Volume Two—Chapter Seven.We have, in a previous chapter, attempted to describe the romantic and pastoral beauty of the coast of Circassia, as viewed from the sea. We must now transport our readers to a scene of even loftier grandeur, and more surpassing loveliness.On the southern side of a high mountain, thickly clothed with the varied foliage of magnificent trees, some two or three hundred feet from the base, was a broad and extended plateau or terrace, terminating on one side by a steep precipice, while on the other the mountain rose in majestic grandeur, from the side of which, amid the trees, projected rocky crags of fantastic shapes, partly covered with the slender tendrils of creeping plants. Down the mountain’s slope sparkled a bright cascade, leaping from rock to rock, here hidden from sight by some overhanging trees or jutting cliff, and there appearing more clear and joyous than before, till it fell in a spray-wreathed column into a bason, from which it meandered through the small plain of the plateau, fertilising in its course several highly-cultivated fields, till it again fell in a shower of foam over the sides of the precipice, into a beautifully green and broad valley below; there joining the pure waters of a rapid rivulet, which brawled over its rocky bed in its course towards the sea, through the winding gorge of the valley.Towards the east, as far as the eye could reach, appeared hills and mountains of every form; some swelling in gentle undulations, and covered with fields of corn or green pastures, where grazed numerous flocks and herds; some clothed to their lofty summits with magnificent forests, and others again rising in steep, rugged, and barren abruptness. Above all were seen blue ridges of mountains, rising one beyond the other; first clear and defined, and then growing more indistinct and faint, till lost in the azure tint of the sky. In the same direction, the terrace extended for some way, gradually narrowing till it merged in the steep sides of the mountain. Some well cultivated high ground of no great elevation, rose on the opposite side of the valley, which, in the direction of the sea, narrowed into a deep ravine, taking an abrupt turn, with precipitous and insurmountable sides. The sea face of the mountains which formed it, could be trodden by none but the light-footed goat, or the almost equally active and daring mountain-hunters.It was, in truth, a situation well calculated to secure a retreat, and to form a fortification against any hostile invader, if protected by a few brave and resolute men; and on that account, it had been selected as a location by the gallant chief of a once numerous tribe, who had been driven by the Russians from his former hereditary possessions.His residence stood just within sound of the refreshing cascade, whose pure waters flowed before his door. The house was surrounded by farm yards, well-stocked with every species of domestic animal, and every kind of poultry. Well-planted orchards formed part of the homestead; and the trees in them were now loaded with fruit.The dwelling consisted of several separate buildings, of the usual style of Circassian architecture; but one was arranged with more care and attention than the others. This was the anderoon, or house appropriated to the women; it was separated from the others by a paling, which, however, was not sufficiently high to obscure the prospect. The front looked down the lovely valley, over many a rocky hill and cliff, beyond which, in the distance, was the bright blue sea. Before it extended a verandah, round whose trellised supports many creeping plants had been trained; their slender tendrils bearing sweet-smelling flowers, which hung in graceful festoons from the top.But it was in the interior that the brightest gem of the casket was to be found. On a cushion of rich silk, was seated, gazing through the open door, a young girl, lovely as one of Eve’s fairest daughters. Her eyes, of the deepest blue and of dazzling lustre, shaded with long dark silky eyelashes, were gazing upon the picturesque view before her; her delicate carnation lips were slightly parted, disclosing her pearly teeth. Her features were perfectly regular; and the fair complexion of her gently rounded cheeks was almost imperceptibly tinged with a roseate hue. Her raven hair fastened by a silken band over her forehead, fell in a long plait behind, and from her head a veil of white gauze scarcely shrouded her graceful and slender figure. The robe she wore was of blue silk, trimmed with silver; her full white muslin trousers were confined with a richly worked girdle, which encircled her waist; and small slippers of coloured leather, beautifully worked in arabesque patterns with silver, completed her attire.By her side lay an embroidered belt, at which she apparently had been working, as the golden thread still hung, unconsciously, in her slender fingers.At a short distance from this lovely creature, sat a little girl, busily occupied in spinning; whose small, quick, piercing eyes, and dark irregular features, shewed her to be not of Circassian race; a slave taken, probably in some predatory excursion, from the Calmuck Tartars. As she pursued her occupation, she turned at times her quick glance towards her young mistress, as if with an endeavour to catch her eye, but without avail; and she seemed fearful of arousing her from her meditations, whatever might be their nature.A tame kid of snowy whiteness was gambolling before the door; till, grown bold by impunity, it bounded into the room. But even the pretty animal’s playful antics did not rouse her; and the little maiden diligently plied her work, despairing of recalling the thoughts of her lady, to the affairs of the present moment.At length the sound of a distant footstep approaching the dwelling, caught her ear, she started from the reverie. “Run, Buda, run!” she cried, in tones of silvery sweetness, “haste, maiden! and see who approaches; but whoever they may be, stop them from coming here. Say I can see no one to-day; I am ill at ease; I should weep to see strangers. Shew them to the guest room, but not here. Say I would see friends another day, but I cannot now. Go, child.”The little girl was flying to obey these mandates, when the young beauty stooped for a moment, in the attitude of listening. “Stay, Buda, stay; it is useless. My fears have made me fanciful. Those are my father’s footsteps. Haste, Buda, to usher him to my apartment.”While she spoke, the subject of her meditations appeared at the entrance of the apartment, ushered in, according to etiquette, by the youthful slave. As he entered, he bowed low, his lofty plumed helmet touching the door-sill, and as his graceful daughter rose from her silken cushions to receive and welcome him, he folded her in a tender embrace.He was a warrior of commanding and majestic stature, clothed in complete armour. His coat of mail richly inlaid with gold, shone brightly with steel of the highest polish. His curling dark moustache and beard were yet untinged by any of the hues which betoken the approach of age, though his stern and fine features were marked with many furrows, indicating deep thought and numerous cares. He raised from his head his glittering helm, which his daughter respectfully took and placed by her side, as he seated himself on the ottoman and beckoned her to sit near him.“It is long, my father,” said the fair girl, “since I have rejoiced in the light of your presence; and oh, what pleasure do you bring to me when you come! I was before sad and thoughtful, and now I feel light and happy. Say, what has kept you so long away?”“My own sweet Ina,” answered the chieftain, “in these times of war and of constant peril, I have many things to attend to; and it does not become a warrior to spare many moments from his duties, even though he spend them in soft intercourse with one so loved as you, my child. I have even but now returned from mustering the small remnant of the faithful followers whom his foes have left to Arslan Gherrei; to see that they are well supplied with arms, horses and food, for a campaign. But why, Ina, were you just now, so sad and thoughtful?”“Oh do not ask me, my father! now that I am again happy,” replied the daughter. “I did but for a moment feel somewhat ill, and feared that guests were coming whom I did not wish to receive. I am well again, my father, now that you are with me.”“I have matter of importance to communicate to you,” said the chief, “you know Ina, that I so love you, that for all the riches of the mighty Padishah of the Osmanlis, I would not part from you; but yet, sweet one, the stern necessity of war compels me to leave you, and I must haste to join the hosts of my countrymen to repel our invaders. I may perchance fall, and leave you unprotected.”“Do not say so, my father,” cried the lovely Ina. “Surely heaven will protect us, as it has done before. But why this sudden haste? Stay but some short time longer with me, and among your fields and retainers. Nothing can have happened to call you so quickly away.”“It may not be, dear daughter. Now listen to my words. I have already told you that the valiant Khan, the noble Khoros Kaloret, has seen you—that he loves you. He is rich and brave; hundreds of retainers obey his commands and follow him to battle. He has numerous slaves who till his fields; rich pastures on which large herds of cattle graze; innumerable flocks wander over his mountains, while none can boast of finer horses or richer armour. What more can I say of him? He has sent his brother, who has just arrived, as an envoy to demand you in marriage, and I have spoken much to him. He says that he loves you, truly and deeply—that he would sacrifice half his possessions to gain you. Nay, tremble not, loved one. You know that horses, cattle, or the richest armour, are but as nought compared to you—that I would give all I have for your sake; but yet in this time of war, when any moment may lay me low, I would find some gallant protector who would shield you from danger; that when I am in the land of the blessed spirits, I may look down and see my child happy. Many there are who would be to me as a son, and would gladly accept your hand and succeed to my possessions; but none appear to win my Ina’s heart. Say, will my child become the bride of the Khan?”“Oh my father, indeed, indeed, I feel your kind and generous conduct,” exclaimed Ina, with feeling and animation. “Where other fathers do not consult their daughters’ wishes, you willingly yield to mine. I too have seen the Khan, but I would not be his bride; I cannot dream of love for one like him. For your sake, my father, I would wed whom you wished; but still he should be one whom you too could love, who would obey, and follow you as a son. Ah! that Allah had made me one, that I might follow you to the battle, and share your dangers and your victories. If I were to wed this Khan, I should see you no more; I should be carried far away to his mountain home, distant from the sounds of war and strife, when you would be left alone without a child to attend you, when sick or wounded; or should you return victorious, none would be in your home to offer you a joyous welcome. Oh, my father! let me still remain your daughter; let me remain to tend your household and your flocks, if you will not let me go with you. But oh! how much rather than become the wife of the richest noble, would I follow you to the field, to cheer you in the camp, to dress your food, to be your page and attendant. This I can do.”“Alas! my daughter, I cannot leave you here, for I must take all the followers that I can muster to the field. I have now so few, that I cannot leave enough to guard our home; and should our invaders gain the entrance of this pass, my house and fields must fall a prey to them. Then, my Ina, would you not be more safe and happy as the wife of a powerful chief, with thousands of warriors to fight under his banner, than to be following me amid the toils of a campaign?”“No, oh no,” replied the daughter. “I do not, I cannot love the Khan; he is brave, but fierce, noble, and cruel; his followers obey him more through fear than love. His very features bespeak his character; he is no true son of the Attèghèi, and I would wed none but a scion of the true stock. Oh, tell the Khan’s brother, that you cannot part from me; that I am your only child, your successor; that I am not worthy of the Khan’s thoughts; that Circassia has many maidens far more prized than I. Oh! say that you will do so, and restore happiness to your daughter’s heart. It was the thought of this that made me sad and ill.”The Chieftain gazed at his daughter with a glance of deep affection; yet, for a moment, the customs of his country seemed contending with his love. Nature, however, triumphed over habit.“I will do as you will, my Ina,” he cried, clasping her in his arms. “I will send word to the proud Khan that even he cannot melt the icy heart of my child. Nay, do not weep, my daughter; you shall not leave me against your will for a stranger’s care.”“Thanks, thanks, my father,” exclaimed Ina, affectionately returning his embrace. “You have restored peace and joy to my heart, and gladly will I prepare to accompany you to the camp.”“That cannot be,” replied the chief. “Your delicate frame is but ill prepared to share the hardships of a warrior’s life; but your safety shall be better cared for, and I will bestow you with the family of my kinsman, the noble chief Aitek Tcherei. His lands are far removed from danger, among the rocky fastnesses of the mountains; and yet, so near the camp, that a quick-footed messenger, may reach it on the second day. Thither will I conduct you, Ina, ere I seek the field; and there, with a companion of your own age, you will be safe and happy. To-morrow after the sun has risen, prepare to accompany me, with your women and slaves; I must now away to the guest-house, to give your message to the young Khan Besin Kaloret, who is eagerly expecting an answer; and were it not for his oath of peace, methinks the proud Tartar Khan would ill brook a refusal. And now, Ina, farewell, till to-morrow’s morn, when I will meet you with my retainers to guard you on your way.”The Chieftain arose, again bestowing an affectionate embrace on his child, as she presented him with his casque. He replaced it on his head, and quitted the chamber, attended by his daughter to the door. She followed him with her eyes, till he reached the entrance of the guest-house; when returning to her couch, she placed her hands before her face, and gave way to her overcharged feelings, in a flood of tears.The little slave Buda gazed with astonishment, to see her mistress so overcome with distress; she approached her with concern.“Oh, my dear mistress! why do you weep?” she cried.Ina looked up at the little girl, with an affectionate and grateful eye. “I weep not through pain, Buda, but that I am a weak, foolish girl, unworthy, some would say, to be a maiden of Circassia, where all ought to be brave and bold. I weep, because I may not share my father’s dangers, and that I may never again see him, or hear his voice. I weep too, for joy, that he so loves me, that he will not part from me. But I must not give way to thoughts like these, or my tears will not cease flowing. I must nerve my soul to bear all that may happen, with the courage of a daughter of the Attèghèi, if I have not the strength of her sons. Now haste, Buda, we have much to do, to prepare for our journey. Summon the women from the fields, tell them that we must leave our home; bid them hasten to prepare our goods and furniture for our journey. Go, good Buda, go.”As the little slave ran off to obey her mistress’s behests, the pet-kid again gambolled within the door of the room, and ran bleating to its fair guardian, looking up with its soft eyes full of affection, to her face. She bent down, and took it up in her arms. “Ah! my little plaything, and you too, I must see for the last time; perchance, no more shall I look upon your pretty gambols; no more will you come to be fed by my hand. When I am gone, you will wander wild among the mountains, with no roof to shelter you, and miss the care of your mistress, or a more sad fate, perhaps, be driven into the hands of those worse than wolves, our greedy invaders. Farewell, pretty one! give one more look with those soft eyes, and then go, forget me, and be happy among the wild flocks of your kind.”The little animal, as if understanding her words, or the tone of her voice, ceased its frolicsome play, and seemed unwilling to quit her side.The whole household was kept the rest of the day in a state of bustle and activity. The women were busily employed in making packages of all the light and easily moved valuables of the family; every one being too well prepared for the necessity of such a movement. Ina herself attended, to see that the tasks were properly performed; for a Circassian maiden, even of the highest rank, does not consider it a degradation to attend to her household affairs, but rather an honour to be so employed.
