Current page: 6 (total book has 27 pages) [accessible reading excerpt: 15 pages]

Everyone understood: the archers set fire to the flooring.

- Get more! More Vali! shouted Razin, pointing to the logs. He hoped to beat the fire with the top layer of logs.

But the tree was dry. A giant bonfire rushed towards the sky like a beast.

For a moment, Razin thought: maybe the flames will go to the walls and it will turn out to be something that they couldn’t cope with last time - the fire, having destroyed the flooring, will also destroy the walls of the Kremlin.

But the wind did not blow from the hand, it drove the fire not to the wall, but to the attackers, to the rampart. People stepped back. Razin stepped back. Someone let out a sigh.

- Oh, a bird on the other side!

And suddenly Oscar the Little Devil took off. He picked up his pitchfork, rushed the razinets into the flames.

All froze. And right there:

- Oscar!

- Imp!

People wanted to return the daredevil. But the flame covered the hero. A minute passed, then two. And now everyone saw the Devil again. Already there, behind the fire. Right next to the wall. Alive, unharmed Little devil.

How he flew up the wall, no one understood. But he stood at the very top. And only his clothes were on fire.

The devil suddenly ran up the wall. He earned, like a pike, with a pitchfork. The bodies of archers took off on pitchforks. They took off and immediately fell in sheaves: to the right - inside the Kremlin, to the left - on this side.

The devil disappeared from the wall, as if melted. The smoke covered the hero for a minute, and when it parted, the Devil was not on the wall. No, as if people dreamed it all. Or maybe it really was a dream? Maybe there was no Devil there at all?

The crosses crossed. One - for the good memory of the hero. Others, those who believed in magical powers, are for eternal life. People hoped: what if the Devil appears again?

“Maybe he went up into the sky like a bird!”

I wanted people to believe that.

LAST FIGHT

Prince Yuri Baryatinsky stood by the Sviyaga River. To meet him, trying to keep, not to miss the boyar army to the city, Razin and withdrew his troops.

Here, on the hills near Sviyaga, he gave his last fight. Brass pipes sang. Power went to power.

The troops of the prince were selected. Almost everyone in the regiments is a nobleman, the son of a boyar, a servant of the sovereigns. There were also foreign warriors.

The nobles have cannons, squeaks, muskets. Horses are good, well-fed. Horse to horse. Horsemen in chain mail, in iron breastplates.

Yet at first it was difficult to say who would get lucky. The Razintsy struck with such force that Baryatinsky trembled. The battle started at different places. And if Baryatinsky won in one, then the Razints got the upper hand in the other, and in the third. Although they went on the attack sometimes with axes, with spears. And many just with clubs.

However, power is power, guns are guns. Baryatinsky soon recovered. Gathered the nobles on one of the hills. Arranged, set up ambushes. And from here, from the hill, he began an attack on the Razintsy.

Razin responded to the attack with an attack.

He led the Cossacks up the hill. Horsemen crashed into the noble army.

- Ruby! Seki-i! Razin shouted.

The nobles backed away. “It hurts too much,” thought Razin. But the excitement of the slaughter carried him away.

- If so! Work-ay!

Razin is being cut. He rises in the saddle. Blows to the left, to the right sends. The saber will fall like lightning and fly up to the sky again. The horse trembles under the rider. Razin is all in the battle. The hat is slightly off. The lip is slightly bitten. Hawkeye look. The eyes are on fire.

The Cossack horses flew up the hill. And here - here it is, the cunning of the prince. On the top of the hill behind his shelter, with cast-iron muzzles fixed, cannons are looking at the Razints.

- Pa-ali!

The cannons were thrown with a charge at the horses' muzzles. Horse neighing and horse wheezing.

At the same moment arrows sprang up behind the cannons. They squealed with thunder. Behind the first row of shooters - the second. More fire and bullets.

Everything was mixed up in the ranks of the Cossacks.

And to the left and to the right, coming out of the ravine ambushes, ringing with armor and swords, the noble cavalry was already flying at Razin.

Stepan Timofeevich turned around to meet the enemy. The saber took off again. Hawkeye darted a glance.

- Ru-kill! Razin blurted out.

And at this time the bullet hit the ataman in the leg, in the thigh.

“You won’t take En!

Although Razin grimaced in pain, he did not let go of his saber. Sent a saber to the left, death to the right. But the third hit didn't work. A noble broadsword hung over Razin. Earth and sky darted in the eyes of the ataman.

- Brothers, save the ataman! - Razin heard, falling from his horse. - Save your dad. Without a father, everything is doom.

It was all over in an hour. Prince Yuri Baryatinsky with the archery army entered Simbirsk to the sounds of trumpets.

RAZINKA

Faithful Cossacks drove Razin home to his native Don land. Between the Volga and the Don they spent the night on a small farm. The wounded ataman was carefully carried to the hut.

Lying on shifted benches Razin. He looks at the walls, at the ceiling. Thinking hard about something. Close your eyes, open them. Looking somewhere through the walls into the distance. Close your eyelids again.

Soon a boy, a teenager, approached Razin, stood near Razin, not knowing what to do, and finally held out an apple.

- Eat, Stepan Timofeevich ... Razinka.

“It’s called Razinka,” the boy explained.

The chieftain's eyebrows rose in surprise. He looked around and remembered.

It was in 1667, during the first campaign of Razin with the Cossacks on the Volga. And then he spent the night on the same farm.

The old man, the owner, planted apple trees near the house in the morning. Stepan Timofeevich stared:

- Let's help.

“Good deed,” the old man replied.

Razin dug a hole. I planted an apple tree. Small, small, without leaves. A frail, thin stem.

- Come, Stepushka, in three years. Taste a drink, - the old man invited the chieftain.

Razin chuckled.

- Well, I'll come.

And now, not three, but almost four whole years have passed.

“Destiny brought it all the same,” thought Razin. - TO good deeds leads."

- Where is my grandfather? he asked the boy.

- Died. More in the spring. In the most garden color. And as he was dying, he kept calling you, Stepan Timofeevich. Everyone was talking about the apple tree. Protect her and us, and those that are born after, punished.

In the morning Razin looked at the tree. It stood young, magnificent, strong. Let strong branches to the sides. And hung on it bright, large, in two Cossack fists, fragrant apples.

"Razinka!" Stepan Timofeevich said to himself. He ordered to carry himself to the grave of his grandfather, bowed and set off on his way.

All the way Razin talked about gardens.

- What a beauty! All over the Don, all over the Volga, all over the world we will plant such a beauty. Let's throw off the boyars - we'll take up the gardens. To blaze in the spring with white fire around. So that by autumn the branches bend to the root. Yes, gardens - we will rebuild life. Let's plow, turn over with a coulter. Bad herbs - get out. The ear is out. To joy great people. For the happiness of all the people.

TERRIBLE HORSEMAN

Stepan Timofeevich did not live to see the happy time. Soon after returning to the Don, Razin was captured by wealthy Cossacks.

Razin was tied up with chains and taken to Moscow for reprisals. They drove carefully, under strong archery guards. The sentinels went ahead. See if the road is clear. Are there any ambushes along the way?

It was still restless all around. The sea of ​​the people's war was still seething. It beat with anger in the boyar shore. On the Kama, Vetluga, Oka and Khoper detachments of the rebels still roamed. Ataman Sheludyak, the closest associate of Razin, walked along the Volga.

Sitting in the cart, not moving, Razin. The road goes down, then up, then sinks into the wilderness of a lowland, then stretches to the very sky.

Stepan Timofeevich looks at the sky. It calls to endless space. Will, freedom breathes.

“No, there will be no end to the great cause,” Razin argues with himself. - People will not endure the boyar stocks. Maybe the eagle flew early. He waved his fragile wing ahead of time. People hurried to the heights. No, not early! Razin shook his head. Eyes filled with sparkle. Let's not finish our trip. Others will finish it."

“Brothers, Stenka, look, he’s moving,” a whisper passed among the archers.

- Eyes, eyes - burn with black fire. Is this a good omen?

"Fear! Stepan Timofeyevich thought maliciously. “And hobbled, which means the horse hasn’t lost its hoof yet.”

In Moscow, Razin was interrogated for a long time and tortured on the rack.

Razin answered his tormentors with a contemptuous grin.

Razin was executed in the center of Moscow, on Lobnoye Mesto, on Red Square.

Stepan Timofeevich stood on the block. The clerk monotonously read the verdict. But he did not follow the words of Razin. He looked at the square. Not where the boyars crowded in the forefront. And then, for them, for the boyar hats, to where the common people huddled.

The ataman looked at the people. And suddenly he clearly saw himself not here, not on the chopping block - on horseback, on the high steep Volga. Far ahead of him and space.

"On the assault! For scrap! - sounded in Razin's ears.

And immediately the ranks of the Cossacks rose. Like waves, people were attacking. As soon as the row ended, a new one followed. Third, fourth, fifth... The earth hummed all around. The wind blew on their faces.

And there were no counts for people.

Razin closed his eyes. But it did not go away, the vision stood like reality. Stepan Timofeevich clenched his fists:

- No, there will be no end to the great cause. No boyars to live in Russia!

A minute later, the execution took place.

The ax took off in the hands of the executioner. Take off. Got down. Stepan Razin is gone. The ataman ended his life. But the boyars lived in fear for a long time.

The sound of hooves on the road will be heard - the boyars' legs will shake aspen. The wind will hit the windows - the heart will freeze and skip a beat. The floorboards in the house creak - the boyar will wake up and scream wildly.

For a long time in Russia, the boyars had terrible dreams. They dreamed of a formidable horseman.

INCREDIBLE HAPPENS

Since ancient times, Russians have been considered good sailors. They made long voyages and traded with other nations.

But the enemies sought to take away access to the sea from Russia. Turkish invaders took possession of the northern shores of the Black Sea. The shores of the Baltic Sea and the adjacent lands of the Latvians and Estonians were captured by the Swedes.

At that time Sweden was a very strong state. Her army was considered one of the best in the world. In addition, Sweden had a large, well-armed fleet.

In 1700, the smart and active Russian Tsar Peter I declared war on Sweden. The war with the Swedes lasted twenty-one years and ended with the complete victory of the Russians. In history, it was called the North.

For Russia, the Northern War began unsuccessfully. Under the Swedish fortress of Narva, the Russians were defeated. About how and why this happened, as well as what needed to be done for future victories and about the very first victories, you will learn from the story "The Unprecedented Happens".

Chapter first
ON THE NAROVA RIVER

HIKING

The Russian army went to Narva. Tra-ta-ta, tra-ta-ta! - the regimental drums beat out the marching shot.

Troops marched through the ancient Russian cities of Novgorod and Pskov, marching with drums and songs.

It was a dry autumn. And suddenly it started to rain. The leaves fell from the trees. Washed out the road. The cold has begun.

Soldiers are walking along roads washed out by rain, soldiers' feet are drowning knee-deep in mud.

The soldiers will get tired, get wet during the day, but there is nowhere to warm up. Villages were rare. We spent more and more nights open sky. Soldiers make fires, huddle close to the fire, lie down on the wet ground.

Together with everyone, Ivan Brykin, a quiet, inconspicuous soldier, went to Narva. Like everyone else, Brykin kneaded the impenetrable mud, carried a heavy flintlock gun - a fusee, dragged a large soldier's bag, like everyone else, went to bed on the damp earth.

Only Brykin was timid. Whoever is bolder will settle down closer to the fire, and Brykin lies on the sidelines, tossing and turning from the cold until morning.

There is a good soldier who will say:

What are you, Ivan? Does life cost you?

