"The Circassian Chief" (continued 11)

They were interrupted from their studies by the entrance of the little slave, Buda, announcing the arrival of the Hadji Guz Beg. Hastening to the guest-room, they found the old warrior, clothed in complete warlike costume, and attended by his son Alp, who had torn himself from the arms of Zara, to accompany his father—

“Rouse up, my son,” he cried. “Gird on your sword, and let your heart rejoice, for we have in hand work that may be worthy of us. Those cursed Urus are not content with our remaining quiet, but they must enter the country, and burn and destroy our villages. Mashallah! we will repay them with a vengeance. I have messengers from many chiefs, who are assembling their followers, and now that the ice affords us a bridge, which the enemy cannot easily destroy, we will make a foray into their territories, which will give them a lesson to respect ours.”

“Wherever you lead, my friend, I am ready to follow,” answered Selem.

“Mashallah! I doubted you not,” cried the Hadji; “for see, we have no child’s work on hand now. There will be no drawing back this time.”

“What do you propose doing, then?” asked Selem.

“No less than an attack on the town of Kislavosk,” rubbing his hands with the glee of a youth at the thought of a foray. “These Russians, we hear, have collected whole herds of cattle in the neighbourhood, for provisioning their fortresses along the Valdi Caucasse, and think that they have them secure enough; but we will deprive them of their dinners, if I mistake not.”

“I would rather have some more noble work than merely carrying off a few head of cattle,” said our hero.

“Ah, when you have lived longer among us, you will not despise such work,” cried the Hadji. “What do armies in general fight for? To get gold and silver! Are not cattle, to hungry people, of much more value, and more difficult to carry off? Men are too fond of making absurd distinctions where none exist. The Russians call us robbers, because we take a gallop into the country they have usurped, and carry off all we can meet; and they affirm that they themselves are engaged in lawful warfare when they burn and destroy our villages and fields, because they possess a regular army, with cannon and ammunition, while we have only our good steeds and sharp swords. Such ideas are absurd. The Giaours will some day become more enlightened and civilised. We shall, however, have fighting enough to please you, my young friend, for think not that these Urus will lose their food quietly. No, no, they will fight hard enough for that; but we will be too quick for them. And, my friends, we have no time to expend in talking.”

“I will soon be ready to attend you,” answered Selem, taking his arms from the walls, and ordering Karl to prepare his horse for the expedition. Thaddeus followed his example, though much loath to leave his mistress; but he had so completely leagued himself with his Circassian friends, that he had no further excuse for holding back. He himself was also excited by the prospect of gaining the further applause and confidence of those, in the success of whose cause he had become so deeply interested.

Alp was in the most extravagant spirits, notwithstanding his regret at leaving Zara at the thoughts of a foray, on a more extended scale than any in which he had hitherto been engaged. The prospect of the renown he should acquire under his father, and also the hope of gaining wealth for his fair bride, were further incitements.

“Mashallah!” cried the Hadji; “we shall carry off cattle enough to supply the whole of Abasia for a year to come.”

Ina trembled with alarm when she heard that her brother and her lover were to leave her, on so hazardous an expedition; having cherished the fond hope that they would remain in safety all the winter. But she remembered that she was a Circassian maiden; and, recommending them to the care of Heaven, she parted from them with a tearful smile, and a prayer for their speedy and victorious return. They repaired, before they set out, to pay their adieus to their old host, who had, for some time, been confined to his couch through age and infirmities.

“Farewell, my son,” he said, addressing Selem. “Before you return, I may be gathered to my fathers; for I feel that I have not long to remain among my people, though I had hoped to have seen my country restored to peace ere I died. But I commend to your guidance a body of my choicest youths, whom I have ordered to be ready to attend you. I am now alone the last chief of my race; my sons have offered up their spirits as martyrs to their country’s cause. I, too, would have thanked Allah for the glorious privilege of dying on the field of battle as becomes a warrior-chieftain; but that blessing I can now never hope for. When I am gone, you, my son Alp, will be chosen by the elders of my people, as the husband of my only child, to succeed me as their leader; that is, when you have gained sufficient age and experience. Till then, the noble chief, Arslan Gherrei, will lead them to battle; and you, Selem, as a son of our race, I charge to watch over and guard their interests; for on you, next to Alp, would have devolved my possessions. Rule them justly and firmly, and they will faithfully obey you.”

The young men promised religiously to obey the old chief’s injunctions.

“Farewell, my sons,” he said; “I feel that you will not betray the trust. And now my only hope is, that I may live long enough to see you return victorious from this expedition; and may Allah guard you in it!”

As the chief had promised, our hero found, on leaving the house, a gallant troop of fifty young and hardy horsemen, fully equipped, ready to obey his commands. Every man carried provisions at his saddle-bow, sufficient for several days, considering their abstemious habits when engaged in warfare. They were clothed in coats and caps of skin, wearing over their shoulders thick large cloaks, impenetrable to wet or cold. Their rifles and pistols were well protected from the rain at their back, and they had daggers and long sabres at the waist. Both the Hadji and Alp were clothed much in the same manner over their chain armour, and with Selem and Thaddeus, who were also arrayed in their winter gear, they set forward at the head of the troop.

The appointed place of meeting was in a valley within the last ridge of mountains before the Caucasian range descends into the plains, near where the Kara River, rushing through a narrow and rocky defile, finds its way into the Kouban. In that direction they turned their horses’ heads, proceeding steadily and slowly forward, so as not to fatigue their steeds, and to keep them in the finest possible condition for the exploit. At the end of each day’s journey, they received a warm and cordial welcome at the house of some chief. Through every village and hamlet they passed, their band was increased by numerous volunteers, all eager to share the promised spoils of the foe.

On reaching the heights, commanding the valley appointed for their place of rendezvous, a warlike spectacle broke on their sight. From every quarter, bands of warriors were seen emerging from the forests, troop after troop following each other in gallant array, winding in long lines, amid the rocks and trees, down the steep sides of the mountain, and uniting in the valley in a close body. Their banners gaily fluttered in the breeze; their weapons shone brilliantly in the rays of the sun, and increased in lustre as they were reflected in the snow; their loud and joyous shouts resounded through the air.

As the Hadji and his party rode to the ground, he was received with loud acclamations of welcome, and his standard was planted as one of the chief leaders. Other bands, during the remainder of the day, continued to pour in on all sides; and soon after, Arslan Gherrei, at the head of a fine and warlike troop, arrived in the valley, and Selem hastened to greet his father. As the champion rode up, mounted on a superb and powerful black charger, he was welcomed on all sides by enthusiastic acclamations, most of the independent bands arraying themselves under his especial banner.

The Hadji seldom aspired to the entire command of an army; preferring his own desultory and impetuous style of fighting to the responsible and arduous duties of a general. He prided himself most as a leader of bands engaged in a kind of guerilla warfare.

