"The Circassian Chief" (continued 10)

The feast was held in the grove close to the habitation of the Prince, where arbours had been erected for the fairer portion of the guests. In the principal one Zara, with Ina and old Kahija, were stationed to receive them. Numerous bands of slaves were in attendance, bearing tables to the green glade, from which, through an opening in the trees, was seen the lower part of the valley; and here the old chief stood with Alp and his friends, to receive the male guests as they quickly assembled. The tables were spread in long rows on the grassy lawn; the chiefs, and those of higher rank, being seated round their venerable host, while those not of noble birth and the freemen, were placed at the other end.

In the neighbouring thicket were numerous fires, at each of which was suspended a nobly charged spit, or a kettle tended by female slaves busily employed in preparing viands for the large party assembled. At a distance stood in eager and hungry expectation, the serfs and those not of rank sufficiently high to enjoy the privilege of sitting at table; but to whom the remainder of the banquet was to be served when the nobles had finished. There were minstrels also to chaunt forth the praise of the bridegroom and his fair Zara, one taking up the strain from the other, and each endeavouring to outdo the first in praise and delicacy of compliment.

In the meantime, Zara and her fair companions were entertained in the arbours, whence their light ringing laughter reached the spot where the nobles were seated. Though many of the party where Mahometans, the cup of sparkling wine often passed round to the sound of music; but they remained not long seated, for eager were the youths to join the dance, when they saw the troops of lovely maidens tripping gaily along the verdant glade, entwining round their graceful forms wreaths of bright flowers. The youths spiling quickly from the tables in pursuit of their fair partners; and vain were their laughing efforts to escape from the quick footed, active mountaineers, who soon overtook them, leading them back no unwilling prisoners to the smoothest and most level spot for dancing.

Then did the musicians strike up their gayest airs; the dancers moving first to slow and measured time, in circles alternately of youths and maids, now lifting their arms in graceful undulations aloft and now joining their hands in the centre. Then, as the music quickened, pursuing each other round and round; the maids wreathing their flowers and circling the heads of the youth as they knelt at their feet. Then springing up, they pursued their giddy course.

Alp led forth his bride elect, the last time he could thus appear with her in public; Thaddeus, following his example with Ina; and many a closely veiled and hooded matron of high rank conducted to the dance their daughters to receive the hands of partners. Gracefully they moved through the forest glades. The minstrels exerted their talents to the utmost, and were joined, at times, by the sweet voices of the fair dancers; while, occasionally, laughter resounded on all sides. The elders and matrons, seated on divans and carpets in the arbours or beneath the shade of the trees, looked on with approbation, applauding the graceful movements and activity of their children.

The time was now approaching when Zara must leave the gay scene to be attired in her thick veil in preparation for her journey, old Ivahija being in waiting to carry her off to the house.

All present seemed full of happiness, except the young page, Conrin. The joyousness of the scene grated on his feelings; and forsaking the throng, he sought to calm his troubled thoughts at a distance in solitude and quiet. He earnestly longed to see his master again; he was disappointed at Selem’s not arriving as he expected, and feared that the danger he fancied was approaching, might already have overtaken him. Javis, on perceiving his departure from the feast, followed at a distance, in hopes of offering consolation; but Conrin seemed to avoid him. At length, Javis came up with him.

“Have I done aught to offend you?” he said, “know you not, that I would die an hundred deaths for your sake? Then, why do you thus shun me?”

“Oh, speak not thus,” answered Conrin. “Yes, you are good, you are kind, you are brave; and grateful, deeply grateful, am I, for all that you have done for me; but I can give you no reward.”

“I seek for no reward, but would comfort you,” said Javis.

“You cannot comfort me. I have brought my misery upon myself; and on you, my kind friend, I have brought danger and hardship; nor know I how you may escape from them. For myself, I care not; my grief has no cure.”

“Quit this vain hope. You still may have happiness with one, who loves you truly,” answered Javis.

“While my life endures, never will I quit the country that holds the young chief Selem. Think you, I would leave him when a career of glory is opening out before him? I love to gaze upon his noble form, to hear his words, though spoken to others. If he fall, I shall not survive him. Now leave me, kind Javis, and forget the wrong I’ve done you. Hark, what loud shout is that?”

The revelry still continued with unabated ardour. The green was covered with gay and happy dancers. Alp was to lead the last round with his sweet Zara, and then they must part, though soon to meet again. The song, the laugh, and the cheerful sounds of the musician’s strains, filling the forest glade, gladdened the hearts of all; when a shriek arose from the women, and a terrific yell like the cry of demons resounded through the woods. Before the youths could draw their swords, a fierce band of savage horsemen were upon them. Some of the affrighted maidens fled, shrieking through the groves; others stood paralysed with fear, clinging to the arms of their protectors. The banqueting tables were overturned, as the pursued and the pursuers rushed across the glade; the bright sparkling wine flowed on the grass, mingled with the red blood of the combatants, as the young warriors bravely rallied to withstand the overpowering attack of the fierce followers of the Khan Khoros Kaloret; for he it was who led the band of marauders.

His eye had singled out one fair object for his prey, as he fought his way to the spot; she was struggling to escape from the grasp of one of his followers, who had seized her round the waist, to lift her on his horse; when Thaddeus, escaping from those who had attacked him, rushed forward, cleaving the savage’s shoulder to the arm. He had scarcely time to save his mistress from being crushed by the weight of the falling body, ere the Khan fiercely set on him, endeavouring to regain possession of his prize.

Alp had thrown himself before Zara, at the first onset of the foe, repelling all who attacked him. He bore her in safety towards a party of their friends, assembled round the aged chief, who were keeping the horsemen at a distance to protect the women. Leaving his bride under protection, he collected a few men, and hastened to assist a small party fiercely beset by the Tartars, on whom he set with such energy, that they were compelled to fly; but only to return with fresh fury to the attack.

In the mean time, the Khan, finding Ina snatched from his very grasp, threw himself on Thaddeus, with his whole force, hoping to bear him to the ground. Thaddeus eluded his first onset, placing Ina on his left side, and parrying with the greatest difficulty, the repeated and furious strokes aimed at him by the Khan. He retreated fighting, as he bore his mistress to a place of safety; when a heavy blow from the Khan’s sword brought him on his knee to the ground, though he saved his head by a timely guard. A second stroke from his opponent’s sabre would have cut him down; but Ina threw herself before him, arresting the Khan’s arm, ere his sword descended, giving Thaddeus time to recover his feet.

“Foolish maiden, you shall not save your lover a second time,” exclaimed the Khan, attempting to seize her, though the movement was nearly fatal to himself; for so furious a blow did Thaddeus make at him, that he was obliged to relinquish his hold, to parry it.

“Fly, Ina, fly! now that you are safe,” exclaimed her lover. “I will keep the savage chief at bay.”

But Ina moved not from his side. At that moment, a fresh troop of Tartars galloped to their chief’s assistance. Thaddeus began to fear that his defence had been futile; when Alp, with a few other youths, bravely threw themselves in their way.

In a different division of the grove, many of the festive party had been overthrown at the first surprise; but others, drawing their weapons, and placing themselves back to back, fought so bravely, that they gave time to their fair partners to escape; and so well did they hold their ground, that they fully occupied the greater part of the Khan’s followers; thus preventing them from going to their chiefs assistance; pursuing them so actively whenever they attempted to answer his reiterated summons, that the Tartars were again obliged to turn and defend themselves.

Yet the youths, however brave, wearing only a light gala costume, and having no weapon of defence but their short swords, could scarcely withstand the furious attacks of their fully equipped enemies, for whom victory, at first wavering, was now about to declare, when the war shout of the Attèghèi was heard; and a small body of fully-armed warriors broke through the grove, led on by Selem, who fiercely attacked the first body of Tartars he met, and drove them before him. His arrival turned the fortune of the day. Several of the young men flew to the house to seize their arms, and to mount their steeds tethered in the neighbouring thickets.

Selem, fighting his way up to the spot where Thaddeus was still defending Ina, compelled the Khan to retreat, foaming with rage.

The events we have here described took place in a few minutes, ere the revellers, scattered in all directions, could assemble; when the old chief, having collected them, as also his serfs, and other retainers who panted with indignation at the audacious outrage committed on his territories, and at being unable to reach the perpetrators, led them against the enemy in so determined an array, that he compelled the Tartars to desist from the attack, and to seek their own safety in flight. At the same moment, a party of the young warriors returned on horseback, to fight on more equal terms; when the Khan, seeing that any further attempt to gain possession of those he hoped to capture was hopeless, called to his followers to retreat, leaving several of his band dead on the field; for so flagrant was this attack, that, as any fell, they were cut down without mercy by the Circassians.

The defeated Tartars, furious with their disappointment and disgrace, hastily retreated, hotly pursued by the active Circassian youths on foot, and by Selem and a few others, who were mounted; but it was hopeless for the pedestrians to overtake them, and the horsemen were too few in number to be able to retaliate with success. The horses of Selem and his followers were fatigued; he, therefore, with Alp, urged their friends to return to arm completely, and mounting fresh steeds, to follow after the daring Khan, and take ample vengeance for the outrage he had committed.