- What a life! Brykin will answer. Our life is a penny. Who needs a soldier's life!

The soldiers grew thin, broke off on the way, fell ill, lagged behind the troops, died on distant roads and in foreign villages.

Ivan Brykin could not stand the campaign either. He reached Novgorod and took to his bed. Brykin began to have a fever, his bones ached. The soldiers laid a comrade on a wagon cart. So Ivan got to Ilmen Lake. The carts stopped near the shore. The soldiers unharnessed their horses, gave them water to drink, and went to bed.

Dremal and Brykin. The patient woke up in the middle of the night. I felt a terrible cold, opened my eyes, crept up to the edge of the cart, looked - there was water all around. The wind blows, the waves carry. Brykin hears distant soldier voices. And here's what happened. Ilmen-lake broke out at night. The water blew up from the wind, raged, poured onto the shore. The soldiers rushed to the carts, but it was too late. They had to leave the convoy on the shore.

- Save! Brykin shouted.

But at that moment a wave ran up, the cart was thrown on its side.

- Save it! Brykin shouted again and choked.

The water covered the soldier with his head, picked him up, dragged him into the lake.

By morning the water subsided. The soldiers gathered the surviving good, went on.

But no one remembered Ivan. He is not the first, he is not the last - then many soldiers died on the way to Narva.

CAPTAIN OF THE BOMBARDING COMPANY

It is difficult for soldiers on the march. A cannon got stuck on a bridge while crossing a small stream. A rotten log was pressed through one of the wheels, fell through to the very hub.

Soldiers shout at horses, beat with rawhide whips. Horses for long way emaciated - skin and bones.

The horses are straining with all their might, but there is no benefit - the gun is not moving.

Soldiers crowded around the bridge, surrounded the cannon, trying to pull it out on their hands.

- Forward! one shouts.

- Back! - the command is given by another.

The soldiers are making noise, arguing, but things are not moving forward. Runs around the gun sergeant. He doesn't know what to come up with.

Suddenly, soldiers look - a carved cart is rushing along the road.

Well-fed horses galloped to the bridge, stopped. An officer got out of the cart. The soldiers looked - the captain of the bombardment company. The captain's height is enormous, about two meters, his face is round, his eyes are large, on his lip, as if glued, a pitch-black mustache.

The soldiers were frightened, stretched their arms at their sides, froze.

“Things are bad, brothers,” said the captain.

“That’s right, scorer-captain!” the soldiers yelled back.

Well, they think the captain will start cursing now.

And there is. The captain approached the cannon and examined the bridge.

- Who is the eldest? – asked.

“I am Bombardier Captain,” said the sergeant.

- So you save military good! 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, turned around - and slap the sergeant on the neck!

Then he went up to the cannon again, took off his smart caftan with red lapels, and crawled under the wheels. The captain pulled himself up, picked up the cannon with his heroic shoulder. The soldiers grunted in surprise. They ran up, jumped up. The cannon trembled, the wheel came out of the gap, 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 wagon and galloped on.

The soldiers opened their mouths, looking after the captain.

– Nu and affairs! said the sergeant.

And soon the soldier caught up with the general with officers.

“Hey, servicemen,” the general shouted, “didn’t the sovereign’s cart pass here?

“No, your highness,” the soldiers answered, “this was the only place where the bombardier captain passed.

- Bombardier captain? the general asked.

- Yes sir! the soldiers answered.

- Fool, what kind of captain is this? This is Tsar Peter Alekseevich himself!

"WITHOUT NAVA YOU CAN'T SEE THE SEA"

Well-fed horses run merrily. It overtakes the tsar’s cart, which stretches for many miles, the regiments, goes around the carts stuck in the mud.

A man sits next to Peter. Growth - like a king, only wider in the shoulders. This is Menshikov.

Peter knew Menshikov since childhood.

At that time Aleksashka Menshikov served at the pie-man's as a boy. I walked around the Moscow bazaars and squares, selling pies.

- Hearth pies, hearth pies! - shouted, tearing his throat, Menshikov.

Once Aleksashka was fishing on the Yauza River, opposite the village of Preobrazhensky. Suddenly Menshikov looks - a boy is walking. I guessed from the clothes - the 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 extended the thread, but there was not a drop of blood on his cheek.

Peter even cried out in surprise.

More than ten years have passed since that time. Do not recognize now Menshikov. The king has the first friend and adviser. “Alexander Danilovich,” they now respectfully call the former Aleksashka.

- Hey Hey! - shouts the soldier sitting on the goats.

The horses are running at full speed. They throw up the royal cart on the potholes. Dirt is scattered to the sides.

Peter sits silently, looks at the soldier's back, remembers his childhood, games and amusing army.

Then Peter lived near Moscow, in the village of Preobrazhensky. Most of all he loved war games. They recruited guys for him, brought guns and cannons. Only there were no real nuclei. They shot with a steamed turnip. Peter will gather his army, divide it into two halves, and the battle begins. Then they count the losses: one arm was broken, the side of another was knocked off, and the third was completely sent to the next world.

Boyars used to come from Moscow, they would start scolding Peter for funny games, and he would point a gun at them - bang! - and a steamed turnip flies into fat bellies and bearded faces. The boyars will pick up the floors of embroidered caftans - and run away. And Peter draws his sword and shouts:

- Victoria! 6
Victoria (French)- victory.

Victoria! Victory! The enemy showed his back!

Now the amusing army has grown. These are two real regiments - Preobrazhensky and Semenovsky. The king calls them guards. Together with all the regiments go to Narva, together they knead the impassable mud. “Somehow old buddies will show themselves? Peter thinks. “It’s not for you to fight with the boyars.”

- Sovereign! - Menshikov brings the tsar out of his thoughts. - Sovereign, Narva is visible.

Looks Peter. There is a fortress on the left steep bank of the Narova River. Around the fortress - a stone wall. Near the river you can see the Narva Castle - a fortress within a fortress. The main tower of the castle, Long German, stretched high into the sky.

And opposite the Narva, on the right bank of the Narova, is another fortress: Ivan-gorod. And Ivan-city is surrounded by an impregnable wall.

“It is not easy, sir, to fight such a fortress,” says Menshikov.

"It's not easy," says Peter. - But it is necessary. We cannot live without Narva. You can't see the sea without Narva.

"TALK, SOVEREIGN, WITH SOLDIERS"

Peter came to Narva, gathered the generals, began to ask about the state of the troops.

It is embarrassing for the generals to tell the tsar the truth. They are afraid of the royal wrath. The generals report that everything is fine, that the troops reached without losses. And there are enough guns, and there are cannonballs, and good gunpowder.

- And what about provisions? Peter asks.

“And there are provisions,” the generals answer.

- So, - says Pyotr, and he leaned over to Menshikov, whispering in his ear: - I can’t believe something, Danilych, I saw something else on the way.

- Lie. Oh god, they lie! Menshikov answers. “Go talk, sir, with the soldiers.

Peter went. He looks - the soldiers are standing, cleaning their guns.

How are you, servants? Peter asks.

“It is nothing, sir, God is merciful,” the soldiers answer.

- Well, did a lot of people die on the way? Peter asks.

- Lie down, my lord. So after all, the road is long; rain, sir, bad weather.

Peter looked at the soldier, did not say anything, only Peter's mustache, thin, like an awl, twitched.

How are you, scorers? Peter asks.

“It’s nothing, sir, God is merciful,” the scorers answer.

- Well, how about guns, how about gunpowder?

The gunners are silent, shifting from foot to foot.

- So what about gunpowder? Peter asks.

- It's nothing, sir, - the scorers answer.

And again they are silent, again shifting from foot to foot.

- What nothing? Where are the carts, where is the gunpowder? - Peter cried out impatiently.

“The carts have fallen behind, sovereign,” the soldiers answer. - So after all, the road is long, the dirt is impassable. And there is gunpowder, my lord. How can you go to war without gunpowder? They will bring tea, gunpowder.

And Peter's mustache twitched again, huge hands clenched into fists.

- How are you guys? Peter asks.

“It is nothing, sir, God is merciful,” the dragoons answer.

- What about food?

- It's just bad with grubs. Yes, it’s nothing, sir, the dragoons answer, the people endure. Sorry about the horses.

Peter's face contorted with anger. The king understood that the generals were telling lies. Peter returned to the general's hut, again gathered the council.

- How are we going to fight the Swedes? the king spoke. - Where is the gunpowder, where are the carts? Why did they ruin the soldiers on the way, how will we feed the living? Why didn't they tell the truth?!

The generals are silent, they look at the king frowningly, they are afraid to speak.

Finally, the senior in rank, Avtamon Golovin, stood up:

- Pyotr Alekseevich, do not be angry. The Russian man is resilient. God is merciful, somehow.

- Fool! Peter barked. “You won’t get far with God’s grace!” Guns are needed, cannonballs, food for horses and people. It's not a joke thing. I'll take the skin down if there's no order! Got it?

And he went out, and slammed the door so hard that goosebumps ran down the generals' backs.

"Who is cowardly - GO TO THE WAGON"

Peter ordered General-Engineer Baron Gallart to oversee the siege of the Narva Fortress. In Russia at that time there were few knowledgeable people, so foreigners had to be invited.

However, having arrived near Narva, the baron was reluctant to go about his business. Gallart was annoyed by everything: the Russians had few cannons, their horses were thin, and the soldiers were poorly trained. Gallart went about dissatisfied with everything and only angered Peter.

Several times the tsar invited a foreign general to walk around the fortress, inspect the Swedish fortifications himself, but Gallart refused.

Then Peter took a sheet of paper, a pencil and went himself.

The Swedes saw the king and began to shoot. Swedish bullets hit next to Peter, and he walks, draws something on paper, pretends not to notice anything. Gallart felt ashamed. Reluctantly went to catch up with Peter.

However, Peter walks near the fortress itself, and Gallart is afraid to approach the fortress. The baron stopped in a safe place, shouting:

- Your Majesty!

Gallart wants the tsar to pay attention to him, he waves his hand to Peter.

Peter is silent.

- Your Majesty! Gallart shouts even louder.

And again no answer.

Gallart realized that Pyotr did not respond on purpose: he was waiting for the baron to come closer. The general plucked up courage and took a few steps forward. At that moment, a Swedish cannon burst from the fortress wall, an enemy bomb whistled through the autumn air, and plopped into a puddle not far from Gallart. The baron rushed to the ground, neither alive nor dead. Lying, waiting for the bomb to explode.

However, the bomb did not explode. Then Gallart opened his eyes, raised his head, looked - Peter was standing next to him. Peter smiles, gives the general engineer a hand.

Gallart blushed, got up from the dirty ground, and said to the king:

- Your Majesty, is it royal business to walk under bullets!

- Royal is not royal, - answers Peter, - but it is necessary. You see, my assistants are bad. Not those helpers. And it's a military thing. Here who is a coward - go to the convoy.

General Gallart was embarrassed, offended by the tsar, picked up his hat from the ground and went to the Russian camp. And Peter looked after him and just shook his head.

ABOUT TWO MEN

The siege of Narva dragged on. At first, the regiments that had lagged behind on the road were waiting. Then, when they began shelling the enemy fortress, it turned out that the Russian guns were bad. When firing, gun carriages fell off from the guns, wheels broke, weak cannon barrels were torn.

Rumors spread in the Russian camp that the Swedes could not be defeated, that the Swedish king himself was in a hurry to help the fortress.

Winter was coming. Gone are the long, cold nights. A prickly wind whistled. Black, ominous clouds were moving almost above the ground.

On one of these nights, Peter walked through the camp, went down to the Narova. Along the river bank, shivering from the cold, a sentry paced.