The Seraskier, or Commander-in-Chief, who had been chosen as the leader of this republican army, was a chieftain far advanced in years, though still retaining all the vigour and activity of youth. Of renowned courage and sagacious conduct, and trained to arms in Egypt from his boyhood, he had, since the commencement of hostilities, been engaged in constant warfare with the enemy, by whom he was much dreaded. He was of commanding height and sinewy frame nerved by violent and unremitting exercise; his features were bronzed by exposure on the burning sands of Africa, his white locks escaped from beneath his plumed helm. He rode in the midst of a group of chieftains, who eagerly gathered round him for instruction and advice. It was with a glance of proud satisfaction, that the veteran leader looked round on the bands of warriors drawn up in the valley, who had so promptly obeyed his summons, issued only a few days previously, and thus so nobly answered. It was, in truth, a fine sight, as the aged hero reined up his steed, waving his hand to request silence. Surrounded by all the chiefs and leaders of this little army, he thus addressed them—

“My noble friends, chieftains of the Attèghèi, we have this day again assembled in arms, roused by the reiterated, and unprovoked attacks of the Urus. Seeking alone to enjoy peace and the undisturbed possession of our country and of our liberties, we have refrained from acting as the aggressors on those territories claimed by our foes, though unjustly wrenched from our hands. Who, among us here, has not suffered innumerable wrongs and unbearable injuries at their hands, since their dark eagles first hovered over the confines of our lands? They have burned our hamlets—they have cut down our corn—they have trampled over our rich pastures—they have carried off our cattle; and yet those are injuries which may be replaced. But how many of our bravest warriors have fallen in defence of our country and our liberty! Who, among us here assembled, but has lost a father, a brother, or a son? Still do the cries of our women ring in our ears for their loss. Where can we replace them? Can our enemies restore the lost ones? How often have those among us, whose homes are in the neighbouring lands, been aroused in the darkness of night by the roar of their cannon, and, with scarcely time to save their lives, and those still dearer to them, have been driven to the mountain fastnesses, whence they have seen their habitations and their goods committed to the flames! What redress have we but deep, deep revenge? Are we slaves, are we Armenian Kaffirs, to submit to these insults? No, my countrymen, we are gallant warriors, descended from a long line of Princes, and of nobles; who have never bowed their necks to the yoke of slavery, who were chiefs and conquerors long ere the wolf-like flocks of the Urus broke through the regions of the north, to seize the rich and smiling lands which surround us. Shall we then allow them for a moment to suppose, that weary with our protracted struggle, we also are prepared to swell their list of conquests? Shall we act like the weak and effeminate Georgians, and tamely submit to be dragged in chains to the foot-stool of their Czar? Shall we consent to see our children led to slaughter, among the slavish ranks of their army? Shall we see our wives and daughters carried off as worse than slaves? Shall castles and towers be built on every mountain’s brow, throughout the country, to awe the people into subjection; for thus only could they hold the lands of the Attèghèi? We have set them lately an example of moderation, but they would not profit by it. Let us now give them a lesson, that may not easily escape their memory. Let us remind them that we have not forgotten how to offer a severe retaliation for injuries; and let us shew them that we are a nation of warriors, who fear not their force, mighty as it might be, and that we despise their innumerable hosts of slaves. Then onward, my countrymen, onward men of Attèghèi, and may Allah prosper our arms!”

This oration of their veteran leader was received with sincere expressions of approbation by the chiefs, and with acclamations of applause by the dense mass of their followers who formed an outer circle round the orator.

“Remember, my countrymen,” he resumed; “that the Urus call us uncivilised barbarians and robbers. Let us shew them that we have more humanity than they; that we know ‘the native rights man claims from man;’ and that never will we defile our arms with cruelty. Let us treat their women, as hitherto, with courtesy and kindness, to shew them that we war not against them. Let us not stop to plunder the defenceless inhabitants of their stores except their cattle which we will drive away to deprive them of the means of remaining in our neighbourhood. Let us confine our further efforts to capturing their cannon, their arms, and ammunition; for it is those we alone require to make our country impregnable to their attacks. Follow these rules, strictly obey your commanders, and victory will be ours. I have done. By to-morrow’s dawn, we will begin our march; and before the Russians awake from their slumbers, we will be beyond their forts.”

Again repeated shouts arose, and all promised to obey his injunctions.

The Seraskier then explained to the chiefs his proposed plan of operations. First, that the infantry who were composed chiefly of the peasants of the hamlets, nearest the Kouban—sturdy fellows inured to border warfare—should be left on the further bank of that river to cover their retreat, if hard-pressed, and to secure the herds of cattle they might capture. That they should advance as far as the town of Kislavosk, take it by surprise, with the greater number of the cavalry; or, at all events, endeavour to give full occupation to the Russian troops, while the rest might drive off the cattle from the neighbouring country; and then, if victorious, and not pursued on their return, make a wide extended sweep, clearing everything before them.

The sagacious General himself, as well as Arslan Gherrei, and a few others, would have preferred confining their efforts entirely to taking the Russian forts, and endeavouring to carry off their cannon and powder; but they knew too well, that many of their followers would not exert themselves to the utmost without their holding out some prospect of a rich booty; and we must remember, that every man in the host fought without pay of any sort, finding his own arms, ammunition, and food; so that it was but natural they should wish for some recompense for leaving their occupations and farms at that inclement season of the year, besides the mere satisfaction of annoying the enemy. They all understood the necessity of defending their own territories when attacked; but to make a forage into the enemy’s country without carrying off booty was in their ideas a folly: with the prospect of booty, all were ready to fight.

Upwards of six thousand horsemen were now collected, chiefly from one province alone; but among that vast concourse of wild warriors, at this exciting moment, the utmost order and decorum prevailed, owing to the courtesy of the chiefs, and the habitual sedateness of the men; though there was an entire absence of discipline and subordination throughout the whole host.

Having; received the directions and advice of the Seraskier, the chiefs separated to put themselves at the head of their respective followers; to advance towards the Kouban; and, bivouacking close to its banks, to give time to other fresh reinforcements of cavalry from the further points to assemble; while the infantry were to advance at once to the station they were to occupy, and be in readiness to assist the cavalry in the morning.

At a given signal, the whole body then advanced a few miles towards the place they had agreed on for a bivouac; entirely dispensing with tents or covering of any sort, except their thick cloaks. As each troop arrived, they piquetted their horses to the low shrubs which grew about the plain, lighting their watch-fires, which blazed up in the darkness of night. For a long time fresh bands continued to arrive every instant, increasing the widely extended circle of flames, until the plain seemed dotted with fires as from some volcanic ground. The hardy warriors, wrapt in their cloaks, assembled round them listening to the songs of their minstrels, who never on such occasions failed to join their bands, and cheer their spirits.

Round one fire, wrapped in thick horse-cloaks, sat the champion, Arslan Gherrei, with Selem, Thaddeus, the Hadji, and several other chiefs.

“Now, my son,” said the old warrior, Hadji, “to-morrow you will have a field worthy of your bravery, and honour your father by your deeds. Where the thickest of the fight is, there let your sword be waving amid the ranks of the foe. By example alone, can we expect our followers to be brave; and those nations quickly become slaves to their neighbours, whose chiefs hang back in the combat. It is only by being ready to sacrifice our own lives, that we can secure the liberty of our country; and how much better is it to be sent to the realms of paradise, than to eke out a few more years of existence, with the galling chains of the slave! But I fear not for you, my son.”

Alp rose and took his father’s hand. The act was unpremeditated, and scarce consciously performed; he knelt by his side. “Father your son shall not disgrace you.”

The words were simple, but there was a deep tone of feeling, which showed that he would keep his word. He took no oath, nor called the gods to witness his words; and his father was satisfied.

At length, one by one, the party sought a few hours’ repose, wrapped in their cloaks with their feet towards the fire, and their heads pillowed on their saddles. The clear sky was densely spangled with myriads of brilliant stars. Ere Selem slept he looked round on the scene. Far as the eye could reach, the wide heath was covered with the recumbent figures of the warriors; yet a moment would call them all into fierce activity, should the Russians draw nigh. Yet though they seemed so calm to the eye, who could know the fiery thoughts and passions working in the brain of the sleeping thousands? Even now, many in imagination were engaging in the onslaught of the morrow.

