"Is he not a mere ladrone?"
"True, Caballero; but then his band is numerous. Yes, señor; Ave Maria purissima!—tiene con exercito de 10,000 hombres—all determined men, and armed to the teeth."
"Ten thousand men—nonsense! A hundred, more probably."
The host felt his veracity impugned, and he called upon all the saints in the calendar to witness the truth of his assertions; and while we had a decanter of wine before starting, he told us a vast number of anecdotes, descriptive of the cruel and unscrupulous character of the so-called Don Fabrique. Two of these occurred to me as being peculiarly diabolical in their nature.
On one occasion he plundered the house of a wealthy merchant near Estephana, a town on the Grenada coast; and because the unfortunate proprietor would not yield up the alleged treasures of his strong box, and sign bills on his bankers in Seville, Fabrique snatched up a camphine lamp from a marble side-table, and, with a dreadful oath, poured the contents over the hair and whiskers of his prisoner. He then deliberately applied a lighted candle thereto, and in a moment the whole face and head of the miserable man were enveloped in flames. His skull was roasted like a large castano, and he died in great misery—his head being literally burned off!
Another amiable little trait of Don Fabrique was the strange way he took to remove his predecessor from the command of the troop. This was a rough old guerilla, who in his youth had fought in the campaigns of Wellington, under Don Julian Sanchez, the famous Captain Harelip, as our soldiers named him, and latterly in the service of the Carlists, under the banished Conde de Morella.
The robber captain—Gomes el Guerilla—having incurred the animosity of Fabrique, that worthy procured some gun-cotton (which our patron believed to be a preparation by the devil himself), from a drug-chest, when investigating the shop of a botarico (apothecary) at Castellar; and some of this he placed in the folds of Gomes' neckcloth in the night, and for three days the old and unsuspecting sinner wore this dreadful thing under his well-bearded chin. On the third, Fabrique, who began to lose patience, and vow to have vengeance on the botarico, said, "Come, señor, let us make up a little cigar;" so the cigar was made, and they proceeded to smoke, until some sparks fell on the breast of the old guerilla; and then, Madre de Dios! there was a dreadful flash and explosion like that of a cannon; and to the consternation of all his band, the head of Gomes was blown right off his shoulders, and not a vestige of it was ever seen again.
"The noble Caballeros," continued our host, "have no doubt heard of the great robber-chief, Manuel de Cordova, who in January, 1853, killed the commandant of the civic guard of Bute?"
"No."
"He was betrayed by Don Fabrique, and shot to death by a platoon of infantry, in the Plaza of Cordova. Oh, señor, the saints deliver us from the devil and Don Fabrique!"
"So say I," added Jack, as the landlord left us, and thus, being impressed alike by these communications and that of Donna Paulina, we resolved to change our route and avoid this formidable personage who took such an interest in our proceedings.
To deceive any person who might be watching about the hotel, or be bribed by Fabrique, or the major, we made particular inquiries of the patron, the waiters, and stable-boys concerning the road to Gibraltar by the way of Puerto Serrano; and having, as Jack said, "completely thrown dust in their eyes," we took the route to San Lucar and left Seville at a rapid trot about an hour after noon, pausing only to give a peseta to a poor Franciscan who begged from us at the city gate.
I looked back to Seville as we galloped away.
The tower of La Giralda and all its spires were sinking in the sunny haze and lessening in the distance.
"So ends an intimacy that might have ripened into something better," thought I.
Passing Coria del Rio, a little province and partido, after a twenty miles' ride we halted to dine at Lebrija, which is so famed for its oil of olives, and there we got some prime Xeres, which bore the private mark of the señores Gonzalez and Dubose, the famous wine merchants; and now we enjoyed the hope that our acquaintance Fabrique de Urquija and his "ten thousand hombres" (or whatever their number might be) were sunning themselves on the mountains, and lying in wait for us on the dusty road by Puerto Serrano; and any anxiety we might have felt to reach the coast unmolested began to lessen when we set forth again, while the evening sun was verging towards the western sierras of the province, and pursuing an old and narrow path, so old that perhaps the Christian knights of King Ferdinand might have traversed it to battle with the Emirs of Granada, of Seville, and Cordova, we rode on, amid varied scenery, where luxuriant creepers almost veiled the granite rocks like natural curtains, where large fields of maize surrounded ancient villages left ruined and roofless in the late civil wars, where herds of half wild cattle browsed on the green mountain slope; where the dead man's cross, the wayside chapel, the groves of cork, of olive or orange trees bordered the devious path, and the shattered atalaya that whilome watched the frontiers of Mohammed of Cadiz, towered over all, a landmark to the Guadalquiver.
Charmed by the scenery, we allowed the reins to fall on the necks of our horses, and careless as to whether or not we found quarters for the night in an olive wood or in Trohniona, which we were now approaching, and the little spire of which we saw peeping above its bright green groves and tipped with a fiery gleam, we rode on slowly until near a well which flowed into a stone basin, under a rude representation of our Lady of Assistance—a wayside chapel, in fact—a turn of the path brought us suddenly upon two armed Spaniards, who were seated on the sward playing with cards in the twilight, for the time was evening now.
One of these, by his gay attire, his embroidered jacket with its silver clasps, his sash of red and yellow stripes and his velvet hat, as well as by the horse which stood near him, well laden with packages, and having a long gun slung at its demipique saddle, I perceived to be a professed smuggler; and on our nearer approach we both recognised our old friend Pedro el Contrabandista, who supplied our mess with cigars, and whose unlucky pursuit by the guarda costa had been the source of so much travelling, turmoil, and inquiry to Slingsby and to myself.
There was no mistaking the other as a raterillo—that is, "a little rat," or pickpocket, on whose cloth the regular armed bandit who robs convoys, fights the carabineros, and burns a village occasionally, looks down as the line do on the militia, or as the militia do on the yeomanry. The only weapon of the raterillo is his knife, and perhaps a concealed pistol. Polite almost to servility to the armed man, the raterillo is usually a bully to the peaceable, and to those who are too poor to carry that long musket which is the constant companion of the provincial Spaniard.
He doffed his threadbare sombrero and bowed with great humility as we reined up beside them to greet honest Pedro, who received us with a hearty shout of welcome.
"Well, amigo mio," said I, "we were not aware that you did business by land as well as by sea."
"True, señor, I should have been a woman, for I am never constant to anything; I am glad to meet two noble cavaliers of the garrison travelling here—but why so far from Gibraltar, and without an escort?"