- Hey, officer! cried Peter.

The sentry shuddered. turned around. Got to know Peter. He stretched out his arms.

- Well, shall we beat the Swedes? Peter turned to the soldier.

- God, sir, he is merciful. Maybe we’ll beat him, ”the sentry answered.

- What a god! What do you think?

- What am I? I’m like everyone else,” said the soldier.

- And how is everyone? asks Peter.

- Yes, they say different things, sir. The Swedes will beat us, they say.

- Fool! Peter cursed, spat out of annoyance and went on.

"Sir," he heard a quiet call.

- Well? Peter asked with displeasure and returned to the soldier.

“Sir, let me tell you a parable.

- A parable? Peter asked. He chuckled. - Tell me.

“In ancient times,” the soldier began, “two peasants lived in the village. The peasants plowed the land, sowed rye. Yes, but men lived differently. One has all the bins full of bread by autumn, while the other will gather a little more than what he has sown. It became a shame to the second man. What's the matter, what kind of secret does a comrade have? The peasant lies all winter on the stove, thinking his own thought. Finally I could not stand it, I went to a neighbor.

“Why is it,” he says, “you have such luck?”

“But I have a special secret for that,” he hears in response.

"What secret?" asks the unfortunate man.

“Here,” the neighbor replies and shows his palms. “Here,” he says, “is my secret.”

The man was delighted, looks at the palms, and there is empty.

"There's nothing here!" he says with resentment.

“How not? Yes, says the neighbor. “Look better,” and points to the calluses.

“What is this secret? The man got even more offended. “I have corns too!” and looks down at his hands.

He looks, but there are no calluses on them. The man lay all winter on the stove, so the corns came off.

“Uh,” Peter said, “yes, I see you are not stupid!”

“That’s right, Mr Bombardier-Captain.

- What exactly? Peter asked.

The soldier was confused.

Peter laughed.

A few days later, taking Menshikov, Peter left for Novgorod.

Peter rushed off to collect new regiments and to drive the carts that had fallen behind on the way.

All the way Peter rode in silence, thinking about the soldier's parable.

"FEAR IS WORSE THAN DEATH!"

Soldier Fyodor Grach was sitting in a trench. Grach held a fusee in his hand, waiting for the Swedes to approach. Having never been born, Fyodor had not yet had to shoot a gun. Having not been taught rifle techniques, they were sent to war.

- Scared? - asks Fyodor a neighbor in the trench, a mustachioed, no longer young soldier.

“It’s scary,” Rook answers, blushing.

“That’s understandable,” the soldier says. - Don't think about fear. From him, from fear, a lot of evil happens in the war. Fear is worse than death.

Fog fell the night before the Swedes arrived. It snowed by dawn. The wind began, drove snow whirlwinds towards the Russians. The cold wind chilled the soldiers. Vyuzhilo. At twenty paces it was impossible to distinguish each other.

The mustachioed soldier now and then put his ear to the ground - he listened to see if the Swedes were coming.

The Swedes appeared unexpectedly, as if they had grown out of the ground. Swedish arrows fell on the Russian trenches.

And suddenly there was a rumor: "The Germans betrayed." It turns out that Baron Gallart and other foreign officers went over to the side of the Swedes. Left without commanders, the Russians faltered, panic began. The regiments rushed to the Narova. The soldiers fled to the only bridge across the river.

Fyodor Grach fled with everyone. He ran without seeing anything, ran, stumbled, fell, got up and ran again. The bridge was temporary, light. Rook caught up with the bridge and suddenly remembered the words of an experienced soldier. Fyodor stopped and turned to his comrades.

- Stop! - screams. - Stop, brothers! Fear is worse than death!

Rook screams, but no one pays attention to him. Grach grabs his comrades by the hand, wants to stop, but where really. The soldiers pushed Fyodor aside, ran along the shaky, bending boards of the bridge. The bridge buckled. The wooden flooring sank, touched the water.

The water churned and gurgled. And suddenly the bridge failed. The fragile hemp ropes snapped. The bridge creaked and collapsed.

Grach looks at Narova - carries a river of water, drags Russian soldiers into the abyss.

Fyodor turned away, sat down on a stone, clutching his head. Suddenly he hears someone put a hand on his shoulder.

Grach raised his head, looks - in front of him is an experienced soldier.

Do you see what fear does? - the soldier turns to Fedor.

“Yes,” says the soldier. - Know. Now take the fuse. You hear - the shooting is coming from the right. Then the Tsar's Guards regiments - Preobrazhensky and Semenovsky - are fighting. We went to help. And that the people are dying, that's what the war is for. Here, who overcame fear, he is a real soldier.

"LET THE DEVIL HIMSELF FIGHT WITH SUCH SOLDIERS!"

Approaching Narva, the Swedish king Karl said: "Moscow men will scatter at the mere sight of my soldiers."

However, the king soon had to change his mind. I didn't want to, but I had to. It happened like this.

Hearing a strong firing near Narova - and there the Preobrazhenians and Semenovtsy fought - Karl rushed to his troops.

The king arrived in time: the guards pushed back, repulsed the Swedes. That and look, the Swedes will turn into a shameful flight.

- Swedes, Swedes! Karl shouted. “God and your king are with you!” Follow me Swedes!

The soldiers perked up and rushed into battle with renewed vigor.

To the left, from a low hill, a Russian cannon fired. With a boil, the cannonballs crashed into the Swedish ranks, felling several people at once.

- Guns, bring guns here! Karl shouted.

Several soldiers rushed to obey the order. Soon a Swedish battery appeared.

The cores fell short, about thirty meters from the Russian cannon.

- Fire! Karl shouted.

Again shortfall.

From the third shot, Swedish cores fell next to the cannon. Snow dust rose.

Like toys, it was thrown into the air and scattered in different directions by Russian soldiers.

- Hooray! Karl shouted. - Hooray! and waved his hat.

However, when the dust subsided, the king saw: a soldier was standing by the cannon, as if there was no volley at all. Karl looked - the soldier has no right hand. The entire side of the gunner is covered in blood. Like a broken branch, a bare bone sticks out of the shoulder. The soldier holds a fuse in his left hand, shouts something, aims a cannon directly at the Swedish king.

- Crazy! the king shouted.

At this time, another shot rang out, and Karl fell from his horse.

When the king got out from under the dead horse and looked around, the soldier was no longer in the same place.

Limping on a bruised leg, Karl climbed the hill.

Next to the Russian cannon, bleeding, lay a soldier. The hero's eyes were half-closed, lips uttered some words. Karl leaned towards the dying man. “A Russian Swede beats with one left,” the soldier stubbornly repeated.

Later, when the battle ended, Karl tried to find out the name of the hero.

However, no one could answer the king's question. Then Charles summoned Baron Gallart.

“What kind of soldier, I don’t know,” Gallart replied, “however, Your Majesty, I can assure you that the Russians have a lot of them. People are not crazy. Let the devil himself fight with such soldiers!

Karl looked at Gallart, remembered his words spoken on the approach to Narva, thought, did not answer.

HOW MAJOR PEEL ACCEPTED DEATH

Back in Moscow, an old gypsy told Major Piel that he would die at the hands of a Russian soldier. (German Major Piel was in the service of the Russians.)

Peel's disposition was cheerful and light.

He laughed at the words of the gypsy, told his comrades and forgot.

I remembered them already near Narva, in the midst of the battle.

Having learned that Baron Gallart and other foreign officers had betrayed the Russians, Major Piel also wanted to go over to the side of the Swedes. However, the major was not so lucky. Piel was intercepted by a Russian soldier. The soldier's face is healthy, his eyes are evil. The major barely took off. Well, the blizzard helped.

Abstract

Since ancient times, Russians have been considered good sailors. They made long voyages and traded with other nations. But the enemies sought to take away access to the sea from Russia. Turkish invaders took possession of the northern shores of the Black Sea. The shores of the Baltic Sea and the adjacent lands of the Latvians and Estonians were captured by the Swedes. At that time Sweden was a very strong state. Her army was considered one of the best in the world. In addition, Sweden had a large, well-armed fleet. In 1700, the smart and active Russian Tsar Peter I declared war on Sweden. The war with the Swedes lasted twenty-one years and ended with the complete victory of the Russians. In history, it was called the North. For Russia, the Northern War began unsuccessfully. Under the Swedish fortress of Narva, the Russians were defeated. About how and why this happened, as well as what needed to be done for future victories and about the very first victories, you will learn from the story "The Unprecedented Happens".

Alekseev Sergey

Chapter first

Bomb squad captain

"Without Narva you can't see the sea"

"Talk, sir, with the soldiers"

"Who is a coward - go to the convoy"

About two men

"Fear is worse than death!"

“Let the devil himself fight with such soldiers!”

How Major Peel accepted death

“Students will learn and thank their teachers”

Chapter Two

"Sir, let me speak"

bells

"Hay, straw!"

About boyar beards

What young boyars studied abroad

Let everyone know

“Rejoice in the little, then the big will come”

Mitka the liar

Chapter Three

Boats go on dry land

“Sovereign Pyotr Alekseevich ordered a retreat!”

The swedes threw out the white flag

The Unprecedented happens

On the banks of the Neva

City by the sea

golden ruble

Chapter Four

hike again

Masquerade fight

Babat Barabyka

General Gorn's sword

For the glory of Russia

Alekseev Sergey

The Unprecedented happens

Chapter first

On the river Narova

hike

The Russian army went to Narva. Tra-ta-ta, tra-ta-ta! - the regimental drums beat out the marching shot.

Troops marched through the ancient Russian cities of Novgorod and Pskov, marching with drums and songs.

It was a dry autumn. And suddenly it started to rain. The leaves fell from the trees. Washed out the road. The cold has begun.

Soldiers are walking along roads washed out by rain, soldiers' feet are drowning knee-deep in mud.

The soldiers will get tired, get wet during the day, but there is nowhere to warm up. Villages were rare. More and more nights were spent outdoors. Soldiers make fires, huddle close to the fire, lie down on the wet ground.

Together with everyone, Ivan Brykin, a quiet, inconspicuous soldier, went to Narva. Like everyone else, Brykin kneaded impassable mud, carried a heavy flintlock gun to the fusee, dragged a large soldier's bag, like everyone else, went to bed on the damp earth.

Only Brykin was timid. Whoever is bolder will settle down closer to the fire, and Brykin lies on the sidelines, tossing and turning from the cold until morning.

There is a good soldier who will say:

What are you, Ivan? Does life cost you?

What a life! Brykin will answer. - Our life is a penny. Who needs a soldier's life!

The soldiers grew thin, broke off on the way, fell ill, lagged behind the troops, died on long roads and in foreign villages.

Ivan Brykin could not stand the campaign either. He reached Novgorod and took to his bed. Brykin began to have a fever, his bones ached. The soldiers laid a comrade on a wagon cart. So Ivan got to Ilmen Lake. The carts stopped near the shore. The soldiers unharnessed their horses, gave them water to drink, and went to bed.

Dremal and Brykin. The patient woke up in the middle of the night. I felt a terrible cold, opened my eyes, crept up to the edge of the cart, looked - there was water all around. The wind blows, the waves carry. Brykin hears distant soldier voices. And here's what happened. Ilmen-lake broke out at night. The water blew up from the wind, raged, poured onto the shore. The soldiers rushed to the carts, but it was too late. They had to leave the convoy on the shore.

Save! Brykin shouted.

But at that moment a wave ran up, the cart was thrown on its side.

Save me! Brykin shouted again and choked.

The water covered the soldier with his head, picked him up, dragged him into the lake.

By morning the water subsided. The soldiers gathered the surviving good, went on.

