Roman-newspaper for children No. 8, 2009
Sergey Alekseev
Stories about Tsar Peter I and his time
Artist Yu. Ivanov
Bombardier Company Captain
The Russian army was marching towards Narva.
“Tra-ta-ta, tra-ta-ta!” - the regimental drums beat out the marching roll.
The troops marched through the ancient Russian cities of Novgorod and Pskov, marching with drums and songs.
It was dry autumn. And suddenly the rains began to pour. The leaves fell off the trees. The roads washed out. The cold has begun. Soldiers are walking along roads washed out by rain, soldiers' feet are drowning in mud up to their knees.
It is difficult for soldiers on a campaign. A cannon got stuck on a bridge while crossing a small stream. One of the wheels was crushed by a rotten log and sank down to the axle.
The soldiers shout at the horses and beat them with whips. The horses were skinny and bones during the long journey. The horses are straining with all their might, but there is no benefit - the guns are not moving.
The soldiers huddled near the bridge, surrounded the cannon, trying to pull it out with their hands.
Forward! - one shouts.
Back! - another commands.
The soldiers make noise and argue, but things don’t move forward. A sergeant is running around the gun. He doesn’t know what to come up with.
Suddenly the soldiers look - a carved cart is rushing along the road.
The well-fed horses galloped up to the bridge and stopped. The officer got out of the cart. The soldiers looked - the captain of the bombardment company. The captain's height is enormous, his face is round, his eyes are large, and on his lip, as if glued on, is a pitch-black mustache.
The soldiers got scared, stretched out their arms at their sides, and froze.
Things are bad, brothers,” said the captain.
That's right, bombardier-captain! - the soldiers barked in response.
Well, they think the captain will start cursing now.
This is true. The captain approached the cannon and examined the bridge.
Who's the eldest? - asked.
“I am, Mr. Bombardier-Captain,” said the sergeant.
This is how you take care of military goods! - the captain attacked the sergeant. - You don’t look at the road, you don’t spare the horses!
Yes, I... yes, we... - the sergeant began to speak.
But the captain did not listen, he turned around - and there was a slap on the sergeant’s neck! Then he went up to the cannon again, took off his smart caftan with red lapels and reached under the wheels. The captain strained himself and picked up the cannon with his heroic shoulder. The soldiers even grunted in surprise. They ran up and pounced. The cannon trembled, the wheel came out of the hole and stood on level ground.
The captain straightened his shoulders, smiled, shouted to the soldiers: “Thank you, brothers!” - he patted the sergeant on the shoulder, got into the cart and rode on.
The soldiers opened their mouths and looked after the captain.
Gee! - said the sergeant.
And soon the general and his officers caught up with the soldier.
“Hey, servants,” the general shouted, “didn’t the sovereign’s cart pass here?”
No, Your Highness,” the soldiers answered, “the bombardier’s captain was just passing through here.”
Bomber captain? - asked the general.
Yes sir! - the soldiers answered.
Fool, what kind of captain is this? This is Emperor Pyotr Alekseevich himself!
Without Narva there is no sea
Well-fed horses run merrily. He overtakes the royal cart, which stretches for many miles, and drives around convoys stuck in the mud.
A man sits next to Peter. He is as tall as a king, only wider in the shoulders. This is Menshikov.
Peter knew Menshikov from childhood. At that time, Menshikov served at the pie maker as a boy. He walked around Moscow bazaars and squares, selling pies.
Fried pies, fried pies! - Menshikov shouted, tearing his throat.
One day Aleksashka was fishing on the Yauza River, opposite the village of Preobrazhenskoye. Suddenly Menshikov looks - a boy is coming. I guessed from his clothes that he was a young king.
Do you want me to show you a trick? - Aleksashka turned to Peter.
Menshikov grabbed a needle and thread and pierced his cheek, so deftly that he pulled the thread through, but there was not a single blood on his cheek.
Peter even screamed in surprise.
More than ten years have passed since that time. Menshikov is unrecognizable now. The king has his first friend and adviser. “Alexander Danilovich,” they now respectfully call the former Alexashka.
Hey Hey! - shouts the soldier sitting on the box.
The horses rush at full speed. The royal cart is tossed on a rough road. Sticky dirt flies to the sides.
Peter sits silently, looks at the soldier’s broad back, remembers his childhood, games and amusing army.
Peter lived then near Moscow, in the village of Preobrazhenskoye. Most of all I loved war games. They recruited guys for him, brought rifles and cannons. Only there were no real nuclei. They shot steamed turnips. Peter gathers his army, divides it into two halves, and the battle begins. Then they count the losses: one had his arm broken, another had his side knocked off, and a third had his head completely pierced.