"All owing to you, Pedro, my valiant contrabandista, and your troublesome affairs."
"Pardon, señor, I do not comprehend."
"That devilish shot from the Mole fort."
"Oh, yes—ha, ha! it cut in two halves Don Hernan de Lucena, and enabled me to run my little felucca safe into Gibraltar—eh."
"Yes, but we had to visit the captain general at Seville, and to explain the affair to him in person. So we are here."
"On your way back."
"Exactly so."
"I owe you a thousand thanks for that little piece of attention from the Mole fort, señores; but for that, I should now, perhaps, have been chained to an oar in the Queen's galleys at Barcelona, for I was as sure of being taken as there is a saint in heaven. Well, señores, we shall sup together to-night at Trohniona—see, yonder is its spire shining like a red star in the sunset; I have my guitar, and shall sing to you the newest seguidilla and some jovial romances about the Granadine Moors, the Castilian Caballeros, or the Carlists, and enchanters; but, meantime, I must finish a game to which I was challenged by this traveller, on whom I shall have, proper revenge, for he has already won from me forty duros; and you the while will do me the favour to accept some of my best cigars."
There was no resisting this jolly contrabandista; so, as we had before arranged to halt for the night at Trohniona, we were the better for the companionship of another man, who knew the country, and was doubtless a favourite with the people, and who, moreover, was well armed, stout, and determined. We watched the game between him and the raterillo, who won dollar after dollar with a facility that soon left no doubt whatever in our minds that he was cheating poor Pedro, so Jack and I exchanged frequent glances.
"Whose cards are these?" I asked.
"The señor travalero's," said Pedro, "and I begin to think he knows the backs better than the fronts of them."
The raterillo, whose quick eyes rolled in a restless manner, laughed as he pocketed three other duros of Pedro, who began to lose all patience and to flush, while a dark gleam shot over his eyes; and on detecting in his adversary some real or suspected piece of foul play, he dashed the cards full in his face, crying,—
"You are a rogue and a thief—a pitiful little rat, and if you do not yield back every peseta you have won, 'por el nombre de Dios,' I will be at you with my Albacete knife!"
"Then the knife be it," retorted the raterillo, crushing his well-worn hat over his eye-brows; "shall we have our feet tied together?"
"No, we shall fight it out on the grass, and I will have your black blood and my hard-won dollars together," cried Pedro, who was choking with sudden passion; and quick almost as thought, they confronted each other, their dark faces contorted by ferocity, their eyes flashing fire, their feet planted on the turf, their bodies bent forward ready to spring, and their cuchillos held firmly in the right hand, the thumb being pressed upon the blade in such a manner as to enable them to stab or to cut with equal facility.
Several blows had been given and skilfully eluded before Jack and I, who had drawn our swords, could dismount and interfere; but just as we pressed in between them, at the peril of our lives, we heard a cheer like a yell ringing in the hollow, and saw a crowd of armed men rushing down the sloping banks which bordered the road-way.
"Ladrones—ladrones—fly, señores!" cried Pedro, as he leaped on his horse and dashed at full speed towards Trohniona, followed by several musket-bullets, while the raterillo vanished in the twilight as if the earth had swallowed him up.
In a moment we were surrounded by a crowd of armed banditti—oh, there was no mistaking them!—I was collared and pinioned just as my foot was in the stirrup, and poor Jack Slingsby was knocked off his horse by the butt-end of a long Spanish gun; our swords and revolvers, our watches, rings, purses, and cigar-cases; our horses and valises, all in a moment became the spoil of the Egyptians, and we found ourselves prisoners at the mercy of—Fabrique de Urquija!
Dark-visaged and black-bearded, with long sable hair hanging over their collars from under their battered sombreros, or gathered up in net-work cauls, the robbers presented every picturesque variety of Spanish costume. Some wore jackets of black or olive-coloured velvet, richly covered with needlework on the breast and seams; their waists were girt by bright-coloured sashes, and their legs encased in velvet small-clothes and leathern gaiters; while others were sans shirts and sans shoes; scantily attired in rough zamarras of sheepskin, with tattered breeches—their brawny legs and muscular chests being bare. All were well armed with muskets, Albacete knives, and pistols, and all were ferocious, resolute, and reckless alike in spirit and in aspect. A glance showed me all this, as we were dragged by them through an olive thicket, where, upon the prostrate column of some old Roman temple, we found their leader seated.
The moon had now risen brightly above the mountains, and in the sashed and armed figure before me, with a jacket glittering with embroidery, his carbine resting in the hollow of his right arm, I recognised our former acquaintance whom we had met by the wayside between Castellar and Estrelo, and with whom we were hobbing and nobbing over a cigar and bota, when poor sister St. Veronica came to ask alms of us.
The cruelties of which, on that occasion, he had so freely avowed himself guilty, and those other traits of character, such as the affair of the camphine lamp and the neckcloth so pleasantly padded with guncotton, occurred to us; and I must own, that when we found ourselves bound as prisoners and confronting the cold, stern and impassible visage of this celebrated Spanish outlaw, a restless anxiety made our hearts throb with new and undefined emotions. In all things his bearing and disposition were similar to those of his friend* whom he betrayed in 1853, and whose atrocities have been published, like his own, at length in the columns of the "Heraldo de Madrid." Neither Slingsby nor I had ever been in such a desperate predicament before, as the reader may easily conceive; thus we could scarcely realise it, and, naturally enough, indignation was uppermost in our minds.
* Francisco Manuel de Cordova.
The intellectual part of Fabrique's face, though exceedingly handsome, was immovable as that of a statue, his two black eyes remained fixedly regarding us, and even when his bearded mouth relaxed into a grim smile, one-half of his face remained unmoved. He seemed calm and pale in the white moon-light—but the cicatrised wound which traversed his cheek was of a deep and dusky red.
"Well, señor," said I, briskly, "are you fully prepared to answer for the attack you have made upon us?"
"Answer," he reiterated, with something between a frown and disdainful smile; "to whom?"
"The captain general of Andalusia."
"I have so many things to answer for already to that illustrious Caballero of Seville, that he will be very apt to forget your little affair among others."
"But the Governor of Her Brittanic Majesty's garrison at Gibraltar will refresh both his memory and yours, rascal!" said poor Slingsby, whose face was streaming with blood.
