CHAPTER I

Laden with the plunder of Poland and Saxony, the spoils of their brilliant feats of arms, the Swedes, amid the January ice, marched on Grodno, the several parties of Muscovites in the neighborhood flying at the mere rumor of their approach.

Peter, surprised in Grodno, fled with 2000 men, while Karl with 600 entered the city.

When Peter learned that the bulk of the Swedish army was still five leagues distant he returned and tried to retake the town.

He was, however, fiercely beaten back, and the Swedes pursued the Russians through Lithuania and Minsk, towards the frontiers of Russia.

Karl, after clearing Lithuania of the forces of the Czar, intended to march towards the North and on Moscow, by way of Pskof.

The difficulties in his way were terrible; huge stretches of virgin forest, of desolate marsh, of barren deserts, lay between him and his objective. The only food that could be found was the winter stores of the peasants in the small tracks of cultivated land, which were buried underground; many of these had already been ravaged by the Muscovites, and in any case were insufficient for the Swedish army.

Karl, who was to be deterred neither by prudence, reason, nor fear of any kind, had provided bread for his men which they carried with them, and on this they had to support the ghastly hardships of the forced marches.

The heavy rains kept back even the indefatigable Swede. A road had to be made through the forest of Minsk, and it was early summer before Karl found himself once more face to face with Peter at Borissov.

The Czar waited with the main body of his forces to defend the river Bérézina; Karl, however, brought his troops across this river and marched on the Russians, who once more retreated, falling back on the Dneiper.

At Halowczin he defeated 20,000 Muscovites by traversing a marsh believed to be impassable, the King himself leading, with the water at times up to his shoulders.

After this decisive victory he pursued the Russians to Mohilew, on the frontiers of Poland; by the autumn he was chasing the Czar from Smolensk, on the Moscow road.

At Smolensk, narrowly escaping death in a hand-to-hand fight with the Kalmucks, Karl inflicted another defeat on the Muscovites, and proceeded another stage on the way to the capital, from which city he was now distant only a hundred leagues.

At this moment Peter sent to Karl suggesting the opening of peace negotiations.

But Karl replied as he had replied to Augustus: “Peace in Moscow.”

And even Count Piper wrote to the Duke of Marlborough, whom he was keeping informed of the progress of the campaign, that the dethronement of the Czar was inevitable.

But Peter, still unshaken after the defeats of eight years, again gathered together his scattered and disheartened armies.

“The King of Sweden thinks to be a second Alexander,” he remarked, when Karl’s haughty answer was brought to him, “but I have no mind to be Darius.”

The second winter of the Russian campaign was now setting in; it promised to be of unusual severity even for these bitter regions.

Even the Spartan endurance of the Swedes began to blench at the thought of the almost unendurable hardships of the long Russian winter, with neither sufficient food, firing, or clothing.

But there was no murmuring, for the King supported all privations equally with the poorest foot soldier.

The scouts brought in news that Peter had torn up the roads, flooded them from the marsh lands, cut down huge trees and flung them across the way, and burnt the villages on the route to Moscow.

There was barely a fortnight’s provisions in the Swedish army and not the least prospect of obtaining any more in the ravaged, frozen wastes.

Karl called a council of war in his rough tent amid the giant pines.

There was no fire, and, as the tent flap swayed on its cords in the icy wind, a few flakes of snow drifted in and melted on the frozen earthen floor.

Karl sat in a folding camp-chair, a mantle of rough blue cloth over his usual uniform, his hands, covered by the long elbow gloves, employed in turning over a few notes and maps on a plain pine table.

The arduous labors and unceasing fatigues of this last campaign had told even on his superb physique.

He was thinner and pale, under the brown of exposure; his blue eyes seemed slightly tired, but had lost nothing of their calm, courageous stare.

Near him sat Count Piper, looking ill and old, wrapped in a heavy cloak of marten skin, lined with scarlet and gold brocade, the spoil of war of some flying Russian Prince.

Only a few of Karl’s generals, such as Rehnsköld, Gyllenburg, and Wurtemberg, were present; it was his habit to confide his designs to as few as possible. Piper, whose forebodings had been silenced by the splendid success of the Swedish advance into Russia, had now begun to feel uneasy and to rediscover all his objections to the campaign. He thought that Karl should have accepted Peter’s offer to treat for peace; the barbarous country and the arctic climate told severely on his spirits; he was in poor health and homesick. Whatever sentiment he may have had left for his master had vanished when the cruel sentence on General Patkul was carried out, and he was broken on the wheel, suffering a death of frightful torture.

Piper had heard that Hélène D’Einsiedel had not lived to hear this news.