Oft did the image of Ina return to Thaddeus, as he slept. His thoughts then flew to his far distant home, the abode of his childhood, the proud castle of his fathers, now laid low by the hands of his country’s oppressors. He saw the Eagle of Russia hovering over the slaughtered bodies of his countrymen, while captives knelt in chains, bound to the staff of her standard. In the midst of them appeared a warrior of majestic front and noble bearing, one who had never bent the knee to despotism. As he waved his sword, the chains fell from the captives’ necks, the dead arose, and the Eagles fled shrieking from the land before the resuscitated band. Again the scene changed. He stood once more before his paternal castle, with Ina by his side. His faithful dependants welcomed him with shouts of joy. He brought them glorious news. Russia had been stopped in her headlong career of victory. She had retreated before the gallantry of a mountain nation. Poland might again be free!

Volume Three—Chapter Thirteen.

“To horse! to horse!” was shouted about two hours before dawn, and, in the course of a few minutes, all the warriors of that little army were in their saddles, formed in close array under their respective leaders, and advancing steadily forward. The ground over which they rode was broken and rough, offering many impediments to their progress; as in darkness and silence they crossed the Kouban.

“Onward, men of Attèghèi,” cried the Seraskier, waving his sword; and at the signal the whole band dashed down the steep, passing a broad belt of lofty reeds ere they emerged on the now smooth and hard surface of the stream. The infantry, who were already posted on the other side among the thick cover of reeds, reported that none of the enemy had appeared, or seemed at all prepared for their approach. The cavalry, in condensed bodies, then rode boldly forward at a quick trot, encountering for a long distance merely a few peasants with their cattle, who were quickly sent to the rear, some light bodies being thrown out on each side to see that none escaped and to give notice of their approach to the enemy.

The hearts of all beat high, and their eyes flashed with excitement and pleasure, as the walls and houses of Kislavosk, seen by the pale light of dawn, met their view. A cry of joy escaped them, as they urged on their steeds at full gallop towards the devoted town. The outer picquets had no time to give the alarm, ere they were cut down; and onward dashed the band through the streets, the guards at the entrance making but a feeble resistance to their furious onset. The inhabitants, roused from their slumbers, looked amazed and trembling at the wild horsemen. On all sides the Russian troops were called to arms; but before they could assemble in sufficient numbers to repel the assault, the cattle, which the Circassians found assembled in great numbers, were driven off, and a magazine of powder and arms was stormed and ransacked. Then, like a whirlwind, the whole force again swept through the town. The inhabitants were spared; but little mercy was shewn to the soldiers who attempted to form their ranks.

The town, which a few minutes before was wrapped in fancied security, was now a scene of tumult and bloodshed, as the mountaineers fought their way through the broad streets, affording slight shelter to the Russians, who, ere they could bring their guns to bear, found their assailants beyond their reach; though they saluted them with a heavy fire from the fortifications.

As the Circassian rear-guard were emerging from the town, the Russian infantry formed and charged them in line; but the horsemen, wheeling on a sudden, rushed on them, sabre in hand, with such fury that they were glad to retreat, losing many of their number on the field. The Circassians, also, lost several men; but, as they were struck, they were lifted on their comrades’ horses and carried away.

The town might have been theirs, but they knew that they could not keep it for any length of time; and all the lower ranks of the Circassian army were eager to advance for greater booty, notwithstanding the counsel of the coolest and most sagacious chiefs. However, they encountered no cavalry in the town from whom to fear pursuit; and they had nothing to dread from the infantry. Onward pushed the band of mountaineers, passing through several villages, and sweeping all before them.

Their Seraskier then urged them to return; as now, that the Russians were alarmed, they might collect an almost overwhelming force from the neighbouring fortified towns to impede their progress; for, carried away with the ardour of the foray, the greater number thought of nothing less than pillaging every Russian settlement on the borders. Very unwillingly, therefore, they wheeled to make a circuit towards that part of the Kouban they had already passed.

Alp Beg had, during the day, constantly accompanied our hero and his friend, at the head of his troop, making, with them, several desperate charges on the Russian lines as they had formed, and never failing in breaking them with his furious onset. At their return, as the main body, with whom at the time were Selem and Alp, were passing at some little distance from Kislavosk, the Hadji, who brought up the rear to the left nearer the town, heard from some peasants that they had missed securing several head of cattle, which were still at a short distance outside the walls.

“Mashallah! what say you, my friends?” cried the old warrior. “Shall we let the Giaours still have any beef for their dinners? Let us shew them that they must not cheat us in this way. What say you, my friends; shall we pay them another visit? It will take us but few minutes.”

The proposition was too much to the taste of all parties not to be warmly seconded. Sending, therefore, to the Seraskier to intimate his purpose, and being followed by about five hundred horse, he made a headlong dash at the place the peasants indicated. The Russians saluted them as they advanced with showers of shot and grape, while the troops sallied out to meet them; but nothing could stop the impetuosity of their onset, and they quickly liberated the cattle, driving them off at a greater speed than the animals had ever before accomplished.

“Well done, my friends,” cried the Hadji. “I told you we would spoil these unbelievers’ dinners; and now, Bismillah! let us charge them again,” he added, as a large body of infantry met them.

Uttering loud cries, they charged the Russians, driving the cattle among their ranks. The troops gave way, when they were again saluted with a tremendous flanking fire of grape; and, ere they had got clear from the range of the guns, a large body of Cossack horse, who had that moment arrived from the neighbouring towns, met them at full charge. Already had many of their number fallen under the fire from the town; but the old warrior Hadji, undaunted by the overwhelming force of their new opponents, shouting his war cry, called to his followers to charge them.

Tremendous was the shock of the two fierce bodies of hostile cavalry, animated with the most bitter hatred, and excited by the fiercest rage; but the superior skill, agility, and courage of the Circassians compensated partly for their inferiority in numbers. The Cossacks were arrested in their course; while the mountaineers literally hewed themselves a road through their ranks. They discovered, however, when too late, that they had committed a dreadful error in so doing; for a fresh body of Cossacks arriving from the same direction, they found themselves completely surrounded. The ground they fought on was a broad open heath, in front of the town, which gave full scope for the larger body of their assailants to bring their whole force against them.

The main body of the Circassians, with whom was Alp and Selem, on receiving the Hadji’s message, and on hearing the firing, wheeled to support him. The first of the band was the brave young Alp, eager to join the affray, and assist his father.

The Hadji, with scarcely three hundred followers, was bravely defending himself against several thousand Cossacks, shouting his war cry, cheering on his men to the attack, who wheeled and charged in every direction, keeping a complete circle in the midst of their foes, and placing their horses back to back in such close order that few of the enemy could get within the brave troop; or if they did, they were cut down by the inner ranks. At length, however, the Cossacks seemed ashamed at being held at bay by so small a body, and charged them with renewed vigour, hoping to destroy them before the main body came up. Great numbers of the Circassians fell beneath this fresh attack; though the remainder fought on with yet undaunted courage. But even their gallant old leader looked out anxiously for the succour of their friends. They made many fresh, desperate, but unavailing, attempts to cut their way through, still the Hadji fought on, shouting to his brave companions, and never for a moment thinking of yielding.

“Ah! Allah! well done, my sons!” he cried. “Well done, men of Attèghèi! See, the vile Cossacks are thinning fast around us. We shall soon have a hill of their bodies to ride over. Fight on, my men! our friends will be here anon; and then we shall see how fast these Giaours can fly. Charge, my sons! charge! Ah! Allah! here comes my noble son, my own Alp. I knew that he would be the first to rescue his father.”

While shouting these cries, the old warrior had made such desperate charges with one or two followers, that the Cossacks, partly opening their ranks, again closed before the rest could get up to them, thus completely hemming him in. His enemies, who recognised him as one of the most daring chiefs, pressed hard upon him, endeavouring either to make him prisoner, or to cut him down on the spot; when Alp, the foremost of the advanced guard of the main body of the Circassians, beheld his father’s imminent danger.