"Stuff, señores. Our Lady Donna Isabella II. alone is Queen of Gibraltar, whatever you may believe to the contrary."
"Then there is our ambassador at Madrid," said I, swelling with passion.
"Let the Señor Embajador come hither to seek you, if he chooses," replied Fabrique, with a scowl, while his band made the wooded hollow ring with their laughter.
"For what reason, and with what purpose, is this outrage committed upon us?" asked Jack, more calmly.
"The reason is here," said Fabrique, throwing up a heavy purse. "From the noble Don Joaquim, Major in the service of the young king Don Pedro V., I have received one thousand duros to intercept you——"
"And the purpose?"
"To avenge his brother's death."
"In what manner?"
"By taking your lives, that is all; blood for blood, you know; an eye for an eye, a limb for a limb, and a life for a life, are law and justice all the world over. If my friend the blind abagado of Jaen were here, he could not explain the law better."
Zumalacarregui, when giving a light from his own cigar to the Carlist prisoners he was just about to shoot, could not have spoken more coolly.
"And so, fellow, you have received a thousand duros to murder us?" said Jack, abruptly.
"One thousand, señor," was the quiet reply.
"Conduct us to the harbour of San Lucar, and I will give you my word of honour that two thousand shall be sent to you."
"You would not break your plighted word?"
"I would rather die!"
"Then bear in mind that I have pledged mine; and that I also would rather die than break it. No, señores; all the gold in Madrid would not save you."
After a pause,—
"How came you to discover us so readily on this road?" I asked.
"Easily. I had spies planted at every gate of Seville. A Franciscan begged alms of you at the Puerto of the San Lucar road."
"To whom I gave a peseta."
"'T was I."
"You! I wish that I had recognised you then."
"Muchos gratias, señor—my own mother would not have known me. I took care of that, and now I shall take care of you."
"It is incredible that a companion so jovial as the Major de Lucena could contemplate this intended atrocity," exclaimed Slingsby.
"Have you not his sister's letter here?" asked Fabrique, displaying that little document, of which his searchers had deprived me; "you Inglesos would doubt the holy face of Jaen, even if it were placed before you! I received a thousand dollars to shoot you down like dogs or wild pigs, and here we are chattering away like so many magpies. Vamos alla—to the mountains—cammarados, basta!"
"We are not, then, to be shot?" I asked, as a gleam of hope brightened before me.
"No," said he, with an icy smile, as his dark fierce face came close to mine, like that of a handsome spectre in the moonlight and as the whole band began to move; "we will give you to drink of the Rio de Muerte."
The River of Death!—our blood ran cold at these words; but no time was left us for expostulation, as we were hurried up the hills, over wild and furzy banks, where the laurel, the vine, and the fair yellow paunch of the gourd grew together in luxuriance; and among rocks, where the nimble goat browsed, and the untamed porker flew before us, squeaking from his lair, among the aromatic plants, the long reedy grass, the giant fern, and the broad-leaved dock. Up, up we went, alternately clambering, or being pushed and dragged, until we gained the brow of a steep hill, from which we saw beneath us in the broad, clear, liquid moonlight, the waters of the Guadalquiver winding away between groves of the orange and the olive, to San Lucar, and in the middle distance, but far down below us, the white houses of Trohniona clustered round their little church.
After a painful and anxious hour elapsed, and we had traversed about two miles of a steep and craggy ascent, until we reached a part of the mountain range which was entirely covered by a little forest of laurels. Above us, in the dark blue sky, the moon was hanging like a large silver globe, and the flood of clear cold light it diffused over the distant landscape enabled us to distinguish objects with great minuteness. Thus I could trace the gleaming course of the Guadalquiver, as it wound down from Seville past Borminos, the mouth of the Guadamar, and the hills that overhang Dos Hermanos; while other sierras in the distance undulated afar off, like the waves of a petrified sea, if such a simile may be allowed me. Light glinted at times upon the river. It came from a passing steamer. Down there in the valley was the civilisation of our own time; yet we were about to perish by the hands of outlaws, whose bearing and character were worthy of the middle ages, or the mistier time that lies beyond them.
Jack Slingsby and I had scarcely spoken during our steep and rapid clamber, but our thoughts were the same; anxiety—intense anxiety—for our fate; repugnance for our captors, and a natural horror of dying a barbarous death at their hands, on these remote and lonely mountains; far from help, far from justice and from civilisation; a death, of which our friends, our relations, and our comrades would never hear—would never know; for our fate would become a mystery, which all the captains general, the ambassadors, the chargés des affaires, and even the correspondents of the "Times" would be unable to clear up or unravel,—as it was the purpose of these wretches, whose prey we had become, to hide for ever our remains, and the very means of our death, as completely as if we had been flung into Mount Etna.
In this sequestered part of the mountain chain, hidden among the thickly-twined laurels, the wild and straggling vines, and the densely-matted jungle of gourds, and other luxuriant creepers, there suddenly yawned a chasm in the granite rocks—a black profundity of unknown depth. The gaping rent was about twenty feet broad by some hundred in length, but its mouth was greatly diminished by the bordering foliage and wild plants that overhung it. Far down, perhaps five hundred feet below (for the bottom was unseen), there rolled with a deep, hoarse, roaring sound the Rio de Muerte—the River of Death—a subterranean tributary of the Guadalquiver; and its strange and hollow voice as it gurgled, surged, and bellowed through the clefts and fissures in the heart of the mountains, filled me with a pang of horror. Here we paused, and our captors muttered one to another under their thick beards, smoked their paper cigaritos, and leaned leisurely on their short escapetas, or long-barrelled muskets, and seemed to await the approach of Fabrique de Urquija, who was some yards behind us, and came up very much at his ease.
"My God!" said my friend, "if it be their purpose to—to——"
"To throw us down there, you would say? My dear Slingsby, such seems indeed to be their dreadful purpose, and I see here but little hope of mercy or of charity, where bribes greater than those of that infamous major have failed before a savage idea of honour and the fulfilment of a villanous trust."
"Heaven help us!"
"If these are not your prayers, señores," said one fellow in Spanish, with a slight Murcian accent, "you had better betake yourselves to them, for in less than ten minutes you will be at the bottom of this terrible place, and be swept through the bowels of the mountain towards the Guadalquiver."
The man spoke gently and with some emotion; it was evident that his dreadful life had not yet obliterated every remnant of civilisation and humanity. There was, moreover, something terribly impressive in his words, when heard amid the hoarse rush of that deep and subterranean torrent, whose waters came we knew not from where, and traversed depths and caverns, of which we could have no conception, in their way to the valley below.
