Chapter XIX: The Night of the 15th September

The past day had been unusually gloomy for the season. The sun had set in fiery clouds beyond the spires of St. Petersburg. The night was without a moon, and a strong east wind rolled the waters of Ladoga in billows of inky hue against the massive walls of the fortress in foam and fury on one side, while on the other, the waters of the Neva, swollen by recent rains, gurgled and chafed round the mouldy and moss-grown piers of the drawbridge.

The wind moaned with a sullen sound past the mouths of the cannon, and whistled drearily through the deep embrasures and the loopholes for musketry in the casemates. Thunder had been heard at times, but afar; Elias, as the Russians poetically phrase it, was driving his chariot among the stars. Lightning had reddened all the lake, and cast the weird shadow of the castle athwart it for an instant; and, that a complete and melodramatic omen of impending evil might not be wanting, a huge sea-bird had perched upon the castle clock, and forcing round the hands, struck midnight four hours before the proper time.

Since morning roll-call, Jagouski, the knouted, beaten, and ill-used Cossack, had been missing; he had quitted the fortress on some trivial pretence and had not since returned; patrols had seen nothing of him. Then Colonel Bernikoff was more than ever on the alert; but Balgonie, who now deemed anything better than the torture of suspense, had gone weary and feverishly to bed, to court for a time the happiness of oblivion, after having spent nearly the entire day upon the lake with an armed boat's crew, patrolling by water.

From sleep, however, a sudden sound aroused him: he looked at his watch, and saw that the hands indicated twelve o'clock, midnight.

What had he heard?

In another moment the sound came again--the drums were beating to arms! He heard the clamour of hoarse Muscovite voices in court and corridor; the clanging of the castle bell; and he saw the gleam of torches reddening the old black walls and towers, and flaring on the grated windows as they were borne to and fro.

His heart was beating with wild anxiety as he threw on his staff uniform, belted his sabre about him, placed his pistols in his girdle, and hurried forth to meet--it might be to cross blades--with the only friends he had in Russia!

As he crossed the castle-yard by torchlight, he could perceive that the Cossacks, clad in their short blue jackets, red loose breeches, short boots, and tall, black, woollen busbies, were falling into their ranks with musketoon and sabre; and that the gunners were standing by their cannon with port-fires lighted: the latter casting a pale, ghastly, and unearthly glare upon the yawning embrasures, the walls of the fortress, and on their own stolid visages, which were pale and cadaverous as those of people usually who are hastily summoned from sleep in the night.

As a staff officer who had no particular post, Charlie Balgonie knew that his duty attached him chiefly to Bernikoff, whom he now met hurrying forth in uniform, with a great cocked hat thrust angrily over his cunning and twinkling eyes, which were sparkling with anger, while every hair of his grizzled mustachioes, though these were long and snaky, bristled with excitement. There was a dangerous pallor in his visage; his square jaw looked still more tiger-like in contour, as his teeth were clenched; and he had his sabre drawn.

By his side were his two favourite brother officers, who in face, form, and bearing, bore indications of being each, originally, a serf of the lowest, basest, and most unthinking kind--Captain Vlasfief, cruel and hollow-hearted, with his unfathomable smile; and Lieutenant Tschekin, the slimy, savage, and unscrupulous Muscovite. With these came several officers of the Cossack guard, with their elevated eyebrows, black mustachioes, their keen features, the plumes and cockades in their black fur caps, and their glittering costumes, forming altogether a striking and picturesque group, when seen by the light of several torches, which streamed through the deep and small arch, or doorway, of the keep in which Ivan was confined.

The portcullis of this tower was up; and Balgonie could perceive its row of lower bars, like a line of black fangs in an open jaw, between him and the outline of the lighted archway.

"What is the matter, Colonel Bernikoff," asked Balgonie; "what is the cause of all this alarm?"

"Matter enough! We have had an _alerte_--the place seems to be invested by troops--Infantry of the Line, by all the devils--the head of a column--look for yourself, Balgonie!" exclaimed Bernikoff, with an oath.

To omit the Christian name of a person addressed, and that of his father also, is a direct insult in Russia; but Balgonie heeded it not then. He hurried to the curtain wall which faced the landside, the outer gate, and drawbridge, and then, by the light of a torch, he could see that which certainly seemed to be the head of a column--a front rank of nearly fifty men, clad in the hideous uniform then worn by the Russian army, before it was altered, a few years after, by the superior taste of the notorious Major Semple Lisle, a Scottish adventurer,* who was well known as a lounger about St. James's Park, London, in 1804. Their coats were green, lined and faced with red, very tight in the body, with preposterously long skirts, tight breeches, and boots to the knee, with small cocked hats, having long flannel flaps to cover the ears in winter.

* _Vide_ "Life of Major J. G. Semple Lisle, written by himself. London, 1800. Printed for W. Stewart, 194, Piccadilly."