Not waiting even to see who followed, the young warrior shouted his war cry, and dashed boldly at the foe, the foremost of whom gave way as they saw the gallant youth approaching. But a young Cossack officer, seeing him advance unsupported, spurred on his charger, and fired his light rifle at the same time. For this movement Alp was prepared; and throwing himself on his horse’s side, the ball passed over him. In a moment his own gun was in his hand; he fired, but the Cossack imitating his manoeuvre, escaped his aim. Urging on their steeds their swords met, fast whirling round their heads as they were wheeling: and backing their horses. Alp, seeing an opportunity, threw up the Cossack’s guard, endeavouring to seize him and plunge his dagger in his heart; but ere he could effect his purpose, a ball from his antagonist’s pistol entered his horse’s neck, and the noble animal fell mortally wounded to the ground. But Alp was not overcome; disengaging himself from his horse in a moment, he sprung like a tiger on his opponent; and, striking him with his dagger, hurled him to the ground. Then springing on his steed’s back, and waving his sword, he stayed not an instant to cast a parting glance at his conquered foe, but led on his friends who had just come up.

The father and son recognised each other amid the turmoil of the fight; when, again shouting loudly his war cry, Alp urged on his steed amidst the thickest of the foe, followed by the few who owned the fastest horses, and fought his way up to his father’s side, shielding him from the many blows aimed at him, and regardless of those he himself received. Desperately did he strive to keep his foes at bay until his friends could come to his relief.

The old chief was saved; but at what a sacrifice! The blood flowed from Alp’s side; his eyes grew dim; his head giddy; he could not see longer to guard off the blows of his enemies.

Selem, at the head of his brave troop, as he saw the predicament of his friends, charged the foe furiously, cutting down all who opposed him, or drove them off till he reached the Hadji, who shouted his thanks as the last Cossack disappeared between him and his rescuers. But why does Alp not advance? Oh! Allah! where is he? Alas! behold him now weltering in his blood beneath his horse’s hoofs. Gasping out his last breath, he thanks Allah that he has saved his father. He pronounced, too, his loved Zara’s name. He is lifted on his horse; but his pulse has ceased to beat. The young warrior is no more. The old Hadji seems like some aged oak scathed by lightning. He hears not the shouts of the combatants. His own voice is stilled. He knows not where they lead him. One thing alone he sees—his noble, gallant boy a corpse by his side. He mourns that he yet lives while the young and the brave have fallen.

The main body of the Circassians, now arriving, set furiously on the Cossacks, whom they drove before them; but, pursuing them too eagerly, they again found themselves exposed to the deadly fire from the town, showers of grape falling among them, and cutting through their ranks with deadly effect. Thus once more they were compelled to retreat. The Russian infantry then marched out to support the cavalry, now again following the Circassians, who, whenever the Russians approached near enough, would suddenly wheel and charge them, thinning their ranks, and driving them to a distance.

In this hazardous style of fighting, Thaddeus had much distinguished himself, as well as in the principal charge, which he had made by the side of Selem to the rescue of the Hadji. As they approached the Kouban, their own infantry coming up, the Cossacks took to flight, and were pursued with considerable slaughter; but though it had been a day of victory, it had been a disastrous and dearly bought one to the Circassians; many of their chiefs, and a great number of their followers having fallen by the destructive fire of grape, which had played on them from the batteries; though, in comparison, they had lost but few men in their encounter with the Cossacks; so superior are they in horsemanship and the use of their arms.

Arslan Gherrei rode up to the side of his brother chieftain and old friend, to endeavour to offer some consolation.

“Nay, nay, my friend,” said the veteran warrior, “I mourn not for my son. Allah is merciful, and has sent him to Paradise in the midst of victory. And what nobler fate could I wish for him? I would that I too had died with him! For what was he born? For what have I bred him up a warrior, but to die for his country? There will be weeping and wailing enough among the women when he is brought home. Alas! for his bride! her heart will break. And his mother! It is a sad day for them. But I!—no, I cannot mourn! My heart’s feelings have long since been dried up. I grieve not for his loss.”

The low husky voice, the contracted brow, and expanded, but tearless eye of the old chief, sadly belied his words. He spoke no more as he rode on, except to issue some short orders to those of his followers who remained alive. His thoughts were hidden in his own breast; but there was an expression of concentrated agony in his stern features, which shewed too well that a father’s feelings were working strongly within him. Near him rode his squire, guiding the horse which bore the young warrior’s body and arms; and every now and then the father would cast a glance full of deep meaning towards it.

The army encamped that night on the same spot they had occupied on the previous one; stationing, however, picquets to give timely warning in case their enemies should attempt to follow. The Russians, however, had received that day a sufficient lesson to learn that the Circassians were foes not to be trifled with.

That night, no minstrels tuned their harps round the watch-fires; nor did the warriors indulge in tales of their exploits; but, as soon as the horses were sheltered and fed, and they had partaken of their own frugal fare, wrapping themselves in their cloaks, they snatched a few hours’ repose after the fatigues of the day.

As Selem, who took his place at the fire near which the Hadji had thrown himself on the ground, watched the old warrior, he saw many a convulsive throb pass over his frame. Then he would start up, and sit gazing on the burning embers, his thoughts doubtlessly resting on his slaughtered son, his white hair streaming over his stern and wrinkled brow, with mouth firmly set, and his hands clutching his snowy and flowing beard. He might have been compared to some aged oak, whose trunk had been scorched and riven by the lightning’s forked flash, yet refusing to bend beneath the tempest’s power. A true patriot’s motto is, “I may break, but bend not.”

Volume Three—Chapter Fourteen.

The next morning, as soon as the first streaks of light appeared in the east, the whole assemblage were on foot, all anxious to return to their homes. The division of the booty, an important affair, was first adjusted; the leaders of the different bands shared according to the number of their followers, among whom it was again to be divided; and, as the cattle were driven off by those to whom they were awarded, by degrees the whole of the force melted away.

A curious spectacle was presented, as the different bands wended their way in warlike guise in every direction along the valleys, and up the mountain’s sides, driving the untractable cattle before them.

To some, also, were awarded arms and powder, according to their necessities. The various other objects of booty, (and among them, a few Cossack prisoners, who were destined for slaves), had been thrown into the common stock, to be equally distributed.

The Seraskier, though still treated with the deepest respect by all, was now left without an army, except of his own immediate followers, every man who had composed it considering himself perfectly at liberty to take his departure when he wished, though equally ready to return, for any fresh expedition.

The chiefs parted from their leader with a respectful and affectionate farewell; he returning to his cottage and his farm, like another Cincinnatus, to till his land with his own hands.

A considerable share of the spoils was awarded to Thaddeus, much to his surprise and satisfaction; and the partition being arranged, he, with Selem, and Arslan Gherrei, prepared to accompany the Hadji in his mournful procession towards his home. Their sad journey was, of necessity, as rapid as possible, waiting only at night, to snatch a few hours’ repose, and borrowing fresh horses to proceed. The Hadji’s nature seemed changed by the blow he had sustained; before lively, and full of anecdote and conversation, he now spoke not, nor smiled, and seemed to be dreading the burst of grief and agony, which his arrival with the dead body of his son, would cause among those most dear to him.

As they approached his grounds, the body was taken from the horse, and laid out on a bier, formed of branches cut from the neighbouring trees, over which a cloak was thrown, and the arms of the deceased placed by his side. No sooner did the cavalcade appear at a distance, slowly winding their way down the valley, than the women rushed out to meet and welcome them on their return from victory. Among the foremost came Zara, eager to clasp her young hero to her arms. The chaplet she had woven to crown him fell from her hands; a sad foreboding seized her, and as she saw at a distance, that they bore a bier, her eye wandered anxiously round for Alp. She missed him from among the horsemen. She sprang wildly forward.