It used to be that boyars would arrive from Moscow, start scolding Peter for his amusing games, and he would point a cannon at them - bang! - and the steamed turnips fly into fat bellies and bearded faces. The boyars will pick up the hem of their embroidered clothes - and in different directions. And Peter draws his sword and shouts:
Victory! Victory! The enemy showed his back!
Now the funny army has grown. These are two real regiments - Preobrazhensky and Semenovsky. The Tsar calls them the guard. Together with everyone else, the regiments go to Narva, together they knead the impassable mud. “How will old friends show themselves? - Peter thinks. “It’s not for you to fight with the boyars.”
Sovereign! - Menshikov brings the Tsar out of his thoughts. - Sir, Narva is visible.
Peter looks. There is a fortress on the left, steep bank of the Narova River. There is a stone wall around the fortress. Near the river you can see Narva Castle - a fortress within a fortress. The main tower of the castle, Long Herman, stretched high into the sky.
And opposite Narva, on the right bank of the Narova, there is another fortress, Ivan-Gorod. And Ivan-Gorod is surrounded by an impregnable wall.
It’s not easy, sir, to fight such a fortress,” says Menshikov.
It’s not easy,” Peter answers. - But it is necessary. We can't live without Narva. Without Narva you cannot see the sea.
“Sir, allow me to speak”
The Russians near Narva were defeated. The country was poorly prepared for war. There were not enough weapons and uniforms, the troops were poorly trained.
Winter. Freezing. Wind. A carved cart rushes along a snowy road. Throws the rider over potholes. Snow flies out from under the horse's hooves in white sheets. Peter rushes to Tula, goes to the arms factory to Nikita Demidov.
Peter knew Demidov for a long time, from the time when Nikita was a simple blacksmith. It used to be that Peter’s affairs would lead to Tula, he would go to Demidov and say: “Teach me, Demidych, iron craft.”
Nikita will put on an apron and pull out a piece of hot iron from the forge with tongs. Demidov hits the iron with a hammer and shows Peter where to hit. Peter has a hammer in his hands. Peter will turn around, at the indicated place - bang! Only sparks fly to the sides.
That's it, that's it! - Demidov says.
And if the king makes a mistake, Nikita will shout:
Ooh, cross-armed!
Then he will say:
You, sir, do not be angry. Craft - it loves screaming. There’s no shouting here - what’s without
hands
“Okay,” Peter will answer.
And now the king is again in Tula. “It’s not without reason,” thinks Demidov. “Oh, it’s not for nothing that the king came.”
This is true.
Nikita Demidovich, says Peter, have you heard about Narva?
He doesn’t know what to say, Demidov. If you say the wrong thing, you will only anger the king. How can you not hear about Narva when everyone around you is whispering: they say, the Swedes have broken our sides.
Demidov is silent, wondering what to answer.
“Don’t be cunning, don’t be cunning,” says Peter.
“I heard,” says Demidov.
That’s it,” Peter answers. - We need guns, Demidych. You know, guns.
How can you not understand, sir?
“But you need a lot of guns,” says Peter.
It’s clear, Pyotr Alekseevich. Only our Tula factories are bad. No iron, no forest. Grief, not factories.
Peter and Demidov are silent. Peter sits on a carved bench, looking out the window at the factory yard. There, men in torn clothes and worn-out bast shoes are dragging an aspen log.
This is our Tula expanse,” says Demidov. - Log by log, log by log, we beg like beggars. - And then he leaned towards Peter and spoke quietly, insinuatingly: - Sir, allow me to say a word.
Peter paused, looked at Demidov, and said:
Tell me.
“My little people went here,” Demidov began, “to the Urals.” And I, sir, went. That's where the iron is! And the forests, the forests, are like a sea-ocean to you, with no end in sight. This is where, sir, to put the factories. It immediately gives you guns, bombs, shotguns, and any other need.
Ural, you say? - asked Peter.
“He’s the one,” Demidov answered.
I’ve heard about the Urals, but it’s far away, Demidych, at the edge of the earth. By the time you build the factories, wow, how much time will pass!
“Nothing, sir, nothing,” Demidov began frequently with conviction. - We will pave roads, there are rivers. What's next - there would be a desire. And what a long time, so, tea, we live for more than one day. Look, in about two years both the Ural cast iron and the Ural cannons will all be there.
Peter looks at Demidov and understands that Nikita has been thinking about the Urals for a long time. Demidov does not take his eyes off Peter, waiting for the king’s word.
Okay, Nikita Demidovich,” Peter finally says, “if it’s your way, I’ll write a decree and you’ll go to the Urals.” You will receive money from the treasury, you will receive people - and with God. Look at me! Know: there are no more important matters in the state right now. Remember. If you let me down, I won’t regret it.