A few, already mounted on fleet horses, now set off to follow at a distance, tracking his course to bring back word what route he had taken. When at a little distance, the scouts saw the Khan’s party rein in their steeds for an instant, and seize two persons on foot, and carry them away. They were traced towards the Kouban, in the direction of the newly erected Russian fort; one of the scouts returning to give the information. The young warriors hastened to their homes to arm, and to follow Kaloret Khan. Alp, who was one of the first prepared, took a tender farewell of the weeping Zara, and instead of then making her his bride, was compelled to pursue the foe.

When Selem called for Javis, he was nowhere to be found; and as he passed Ina, now with the other women assembled together, and recovering from their terror, he also missed Conrin. No one had seen the boy. He called for him through the grove. He answered not.

“Oh my brother!” cried Ina, “Allah forbid that he has fallen among the slaughtered ones! For worlds I would not that poor boy should be slain.”

They searched among the dead throughout the wood, expecting every moment to see his pallid features; but he was not to be found. There was wailing and weeping through the grove, which had late resounded with the sounds of merriment and song. The soft green turf, where the feet of the young and beautiful had a short time previously so joyously trodden in the dance, was now defiled with dark red pools of blood. Several youths had fallen, cut down by the Tartars on their first onset; and their female friends and relations were mourning with loud cries and lamentations over the loved ones so barbarously murdered by those whom they had ever looked upon as countrymen.

As Selem and Thaddeus were prepared to start, one of the scouts returned and reported what he had seen.

“It must have been Conrin then,” cried Ina. “His sad forebodings have been fulfilled, and both he and Javis have been carried off by the Khan. Oh haste, Selem, haste, my brother! Follow that cruel chief, for he bears away one who loves you more than life itself, who has sacrificed all for you. I may not say more; but for your own sake recover poor Conrin at all risks.”

“Fear not, dear Ina. We will overtake the Khan, and wreak our vengeance on him,” answered Selem.

Several other horsemen now coming up, he and Thaddeus took a fond, but hasty, farewell of Ina, and set off in pursuit of the Khan. Though some of their horses were of good blood and speed, yet every one of the Khan’s were picked from the fleetest he possessed, having fully calculated on the necessity of a rapid flight; so that he kept a head of his pursuers. None of the villagers of the hamlets, through which he passed, were prepared to offer him any impediment, ignorant also of his errand. Furiously and desperately he rode along, for he well knew that he had not the remotest hope of mercy should any party of the Circassians, outnumbering his own, succeed in overtaking him, and with equal eagerness was he pursued.

Nothing stopped his savage band in their course; they swam their horses across the most rapid streams, leaped terrific chasms, galloped down the steepest hills, and urged their steeds up almost precipitous rocks. All the remainder of that day, did they continue their headlong course. The night stopped them not; for a few minutes, they sought repose for their horses; but the sound of their pursuer’s feet struck their ears: Again they urged on their almost falling steeds; blood streamed from their flanks; foam covered their mouths; their eye balls started wildly; but still on they went. It was death to tarry.

Their pursuers caught sight of them—it was a race for life and death, captivity, perhaps death; or freedom for the poor page. They gained the forest which clothed the mountain, looking down upon the Russian fort; they dashed through it, they flew along the plain; and, as Selem and his friends gained the brow of the hill, they saw the traitor and his band enter the gates, at which they were received as friends.

“Alas, my poor page and faithful follower,” exclaimed Selem; “captivity or death, will be your lot, if we cannot rescue you; but that we will do, or perish in the attempt. What say you, Thaddeus? Will yonder Russians attempt to inflict any injury on my two followers? They cannot be such barbarians.”

“I fear they will,” answered Thaddeus. “Remember the fate I so narrowly escaped; I know well the Baron seeks to make some terrible example of all whom he can claim as deserters.”

“But he cannot surely call those youths, deserters, who have never born arms for Russia,” answered Selem.

“He will call them whatever he pleases, now that they are in his power,” said Thaddeus.

“We must, at all hazards, endeavour to recover them,” exclaimed Selem. “I know not scarcely how, but that young boy has so entwined himself round my heart, that I would not lose him for worlds. He is a truly noble youth, full of warm and ardent feelings. Should his strength of body prove equal to his spirit, he will one day shew himself capable of great deeds; but one will wear out the other, I fear. The subtle essence will overcome the grosser matter.”

Anxiously did the small band of warriors look down upon the Russian fort, but it would have been worse than madness to attack it with their fatigued party. Keeping, therefore, within shelter of the trees, they watched until the lights twinkled in the camp, and the watch-fires blazed around. Some proposed making an attack, endeavouring to take the enemy by surprise, and so to carry off the prisoners in the confusion; but, though Alp was eager to lead it, even Selem opposed the plan as too rash. The only feasible scheme seemed to be to hasten to the camp on the Ubin, and there raise a sufficient force to attack the fort with some chance of success.

Without waiting to consult further, the young warriors turned the heads of their weary horses towards the Ubin, where, on their arrival, they excited the indignation of the assembled chiefs at the atrocious outrage committed by the Khan. The Hadji, on seeing his son, embraced him.

“What, my brave Alp, have you left your pretty Zara, ere you made her your bride to assist your friends, and for the chance of a little fighting? Mashallah! you are well worthy of her, and she will love you all the better for it. I am proud of you, my boy.”

The old warrior was himself delighted at an excuse for attacking the enemy, as he had begun to fear that there would be no more fighting that year; and he eagerly exerted himself in gaining volunteers for the enterprise. Arslan Gherrei, for his son’s sake, persuaded many knights to join him, besides his own immediate followers. Nor was Alp idle in collecting his friends among the wild sons of the chiefs, always ready for any daring exploit; so that, in a few hours, more than two thousand horsemen were ready to depart. Selem strongly urged that no delay should take place, for fear of the cruelty which the Russian general might inflict on his prisoners.

Procuring fresh horses, therefore, the band of gallant cavaliers set out for their exploit; one that it would have been madness to attempt, except for the known incomplete state of the fortifications, which gave them hope, by a sudden onset, of leaping the unfinished trenches, and taking the garrison by surprise.

Volume Three—Chapter Nine.

Three days had passed since the Baron Galetzoff had received the visit from the treacherous Khan Khoros Kaloret; and he was now eagerly expecting his return, with his clansmen and prisoners, when he began to suspect that the chief had played him falsely. As each successive hour passed by without his coming, his anger proportionably arose. He was also under constant dread of an attack from the mountaineers, though, as yet, he had seen few signs of them.

The troops were busily employed in digging trenches, throwing up embankments, and finishing the fortifications. Oxen were dragging in cartloads of provisions, or fodder for their horses. Officers were riding about, and superintending the men. A strong detachment were sent out, flanked with cannon, and a body of Cossacks to cut down timber for the palisadoes. Others also were employed in cutting grass, and bringing in wood for fuel. Sentinels were posted in every direction, advanced guards were sent out, and the soldiers worked at all times with their arms by their sides, for they knew not at what moment the dreaded mountaineers might break through the covert of the wooded height, and, with a cloud of cavalry, might come sweeping by them like a whirlwind, ere they had time to form their ranks. Their heavy artillery, loaded to the muzzles with grape shot, were pointed in every direction; and many an anxious eye was cast towards the mountains, in expectation of seeing the glittering arms of the foes about to rush down upon them.

Towards the close of the day, as the sun was sinking low on the marshes of the Kouban, throwing a bright warm gleam of light on the rich brown-tinted foliage of the trees, the outer guards rushed in with the intelligence, that the enemy were upon them. The drums beat, the bugles sounded, and the whole force flew to arms, as the sun-beams glittered on the armour and swords of a band of mountaineers, who were seen issuing from the woods, and galloping at full speed towards them. They were about to receive the new comers with a shower of grape, when Count Erintoff stopped them, as the band seemed to consist of but a small number.

“They are friends,” he cried; “harm them not.” And as he saw the Khan, he galloped out to meet him. Before him on his horse, the Khan bore a light form, wrapped in a cloak; when the Count, eagerly expecting to behold the beautiful features of the Circassian maid, was much disappointed, and enraged to find only the young page, Conrin.

“How comes this, Khan?” he exclaimed; “why, you have left your chief prize behind! Where are the other prisoners you promised to bring with you? The General will have but little cause to thank you for your zeal.”

“I could bring only these,” answered the Khan fiercely. “I have been baffled and defeated in all my attempts, but I will yet have my revenge. Take these two prisoners; they are Giaours, by their looks. Kill them if you will, but ask me no questions.”

“We must be content then with the prize you bring us; and may soon find more occupation for you,” replied the Count. “But how did you not succeed in bringing off the lady?”

“I have before said, ask me no questions,” replied the Khan, angrily. “Take these prisoners, and kill them if you will.”

“We are not likely to disappoint you, Khan, for if we do not get their master by their means into our power, they will be shot to-morrow;” said the Count.

“I care not. Their friends have given me trouble enough; and had not your General insisted on having them, I should have killed them myself, as I did many others,” replied the Khan.

The Baron being informed of the Khan’s arrival, was expecting him in his tent. The barbarian was therefore at once conducted thither by the Count.