“Where is he?” she cried. “Where is my Alp? Why comes he not with you, warriors?” She caught sight of the bier. “Do you bear him there wounded? Oh, speak! Tell me, is he there?”

“Daughter,” said the Hadji, “Allah has taken my son.”

She seemed to hear him not, as she rushed forward. She lifted the cloak from the face, before any one could prevent her. She shrieked not; she did not swoon; but, with a fixed gaze of despair, she stood like a monumental statue, bending over the corpse of her slaughtered husband, as cold and inanimate as he.

At length, she seized a hand; it fell heavily down. She pressed her lips to those cold and lifeless ones, as if to find that breath still animated them. She seemed scarcely conscious what death was. It was long ere she was convinced of the reality; yet no tear escaped her eye, no sob, her heart. Her soft and gentle nature was fearfully changing.

“Who did this?” she cried. “The savage Urus! well I know their work! Alp, you shall be avenged!” Again she stood silently over the corpse, rigid and immovable. None could find it in their hearts to disturb her, until the mother of the slain youth arrived to bewail, with frantic grief, her loss, joined by the other women of their household. Their cries and shrieks rent the air.

“My son! my son!” cried the distracted mother, “why hast thou been torn from me? Could not some more aged warrior have satisfied our foes? Why hast thou been cut off in the prime of thy youth? Wai! wai! wai! Was it for this that thou wast reared, the boldest, the bravest, the most beautiful? No more shall I hear thy joyous laugh resounding through the groves, or see thy graceful form bounding on thy steed, across the green meadows. My son! my son! Curses on the foes who have slain thee! May they, like me, be made childless! Can they give me another son like thee? Bear him along,” she cried to the attendants, “bear my son to our home, that I may mourn over him. Wai! wai!”

The followers of the Hadji carried the bier of their young lord as ordered; the women leading Zara, who seemed like one in a trance, her eye resting alone on the bier; yet she faltered not in her steps, nor did a word escape her. Her grief was too deep for words or cries. Her heart was not broken; gentle and soft, as she seemed, it was of too tough a texture for that; though none, not even she herself, would have deemed it so.

We know not of what nature we are, until we are tried. She would have thought that she could not have borne the sight of blood, or the slightest misery, without sinking beneath the blow: but now, alas! she knew herself. Her heart, in a moment, was seared and blighted, as by the breath of the dark simoon, in an instant, the traveller is overwhelmed and scorched. Her breast was now hardened to feelings of pity, and burnt with vengeance against those who had deprived her of her loved one.

Such are the cursed effects of war. Let the victorious conqueror look around beyond the dazzling scene, and the gorgeous pageant which attends his triumph, and he would shudder, were he to see the agony, the hopeless despair, of one alone out of the thousands, of whose misery he is the cause. The heaps of slain are as nothing; the eye soon grows accustomed to gaze on them: the feelings become familiarised with the sight of blood, which first sickened at the thought. The slain have played their game of life, and are at rest; but it is those who watch anxiously for their return, who suffer: the fond parents, the doting wife, or mistress, the affectionate sister—it is their loving hearts which are wrung with anguish—it is their curses which blast the laurel-crowned brow of ambition!

The Hadji accompanied his son’s body to the door of his home, where he saw it committed to the charge of the youth’s weeping mother; ushering his friends into the guest-house, he insisted on performing the duties of hospitality. After these had been accomplished, he called for his horse, and rode hastily away into the neighbouring forest. There, unseen by the eye of any, he gave way to the grief and torment of his breast. “The boy died for me! Oh! Allah! that I might have been in his place!” he cried, in a burst of agony.

Selem with his father and several other chiefs remained to pay the last sad respects to the gallant young hero. The funeral cry sounded through the woods with a deep and thrilling solemnity; all the women of the neighbouring hamlet assembling to increase the melancholy wail.

In about two hours before the sun sunk low, the Hadji returned; the body of Alp was then brought out from the house, round which a large concourse of people had assembled, to accompany it to its last resting-place.

The cemetery was on a terrace, on the side of the hill; a beautiful spot, where grew the Cyprus and the plane-tree, shading the tombs of the brave warriors who there lay at rest. A venerable bard, with sightless orbs, was led up by his attendants, at the moment the bier, borne by six youths, the companions of the deceased, was brought out. He took his station at the head of the procession. His mother and other women followed weeping; and Zara, in a trance-like state, neither weeping nor speaking, walked on mechanically; her eye not for an instant withdrawn from the body of her betrothed. The Hadji next followed, with a firm step and erect posture; a slight movement of the mouth, and a contracted brow, alone betokening his mental agony. Arslan Gherrei and the other chiefs supported him on either side, followed by the inhabitants of the hamlet.

As the procession moved slowly on, the aged minstrel tuned his lyre to a low and plaintive strain, his voice trembling as he sung: at the end of each verse, the mourners joining in chorus with a melancholy cadence. As they approached the place of sepulture the words were to the following effect, continuing to be chaunted as the mourners stood round the grave:—

Mourn, children of Attèghèi, mourn for the brave, Whose heart with true glory beat high. Weep, weep, as ye lower him into his grave, No more to the charge will he cry. His father to rescue, amid the thick foe, He flew as they hemmed him around; When a treacherous shot from afar laid him low, And bleeding he fell to the ground. Weep, weep, for the hero, the pride of our land, Who ne’er from the foemen would fly, As he fought ’mid a host who outnumber’d his band, His falchion was waving on high. And his battle cry raising, he charged them so well, As the dastardly foe pressed around. His sword drank their blood, and e’er bravely he fell, Full many had bitten the ground. Lay the hero to rest who so bravely hath died. ’Mid the clust’ring ranks of the foe, “And his glittering falchion part not from his side, As calmly he slumbers below.” He was found where he fell, ’mid the heaps of the slain, His weapon still grasp’d in his hand, Which faithfully serv’d him, and there shall remain, For who is more worthy that brand? Weep, weep, for the hero who rests in his grave, And ever be sacred the ground, Nor let it be trod by the foot of a slave, While his spirit still wanders around. And fondly shall ever be cherished his name, As his deeds by our minstrels are sung, With the martyrs who won the bright chaplet of fame, O’er his fate shall a halo be flung. The warrior maidens of Attèghèi mourn. Ah sad was the grief of his bride! When home on his war-steed from fight he was borne, As fainting she fell by his side. Wreathe fair chaplets of flowers to hang round his tomb, Weep, weep, for the youth’s early fate, And when to bewail him, as yearly you come, The deeds of the hero relate. (Note) Vide Poems by T. Moore.

There was a deep and solemn silence as all that remained of the young, the brave, and the truly-loving Alp was lowered into the narrow grave yawning to receive him. As the body reached its final resting-place, this silence was broken by the sobs which burst from his mother’s breast and from the women who accompanied her. Even hardy warriors, who never thought or dreamed of fear, and seemed steeled to all the softer sympathies of our nature, were moved to tears. As the first handful of earth was thrown on the uncoffined body, all present knelt down circling the grave; and the aged bard, his hands raised on high, offered up prayers for the soul of the deceased young warrior. Then, joining their voices, the assembly petitioned heaven for its quick passage to the realms of bliss. The venerable sire now arose from his knees, and in a deep and solemn tone thus addressed the company:

“Men of Attèghèi, another victim has been offered up to the enmity of our hated foes; a sacrifice well worthy of the altars of Liberty; for who more brave, who more noble than he? Gentle as a lamb in peace, daring as a lion in war, loved by his friends, dreaded by his foe, who is here that loved him not? Who would not have been ready to shelter his life with his own? Why then was he taken from us, cut off in the flower of his youth? Why, my countrymen? Because the most noble altar demands the noblest sacrifice; and what altar is more noble than that of Liberty, and where a fitter victim than he for whom we mourn?