We have, in a previous chapter, attempted to describe the romantic and pastoral beauty of the coast of Circassia, as viewed from the sea. We must now transport our readers to a scene of even loftier grandeur, and more surpassing loveliness.
On the southern side of a high mountain, thickly clothed with the varied foliage of magnificent trees, some two or three hundred feet from the base, was a broad and extended plateau or terrace, terminating on one side by a steep precipice, while on the other the mountain rose in majestic grandeur, from the side of which, amid the trees, projected rocky crags of fantastic shapes, partly covered with the slender tendrils of creeping plants. Down the mountain’s slope sparkled a bright cascade, leaping from rock to rock, here hidden from sight by some overhanging trees or jutting cliff, and there appearing more clear and joyous than before, till it fell in a spray-wreathed column into a bason, from which it meandered through the small plain of the plateau, fertilising in its course several highly-cultivated fields, till it again fell in a shower of foam over the sides of the precipice, into a beautifully green and broad valley below; there joining the pure waters of a rapid rivulet, which brawled over its rocky bed in its course towards the sea, through the winding gorge of the valley.
Towards the east, as far as the eye could reach, appeared hills and mountains of every form; some swelling in gentle undulations, and covered with fields of corn or green pastures, where grazed numerous flocks and herds; some clothed to their lofty summits with magnificent forests, and others again rising in steep, rugged, and barren abruptness. Above all were seen blue ridges of mountains, rising one beyond the other; first clear and defined, and then growing more indistinct and faint, till lost in the azure tint of the sky. In the same direction, the terrace extended for some way, gradually narrowing till it merged in the steep sides of the mountain. Some well cultivated high ground of no great elevation, rose on the opposite side of the valley, which, in the direction of the sea, narrowed into a deep ravine, taking an abrupt turn, with precipitous and insurmountable sides. The sea face of the mountains which formed it, could be trodden by none but the light-footed goat, or the almost equally active and daring mountain-hunters.
It was, in truth, a situation well calculated to secure a retreat, and to form a fortification against any hostile invader, if protected by a few brave and resolute men; and on that account, it had been selected as a location by the gallant chief of a once numerous tribe, who had been driven by the Russians from his former hereditary possessions.
His residence stood just within sound of the refreshing cascade, whose pure waters flowed before his door. The house was surrounded by farm yards, well-stocked with every species of domestic animal, and every kind of poultry. Well-planted orchards formed part of the homestead; and the trees in them were now loaded with fruit.
The dwelling consisted of several separate buildings, of the usual style of Circassian architecture; but one was arranged with more care and attention than the others. This was the anderoon, or house appropriated to the women; it was separated from the others by a paling, which, however, was not sufficiently high to obscure the prospect. The front looked down the lovely valley, over many a rocky hill and cliff, beyond which, in the distance, was the bright blue sea. Before it extended a verandah, round whose trellised supports many creeping plants had been trained; their slender tendrils bearing sweet-smelling flowers, which hung in graceful festoons from the top.
But it was in the interior that the brightest gem of the casket was to be found. On a cushion of rich silk, was seated, gazing through the open door, a young girl, lovely as one of Eve’s fairest daughters. Her eyes, of the deepest blue and of dazzling lustre, shaded with long dark silky eyelashes, were gazing upon the picturesque view before her; her delicate carnation lips were slightly parted, disclosing her pearly teeth. Her features were perfectly regular; and the fair complexion of her gently rounded cheeks was almost imperceptibly tinged with a roseate hue. Her raven hair fastened by a silken band over her forehead, fell in a long plait behind, and from her head a veil of white gauze scarcely shrouded her graceful and slender figure. The robe she wore was of blue silk, trimmed with silver; her full white muslin trousers were confined with a richly worked girdle, which encircled her waist; and small slippers of coloured leather, beautifully worked in arabesque patterns with silver, completed her attire.
By her side lay an embroidered belt, at which she apparently had been working, as the golden thread still hung, unconsciously, in her slender fingers.
At a short distance from this lovely creature, sat a little girl, busily occupied in spinning; whose small, quick, piercing eyes, and dark irregular features, shewed her to be not of Circassian race; a slave taken, probably in some predatory excursion, from the Calmuck Tartars. As she pursued her occupation, she turned at times her quick glance towards her young mistress, as if with an endeavour to catch her eye, but without avail; and she seemed fearful of arousing her from her meditations, whatever might be their nature.
A tame kid of snowy whiteness was gambolling before the door; till, grown bold by impunity, it bounded into the room. But even the pretty animal’s playful antics did not rouse her; and the little maiden diligently plied her work, despairing of recalling the thoughts of her lady, to the affairs of the present moment.
At length the sound of a distant footstep approaching the dwelling, caught her ear, she started from the reverie. “Run, Buda, run!” she cried, in tones of silvery sweetness, “haste, maiden! and see who approaches; but whoever they may be, stop them from coming here. Say I can see no one to-day; I am ill at ease; I should weep to see strangers. Shew them to the guest room, but not here. Say I would see friends another day, but I cannot now. Go, child.”
The little girl was flying to obey these mandates, when the young beauty stooped for a moment, in the attitude of listening. “Stay, Buda, stay; it is useless. My fears have made me fanciful. Those are my father’s footsteps. Haste, Buda, to usher him to my apartment.”
While she spoke, the subject of her meditations appeared at the entrance of the apartment, ushered in, according to etiquette, by the youthful slave. As he entered, he bowed low, his lofty plumed helmet touching the door-sill, and as his graceful daughter rose from her silken cushions to receive and welcome him, he folded her in a tender embrace.
He was a warrior of commanding and majestic stature, clothed in complete armour. His coat of mail richly inlaid with gold, shone brightly with steel of the highest polish. His curling dark moustache and beard were yet untinged by any of the hues which betoken the approach of age, though his stern and fine features were marked with many furrows, indicating deep thought and numerous cares. He raised from his head his glittering helm, which his daughter respectfully took and placed by her side, as he seated himself on the ottoman and beckoned her to sit near him.
“It is long, my father,” said the fair girl, “since I have rejoiced in the light of your presence; and oh, what pleasure do you bring to me when you come! I was before sad and thoughtful, and now I feel light and happy. Say, what has kept you so long away?”
“My own sweet Ina,” answered the chieftain, “in these times of war and of constant peril, I have many things to attend to; and it does not become a warrior to spare many moments from his duties, even though he spend them in soft intercourse with one so loved as you, my child. I have even but now returned from mustering the small remnant of the faithful followers whom his foes have left to Arslan Gherrei; to see that they are well supplied with arms, horses and food, for a campaign. But why, Ina, were you just now, so sad and thoughtful?”
“Oh do not ask me, my father! now that I am again happy,” replied the daughter. “I did but for a moment feel somewhat ill, and feared that guests were coming whom I did not wish to receive. I am well again, my father, now that you are with me.”
“I have matter of importance to communicate to you,” said the chief, “you know Ina, that I so love you, that for all the riches of the mighty Padishah of the Osmanlis, I would not part from you; but yet, sweet one, the stern necessity of war compels me to leave you, and I must haste to join the hosts of my countrymen to repel our invaders. I may perchance fall, and leave you unprotected.”
“Do not say so, my father,” cried the lovely Ina. “Surely heaven will protect us, as it has done before. But why this sudden haste? Stay but some short time longer with me, and among your fields and retainers. Nothing can have happened to call you so quickly away.”