“Where are the prisoners you promised to bring?” said the Baron, looking sternly at him.

“I have brought but two, who are in the hands of my followers;” answered the Khan.

“Who are they?” asked the Baron, eagerly.

“The page, and a Frank follower of Selem Gherrei,” answered the Khan.

“Ah, I must see them immediately,” exclaimed the General. “Khan, you have not fulfilled my expectations; but you shall be welcome. You and your followers shall be cared for here at present, until I can assign you lands in whatever part of the neighbouring country you may choose.”

With a haughty salutation, and a discontented look, the Khan left the tent.

“Let that proud chief be well watched,” continued the Baron, as he departed. “See, that none of his followers quit the camp. I do not trust him, even now. Had he brought off the chieftain’s daughter, we should have had a hold upon him; but he may now again escape us. Colonel Erintoff, you have lost your mistress.”

“I owe the barbarian a grudge for the disappointment,” answered the Count.

“You may soon have an opportunity of revenging yourself on him,” said the Baron. “But, now to business. Let the prisoners be brought in, and I will see what I can make of them. Stay, and assist me.”

In a few minutes, a file of soldiers conducted Javis and the young Conrin to the door of the tent, with their arms bound. The Baron ordered them to be brought in, when the soldiers retired. Javis looked round him with a firm and determined air, fearless of the presence in which he stood.

The poor page was wearied, and bruised with his rapid journey, and attempts at escape; but a fire glowed in his eyes, as he gazed at the Baron and the Count Erintoff, while a smile of scorn and defiance played round his lips.

“Stand forward, boy,” said the Baron, addressing him sternly. “What induced you to leave your native land, and join the hordes of these barbarians?”

“My own good pleasure,” answered Conrin.

“Know you not, mad boy, that, by so doing you have broken your allegiance to the Emperor, and are guilty of treason?” said the Baron.

“I owe allegiance to no man,” returned Conrin, firmly and proudly. “I have full right to go where I will.”

“You are a subject of the Emperor, boy; and as such, I find you living among his enemies,” said the Baron. “Know you not, that I have power to treat you as a traitor?”

“I am a subject of no ruler under Heaven,” answered the page; “but full well do I know your power.”

“You speak foolishly; but I pity your youth, and would be lenient with you,” answered the Baron.

“If you would be merciful, then,” said Conrin, still with a curl on his lip, and in a slight tone of irony, “let me go free. I am but a youth, and what harm can I do to the mighty power of Russia?”

“What say you, Count, shall I let this innocent boy go free?” said the Baron, sneeringly. “Well you seem to agree with me! Now, listen, boy; you shall be at liberty to go where you will, even to return to the mountains, if you wish; but on one condition. You follow a master, it seems, who led you among those barbarous hordes of savages, for which you need owe him but little gratitude, as he has been the means of placing you in your present danger. I will not conceal from you, that your master is an arch-villain and traitor to Russia; and that I am anxious to get him into my power. Now, boy, you may be instrumental in forwarding my views; and if you will undertake to obey my orders, you yourself shall not only be pardoned, but shall be richly rewarded. What say you to my proposition? Do you consent?”

It was difficult at first to determine what emotions filled the boy’s heart, at hearing this proposition. The brightness of his eyes increased, and a bitter smile played over his features. For a minute he stood confronting the General, and appearing to seek for words to give expression to his feelings.

“Man,” said he, “Commander of thousands! go seek, among the slaves who obey you, one who has betrayed his master, and send him to me, that I may learn a lesson from him, and know, in future, how to mark the features of a villain. Compare his with mine, and see if they are alike; and then say if I am likely to accept your noble offer, if such is to be the price of my liberty. It is useless speaking more.”

“Boy, you are foolish,” said the Baron, endeavouring to soften his rough voice to a tone of kindness, and to bend his features into a look of benignity. “What I ask of you, hundreds in like position would be found to do for slight reward. It is not a difficult task that I wish you to perform; and if you do it not, others will be found who will, and your master cannot escape me. All I desire of you is to entice this young Selem Gherrei near the fort, where I will place an ambush to capture him. Think you I would injure him? No!—it will be but for his own benefit, as it will rescue him from those barbarians, and restore him to civilised life. And for yourself, I promise you a rich reward. You may stay and join the army, or I will find you a safe conveyance to your own country and home. Think well upon the offer which I make you.”

Young Conrin threw a look of scorn at the General, turning his eyes slowly towards the Count, and with almost a laugh of derision, he answered—

“A noble offer, truly; could you but read my heart, you would see how great is the chance that I should accept it. Think you that to gain wealth, all people would become villains? that all men have a price, to be bought and sold? I pity the wretch with such philosophy. None but those with bad hearts could think so. No, no; such base offers are thrown away if made to me. Give me but liberty, and I shall be grateful.”

“Once again, boy, I make an offer such as is not my wont,” said the Baron. “I know not how it is, but I feel compassion for your youth, and would not harm you if you would obey my wishes. You shall go free, free as the air we breathe; on this condition, you must persuade your master to come, and I will promise you he shall receive no harm; for, in spite of all his offences, I would wean him from the cause he advocates, and bring him over to the side of Russia.”

“No!” answered the page firmly. “Were you to offer boundless riches, honours—such honours as you can bestow—were it even to place him on a throne propped up by tyranny, I would not draw him from the path of glory he follows now, fighting for his country’s cause, though his home is but a humble cot on the mountain’s side.”

“But suppose, boy, I offer to gain for him rank and fortune, and to restore him to a civilised life far from these scenes of war and bloodshed. Will not that promise tempt you?”

The page seemed to penetrate to the inmost recess of the Baron’s mind, so piercing a glance did he cast at him, as with scorn, still dwelling on his lip, he answered, “No; I have said before, my master values such things less, far less than honour. Did I think he would accept your offer—and well I know he will not—I could not trust you, General! You would impose upon my youth and innocence; but you are mistaken.”

The Baron’s brow grew dark as night; his voice almost trembled with rage as he became convinced that his attempts to persuade the youth to obey his wishes would be fruitless. “Hear me, mad boy!” he exclaimed. “You ask for liberty. Do you hope to gain it? Never! Obey my orders, or death and torture alone await you. You talk of leading a peaceful life; Count Erintoff, before whom you stand, observed you at the Mezi, following your master in the strife. Twice were you seen to slay the Emperor’s soldiers; you fought in the ranks of the rebels. That is enough alone to condemn you to death as a traitor to Russia. Think not to escape by a specious tale of innocence, nor hope for pardon on account of your youth. You were old enough to wield your weapons well. You will be condemned to die to-morrow.”

“I have said before that I would not do the deed you ask; no, not for all the riches of the East,” answered Conrin firmly. “And for my life, I do not value that so much but that I can laugh your threats to scorn. Then do your worst upon me; I am prepared to meet your vengeance.”

“Mad obstinate boy!” cried the Baron furiously, “your doom is sealed. I will examine the other prisoner. Remove the youth.”

At these words Javis, who had stood with a stern glance regarding the Baron, sprang forward in spite of his fettered hands. “Stay, General,” he cried earnestly; “you know not what you do. Be not thus cruel. This seeming page is—”

“Javis!” exclaimed Conrin, “speak not a word of me, I charge you. Swear to me that you will not, for I can soon escape their tyranny. I would die unknown to all, but to you, my true and faithful friend. As I have lived, I am prepared to die. Swear that you will not betray me to mortal soul;” he hesitated. “I command you swear, or, even now, as you well know, I have the means; you shall see me this moment die at your feet.”

“I swear to obey your wishes; but oh, save yourself. A word would do it,” cried Javis.

“Never! I fear not death half, half as much as life within the power of these men,” exclaimed Conrin.

“Boy, I give you still another chance. Let not sleep o’ercome you till you have weighed the offer I have made, or it may prove your last,” said the Baron, as Conrin was led off.

As may be supposed, the General could not elicit a word of information from Javis, who evaded every question which was asked of him, until the Baron grew furious. The same tempting offers were made to him as to Conrin, but he repelled them indignantly.

“I will not turn a traitor to my master,” he said; “but I will serve you faithfully if you will save that boy’s life; or if you will take mine, I will give it joyfully for his. You know not whom you kill.”

“If you will obey my wishes,” said the Baron, “not only will I pardon the boy, but I will load you with wealth, such as you never thought before to have.”

“Oh mighty spirit of my fathers, guard my heart!” ejaculated Javis. “No, it cannot be; not all the offers that you make me can cause my purpose to alter. Yet you cannot be so base, so cruel a tyrant, as to slay that young and harmless boy.”

“Slave, do you speak thus to me?” exclaimed the Baron. “Think you that you have any hopes of escaping death? If so, you are deceived. You, too, shall die. Think well upon my words, and mark me. The boy dies first while you are standing by. To the last moment, his life shall be in your hands. If you would save him, consent to obey my wishes. Ere mid-day comes to-morrow he shall die, and your death shall follow. Think well on what I say. Obey me, or never hope again to see the sun go down. Lead him away,” he cried to the guards without, “and keep him separate from the other prisoner. Well, Count,” he said, turning to that officer, “how think you I have managed with these traitors?”