“His fate is glorious and happy. Even now his spirit is ascending to the realms of bliss, while we, still loaded with our mortal chains, mourn his loss. Yet still, many, many more sacrifices must be made, before our country can be free from our detested foes; but think not that our warriors will die in vain. Even now I see dimly and indistinctly, an era approaching, when our enemies shall be driven from the confines of our territories, far back to the barren lands whence they came; and our country, freed from oppression, shall rise above her former state and take her place among the nations of the earth.”

The oration being concluded, again they knelt in prayer, while the earth hid the heroic Alp for ever from the sight of those who loved him. A slab of stone was placed on his grave, over which was erected a light building of wood, sufficiently large to shelter those who would come on the anniversary of his death to offer up prayers, and to commemorate the gallant actions of the young warrior.

The bereaved Zara was led to her home; and, for many live-long days, she sat, motionless, regardless of all around her. Stunned and bewildered by her grief, she constantly brooded over her loss.

The Hadji appeared to have recovered from the shock sooner than the rest of his family: but many observed that the elastic spirits of the old man had flown for ever. A change had come over him. His whole thoughts and attention were given to forming plans for defeating the Russians, and defending the country against their attacks in the coming spring.

So different is man’s grief, for a loved lost object, to that of a woman! He has resources whereupon to employ his mind and his energies. The fierce excitement of war, the ardour of the chase, the banquet, the council, and a hundred other objects offer opportunities to distract his thoughts; while she has alone the remembrance of her loss. If she applies herself to her domestic duties, still the thought of her bereavement will intrude; and oft will she stop amid her occupations, a convulsive sob bursting from her heart, as the image of the lost one appears to her mind, and she thinks of that which was, but which now no longer exists.

Volume Three—Chapter Fifteen.

Our life is full of sunshine and clouds, smiles and tears; and it is as foolish to expect at all times to possess the one, as it is to repine that our lot in life must be sprinkled with the other. Thus, how great a contrast did the reception awaiting the warriors in the valley of Abran Bashi form to that which they had experienced in the vale of Gazlan; when Ina, blooming as the roses of Gul, flew across the lawn, as she caught sight of her father’s gallant train winding down the vale. She was now followed by all the wives and maidens of the hamlet, eager to welcome the return of their husbands, their fathers, and brothers, and to recompense them for the toils of war, and the dangers they had incurred for their sakes.

Throwing himself from his horse, Arslan Gherrei folded his daughter in his arms, as she flew to meet him; tears, how precious, of pure joy filling her bright eyes, that he was again restored to her in safety. We will not attempt to describe the meeting of Thaddeus and his fair mistress; but well did he feel himself recompensed for having espoused the cause of her country.

Death had not been idle in the valley since their absence. The forebodings of the venerable Prince, Aitek Tcherei, had been fulfilled; full of years and honour, he had been gathered to his fathers the day after their departure. He had been buried with all the ceremonies prescribed by custom; and his clansmen were now about to select one as a successor worthy to lead them to war, or to preside at their councils in time of peace. By the aged chieftain’s dying will, delivered to the elders of his tribe, Alp was to succeed to his possessions; or, failing him, they were to descend to Selem, so that, by the sad death of his friend, our hero found himself possessed of considerable wealth.

The elders and principal men of the tribe assembled to discuss the important subject, when the eyes of all were turned on Selem. His bravery in the field and his courteous manners had won even their hearts; and by choosing him, they would not only have a gallant and sagacious chief to command them, but it would prevent any of those jealous feelings which would too probably spring up, should they elect any one of those actually living among them. Without a dissentient voice, therefore, Selem Gherrei was elected to command their brave and numerous tribe. Our hero was now, in every sense of the word, a Circassian Chief; and a truly brave and noble one did he prove himself.

We must now draw rapidly to the conclusion of our story.

The trees once again put forth their leaves; the fields were enamelled with flowers; the birds sang in the groves; and all nature wore an air of renewed life and activity. The winter had passed away. The Circassian husbandmen on the borders, girded on their swords, and slung their rifles on their backs, as they toiled in their fields—prepared at a moment’s notice to resist any inroad of their foes—to sow corn, although ’twas doubtful whether they might ever reap the harvest. Bands of warriors were moving; towards the frontiers, to be in readiness to repulse the Russians, at whatever quarter they should make their first attack: and in every direction, messengers were galloping across the country, to carry information from one chief to another of their own plans, or of the enemy’s movements. Great stir had been observed among the troops on the Kouban, and the number of all the Russian garrisons was increased; but it was impossible to say what were their intentions.

The early spring also saw the happiness of Ina and Thaddeus completed; the chieftain no longer withholding his consent, on Selem’s making over to his friend sufficient property to maintain his bride as became her rank. A Polish priest also was found to perform the ceremony, according to the rules of the Christian church; this exile with many of his countrymen had lately made their way to Circassia, where they were certain of a friendly welcome from those who could so well appreciate their wrongs and sufferings.

Selem therefore had the satisfaction of seeing his sister married according to the forms he considered essential, when he committed her into the hands of his friend. The religion of Arslan Gherrei was too tolerant to object to his daughter embracing that of her husband, particularly when Selem undertook to explain to him the sacred bonds it enforced, and in how superior a state it placed her, than would have been her lot had she become the wife of one of the native chiefs. The chieftain much admired this in theory, though he confessed it was what his countrymen in general would not approve; for it gave far too much power into the hands of those whom they looked upon in the light of property, and which their lords and masters would lose, should the fair sex once learn to consider themselves as having equal liberty and rights.

The youthful couple enjoyed, for a short time, the utmost felicity which is allowed to the most fortunate on earth. They were truly happy in themselves, and their present lot; for they did not—they would not—think of what change the future might bring forth. Each day they thought that they had discovered some new charm in each other, something more to love. On their marriage, they had returned to the house near the sea, where we first introduced Ina to our readers; and often would they wander together down the valley, to the very edge of the deep blue main, which lay calm and lovely at their feet. As they gazed on its translucent wave, they little thought that its treacherous surface might bring whole hordes of their foes upon them.

Selem, whenever he could tear himself away from his important occupations, came to be witness of their happiness; but he was mostly occupied in accompanying his father in excursions through every part of the country to rouse the lagging, to animate the weak-hearted, and to induce all to take the oath of amity to the patriots, and eternal enmity to their foes. Where ever they moved, they were accompanied by other influential chiefs and elders, and were received with respect by all.

Those, who formerly thought themselves free from the danger of attacks by the Russians, were roused to join their country men in more exposed districts; and others, who might have been induced by despair to sue for peace with their overwhelming foes, were excited to renewed exertions, to defend their country to the last. Many made voluntary promises to muster under the standard of Arslan Gherrei, the moment it should be raised for whatever expedition he should think advisable.

Hadji Guz Beg constantly accompanied his friends in these expeditions; his enthusiastic exhortations adding considerably to the excitement of the people. At his own home, he scarcely ever remained, for he could not bear to hear the loud and constant repinings of his wife for her lost son; nor to look on the grief stricken Zara.

She, poor girl, continued incapable of exertion, and unexcited by aught around her; her thoughts dwelling alone on her lost Alp. It was at length thought, that change of scene, the novelty of the sea, near which she had never been, and the affectionate embraces of her early friend, might arouse her from her stupor. Ina received the youthful widow with an affectionate greeting, but could not refrain from tears as she contrasted the time they parted, when she was borne away from her a joyous bride, with the melancholy of the present; her young hopes blighted, and he, whom she loved, lying in his early and ensanguined grave.

The tender endeavours of Ina, could scarcely rouse her from her apathetic indifference to all terrestrial affairs; Zara could only return her kindness with a faint smile of thanks.