There was a refined cruelty in bringing us to such a place, and to die such a death; for the mind "shrunk back upon itself and trembled," when contemplating the dark profundity through which this mysterious torrent poured.
"Pray, good señores, pray," said this man, kindly again, as he touched me on the shoulder, "down upon your knees, for here comes the capitano, and he never tarries with his prisoners on the brink of the Rio de Muerte, or the Cima de Cabra."
"What does the fellow say?" asked poor Slingsby, who looked a little pale, and whose nether lip was tightly clenched.
"He bids us lose no time, but to pray."
"Pray!" reiterated Jack, fiercely; "I pray to Heaven only that my hands were loose for one moment, that I might strike a blow for life or for revenge."
"Threats are absurd, señor," said Fabrique de Urquija, throwing the end of his cigar with perfect deliberation into the chasm that yawned before us: "and bribes are alike useless——"
"Can it be, brave Spaniards," said I, becoming desperate, and encouraged by the evident sympathy of one to endeavour to soften the rest; "can it be that you will prove so cruel and so merciless to two unoffending strangers, who——"
"Silence, señores!" exclaimed Fabrique, in a voice of thunder, while drawing a pistol from his belt; "in attempting to tamper with my followers you but anticipate your fate. Iago Pineda—Stephano el Corcovado, over with them! dost thou hear me? presto! or by the mother of God, this bullet shall see the brains of some of you."
He ground his teeth; his eyes shot fire, and his broad nostrils seemed to dilate as he gave this savage order.
Stephano the humpbacked, and the other who was named Iago Pineda, and who was no other than our sympathetic friend, threw down their escopetas and grasped me. They were powerful and muscular men—aye, men of iron frames and iron hearts, and a sickening emotion rose within me as their hands were roughly laid upon my pinioned arms. The moonlit mountains and the far-stretching Vega swam around me; the forms of our murderers were multiplied a thousandfold; the perspiration fell heavily from my brow, and a half-arrested cry to Heaven for that pity which men denied us here, arose to my lips as they were about to hurl me downward; when, lo! Pineda paused, looked back, and listening, relinquished my right arm.
"Do you think, do you dare to disobey?" cried Fabrique, as he levelled a brass-barrelled pistol full at his head; "to work at once, vile mutineer, or por vida del demonic——"
"Hold—para—detenedos!" cried a breathless voice, and a man mounted on horseback, and armed with a long gun, dashed his jennet at full speed through the laurel bushes into the midst of the free company.
"Who cries hold?" demanded Fabrique, almost choking with passion, while turning his pistol against the intruder; and all his people cocked or clubbed their muskets in high alarm.
"I do—I, your brother Pedro the contrabandista."
"Oho, and what seek you here?"
"The safety of these two Caballeros, who at Gibraltar saved me from the guarda costa of Hernan de Lucena in the first place, and from the chain and the scourge in Her Majesty's galleys in the second place."
"How! was it you, brother Pedro, whose felucca was concerned in this business?" asked Fabrique, with an altered voice.
"Yes, Fabrique, it was my little craft, La Buena Fortuna, which the Lieutenant De Lucena pursued till a shot from the Mole fort shortened him by two feet. I claim their lives, for they are my friends and patrons, and would have supped with me to-night at Trohniona had not your devilish fellows came upon us like a herd of wild cats, just when I was kicking and cuffing yonder rascally raterillo, who has made off with all my dollars. So I fled from the wayside-well, for I knew not whose free company your lads had the honour to be, and feared they might relieve me alike of life and all care for my packages."
Jack and I now began to breathe a little more freely; for as all this took place in less time than I have taken to write it, there was some difficulty in realising the conviction that we had been waylaid, doomed to death and saved, with such rapidity: yet so it was, and so ended the scene of that night to which I can never recur without a chill of awe and horror, blended with a very decided sensation of anger and just indignation.
Notwithstanding the alleged solemnity with which his word was plighted to the malevolent major of the sainted regiment of Lagos, "in the kingdom of Algarve," Fabrique relinquished his cruel purpose, unbound us at his brother's request, and restored to us our arms, horses, and little baggage—everything, in short, not even excepting the letter of poor Paulina. He gave us cigars, a hearty quaff from his bota, and then a bow so low that his black velvet sombrero almost swept the dewy sward. He then drew off with all his band towards the Sierra de Honda, and in two hours afterwards we were comfortably seated by the kitchen fire in the posada of Trohniona, at supper with his brother the contrabandista, who was en route for San Lucar.
For some time after, throughout the night in which these startling events occurred, in fancy I saw before me the cold, stern visage and fierce glaring eyes of Urquija, and above all other sounds I seemed to hear the deep hoarse rush of the subterranean Rio de Muerte.
Whatever may have been the emotions with which we regarded the formidable relative of our contrabandista, we spared him the humiliation of listening to the just appreciation we had of the character of Fabrique; and enlivened by those songs and stories with which the honest fellow endeavoured to raise our spirits and efface the terrible recollection of that hour upon the hills of Trohniona, we supped upon a guisado and bottle of valdepenas.
Now I may inform the uninitiated that the aforesaid guisado was a stew, such as can only be made in a real Spanish pipkin. It consisted of two chickens, a plump partridge, and a hare, well seasoned with oil, garlic, pepper, and saffron all simmered together When hot and steaming, the giblets, &c., are fished up from the depths of the savoury pipkin, with just such a wooden spoon as paunchy Sancho used, when diving therewith into his beloved flesh-pots at the wedding of Camacho.
Supper over, and a fresh bota ordered, Pedro assumed his guitar, and while we cleaned and examined our swords and pistols, and all the people of the posada, the patron and patrona, the waiteresses, the stabler, and the little half-naked muchaco who cleaned the boots and turned the spit, crowded near, he, the jovial contrabandista, turned his dark eyes and well-bearded visage towards the dusky wooden ceiling, and while his swarthy cheek glowed in the light of the kitchen fire, struck up one of those lively seguidillas which are the delight of the Spaniards, and skilfully he brushed the strings with his finger-points in a manner which I believe is peculiar to the Andalusians.
