depth was vainly attempting to keep his head above water by swimming in his drenched and dripping clothes, the weight of which in a few minutes more would have carried him down.

"Oh! Steenie, Steenie!" cried the old boatman, Paul, with a loud voice of agony, which would make itself heard even above the roaring of the angry wind and waves; "can none of you save my poor Stephen, the bravest lad that ever trod a deck! He's gone now; and but for his help this day my boat would have been lost."

"He's not lost yet!" cried the tall seaman; and, plunging into the waves, he caught him by the hair of the head just as he was sinking a third time; the next wave would have carried him fairly down, and his life would have been gone beyond recall.

It was but the work of a moment for the strong, tall stranger to swim with the lad towards the boat, which was hovering near; and in another second the gallant crew had lifted him in over the gunwale and laid him at the bottom of the boat. As soon as he showed signs of life, and began to open his eyes, a flask of brandy was applied to his mouth, and he soon revived. The tall man, too, got in, and leaving two of his crew to help old Paul to tow the _Katharine_ ashore, he gave the signal to his men, and they pulled off with all their might in the direction of Lachta. Though the waves were still running high, yet, fortunately, the wind was astern; so the sharp, quick strokes of the crew soon brought the boat to a landing-place from which, a few hours before, poor Stephen had departed in such high spirits, and with such confidence in Paul's seamanship and the ability of the _Katharine_ to make the passage.

As soon as the boat came to the sheltered nook where the steps of the landing-place led up from the sea, Stephen was put ashore, and partly led and partly carried he reached the cottage of his mother. At the sight of her son the poor widow burst into a flood of tears, and began to give way to an agony of joy and grief. A warm bath was soon prepared for her son; and after the application of some gentle restoratives poor Stephen was able to sit up and thank his kind preserver, the tall stranger, who, with his two men behind him, just now lifted up the latch of the cottage-door and had entered the room.

"Gracious Heaven!" exclaimed the grateful mother; "why, sir, you are in wet clothes too! Sit down, sir, by the fire, and accept of my humble fare, while I go and find some of my Steenie's clothes for you to put on, and I dry those dripping garments."

The tall stranger sat down, and, as the widow left the room, gave his two followers a hint not to make known to the boy or his mother who he was. In a few minutes the stranger had retired, and assumed a plain old suit belonging to the young man whose life he had saved, and was engaged in eating some hot bacon which the widow had just placed on the table before him, with many protestations of her eternal gratitude to the saviour of her son.

"May the King of Heaven, who never turns a deaf ear to the widow's prayer, mercifully reward you for saving my Steenie's life! It is not many a sailor, or merchant either, that would have done as you did to-day. Heaven speed you; and may you never forget that the poor widow of Lachta is praying for you night and morning, that the Almighty may increase your store, whenever you are sailing over the stormy sea, or the lakes of Onega and Ladoga."

The tall stranger was about to rise and depart, when suddenly the door opened, and a naval officer entered with a crowd of attendants. It was the captain and mate of the barque which Paul and Steenie had seen in the offing, and which had sent her boats to the rescue of the _Katharine_.

"My noble master, may it please your majesty," he said, falling on one knee, "the _Royal Peter_ has come safe, and she has towed the _Katharine_ too into the little port of Lachta."

The poor widow fell down upon her knees in astonishment, and faltered forth her apologies for not having recognized his majesty, and for having treated him with such apparent disrespect.

"Nay, nay, my good woman," said the czar, smiling, "how could you know the emperor thus disguised in mud and dirt. But you will know him henceforth. I shall keep your son's clothes in remembrance of this day; and when your boy 'Steenie,' as you call him, wakes up from the sound sleep into which he has fallen, tell him that he will always find a true friend in Peter Alexovitch."

Our readers when they learn that the foregoing story is founded upon a plain historical fact--as they will find upon reading for themselves the "Life of Peter the Great,"--will be grieved to hear that the noble conduct of the emperor on this occasion cost him his life. He had for a long time suffered under a chronic internal disease, which none of the court physicians could effectually combat; and in the month of November, 1724, in which our story is laid, having gone, contrary to the advice of his physicians, to inspect the works on Lake Ladoga, his exposure to the wet and cold, in rescuing the poor ferryman and his crew in the manner related, affected him so seriously that he never afterwards recovered. The emperor went home to his palace at St. Petersburg without loss of time, but his malady increased in spite of all the remedies which the medical skill of Russia could furnish; and gradually he sank under the disease, till death put an end to his sufferings towards the close of the following January.

Such was the end of Peter I. of Russia, deservedly named the "Great;" though he was the strangest compound of contradictions, perhaps, that the world has ever seen. In him the most ludicrous undertakings were mingled with the grandest political schemes. Benevolence and humanity were as conspicuous in his character as a total disregard of human life. He was at once kind-hearted and severe, even to the extent of ferocity. Without education himself he promoted arts, sciences, and literature. "He gave," says one of his biographers, "a polish to his people, and yet he was himself a savage; he taught them the art of war, of which, however, he was himself ignorant; from the sight of a small boat on the river Moskwa he created a powerful fleet, and made himself an expert and active shipwright, sailor, pilot, and commander; he changed the manners, customs, and laws of the Russians, and lives in their memory, not merely as the founder of their empire, but as the father of his country."

Yes; the memory of Peter the Great to this day is dear among all classes of the Russians, from the noblest of the Boyards down to the meanest peasant. But if among the towns and villages of his vast empire there be one in which his name is cherished with especial honour, it is that little fishing town of Lachta; and in proof of our assertion we may add, that the cottage in which "Steenie" and his mother lived and died is still familiarly known to every traveller in those parts as "Peter's House."