A month later, having taken the best miners and weapons masters, Demidov left for the Urals.
And during this time Peter managed to send people to Bryansk, Lipetsk, and other cities. In many places in Rus', Peter ordered the mining of iron and the construction of factories.
Bells
“Danilych,” Pyotr once said to Menshikov, “we will remove the bells from the churches.”
Menshikov's eyes widen in surprise.
What are you staring at? - Peter shouted at him. - We need copper, we need cast iron, we will cast bells for cannons. To the guns, understand?
That’s right, sir, that’s right,” Menshikov began to assent, but he himself couldn’t understand whether the tsar was joking or telling the truth.
Peter wasn't joking. Soon the soldiers dispersed to different places to carry out the royal order.
The soldiers also arrived in the large village of Lopasnya, in the Assumption Cathedral. The soldiers arrived in the village towards darkness and entered to the sound of the evening bells. The bells hummed in the winter air, shimmering with different voices. The sergeant counted the bells on his fingers -
eight.
While the soldiers unharnessed the frozen horses, the sergeant went to the house of the rector - the senior priest. Having learned what was the matter, the abbot frowned and wrinkled his forehead. However, he greeted the sergeant warmly and spoke:
Come in, servant, come in, call your little soldiers. Tea, we were tired on the way, we were chilled.
The soldiers entered the house carefully, took a long time to clear the snow from their felt boots, and crossed themselves.
The abbot fed the soldiers and brought wine.
“Drink, servants, eat,” he said.
The soldiers got drunk and fell asleep. And in the morning the sergeant went out into the street, looked at the bell tower, and there was only one bell. The sergeant rushed to the abbot.
Where are the bells? - he shouted. -Where did they go?
And the abbot throws up his hands and says:
Our parish is poor; there is only one bell for the entire parish.
As one! - the sergeant was indignant. - Yesterday I saw eight of them myself, and I heard the chime.
What are you, servant, what are you! - The abbot waved his hands. - What did you come up with! Was it just your drunken eyes that you imagined?
The sergeant realized that it was not without reason that they were given wine to drink. The soldiers gathered, the entire cathedral was examined, the cellars were crawled. There are no bells, as if they had sunk into the water.
The sergeant threatened to bring him to Moscow.
“Inform,” replied the abbot.
However, the sergeant did not write. I realized that he too was responsible. I decided to stay in Lopasnya and conduct a search.
The soldiers live for a week or two. They walk the streets and visit houses. But no one knows anything about the bells. “We were,” they say, “but we don’t know where we are now.”
During this time, a boy became attached to the sergeant - his name was Fedka. He follows the sergeant, examines the fusée, and asks about the war. He's such a smart guy - he keeps trying to steal the cartridge from the sergeant.
Don't spoil! - says the sergeant. - Find where the priests hid the bell - the cartridge is yours.
Fedka was gone for two days. On the third he runs to the sergeant and whispers in his ear:
Yah! - The sergeant didn’t believe it.
By God, I found it! Give me a cartridge.
No,” says the sergeant, “we’ll see about that later.”
Fedka took the sergeant out of the village, running on homemade skis along the river bank, the sergeant barely keeping up with him. Fedka feels good, he’s on skis, but the sergeant stumbles and falls into the snow up to his waist.
Come on, uncle, come on, - Fedka encourages, - it’s coming soon!
We ran about three miles away from the village. We descended from the steep bank onto the ice.
Right here,” says Fedka.
The sergeant looked - there was an ice hole. And next to it - more, and a little further - more and more.
I counted - seven. From each ice hole there are ropes frozen to the ice. The sergeant understood where the abbot hid the bell: under the ice, in the water. The sergeant was delighted, gave Fedka a cartridge and quickly rushed to the village.
The sergeant ordered the soldiers to harness the horses, and he himself went to the abbot and said:
Forgive me, father: apparently, with drunken eyes, I really got it wrong then. We are leaving Lopasnya today. Don't be angry, pray to God for us.
Good luck! - the abbot smiled. - Good luck, soldier. I'll pray.
The next day the rector gathered the parishioners.
Well, it’s over,” he said, “the trouble has passed by.”
The parishioners went to the river to pull out the bells, poked their heads into the hole, and it was empty.
Herods, blasphemers! - the abbot shouted. - They left, they took away. The bells are missing!
And the wind blew over the river, ruffled the peasants’ beards and ran on, scattering grain along the steep bank.
Hay, straw
The Russians realized after Narva that you couldn’t fight a Swede with an untrained army. Peter decided to start a standing army. While there is no war, let the soldiers master rifle techniques and get used to discipline and order.