“It may not be, dear daughter. Now listen to my words. I have already told you that the valiant Khan, the noble Khoros Kaloret, has seen you—that he loves you. He is rich and brave; hundreds of retainers obey his commands and follow him to battle. He has numerous slaves who till his fields; rich pastures on which large herds of cattle graze; innumerable flocks wander over his mountains, while none can boast of finer horses or richer armour. What more can I say of him? He has sent his brother, who has just arrived, as an envoy to demand you in marriage, and I have spoken much to him. He says that he loves you, truly and deeply—that he would sacrifice half his possessions to gain you. Nay, tremble not, loved one. You know that horses, cattle, or the richest armour, are but as nought compared to you—that I would give all I have for your sake; but yet in this time of war, when any moment may lay me low, I would find some gallant protector who would shield you from danger; that when I am in the land of the blessed spirits, I may look down and see my child happy. Many there are who would be to me as a son, and would gladly accept your hand and succeed to my possessions; but none appear to win my Ina’s heart. Say, will my child become the bride of the Khan?”
“Oh my father, indeed, indeed, I feel your kind and generous conduct,” exclaimed Ina, with feeling and animation. “Where other fathers do not consult their daughters’ wishes, you willingly yield to mine. I too have seen the Khan, but I would not be his bride; I cannot dream of love for one like him. For your sake, my father, I would wed whom you wished; but still he should be one whom you too could love, who would obey, and follow you as a son. Ah! that Allah had made me one, that I might follow you to the battle, and share your dangers and your victories. If I were to wed this Khan, I should see you no more; I should be carried far away to his mountain home, distant from the sounds of war and strife, when you would be left alone without a child to attend you, when sick or wounded; or should you return victorious, none would be in your home to offer you a joyous welcome. Oh, my father! let me still remain your daughter; let me remain to tend your household and your flocks, if you will not let me go with you. But oh! how much rather than become the wife of the richest noble, would I follow you to the field, to cheer you in the camp, to dress your food, to be your page and attendant. This I can do.”
“Alas! my daughter, I cannot leave you here, for I must take all the followers that I can muster to the field. I have now so few, that I cannot leave enough to guard our home; and should our invaders gain the entrance of this pass, my house and fields must fall a prey to them. Then, my Ina, would you not be more safe and happy as the wife of a powerful chief, with thousands of warriors to fight under his banner, than to be following me amid the toils of a campaign?”
“No, oh no,” replied the daughter. “I do not, I cannot love the Khan; he is brave, but fierce, noble, and cruel; his followers obey him more through fear than love. His very features bespeak his character; he is no true son of the Attèghèi, and I would wed none but a scion of the true stock. Oh, tell the Khan’s brother, that you cannot part from me; that I am your only child, your successor; that I am not worthy of the Khan’s thoughts; that Circassia has many maidens far more prized than I. Oh! say that you will do so, and restore happiness to your daughter’s heart. It was the thought of this that made me sad and ill.”
The Chieftain gazed at his daughter with a glance of deep affection; yet, for a moment, the customs of his country seemed contending with his love. Nature, however, triumphed over habit.
“I will do as you will, my Ina,” he cried, clasping her in his arms. “I will send word to the proud Khan that even he cannot melt the icy heart of my child. Nay, do not weep, my daughter; you shall not leave me against your will for a stranger’s care.”
“Thanks, thanks, my father,” exclaimed Ina, affectionately returning his embrace. “You have restored peace and joy to my heart, and gladly will I prepare to accompany you to the camp.”
“That cannot be,” replied the chief. “Your delicate frame is but ill prepared to share the hardships of a warrior’s life; but your safety shall be better cared for, and I will bestow you with the family of my kinsman, the noble chief Aitek Tcherei. His lands are far removed from danger, among the rocky fastnesses of the mountains; and yet, so near the camp, that a quick-footed messenger, may reach it on the second day. Thither will I conduct you, Ina, ere I seek the field; and there, with a companion of your own age, you will be safe and happy. To-morrow after the sun has risen, prepare to accompany me, with your women and slaves; I must now away to the guest-house, to give your message to the young Khan Besin Kaloret, who is eagerly expecting an answer; and were it not for his oath of peace, methinks the proud Tartar Khan would ill brook a refusal. And now, Ina, farewell, till to-morrow’s morn, when I will meet you with my retainers to guard you on your way.”
The Chieftain arose, again bestowing an affectionate embrace on his child, as she presented him with his casque. He replaced it on his head, and quitted the chamber, attended by his daughter to the door. She followed him with her eyes, till he reached the entrance of the guest-house; when returning to her couch, she placed her hands before her face, and gave way to her overcharged feelings, in a flood of tears.
The little slave Buda gazed with astonishment, to see her mistress so overcome with distress; she approached her with concern.
“Oh, my dear mistress! why do you weep?” she cried.
Ina looked up at the little girl, with an affectionate and grateful eye. “I weep not through pain, Buda, but that I am a weak, foolish girl, unworthy, some would say, to be a maiden of Circassia, where all ought to be brave and bold. I weep, because I may not share my father’s dangers, and that I may never again see him, or hear his voice. I weep too, for joy, that he so loves me, that he will not part from me. But I must not give way to thoughts like these, or my tears will not cease flowing. I must nerve my soul to bear all that may happen, with the courage of a daughter of the Attèghèi, if I have not the strength of her sons. Now haste, Buda, we have much to do, to prepare for our journey. Summon the women from the fields, tell them that we must leave our home; bid them hasten to prepare our goods and furniture for our journey. Go, good Buda, go.”
As the little slave ran off to obey her mistress’s behests, the pet-kid again gambolled within the door of the room, and ran bleating to its fair guardian, looking up with its soft eyes full of affection, to her face. She bent down, and took it up in her arms. “Ah! my little plaything, and you too, I must see for the last time; perchance, no more shall I look upon your pretty gambols; no more will you come to be fed by my hand. When I am gone, you will wander wild among the mountains, with no roof to shelter you, and miss the care of your mistress, or a more sad fate, perhaps, be driven into the hands of those worse than wolves, our greedy invaders. Farewell, pretty one! give one more look with those soft eyes, and then go, forget me, and be happy among the wild flocks of your kind.”
The little animal, as if understanding her words, or the tone of her voice, ceased its frolicsome play, and seemed unwilling to quit her side.
The whole household was kept the rest of the day in a state of bustle and activity. The women were busily employed in making packages of all the light and easily moved valuables of the family; every one being too well prepared for the necessity of such a movement. Ina herself attended, to see that the tasks were properly performed; for a Circassian maiden, even of the highest rank, does not consider it a degradation to attend to her household affairs, but rather an honour to be so employed.
Volume Two—Chapter Eight.The chieftain, Arslan Gherrei, was one of the bravest of the nobles of Circassia. He was generous in his behaviour, courteous in his manners, and temperate in the extreme; but there was a melancholy in his countenance, almost approaching to sternness. He kept aloof from his countrymen, except in the council of war or the scene of strife, where his advice was respected, and his standard followed with alacrity. At their banquets and scenes of conviviality and amusement, he was scarcely ever to be found, preferring rather his domestic hearth and the society of his daughter.Such was the father of the beautiful Ina, the devoted patriot, the champion of Circassia; but as we shall have occasion to refer, at a future time, to the particulars of his history, we will now follow his steps to his guest-house, where the young noble, the brother of the Tartar Khan Khoros Kaloret, was anxiously waiting his return with Ina’s answer to his brother’s proposal of marriage; not dreaming that it was possible any maiden of Circassia could refuse so noble an offer.The young Khan, who was seated on the divan at the further end of the apartment, attended by his squire, rose as the chieftain entered. He was a tall, hard-featured youth, of herculean frame, clothed from head to foot in chain armour, over which he wore a dark cloak of thick cloth; his head was guarded by a helmet, or rather cap, of iron, trimmed round the edge with a thick fur border, giving to his face rather a ferocious appearance, which his overhanging and scowling brow did not belie. By his side hung a ponderous two-edged sword, the handle richly embossed with gold and ornamented with jewels, as was the poniard at his belt. His other weapons, as well as those of his squire, hung against the wall over his head.His squire was without armour of any sort; but his cap was of the same coloured fur as his master’s; and his dress of dark cloth fitted closely to his figure. This man was of shorter stature than the Khan, and thick set, with the same disagreeable, forbidding cast of features. The Khan seemed eager for the chieftain’s reply, though he tried to conceal his anxiety; but before either of them spoke, his host, motioning him to resume his seat, took a place on a cushion opposite to him, waiting for his guest to commence the conversation.“Noble Uzden, what answer does the bright dawn of day send to my gallant brother? Will she be the queen of his anderoon, and the future mother of our noble race? When will she be prepared to meet my brother on her road to his home, and when shall I again come with a large company of our retainers, such as befits her rank and beauty, decked in bridal array to bear her away to the longing arms of her spouse?”“It cannot be,” answered the chieftain, gravely, “I speak not with disdain of the noble Khan, your brother, but my daughter is to me as my son; and not even to him, for all the riches of Stamboul, will I part with her against her wish. Ina is still young, and loves me as a son would. Tell your noble brother that she will yet remain with her father; that she is the only bright jewel I cherish; that I value her more than the richest armour, or steeds of the purest race. There are other maidens of the Attèghèi, gladly willing to cheer your brother’s home—willing to be the mother of his sons, brave and warlike as their father; may Allah send joy to his house! but my daughter cannot be his bride. It is enough, Khan, I have given my answer.”The brow of the young Besin Khan grew darker at these words. “Must I then go back to my brother with such an answer as this? Must I go tell the leader of a thousand brave warriors that a weak girl will not bow to his will? Why thus, oh Uzden! do you throw dirt in my face? Must I speak such words as these in my brother’s ear? Think you that he will listen to me? He will say that I am laughing at his beard. He will tell me to return and bring back his bride; you know not my brother, if you suppose that he will hear with calmness such words as these. He will not rest. He will send me back with another message, and will not receive me till I return with his bride. Say then, oh chieftain! that the sweet bird shall quit her bower, that she will come and sing in my brother’s anderoon. She will soon be happy there, though at first she may mourn for her father’s home; and she will become my brother’s pride, his brightest jewel, his sweetest flower. He will send you, Uzden, a coat of armour through which no sword can cleave; four noble steeds of the purest race, fleet as the wind, a fine herd of fat cattle, and flocks of sheep. Do not despise these things.”“Have I not said, Khan, that my daughter is to me more than armour or steeds?” replied Arslan Gherrei; “why then, talk we like children? My word is spoken—my daughter cannot be the bride of the Khan. Be not foolish, but take my message to your brother; and now Khan, speak no more on the subject. Refreshments are preparing for you ere you return, if you must needs use so much haste; but rather spend this night at my house, and by to-morrow’s dawn you shall depart, for I lead forth my few remaining followers against the foe, and must take my daughter to place her in safety with the family of our kinsman Aitek Tcherei. Stay then, till to-morrow, when you shall go in peace; and perchance the next time we meet, it will be on the battle-field against the Urus; for I have often been witness of your bravery, and many of your foes have I seen bite the dust.”“I cannot stay; I must away with haste; I want not food, if such is the only answer, oh chief! that you can send my brother,” exclaimed the young noble with vehemence. “He will not brook such words as these. His soul will not tamely submit to this refusal. It is folly to think it. His offer was not made to be refused.”“You speak words of folly, Khan; your brother is no child, that he should be angered at a thing like this,” replied the chief, gravely. “Your feelings carry away your judgment; wait, and you will think better on the subject to-morrow.”“You little know my brother. He is now waiting, eager for the answer I must take, and I will not tarry to hear more of such words,” exclaimed the young Khan, still more angry than before. “My horse, Kiru!” turning to his squire. “Reach me my arms. Bring forth my horse. Order my followers to mount, and away.”His squire, as desired, presented him with his gun and pistols, and hastened from the room to obey his orders, while the young Khan strode angrily and haughtily to the door, where he stood, foaming with rage, till his horse was brought forth. He then mounted, without offering the customary salute at parting to his noble host, who amazed, and vexed, at his want of knightly courtesy, and at his hot, irascible temper, re-entered his house.Followed by his squire, and the retainers of his family, the enraged young noble galloped furiously along the flat terrace, till he reached the steep path on the mountain’s side, down which he continued his way, and along the bottom of the valley in the direction of the sea, keeping his course towards the north, along the coast.