But no one remembered Ivan. He is not the first, he is not the last - then many soldiers died on the way to Narva.

Bomb squad captain

It is difficult for soldiers on the march. A cannon got stuck on a bridge while crossing a small stream. A rotten log was pressed through one of the wheels, fell through to the very hub.

Soldiers shout at horses, beat with rawhide whips. Horses for a long journey emaciated - skin and bones.

The horses are straining with all their might, but there is no benefit - the gun is not moving.

Soldiers crowded around the bridge, surrounded the cannon, trying to pull it out on their hands.

Forward! one shouts.

Back! - The command is given by another.

The soldiers are making noise, arguing, but things are not moving forward. Runs around the gun sergeant. He doesn't know what to come up with.

Suddenly, soldiers look - a carved wagon is rushing along the road.

Well-fed horses galloped to the bridge, stopped. An officer got out of the cart. The soldiers looked - the captain of the bombardment company. The captain's height is enormous, about two meters, his face is round, his eyes are large, on his lip, as if glued, a pitch-black mustache.

The soldiers were frightened, stretched their arms at their sides, froze.

Things are bad, brothers, - said the captain.

That's right, scorer-captain! the soldiers yelled back.

Well, they think the captain will start cursing now.

And there is. The captain approached the cannon and examined the bridge.

Who is the eldest? - asked.

I, mister scorer-captain, - said the sergeant.

So you save military goodness! - the captain attacked the sergeant. You don’t look at the road, you don’t feel sorry for the horses!

Yes, I ... yes, we ... - the sergeant began to speak.

But the captain did not listen, turned around - and slap the sergeant on the neck!

Then he went up to the cannon again, took off his smart caftan with red lapels, and crawled under the wheels. The captain pulled himself up, picked up the cannon with his heroic shoulder. The soldiers grunted in surprise. They ran up, jumped up. The cannon trembled, the wheel came out of the gap, 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 wagon and galloped on.

The soldiers opened their mouths, looking after the captain.

Gee! said the sergeant.

And soon the soldier caught up with the general with officers.

Hey, servicemen, - the general shouted, - didn’t the sovereign’s cart pass here?

No, your highness, - the soldiers answered, - only the bombardier captain passed here.

Bomber captain? the general asked.

Yes sir! the soldiers answered.

Fools, 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. It overtakes the tsar’s cart, which stretches for many miles, the regiments, goes around the carts stuck in the mud.

A man sits next to Peter. Growth - like a king, only wider in the shoulders. This is Menshikov.

Peter knew Menshikov since childhood.

At that time Aleksashka Menshikov served at the pie-man's as a boy. I walked around the Moscow bazaars and squares, selling pies.

Hearth pies, hearth pies! - shouted, tearing his throat, Menshikov.

Once Aleksashka was fishing on the Yauza River, opposite the village of Preobrazhensky. Suddenly Menshikov looks - a boy is walking. I guessed from the clothes - the young king.

Do you want me to show you the trick? - Aleksashka turned to Peter.

Menshikov grabbed a needle and thread and pierced his cheek, so deftly that he extended the thread, but there was not a drop of blood on his cheek.

Peter even cried out in surprise.

More than ten years have passed since that time. Do not recognize now Menshikov. The king has the first friend and adviser. “Alexander Danilovich,” they now respectfully call the former Aleksashka.

Hey Hey! - shouts the soldier sitting on the goats.

The horses are running at full speed. They throw up the royal cart on the potholes. Dirt is scattered to the sides.

Peter sits silently, looks at the soldier's back, remembers his childhood, games and amusing army.

Then Peter lived near Moscow, in the village of Preobrazhensky. Most of all he loved war games. They recruited guys for him, brought guns and cannons. Only there were no real nuclei. They shot with a steamed turnip. Peter will gather his army, divide it into two halves, and the battle begins. Then they count the losses: one arm was broken, the side of another was knocked off, and the third was completely sent to the next world.

It used to happen that the boyars would come from Moscow, they would start scolding Peter for funny games, and he would point a gun at them - bang! - and a steamed turnip flies into fat bellies and bearded faces. The boyars will pick up the floors of embroidered caftans - and run away. And Peter draws his sword and shouts:

Victoria! Victoria! Victory! The enemy showed his back!

Now the amusing army has grown. These are two real regiments Preobrazhensky and Semenovsky. The king calls them guards. Together with all the regiments go to Narva, together they knead the impassable mud. “Somehow old buddies will show themselves? Peter thinks. “It’s not for you to fight with the boyars.”

Sovereign! - Menshikov brings the tsar out of his thoughts. - Sovereign, Narva is visible.

Looks Peter. There is a fortress on the left steep bank of the Narova River. Around the fortress - stone ...

Sergei Petrovich Alekseev

The Unprecedented happens

Chapter first

ON THE NAROVA RIVER

The Russian army went to Narva. Tra-ta-ta, tra-ta-ta! - the regimental drums beat out the marching shot.

Troops marched through the ancient Russian cities of Novgorod and Pskov, marching with drums and songs.

It was a dry autumn. And suddenly it started to rain. The leaves fell from the trees. Washed out the road. The cold has begun.

Soldiers are walking along roads washed out by rain, soldiers' feet are drowning knee-deep in mud.

The soldiers will get tired, get wet during the day, but there is nowhere to warm up. Villages were rare. More and more nights were spent outdoors. Soldiers make fires, huddle close to the fire, lie down on the wet ground.

Together with everyone, Ivan Brykin, a quiet, inconspicuous soldier, went to Narva. Like everyone else, Brykin kneaded impassable mud, carried a heavy flintlock gun to the fusee, dragged a large soldier's bag, like everyone else, went to bed on the damp earth.

Only Brykin was timid. Whoever is bolder will settle down closer to the fire, and Brykin lies on the sidelines, tossing and turning from the cold until morning.

There is a good soldier who will say:

What are you, Ivan? Does life cost you?

What a life! Brykin will answer. - Our life is a penny. Who needs a soldier's life!

The soldiers grew thin, broke off on the way, fell ill, lagged behind the troops, died on long roads and in foreign villages.

Ivan Brykin could not stand the campaign either. He reached Novgorod and took to his bed. Brykin began to have a fever, his bones ached. The soldiers laid a comrade on a wagon cart. So Ivan got to Ilmen Lake. The carts stopped near the shore. The soldiers unharnessed their horses, gave them water to drink, and went to bed.

Dremal and Brykin. The patient woke up in the middle of the night. I felt a terrible cold, opened my eyes, crept up to the edge of the cart, looked - there was water all around. The wind blows, the waves carry. Brykin hears distant soldier voices. And here's what happened. Ilmen-lake broke out at night. The water blew up from the wind, raged, poured onto the shore. The soldiers rushed to the carts, but it was too late. They had to leave the convoy on the shore.

Save! Brykin shouted.

But at that moment a wave ran up, the cart was thrown on its side.

Save me! Brykin shouted again and choked.

The water covered the soldier with his head, picked him up, dragged him into the lake.

By morning the water subsided. The soldiers gathered the surviving good, went on.

But no one remembered Ivan. He is not the first, he is not the last - then many soldiers died on the way to Narva.

CAPTAIN OF THE BOMBARDING COMPANY

It is difficult for soldiers on the march. A cannon got stuck on a bridge while crossing a small stream. A rotten log was pressed through one of the wheels, fell through to the very hub.

Soldiers shout at horses, beat with rawhide whips. Horses for a long journey emaciated - skin and bones.

The horses are straining with all their might, but there is no benefit - the gun is not moving.

Soldiers crowded around the bridge, surrounded the cannon, trying to pull it out on their hands.

Forward! one shouts.

Back! - The command is given by another.

The soldiers are making noise, arguing, but things are not moving forward. Runs around the gun sergeant. He doesn't know what to come up with.

Suddenly, soldiers look - a carved wagon is rushing along the road.

Well-fed horses galloped to the bridge, stopped. An officer got out of the cart. The soldiers looked - the captain of the bombardment company. The captain's height is enormous, about two meters, his face is round, his eyes are large, on his lip, as if glued, a pitch-black mustache.

The soldiers were frightened, stretched their arms at their sides, froze.

Things are bad, brothers, - said the captain.

That's right, scorer-captain! the soldiers yelled back.

Well, they think the captain will start cursing now.

And there is. The captain approached the cannon and examined the bridge.

Who is the eldest? - asked.

I, mister scorer-captain, - said the sergeant.

So you save military goodness! - the captain attacked the sergeant. You don’t look at the road, you don’t feel sorry for the horses!

Yes, I ... yes, we ... - the sergeant began to speak.

But the captain did not listen, turned around - and slap the sergeant on the neck!

Then he went up to the cannon again, took off his smart caftan with red lapels, and crawled under the wheels. The captain pulled himself up, picked up the cannon with his heroic shoulder. The soldiers grunted in surprise. They ran up, jumped up. The cannon trembled, the wheel came out of the gap, 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 wagon and galloped on.

The soldiers opened their mouths, looking after the captain.

Gee! said the sergeant.

And soon the soldier caught up with the general with officers.

Hey, servicemen, - the general shouted, - didn’t the sovereign’s cart pass here?

No, your highness, - the soldiers answered, - only the bombardier captain passed here.

Bomber captain? the general asked.

Yes sir! the soldiers answered.

Fools, what kind of captain is this? This is Tsar Peter Alekseevich himself!

"WITHOUT NAVA YOU CAN'T SEE THE SEA"

Well-fed horses run merrily. It overtakes the tsar’s cart, which stretches for many miles, the regiments, goes around the carts stuck in the mud.

A man sits next to Peter. Growth - like a king, only wider in the shoulders. This is Menshikov.

Peter knew Menshikov since childhood.

At that time Aleksashka Menshikov served at the pie-man's as a boy. I walked around the Moscow bazaars and squares, selling pies.

Hearth pies, hearth pies! - shouted, tearing his throat, Menshikov.

Once Aleksashka was fishing on the Yauza River, opposite the village of Preobrazhensky. Suddenly Menshikov looks - a boy is walking. I guessed from the clothes - the young king.

Do you want me to show you the trick? - Aleksashka turned to Peter.

Menshikov grabbed a needle and thread and pierced his cheek, so deftly that he extended the thread, but there was not a drop of blood on his cheek.

Peter even cried out in surprise.

More than ten years have passed since that time. Do not recognize now Menshikov. The king has the first friend and adviser. “Alexander Danilovich,” they now respectfully call the former Aleksashka.

Hey Hey! - shouts the soldier sitting on the goats.

The horses are running at full speed. They throw up the royal cart on the potholes. Dirt is scattered to the sides.

Peter sits silently, looks at the soldier's back, remembers his childhood, games and amusing army.

Then Peter lived near Moscow, in the village of Preobrazhensky. Most of all he loved war games. They recruited guys for him, brought guns and cannons. Only there were no real nuclei. They shot with a steamed turnip. Peter will gather his army, divide it into two halves, and the battle begins. Then they count the losses: one arm was broken, the side of another was knocked off, and the third was completely sent to the next world.

It used to happen that the boyars would come from Moscow, they would start scolding Peter for funny games, and he would point a gun at them - bang! - and a steamed turnip flies into fat bellies and bearded faces. The boyars will pick up the floors of embroidered caftans - and run away. And Peter draws his sword and shouts:

Victoria! Victoria! Victory! The enemy showed his back!

Now the amusing army has grown. These are two real regiments Preobrazhensky and Semenovsky. The king calls them guards. Together with all the regiments go to Narva, together they knead the impassable mud. “Somehow old buddies will show themselves? Peter thinks. “It’s not for you to fight with the boyars.”