One day Peter was driving past the soldiers' barracks. He looks - the soldiers are lined up, they are learning to walk in formation. A young officer walks next to the soldiers and gives commands. Peter listened: the commands were somehow unusual.
Hay, straw! - the officer shouts. - Hay, straw!
"What's happened?" - Peter thinks. He stopped his horse and took a closer look: there was something tied on the soldiers’ legs. The king saw: there was hay on his left leg, and straw on his right leg.
The officer saw Peter and shouted:
The soldiers froze. The lieutenant ran up to the king:
Mister Bombardier-Captain, Officer Vyazemsky’s company is learning to march!
At ease! - Peter gave the command.
The Tsar liked Vyazemsky. Peter wanted to be angry for “hay, straw,” but now he changed his mind. Vyazemsky asks:
Why did you impose all sorts of rubbish on the soldiers’ feet?
“Not rubbish at all, bombardier-captain,” the officer replies.
How so - not rubbish! - Peter objects. - You're a disgrace to the soldier. You don't know the regulations.
Vyazemsky is all his own.
“No way,” he says. - This is to make it easier for soldiers to learn. Darkness, bombardier-captain, can’t remember where the left foot is and where the right is. But they don’t confuse hay with straw: they are rustic.
The king marveled at the invention and grinned.
And soon Peter hosted the parade. The last company was the best.
Who's the commander? - Peter asked the general.
Officer Vyazemsky,” the general answered.
About boyar beards
The boyars Buynosov and Kurnosov lived in Moscow. And they had a long-standing family, and their houses were bursting with wealth, and each of them had more than one thousand serf men.
But most of all, the boyars were proud of their beards. And their beards were big and fluffy. Buynosov's is wide, like a shovel, Kurnosov's is long, like a horse's tail.
And suddenly the royal decree came out: to shave beards. Under Peter, new orders were introduced in Rus': they ordered people to shave their beards, wear foreign-made clothes, drink coffee, smoke tobacco, and much more.
Having learned about the new decree, Buynosov and Kurnosov sighed and groaned. They agreed not to shave their beards, but in order to avoid being seen by the Tsar, they decided to pretend to be sick.
Soon the tsar himself remembered the boyars and called them to him.
The boyars began to argue about who should go first.
“You should go,” Buinosov says.
No, for you,” Kurnosov answers. They cast lots and Buinosov got it.
The boyar came to the king and threw himself at his feet.
“Don’t destroy, sir,” he asks, “don’t disgrace yourself in your old age!”
Buynosov crawls along the floor, grabs the royal hand, and tries to kiss it.
Get up! - Peter shouted. - Not in the beard, boyar, the mind is in the head.
And Buynosov stands on all fours and repeats everything: “Don’t disgrace, sir.”
Then Peter got angry, called the servants and ordered the boyar’s beard to be cut off by force.
Buynosov returned to Kurnosov, all in tears, holding his bare chin with his hand, and couldn’t really tell anything.
Kurnosov became afraid to go to the Tsar. The boyar decided to run to Menshikov and ask for advice and help.
Help, Alexander Danilych, talk to the king,” Kurnosov asks.
Menshikov thought for a long time about how to start a conversation with Peter. Finally he came and said:
Sovereign, what if we take a ransom from the boyars for their beards? At least the treasury will benefit.
And there was just not enough money in the treasury. Peter thought and agreed.
Kurnosov was delighted, ran, paid the money, and received a copper plaque with the inscription: “The money has been taken.” Kurnosov put a badge around his neck, like a cross. Whoever stops will become attached, why didn’t he cut his beard, he lifts his beard and shows his badge.
Now Kurnosov became even more proud, but in vain. A year passed, tax collectors came to Kurnosov and demanded a new payment.
How so! - Kurnosov was indignant. - I have already paid the money! - And shows a copper plaque.
Eh, yes, this badge, say the collectors, has expired. Let's pay for a new one.
Kurnosov had to pay again. And a year later again. Then Kurnosov became thoughtful and thought about it with his mind. It turns out that soon there will be nothing left of all Kurnosov’s wealth. There will only be one beard.
And when the collectors came again, they looked - Kurnosov was sitting without a beard, looking at the collectors with evil eyes.
The next day, Menshikov told the Tsar about Kurnosov’s beard. Peter laughed.
That’s what they need, fools,” he said, “let them get used to the new order.” And about the money, Danilych, you came up with a clever idea. From one of Kurnosov’s beards, they could sew uniforms for an entire division.
Two drops of water are not alike. And yet not the same.
Stepan Timofeevich grinned.