A very amorous love ditty succeeded, and when the roguish eyes of Pedro wandered knowingly from one person to another, the patrona blushed with pleasure, and all the waiteresses simpered and spread out their short but full-flounced skirts, or displayed their handsome red stockings, to let their well-shaped legs be seen, as well as their pretty zapatas; for the roving and romantic contrabandista, whose habits are so full of life and energy, is ever a welcome guest at the wayside inns of Spain, and to none more than their fairer inmates.
Now Pedro's gaudy brown jacket, all covered with silver bell-buttons, bright silken lace, and spangles; his ample breeches of gay velveteen; his brilliant sash and broad hat placed a little over the right eye, made him a welcome visitor to all the women, while the stories, news, or fibs which his incessant perambulations afforded him ample means of collecting, made him equally acceptable to the men; thus, like other bold contrabandistas, who by sea and land set the laws of the Cortes at defiance, Pedro was always sure of the brightest smiles, the oldest wine in the cellar, the best fowl in the larder, the warmest corner by the kitchen fire, and the most snug cama in the posada, while pretty hands stroked his docile jennet, and readier ones removed his corded packages, and placed his guitar and loaded gun by his bedside for the night.
Pedro's songs, and the stories he told during the single night we spent with him, would fill a volume; but the time passed rapidly away; we were up betimes, mounted and armed to ride; and with something of real satisfaction, Jack and I turned our backs on those hated mountains, where a thicket of green laurels, diminished to a black speck by the distance, indicated the locality of the Rio de Muerte.
Trotting pleasantly, we passed Isla-mayor, which lies about twelve miles from the mouth of the Guadalquiver, and abounds in fruit-trees, which were then in full blossom.
By this time, Paulina, her dark eyes, and her witchery were alike forgotten, and her little note on pink paper had been smoked away in cigaritos. The keen interest taken in our affairs by the major had completely cured me; so much for Spanish romance contrasted with Spanish reality.
"And you have decided on taking the steamer at San Lucar, señores?" said Pedro.
"Yes, and happy shall we be to find ourselves safe on board of her," said I; "we have had too many devilish scrapes among you Spaniards to wish for more travelling in the saddle. It is no joke to escape being hanged as a spy by a blundering alcalde one day, and a terrible death the next by drowning, at the hands of——"
"My brother Fabrique," said he, good-humouredly, closing a sentence, the termination of which might have proved unpleasant. "Well, señores, my little felucca the 'Buena Fortuna'—you know her, with her long brass gun and lateen sails—is lying concealed in a solitary creek near Carbonera. I have run her in there, because a fleet—yes, maldito—a whole fleet of guarda costas are at anchor in the harbour of San Lucar; but we must put to sea to-morrow night, and if you will so far honour me, Caballeros, as to accept a passage with me to Gibraltar, the best valdepenas and the noblest Xeres that ever came out of a madre-butt shall be at your service. Ah, you shake your head, Señor Don Ricardo, and think you have had enough of me and my poor little craft——"
"Right, Pedro, and wish to have no more affairs with a guarda costa," said Slingsby; "besides, if you were attacked and taken at sea, after a fight, you would fight, of course——"
"To the death, Señor, guerra al cuchillo, as the old guerillas say."
"Well—what would be our fate?"
"True, señor. If not killed, you would be sent to the galleys at Barcelona, and so might as well have taken a dip in the Rio de Muerte. Well, I will cease to urge you. Here is the gate of Bonanza, which may be termed the port of Seville, though the city is fifteen leagues distant; yonder is its castle, with the Spanish flag flying, and here is the quay, where all large vessels laden with goods discharge their cargoes, as the shallowness of the Guadalquiver will not permit them to ascend higher—you understand, señores?"
Here at this small town we bade farewell to Pedro, who promised to visit us as soon as he came round to Gibraltar; and pushing on, after a trot of a mile or two over a dreary and sandy waste, we found ourselves amid the sunny and bustling streets of San Lucar de Barameda, where we sought at once its harbour, the quays of which were, as usual, piled chin deep with boxes of oranges, of raisins, and of prunes, casks of salt, of wine, and of brandy; while the flags of all nations—the stars and stripes of North America, the eagles and tricolours of the South, the union jack and the crosses of Scandinavia—were waving among a forest of masts; in short, we found ourselves amid all the noise and lively stir of a Spanish seaport, where the splash of the screw propeller furrowed the waters of the Guadalquiver, and the steam, as it escaped at times, was like music to us, who had just eluded the fangs of Fabrique's mountain wolves.
We soon found the boat for Gibraltar, "Neustra Señora de Assistencia," and embarked ourselves and our horses, which were taken on board in stalls, that were slung from a whip at the yard-arm; and in an hour after, muffled in our cloaks, with choice cubas to solace us, we lounged on the paddle gangway as the vessel steamed out of the harbour between the two castles of San Lucar—the same fortresses which saluted the little fleet of Columbus, when departing in search of a western world—and passed the roadstead and the dangerous entrance, where the wild waves are ever beating in tumult; and thus we left the port enveloped in a golden haze and diminishing astern, as the sun set behind the mountain peaks of Seville.
The bay of Cadiz soon opened on our larboard bow, and the city itself, with all its lights and spires, and then the Isla de Leon arose before us, white and glimmering in the moonlight.
The silver waves seemed to toy with the golden sand, as their coy riplets chafed the beach; but in other places the moonlit sea dashed its spray like showers of diamonds and prisms against the abutting rocks.
Overhead, the dark blue sky was clear and cloudless, save where a long black pennon of wavy smoke streamed far astern from the glowing funnel of "Our Lady of Assistance," and all was still save the ceaseless and monotonous dashing of the paddle-wheels, and the measured clank of the engines, as we ploughed along the lovely Spanish shore, and towards midnight saw that point of land on which no Briton can gaze without an emotion of pride, the Cape of Trafalgar.
On board the steamer our attention had been repeatedly attracted, and our interest—mine, at least—excited by a fellow-passenger, whose manner, costume, and bearing were too remarkable to escape notice.
His figure was tall and handsomely formed; his features, pale and like marble, were cast in the most pure and severe model of classic beauty; his nose was long and straight; his black eye-brows nearly met over it in one unbroken line; a fierce mustache stuck out on each side, giving great expression to a mouth, the lips of which were generally compressed, and in expression stern.
Altogether, his face had in it more of pure intellect and pictorial manly beauty than any I had ever seen. His costume was a scarlet forage cap, the tassel of which drooped on his right shoulder, and a loose tunic of dark green cloth, the cuffs, collar, and skirts of which were trimmed with sables; but this peculiar garment, like his long military boots, seemed well worn, or as Jack said, "decidedly shabby."