Arslan Gherrei was now less reluctant to be absent from home, knowing that he left his daughter with one able to protect her; and, at this time, Selem had just arrived to pay his sister and friend a visit, before they moved to a habitation further inland; for, as the spring advanced, it was feared the Russians might attempt a landing on the coast. The numerical strength of the tribe beneath the sway of Arslan Gherrei had been dreadfully reduced by war and plague, so that when he led forth his warriors to battle, scarcely enough remained to protect his territory; on which account, the preceding year, he had removed his daughter to the house of his kinsman, the late Prince Aitek Tcherei.

Volume Three—Chapter Sixteen.

A lovely and bright spring morning had induced Selem and his friend to seize their guns and sally forth at dawn of day, in search of game. They had wandered long over the sweet scented heathery hills, fresh and pure with the sparkling dew; when they heard loud shouts behind them, and saw Karl running to overtake them.

With a face of consternation, he said that he had just seen from the highest mountain in the neighbourhood, where he had been to cut wood, a large fleet standing, towards the coast, which his fears told him, must be that of his much dreaded countrymen.

“It will be a day of fighting, my friends,” exclaimed Selem, as with Thaddeus he flew rapidly towards the house. “We must die, rather than let our foes set foot upon our strand, where, if they once get footing, it will cost us dear to drive them off.”

They did not even venture to enter the anderoon; but, seizing their arms, and summoning as many warriors as they could collect on the moment, they rushed to the shore, thoughtless of the overwhelming force of the foe, and determined to defend it to the last gasp. As they emerged from the valley to the sands, a sight met their view, sufficient to appal the stoutest heart among the brave mountaineers. As far as the eye could reach, the smooth sparkling sea appeared covered with the lofty and wide spreading canvas of the Russian ships of war and transports, advancing slowly and proudly towards the devoted coast.

The Circassians gazed with deep anxiety at the hostile flotilla, feeling how small was their chance of successfully opposing the landing of their foes with the small force they had collected. Selem, however, sword in hand, flew amongst the small band, encouraging and urging them boldly to withstand their enemies.

“My countrymen, my brave friends,” he cried, “if we allow our foes to land, our destruction, and that of all those dear to us, will be certain. Let us, then, heap our dead bodies, to impede their progress, until our countrymen can assemble to fill our places; and let us rejoice that we can make an offering of our blood for the liberty of Circassia.”

“We will follow you to the death, noble chief. Wherever you go we will go. Allah will protect the right!” was exclaimed on all sides by men, who, as they drew their sabres, swore never to yield.

The fleet approached in a crescent form. The smaller vessels, leading and running in, anchored as close to the land as the depth of the water would allow, presenting the frowning battery of their broadsides to shore. The largest ships followed, while the transports formed in line outside; and, no sooner were the sails furled, than hundreds of boats issued from among them, advancing steadily forward in close line.

Even the heroic Selem felt that it was an act almost of madness to oppose so overwhelming a force; and, for a moment, he hesitated to sacrifice his people’s lives in so hopeless an attempt. But his resolution returned, and he determined to risk all, rather than fly.

At that instant shouts were heard in the woods above them; and a band of chiefs—on their journey to the north, at the head of whom came the Hadji and his brother—were seen galloping towards them. There was scarcely time to exchange the warriors’ brief greeting with their welcome friends—the number of the whole amounting to a few hundreds only, while the approaching boats contained several thousands—ere the fierce combat commenced.

The band of Circassians, mostly chiefs and renowned warriors, remained sheltered behind the trees, until the boats came near enough to enable them to take certain aim, when they opened a rapid and deadly fire from their rifles, taking the Russians by surprise, and throwing them into some disorder; but, notwithstanding numbers fell wounded in the boats, they soon rallied and again advanced. As the keel of the headmost boat grated on the beach, Selem and the Hadji, calling to their comrades, drew their sabres, and, with a furious onset, rushed towards the enemy. Before the first Russian had time to set his foot on dry land, he was hurled bleeding into the sea.

As each of the headmost boats came on, they were received with the same desperate valour; and as, with their lifeless crews, they were thrown on shore, they served as ramparts to the defenders to shelter themselves from the fire of the aftermost ones. Still the enemy advanced in constant succession, like wave upon wave, towards the beach; but with such heroic bravery did Selem and his friends meet them, that the first part of the detachment was completely destroyed, the rest keeping off until more boats should arrive from the ships.

For the Circassians, however, it was a fearful struggle, to oppose their small band to so overwhelming a force; and more so, when those on board the ships of war, seeing the powerful opposition offered, commenced firing on friends and foes alike. Yet, though several of the patriots had fallen, they fought on undaunted. In a short time, however, all the boats came up, extending their line, when a body of troops effected a landing before they could be opposed.

As the Hadji caught sight of them, “Allah! Allah!” he cried, “down with the foes of Circassia. None such may place foot here. Allah! Allah!” And, calling to several of his companions, he furiously charged them; but, notwithstanding his utmost bravery, he and his followers were again driven back to the chief scene of conflict, closely pressed by the enemy. In the mean time also, on the other side, another body of troops had landed. The Circassians found themselves almost hemmed in; but they did not give much time for their enemies to form; for a party attacked them with almost despairing fury, and kept them from approaching to aid the disembarkation of the other boats.

The patriot band was thinning fast; the most determined spirits among them, hoping only to sell their lives dearly; the strand was already strewed with their bodies; a dark red line of human gore fringing the pure ocean. Still in desperation they fought on. They thought of their wives, and of their children, and they strove not to die unavenged.

The image of his young wife presented itself to Thaddeus; and, commending her to the care of heaven, he bravely fought with renewed courage by the side of her brother. Yet now all hope had fled, when a shout was heard from the mountains rising high above the rattle of the musketry, the roar of cannon, and the clash of steel. Issuing from the grove, a numerous party was seen rushing with speed to the spot, headed by a female, brandishing in her hand a glittering sabre. It was the widowed Zara leading on her band of peasants against the Russians, who retreated before the fury of the onset, her followers hewing down their foes on all sides. Her life seemed charmed; for she guarded not herself, as she rushed into the thickest of the desperate fight, shouting to her followers, and with her slender arm dealing death-bearing blows around her.

For a considerable distance along the coast, many separate engagements took place where-ever any boats attempted to throw the troops on shore; those who were left, while the boats returned for reinforcements, were cut to pieces; for the defenders were too few to attempt making prisoners. Seeing that affairs were in this desperate state, the Russians sent every boat they could launch from their ships of war and transports, filled with troops, to the assistance of those already engaged; the brigs at the same time running so close in, that their keels touched the ground. These vessels opened a galling fire, aiming over the heads of their own people, at the defenders of the soil. But the Circassians were by far too eager to allow the manoeuvre to be of much avail. Closing and grappling with their enemies the moment they came on, and fighting up to their waists in the sea, as they rushed forward to meet them, the shot from the ships, made equal havoc among both parties.

The Russians now saw that it would have been better policy to wait, until all their foes had collected on the beach, before they commenced firing; when, after playing on the crowds of Circassians, they might under cover of their guns, have sent in their boats without molestation. As it was they had been dreadfully cut up without making good their landing. They now attempted to repair their error at the sacrifice of their own people; but that signified nothing if they could ultimately be successful.

Selem, the moment he could turn his eyes to see what was going forward, after defeating those directly opposed to him, observed Zara amid the thickest of the fight, encouraging, and leading on her followers to the attack; he hastened towards her, fearful for her safety, and endeavoured to withdraw her from the bloody scene.

“Think you that the life of my husband does not require some sacrifice at my hands?” she cried. “The blood of all these base slaves would not repay one drop of that which flowed in his veins. Who is more bound to avenge his death, than his wife? I have nothing to fear. Hinder me not from the holy work.”