I wanted to find the Cossacks. However, he didn’t do that. I decided not to embarrass the craftsmen.
Stepan Timofeevich smokes a pipe. Smoke flows over her. Flows, goes into the sky. Melts into the bottomless sky.
In the battle near Simbirsk, Razin was seriously wounded in the head.
The faithful Cossacks took the ataman home to his native Don land. Between the Volga and Don they spent the night on a small farm. They carefully carried the patient into the hut.
Soon a teenage boy approached Razin and held out an apple:
Take a bite, Stepan Timofeevich... Razinka.
It’s called “Razinka,” the boy explained.
Razin's eyebrows rose in surprise. The ataman thought...
This happened in 1667, during the first campaign of Razin with the Cossacks to the Volga. And then he spent the night on this same farm.
The old owner planted apple trees near the house in the morning. Stepan Timofeevich looked at it:
Let me help.
“Good deed,” answered the old man.
Razin dug a hole. I planted an apple tree. Small, still without leaves. Frail, thin stalk
Come, Stepushka, in three years. “You will taste the delicacy,” the old man invited the ataman
And now not three, but four years have passed. “Fate brought it, after all,” thought Razin. “It leads to good deeds.”
Where is grandpa? - he asked the boy.
Grandfather died. Still in the spring. In the most garden color. And as he died, he kept calling to you, Stepan Timofeevich. He kept talking about the apple tree. He punished us and those who would be born later to take care of her.
In the morning Razin looked at the tree. It stood young, lush, strong. Strong branches were scattered to the sides. And hanging on it were bright, large, fragrant apples the size of two Cossack fists.
“Razinka,” Stepan Timofeevich said to himself. He asked to be taken to his grandfather’s grave, bowed low to the mound and ordered to move on.
All the way Razin talked about gardens.
What a beauty. We will plant such beauty all over the Don, all over the Volga, all over the world. Let's overthrow the boyars and take over the gardens. To blaze with white fire all around in the spring. So that by autumn the branches bend to the roots. What about gardens, we’ll rebuild life. Let's plow it over and turn it over with a coulter. Bad herbs - out. The ear is out. To bring great joy to people. For happiness to all the people.
The chieftain did not live to see the happy time; the rebels did not succeed in overthrowing the tsar and the boyars. After returning to the Don, Razin was captured by rich Cossacks. He was chained, brought to Moscow and executed on Red Square.
The executioner's ax flew overhead. Took off. Got down…
Stepan Timofeevich Razin died. He died, but the memory remains. Eternal memory, eternal glory.
STORIES ABOUT THE COUPLE PETER AND HIS TIME
The Russian army was marching towards Narva.
“Tra-ta-ta, tra-ta-ta!” - the regimental drums beat out the marching roll.
The troops marched through the ancient Russian cities of Novgorod and Pskov, marching with drums and songs.
It was dry autumn. And suddenly the rains began to pour. The leaves fell off the trees. The roads washed out. The cold has begun. Soldiers are walking along roads washed out by rain, soldiers' feet are drowning in mud up to their knees.
It is difficult for soldiers on a campaign. A cannon got stuck on a bridge while crossing a small stream. One of the wheels was crushed by a rotten log and sank down to the very axle.
The soldiers shout at the horses and beat them with whips. The horses were skinny and bones during the long journey. The horses are straining with all their might, but there is no benefit - the guns are not moving.
The soldiers huddled near the bridge, surrounded the cannon, trying to pull it out with their hands.
Forward! - one shouts.
Back! - another commands.
The soldiers make noise and argue, but things don’t move forward. A sergeant is running around the gun. He doesn’t know what to come up with.
Suddenly the soldiers look - a carved cart is rushing along the road.
The well-fed horses galloped up to the bridge and stopped. The officer got out of the cart. The soldiers looked - the captain of the bombardment company. The captain's height is enormous, his face is round, his eyes are large, and on his lip, as if glued on, is a pitch-black mustache.
The soldiers got scared, stretched out their arms at their sides, and froze.
Things are bad, brothers,” said the captain.
That's right, the bombardier is the captain! - the soldiers barked in response.
Well, they think the captain will start swearing now.
This is true. The captain approached the cannon and examined the bridge.
Who's the eldest? - asked.
“I, Mr. Bombardier, am the captain,” said the sergeant.
This is how you take care of military goods! - the captain attacked the sergeant. - You don’t look at the road, you don’t spare the horses!
Yes, I... yes, we... - the sergeant began to speak.