By the light of the same torch, Balgonie could see the bayonets fixed, and that two officers, with their sabres drawn, and a drummer, were in front of their little line. Having possession of the parole and countersign, which, no doubt, had been betrayed to them by the absent Jagouski, the whole party had contrived to delude the _Putparooschick_ (sub-lieutenant) in charge of the outer guard, and were now past the first barrier, and had actually taken possession of the drawbridge, which they had lowered across the Neva. The gate and guns of the second barrier were yet to be forced or passed; and thus these midnight visitors were in a species of trap.

Too well could Balgonie recognise in the two officers--Basil Mierowitz, wearing the familiar uniform of the Regiment of Smolensko; and Usakoff, in the gay trappings of the Grenadiers of Valikolutz; and now, for the second time, their drummer beat a _chamade_, or summons for a parley, but as yet there was no response.

Balgonie hastened after Bernikoff and the other officers. They had now ascended to the chamber of the unfortunate Ivan, from whose presence they had somewhat roughly expelled the chaplain, Father Chrysostom. On entering, he found that the royal recluse had sprung from bed, inspired by natural alarm, on finding his chamber suddenly entered at midnight, and full of armed men; but Ivan manifested no indignation--he was too gentle, too subdued, and completely broken in spirit for that.

His singularly beautiful face was very pale; there was a strange calmness in his manner; and whatever he thought or anticipated, there was more of calm inquiry than of fear in his tone and in the expression of his fine soft eyes. Over his night-dress he had thrown a _robe-de-chambre_ of fine scarlet cloth edged with white ermine; and in this attire, with his long hair and delicate features, so chastened in expression by long solitude and complete seclusion from the outer world, he seemed more like a tall handsome woman, than a young man of three and twenty years.

"What is this you tell me, Colonel Bernikoff," he was asking, as Balgonie entered; "my unhappy life threatened say you?"

"Even so," said Bernikoff hoarsely, while averting his stealthy eyes from the young man's open and earnest face; "even so, Ivan Antonovitch; but your death will not be of our seeking."

"Whose then, whose then?"

"Your friends."

"Oh, what dreadful paradox is this?" asked the Prince calmly; "must I die, even as Demetrius died?"

"Yes," replied the other hoarsely.

"And wherefore?"

"There are those without the gates who seek you, and you must not fall alive into their hands," said Captain Vlasfief sternly, as he felt the point of his sabre with a finger.

"Alas! I do not understand who can come to seek me!" replied the poor Prince, shuddering now, while an expression of horror began to spread over his fine face,--a horror gathered from the fierce and relentless aspect he read in the visages of those around him,--and he withdrew a pace or so towards his bed, saying, in a touching voice:--

"Ah, do not leave me, good Colonel Bernikoff, or at least give me a sword--a sword----"

"Fool--child--dolt! thou with a sword, and for what purpose?" thundered Bernikoff, as he sought to lash himself into the requisite pitch of fury; "for what purpose, I say?"

"That I may defend myself."

"'Tis needless," said Tschekin, with a cold smile; "we shall take every care of you."

"Oh, Carl Ivanovitch Balgonie, my friend, my good friend! you I can trust--you I can command--come hither, and remain by my side," said the Prince, in an imploring accent, as a solemn foreboding came upon him when he saw the sabres stealthily drawn from their scabbards on every side, and even the terrible Nicholas Paulovitch drawing near, dagger in hand, with his long lock of hair, his scowling front, and a cruel expression, the very lust of blood, in his deep-set stony eyes. "Carl, Carl," cried Ivan; "your hand!"

"Captain Balgonie--_he_ here!" roared Bernikoff, with one of his terrible maledictions.

"Oh Excellency!" implored Balgonie, scarcely knowing what he should ask or urge.

"Begone, sir, to the barrier gate, and keep the guard there to their duty--begone, sir, I command you, on your allegiance to the Empress!"

To refuse or linger were alike impossible, though a wild cry of entreaty escaped the lips of the young Prince, who sprang forward, but was thrust roughly back towards his couch by many hands and many levelled weapons.

The sword of Damocles, which had hung over his unhappy head so long, was about to descend at last!

Balgonie, his heart swollen almost to bursting with shame, rage, and grief, rushed down the stair of the keep; but at the foot, and just as he passed where the old Chaplain Chrysostom was saying devoutly on his knees the prayers for the _dying_, he heard a shrill and protracted cry of agony ring through the vaulted tower--a cry that made his blood run cold!

Humanity, generosity, and all his own good impulses would have drawn him back to the side, and, if possible, to the aid, of Ivan; but the force of discipline, and a knowledge of his own utter powerlessness, made him pause: for he was but one man--a young officer--a foreigner, too, opposed to a whole garrison of ferocious and unscrupulous soldiers.

When, from the inner barrier gate, he looked up to the window of Ivan's room, he saw that the lights had been extinguished and all was darkness now.