Breaking from him, she rushed again towards the enemy. Karl, however, who had followed her, and who did not like to fight against his own countrymen, remained by her side, merely warding off the blows aimed at her; till at length, his choler rising, he returned the blows himself, with interest. Selem saw that it was hopeless to hinder her; and the utmost energies of all were now required to repel the fresh attack. As the boats pulled rapidly towards the shore, the enemy’s soldiers, urged to desperation by the fate of their comrades, and by the instigation of their officers, threw themselves into the water with bayonets ready fixed, and charged the Circassians. But, as before, the active mountaineers grappled with them, leaping between their bayonets, and stabbing them with their short swords.

The termination of the contest, however, still remained doubtful, for at one spot, less obstinately defended, several boats made a dash at once, and succeeded in throwing their troops on shore, where, forming, they charged the Circassians on their flank with so much courage, that Selem began to fear their heroic defence would have been of no avail. At this critical moment, a loud shout was again raised behind them; and, turning, Selem beheld his father, at the head of a band of warriors, breaking through the wood, and galloping over the sand. A fresh and desperate charge was now made against the Russians, who were driven with great loss, to their boats.

The boats that were already afloat pulled off, the most desperate fighting now ensuing; the Russians, attempting to shove off their boats, while the Circassians, surrounding them, hauled their crews into the water, cutting down the soldiers who offered further resistance; but the foemen, at length when they found themselves left to their fate, ceased fighting, and sued for mercy.

A great number of prisoners were taken, the Russians losing more than half the number of troops they attempted to land. Many of their boats were also left wrecked on the shore. No sooner did those from the ships see that their troops were completely defeated, than they again commenced a tremendous cannonade on the Circassians, who, collecting their dead and wounded, retired within shelter of the woods, where they could watch the enemy with less exposure of their lives.

Selem looked round anxiously for Zara. She had escaped unscathed. Her sword—it had been Alp’s—was grasped in her hands, yet reeking with the blood of the enemy, as slowly she retired, unheeding the shot then falling thick around and laying many low in the hour of victory.

The patriots watched their enemies with lynx eyed vigilance, lest they might make a second attempt at landing. A constant firing was kept up from the wood, in all directions, at the retiring boats, and on the vessels, which they could reach with their rifles, making them glad to get beyond their deadly aim. The enemy had learned a sufficient lesson. In a short time, the boats were hoisted in, and that vast flotilla, which seemed capable of overwhelming the Circassian territories, stood out to sea, defeated and discomfited, by a mere handful of determined mountaineers. So truly will patriotic courage withstand tyranny and injustice!

Loud shouts arose from the gallant victors as the dark eagles were seen flying far out to sea; and all that part of the country was, for the present, relieved from the baneful shadow of their wings. But, like the destroying angel of the Egyptians, wherever they had passed, they left grief and mourning in their track, for many of the brave patriots had fallen.

Selem, with a party of the most humane, as soon as the ships had got under weigh, repaired to the beach, where he found, mingled with the wounded Circassians, several of his late opponents still lingering. Deep was the gratitude of the poor fellows, when they heard themselves addressed in their own tongue; and when he ordered them to be conveyed to the hamlet, and tended with care.

None of our friends among the chiefs had fallen; but Thaddeus had received a wound sufficiently severe to require the whole of Ina’s attention and fond care. Many months elapsed before he could again take the field; and Ina might be excused if she scarcely regretted his confinement. He has since proved himself a true champion of his adopted country; and we trust that his gallant sons may, in a few years, follow his noble example.

No sooner had the tumult of the fight ceased, than Zara’s excitement also vanished; and, overcome by the unnatural exertion she had undergone, she sank to the ground, her hand relaxing the grasp of her weapon, which she would not before quit. In this state she was borne to the house of Arslan Gherrei. She recovered; and sank no more into her apathetic state. But her nature, her very appearance had changed; though her eye was even brighter than ever. A hectic flush—one crimson spot—grew on her thin and wan cheek: her lip was pale, and her voice lost its soft, sweet melody. Like the warlike brides of her ancestors, wherever the foe approached, there was the bereaved young widow to be seen amid the thickest of the fight, her heroic courage animating her countrymen, and spreading terror among the ranks of the Urus. Where the carnage has been most dreadful, blood flowing like water from the pent-up fountains of winter when let loose by the warmth of spring, there has oft the young Amazon been seen rushing on amid the slain unscathed, unhurt; bearing, it seems, a charmed life; and, if she would forget her griefs in death, she cannot; the leaden showers fall thick, the sharp steel flashes around her in vain.

Many follow her as an inspired being sent from heaven to lead them to victory; and the foes, as they hear the war shout of her followers, and see her approaching, fly, terror-stricken before her. The fire of revenge for her slaughtered love still burns unquenched within her bosom. Death—death alone can ever extinguish its consuming flame.

That noble champion of his country, Arslan Gherrei, still leads his followers to war; and may he be spared to enjoy the blessings of peace, which he so well deserves, and the happiness of his country, for which his heart so yearns.

Even now also is the war shout of the fierce Hadji heard in the thickest of the battle; and though his tread has lost its elasticity, his arm somewhat of its nerve, still well does he deal his blows amid the enemies of his country. May just Heaven shield the good and brave old man from the weapons of an invading enemy!

And Selem, our hero—yet does the image of the loving, the murdered Azila, dwell within his bosom. He has not forgotten his vow. Terribly does he fulfil it. But the end is not yet accomplished. His only bride, his earthly love, is his country; and what more exalted or holy feeling could possess his breast? Still does he energetically strive for Circassia’s welfare; and never for a moment, does he regret that he exchanged wealth, rank, and heartless dissipation, gilding the chains of despotism, for his humble cot, and liberty!

May every philanthropist join us in earnest hope and prayer, that Circassia may not share the fate of Poland.

The End.

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Volume 1 Chapter 1

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Volume 1 Chapter 2

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Volume 1 Chapter 3

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Volume 1 Chapter 4

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Volume 1 Chapter 5

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Volume 1 Chapter 6

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Volume 1 Chapter 7

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Volume 1 Chapter 8

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Volume 1 Chapter 9

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Volume 1 Chapter 10

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Volume 1 Chapter 11

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Volume 1 Chapter 12

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Volume 1 Chapter 13

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Volume 1 Chapter 14

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Volume 1 Chapter 15

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Volume 1 Chapter 16

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Volume 1 Chapter 17

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Volume 1 Chapter 18

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Volume 1 Chapter 19

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Volume 2 Chapter 1

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Volume 2 Chapter 2

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Volume 2 Chapter 3

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Volume 2 Chapter 4

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Volume 2 Chapter 5

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Volume 2 Chapter 6

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Volume 2 Chapter 7

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Volume 2 Chapter 8

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Volume 2 Chapter 9

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Volume 2 Chapter 10

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Volume 2 Chapter 11

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Volume 2 Chapter 12

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Volume 2 Chapter 13

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Volume 2 Chapter 14

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Volume 2 Chapter 15

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Volume 2 Chapter 16

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Volume 2 Chapter 17

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Volume 3 Chapter 1

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Volume 3 Chapter 2

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Volume 3 Chapter 3

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Volume 3 Chapter 4

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Volume 3 Chapter 5

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Volume 3 Chapter 6

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Volume 3 Chapter 7

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Volume 3 Chapter 8

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Volume 3 Chapter 9

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Volume 3 Chapter 10

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Volume 3 Chapter 11

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Volume 3 Chapter 12

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Volume 3 Chapter 13

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Volume 3 Chapter 14

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Volume 3 Chapter 15

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Volume 3 Chapter 16

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