But the captain did not listen, he turned around - and there was a slap on the sergeant’s neck! Then he went back to the cannon, took off his elegant caftan with red lapels and crawled under the wheels. The captain strained himself, picked up the cannon with his heroic shoulder, and the soldiers even grunted in surprise. They ran up and pounced. The cannon trembled, the wheel came out of the hole and stood on level ground.
The captain straightened his shoulders, smiled, shouted to the soldiers: “Thank you, brothers!” - he patted the sergeant on the shoulder, got into the cart and rode on.
The soldiers opened their mouths and looked after the captain.
Gee! - said the sergeant.
And soon the general and his officers caught up with the soldier.
“Hey, servants,” the general shouted, “didn’t the sovereign’s cart pass here?”
No, Your Highness,” the soldiers answered, “the bombardier’s captain was just passing through here.”
Bomber captain? - asked the general.
Yes sir! - the soldiers answered.
Fool, what kind of captain is this? This is Tsar Peter Alekseevich himself!
WITHOUT NARVA YOU CAN'T SEE THE SEA
Well-fed horses run merrily. He overtakes the royal cart, which stretches for many miles, and drives around convoys stuck in the mud.
A man sits next to Peter. He is as tall as a king, only wider in the shoulders. This is Menshikov.
Peter knew Menshikov from childhood. At that time, Menshikov served at the pie maker as a boy. He walked around Moscow bazaars and squares, selling pies.
Fried pies, fried pies! - Menshikov shouted, tearing his throat.
One day Aleksashka was fishing on the Yauza River, opposite the village of Preobrazhenskoye. Suddenly Menshikov looks - a boy is coming. I guessed from his clothes that he was a young king.
Do you want me to show you a trick? - Aleksashka turned to Pet - Menshikov grabbed a needle and thread and pierced his cheek, so deftly that he pulled out the thread, but there was not a single blood on his cheek.
Peter even screamed in surprise.
More than ten years have passed since that time. Menshikov is unrecognizable now. The king has his first friend and adviser. “Alexander Danilovich,” they now respectfully call the former Alexashka.
Hey Hey! - shouts the soldier sitting on the box.
The horses rush at full speed. The royal cart is tossed on a rough road. Sticky dirt flies to the sides.
Peter sits silently, looks at the soldier’s broad back, remembers his childhood, games and amusing army.
Peter lived then near Moscow, in the village of Preobrazhenskoye. Most of all I loved war games. They recruited guys for him, brought rifles and cannons. Only there were no real nuclei. They shot steamed turnips. Peter gathers his army, divides it into two halves, and the battle begins. Then they count the losses: one had his arm broken, another had his side knocked off, and a third had his head completely pierced.
It used to be that boyars would arrive from Moscow, start scolding Peter for his amusing games, and he would point a cannon at them - bang! - and the steamed turnips fly into fat bellies and bearded faces. The boyars will pick up the hem of their embroidered clothes - and in different directions. And Peter draws his sword and shouts:
Victory! Victory! The enemy showed his back!
Now the funny army has grown. These are two real regiments - Preobrazhensky and Semenovsky. The Tsar calls them the guard. Together with everyone else, the regiments go to Narva, together they knead the impassable mud. “How will old friends show themselves? - thinks Peter. “It’s not for you to fight with the boyars.”
Peter for the time being did not attach any importance to this. And suddenly insight came, maturity came. Lefort was just about to make a big trip to Europe to demonstrate to his fellow countrymen in Sweden and Holland the friendship, respect and wealth that they would gain if they united around Peter. The tsar, who loves all sorts of innovations, said Lefort, will gain precious knowledge from his visits to the most developed and equipped countries in the world. Peter immediately approved of this idea. But he did not want to be another king for foreigners, a person who would not have any victories to his credit. Before setting off on the road, it was necessary to stand on a par with the most significant sovereigns of the West. Only when he is respected and feared beyond the borders will he leave the country. Peter needed the laurels of a victorious warrior. Under the influence of Lefort, he moved from play to action. On January 20, 1695, in the midst of winter, he signed a decree on mobilization for the war with Turkey. However, returning to Golitsyn’s plan, he changed his tactics. Instead of making a breakthrough to Perekop, he chose Azov on the Don, which was called the city of Tana in the Middle Ages, as his target. This city was powerfully fortified by the Turks and protected both the mouth of the river and the access to the Black Sea. To mislead the enemy, Sheremetev undertook a diversionary maneuver. With an army of one hundred and twenty thousand people, he attacked the Turkish fortress at the mouth of the Dnieper. At the same time, a small army of thirty thousand people, which included more and more regiments, a company of tsarist bombardiers, archers, court and city militia, went to Azov. This army was commanded by three generals: Gordon, Golovin and Lefort. This campaign was similar to one of the amusing maneuvers, the purpose of which was the siege of the Presburg fortress.