Sovereign! - Menshikov brings the tsar out of his thoughts. - Sovereign, Narva is visible.

Looks Peter. There is a fortress on the left steep bank of the Narova River. Around the fortress - a stone wall. Near the river you can see the Narva Castle - a fortress in the fortress. The main tower of Long German Castle stretched high into the sky.

And opposite the Narva, on the right bank of the Narova, is another fortress: Ivan-gorod. And Ivan-city is surrounded by an impregnable wall.

It is not easy, sir, to fight such a fortress, - says Menshikov.

It's not easy, says Peter. - It's necessary. We cannot live without Narva. You can't see the sea without Narva.

"TALK, SOVEREIGN, WITH SOLDIERS"

Peter came to Narva, gathered the generals, began to ask about the state of the troops.

It is embarrassing for the generals to tell the tsar the truth. They are afraid of the royal wrath. The generals report that everything is fine, that the troops reached without losses. And there are enough guns, and there are cannonballs, and good gunpowder.

And what about provisions? - asks Peter.

And there is provisions, - the generals answer.

So, - says Pyotr, and he leaned over to Menshikov, whispering in his ear: I can’t believe something, Danilych, I saw something else on the way.

Lie. Oh god, they lie! - answers Menshikov. - Go and talk, sire, with the soldiers.

Peter went. He looks - the soldiers are standing, cleaning their guns.

How are you, servants? - asks Peter.

It is nothing, sir, God is merciful, - the soldiers answer.

Well, did a lot of people die along the way? - asks Peter.

Volume I
INCREDIBLE HAPPENS
Novels and stories

Drawings by L. Nepomniachtchi

MODERN!

(About the books of Sergey Alekseev)

Children love historical novels and stories, as well as school history lessons. This is fraught with some danger for the teacher and the writer: it is very easy to follow the lead of "wide demand". The authors, encouraged by success, sometimes forget that history is truly interesting and in a high sense useful only when it “works” for our Today and even helps to look into tomorrow, when it educates, enriches with moral and political experience.
Sergei Alekseev writes historical novels and stories, making sure that they give rise to the young reader's thoughts and feelings that he needs now, today, and therefore these works are truly modern. In fact, in hundreds of letters, the guys report how they equate their current actions to incorruptibility, obsession in the struggle for the truth, to the courage of the heroes of Sergei Alekseev's books, who lived decades ago.
Entertaining is an obligatory requirement of the very "specificity of children's literature", which other critics in vain tend to consider "notorious".
Neglect of this sometimes cruelly avenges itself: even a very interesting and valuable book, from the point of view of adults, sometimes lies untouched on the shelves of children's libraries. S. Alekseev always takes into account the heightened interest of the children in the plot, in the brightness and unusualness of events.
But at the same time, he does not allow himself to shamelessly "exploit" this special childish interest.
His stories are not only attractive in form, but above all they are weighty in content.
Subtly and cleverly, the author paints the image of Peter in the story "The Unprecedented Happens". Peter on the pages of his story is really Great: he is "either an academician, or a hero, or a navigator, or a carpenter."
But he is also a feudal tsar and a despot tsar, who believes that all means are good to achieve the set goal.
The historical regularity of all these contradictions in the personality of Peter is not “explained” by the author, but is revealed figuratively, and therefore it is accessible to readers who are only nine to eleven years old (all historical stories by S. Alekseev are available to young children).
This is for them, for those who are still in the third or fourth grade, S. Alekseev painted in the story "The Story of a Serf Boy" a tragic and deeply truthful picture of the martyrdom of the peasants in the serfdom Russia XVIII century. And it's amazing: the serf boy Mitya Myshkin began ... to receive letters from fellow readers. They not only sympathize with Mitya, but also offer a helping hand! This is how the thoughts and hearts of our boys and girls today are tested in relation to the events of the past.
Over the years of literary work, Sergei Alekseev created a whole historical library. Most of these works are now included in the collection of his works offered to readers.
Readers will learn about the great national campaign - the peasant war led by Stepan Razin - from the story "The Terrible Horseman", they will get acquainted with the little Pugachevite Grishatka Sokolov in the story "The Life and Death of Grishatka Sokolov", they will read about the courage of Russian soldiers, about Suvorov's miracle heroes in " Stories about Suvorov and Russian soldiers, the events of the Patriotic War of 1812 will be presented to readers in the story Bird-Glory.
Other works of Sergei Alekseev are also widely known - the stories "Decembrists", "The Son of a Giant", "Brother", a book of stories about Vladimir Ilyich Lenin "Secret Request", the book "October Walks the Country", a book of stories about civil war"Reds and Whites".
For several years the writer worked on stories about the Great Patriotic war. They compiled, in my opinion, excellently written books for children about the great national feat "There is a people's war" and "Bogatyr surnames."
In the report at the IV Congress of Writers of Russia, Sergei Alekseev was called an innovative writer. I think this is a well-deserved definition. In the person of Sergei Alekseev, Soviet children's literature received a very original writer.
The master of historical prose Alexei Yugov once exclaimed from the pages “ literary newspaper":" A brave author, a brave publishing house! - I thought when I opened Sergey Alekseev's book "Unprecedented happens" - Peter!.. A gigantic personality of Russian history. And suddenly - for the guys, and even "junior school"! Let's see, let's see! .. - And - I read it ... "
I also read the historical stories of Sergei Alekseev. Read like a boy. And thanks to the author for this.
And here is what Lev Kassil wrote in his review of Sergey Alekseev’s first book: important points... the brightest epochs in the history of our Motherland - all this makes the stories of S. Alekseev extremely valuable both from an educational and purely literary point of view. And the ability to convey the originality of the characters and the magnificent, precise and figurative language give Alekseev's works a genuine charm. And further: "They are textbook simple and will be included in the circle of schoolchildren's favorite reading."
And so it happened.
"The ABC of patriotism" called the books of Sergei Alekseev famous critic Igor Motyashov.
The works of Sergei Alekseev were published in 24 languages ​​of the peoples of the USSR, as well as in 17 foreign languages. For creating stories from Russian history, Sergei Alekseev was awarded the N. K. Krupskaya State Prize of the RSFSR and the Lenin Komsomol Prize.
In 1978, by decision of the international jury, the name of the writer was included in the Honorary List of G.-Kh. Andersen with the presentation of an honorary diploma named after the great Danish storyteller.
I would like to sincerely congratulate Sergei Alekseev on these high marks for his literary work.
Sergei Mikhalkov.
Hero of Socialist Labor,
laureate of the Lenin Prize

TERRIBLE HORSEMAN

Stories about Stepan Razin

Cossacks and rebellious people

- Razin, Razin is coming!
- Stepan Timofeevich!
1670. Restless in the state of Russia. The boyars and the tsar's servants are in great alarm. The forced, oppressed people rose up, started up. Peasants, Cossacks, Bashkirs, Tatars, Mordovians. Hundreds of them, great thousands.
The peasant army is led by the dashing ataman, the Don Cossack Stepan Timofeevich Razin.
- Glory to Razin, glory!
About Stepan Timofeevich Razin - the people's commander and leader - these stories are written.
The reader will learn about the great people's campaign, about the reforms carried out by the Razintsy in the liberated cities and villages, about the organization of the rebel troops, about their plans for the future transformation of Russia.

Chapter first
HOW CITIES ARE TAKEN

PRINCE'S HORSE

A detachment of riders rode through a peasant field. They climbed up the hill. The horsemen are watching - what a marvel! The man is plowing the land. Just not a horse in his plow. Instead of a horse, three were harnessed: a peasant wife, an old mother, and a young son.
People will pull the plow, pull, stop and again for work.
Horsemen drove up to the plowman.
The chief of them looked sternly.
- What are you, your soul, little people instead of cattle!
The peasant looks - in front of him is a man of enormous growth. Cap with a red top on the head. Green boots on the feet of saffiano. Dressy caftan. Under the caftan is a colored shirt. The whip is twisted in the hands.
“Looks like a boyar, or maybe the governor himself,” the peasant thinks. He fell down at the feet of a noble gentleman, stretched out on a furrow.
Orphans, we are orphans. I don't have a horse. Taken away for the debts of the breadwinner.
The rider's face twisted. He drops to the ground. I turned to the peasant.
The man backed away, jumped up - and ran away with fright.
- Yes, stop you, goblin, stop you! Where?! came a mocking voice.
The man reluctantly turned back.
“Here, take the horse,” the man handed the reins to the peasant.
The peasant was taken aback. The wife and the old mother froze. The mouth of the little son opened. They're watching. They do not believe in such a miracle.
The horse is stately, tall. Suits gray, all in apples. Prince's horse.
“The master is joking,” the man decides. Costs. Doesn't move.
- Take it. Look, I'll change my mind! the man threatened. And he went to his field.
Horsemen rushed after. Only one young man hesitated for a moment: he accidentally dropped a tobacco pouch.
- The Almighty, the Almighty sent! - the peasant whispered stunned.
The man turned to the horse. And suddenly he was frightened: isn’t all this witchcraft? He reached out to the horse. The horse pulled him with his hoof. The man grabbed the beaten place.
- Real! - howled with great happiness. - Who are you, where are you from? - the man rushed to the young guy.
- People are stray. Falcons are free. Spring winds, - the fellow winked mysteriously.
- Whom should I pray for? Who is the one in the hat?
- Razin. Stepan Timofeevich Razin! - already on the run shouted the rider.

COUNTRY ISHPAGAN

Stepan Timofeevich Razin was born on the Don in the village of Zimoveyskaya. Stepan's father, Timothy Razya, raised his son in Cossack strictness: be honest, be direct, don't leave a friend in trouble, don't rot your hat in front of the strong. Razin grew up handsome, handsome, broad-shouldered, broad-chested. From childhood he sat on a horse like a glove. Stepan's curls are thick, like steppe grasses. The eyes are black. Like black fire burning.
“Cossack, Cossack,” said old Razya, looking at his son. - By blood - a Cossack, by a look - a Cossack. Take care, son, the honor of the Cossacks from a young age ...
In 1667, having gathered up to a thousand fellows just like himself, Stepan Timofeevich Razin crossed from the Don to the Volga, then to Yaik, and from there he moved to overseas countries by the Caspian Sea. Often then the Cossacks went in search of distant, free lands. There, beyond the seas, they were looking for happiness. We went on trips to Turkey, to Persia. Persia was called the "country of Ishpagan". Razin led his Cossacks on a visit to the Persian khans.
The Cossack plows unfurled their sails. From wave to wave, from wave to wave, they swim like a brood of swans. Farther and farther away is the native land. Hiding behind the Caspian wave.
Cossacks are a daring people. Do not take them from the brave courage. However, a sea trip is not a walk in the woods for a berry.
- What awaits us in a distant land?
- How will the country of Ishpagan meet us?
- Are you destined to return home?
“Ishpagan, Ishpagan,” Razin argues with himself. He stands on the ataman's front plow. Looks at the water, at the sky, into the blue distance. - "Ishpagan" - what a tricky word.
The Cossacks passed through the Caspian Sea. We visited Derbent, Shirvan, Baku. There is the city of Rasht in Persia, there is Farabad, there is Astrabad. And here they saw dashing Donets. Hundreds of miles passed the Cossacks. They entered into heated battles with the Persians. Nearly died wintering in a foreign land. They fought with the Persian squadron. They showed intelligence and heroism. However, no free land was found. True, they returned back with prey.
The Caspian is pumping streltsy plows. Drives to the house favourable wind.
“Ishpagan, Ishpagan,” Razin argues with himself, “there is no free land in the world. And is happiness worth looking for a thousand miles from home. Oh, to twist the boyars in their land! People would have bread and freedom.
Daring thoughts at Razin.
"Ishpagan, Ishpagan - there is no free land in the world."
Here is the native shore in the distance. Seagulls greet people with a cry.