The chieftain, Arslan Gherrei, was one of the bravest of the nobles of Circassia. He was generous in his behaviour, courteous in his manners, and temperate in the extreme; but there was a melancholy in his countenance, almost approaching to sternness. He kept aloof from his countrymen, except in the council of war or the scene of strife, where his advice was respected, and his standard followed with alacrity. At their banquets and scenes of conviviality and amusement, he was scarcely ever to be found, preferring rather his domestic hearth and the society of his daughter.
Such was the father of the beautiful Ina, the devoted patriot, the champion of Circassia; but as we shall have occasion to refer, at a future time, to the particulars of his history, we will now follow his steps to his guest-house, where the young noble, the brother of the Tartar Khan Khoros Kaloret, was anxiously waiting his return with Ina’s answer to his brother’s proposal of marriage; not dreaming that it was possible any maiden of Circassia could refuse so noble an offer.
The young Khan, who was seated on the divan at the further end of the apartment, attended by his squire, rose as the chieftain entered. He was a tall, hard-featured youth, of herculean frame, clothed from head to foot in chain armour, over which he wore a dark cloak of thick cloth; his head was guarded by a helmet, or rather cap, of iron, trimmed round the edge with a thick fur border, giving to his face rather a ferocious appearance, which his overhanging and scowling brow did not belie. By his side hung a ponderous two-edged sword, the handle richly embossed with gold and ornamented with jewels, as was the poniard at his belt. His other weapons, as well as those of his squire, hung against the wall over his head.
His squire was without armour of any sort; but his cap was of the same coloured fur as his master’s; and his dress of dark cloth fitted closely to his figure. This man was of shorter stature than the Khan, and thick set, with the same disagreeable, forbidding cast of features. The Khan seemed eager for the chieftain’s reply, though he tried to conceal his anxiety; but before either of them spoke, his host, motioning him to resume his seat, took a place on a cushion opposite to him, waiting for his guest to commence the conversation.
“Noble Uzden, what answer does the bright dawn of day send to my gallant brother? Will she be the queen of his anderoon, and the future mother of our noble race? When will she be prepared to meet my brother on her road to his home, and when shall I again come with a large company of our retainers, such as befits her rank and beauty, decked in bridal array to bear her away to the longing arms of her spouse?”
“It cannot be,” answered the chieftain, gravely, “I speak not with disdain of the noble Khan, your brother, but my daughter is to me as my son; and not even to him, for all the riches of Stamboul, will I part with her against her wish. Ina is still young, and loves me as a son would. Tell your noble brother that she will yet remain with her father; that she is the only bright jewel I cherish; that I value her more than the richest armour, or steeds of the purest race. There are other maidens of the Attèghèi, gladly willing to cheer your brother’s home—willing to be the mother of his sons, brave and warlike as their father; may Allah send joy to his house! but my daughter cannot be his bride. It is enough, Khan, I have given my answer.”
The brow of the young Besin Khan grew darker at these words. “Must I then go back to my brother with such an answer as this? Must I go tell the leader of a thousand brave warriors that a weak girl will not bow to his will? Why thus, oh Uzden! do you throw dirt in my face? Must I speak such words as these in my brother’s ear? Think you that he will listen to me? He will say that I am laughing at his beard. He will tell me to return and bring back his bride; you know not my brother, if you suppose that he will hear with calmness such words as these. He will not rest. He will send me back with another message, and will not receive me till I return with his bride. Say then, oh chieftain! that the sweet bird shall quit her bower, that she will come and sing in my brother’s anderoon. She will soon be happy there, though at first she may mourn for her father’s home; and she will become my brother’s pride, his brightest jewel, his sweetest flower. He will send you, Uzden, a coat of armour through which no sword can cleave; four noble steeds of the purest race, fleet as the wind, a fine herd of fat cattle, and flocks of sheep. Do not despise these things.”
“Have I not said, Khan, that my daughter is to me more than armour or steeds?” replied Arslan Gherrei; “why then, talk we like children? My word is spoken—my daughter cannot be the bride of the Khan. Be not foolish, but take my message to your brother; and now Khan, speak no more on the subject. Refreshments are preparing for you ere you return, if you must needs use so much haste; but rather spend this night at my house, and by to-morrow’s dawn you shall depart, for I lead forth my few remaining followers against the foe, and must take my daughter to place her in safety with the family of our kinsman Aitek Tcherei. Stay then, till to-morrow, when you shall go in peace; and perchance the next time we meet, it will be on the battle-field against the Urus; for I have often been witness of your bravery, and many of your foes have I seen bite the dust.”
“I cannot stay; I must away with haste; I want not food, if such is the only answer, oh chief! that you can send my brother,” exclaimed the young noble with vehemence. “He will not brook such words as these. His soul will not tamely submit to this refusal. It is folly to think it. His offer was not made to be refused.”
“You speak words of folly, Khan; your brother is no child, that he should be angered at a thing like this,” replied the chief, gravely. “Your feelings carry away your judgment; wait, and you will think better on the subject to-morrow.”
“You little know my brother. He is now waiting, eager for the answer I must take, and I will not tarry to hear more of such words,” exclaimed the young Khan, still more angry than before. “My horse, Kiru!” turning to his squire. “Reach me my arms. Bring forth my horse. Order my followers to mount, and away.”
His squire, as desired, presented him with his gun and pistols, and hastened from the room to obey his orders, while the young Khan strode angrily and haughtily to the door, where he stood, foaming with rage, till his horse was brought forth. He then mounted, without offering the customary salute at parting to his noble host, who amazed, and vexed, at his want of knightly courtesy, and at his hot, irascible temper, re-entered his house.
Followed by his squire, and the retainers of his family, the enraged young noble galloped furiously along the flat terrace, till he reached the steep path on the mountain’s side, down which he continued his way, and along the bottom of the valley in the direction of the sea, keeping his course towards the north, along the coast.
Volume Two—Chapter Nine.Among the beetling crags of the high, dark, and rugged mountains, which surround the still more gigantic and terrific Elborous, is a deep glen, more wild and fearful than the many other fissures into which the mountains have been rent by some awful convulsion of nature, forming the only accessible approach to a wide bason, round which precipitous cliffs arise on every side. Their lofty and pointed summits are insurmountable, even by the wild goat or active chamois.It appeared as if nature had formed the spot expressly to serve as a fortification for outlaws, as a dozen or twenty men could at all times defend the entrance from a host of foes. It was for this reason that the ancestors of the present occupier of the country had selected it as a spot on which to fix his abode, probably on account of his own lawless disposition, that he might sally forth from this strong hold, and commit forays on his neighbours, with a secure place to retire to with his booty, without fear of reprisal. Be that as it may, his descendants had followed constantly the same occupation; rushing down on the unguarded and unsuspecting villagers of the plains, carrying off their cattle, and seizing on themselves as slaves.The first of the present race who inhabited this wild spot, was a Khan of high rank in Tartary; one of the many who escaped with the exiled King into the mountains of the Caucasus, when driven from his throne by the Russians under the grasping Catharine. There they were hospitably and joyfully received by the brave people from whose blood they had originally sprung; great numbers, therefore, settled in Abasia, and their followers adhering to them through good and evil, they thus formed powerful tribes in their new mountain homes.From the marauding practices of the ancestor of Khoros Kaloret Khan, he was possessed of large herds of cattle, flocks of sheep, numerous slaves, and a breed of high-mettled steeds, from the stock which they had brought with them from Tartary. Thus possessed of abundance of wealth, he refrained from practices followed in more lawless times. He was at the head also of a numerous band of retainers, who obeyed him implicitly as their hereditary chief and master; so that besides his rank, he was a person of great consideration in the country, though perhaps more feared from his power to do evil, than loved for the benefits he conferred on his neighbours.His temper, being uncontrolled, was fierce and violent, so that none of his retainers dared to disobey his slightest orders; yet they followed him willingly to battle, for he was, at the same time, a brave and skilful leader, and the Russians had often felt the power of his arm in his tremendous onslaughts. No sooner did they commence hostilities against the tribes of Caucasus, than his father, leading out his clansmen from their fastnesses, proved himself one of their most bitter and unceasing enemies. Deep and fierce was his revenge for the wrongs which Crim Tartary had endured at their hands.Sending once some of his people to throw themselves in their way, in order to act as guides to them, he drew a large body among the fastnesses of the mountains, where, having lain in ambush, he set upon them with his followers, and slaughtered several hundreds on the spot. The others, attempting to take refuge among the caverns and rocks, were hunted like wild beasts. For several days did the savage chase continue; every avenue for their escape was so guarded, that none returned to tell the tale of their disasters. Those who were not taken and put to the sword, died of starvation among the barren mountains.The young Khan and his brother had imbibed from their father the same bitter hostility towards their foes; but revenge ruled their breasts more than love for their adopted country; and the ungovernable and fiery temper of the elder, often led him to commit excesses, even among his own followers, of which his father was not guilty.Such was the suitor for the hand of the gentle Ina; and though Arslan Gherrei loved him not, yet he was not fully acquainted with his real character; nor could he, without giving good reason, refuse his suit without a deadly insult, as he himself was descended, by his mother’s side, from the same race, though of a royal line.The house of the chief, near which was erected a high watch-tower, was built directly facing the rocky defile leading to the green circular plain or bason before described, thus commanding a view of all who approached.The Khan was pacing under the verandah in front of his house, in a state of violent excitement.“See you any one coming?” he shouted to a page stationed on the summit of the watch-tower. “Why tarries my brother thus? Why sends he not messengers to announce the coming of my bride? Surely he would not fail to send, and give me time to meet the beauteous girl, with due honour, on the way. He is not wont to disobey my orders. See you none coming, slave?” he again vociferated. “See you none coming?”“On my head be it, Khan, I see not one speck moving in the whole of the glen,” answered the page.“Am I your Khan, that you hasten not?” he cried, to some attendants waiting at a little distance. “Do you, Zand, take the fleetest steed, and fly towards Ghelendjik for three hours, returning without delay; and see that you bring me tidings of my coming bride, or of my brother’s messengers.”The man hastened to obey the order, the Khan continuing his irregular and agitated walk as before, every now and then turning his glance down the glen, then shouting to his watchman to learn if he had caught sight of any one approaching. The answer was as before. His impatience increased.