He remained very much aloof from the passengers, and either sat or walked apart, communing apparently with himself, and smoking a huge pipe, the aspect of which was as foreign as his own.
A figure so melo-dramatic on board of a steamer—even a Spanish one—was too remarkable in the present day to escape notice, and I repeatedly drew Slingsby's attention to him; but honest Jack had not quite recovered the effect of the start given him last night on the hills of Trohniona, and replied briefly,—
"An interesting foreigner, eh! that will sound very well to the ears of a novel-reading miss at home; but such personages excite a very different feeling in me. A seedy sharper! I am sick, Ramble, of your interesting foreigners; they are invariably swindlers, refugees, and all that sort of thing, unless we except the poor monkeys in the Zoological gardens," and so Jack assumed a sulky air of reserve, while our voyager in the furs and long boots smoked his huge meerschaum to leeward, and all unconscious that he was an object of remark or interest to any one.
On visiting our horses in the stalls, we found that our fellow-traveller had also a nag, and that this animal seemed the object of all his cares; for he was by its side almost every half hour, stroking its sleek coat and slender legs; tickling its square nostrils and pointed ears, or wiping its fine liquid eyes with his white handkerchief, and feeding it from the palm of his hands, which were white and muscular, while he spoke caressingly in a barbarous language, which the horse—a noble Arab-steed, with a magnificent head, and limbs as slender as a girl's wrist—seemed to understand. There was something so peculiar in all this, and especially in the man's strong and tender regard for his horse, that Slingsby's John Bullism began to relax, for the proverbial crustiness of his country little became a frank fellow like him; so he ventured a few remarks in English on horses in general, and this fine barb in particular.
The foreigner shook his head, and smiled pleasantly, as he articulated with difficulty that he scarcely knew a word of English; whereupon Jack turned his remarks into very choice Spanish.
Again the stranger smiled and bowed, showing under his close and thick mustache that he had a set of teeth our brightest belles might envy, as he said in the language of our allies,—
"I beg your pardon, sir, but I speak only French with my native language; and it maybe a little—Russ."
"Russ—indeed!" said I, with fresh interest; "are you a Cossack?"
"No," said he, with a sudden air of haughty reserve, "do I look like one?"
"I cannot say," said Jack, "as I never saw one."
He was about to withdraw, as if our notice was displeasing to him, when it chanced that a puff of wind opened my cloak, and below it he perceived the scarlet shell jacket, which was the undress of "Ours." Then his bold dark eye lighted up with new animation, and raising his forage cap, he said, smilingly, in French, which he spoke with great fluency and a good accent,—
"Officers, I perceive, and, better than all, British officers! Would that I had known this sooner, we might have had a pleasant evening together; but now our voyage is nearly half over, as the captain has just told me. I am so glad to meet you, gentlemen, for I, too, have had the honour to wear a sword."
"May I ask in what service?" said Jack.
"The Russian, latterly."
"Indeed!"
"You are surprised," he said, with a sigh.
"Rather."
"It was the result of fate, or rather the fortune of war, that placed me in their ranks. I was taken in battle, and had no alternative but to serve in the imperial cavalry, or drag a chain over the snows of Siberia; and thus I accepted the former, resolving to escape to my own dear mountains on the first opportunity. I am a Circassian, and fought under the heroic Schamyl, though latterly I held the rank of captain in the Tenginski hussars; but tyranny and misfortune drove me from the Russian ranks before a proper opportunity for escape had come; and I have wandered over many lands with no companion save my horse—my dear Zupi," he continued, caressing the Arab, which rubbed its fine head upon his cheek, as if understanding the reference its master had just made; "my beloved Zupi, who has shared with me many a day of peril, and has thrice saved my life from Russian bullets and from drowning; for there is no horse like thee, Zupi, between the Kuban and the Caspian Sea."
"He is quite a Mazeppa, this," said Jack, in English.
"And you are now going to Gibraltar?" I asked.
"Yes, gentlemen; but I merely make a visit there, and at Malta, on my way home through Turkey; as I have a letter of introduction to an officer of your garrison."
"May I ask his name?"
"It is here: John Slingsby, Esq., Lieutenant, H.M. —th Foot—perhaps you know him?"
"The deuce! It is for me; I am Slingsby of the —th," said Jack, in astonishment, for he was puzzled to remember what friends he had among the Tenginski hussars, or on the shores of the Caspian Sea; "devilish odd, sir! I really don't know any one in Circassia, or any one who ever was there, or likely to be so."
"I received this letter in London," said the stranger, with a soft smile; "at a clubhouse of the Guards, for the officers of the Household Brigade were more than kind; being, indeed, as fathers to me, and treating me as if I had been their own son, instead of what I am—a poor waif, floating on the current of events."
"I am the man," said Jack, tearing open the letter which the Circassian produced from his breast-pocket, and delivered; but with the slightest possible shade of anxiety on his fine but saddened face. Poor fellow! he had doubtless been so often deceived and misused, that he was learning to mistrust every one, and his eyes were riveted on the face of Slingsby, who suddenly shook him by the hand, saying,—
"This meeting is most remarkable; your letter of introduction to me and to our mess is from my brother."
"Bismillah, is it possible!"
"From my brother, Sir Harry Slingsby, of the Grenadier Guards. I am most happy to meet you, Captain Rioni, and with my friend, Captain Ramble of "Ours," will do all in my power to assist you."
Jack handed his brother's letter to me. It ran thus:—
MY DEAR JACK,—
Allow me to introduce to you and to your brother officers of the old —th Captain Osman Rioni (late of the—I am sorry to say it—Russian service), who has been for some time in London teaching our Life Guards the lance exercise, and who for the last three months has been the lion of the club-houses. He arrived among us a staid and respectable Mohammedan, very prone to sit cross-legged on the floor, to dip his fingers in the gravy, and to grasp his knife if you gave him a slice of ham with his fowl; but he leaves us much addicted to balls, vingt un, champagne suppers, the polka, and the waltz. In short, in one season, we have polished him up in good style, and completed an education which had been somewhat neglected during his rural life among the Caucasus. You, perhaps, know the history of himself and his horse—for the morning papers get hold of everything. Conyers of the Blues offered him £500 for the nag; but he won't sell it for any known amount of the ready. Look at its legs and chest; I never saw such an animal! The captain has been an honorary member of our mess while in London—a hint this, for your fellows. He is now on his way home to the Kuban (wherever the devil that may be), and so you gentlemen of the Line in Gibraltar must look to the state of his exchequer, and pass him on to the next station, as Conyers has given him letters to some of the Rifles at Malta. I could easily have procured him a troop in our new Turkish contingent; but home he must and shall go, he says, and his own story will best let you know why. To-morrow our battalion will change its quarters, and commence the arduous march from St. John's Wood Barracks to those in Portman-street, and from thence to Trafalgar-square, and I shall follow in my cab; but you may see me ere long, for I am to sail with the next draught of ours for the Crimea, where the shiny splendour will be taken out of our Brahmins in the muddy trenches—ugh! Give my remembrance to Dick Ramble—ask him what his next book is to be about; and so, my dear Jack,
I remain, &c., &c.