TURBAN

The Cossacks returned from the campaign. Became on vacation in Astrakhan. Were leaving for Persian lands- it was a pity to look at them. The Cossacks were completely dressed up. Not everyone had shirts either. On the clothes, a hole to a hole was then molded.
Well, now you look at the Cossacks - it will charge in your eyes. Who is in a cloth caftan, who is in velvet. Who is in a fox coat, who is in a sable. Almost everyone has dressing gowns - scarlet, yellow, cherry, crimson.
August. The sun is on fire. Sweat flows in streams. However, dashing Donets suffer. They go in caftans, robes and fur coats. They flaunt their outfit.
When the Persian booty was divided, Crooked Simoshka got a turban. The turban is expensive, silk. Gold, pearls embroidered. And the size is just on Simoshka. He put his Cossack turban on his forelock. Now you look at Simoshka, as if it were not a Cossack, but an important Turk.
I like Simoshka in his turban. The people stare at Simoshka with astonishing mouths. The boys run after them. Simoshka is walking, squinting at people with a crooked eye, smiling somehow stupidly, like a hare.
I met my friend Gavrila Bolshoy - he boasted of his turban.
I met Nepeyvod's Favorite - he also boasted of this with a turban.
“Sewn with gold and pearls,” Simoshka explains to anyone. - Such a turban costs two hundred Cossack hats. The Turkish pasha himself wore it before me.
The Cossack was walking, walking along the streets of Astrakhan, and suddenly ran nose to nose with Razin. Razin stopped, looked at the unusual appearance of the Cossack, at the turban, at the crooked eye, at Simoshka's stupid smile, pointed his finger, and said:
- Turk?
Simoshka was taken aback.
- Father ataman, I'm a Cossack. I'm Simoshka Krivoy," he added hastily.
- What a curve - I see it, - Razin answered. - There is a curve, but I don’t see a Cossack.
- I'm with the Don, father Stepan Timofeevich. We went to Ishpagan together with you. I'm a Cossack, a Cossack, - says Simoshka.
“I don’t see, I don’t see,” Razin repeated. His voice became stern.
Simoshka figured out what was the matter, he was not so stupid, he hastily threw off his turban.
Stepan Timofeyevich looked at the Cossack and said again:
- No Cossack. I do not see.
Crooked Simoshka's heart skipped a beat. It seemed to him that Razin reached out for a sharp Cossack saber.
"Well, how will he kill!"
- One minute! shouted Simoshka.
He rushed to the side, to the trading rows. A minute passed - and indeed returned. Simoshka does not have a turban in his hands. Smushkovy hat on the head.
Razin looked at the cap, grinned:
- Well, now I see that you are a Cossack.
Simoshka broke into a smile.
Then the Cossack lamented:
- Ataman is stern, stern. And how did I catch his eye? Suddenly, I would have exchanged two hundred Cossack hats for that turban.
The story of the turban and others served as a science. They threw off fox razints, sable fur coats. They again put on zipuns and Cossack scrolls.
Having rested after a sea trip to Astrakhan, Razin, together with the Cossacks, returned to his place on the Don.

"ONE IS EQUAL TO ONE"

We joyfully met the Razintsy on the Don. Many have already lost faith that the Cossacks will return home. There were various rumors about them. Then people whispered that the Don people drowned in the restless Caspian Sea. Then new news came to replace: somewhere in some battles the Cossacks laid down their violent heads.
And suddenly - safe, unharmed, they returned home.
- Oh, daring people!
- Well, how is it, in a foreign land?
- Is the country Ishpagan good?
“Is it true that there is neither sun nor moon there?”
The stanitsa look at the overseas booty. They fly like flies to Razin:
“Maybe you can go hiking again?” We would be with you too. And your robes and fur coats would fit us, gold and silver would not hurt.
But Razin has a different thought:
“Yes, is happiness in Persian robes! Even if every tenth purse fills, people will not become richer.
Stepan Timofeevich traveled a lot around the world. Even old Razya once said:
- Shatun!
He also went south to the Krymchaks and Nogais, in a military campaign to the Polish border he marched to the west. I have been to Moscow twice. He got further - to the very North, to the icy White Sea.
Stepan had seen enough, had seen enough. The boyars pressed Russia everywhere. It's hard everywhere for a person.
- No, it's not joy in dressing gowns. Happiness, stanitsa, must be sought elsewhere. The bird has a will, - Stepan Timofeevich reasoned. - The fish has will. A steppe insect, a forest animal - and these are their own masters. Why are people worse in the world? Eh, the boyars saddled Rus! There would be no way to rear up the horse and those who climbed on the neck, to throw off in one fell swoop.
The Cossacks marveled at unusual speeches. Of course, who was more expensive, richer, was not in a hurry to shout: “I agree!”
But most:
- It's your truth, it's true, Stepan! It's time for the people to rise up.
Shortly after returning to the Don, Razin visited Cherkassk, the capital of the Don army. Here he had a cool conversation with the military chieftain Kornila Khodnev.
- Something you, Stenka, stir up the people! - Ataman said sternly.
- Am I tormenting, Kornila? Maybe the boyars are to blame? That would be someone to answer.
- Do not spoil, Cossack, do not spoil!
Kornila is the eldest here on the Don. Before the king, he is responsible for everything.
- You, Stenka, hide your tongue. I speak kindly, in my own way.
- Oh, Kornila, Kornila Yakovlevich! Razin looked at the ataman with a grin. - You seem to have flown high. I nailed to the boyar flock. Yes, as if from heaven does not collapse.
Hodnev frowned. The Cossack is making painfully impudent speeches. Yes, for such words ... However, the military chieftain is cautious. Knows: on Don Razin at a premium. Power is behind Razin. Kornila decided not to quarrel yet.
- Well, well, so what Russia are you for?
- There is no poor you, no rich. Equals one to one. That's what Russia is for, ”answered Cornille Razin.

HEAD

1670. Like three years ago, Razin again came to the Volga. But now the ataman has gathered not for the profit. Not in distant lands to look for happiness. For happiness in the Russian native land, Stepan Timofeevich decided to fight. He declared war on the boyars.
The first city on the way of the rebels is Tsaritsyn. A little higher than the city, on a steep bank, the Razintsy set up a camp.
We would, without delay, take Tsaritsyn, - conversations went among the Cossacks.
The Tsaritsyn townspeople also came here to Razin:
- Come, father, rule. People are waiting for you in Tsaritsyn. It's our common business. We will open the gate for you.
“Take it, ataman, Tsaritsyn,” the advisers press.
However, Razin was in no hurry. He knew that from above along the Volga a large army of archers was moving on plows to Tsaritsyn. The archers have guns, muskets, squeaked. Archers are trained in military affairs. Their noble commander head Lopatin is leading them. “How can we beat such an army with less forces? Razin thinks. You can't bury yourself in the city. Unless you last longer. And we would be under the root. In full Cossack swing.
Lopatin swims closer and closer to Tsaritsyn.
- Take, ataman, a stronghold! - shout the Cossacks.
Not in a hurry, Razin hesitates.
Every day Lopatin sends scouts ahead. They report to the chief how the Cossacks behave:
- They stand on the slopes. The city is not touched.
- Fools, - Lopatin's head chuckles. - There is no good commander among them!
- Father, father, father, take Tsaritsyn, Tsaritsyn! - again the Cossacks implore the ataman.
He is silent, as if he does not hear the calls of Razin. And suddenly Razin disappeared somewhere.
By doing this, the Lopatinsky caravan caught up with the Cossack steeps. There was shooting from there.
"Shoot, shoot! - quipped Lopatin. “It’s important who shoots victoriously.”
He stays away from the dangerous shore. Here is Tsaritsyn in the distance. It's already close. So the salute-hello cannon hit from the fortress.
Satisfied with Lopatin. The boss rubs his hands.
And suddenly… What is it?! Cannonballs rained down from the Tsaritsyno walls. One, the second... the tenth... They fly into the royal boats. The planes bend and sink like paper ships.
On the high city wall, someone noticed a broad-shouldered Cossack in an ataman's caftan.
- Razin, Razin in Tsaritsyn!
- Robbers in the city!
- Stop, turn back!
But at this time, as if on cue, boats with Cossacks rushed to the caravan from both the left and right banks of the Volga. Like bees on honey, the Razintsy climbed onto the streltsy plows.
- Beat them! Crash!
- Cut off your head!
Streltsy planes surrendered.
- Cunning, cunning ataman! - the rebels admired after the victory. - You look - deceived the head! Until the last minute he did not take Tsaritsyn!
- At the head - a head, at Razin - two, - the people of Razin joked.

RAZINSKY TOWN

- Hiter ataman, hitter! - the Razintsy spoke for a long time after they had beaten Lopatin.
“Heather,” agreed those who were together with Razin three years ago in the Persian campaign.
And they began to remember how Razin took Yaitsky town.
And he took it because it was necessary for the Cossacks to spend the winter somewhere before the sea voyage. The governors did not want to let the Cossacks in kindly.
That's how it was.
Yaik river. Caspian Sea. Yaitsky stone town. High Yaik towers, meter walls, oak gates. Not a town, but a stronghold.
“My Cossacks will rest here,” Razin thought. - Yes, just go take the town! You will lay down the half-troop at the walls.
And then one day Razin was reported that people were captured in the steppe. Man thirty. They go to the Yaik fortress. Bogomoltsy. Monks.
Razin wanted to say: “Holy, peaceful people. Let go, let them go." Yes, suddenly realized:
- En wait. Lead here.
The monks appeared.
- Get undressed! - He called the Cossacks: - Get dressed!
They changed outfits.
Restless in the Yaitskaya fortress. The archers know, the chief knows that Razin is somewhere nearby in the steppe. That and look, it will come under the walls.
The commander strengthened the protection of the fortress. Strictly punished no one to let out or let in without a report. By nightfall the gates are all bolted.
The sun was going down. There are sentinels on guard. Look closely at the steppe. Suddenly they see - a group of people is moving towards the city. Take a closer look - the monks.
The pilgrims approached the gates:
- Open.
The guards were confused.
- Where are you going?
- To the Yaik cathedrals. Bow to the icons of the saints.
- Spend the night in the steppe. Not ordered, strangers.
- Oh, you atheists! the monks murmured. - The Lord will remember ...
The guards consulted. Went to report to the boss.
- How many of them?
- Thirty showers.
- Let it in. Yes, see that there is no excess.
That thing got quite dark. The messengers returned. The bolts were opened. The bearded archer, letting in one at a time, began to count the pilgrims.
- One, two ... twentieth ... thirtieth. Stop!
- You that, a beard, do not know how to count? - someone's voice was heard - It hasn't even been twenty yet.
"What? - lost the archer. - It's forty. It's already fifty. Now the men have already gone. So the horse's muzzle poked its head in. One rider, after him - the second, after the second - the third "
- Wait! Stop! - shouts the guard.
Yes, where is it! A big guy ran up to him. He covered his mouth with a prepared gag.
By the time they understood in the fortress what was the matter, by the time they started shouting, it was already too late.
And so Razin got the Yaitsky town without any fight. True, they shot in the streets. Yes, that doesn't count anymore.
There was a boyar town. Became a Razin town.

"SAVE-AND-TE!"