“Saddle me a steed, knaves—haste, fly. Am I not your Khan, that you make no better speed?”A horse was quickly brought him; when, throwing himself into the saddle, he rode furiously down the dark ravine; but he soon returned, on the back of the panting animal, from the fruitless search.His temper was not assuaged by his headlong and heating ride; as throwing the reins to a slave, who stood trembling to take his horse, he resumed his hurried walk in front of his dwelling.Another hour passed, when the look-out man, on the watch-tower, gave notice that he saw a horseman coming up the glen. As he approached nearer, he proved to be only one of the messengers despatched in the morning, and he reported that he could gain no intelligence of any of the young Khan’s escort.The shades of evening were beginning to throw a deep gloom into the glen, when the look-out man again cried that he saw a party of horsemen approaching.The Khan instantly threw himself on a gaily caparisoned steed, preceded by his banner-bearer. His squire and pages followed, with the principal of his retainers, and galloped down the glen to meet the expected bride. What was his rage and disappointment when he did not see his brother’s towering form, or the white veil of the betrothed; but met, instead, the travel-worn and agitated band of retainers who had set out with him?“Where is my brother, and where my bride?” he exclaimed, riding furiously towards them with his drawn scimitar uplifted. “Say, caitiffs, ere I slay you.”“As Allah is great, we dare not say, Khan, where your brother is. We know not—we cannot speak,” answered the foremost of the party. “The fair daughter of the Uzden Arslan Gherrei is with her father.”“What! does she not come with my brother? Speak, slaves; answer, I charge you,” cried the Khan.“This only we know, Khan. On my head be it that I say truth,” replied the first speaker:“The brother of the Khan parted from the Uzden Arslan Gherrei in anger, that he would not let his daughter come to be queen of our chief’s anderoon. We then travelled towards the castle of the Urus at Ghelendjik, where Besin Khan, taking with him only Kiru, ordered us to proceed a day’s journey, and then wait for him. For two days he came not. We waited a third, and we then went to search for him. We heard that there had been a bloody fight between some of the tribes on the coast and the Urus, and we thought our young Khan would not have been absent; but all, of whom we asked for news of him, turned aside, and would not answer. We then went to the shore, where the combat took place, and among heaps of the vile soldiers of the Urus, almost destroyed by the birds of prey and wild beasts, we found the sabre, which was our young master’s, broken, and his iron cap and his corslet, with a deep dent on its centre.”As he spoke, the horsemen opened their ranks, and discovered between them, on a led horse, the shattered arms of Besin Khan.“As Allah is great, Khan, this is all we know,” added the man.The rage of the chief seemed for a moment abated, by the shock he had experienced at the account of his brother’s too probable death. But it as suddenly returned.“What lies are those you speak, villains?” he exclaimed. “Is it the custom of the chiefs of Abbaseik to leave their companion warriors when slain on the field? Though he had not his own clansmen with him, think you the other nobles would not have brought off his body were he slain? No; those cannot be the arms of my brother. If you have lied, some of you shall suffer for this. Follow me to my house. We will see, when light is brought, if these are truly my brother’s arms.”And turning his horse’s head, he rode hastily homeward.Throwing himself on a divan, in his principal apartment, followed by all the newly-arrived troop, he caused torches to be brought, and the arms to be placed before him. He examined them narrowly.“Alas, my Khan!” said one of his attendants, “the hilt of this sabre I know it too well. Often have I seen it in your noble brother’s hand.”“Peace, fool!” answered the Khan, furiously. “Think you that I know not my brother’s sword? Yes, those are his arms, and I will make those pay dearly who have cast this indignity on my father’s son. He would not, if living, have left his weapons on the field; and by Allah and his Prophet, I swear that I will have revenge. He may have fallen into the hands of the Urus; but no, Besin Khan would not be taken alive. I will go to the chieftains of the Attèghèi, engaged in this combat, and make them pay dearly for thus deserting my brother, if he was slain. If he were near, and heard the sounds of strife, so assuredly would he have rushed into the thickest of the fight; and if he fell by those hated Urus, doubly will I wreak my vengeance on all of their cursed race who fall into my hands. Yet what is the blood of a whole host of such as they are, to one drop of the blood of my noble brother? He would have died for me, and shall I rest while I live to avenge him? No; his spirit calls to me from the grave.”He rose, and walked in an excited manner through the chamber, shaking his clenched hand in the air.“Perchance even yet, my brother, thou art not slain! Wherever thou art, at the hands of that proud Uzden Arslan Gherrei, I will demand thee. He must know where thou art. Why should he refuse me his daughter? Am not I as noble as he? Have I not more faithful followers, more flocks and herds? Then why does he refuse to let the maiden come to my anderoon?”On the next morning, a fierce and warlike band were ready to follow the Khan, as, clothed in rich and glittering armour, with his banner borne before him, he left his mountain home, nor tarried on his road, but with furious speed galloped on, like some cataract descending from a lofty mountain to the plain.The band of horsemen issued from the glen, passing along the giddy edge of precipices, fearless of danger, down the steep sides of the rugged mountains, along the dry rocky bed of the winter torrent, never drawing rein.The inhabitants of the villages and hamlets ran out on hearing the rattling hoofs of the steeds, as the fiery Khan and his followers galloped by; but none greeted him as he passed, and, like a whirlwind, vanished from their sight.“Ai! ai!” cried the aged villagers. “Is the Khan again on a foray? Woe betide the hapless people of the plain he pounces on; or if he rides against the Urus, many will rue his coming, as he gallops over the slaughtered bodies of their countrymen.”
Among the beetling crags of the high, dark, and rugged mountains, which surround the still more gigantic and terrific Elborous, is a deep glen, more wild and fearful than the many other fissures into which the mountains have been rent by some awful convulsion of nature, forming the only accessible approach to a wide bason, round which precipitous cliffs arise on every side. Their lofty and pointed summits are insurmountable, even by the wild goat or active chamois.
It appeared as if nature had formed the spot expressly to serve as a fortification for outlaws, as a dozen or twenty men could at all times defend the entrance from a host of foes. It was for this reason that the ancestors of the present occupier of the country had selected it as a spot on which to fix his abode, probably on account of his own lawless disposition, that he might sally forth from this strong hold, and commit forays on his neighbours, with a secure place to retire to with his booty, without fear of reprisal. Be that as it may, his descendants had followed constantly the same occupation; rushing down on the unguarded and unsuspecting villagers of the plains, carrying off their cattle, and seizing on themselves as slaves.
The first of the present race who inhabited this wild spot, was a Khan of high rank in Tartary; one of the many who escaped with the exiled King into the mountains of the Caucasus, when driven from his throne by the Russians under the grasping Catharine. There they were hospitably and joyfully received by the brave people from whose blood they had originally sprung; great numbers, therefore, settled in Abasia, and their followers adhering to them through good and evil, they thus formed powerful tribes in their new mountain homes.
From the marauding practices of the ancestor of Khoros Kaloret Khan, he was possessed of large herds of cattle, flocks of sheep, numerous slaves, and a breed of high-mettled steeds, from the stock which they had brought with them from Tartary. Thus possessed of abundance of wealth, he refrained from practices followed in more lawless times. He was at the head also of a numerous band of retainers, who obeyed him implicitly as their hereditary chief and master; so that besides his rank, he was a person of great consideration in the country, though perhaps more feared from his power to do evil, than loved for the benefits he conferred on his neighbours.
His temper, being uncontrolled, was fierce and violent, so that none of his retainers dared to disobey his slightest orders; yet they followed him willingly to battle, for he was, at the same time, a brave and skilful leader, and the Russians had often felt the power of his arm in his tremendous onslaughts. No sooner did they commence hostilities against the tribes of Caucasus, than his father, leading out his clansmen from their fastnesses, proved himself one of their most bitter and unceasing enemies. Deep and fierce was his revenge for the wrongs which Crim Tartary had endured at their hands.
Sending once some of his people to throw themselves in their way, in order to act as guides to them, he drew a large body among the fastnesses of the mountains, where, having lain in ambush, he set upon them with his followers, and slaughtered several hundreds on the spot. The others, attempting to take refuge among the caverns and rocks, were hunted like wild beasts. For several days did the savage chase continue; every avenue for their escape was so guarded, that none returned to tell the tale of their disasters. Those who were not taken and put to the sword, died of starvation among the barren mountains.
The young Khan and his brother had imbibed from their father the same bitter hostility towards their foes; but revenge ruled their breasts more than love for their adopted country; and the ungovernable and fiery temper of the elder, often led him to commit excesses, even among his own followers, of which his father was not guilty.
Such was the suitor for the hand of the gentle Ina; and though Arslan Gherrei loved him not, yet he was not fully acquainted with his real character; nor could he, without giving good reason, refuse his suit without a deadly insult, as he himself was descended, by his mother’s side, from the same race, though of a royal line.
The house of the chief, near which was erected a high watch-tower, was built directly facing the rocky defile leading to the green circular plain or bason before described, thus commanding a view of all who approached.
The Khan was pacing under the verandah in front of his house, in a state of violent excitement.
“See you any one coming?” he shouted to a page stationed on the summit of the watch-tower. “Why tarries my brother thus? Why sends he not messengers to announce the coming of my bride? Surely he would not fail to send, and give me time to meet the beauteous girl, with due honour, on the way. He is not wont to disobey my orders. See you none coming, slave?” he again vociferated. “See you none coming?”
“On my head be it, Khan, I see not one speck moving in the whole of the glen,” answered the page.
“Am I your Khan, that you hasten not?” he cried, to some attendants waiting at a little distance. “Do you, Zand, take the fleetest steed, and fly towards Ghelendjik for three hours, returning without delay; and see that you bring me tidings of my coming bride, or of my brother’s messengers.”
The man hastened to obey the order, the Khan continuing his irregular and agitated walk as before, every now and then turning his glance down the glen, then shouting to his watchman to learn if he had caught sight of any one approaching. The answer was as before. His impatience increased.
“Saddle me a steed, knaves—haste, fly. Am I not your Khan, that you make no better speed?”
A horse was quickly brought him; when, throwing himself into the saddle, he rode furiously down the dark ravine; but he soon returned, on the back of the panting animal, from the fruitless search.