The wishes of Sir Henry, and the efforts he and his brother officers of the Grenadier Guards (most of whom will remember the affair I allude to) made it imperative upon "Ours" not to be behind them in kindness to this stranger.
Jack and I promised to leave nothing undone to serve him on our arrival at Gibraltar, and assured him that we would see sufficient funds raised to send him either to Malta, or by steamer straight to Constantinople. His ignorance of English and Spanish had sadly puzzled the brain of our poor Circassian, who had landed with his horse and baggage at San Lucar, believing it to be Gibraltar, and had thus lost several days, and, what was of more consequence, much of his money; so that his mind was full of anxiety as to the future, and how his horse—his Zupi—for they seemed one, like a centaur, were to reach that mighty mountain range that lies between the Euxine and the Cape of Alpcheron; and which, with all its black forests, wild rocks, and snowy peaks was his beloved home; the altar of oriental independence—the barrier of the Eastern world against the encroaching Kuos.
We supped together in the cabin; and while the Spanish passengers were all smoking or asleep on the benches and lockers, we prevailed upon the Circassian, over a bottle of good wine, to inform us how he came to serve in the Russian cavalry, and why he declined Sir Harry's apparently advantageous offer of a Captain's commission in our Turkish contingent—a service for which he seemed so admirably fitted, and in which he might have won honour and distinction; at least such distinction as John Bull awards to those who are not on the staff, and have no ministerial interest.
He shook his head sadly, as I said something to this purpose, and bowing, gave me a pleasant smile.
"When you have heard me, you will understand more fully that the only place for me is my native land—that home which is now so far off, that when I trace upon a map the extent of sea and shore that lie between its hills and me, my heart grows faint and sick; but patience yet awhile, and one day I shall stand again an the black rugged mountains of Kushaa, and see at my feet far down below, the fertile plains of Georgia and Mingrelia. Zupi will snuff the pure air of these Alpine peaks, and toss his proud mane on the wind; strong warriors, in their shirts of mail, will be riding by my side; the Albanian musket and the Tartar bow will be there, as we survey the long dark lines that mark upon the green summer fields, or it may be the winter snow, the columns of the Russian Emperor—columns that advance but to defeat and death; for in thousands, yea, hundreds of thousands, have they come to war against us, and to perish on the Circassian hills, until the very soil has been drenched in their blood, and fattened by the bones of men and horses! But my emotions carry me away, gentlemen, and I am forgetting my own story."
"Ah—yes, the story," said Jack, refilling the stranger's glass, and pushing the decanters towards me, while our new friend began, as nearly as I can remember, in the following words.
Bismillah! there is but one God, and Mohammed is His prophet; and on earth He is the powerful hand of Him who moveth the stars, who giveth light to the sun, and throweth darkness on the souls of the Russian unbelievers.
I am a Circassian, and, consequently, a Mohammedan, being a native of those districts of the Caucasus which have waged a ceaseless war with Russia—I mean that portion of our mountains which lies between Tamrook and the strong fortress of Anapa, whose ramparts are washed by the waves of the Euxine Sea. We are all soldiers from our birth; thus, out of a population of three hundred thousand souls, our tribe can at any time muster fifty thousand warriors, well mounted on fleet Caucasian horses, and well armed, after our own fashion, in coats of mail, with musket, bow and pistol, sabre, dagger, and cartridge box; men, brave and handsome, and stubborn as their native rocks—men to whom danger is a pastime, and death but the door to Paradise.
Thus the mountaineers of the Caucasus, though mustering only about two millions of souls, have never stooped before a conqueror; but, in the face of all the world, have hurled back the legions of the Russian Empire, and maintained against it a struggle for fifty years—a struggle which, when our valour and disparity of numbers on one side are contrasted with the ferocity and overwhelming force on the other, has no parallel in the history of the modern world. The Russians name us the Tcherkesses, which means literally "those who bar the way;" for never did a foreign host leave their cursed foot-prints, on the summits of the Caucasus.
Our mountains have become the ramparts of Turkey and of Persia, as our Declaration of Independence asserts; but they will become—unless we are supported by Western Europe—the avenue to both! We voluntarily submitted to the khans of the Crimea, and afterwards to the sultans of Constantinople; but, alas! we have lost the chiefs, whose banners could have summoned a hundred thousand warriors; yet now are we all, as one man, united in a deep and undying hatred of Russia! She has built forts on our territory, but dare her soldiers venture a foot beyond their cannon? In short, sirs, Circassia is free and independent; for neither the lying maps of Russia, which are spread throughout the world, and which mark the Caucasus as her territory, nor words, nor arts can enslave us. Arms may do it, but the steel has never yet been forged, nor the cannon cast, that will make the proud Circassian stoop his crest before the barbarous Russ! Bismillah! The wild Tcherkesses are still free as the stormy wind that sweeps from Azov down the Euxine.
My father Mostapha was a chief; the head of one of those princely houses which are of Kabardian descent; his will was a law to his people; and the booty he took in his wars with the fierce Tartars and faithless Muscovites was the reward of their fidelity. We were Christians once—many ages ago—but it pleased God to open our eyes to the blessed precepts of Islam, and now we turn our faces to the Kaaba when we pray. Many nobles followed the banner of my father, whose territories extended along the base of the mountain steppes, from Marinskoi to the banks of the Kisselbash River; but one night, in the year 1807, the Russian General Goudivitch, with ten thousand cavalry, burst among us; stormed Anapa, and gave our men to the sword, our roofs to the flames, and our children to the wolf and the eagle.