Razin was sitting on the banks of the Volga. Night. Razin leaned on his saber and thought:
“Where to turn to hike? Or to the south - down the Mother Volga, to Astrakhan, to the Caspian Sea. Or go north - to Saratov, Samara, Kazan, and there - to Moscow.
Moscow, Moscow! City to all cities. Here's where to go! Come, disperse the boyars. Yes, early. The forces are not the same. Guns, not enough gunpowder, squeakers, muskets. Men are not used to war. The clothes of many are ragged. It has become, to go south, - says Stepan Timofeevich. - Feed yourself. Get dressed. Troubleshoot the army. And there ... - Razin was breathless. - And there - the whole boyar Russia along the ridge and by the throat!
The ataman sits on the banks of the Volga, thinking his thoughts. Suddenly there was a cry from the river. At first quiet - Razin decided that he had misheard. Then louder and louder:
- Save-and-those!
Darkness around. Black. I can not see anything. But it is clear that someone is drowning, someone is beating in the rapids.
Razin rushed to the river. As he was in clothes, he fell into the water.
Ataman floats to the voice. Sweep, swipe again.
- Who's there - hold on!
Nobody answered.
“Late, late,” Razin laments. “A man died for nothing.” He swam another ten fathoms. Decided to go back. Only at that very moment a shaggy beard darted in front of him and someone's hands twitched.
- Save-and-those! croaked the bearded man. And immediately back under the water.
"En, you won't leave now!" - cheered up the ataman. He dived and dragged the man out. Brought to shore. Laid it on the sand. He pressed his knee to his chest. Water gushed from the mouth of the rescued.
- He got drunk, - Stepan Timofeevich grinned.
Soon the rescued opened his eyes, looked at the chieftain:
- Thank you, Cossack.
Razin looks at the stranger. A frail, withered little man. In bast shoes, in torn trousers, in a linen shirt that had fallen apart on the sides.
- Who are you?
- I'm a runaway. I'm making my way to Razin.
The man groaned and forgot.
At this time, voices were heard on the shore:
- Ba-a-tyushka! Ataman! Stepan Timofeevich!
Looks like close ones went looking for Razin. Razin stepped into the darkness.
The Cossacks caught up with the peasant. Bent down and listened.
- Breathe!
Two of the rescued were dragged to the camp, while the others went further along the banks of the Volga.
- Ba-a-tyushka! Ataman!
In the morning, the centurions reported to Razin that at night one of the Cossacks had saved the runaway man. Just who is unknown. Not recognized in the Cossack hundreds.
- Looks like not everyone was interviewed? Stepan Timofeevich chuckled.
After spending several days in Tsaritsyn, Razin gave the command to go to Astrakhan.

WILL NOT JUDGE

Razin is going down the Volga.
- Razin is coming, Razin!
- Stepan Timofeevich Razin!
Restless in the state of Russia. The boyars and the tsar's servants are in terrible alarm. The forced, oppressed people rose up, started up.

© Alekseev S., 1958

© Motyashov I., Nagaev I., introductory article, 1999

© Kuznetsov A., drawings, 1999

© Design of the series. Publishing house "Children's Literature", 2003

© Compilation. Publishing house "Children's Literature", 2003

Introductory article by I. Motyashov and I. Nagaev
Fascinating - about the most important events of Russian history

The master of historical prose Alexei Yugov once exclaimed from the pages of Literaturnaya Gazeta:

“Brave author, brave publisher! - I thought when I opened Sergei Alekseev's book "The Unprecedented Happens". - Peter! .. A gigantic personality of Russian history. And suddenly - for the guys, and even the "junior school"! Let's see, let's see! .. "And - read out ... "

I also read the historical stories of Sergei Alekseev. Read like a boy. And thanks to the author for this.

Sergei Mikhalkov

In 1958, the first book by Sergei Alekseev, The Unprecedented, is published in Detgiz. The book has been noticed.

Then, already by order of the editors, in one breath - in three weeks - he writes the story "The Story of a Serf Boy". And this book comes out in the same year, 1958. So forty years ago, a new author, the children's writer Sergei Petrovich Alekseev, entered the literature with a firm step.

In one of the first interviews, Alekseev said about himself: “My biography is unremarkable. I belong to the generation of those who immediately stepped into the soldiers from the school bench. He was a military pilot, an instructor pilot. After demobilization from the army, he worked as an editor in a children's publishing house. Then I tried to write a book myself.

Then, in 1959, Detgiz decided to republish The Unprecedented, and Lev Kassil noted in the so-called “internal” review intended for the publishing house that “the writer manages to ... combine high cognition with genuine fascination. Extreme conciseness, lively lightness of language, accuracy of finds, which allows, in their own way, to re-discover very important moments before the children ... of the brightest eras in the history of our Motherland - all this makes the stories of S. Alekseev ... extremely valuable both from an educational and purely literary point of view vision. And the ability to convey the originality of the characters ... and the magnificent, precise and figurative language give Alekseev's works a genuine charm.

And then Lev Abramovich, admonishing the novice author, said truly prophetic words. He said that the stories of "Sergei Alekseev are a definite event in our children's artistic historical prose." That “they are textbook simple and will enter the circle of schoolchildren's favorite reading, contributing to the creation in children of correct ideas about important matters in Russian history. And at the same time, they give real pleasure to anyone who loves intelligent, clear literature, imbued with a cheerful and fresh outlook on life, on history.

The life and talent of Sergei Alekseev fully confirmed the words of the venerable writer spoken about him in advance ...

However, Alekseev became a children's writer not only because he once felt the need to write for children. He went to this for more than thirty years. Through childhood in Pliskov, not far from Vinnitsa, in Ukraine, and adolescence in Moscow, in the house of her scientist aunts. Through the school and the flying club. Through the war, and the flight school, and the history department of the evening department of the Orenburg Pedagogical Institute. Through editorial, literary-critical, organizational work in Detgiz and in the Writers' Union. Through the creation of a school textbook on the history of the USSR, which, albeit in the most remote degree, was the first outline of his future stories and novels. Through a great school of life in children's literature, being for more than thirty years the editor-in-chief of the country's only literary-critical magazine "Children's Literature", dedicated to the problems of literature and art for children. And one day the moment came when everything experienced, felt, understood, everything heard, and read, and done merged into one big, huge whole, urgently demanded an exit and resulted in the Word.

Obviously, not every literary gifted person is able to write a good book for little ones. S. Alekseev has a certain, perhaps even innate, gift for talking with younger children. And this gift is enhanced by a deeply meaningful, conscious approach to one's work. “The main thing in a children's book,” says S. Alekseev, “... is not explanations, but dynamics, action, character that grows out of an act. Such an active character the child quickly grasps, feels it.

In two parts of this book, the best stories of Sergei Petrovich Alekseev about Tsar Peter I and Generalissimo Alexander Vasilyevich Suvorov are collected.

* * *

“Stories about Peter the Great, Narva and military affairs” is the first part of the book. The reader gets acquainted here with the transformations of Peter I, with how he strove to see the expanses of the country more extensive, and people - educated and enlightened. The stories “What did the young boyars study abroad”, “Az, beeches, lead ...” tell about the young generation, the care of which is one of the first things of Peter. He was stern to those who did not want to send their children to study, and to those young nobles who, while studying abroad, tried to shirk the sciences, adopted only the external signs of foreign culture, lost respect for their own Fatherland, or even allowed themselves to be seduced by someone else's. Guardian of the Fatherland, warrior and worker, Peter I wanted to see future generations as worthy successors to the glory of Russia.

Alekseev begins his acquaintance with the hero of the first part of the book with an external portrait, dynamic and lapidary. “The soldiers looked - the captain of the bombardment company. The captain’s height is enormous, about two meters, his face is round, his eyes are large, on his lip, as if glued, a pitch-black mustache. This is Tsar Peter.

Gradually, from short story to short story, the secret of Peter's successful activity, his statesmanship, is revealed. This is the wisdom of human knowledge and experience, which Peter from his youth does not hesitate to adopt from everywhere. This is the wisdom of the people.

With all his mind and democracy, Peter remains the tsar, the lord of the feudal, boyar, noble empire. He cannot but defend his system, suppress popular discontent by the most cruel methods, and shift the main burden of the great state efforts undertaken by him onto the people's shoulders. At the same time, Peter, without a doubt, is a patriot of Russia, and the whole aspiration of his state deeds is patriotic ...

* * *

"Stories about Suvorov and Russian soldiers" are closely connected with the continuity of military-patriotic traditions and the characterization of the great Russian commander Alexander Vasilyevich Suvorov. “Eat, eat, receive. Yes, henceforth do not disdain the soldier. Don't be afraid of soldiers. The soldier is a man. A soldier is dearer to me than myself, ”says Suvorov in the story“ Soup and Porridge ”, referring to generals who are squeamish about everything soldiery, be it food or anything else. For Suvorov, unity with the soldiers is the key to success in achieving military superiority.

In Suvorov, the writer looks for and notes, first of all, the features that allowed him to win victories with a minimum expenditure of human strength and lives. This Suvorov science of effective leadership of large masses of people can to a large extent be perceived by today's reader as a science of leadership in general, as an example of successful state activity on the basis of impeccable competence and humanistic concern for the direct executors.

But, showing the harsh reality that does not make out whether the child is in front of her, or whether it is an adult, Alekseev, as the most sacred duty, understands the duty of an adult to protect the child's soul and children's life, even at the cost of his own life.

It is in this organic dependence of the "children's" and "adult" worlds that the essence of continuity, the guarantee of the continuation and multiplication of human culture, the growth of good on earth. Suvorov does not part with his father's old overcoat in any of the campaigns. But when the overcoat along with the convoy came to the Turks and the soldiers, seeing the chagrin of their beloved marshal, get this overcoat back, Suvorov is indignant: “People are at risk! Because of the overcoat, the soldiers' heads are under Turkish bullets! This is the whole of Suvorov: in anger at the lieutenant, who forced the soldiers to take risks because of him. And in touching joy, which replaced anger: “Then he took the overcoat in his hands, looked at the worn floors, at the patched side and suddenly burst into tears ...”

* * *

“I rewrite each of my books six or seven times,” says S. Alekseev. – I work slowly, returning to the text again and again. I try not to make any edits in the final version. The slightest correction or insertion forces me to rewrite the story again. I think for a long time about how to start, how to finish the book. I try to listen to the phrase, achieve its musicality ... When starting a new job, I usually draw up a plan, but I know from experience that the plan is undergoing changes, and rather unexpected ones.

Yes, it is not easy to be a writer-historian, and besides, to present this story in an exciting and interesting way, so that the young reader would believe in the existence of the heroes of your books, would believe you as a truthful historian ...

In the life of Sergei Alekseev, there were several fateful, as in a fairy tale, transformations. It would seem that Sergei is a gallant pilot and fate is destined for him to be a general, a hero, as happened with his fellow pilots ... But life takes a sharp turn: he, the "Stalin's falcon", enters a tailspin, crashes into mother earth and, like a fabulous finist - clear falcon, turns into a children's writer. A fairy tale affects quickly, but the deed is not done quickly! This miraculous transformation takes a lot of time, effort and years.

Having become a writer, and quite famous, he dares to take also a magazine. His fate again makes a zigzag - and again successfully. Alekseev moved from Kyiv to Moscow, the editorship adds to his social weight and position.

And he is a writer from God! And he knows and understands his reader - a junior schoolboy - thoroughly. That is, it captures the nuances of perception and spiritual needs, the age-related psychology of young readers, their genuine interest in history and lively figurative narration with elements of humor and folk speech so much that it achieves a complete fusion of souls.