“Admirably, Baron,” answered Count Erintoff. “Yet I never saw so much obstinacy displayed. I think you have worked upon them to comply with your wishes; and, by their aid, I still have hopes of capturing young Selem Gherrei.”

“I know not,” said the Baron; “there was a fierce stubborn look in that boy’s eye I scarce could have expected from one so young; but perhaps the Gipsy, who seems to have a most romantic affection for him, may, for the sake of saving him, obey my wishes. But if he does not, I swear no power shall save them. To-morrow morning early, they must be tried: we know the verdict. Go, Count, and make arrangements for their trial. I would be alone.”

We must hope, for the sake of human nature, that the General would, in his cooler moments, have altered the determination he had expressed; though the atrocious barbarities which that man was guilty of towards his Circassian prisoners, when any, faint or senseless from their wounds, fell into his hands, would repress any charitable construction of his motives, and ensure only our hatred.

Conrin was removed to a rough small hut of logs, which had lately been erected to serve the purpose of a prison; but it had, as yet, no occupants, owing to the constant employment of the soldiers which kept them from committing any faults. The ground was unbeaten, ends of branches projecting from the sides, and a log being left at one end to serve the purpose of a couch or seat for the prisoners; but as yet it was not even hewn smooth. Conrin was thrust in by his guards, and then left to his solitary meditations, with some black bread and almost stagnant water; not worse fare, perhaps, than the soldiers themselves were obliged to submit to. He threw himself on the rough log, deep sobs breaking at times from his breast; while, with hands clasped in agony, he turned his eyes towards Heaven, as if imploring aid.

“No! no! hopeless is my lot! I am forsaken by the mighty Spirit! and thus to die without the slightest chance of one fond look on him for whom I have sacrificed all on earth! Then the bitter anguish to feel he knows me not; or, if he knew, perchance would spurn my love. Death—annihilation would be better far. No, he shall never learn the truth. And yet I would that he should know how true and firm a heart mine was; and then, when I am reduced to the ashes from whence I sprung, perchance he would cast some fond regret upon my memory. Oh! did I think that he would love me, the very joy would make me laugh at death. But thus to die!” The sobs of the supposed page were renewed. He started, and strove to suppress his agitation, for he heard steps approaching.

It was now midnight—that time when the feelings are the acutest, the nerves most easily excited; when the thoughts strive to wander o’er the regions of boundless space to search out things mysterious and inscrutable; when the spirit often seems to quit the bonds of this our living mortal frame, to visit ideal regions. It is not the spirits of the dead, which long have flown to other realms we wot not of, which mortals fancy oft they see, but their own yet earthly souls are worked into fever by some potent and subtle influence when the vivifying power of the sun has been withdrawn.

Conrin listened earnestly.

“Ah! well I know that foot-fall! Oh! mine enemy, hast thou found me? Even now I feel his baneful influence, like that dark spirit who roves about to seek for prey. The bigot fools need not have decked him with other attributes than those of mortal man, when foul passions gain the mastery over him.”

“Who goes there?” shouted the sentry at the door of the hut.

“Your Colonel,” answered the deep tones of Count Erintoff’s voice. “Stand there, and turn not till I call you.”

After which words, Conrin heard the door of his prison open, and, by the light which faintly streamed in, he beheld the tall form of the Count, who, closing the door, placed a lanthorn he carried in his hand on the ground, so as to throw its rays on the features of the prisoner. The page rose not, spoke not, but remained in the attitude in which he had been sitting, with his hands clasped together, and his head bent down.

The visitor surveyed him earnestly ere he addressed him, meditating apparently on what he should say.

“I am come to give you liberty and life, instead of the death you so madly seem to seek. Think you I know you not? When yon dull sottish bear, the General, was questioning you, I knew you by the glance of those expressive features, that haughty brow, that lip curling in proud disdain. Think you a boy would have stood undaunted before the furious rage of yonder overbearing Baron, or would have returned him word for word and glance for glance? You played your part but ill just now, whatever you may have done before to deceive (if so you have) the youth you followed to Circassia. Can he be so dull, so hard of heart, as not to recognise the maid who loves him? By Heavens, I do believe his wits so dull, his heart so careless of those charms which drove me near distracted at their loss, that he has not yet discovered you; and loves you not, basking, as you humbly look on in the senile character of a page, in the bright smiles of some of those mountain beauties.”

With an hysterical cry, the girl, finding further disguise was useless, exclaimed—

“Begone, base villain. What demon prompts you to come hither to torment me?”

“Nay, nay, my pretty page,” said the Count, approaching her, “I would not wound your feelings for the universe. I merely spoke what I know to be most true. I ask you why, for one who loves you not, you would sacrifice your life, and throw away all the bright offers that I have made you, and which I would fulfil? Oh! it would be a cruel thing to let those charms, which have enchained my heart, mingle with the dust, to leave this bright and joyous world so full of pleasures, (to those who have the sense to find them) to go you know not where. I do not ask you to betray the man you loved. I am not fool enough to think you would do so, until you should be convinced that he despises you; though I believe that haughty rebel, young Selem Gherrei, as he is called, cares not for you. But fly hence with me, and I can easily deceive this brutish General. I offer you wealth and happiness, a bright and glorious future, where such charms as yours will far eclipse the proudest beauties of the capital. Believe me, I am not so dull a fool as not to appreciate that bright and soaring spirit—that proud undaunted soul—which raises you above your sex. I am not scrupulous as fools would be. I love you more myself, now that I know your heart is capable of so much feeling; and I would make it all my own. Then come, loved girl. This instant you shall be free. A few days more will see you on your road to Russia, where wealth, luxury, and happiness, await you.”

The Count approached yet nearer, and attempted to take the girl’s hand.

“Man!” she exclaimed—“if you are not rather the incarnation of the evil one, begone. Come not to torment my heart, already almost broken. Know, then, that luxury and wealth are things I despise almost as much as him who offers them; and as for happiness, I never in this world shall know it again, nor have you the power to give it me. Begone, and leave me to myself. You stir not. Then if you will not obey my commands, but still have a soul that can be influenced by prayer, oh! hear my earnest supplication, and leave me to myself.”

“What madness makes you utter words like these?” said the Count. “Think well of what you throw away, and of the dark fate which awaits you. The Baron vows—and well I know he keeps his oaths when prompted by cruelty and revenge—that you must die to-morrow; and no mortal power but mine can save you. A word from me would rescue you. Fly with me. Ah! If you refuse, think not the man you love will benefit by your sacrifice; for here I swear that I will pursue him with the utmost rancour to avenge your death, of which he has been the cause. He has crossed my path before, and ere long I trust to see him in my power.”

“You move me not by fear of any harm you can do him,” answered the girl calmly. “He is above your malice, and would despise your vows of vengeance.”

“If not for his sake then, save yourself for your own,” exclaimed the Count. “Think how you will die, disgraced, unknown till after you have ceased to breathe; and then you will be a thing for savage soldiers to pass their brutal jest upon. Oh, why this madness? Let me save you from yourself, and fly with me.”

The proud Count knelt at her feet, and again endeavoured to take her hand. “See,” he exclaimed, “I kneel to you to beseech that you will let me save you from cruel death and contumely.”

The girl then shrinking back, “Begone, I say, again,” she cried. “Believe me, I despise you far too much even to seek your pity.”

The Count sprang to his feet. “Know then, wilful girl,” he exclaimed, “that nothing shall save you. Your cruelty will change my love to hate; and though I still might save your life, I shall not rest until I see you die. None shall know that Count Erintoff has humbled himself in vain. There are yet some hours to dawn. Think on my vows, and promise to obey my wishes. A word of yours would win my love again; else, before the sun mounts highest in the sky, you will have become a cold and senseless clod. I leave you now.”

The girl answered not, but looked disdainfully on the Count as he retired. Then, sinking on the hard log, she placed her hands before her eyes—to shut out something dreadful from her sight. A terrific struggle seemed to take place in that tender, that loving, bosom, as if the agitated spirit were about to burst its tabernacle; but it passed, and she was calm—so calm that it seemed she slept.

Volume Three—Chapter Ten.

The morning came, the glorious sun rose undimmed by clouds, and nature wore a face of gladness; the birds sung sweetly from their leafy coverts, the refreshing dew which sprinkled the herbage, and the autumnal-tinted leaves, sparkled brightly. A light mist, rising from the lowlands, faded away, and left the landscape more clear and lovely from the contrast.

The prisoners were led forth from their places of confinement. Their trial commenced. Undauntedly they stood before all the highest officers of the garrison.

Several soldiers declared that they had seen them fighting on the side of the enemy. Neither of the prisoners would answer a word to the interrogations made to them. Their sentence was passed. Death was recorded. Their guilt was clear, nor did they deign to sue for pardon. As their sentence was pronounced, Javis sprang forward with an imploring look towards the president, and was again about to utter some exclamation; but a glance from the supposed page stopped him, and, dejectedly he stepped back, turning a troubled and anxious eye towards his companion, though he seemed perfectly resigned to his own fate. The Baron hurried over the proceedings with brutal haste; and the prisoners were ordered forthwith to be led from the camp and shot as traitors to Russia.