His temper was not assuaged by his headlong and heating ride; as throwing the reins to a slave, who stood trembling to take his horse, he resumed his hurried walk in front of his dwelling.
Another hour passed, when the look-out man, on the watch-tower, gave notice that he saw a horseman coming up the glen. As he approached nearer, he proved to be only one of the messengers despatched in the morning, and he reported that he could gain no intelligence of any of the young Khan’s escort.
The shades of evening were beginning to throw a deep gloom into the glen, when the look-out man again cried that he saw a party of horsemen approaching.
The Khan instantly threw himself on a gaily caparisoned steed, preceded by his banner-bearer. His squire and pages followed, with the principal of his retainers, and galloped down the glen to meet the expected bride. What was his rage and disappointment when he did not see his brother’s towering form, or the white veil of the betrothed; but met, instead, the travel-worn and agitated band of retainers who had set out with him?
“Where is my brother, and where my bride?” he exclaimed, riding furiously towards them with his drawn scimitar uplifted. “Say, caitiffs, ere I slay you.”
“As Allah is great, we dare not say, Khan, where your brother is. We know not—we cannot speak,” answered the foremost of the party. “The fair daughter of the Uzden Arslan Gherrei is with her father.”
“What! does she not come with my brother? Speak, slaves; answer, I charge you,” cried the Khan.
“This only we know, Khan. On my head be it that I say truth,” replied the first speaker:
“The brother of the Khan parted from the Uzden Arslan Gherrei in anger, that he would not let his daughter come to be queen of our chief’s anderoon. We then travelled towards the castle of the Urus at Ghelendjik, where Besin Khan, taking with him only Kiru, ordered us to proceed a day’s journey, and then wait for him. For two days he came not. We waited a third, and we then went to search for him. We heard that there had been a bloody fight between some of the tribes on the coast and the Urus, and we thought our young Khan would not have been absent; but all, of whom we asked for news of him, turned aside, and would not answer. We then went to the shore, where the combat took place, and among heaps of the vile soldiers of the Urus, almost destroyed by the birds of prey and wild beasts, we found the sabre, which was our young master’s, broken, and his iron cap and his corslet, with a deep dent on its centre.”
As he spoke, the horsemen opened their ranks, and discovered between them, on a led horse, the shattered arms of Besin Khan.
“As Allah is great, Khan, this is all we know,” added the man.
The rage of the chief seemed for a moment abated, by the shock he had experienced at the account of his brother’s too probable death. But it as suddenly returned.
“What lies are those you speak, villains?” he exclaimed. “Is it the custom of the chiefs of Abbaseik to leave their companion warriors when slain on the field? Though he had not his own clansmen with him, think you the other nobles would not have brought off his body were he slain? No; those cannot be the arms of my brother. If you have lied, some of you shall suffer for this. Follow me to my house. We will see, when light is brought, if these are truly my brother’s arms.”
And turning his horse’s head, he rode hastily homeward.
Throwing himself on a divan, in his principal apartment, followed by all the newly-arrived troop, he caused torches to be brought, and the arms to be placed before him. He examined them narrowly.
“Alas, my Khan!” said one of his attendants, “the hilt of this sabre I know it too well. Often have I seen it in your noble brother’s hand.”
“Peace, fool!” answered the Khan, furiously. “Think you that I know not my brother’s sword? Yes, those are his arms, and I will make those pay dearly who have cast this indignity on my father’s son. He would not, if living, have left his weapons on the field; and by Allah and his Prophet, I swear that I will have revenge. He may have fallen into the hands of the Urus; but no, Besin Khan would not be taken alive. I will go to the chieftains of the Attèghèi, engaged in this combat, and make them pay dearly for thus deserting my brother, if he was slain. If he were near, and heard the sounds of strife, so assuredly would he have rushed into the thickest of the fight; and if he fell by those hated Urus, doubly will I wreak my vengeance on all of their cursed race who fall into my hands. Yet what is the blood of a whole host of such as they are, to one drop of the blood of my noble brother? He would have died for me, and shall I rest while I live to avenge him? No; his spirit calls to me from the grave.”
He rose, and walked in an excited manner through the chamber, shaking his clenched hand in the air.
“Perchance even yet, my brother, thou art not slain! Wherever thou art, at the hands of that proud Uzden Arslan Gherrei, I will demand thee. He must know where thou art. Why should he refuse me his daughter? Am not I as noble as he? Have I not more faithful followers, more flocks and herds? Then why does he refuse to let the maiden come to my anderoon?”
On the next morning, a fierce and warlike band were ready to follow the Khan, as, clothed in rich and glittering armour, with his banner borne before him, he left his mountain home, nor tarried on his road, but with furious speed galloped on, like some cataract descending from a lofty mountain to the plain.
The band of horsemen issued from the glen, passing along the giddy edge of precipices, fearless of danger, down the steep sides of the rugged mountains, along the dry rocky bed of the winter torrent, never drawing rein.
The inhabitants of the villages and hamlets ran out on hearing the rattling hoofs of the steeds, as the fiery Khan and his followers galloped by; but none greeted him as he passed, and, like a whirlwind, vanished from their sight.
“Ai! ai!” cried the aged villagers. “Is the Khan again on a foray? Woe betide the hapless people of the plain he pounces on; or if he rides against the Urus, many will rue his coming, as he gallops over the slaughtered bodies of their countrymen.”
Volume Two—Chapter Ten.It has been seen, that young Khan Besin Kaloret had been deputed by his brother, the fierce Khan of the mountains, Khoros Kaloret, according to the custom of the country necessary to be observed on such occasions, to make his proposals to the Uzden Arslan Gherrei, for the hand of his lovely daughter; having several times seen her in his excursions to that part of the country, and being deeply captivated by her beauty, and reputed accomplishments.The young envoy came, empowered to offer rich presents, which his brother had prepared to her father, in the full confidence that his magnificent overtures would be accepted; for who could doubt that the suit of a powerful and youthful noble would be successful; one, whom a thousand brave warriors obeyed, and followed to war, who possessed large herds of cattle, flocks of sheep, fleet steeds, and rich armour.Koros was, as we have said, a noble of a violent and revengeful disposition; so that his brother, though he loved him, and was himself equally brave, quailed beneath the fury of his overpowering anger; and well he knew that a defeat in this affair, would raise it to the utmost.On leaving the Uzden his thoughts were bent on vengeance, or on accomplishing his object; and had it not been for the oath, which he, with many other nobles had entered into, to refrain from all broils amongst each other, on account of the impending danger of the country, he would probably have determined to return immediately with a strong body of his retainers, and carry off the unwilling girl by force. As it was, the tumult of his feelings took away all his judgment, nor knew he how to proceed; when his wily squire divining his thoughts, laid a plan to which he had little doubt his master would accede. When the Khan first drew rein, he began cautiously to unfold a stratagem, which he had thought of, by which the wished for object might be obtained.“Why does my young master thus give way to anger and despair, at the folly of a wilful pale-faced girl? Why does he think, that it is impossible to succeed in obeying the wishes of his noble brother? Are there not yet many ways left to attain his object?”“What mean you, Kiru? speak!” exclaimed the Khan. “To what do these words you speak tend?”“The chieftain Arslan Gherrei, and his fair daughter, with the few retainers he has left, travel this way to-morrow, and will pass near the Russian fort at Ghelendjik,” answered the crafty counsellor. “Could not then my master instigate the Russians to sally forth, from their entrenchments, and capture the chieftain and his daughter, as they pass by? They will give the lovely maiden as a reward to my master, that he may take her to his brother, our chief, to make his home joyful with her presence.”“What are these words, I hear?” exclaimed the young noble in an angry tone, and frowning at the same time. “Would you have me turn traitor to my country? Would you have me break my oath by dealings with the cursed Urus. No, Kiru, no. Are they not my deadly foes? Have I not slain them, as the mower sweeps down the ripe corn with his sickle? No, Kiru, it cannot be.”Setting spurs to his horse, he again galloped forward, to avoid the temptations of his attendant. He, however, pondered on the subject as he rode; and his imagination having been once excited by the instigation of his follower, he could not drive the idea from his mind, by the rapidity of his pace. Unfortunately for himself, he again stopped to hear what further arguments his squire might have to urge; who, like the arch instigator to evil, seeing the effect his proposition had already made, ventured to proceed.“Does the Khan, my master, think that I would persuade him to form a friendship with the hated Urus? No! no! I love them not. My master mistakes my words. I would advise only that he should make use of their assistance to gain his object, and then he may quit them without thanks. He may again bathe his sword in their blood, as if he had never spoken to them. What matters it, if a few men on either side be slain? It is a trifle compared to fulfilling his brother’s commands.”“That may be, Kiru; but will not men say, that I have stained the name of our family, by holding communication with our enemies?” said the young Khan.“No one need ever know what you have done,” replied the tempter. “Leave that to the care of your faithful squire. Will not also many of the Urus be slain in the combat, and thus benefit our cause? for the chief Arslan Gherrei is too brave and powerful to let many escape to tell the tale; and while all are engaged, the Khan can rush down and carry off the fair girl, as if to rescue her from her enemies. Has not your servant well spoken, Khan?”“Your plan is good, Kiru,” he replied, now almost determined to follow the crafty suggestions of his tempter. “Yet, how can I gain admittance to the fort of our enemies?”“That is easy; for they are always glad to see those whom they may hope to gain over to their side; and we may easily deceive them. Say, but the word, and I will go on, to prepare for your coming,” urged the evil counsellor.“You persuade me much, Kiru; but yet are not the scouts of the Attèghèi constantly on the watch to mark the movements of the Urus; and will not they assemble a larger force of their people, the moment they see them leave their entrenchments?”“That, too, shall be my care,” answered the squire. “I will deceive the scouts, and send them in different directions, so as to leave the road clear. On that account there is naught to fear.”“Your persuasions are powerful, Kiru,” answered the Khan, now scarce hesitating, “and in no other way do I see that I can fulfil my brother’s wishes.”