On what ideals in our difficult time to educate the younger generation? What remains? And here the writer Sergei Petrovich Alekseev is a happy exception, for he wrote his historical books not only about Lenin and Soviet power, but also about our past and ancient history. And these books live and will live!

I will name the most famous of them: “One Hundred Stories from Russian History”, “The Son of a Giant”, “The Terrible Horseman”, “A People's War Is Going On”, “October Marches Through the Country”, “Decembrists”, “Secret Request”, “Brother”; three books of stories about marshals: Zhukov, Rokossovsky and Konev; "Five bows to Stalingrad"; a series of books: "Peter the Great", "Alexander Suvorov", "Mikhail Kutuzov", "One Hundred Stories about the War", "Historical Tales of Russian Victories", "Severe Age".

According to the reviews of young readers, collected in the 70-80s by the House of Children's Books, Sergey Alekseev often shared first and second places with the most popular in those years, Nikolai Nosov. The total circulation of books by Sergei Alekseev in the 80s was more than fifty million copies. His books were published in forty-nine languages ​​of the peoples of the USSR and foreign countries.

Sergei Petrovich Alekseev is a laureate of the State Prize of the USSR, the State Prize of the RSFSR, the Lenin Komsomol Prize. He was awarded the International Honorary Diploma of H. K. Andersen and the International Prize. M. Gorky. Has a number of pedagogical awards.

Now Sergey Petrovich is in good shape. Recently finished the book "Tales of the Time of Troubles", there are new ideas. Many of the stories of S. P. Alekseev were included in anthologies and "books for reading" for elementary school. Books by Sergei Alekseev continue to be published even in our difficult times. Sergei Petrovich Alekseev remains a sought-after writer...

Igor Motyashov, Igor Nagaev

The Unprecedented happens
Stories about Peter the Great, Narva and military affairs

Chapter first
On the river Narova

hike

The Russian army went to Narva. Tra-ta-ta, tra-ta-ta! - the regimental drums beat out the marching shot.

Troops marched through the ancient Russian cities of Novgorod and Pskov, marching with drums and songs.

It was a dry autumn. And suddenly it started to rain. The leaves fell from the trees. Washed out the road. The cold has begun.

Soldiers are walking along roads washed out by rain, soldiers' feet are drowning knee-deep in mud.

The soldiers will get tired, get wet during the day, but there is nowhere to warm up. Villages were rare. More and more nights were spent outdoors. Soldiers make fires, huddle close to the fire, lie down on the wet ground.

Together with everyone, Ivan Brykin, a quiet, inconspicuous soldier, went to Narva. Like everyone else, Brykin kneaded impassable mud, carried a heavy flintlock gun - a fusee, dragged a large soldier's bag, like everyone else, went to bed on the damp earth.

Only Brykin was timid. Whoever is bolder will settle down closer to the fire, and Brykin lies on the sidelines, tossing and turning from the cold until morning.

There is a good soldier who will say:

What are you, Ivan? Is life not dear to you?

- What a life! Brykin will answer. Our life is a penny. Who needs a soldier's life!

The soldiers grew thin, broke off on the way, fell ill, lagged behind the troops, died on long roads and in foreign villages.

Ivan Brykin could not stand the campaign either. He reached Novgorod and took to his bed. Brykin began to have a fever, his bones ached. The soldiers laid a comrade on a wagon cart. So Ivan got to Ilmen Lake. The carts stopped near the shore. The soldiers unharnessed their horses, gave them water to drink, and went to bed.

Dremal and Brykin. The patient woke up in the middle of the night. I felt a terrible cold, opened my eyes, crept up to the edge of the cart, looked - there was water all around. The wind blows, the waves carry. Brykin hears distant soldier voices. And here's what happened. Ilmen-lake broke out at night. The water blew up from the wind, raged, poured onto the shore. The soldiers rushed to the carts, but it was too late. They had to leave the convoy on the shore.

- Save! Brykin shouted.

But at that moment a wave ran up, the cart was thrown on its side.

- Save it! Brykin shouted again and choked.

The water covered the soldier with his head, picked him up, dragged him into the lake.

By morning the water subsided. The soldiers gathered the surviving good, went on.

But no one remembered Ivan. He is not the first, he is not the last - then many soldiers died on the way to Narva.

Bomb squad captain

It is difficult for soldiers on the march. A cannon got stuck on a bridge while crossing a small stream. A rotten log was pressed through one of the wheels, fell through to the very hub.

Soldiers shout at horses, beat with rawhide whips. Horses for a long journey emaciated - skin and bones.

The horses are straining with all their might, but there is no benefit - the gun is not moving.

Soldiers crowded around the bridge, surrounded the cannon, trying to pull it out on their hands.

- Forward! one shouts.

- Back! - commanded by another.

The soldiers are making noise, arguing, but things are not moving forward. Runs around the gun sergeant. He doesn't know what to come up with.

Suddenly, soldiers look - a carved cart is rushing along the road.

Well-fed horses galloped to the bridge, stopped. An officer got out of the cart. The soldiers looked - the captain of the bombardment company. The captain's height is enormous, about two meters, his face is round, his eyes are large, on his lip, as if glued, a pitch-black mustache.

The soldiers were frightened, stretched their arms at their sides, froze.

“Things are bad, brothers,” said the captain.

“That’s right, scorer-captain!” the soldiers yelled back.

Well, they think the captain will start cursing now.

And there is. The captain approached the cannon and examined the bridge.

- Who is the eldest? – asked.

“I am Bombardier Captain,” said the sergeant.

- So you save military good! 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, turned around - and slap the sergeant on the neck!

Then he went up to the cannon again, took off his smart caftan with red lapels, and crawled under the wheels. The captain pulled himself up, picked up the cannon with his heroic shoulder. The soldiers grunted in surprise. They ran up, jumped up. The cannon trembled, the wheel came out of the gap, 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 wagon and galloped on.

The soldiers opened their mouths, looking after the captain.

– Nu and affairs! said the sergeant.

And soon the soldier caught up with the general with officers.

“Hey, servicemen,” the general shouted, “didn’t the sovereign’s cart pass here?

“No, your highness,” the soldiers answered, “this was the only place where the bombardier captain passed.

- Bombardier captain? the general asked.

- 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. It overtakes the tsar’s cart, which stretches for many miles, the regiments, goes around the carts stuck in the mud.

A man sits next to Peter. Growth - like a king, only wider in the shoulders. This is Mentikov.

Peter knew Menshikov since childhood.

At that time Aleksashka Menshikov served at the pie-man's as a boy. I walked around the Moscow bazaars and squares, selling pies.

- Hearth pies, hearth pies! - shouted, tearing his throat, Menshikov.

Once Aleksashka was fishing on the Yauza River, opposite the village of Preobrazhensky. Suddenly Menshikov looks - a boy is walking. I guessed from the clothes - the young king.

- Do you want me to show you a trick? Aleksashka turned to Peter.

Menshikov grabbed the needle and pierced his cheek, so deftly that he pulled out the thread, but there was not a drop of blood on his cheek.

Peter even cried out in surprise.

More than ten years have passed since that time. Do not recognize now Menshikov. The king has the first friend and adviser. “Alexander Danilovich,” they now respectfully call the former Aleksashka.

- Hey Hey! - shouts the soldier sitting on the goats.

The horses are running at full speed. They throw up the royal cart on the potholes. Dirt is scattered to the sides.

Peter sits silently, looks at the soldier's back, remembers his childhood, games and amusing army.

Then Peter lived near Moscow, in the village of Preobrazhensky. Most of all he loved war games. They recruited guys for him, brought guns and cannons. Only there were no real nuclei. They shot with a steamed turnip. Peter will gather his army, divide it into two halves, and the battle begins. Then they count the losses: one arm was broken, the side of another was knocked off, and the third was completely sent to the next world.

Boyars used to come from Moscow, they would start scolding Peter for funny games, and he would point a gun at them - bang! - and a steamed turnip flies into fat bellies and bearded faces. The boyars will pick up the floors of embroidered caftans - and run away. And Peter draws his sword and shouts:

- Victoria! Victoria! Victory! The enemy showed his back!

Now the amusing army has grown. These are two real regiments - Preobrazhensky and Semenovsky. The king calls them guards. Together with all the regiments go to Narva, together they knead the impassable mud. “Somehow the old buddies will show themselves now? Peter thinks. “It’s not for you to fight with the boyars.”

- Sovereign! - Menshikov brings the tsar out of his thoughts. - Sovereign, Narva is visible.

Looks Peter. There is a fortress on the left steep bank of the Narova River. Around the fortress - a stone wall. Near the river you can see the Narva Castle - a fortress within a fortress. The main tower of the castle, Long German, stretched high into the sky.

And opposite the Narva, on the right bank of the Narova, is another fortress: Ivangorod. And Ivangorod is surrounded by an impregnable wall.

“It is not easy, sir, to fight such a fortress,” says Menshikov.

"It's not easy," says Peter. - But it is necessary. We cannot live without Narva. You can't see the sea without Narva.

"Talk, sire, with the soldiers!"

Peter came to Narva, gathered the generals, began to ask about the state of the troops.

It is embarrassing for the generals to tell the tsar the truth. They are afraid of the royal wrath. The generals report that everything is fine, that the troops reached without losses. And there are enough guns, and there are cannonballs, and good gunpowder.

- And what about provisions? Peter asks.

“And there are provisions,” the generals answer.

“So,” says Pyotr, and he himself leaned over to Menshikov, whispering in his ear: “I don’t believe something, Danilych, I saw something else on the way.”

- Lie. Oh god, they lie! Menshikov answers. “Go talk, sir, with the soldiers.

Peter went. He looks - the soldiers are standing, cleaning their guns.

How are you, servants? Peter asks.

“It is nothing, sir, God is merciful,” the soldiers answer.

- Well, did a lot of people die on the way? Peter asks.

- Lie down, my lord. So after all, the road is long; rain, sir, bad weather.

Peter looked at the soldier, did not say anything, only Peter's mustache, thin, like an awl, twitched.

How are you, scorers? Peter asks.

“It’s nothing, sir, God is merciful,” the scorers answer.

- Well, how about guns, how about gunpowder?

The gunners are silent, shifting from foot to foot.

- So what about gunpowder? Peter asks.

- It's nothing, sir, - the scorers answer.

And again they are silent, again shifting from foot to foot.

- What nothing? Where are the carts, where is the gunpowder? - Peter cried out impatiently.

“The carts have fallen behind, sovereign,” the soldiers answer. - So after all, the road is long, the dirt is impassable. And there is gunpowder, my lord. How can you go to war without gunpowder? They will bring tea, gunpowder.

And Peter's mustache twitched again, huge hands clenched into fists.

- How are you guys? Peter asks.

“It is nothing, sir, God is merciful,” the dragoons answer.

- What about food?

- It's just bad with grubs. Yes, it’s nothing, sir, the dragoons answer, the people endure. Sorry about the horses.

Peter's face contorted with anger. The king understood that the generals were telling lies. Peter returned to the general's hut, again gathered the council.

- How are we going to fight the Swedes? the king spoke. - Where is the gunpowder, where are the carts? Why did they ruin the soldiers on the way, how will we feed the living? Why didn't they tell the truth?!

The generals are silent, they look at the king frowningly, they are afraid to speak.

Finally, the senior in rank, Avtamon Golovin, stood up:

- Pyotr Alekseevich, do not be angry. The Russian man is resilient. God is merciful, somehow.

- Fool! Peter barked. “You won’t get far on God’s grace!” Guns are needed, cannonballs, food for horses and people. It's a no-nonsense thing. I'll take the skin down if there's no order! Got it?

And he went out, and slammed the door so hard that the generals got goosebumps on their backs.