She had died in a Russian camp soon after her arrival there, and the messages Patkul had sent to her by the chaplain who attended him on the scaffold had been sent to one beyond the reach of comfort.

Piper never spoke of these things, but he often thought of them now that misfortune seemed at last to be overtaking his master.

He considered now that Karl was in the most dangerous position he had yet found himself in, and he did not hesitate to say so, unpalatable and unacceptable as he knew his advice must be.

“Your Majesty, in common prudence,” he remarked, shivering a little in his furs, “can do nothing but await the arrival of Lewenhaupt.”

This general, who was coming to Karl’s assistance with 15,000 men and a quantity of provisions, was believed to be within a few days’ march of the present Swedish camp.

He had, indeed, been some time expected, and his retarded arrival had been a matter of vexation to the stern King.

“I most strongly beseech your Majesty to consider this advice,” added General Gyllenburg, with an earnest glance at the King.

Karl turned over the maps and papers without looking up.

His full mouth was set in an obstinate curve; to this arrogant conqueror, now face to face with his first check, any council of moderation was displeasing.

“We cannot, sire,” urged Gyllenburg, “advance on Moscow with barely fifteen days’ food.” For he, in common with the entire army, believed this mad project to be the one Karl had really at heart.

“There is nothing we cannot do,” replied Karl, who had indeed often achieved what had seemed to others the impossible.

But Piper was vexed.

“If your Majesty advances on Moscow, you advance on disaster!” he exclaimed.

The King gave him a cold stare.

“Are you not yet convinced that I never take advice?”

His bitter rebuke caused the minister’s worn cheeks to flush.

It was long since he had given Karl any cause to silence him, so utterly had he refrained from counsels that were useless.

Karl took his face in his right gloved hand, with his elbow on the table, and looked up and round his little council.

“I propose,”, he said, in a manner that left no loophole for argument or suggestion, “to neither march on Moscow nor wait for Lewenhaupt.” What third alternative there could be no one knew.

“I intend,” added the King dryly, “to advance into the Ukraine, to pass the winter there, and continue the route to Moscow in the spring.”

The haughtiness with which he made this announcement covered an inner mortification; he had thought to dethrone the Czar in a year; he had never meant to turn back once on the road to Moscow.

But having reviewed his army and taken stock of his provisions, even his daring could not advance to what was certain destruction. To his listeners the present project seemed as mad as an advance on the Russian capital, but they did not venture on any comment.

With the fewest and barest words Karl proceeded to explain that he had made an alliance with Mazeppa, Prince of the Ukraine, the country of the Cossacks, who was in revolt against the Czar, and hoped to profit by the alliance of the Swede to defeat Peter.

This man, who dreamed to do for the Ukraine what Patkul had dreamed to do for Livonia, was a Polish nobleman of considerable parts; cast out of his own country by the vengeance of a compatriot, he had taken refuge amid the Cossacks, grown to be their ruler, and now in his old age essayed to play some important part in this momentous war.

“Is he to be trusted?” asked General Rehnsköld, who did not dislike the project as it was unfolded to him.

“As for that I do not know,” replied the King coldly, “but his interests lie with me, and not with the Czar, for if Peter discovered his secret plans of revolt he would certainly impale him as he has threatened before. Mazeppa knows what to expect from the mercy and justice of the Czar.”

Piper, thinking of Patkul, was silent, but Gyllenburg, thinking of nothing but the present crisis, ventured to remonstrate with the imperious King.

“Whether or no the Cossacks can be relied upon, were it not well to wait Lewenhaupt and his reinforcements--above all, his provisions?”

But Karl was, as always, obstinate; he had, he said, a rendezvous with Mazeppa on the banks of the Desna, whither that prince had promised to come with 30,000 men, treasure, and provisions.

Rehnsköld was prepared to credit that this was better either than pressing on towards Moscow or waiting for Lewenhaupt.

Piper and Gyllenburg were for remaining at Smolensk in expectation of reinforcements; Karl listened coldly to all arguments, and remained fixed in his original plans.

The next day the army, to its intense surprise, received orders to march into the Ukraine. Messengers were sent to Lewenhaupt to tell him to join the main army on the banks of the Desna and the painful progress commenced.

It was yet autumn, but the cold had set in early, and the troops had to suffer the rigors of extreme cold.

Nature seemed bent on throwing obstacles in the way of the Swedes.

The forests, deserts, and marshes were nearly inpenetrable; Lägercrona, in charge of the advance guard, went thirty leagues astray, and only after four days of wandering was able to find the route.

Nearly all his artillery and heavy baggage he had been obliged to abandon in the marshes or among the rocks.