They were conducted from the tent where the court martial was held, between a file of soldiers, walking as firmly and composed as if they had forgotten that a few minutes more were to be their last.

The fort, as we have before said, was erected on some elevated ground, at a short distance from the mountains, rising like an island from the plains and marshes of the Kouban. The intervening space between the fort and the mountain, was one uninterrupted meadow, unbroken by rocks or inclosures. The spot selected for the cruel execution, was on a green slope reaching from the entrenchments to the plain facing the mountains; and here a body of the troops were now drawn up while the remainder continued at their labours digging the entrenchments, and erecting the requisite buildings for barracks and store houses, in preparation for the coming winter.

At a short distance from the fort, a foraging party in compact order, accompanied by artillery and cavalry were seen marching along the plain, from the direction of the Kouban, unaware of the execution about to take place.

The Baron had sternly commanded the Count Erintoff to lead the troops destined for the execution, though it seemed that he would willingly have escaped the office; but he was compelled to obey: and he now stood at the head of his regiment, drawn up in line on the green slope we have described, the firing party a little in advance of the other troops. The General himself stood at some distance on the newly raised embankments of the fort, pacing to and fro, with a dark frown on his brow, and his eyes glancing restlessly around. As the young prisoners were led out from the fort, they passed the spot where he stood. He commanded the party who guarded them to halt, and bring them before him.

The disguised page wore the same stern look as on the previous day; but a brighter almost supernatural foe burned in her eye as she met that of the General. Javis advanced boldly with a firm tread and perfect composure; but as he turned his looks towards his companion, his features would become convulsed as if some pang of agony passed through his frame.

“Prisoners,” said the Baron, “you have but a few short moments to live; but, even now, I give you a chance of escape. Obey my orders, and I promise to pardon you. To you, boy, I speak first. Will you do as I wish?”

“Never!” answered the page in a deep firm voice. “I am prepared to die.”

“Then lead him on,” cried the Baron furiously. “You, perchance, may have more wisdom,” he continued, addressing Javis, “than yonder obstinate boy, who brings his own fate on himself. Will you save, not only your own life, but his?”

“I would save his life on any terms,” exclaimed Javis; “but he would be the first to blame me. For my own, I value it not. But, Oh! spare him, General, spare him for his youth alone. Ask him not to do that to which he cannot consent. You know not what you do in slaying him. Spare him, as you hope for mercy!”

“Lead off the audacious rebel,” cried the Baron furiously. “Let the boy be shot first,” he added, addressing an officer who waited his commands. “I can gain nought from him; and let his companion witness his fate: perchance it will bring him to reason.”

There was not an officer in the camp who would not, if he could, have saved the lives of those youths at this moment; but none dared speak; even the dull soldiers felt tears spring to their eyes. The wild Khan, who was on horseback in company with a troop of cavalry, looked on with astonishment; and, as he witnessed the noble bearing and bravery of the prisoners, even he repented that he had brought this untimely fate upon them, until he remembered that it was by the hand of one of them that his brother fell. But of all the party the Count Erintoff seemed the most affected. His countenance was as pale as death; he dared not turn his eye towards the prisoners. He felt himself to be a wretch cursed by heaven; a cold-blooded murderer, instigated by the basest, the blackest revenge. The prisoners had reached the fatal spot, and the youngest was placed upon the ground, while Javis was led aside: they exchanged glances, but neither spoke. The supposed page heaved a deep-drawn sigh as she saw the glance of agony which the faithful Javis—of whose death she was too truly the cause—cast towards her.

A soldier advanced to bind her eyes.

“No,” she cried, putting the handkerchief aside. “I would look my last upon the bright blue heavens, to which my spirit so soon must fly. I can face death as fearlessly as the oldest-soldier present. Let my eyes at least be at liberty, to the last.”

The soldier looked towards his officer, who ordered him to follow the prisoner’s wishes, and he returned to the ranks.

All was prepared. The girl stood undaunted; but her eyes wandered towards the mountains with an anxious glance. What does she see there? Is it the sun which sparkles on the shining leaves of the forest? She stands entranced, regardless of her executioners; for a band of steel-clad warriors, their swords flashing in the sun like a foaming torrent, sweep downward from the mountain’s brow. The wood is full of them. On every side they pour forth from amid the trees. At their head rides one urging on his steed at its utmost speed, and waving aloft his sabre. The eye of love distinguishes him from afar, before the Russians, intent on the scene of execution, have perceived their danger. The prisoner uttered a cry of joy. “Thank thee, Great Spirit, that I see that loved one ere I die!” she exclaimed. “Yes! yes! I’ll join you, in spite of these tyrants!”

Forgetful of her situation, forgetful of all but that he whom she loved was approaching to her rescue, she lifted up her arms to rush to meet him. It was the signal of her death; and Javis, breaking from his guards, sprang forward and threw himself before her.

At that moment the foraging party reached the fort, when a soldier rushed forward from the ranks to where the Baron stood.

“Hold! hold!” he cried with fierce excitement. “Stay the execution. Barbarous chief! you know not what you do! Stay, or you will murder your own daughter, who was carried off from you by the dwarf Ladislau; she was placed in my hands for her mother’s sake, a daughter of my tribe. Know me as the Gipsy Conrad.”

The Baron seemed as one who heard him not; he was astounded, and gazed wildly at the speaker. His faculties were paralysed; his limbs trembled. The precious moments flew by. He lifted his arm.

“Stay the execution!” he shrieked. But ere the words were uttered, the rattle of musketry was heard. The smoke hung like a funeral pall over the spot, as, rushing towards it, the fierce Baron fell senseless near the slaughtered form of his daughter, the Gipsy girl, Azila; and by her side lay the body of her humble, devoted, and despised lover, Javis.

The alarm was given that the enemy were upon them. There was no time to retreat to their entrenchments. Fast and furious came the mountain horsemen. The drums beat to arms, the soldiers rushed to man the guns, and to seize their weapons. The troops drawn up outside wheeled to receive the shock from the furious charge of the foe, the cavalry advanced to meet them; but they were like reeds bent beneath the tiger’s spring. Men and horses trembled at the wild war shriek. None could withstand that desperate onset; and the first, the foremost who fell, was the traitor Khan, cut down by the sword of Thaddeus.

“A well-timed blow, brave Pole,” cried the Hadji, as he swept by to charge the Russians. “Thus die all traitors to Circassia!”

Close to him was Selem, encountering the sword of Count Erintoff, who shouted, “Ah! we have met at length? Traitor to Russia, yield!”

“Heaven defend the right!” cried Selem, parrying his blow. Their swords flashed quickly round, and in a moment the Count fell mortally wounded from his horse.

The Hadji, Alp, and many other chiefs, and their followers rushed on the bayonets of the infantry. “Ah! Allah!” shouted the old warrior, “we’ll cut through that wall of steel. Onward, men of Attèghèi!” So terrific was the onset that the two foremost ranks of the Russians trembled, wavered, and fell back on the rear, as the dauntless warriors approached them, driving the others in hopeless confusion, cut down by the Circassian sabres, and trampled under foot by their war-steeds.

“Ah! Allah!” again shouted the Hadji. “Follow me, my son, and we shall soon be within their trenches!” and attacking those who alone stood their ground, followed by a dense cloud of horsemen, sweeping over their prostrate foes.

The remnant of the Russian cavalry had turned, and fled towards the entrance of their fort; but none succeeded in reaching it: the drawbridge was drawn up, the gates were closed.

Why does Selem stay in his career of victory, his cheek blanched even amid the excitement of the combat? On the ground weltering in blood, he sees the slaughtered form of his faithful, loving page; he bends low from his horse, and lifts it in his arms.

Onward, onward rushed the mountaineers towards their hoped for prize; but as they mingled among the confused mass of flying infantry close to the trenches, a tremendous discharge of cannon saluted them. On friend and foe fell alike the crashing showers of deadly grape; and the ramparts were lined with bristling rows of bayonets. Many of the gallant patriots fell beneath the devastating fire in their career of victory.

“Turn, turn, my noble friends!” cried the brave Chief Arslan Gherrei. “It is madness to be exposed to this iron storm. We can never take the fort on horseback.”

At the word, the dense troop swept round. A horseman, in the uniform of Russia, seized Selem’s rein, and urged on his horse, while Thaddeus, on the other side, joined the retreating Circassians. Before the guns could be reloaded, they were beyond their range.

The mountaineers halted in the confines of the forest. Selem sprang to the ground, endeavouring to staunch the blood which flowed from many wounds in the breast of his page. He tore open his vest; his heart turned sick with horror and grief as he discovered a woman’s form. He leant over it with deep grief. The veil which so long had obscured them was torn from his eyes. He knew the features of Azila. In a moment he read the history of her deep unswerving love, constant to the last through trials, hardships, and neglect. He felt her heart to discover if it yet beat. He tried to persuade himself that her yet warm breath fanned his cheeks; but it was in vain. A faint smile still lingered on her features; but no throb answered to his touch. The dark blood flowed slowly from the wounds; her heroic, her loving, spirit had fled; Azila was dead!