“We joked around Kozhukhov, but now we’re going to play around Azov,” wrote Pyotr Apraksin. Loving practical jokes and disguises, the Tsar took the pseudonym Pyotr Alekseev and demanded to be treated as a simple bombardier captain. Peter wrote to Romodanovsky, who was christened at one time in mockery “King of Presburg”:
"Min Her Kenich, a letter from Your Excellency from the capital city of Presburg was handed over to me, for which Your Grace must shed to the last drop of his blood, for which I am going on the road. Bombardier Piter."
Having finally arrived under the walls of Azov, the three commanders-in-chief - Gordon, Golovin and Lefort - could not come to a consensus. The siege of the city did not weaken the enemy's resistance. The first assaults on fortified points ended in failure. Despite Gordon's opinion, Peter ordered a large-scale attack on Sunday, August 5, 1695, and called for volunteers, promising them good rewards. None of the soldiers and archers introduced themselves. The funny battles during the maneuvers near Pressburg did not prepare them for real battles. But two and a half thousand Don Cossacks sacrificed themselves. They were included in the troops, not taking into account that the selected regiments lacked enthusiasm. The poorly prepared and poorly executed attacks were repulsed with heavy losses for the Russians. Then Peter decides to use mines instead of cannons to make a breach in the fortress wall. But the mines did not explode, and when they did, they killed more Russians than Turks. However, miraculously, as a result of the explosion of one of the shells, a hole was formed in the wall, sufficient for the attackers to break through. Despite the onslaught, they were driven back. Other operations ended in even greater failures. Of the trophies, the Russians managed to capture only one banner and one Turkish cannon. It rained, the river overflowed its banks, flooding tents, soaking gunpowder, turning trenches into a quagmire. On the one hundred and ninety-seventh day of the siege, the military council decided to retreat to Cherkassk. The Turkish cavalry pursued the extended rearguards of the Russian troops and inflicted crushing blows. Following the rains came cold weather. Experiencing a shortage of food and warm clothes, hundreds of soldiers died. The survivors were attacked by wolves. The failure was even greater than the one for which Vasily Golitsyn was once accused. But, like Vasily Golitsyn, whom he so criticized, Peter entered Moscow as a winner. During his triumphal procession through the city, one, and perhaps the only Turkish prisoner, chained, walked at the head of the motorcade. Thanksgiving prayers were held in churches. The losses suffered by the troops were officially attributed to a certain Jacob Jansen, who allegedly revealed the secret strategy of the Russian army to the enemy. However, it was not possible to fool public opinion. This humiliation did not diminish Peter, but prompted him to reflect. For him, there were never lost cases, but only lessons from which conclusions had to be drawn in order to change the situation in his favor. While slanderers around him recalled the prophetic words of Patriarch Joachim against foreign advisers and heretical generals, the king calmly analyzed the reasons for the defeat. The Azov fortress, impregnable from land, could be taken by attacking it from the sea. Ships from Lake Pleshcheevo are only suitable for entertainment; Russia needs a real fleet. No matter how difficult it is, you need to create it quickly! At the suggestion of Peter, the Boyar Duma decides to build a navy. The entire country is taxed. Each owner who owned more than ten thousand "souls" was required to pay for one fully equipped ship. The monasteries also had to contribute depending on the number of serfs they had. The royal family prepared nine ships. The labor issue was resolved quickly. Captains, pilots, sailors and shipbuilding specialists were invited from abroad. Some, having arrived in Voronezh, the place chosen for the grandiose construction, were horrified by the living conditions that were offered to them and ran away. Ordinary workers were forced to work: blacksmiths, carpenters, joiners were removed from their jobs and urgently sent to the banks of the Don. Thirty thousand peasants were forced here to do menial work, taken by force, despite the pleas of their families. There were plenty of materials. Six thousand trees, oaks, spruces, and lindens were delivered in record time from the dense Voronezh forests. Meanwhile, special agents throughout Russia collected iron, copper, resin, tackle, canvas, nails, and hemp necessary to equip the ships. Peter appointed the commanders of the headquarters of the future fleet: the Swiss Lefort as admiral, Lima, the Venetian, as vice admiral, and Baltasar de L'Ozier, a Frenchman, as rear admiral. The tsar himself was content with the role of captain-pilot. But for now there is nothing to sail on, and he himself Peter worked at a Voronezh construction site, rolling up his sleeves. Mixed with the workers, he handled an axe, a plane, a plumb line, a hammer, a compass. He personally built the most elegant and fastest galley, called the “Principium,” which could accommodate two hundred people. “We God’s order to our great-grandfather Adam, in the sweat of our brow we eat our bread,” Peter wrote to boyar Streshnev.