When after unheard-of troubles and privation, Karl reached the banks of the Desna that the Prince of the Cossacks had appointed for a meeting-place, the ground was found to be occupied by a party of Muscovites.

The Swedes, though fatigued by twelve days’ travel, gave battle, vanquished the Russians, and continued to advance into this desolate and unknown country.

Now even Karl himself began to be doubtful of the fidelity of Mazeppa, and uncertain as to his route.

Perhaps feelings of doubt and apprehension were beginning to touch him for the first time in his life, when Mazeppa finally joined the Swedish army.

He had, however, the worst of news to tell; Peter had discovered the plot in progress in the Ukraine, had fallen upon and scattered the Cossacks, capturing all the gold and grain and thirty Cossack nobles whom he had broken on the wheel.

Towns and villages had been burned, treasures carried off, and the old Prince had with difficulty escaped with 6000 men and a small quantity of gold and silver, of little use in a country where there was no one to be bribed with gold and no commodity to buy.

Karl would have found a few wagon-loads of grain more to his liking. However, the Cossacks were useful if only from their knowledge of this wild country, though Karl despised them as soldiers and waited impatiently for the arrival of Lewenhaupt. But when this general finally made his way to the Swedish encampment, he had a tale to tell as disastrous as that of Mazeppa, and far more mortifying to the pride of the King of Sweden.

At Liesna he had been met by the Czar, and, after a fierce battle of three days, severely defeated.

He had continued to effect a magnificent retreat, but he had lost 8000 men, seventeen cannon, and forty-four flags, together with the entire convoy he was bringing to Karl, consisting of 8000 wagons of food, and the silver raised in Lithuania by way of tribute.

He had the satisfaction of knowing that Peter had lost 10,000 men, and that he had held him at bay for three days, but this could not balance the fact that he arrived at Karl’s encampment with his army depleted and without either provisions, ammunition, or treasure.

Karl received this reverse with his usual cold gravity; he neither blamed Lewenhaupt nor took anyone into his confidence.

His situation, so lately that of an all-powerful conqueror, was now indeed dangerous, if not desperate.

He was cut off from Poland, and an attempt on the part of Stanislaus to reach him failed utterly.

No news came through from Sweden, and it seemed as if this army, lately all-powerful, was isolated from the rest of the world; they could neither communicate with, nor receive help nor advice from, any part of the globe.

But the worst of their distresses was the weather; this winter of 1709, long to be remembered, even in Western Europe, as one of the most terrible on record, was almost insupportable in these arctic regions.

Karl, who ignored human needs and human weaknesses, forced his men to march and work as if it had been midsummer and they well fed.

Two thousand of them dropped dead of cold in their tracks.

The rest were soon reduced to a state bordering on misery.

There was no replenishing their clothes, half were without coats, half without boots or shoes; they had to clothe themselves in skins as best they might, and suffer and die as best they might, for the mad King tolerated no murmur, and such was his authority and the awe and respect that his very name inspired that his troops endured what perhaps no other general had induced men to endure before. Such food as kept them alive was provided by Mazeppa, who alone prevented them from perishing miserably.

The old Prince of the Cossacks had remained faithful to Karl despite the offers Peter made to him to induce him to return to his allegiance. The Czar, not wishing to appear inferior to his enemy in spirit or daring, advanced into the Ukraine, regardless of the frozen country and tempests of snow.

He did not, however, attack the King of Sweden, but merely harassed him by small raids on his camp, thinking that hardships and cold would have reduced them to extremity before succor could reach them.

News from Stockholm finally came to the isolated army.

Karl learnt that his sister, the Duchess of Holstein-Gottorp, was dead of the small-pox. This gentlewoman was but a faint memory to the King; it was eight years since this terrible and bloody war had been undertaken to replace her husband on his throne.

Karl had almost forgotten Stockholm; almost forgotten the cause of the war; the young Duke was dead, and had but a small place in the stern King’s mind, compared to the vast designs that had grown out of his quarrel.

Not till the first day of February did the snow permit the Swedes to move, and then it was amid terrible weather that Karl advanced on Poltava, a fort full of supplies that Peter held across the Moscow route.

The taking of this place was a necessity to Karl pending the arrival of his reinforcements, as his army was deprived of everything, and the resources of Mazeppa almost at an end.

The Swedish army was now reduced to 18,000 men, but besides these Karl commanded the Cossacks of Mazeppa, and several thousand Kalmucks and Moldavians, free lances attached to his standard by the love of booty and of glory.

With this force Karl advanced on Poltava; he had the mortification of finding that Mentchikoff had outmaneuvered him, and flung 5000 men into the town.

The King pressed the siege and had taken several of the outworks when he learnt of the approach of the Czar with 70,000 men.