“We have no time to lose then, Khan,” said the squire. “Let us hasten to put the plot in execution, and we will shew these foolish Russians, how well we can deceive them.”The young Khan had now been fully persuaded to commit this act of treachery and folly. Waiting, therefore, till his followers came up, he despatched them on their way homeward; while he and his squire proceeded towards the castle of Ghelendjik, keeping as much as possible under the shelter of the rocks and trees, that they might pass unobserved by the Circassian scouts, till, at the close of evening, they arrived under its walls.The fort of Ghelendjik was built on the eastern side of a deep bay, the calm waters of which were sheltered from nearly all the winds which agitate the Black Sea. Lofty and precipitous hills rose around it, at some distance from the shore, leaving, on the side where the fort was erected, a broad expanse of sand and low ground, reaching beyond musket-range of the hills. Far to the north-west, extended a high range of chalk cliffs; above which the mountains rose in broken ridges, or sunk in deep ravines to the very edge of the cliffs forming an impassable barrier to troops; while on the other side, the land stretched far into the sea in wooded promontories or capes, forming a series of beautiful bays or windings of the shore in the direction of Pchad.The walls of the fort within which the Russians were cooped up by the vigilance of their foes, were built partly of stone and partly of clay embankments, forming a high parapet, surmounted with palisades; and from the embrasures frowned the muzzles of their guns, in a long line of ordnance of the heaviest calibre, loaded at all times to the mouth with langridge and grape shot. On the outside a deep ditch had been dug, and redoubts thrown out. At intervals of a few yards between the rough hewn timbers forming palisades, bristled the bayonets of the numerous sentinels constantly on the watch, to prevent a surprise from their indefatigable and dreaded enemies. The store-houses and barracks were built of wood; many of them but wretched huts scarcely giving shelter to the miserable garrison, which now consisted of upwards of four thousand men. Even with this strong force, so vigilant and persevering were the Circassians, that the Russians could scarcely venture to shew themselves beyond their walls without being fired at; and their foraging parties to obtain wood and water were escorted by a troop of artillery, to guard them against the attacks of the natives. All the trees in the neighbourhood had been felled by the invaders to build their fort, and to prevent the mountaineers from finding shelter behind them in their advances, in case they should attack it; so that the country for a short distance around, wore a desolate and barren aspect: a sad contrast to the smiling and rich scenery a little further off.In a hut of better pretensions than the other buildings, within the fort, sat, on his camp sofa, the commander of the Russian castle. The deep frown on his dark brow, showed his mortification at the ill success of the Imperial arms, and he was meditating fierce and sanguinary revenge against the gallant mountaineers for their determined defence of their native land.He was one with whom our readers are already acquainted; the reputed father of our hero, the Baron Galetzoff.The governor was interrupted in his meditations by the entrance of an officer, who came to announce that a native chief, as his dress betokened him to be, had with a single attendant arrived at the fort, and seemed to have some communication of importance to make.“Admit him,” said the Baron. “But let a company with fixed bayonets form round him at the entrance of the fort, and I will go forth to meet him. I cannot trust these mountaineers; some treachery lurks beneath every action. Call my interpreter, and I will hear what this robber chief has to say, and order the troops under arms, that he may see our strength, and report it to his countrymen for he comes here but to act the spy.”As the Khan and his squire entered the fort, the moon slowly rose above the mountains, throwing her soft clear beams on the calm waters of the bay, and shining on the fixed bayonets of the troops, and on the swords of the officers, who stood grouped in knots around in rich and varied uniforms gazing on the proud and warlike-looking stranger, while the banner displaying Russia’s dark eagle floated vauntingly above their heads.A troop of Cossacks, in their wild and picturesque garb, were mounted on fleet horses with embroidered housings. Their arms were highly ornamented; and, as they galloped to the spot, they flourished aloft their long spears whose points glittered brightly. On either side the troops were drawn up in long and close lines; the bayonets seeming to form a sharp, pointed wall of bright steel tipped with burnished silver. In different parts of the fort blazed the camp fires of the soldiers; and, in attendance on the governor, came a party of men with torches, throwing a red glare of light on all around. The miserable buildings, and dark irregular fortifications were thrown into shade, leaving only the gaudy and glittering panoply of war exposed to view, mocking the calm splendour of the moon, as she glided in her course through the deep blue sky, amid myriads of bright and shining stars.As the Russian governor reached the gate of the fort, he perceived the commanding figure of the young Khan Besin Kaloret, and his squire standing close behind him with a cocked pistol in his hand. The mountain warrior stood fearless and unabashed amid the gorgeous and imposing array of the Russian troops forming round him.“Who are you,” began the Baron, “who have so audaciously ventured to approach my camp? Know you not, that I have the right and power to order you to be instantly shot for the many atrocities committed by you, and your barbarous countrymen? Speak, what brings you here?”“I fear not your power,” calmly answered the Khan; “nor should I die unrevenged; but I come to you with thoughts of peace, I come to crave your assistance in an affair of import, but I cannot speak when so many are, near who may overhear my words.”The Russian General, conscious of his own evil intentions, looked at the pistol held by the attendant Kiru. The Khan saw his glance. “Put up your pistol, Kiru. We have nothing here to fear,” he said; and, as his squire obeyed, the Baron ordered the soldiers to fall further back.“Now tell me your errand,” said the General, “and say who you are.”“It matters not who I am,” replied the Khan, “but my errand is this; I would possess myself of a fair girl, the daughter of a chieftain, who, with a small band of followers travels this way to-morrow. Though they are brave, they may be easily overpowered if you will follow my suggestions. Now hear me, General of the Moscov. If you will send one hundred of your foot soldiers with me, I will lead them to a spot where they may remain in ambush, till the chief and his band pass that way. They may then rush out and take them prisoners if you will, and as my reward I claim the chieftain’s daughter.”“The plan might succeed,” answered the Baron, doubtingly. “But how can I know that you mean no treachery? I cannot trust your countrymen.”“You might know that I would not play you false, by coming here among your troops in your camp. If you doubt me, slay me. I am in your power.”The unembarrassed manner in which the Khan spoke contributed to allay the Baron’s suspicions, though he still hesitated to trust the stranger.“Suppose I follow your advice,” said the General, “how can it succeed? for, overlooked as we are by the enemy’s scouts, none can leave the fort without being perceived.”“I have arranged that also,” answered the Khan. “My squire, whom I can trust as myself, will go forth to lead the scouts astray with false reports, and none shall interrupt our proceedings. The spot too on which I have fixed is near at hand, so that you may send assistance if required. Will you do therefore as I wish?”“How can I be assured of your fidelity?” again inquired the Baron. “I must have some hostage to prove that you are not deceiving me, you yourself must stay while you send some one to point out the spot; and when the girl you speak of is captured, you shall have your reward.”“That cannot be,” replied the Khan, equally distrustful; “I must myself lead your fighting men to the place of ambush; and must also be near at hand to carry off the daughter of the chief, that none may know I had aught to do with the surprise. The rest treat as you will; but you still distrust me. It is well. I will send out my squire before day-break to clear the country round of scouts, and when he returns he shall remain as a hostage to prove my truth. Is it not well?”The Baron at length agreed to the proposed plan, congratulating himself in the hope, that, by the capture of a chieftain, with all his family and women, by retaining them as hostages, he should bring into subjection all his landsmen and followers; and finally, by detaining the young Khan as a prisoner for the same purpose, a justly severe retaliation would be inflicted on the treachery of his countrymen. The Baron therefore ordered double the number of infantry asked for, with some light field-pieces, and a troop of Cossacks to attend, the Khan and to watch the proceedings with orders to kill him should he attempt to escape.The conference being over, the young traitor was conducted to a hut prepared for him, where refreshments were offered, and every inducement held out, with promises of valuable presents should he quit the Circassian cause, and with his followers join the Russians. But his cupidity could not be excited. Revenge for the insult he considered his family to have received alone ruled his actions. He turned a deaf ear to their most tempting offers, though, to disarm suspicion, he pretended to be influenced by these propositions.Not so, however, his squire, who hoped to partake of the rich presents and advantages which his master would acquire, if he accepted the Russian’s offers; and he determined to use his utmost persuasions with the Khan for the purpose.The next morning before the sun had risen, Kiru stealthily sallied forth from the fort, and fully succeeded in misleading the scouts of the Circassians, who dreamed not of such treachery. But on his return, to his great surprise, he found himself detained a prisoner. What was the Khan’s dismay, also, when he found how different were the arrangements made from what he had himself proposed, and that he was completely in the power of his enemies? But he had now advanced too far to retrace his steps, so that at all hazards he determined to attempt the seizure of Ina, hoping at all events to escape with her in the mêlée.It was clear, however, that he did not at first intend to prove a complete traitor to his countrymen, nor, till driven to desperation by finding himself out-witted, would he have drawn his sword against them. If his countrymen saw him rescue Ina, she would become his fair prize, and he thought that most of her friends would escape by the fleetness of their horses.
It has been seen, that young Khan Besin Kaloret had been deputed by his brother, the fierce Khan of the mountains, Khoros Kaloret, according to the custom of the country necessary to be observed on such occasions, to make his proposals to the Uzden Arslan Gherrei, for the hand of his lovely daughter; having several times seen her in his excursions to that part of the country, and being deeply captivated by her beauty, and reputed accomplishments.
The young envoy came, empowered to offer rich presents, which his brother had prepared to her father, in the full confidence that his magnificent overtures would be accepted; for who could doubt that the suit of a powerful and youthful noble would be successful; one, whom a thousand brave warriors obeyed, and followed to war, who possessed large herds of cattle, flocks of sheep, fleet steeds, and rich armour.
Koros was, as we have said, a noble of a violent and revengeful disposition; so that his brother, though he loved him, and was himself equally brave, quailed beneath the fury of his overpowering anger; and well he knew that a defeat in this affair, would raise it to the utmost.
On leaving the Uzden his thoughts were bent on vengeance, or on accomplishing his object; and had it not been for the oath, which he, with many other nobles had entered into, to refrain from all broils amongst each other, on account of the impending danger of the country, he would probably have determined to return immediately with a strong body of his retainers, and carry off the unwilling girl by force. As it was, the tumult of his feelings took away all his judgment, nor knew he how to proceed; when his wily squire divining his thoughts, laid a plan to which he had little doubt his master would accede. When the Khan first drew rein, he began cautiously to unfold a stratagem, which he had thought of, by which the wished for object might be obtained.
“Why does my young master thus give way to anger and despair, at the folly of a wilful pale-faced girl? Why does he think, that it is impossible to succeed in obeying the wishes of his noble brother? Are there not yet many ways left to attain his object?”
“What mean you, Kiru? speak!” exclaimed the Khan. “To what do these words you speak tend?”
“The chieftain Arslan Gherrei, and his fair daughter, with the few retainers he has left, travel this way to-morrow, and will pass near the Russian fort at Ghelendjik,” answered the crafty counsellor. “Could not then my master instigate the Russians to sally forth, from their entrenchments, and capture the chieftain and his daughter, as they pass by? They will give the lovely maiden as a reward to my master, that he may take her to his brother, our chief, to make his home joyful with her presence.”
“What are these words, I hear?” exclaimed the young noble in an angry tone, and frowning at the same time. “Would you have me turn traitor to my country? Would you have me break my oath by dealings with the cursed Urus. No, Kiru, no. Are they not my deadly foes? Have I not slain them, as the mower sweeps down the ripe corn with his sickle? No, Kiru, it cannot be.”
Setting spurs to his horse, he again galloped forward, to avoid the temptations of his attendant. He, however, pondered on the subject as he rode; and his imagination having been once excited by the instigation of his follower, he could not drive the idea from his mind, by the rapidity of his pace. Unfortunately for himself, he again stopped to hear what further arguments his squire might have to urge; who, like the arch instigator to evil, seeing the effect his proposition had already made, ventured to proceed.