None of the chiefs, not even Selem’s father, approached him. They had witnessed the scene, and read the sad story at a glance. Long did he bend, in deep agony, over that inanimate form.

He was aroused by the Russian deserter.

“Think you not, young chief, that I, too, have cause for grief? Remember you not how I loved that fair and noble girl? Do you not know me?”

“Yes, yes, I know you now, my friend,” answered Selem, recognising in the stranger the Gipsy chief who had aided his escape from Russia, the reputed father of Azila. “You have, indeed, deep cause to grieve for your daughter.”

“Except that she sprung from my race, she is not my daughter, though I loved her more than one. See, two of my race I have lost today most cruelly murdered;” and he pointed to the body of Javis, which he had also brought off on the horse of one of the slain troopers. “She, too, murdered by her own father, though he knew it not till too late, when madness seized his brain; and yon poor youth, he also deserves our pity, for I know his deep, yet hopeless, love for Azila, for whose sake he followed you.”

“What say you, my old friend?” said Selem, rising from the ground whereon he had been kneeling. “By what strange fortune came you to learn so horrid a tale? and what wonderful chance conducted you hither at this moment?”

“It may seem extraordinary that I am here; and yet such was the decree of fate, when first we met beneath my tent in Russia. You were the unconscious instrument of bringing me hither; and yet, from the remotest period of time, this event was destined. The latest cause was this: It was discovered that I had aided in your escape from Russia, when I and all my tribe, who could be found, were seized and condemned to serve in the ranks of the Russian army of the Caucasus. Azila’s history, I alone, with the dwarf Ladislau, have known from her birth. He was another cause of these events. As you remember well, the Baron always made him his butt, treating him with contumely, little thinking what deep feelings of hatred and revenge rankled in the bosom of the diminutive being. A lovely girl of our race, whose sweet voice enraptured the proudest nobles of Moscow, won the haughty Baron’s heart; and, dazzled by his rank and wealth, she consented, at an unhappy moment, to exchange her liberty to become the slavish wife of a tyrannical master. She soon pined for her freedom, regretting the miserable lot she had madly chosen; and, as her husband’s admiration of her charms wore away, he treated her with cruelty and neglect. Yet jealous feelings, at the same time, possessed the tyrant’s breast; and he began to look with an eye of suspicion on an innocent daughter she had just borne him.

“The broken-hearted wife of the Baron died; and Ladislau, to revenge himself on his tyrant, brought away his child, and delivered her to me, making me swear never to reveal her history till his death, and that I heard of ere I left Russia. To rescue her from a life of thraldom and neglect, I determined to keep her as my own daughter, bringing her up with all the accomplishments I could well find means to bestow. She became all I could wish in mind and person, wreathing herself round my heart as much as any child of my own could do; and when she once visited my tents, she seemed so to enjoy the wild freedom of our lives, that I could not again part from her, intending, however, on Ladislau’s death, to make her father recognise her, and restore her to her proper rank and fortune. When you came to my tents, knowing that you were not her brother, I hoped in some way, through your means, to accomplish my purpose; little thinking how deep was the love which had sprung up in the sweet girl’s bosom for you.”

“Blind and dull have I been!” exclaimed Selem in a tone of anguish, “not to have seen through her disguise before; for now, when lost to me for ever, I feel how fondly I could have returned her love.”

He knelt again over her, and took her cold lifeless hand:—“My true Azila, faithful to death! A hundred fold has your murder added to the debt of retribution I owe our tyrannical invaders. Yes, sweet one, I again swear to avenge your death on every one of that cursed race who sets foot on the shores of Circassia. Bear witness, my friend, I sign my vow before as fair an image as nature ever formed! Let this be the token! Where the battle is thickest, there will I bear this silken lock.”

He kissed her pallid brow, and severed with his dagger one of her long black tresses, which he entwined through the links of his chain armour. He knelt over the bleeding form for some moments more in silence: he then rose, and extended his hand to the Gipsy chief.

“Welcome, my friend, to the land I call my own. I may now hope to repay your hospitality.”

“If my services will be accepted, I have come to offer my hand and heart to the cause of the patriots. I should have remained a good subject of Russia, if she had allowed me; but she will now find me and my tribe her mortal enemies; for I doubt not that all my people will take the first opportunity of escaping, when they hear that I am on the side of the Circassians; and heartily will they all join in avenging that poor girl’s death.”

“It was a barbarous deed,” cried Selem, casting an agonised glance on the pale features of Azila, beautiful, even in death.

Arslan Gherrei now approached his son; “Let not sorrow take possession of your soul, my son, for the loss of that faithful girl. I, I too well can share your feelings; but shew yourself stern as a warrior among our countrymen. Think not of grief, while we have swords in our hands to avenge our friends. That poor maiden shall have a befitting funeral, she shall be consigned to the care of Ina, who, with her friends, will mourn over their lost sister.”

“You speak truly, my father,” exclaimed Selem, “no one henceforth shall see me shed a tear of joy or grief, till every hallowed spot of our loved country shall be freed from the defiling tread of the Russian foot, or till the death-wound comes to send me to a warrior’s grave.”

“My son, your words make your father’s heart beat proudly,” said the chieftain; “and worthy are you of our royal race. See, is not yonder sight enough to rejoice the breast of every foe to Russia?”

Selem turned his eyes in the direction his father indicated, where the ground, in front of the Russian entrenchments, was strewn with the slain; so rapidly and surely had the Circassian sabres done their work among the panic-stricken ranks. Few, if any, had reached the gates of the fort; for of those who escaped the first fierce onset, most had been mowed down by the showers of grape and rockets fired by their own countrymen. Many of the Circassians had fallen; but not one had been left on the field; every horseman seizing his comrade as he was wounded or slain, and bearing him on his steed from the ground.

The band of warriors, assembled in the forest overlooking the fort, kept the garrison in a constant state of alarm; their swords and armour being seen amid the trees, when any of them approached the skirts of the wood.

A council of war was now held. The Hadji proposed attacking the fort again at once, rushing from their concealments, without a moment’s warning to the enemy, and leaping the trenches on their chargers, in spite of the shower of grape they might expect.

“Mashallah!” he cried, “they should soon learn how little use their big guns would be, when we got at their tails, for they cannot kick as well as bite.”

Even Selem, generally cautious, as well as bold, eagerly seconded his old friend’s proposition; and Alp was employed in persuading most of his companions to accompany him. But the proposition was overruled by Arslan Gherrei, and the more prudent leaders, who considered the attempt would be madness; as, to their cost, they had already found the fort so strongly guarded with cannon; not one of their warriors having fallen, except by the destructive fire from the guns. It was at last agreed to storm the fort at a future day, when the garrison would be unprepared to receive them.

Selem, rousing himself from his grief, introduced the Gipsy chief as the foster father of the slaughtered maiden, explaining to them his history. As there was now no further cause for delay, the band of warriors prepared to leave the scene of their exploit; the Dehli Khans rushing forward, and waving their swords as a parting salute of defiance to their foes.

Selem stood by the side of Azila’s corpse. The Gipsy approached him.

“Let me take the office of bearing those remains,” he said; “to you it would be too severe a task.”

Selem offered no resistance, as the Gipsy enveloped the body in his horseman’s cloak, and placed it before him on his saddle. A follower of Arslan Gherrei carried the body of Javis, in like manner; while Thaddeus rode by Selem’s side, offering vain consolation to a heart so deeply wounded.

After riding some distance, the party separated; some to return to the camp, and a few, among whom was Alp, to accompany Selem to the valley of Abran Bashi.

Volume Three—Chapter Eleven.

It was a sad and mournful train which returned to the valley of Abran Bashi, the scene but a few days before of the bridal festival and of joy. Selem had sent to announce his return to his sister, with an account of the sad catastrophe which had occurred. As the cortège approached the house of the chief, she, her woman, and the other females of the hamlet, came out to meet them; and into their hands the remains of the slaughtered Azila were committed.

The Gipsy approached Selem, who, after embracing his sister, had sauntered through the grove to indulge in his grief unseen.

“Young chief,” he said, “where shall my poor child be buried?”

How sadly, how harshly did those words grate on Selem’s ears! How many unutterable thoughts of anguish and regret do they summon to the mind of all! The closing for ever of some loved object from our view—the sad reality of death, before only looked on as a remote object!

“Would she not wish to lie in some secluded spot, where her spirit, that had been sorely troubled in this life, might be at rest?”

“My friend,” answered Selem, “there is near here a grove sacred to the one Great Spirit we all adore, whatever may be our religious creeds. None approach that spot with irreverent or light feelings, and there shall Azila rest.”

“Such would have been the spot she would have chosen,” answered the Gipsy. “And by her side we will place poor Javis. He well deserves to be near her, for he might yet be alive, had he not thrown himself before her to receive the shot.”

“He was truly faithful to the last,” said Selem. “And yet it was a happier fate for him to die. But, my friend, speak no more on the subject. We must soon again haste to the exciting scenes of war, which, as men, befit us most. Know you where the people of your tribe are stationed, that we may endeavour to assist them in escaping from the foe? They will be received by my countrymen with open arms, and you may resume your former habits of independence, and your free mode of life. You will find here no tyrannical laws to restrict you, if you conform to the simple habits and customs of my people; and you may again become the chief of your tribe.”