Sad news arrived at the construction site: the courier reported that the tsar’s half-brother, the sickly Ivan, died suddenly in Moscow on January 29, 1696. There was only one king left in Rus'. In fact, he was one from the time he exiled Sophia to a monastery. This loss saddened the king.
The king threw himself into his work with particular zeal. Now all that mattered to him were these beautiful wooden frames supported by supports. Workers died from poor nutrition and terrible conditions. Under pain of a whip they drove the next ones. Foreign engineers drank vodka and argued about construction, and heavy rains damaged the soil. But Peter did not lose heart. To complete the fleet, he ordered two warships built in the Netherlands to be brought from Arkhangelsk - the Apostle Peter and the Apostle Paul. The rivers were covered with ice, and two huge ships continued to drag their way to Voronezh through snow and ice. Construction work, which began in 1695, was carried out so quickly that by May 1696, twenty-three galleys and four fire ships were launched amid the explosions of firecrackers and flowing rivers of wine. At the head of the flotilla, descending along the Don to the sea, was the galley "Principium" under the command of Peter, or, as he henceforth called himself, captain Peter Alekseev. The ground forces, which were to join the naval forces to take Azov, were commanded by Generalissimo Alexei Shein and General Gordon.
The beginning of the naval battle turned out to be an advantage for the Russians. After the Turkish ships anchored in front of Azov were scattered, the tsarist fleet blocked the estuary to prevent reinforcements from approaching. And the siege began again, with inaccurate bombing, occasional musket fire, and useless mine explosions. Peter wrote to his sister Princess Natalya: “Hello, sister! I, thank God, am healthy. According to your letter, I don’t go close to the personnel and bullets, but they come to me. Order them not to come...” Unable to break the resistance enemy, the generals, discouraged, gathered the officers and soldiers subordinate to them to find out their opinion on how best to penetrate the city. The Streltsy proposed the method that Vladimir the Great used when taking Kherson: it was necessary to build a huge earthen embankment opposite the fortress walls. Fifteen thousand workers worked day and night on this massive earthwork. The Turks fired at them with grapeshot; it was convenient to aim from high walls. Losses were increasing.
Bombardier Company Captain
It is difficult for soldiers on a campaign. A cannon got stuck on a bridge while crossing a small stream. One of the wheels was crushed by a rotten log and sank right up to the hub.
The soldiers shout at the horses and beat them with rawhide whips. The horses were skinny and bones during the long journey.
The horses are straining with all their might, but there is no benefit - the gun is not moving.
The soldiers huddled near the bridge, surrounded the cannon, trying to pull it out with their hands.
Forward! - one shouts.
Back! - the command is given by another.
The soldiers make noise and argue, but things don’t move forward. A sergeant is running around the gun. He doesn’t know what to come up with.
Suddenly the soldiers look - a carved cart is rushing along the road.
The well-fed horses galloped up to the bridge and stopped. The officer got out of the cart. The soldiers looked - the captain of the bombardment company. The captain is enormous, about two meters tall, with a round face, large eyes, and a jet-black mustache on his lip, as if glued on.
The soldiers got scared, stretched out their arms at their sides, and froze.
Things are bad, brothers,” said the captain.
That's right, bombardier-captain! - the soldiers barked in response.
Well, they think the captain will start swearing now.
This is true. The captain approached the cannon and examined the bridge.
Who's the eldest? - asked.
“I am, Mr. Bombardier-Captain,” said the sergeant.
This is how you take care of military goods! - the captain attacked the sergeant. You don't look at the road, you don't spare the horses!
Yes, I... yes, we... - the sergeant began to speak.
But the captain did not listen, he turned around - and there was a slap on the sergeant’s neck!
Then he went back to the cannon, took off his elegant caftan with red lapels and crawled under the wheels. The captain strained himself and picked up the cannon with his heroic shoulder. The soldiers grunted in surprise. They ran up and piled on. The cannon trembled, the wheel came out of the hole and stood on level ground.
The captain straightened his shoulders, smiled, shouted to the soldiers: “Thank you, brothers!” - he patted the sergeant on the shoulder, got into the cart and rode on.
The soldiers opened their mouths and looked after the captain.
Gee! - said the sergeant.
And soon the general and his officers caught up with the soldier.
“Hey, servants,” the general shouted, “didn’t the sovereign’s cart pass here?”
No, Your Highness,” the soldiers answered, “the bombardier’s captain was just passing through here.”
Bomber captain? - the general asked.
Yes sir! - the soldiers answered.
Fool, what kind of captain is this? This is Tsar Peter Alekseevich himself!