“Does the Khan, my master, think that I would persuade him to form a friendship with the hated Urus? No! no! I love them not. My master mistakes my words. I would advise only that he should make use of their assistance to gain his object, and then he may quit them without thanks. He may again bathe his sword in their blood, as if he had never spoken to them. What matters it, if a few men on either side be slain? It is a trifle compared to fulfilling his brother’s commands.”
“That may be, Kiru; but will not men say, that I have stained the name of our family, by holding communication with our enemies?” said the young Khan.
“No one need ever know what you have done,” replied the tempter. “Leave that to the care of your faithful squire. Will not also many of the Urus be slain in the combat, and thus benefit our cause? for the chief Arslan Gherrei is too brave and powerful to let many escape to tell the tale; and while all are engaged, the Khan can rush down and carry off the fair girl, as if to rescue her from her enemies. Has not your servant well spoken, Khan?”
“Your plan is good, Kiru,” he replied, now almost determined to follow the crafty suggestions of his tempter. “Yet, how can I gain admittance to the fort of our enemies?”
“That is easy; for they are always glad to see those whom they may hope to gain over to their side; and we may easily deceive them. Say, but the word, and I will go on, to prepare for your coming,” urged the evil counsellor.
“You persuade me much, Kiru; but yet are not the scouts of the Attèghèi constantly on the watch to mark the movements of the Urus; and will not they assemble a larger force of their people, the moment they see them leave their entrenchments?”
“That, too, shall be my care,” answered the squire. “I will deceive the scouts, and send them in different directions, so as to leave the road clear. On that account there is naught to fear.”
“Your persuasions are powerful, Kiru,” answered the Khan, now scarce hesitating, “and in no other way do I see that I can fulfil my brother’s wishes.”
“We have no time to lose then, Khan,” said the squire. “Let us hasten to put the plot in execution, and we will shew these foolish Russians, how well we can deceive them.”
The young Khan had now been fully persuaded to commit this act of treachery and folly. Waiting, therefore, till his followers came up, he despatched them on their way homeward; while he and his squire proceeded towards the castle of Ghelendjik, keeping as much as possible under the shelter of the rocks and trees, that they might pass unobserved by the Circassian scouts, till, at the close of evening, they arrived under its walls.
The fort of Ghelendjik was built on the eastern side of a deep bay, the calm waters of which were sheltered from nearly all the winds which agitate the Black Sea. Lofty and precipitous hills rose around it, at some distance from the shore, leaving, on the side where the fort was erected, a broad expanse of sand and low ground, reaching beyond musket-range of the hills. Far to the north-west, extended a high range of chalk cliffs; above which the mountains rose in broken ridges, or sunk in deep ravines to the very edge of the cliffs forming an impassable barrier to troops; while on the other side, the land stretched far into the sea in wooded promontories or capes, forming a series of beautiful bays or windings of the shore in the direction of Pchad.
The walls of the fort within which the Russians were cooped up by the vigilance of their foes, were built partly of stone and partly of clay embankments, forming a high parapet, surmounted with palisades; and from the embrasures frowned the muzzles of their guns, in a long line of ordnance of the heaviest calibre, loaded at all times to the mouth with langridge and grape shot. On the outside a deep ditch had been dug, and redoubts thrown out. At intervals of a few yards between the rough hewn timbers forming palisades, bristled the bayonets of the numerous sentinels constantly on the watch, to prevent a surprise from their indefatigable and dreaded enemies. The store-houses and barracks were built of wood; many of them but wretched huts scarcely giving shelter to the miserable garrison, which now consisted of upwards of four thousand men. Even with this strong force, so vigilant and persevering were the Circassians, that the Russians could scarcely venture to shew themselves beyond their walls without being fired at; and their foraging parties to obtain wood and water were escorted by a troop of artillery, to guard them against the attacks of the natives. All the trees in the neighbourhood had been felled by the invaders to build their fort, and to prevent the mountaineers from finding shelter behind them in their advances, in case they should attack it; so that the country for a short distance around, wore a desolate and barren aspect: a sad contrast to the smiling and rich scenery a little further off.
In a hut of better pretensions than the other buildings, within the fort, sat, on his camp sofa, the commander of the Russian castle. The deep frown on his dark brow, showed his mortification at the ill success of the Imperial arms, and he was meditating fierce and sanguinary revenge against the gallant mountaineers for their determined defence of their native land.
He was one with whom our readers are already acquainted; the reputed father of our hero, the Baron Galetzoff.
The governor was interrupted in his meditations by the entrance of an officer, who came to announce that a native chief, as his dress betokened him to be, had with a single attendant arrived at the fort, and seemed to have some communication of importance to make.
“Admit him,” said the Baron. “But let a company with fixed bayonets form round him at the entrance of the fort, and I will go forth to meet him. I cannot trust these mountaineers; some treachery lurks beneath every action. Call my interpreter, and I will hear what this robber chief has to say, and order the troops under arms, that he may see our strength, and report it to his countrymen for he comes here but to act the spy.”
As the Khan and his squire entered the fort, the moon slowly rose above the mountains, throwing her soft clear beams on the calm waters of the bay, and shining on the fixed bayonets of the troops, and on the swords of the officers, who stood grouped in knots around in rich and varied uniforms gazing on the proud and warlike-looking stranger, while the banner displaying Russia’s dark eagle floated vauntingly above their heads.
A troop of Cossacks, in their wild and picturesque garb, were mounted on fleet horses with embroidered housings. Their arms were highly ornamented; and, as they galloped to the spot, they flourished aloft their long spears whose points glittered brightly. On either side the troops were drawn up in long and close lines; the bayonets seeming to form a sharp, pointed wall of bright steel tipped with burnished silver. In different parts of the fort blazed the camp fires of the soldiers; and, in attendance on the governor, came a party of men with torches, throwing a red glare of light on all around. The miserable buildings, and dark irregular fortifications were thrown into shade, leaving only the gaudy and glittering panoply of war exposed to view, mocking the calm splendour of the moon, as she glided in her course through the deep blue sky, amid myriads of bright and shining stars.
As the Russian governor reached the gate of the fort, he perceived the commanding figure of the young Khan Besin Kaloret, and his squire standing close behind him with a cocked pistol in his hand. The mountain warrior stood fearless and unabashed amid the gorgeous and imposing array of the Russian troops forming round him.
“Who are you,” began the Baron, “who have so audaciously ventured to approach my camp? Know you not, that I have the right and power to order you to be instantly shot for the many atrocities committed by you, and your barbarous countrymen? Speak, what brings you here?”
“I fear not your power,” calmly answered the Khan; “nor should I die unrevenged; but I come to you with thoughts of peace, I come to crave your assistance in an affair of import, but I cannot speak when so many are, near who may overhear my words.”
The Russian General, conscious of his own evil intentions, looked at the pistol held by the attendant Kiru. The Khan saw his glance. “Put up your pistol, Kiru. We have nothing here to fear,” he said; and, as his squire obeyed, the Baron ordered the soldiers to fall further back.
“Now tell me your errand,” said the General, “and say who you are.”
“It matters not who I am,” replied the Khan, “but my errand is this; I would possess myself of a fair girl, the daughter of a chieftain, who, with a small band of followers travels this way to-morrow. Though they are brave, they may be easily overpowered if you will follow my suggestions. Now hear me, General of the Moscov. If you will send one hundred of your foot soldiers with me, I will lead them to a spot where they may remain in ambush, till the chief and his band pass that way. They may then rush out and take them prisoners if you will, and as my reward I claim the chieftain’s daughter.”
“The plan might succeed,” answered the Baron, doubtingly. “But how can I know that you mean no treachery? I cannot trust your countrymen.”
“You might know that I would not play you false, by coming here among your troops in your camp. If you doubt me, slay me. I am in your power.”
The unembarrassed manner in which the Khan spoke contributed to allay the Baron’s suspicions, though he still hesitated to trust the stranger.
“Suppose I follow your advice,” said the General, “how can it succeed? for, overlooked as we are by the enemy’s scouts, none can leave the fort without being perceived.”
“I have arranged that also,” answered the Khan. “My squire, whom I can trust as myself, will go forth to lead the scouts astray with false reports, and none shall interrupt our proceedings. The spot too on which I have fixed is near at hand, so that you may send assistance if required. Will you do therefore as I wish?”
“How can I be assured of your fidelity?” again inquired the Baron. “I must have some hostage to prove that you are not deceiving me, you yourself must stay while you send some one to point out the spot; and when the girl you speak of is captured, you shall have your reward.”
“That cannot be,” replied the Khan, equally distrustful; “I must myself lead your fighting men to the place of ambush; and must also be near at hand to carry off the daughter of the chief, that none may know I had aught to do with the surprise. The rest treat as you will; but you still distrust me. It is well. I will send out my squire before day-break to clear the country round of scouts, and when he returns he shall remain as a hostage to prove my truth. Is it not well?”
The Baron at length agreed to the proposed plan, congratulating himself in the hope, that, by the capture of a chieftain, with all his family and women, by retaining them as hostages, he should bring into subjection all his landsmen and followers; and finally, by detaining the young Khan as a prisoner for the same purpose, a justly severe retaliation would be inflicted on the treachery of his countrymen. The Baron therefore ordered double the number of infantry asked for, with some light field-pieces, and a troop of Cossacks to attend, the Khan and to watch the proceedings with orders to kill him should he attempt to escape.
The conference being over, the young traitor was conducted to a hut prepared for him, where refreshments were offered, and every inducement held out, with promises of valuable presents should he quit the Circassian cause, and with his followers join the Russians. But his cupidity could not be excited. Revenge for the insult he considered his family to have received alone ruled his actions. He turned a deaf ear to their most tempting offers, though, to disarm suspicion, he pretended to be influenced by these propositions.
Not so, however, his squire, who hoped to partake of the rich presents and advantages which his master would acquire, if he accepted the Russian’s offers; and he determined to use his utmost persuasions with the Khan for the purpose.
The next morning before the sun had risen, Kiru stealthily sallied forth from the fort, and fully succeeded in misleading the scouts of the Circassians, who dreamed not of such treachery. But on his return, to his great surprise, he found himself detained a prisoner. What was the Khan’s dismay, also, when he found how different were the arrangements made from what he had himself proposed, and that he was completely in the power of his enemies? But he had now advanced too far to retrace his steps, so that at all hazards he determined to attempt the seizure of Ina, hoping at all events to escape with her in the mêlée.
It was clear, however, that he did not at first intend to prove a complete traitor to his countrymen, nor, till driven to desperation by finding himself out-witted, would he have drawn his sword against them. If his countrymen saw him rescue Ina, she would become his fair prize, and he thought that most of her friends would escape by the fleetness of their horses.