“That can never be,” answered the Gipsy. “My tribe are broken and dispersed; though the few who may escape from Russian thraldom, will obey me as of yore. But where are our women and children? Where our cattle and our tents? I and my people will serve under you. Where you go, we will go; and we will be faithful and true to you, until death.”

“I could not wish for a more faithful follower than poor Javis proved,” answered Selem. “And I fear not but you will be equally true to me. Thus, gladly do I agree to the compact you propose.”

After walking some way, side by side, a low and plaintive melody, wafted through the grove, reached their ears, and, returning, they found a a group of veiled maidens standing round an open bier, on which lay, as if reposing in a calm sleep, the body of Azila. Once more, ere the earth closed over her for ever, she was clothed in the garments of her sex. A white veil was fastened to her hair, and lay on each side of her pale face that looked like some beautiful piece of sculptured marble. Her hands were joined on her breast, on which a rose was placed; a white robe enveloped her form, while flowers, fresh picked from the groves and meadows, strewed the bier.

The maidens, with Ina weeping at their head, bore the body along, singing, in plaintive tones, a low dirge; while an aged minstrel, who preceded the train, chaunted, at intervals, to the sound of his wild harp, an account of her death. A band of young men followed, carrying the body of Javis, wrapped in his winding-sheet, on an open bier; and at the end of each verse, they joined their voices in chorus to those of the females. Next followed Selem, Thaddeus, and many others of the youths and maidens of the village, who had the day before been performing the same sad office to those who had fallen in the conflict with the Khan.

When the mourning train reached the sacred grove, where the graves had been already dug, they found the most venerable elder of the valley waiting their arrival; and, as the bodies of the two young beings were placed in their last resting-place, he offered up prayers to the Great Spirit for a quick translation of their souls to the realms of bliss, and a happy immortality; in which pious supplication the assembly all reverently joined.

The graves of the deceased were placed side by side beneath the shelter of an overhanging rock that projected from the steep slope of the mountain. Two trees bent over the spot, entwining their boughs above. A small slab of stone was placed at the head of each grave; and on the trees the maidens hung chaplets of wild flowers.

The stranger girl sleeps calmly in her early and bloody grave; nor has her name departed from the memory of the mountaineers. Her romantic history and sad fate are recorded in their songs, and chaunted among their many wild and melancholy ballads, for which, alas! they have but too many subjects.

Those who came to perform the funeral ceremony were gone, and our hero remained. He thought alone, by the grave-side of her who had so deeply adored him, and whom he, too late, had learned to love. He heard a gentle sob; he looked up, his sister was beside him; he took her hand, but did not speak. The last time he had attended a funeral was when their mother was buried; and her dying injunctions recurred to him more forcibly now that his heart was softened with sorrow.

Selem hitherto had felt that he was wanting in one of the great requisites, enthusiasm in the cause of religion. He had never indeed thought deeply on the subject; and how could he, when engaged in a bloody and revengeful war, be a follower of a creed which indicated peace and good-will towards all men? Had he not sworn never to sheathe his sword while a Russian remained in arms near them? How could he indeed hold up to the example of his countrymen a religion professed by foes, who were engaged in openly breaking every precept it commanded, by the unjust and exterminating war on the liberties of their country? He knew that they would laugh his lessons to scorn, when he had no better reasons to give them than those he could advance; and that they would despise him for his infatuation in proposing a creed which allowed its professors to act as their enemies did towards them.

He felt, however, that his sister would not be swayed by these considerations, when she heard that it was the faith in which their mother died; and that it had been the last wish of her heart, that her daughter should adopt it; so that he had strong hopes, with such a foundation, of convincing her of its truth and beauty. He knew not, indeed, how powerful an advocate of his cause he had in Thaddeus. His only hope, with regard to his countrymen at large, rested on the fact that Christianity had been at some period, however remote, the faith of their forefathers; that its emblem still remained venerated by them in the land, and that they were imbued universally with a strong feeling of respect for their ancient customs. Its great opponent, Islamism, had gained but a weak footing in their minds; and they were more likely to adopt a faith which they would consider better founded, if they could be convinced that it was the belief of their ancestors, and that its very symbols still existed among them.

Selem took Ina’s hand, and walked some way in silence. At length he said—

“I have much to communicate to you, and may have but a short time for the purpose; for I know not how soon I may be called upon to offer up my blood as a sacrifice to the liberties of our country; and gladly would I suffer death if one so dear as you were to be benefited by it.”

“Oh! talk not of death, dear Selem; the very thought breaks my heart,” cried Ina. “Have I but just found you to lose you? The noble spirit of our father would sink beneath so great a blow.”

“Do not grieve, dear sister! Thoughts of death will not bring the dreaded tyrant nearer; nor, if we persuade ourselves that he cannot reach us, will the vain hope shield us more securely from his unfailing dart. I spoke but as every warrior must feel, when he sees each day his friends cut down at his side; but it makes him not the less brave or daring, though he knows that it may be his turn to fall the next. But I wish not to die; and for your sake, my sister, may Heaven grant me a long life, and reserve my humble efforts for our country’s cause! But, Ina, the subject on which I would speak to you is not of death, but of life. I bring you a message from our lost mother, which I have too long delayed delivering. You, her unknown babe, whom she confided to my care, if I could succeed in discovering you, were in her thoughts to the last.”

They had reached the cross before described, in the grove towards which Selem now pointed.

“Know you, Ina, why, and by whom, yon cross was placed there?”

“I have scarce thought why,” she answered. “Perchance by our fathers, before Allah and his prophet were known in our land.”

“Yes, it was placed there by our fathers, doubtlessly,” answered Selem; “but as a symbol of a pure and holy faith, from which their children have widely departed. It is the symbol of a faith in which our mother died, in which I was nurtured, and in which she charged me to instruct you.”

“What!” cried Ina. “Are there more faiths than that which, a short time ago, all in the land believed and the faith of Mahomet—by which I thought we could alone gain Paradise?”

“Indeed, Ina, there are many strange creeds in the world,” answered Selem; “but one only is pure and true. It was established long before Mahomet promulgated his doctrines; and far, far different are its tenets from his. He, indeed, took truth for the foundation of his religion, acknowledging the great, the immutable, all-powerful, all-seeing Being, whom our countrymen also worship with a belief in a hereafter. But on that foundation, he built up a superstructure, composed of falsehoods as gross as they were improbable, forming his tenets to please the wild hordes over whom he sought to gain power. His aim was conquest. He promised a quick translation to the realms of bliss, to those who fell fighting for him; and his Paradise he pictured as the utmost enjoyment of sensual pleasures, such as his followers most prized on earth, awarding to you, the fairer portion of the human race, the same place of abject subjection which he would make you submit to in this world. To forward his great aim, personal aggrandisement, he preached extermination to all who would not embrace his faith, or, in other words, obey his rule. He found that women did not assist him in his aims; and he, therefore, pretended that they were formed to be the abject slaves of man’s will.

“This, dear sister, is the religion which the Turks have sought to introduce into our country; and already have its baneful effects been felt. Now mark the difference of the religion of the cross. It inculcates peace and love to all men. It pictures a heaven of bliss, unutterable, free from all the base and sensual passions of this life, pure, eternal. It makes woman man’s helpmate, his companion, his adviser, his equal. It gives birth to all the nobler feelings of our nature. It purifies love, it sanctifies marriage, it exalts courage, and it produces friendship unselfish and firm.”

“All! what a beautiful religion must that be, my brother!” cried Ina, her eyes beaming with fervour, and the colour of her cheeks heightening with animation. “I have often wondered that a Great Spirit, whom men call just and good, should have formed one half of his people to be the slaves of the other; but now I see that it is not that He is unjust, but that man has become usurping and bad. Oh! I can never again believe that Mahomet was a true prophet!”

“Ina, your words delight me,” cried her brother. “I find my task almost accomplished when you speak thus. Man is, indeed, wicked; and the Great Spirit, seeing this, sent one from heaven to teach him a pure and holy code of morals. Christ so loved mankind, and grieved for their sins, that, notwithstanding his power, he allowed himself to be slain on the cross, by those whose wicked customs he came to overthrow. His worshippers have, therefore, made use of that sign to remind them of Him who died for their sake; and in this very grove, on the spot on which we now stand, have our fathers bowed the knee in adoration of that benignant Being.”

“Oh, my brother,” said Ina. “How I love to hear you speak thus, for I feel and know that your words are those of truth!”

“I believe them,” answered Selem. “And much I wish that not only you, but that all our countrymen, would adopt the same creed. It would prove a surer and more trusty bulwark against our foes than all foreign aid. Knowing our cause to be just, they would have a firmer trust in the God of justice. It would make them cease from inflicting injuries on each other; for it teaches us to treat others as we would ourselves be treated. It will enlighten and add firmness to their minds, for it will banish superstition or dread of evil omens. It will give combination and strength to their councils, for they will have confidence in each other, being bound together in one brotherhood as they would be. It will enable them to bear reverses with fortitude; for they will consider them as inflictions kindly sent from above as a punishment for their sins; and it will temper victory with moderation, as a boon granted from heaven to be received with thanksgivings and praise to the great Giver.”

Ina was thoughtful for a few minutes. “But tell me, Selem,” she said at length, “how is it that the cruel Urus, from whom you have learnt this religion, act as they do? How is it that they attack our country, murdering and destroying those who have never done them any harm?”

“You have urged an objection, which I anticipated,” replied Selem; “but it does not follow that a religion is false, because its mere professors do not act according to its injunctions. It has a far, very far, different influence on its true believers. The religion of the cross is not the less true, because men, calling themselves its followers, are wicked. Among the Russians it has been so debased and altered, so overwhelmed with superstition and priestcraft, that it has sunk into a contemptible and absurd idolatry. The gospel inculcates a simple, pure, and moral rule of life, easy to be understood and followed. Such, Ina, is the religion I would teach you, and in which I was myself instructed by a good and enlightened man, who had kept his own mind free from the gross errors and superstition of those who surrounded him. The injustice of this war, which the Russians are waging against us, is indeed no argument against the religion I speak of; for it has too frequently happened, that men in power act in direct opposition to its tenets. They send armies to ravage countries, destroy cities, and commit atrocities of every kind, without the slightest compunction; nor think themselves at all the worse worshippers of a mild and forgiving faith; each individual holding himself irresponsible for the acts of the whole. Thus a people, who consider themselves the most civilised and religious in the world, may be guilty of crimes to be equalled only by those perpetrated by the wildest hordes of barbarism when their interests or passions are excited.”

In that calm retreat did the young Circassian Chief unfold to his fair sister the truths of his religion; and, as her artless mind began to comprehend them, she clasped her hands with gratitude, that so beautiful an institution had been formed for the benefit of the human race.

“Oh my brother,” she exclaimed, “little did I think, when my heart beat with joy at your return, that you would also bring me so precious a gift. What a new, what an extended view of happiness, you have opened to my thoughts! Oh, do not leave me, Selem, till you have taught me all I can learn, as I would not, for worlds, now lose that religion. It seems like some valued jewel of price, which, till secured to me, I should every moment be in fear of having snatched from my grasp. And does Thaddeus, does your friend also believe in this religion?”

“Indeed, I trust he does, dearest,” answered Selem. “But it is long since I have spoken to him on the subject. Ah! here he comes to answer for himself, I see him wandering through the grove, lost in meditation.”

The growing darkness prevented the speaker from seeing the deep blush which this announcement called up on his sister’s cheek. Thaddeus started with pleasure, as he beheld his friend approaching, and saw by whom he was accompanied. “Here, my friend,” said Selem to him, “I have begun a task, in which I trust you will aid me (avoiding all the intricate and foolishly disputed points) by teaching our faith to my sister.”

“Gladly I accept the office, and deeply interested I am in the success of my instruction,” replied Thaddeus. “But, my friend, I have been longing to unbosom myself to you of a secret, lest you should accuse me of deceit or treachery.”

Ina felt her heart beat quickly, from guessing the words which would follow.

“Speak, Thaddeus, what is it you would say,” said Selem, taking his sister’s hand.

“Selem, my friend,” replied Thaddeus, “to you I owe my life and all I now possess; but, though deeply grateful, I would ask still more of you. I have your sister’s leave to speak.” Selem felt Ina’s hand press his. “From the first moment I saw her, I felt I would die rather than cease to love, or learn that she no longer loves me. Will you sanction and aid us in our hopes? or, if not, deliver me again into the hands of the Russians, from whom you rescued me.”

“My friend! my brother! your words give me joy indeed,” exclaimed Selem, “Believe me, that I will aid to the utmost the wishes of the two beings most dear to me on earth. But, remember, we have a father to consult; though he, I doubt not, will give his daughter to one, without whose aid he would have lost her entirely.”

“Oh, I know he will,” cried Ina. “For he dearly loves me.”

“Our father, Ina, is as good as he is brave; and it shall be my grateful charge to plead your cause with him. I will tell him, that my friend is of a noble and princely race, who were chiefs in their own country before Russian swords overwhelmed them. As for wealth, we want it not here. We have abundance for all.”

Thus conversing, those three young beings sat beneath the trees of the sacred grove, till the rising moon warned them to return home.

In the fervid climes of the East, smiles and laughter succeed tears and grief, as rapidly as sunshine follows the showers of spring. Life is more full of excitement and danger; the pulse beats quicker; the passions are more easily aroused, whether of sorrow or pleasure. There is, perhaps, more to enjoy in life; but it is held by even a more frail tenure than in the colder regions of the north.

On the following morning the inhabitants of the anderoon were in a state of great agitation, while old Kahija bustled about to array Zara in her bridal vestments; for her betrothed was anxiously waiting her arrival at his father’s house. The old nurse, with tears streaming from her eyes, was busily employed in enveloping her in a long white robe, fastened at her head; which, when drawn round, completely concealed her figure.

“My dear Ina,” said the blushing girl, “Alp yesterday evening was persuading me to leave you. He says that he must soon return to that horrid warfare, and that his mother is anxiously waiting me at his home. He will be alarmed if I do not come; he used many other arguments, till I consented at last, in spite of all my kind nurse’s persuasions to the contrary.”

“It will make me sad to lose you, dear one; but it would be wrong to disappoint your brave Alp’s mother,” said Ina, smiling and kissing her cheek. “So you must yield to your fate: a dreadful one, indeed, to become the wife of so wild and handsome a youth as Alp!”

“I wonder when young Ali Bey will be here. Alp said that he would come early; but I dread that terrible gallop to his home.”

“We will go to the gate and see if he is coming,” said Ina. “Are you ready, dear one?”

Zara signified that she was prepared for the worst that could happen; so the two maidens sallied forth followed by old Kahija. They had not long to wait when the young bridegroom galloped up, attired in his bravest suit, followed by a gay and gallant train. They reined in their steeds at a short distance; when, all dismounting, he alone respectfully advanced, and courteously saluted the two fair girls, drawing his sword as he knelt at Zara’s feet, and swearing solemnly to protect her, for his friend’s sake, with his life. Then, after she had bestowed an affectionate kiss on Ina and on old Kahija, he lifted her, with the tenderest care, before him on his steed, and galloped off towards the domain of Hadji Guz Beg.

“Ah me! she is a sweet flower,” sighed old Kahija; “I shall long mourn her loss. But what makes me most sad is the thought of the interruption to the marriage feast. It is a bad omen, and I like it not. Ah me! ah me! I never knew good come of such things. And so melancholy a funeral but yesterday! And then the brave youths who were killed at the wedding feast by the fierce Khan and his followers! Mark me, there is something more dreadful coming still;” and she retired into the anderoon to indulge in a flood of tears.

Perhaps Ina might have followed her, had she not promised to meet Thaddeus and her brother, about that time, and she trusted soon to enjoy the same happiness which she hoped would be Zara’s lot.

Volume Three—Chapter Twelve.

The vast concourse, which we have described as assembled on the banks of the Ubin, had long since dispersed to their homes, disappointed at having performed no great exploit, though they had made several daring attacks on the Russian troops, with severe loss on both sides.

The short, but rigorous, winter had now thrown its hoary mantle over the northern provinces of Abasia: the plains of the Kouban appeared one vast sheet of dazzling whiteness, here and there dotted, in the far distance, by the dark forts of the Russians. The trees, so lately covered with the rich and varied leaves of autumn, now seemed like some fabled grove of silver, in a scene of enchantment, decked with strange and fantastic splendour, crystallised by the frost. A deep and solemn silence reigned on the wooded heights which overlooked the plain. Not a bird was heard to sing in the groves. Here and there might be seen the footmarks of some beasts of prey, as they crossed the mountains to seek for food in the marshes. The Kouban, whose waters in summer afforded the chief defence of the Russians against the well-provoked aggressions of the mountaineers, had now become an even and clear sheet of ice, every day, gaining consistency and strength.

The invading army, suffering from the inclemency of the weather, had retired into their winter quarters; and the Circassians, trusting also to the imprisonment of their enemies by the cold, had withdrawn the greater number of their guards and scouts. They had determined not to be the aggressors, but to endeavour to convince their enemies that they fought only for liberty and peace. A general calm seemed to pervade the whole country, which had so lately been startled by the fierce storm of war. The warriors enjoyed their short repose till the returning spring should again let loose the swarms of their now pent-up foes. They passed their time among their families, in tending their farms, or in the invigorating sports of the chase.

Selem was enjoying some days of relaxation from the toils of war, at the house of his aged kinsman, in company with Thaddeus and his sister. He was delighted more and more with the unsophisticated, but quick and varied powers of her pure mind, which every day was enlightened by the conversation of her lover. How delightful was the task to the young Pole, to instruct the fair creature he soon hoped to call his own!

Many of the inhabitants of the valley, indeed, wondered that two such gallant and daring warriors as Selem and his friend had proved themselves, could find pleasure in passing their time with a mere girl. “Allah!” they exclaimed, “what odd customs they must have learned among the Giaours!”