My father fought long and nobly; the war was desperate; the Russians impaled their prisoners, and my father roasted his; but the tide of battle turned against us. All our possessions became a prey to the Russ, and our most beautiful damsels were given as wives or handmaidens to those brutal Cossacks, whom the merciless Goudivitch had brought from the banks of the Don. Azrael spread his dusky wings over our beautiful country; all the land was burned up, and black as night—being waste as a garden whose fruits have been gathered.
Then the new chain of forts was built along the Kuban. These marked the extended boundary of the Russian territory, and the land of my father was lost for ever; his bones lay unburied, where he had fallen, sword in hand, on the threshold of his own door, pierced by the same bayonets that slew his faithful wife; and their three children, myself and two brothers, sole heirs to his hopes and his harvest of vengeance, received the bread of charity from another Circassian tribe, the friendly Abassians, who dwell between the mountains and the Euxine.
Time rolled on, and from tending the flocks of the Abassians as shepherd boys, my brothers Selim and Karolyi grew strong and hardy men. The Abassians told us of our father's fate, and we longed to avenge it, and to recover our lost patrimony. Day after day we spent our time in acquiring the perfect use of arms, in talking of our hopes, our projects, and desires; and often we looked with kindling eyes towards those mountains, from whose summits the Muscovite outposts were visible by the waters of the Kuban; for dear as war and vengeance are the honour of his race and country to the proud and free Tcherkesse.
We could soon ride the wildest Arab steeds, and gallop them without bridle or saddle along giddy rocks, and through the untrodden forest. None surpassed us in the use of the sabre, the poniard, or the pistol; few equalled Selim in handling the heavy Albanian musket; while Karolyi was matchless in the use of the Circassian sling; and in my hands, the bow was as unerring as the best Frankish rifle. I was older than my brave brothers by a few years, and thus became, in somewise, their preceptor. We were poor, but ardent and full of enthusiasm; we worked, begged, and bartered—we were never satisfied until each of us was possessor of a fleet and active barb, a bright steel coat of mail; a helmet of tempered iron, such as our warriors wear, and which covers all the face, except the eyes and nose; a curved sabre of keen Damascus steel; an Albanian musket; breast cases to receive our cartridges; a sharp Circassian dagger, and a Tartar bow: and when thus accoutred, our hearts would swell with fierce emotion, as we reined up our steeds upon the hills above Anapa, and shook our lances in defiance at the Russian steamers and frigates in the Euxine, while we longed for the time when the war-cry of Islam would ring among the hills, and we should behold the Sangiac Sheerif, the green banner of our confederated princes, with its three golden arrows and twelve white stars, unfurled against the barbarous Emperor Nicholas Romanoff.
We loved each other strongly, dearly, and devotedly, my two brothers and I, for we were alone in the world, the last of all our race. Being the eldest, they frequently importuned me to marry, that I might have children, and perpetuate our family; but I told them to remember that it was the custom of our people for a prince to wed the daughter of a prince; a noble to wed the daughter of a noble; a tocar to wed the daughter of a tocar; and the poor serf to wed the daughter of a serf. That I was neither prince nor tocar, noble nor serf, and could not marry, being too poor to wed one in the rank of my father, and too proud to stoop to a maiden beneath it. "Besides," I told them, "we have other duties to perform than espousing wives, which are ever a barrier to freedom of thought in peace, and bravery of action in war; for the blessed Prophet said, that wives and children were barriers to the performance of great deeds. God knoweth all things, and will direct the heart of Osman. I will not marry yet awhile, my brothers; for it is written that marriage disturbs a man from his duty—the wedded care for the things of this world, even as the unwedded care for those of heaven; and so we must watch and pray for our country, to defend her from the infidel Russians, who, like accursed locusts, blacken all the shores of the Kuban." Then my brothers Selim and Karolyi kissed me on both cheeks, applauding my resolution; and once more we shook our gauntletted hands in fierce menace towards the ramparts of Anapa.
But ere long there occurred circumstances which altered my resolution; for before the eyes of a beautiful woman the strongest heart is weak as water.
One evening I was riding on the mountain slopes that overlook the waters of the Euxine. The last rays of evening were lingering on their peaks, and shedding a golden tint upon the waves that rolled away towards the cliffs of the Crimea. At my feet lay Sundjik Bay, glittering in the blaze of light that steeped sea, sky, and shore. The snow-white walls of Anapa, which crown rocks a hundred feet in height, were gleaming in the yellow sunshine, and grimly the black iron cannon peered through the stone embrasures, or over the ramparts of smoothly-shorn grass.
The flat-capped Russian sentinels, muffled in their gray great-coats walked to and fro upon their posts; and each time they turned I saw their bayonets flash above the two square towers that guard the great arched entrance. Over all was the white flag with the Muscovite cross, but there was no wind to spread its folds upon the evening sky, and it hung about the staff listlessly and still; not a blade of grass stirred on the mighty plain of the Kuban, which spread far away towards the north, silent as a land of the dead. Under my iron helmet, grimly I surveyed Anapa and the rocks of Taman, and panted for the time when the standard of the twelve confederated princes of Circassia would be planted there, and when the black cross of the God-abandoned Russ would be torn down and steeped in the blood of its defenders.
My heart was full of fierce and fiery thoughts, when suddenly the cry of a woman, ringing upon the clear air of the hot summer eve, fell on my ear, and I reined up my horse—the same winch I have now on board with me—my noble Zuyi, to listen.
"Yani, Yani!" cried a despairing voice, which in our language means "mother, mother!"
I spurred Zupi over a hillock, and perceived four Russian soldiers of the Tenginski infantry, then garrisoning Anapa, dragging along a Circassian woman, who made no resistance, but cried piteously for mercy.
Uttering a shout of anger and defiance, I lowered my lance, and rushed upon them without a moment of hesitation.
They immediately relinquished their prey, who sank senseless on the ground, while they betook them to their muskets, crying,—
"Death to the Tcherkesse! down with the unbeliever!" and all four fired upon me at once; but God, the common father of all mankind (except the Russians) protected me. One bullet tore the plume from my helmet, another was turned by the fluted pockets which (in lieu of cartridge boxes) we wear across our breasts, the others whistled harmlessly past me, and before one of these soldiers could reload or club his weapon I was upon them. The first two I speared, and hurled to the earth like ripe pumpkins; a third, I trampled under the hoofs of Zupi; and afterwards slew at my leisure; the fourth sprung over a ruined wall and escaped me, but for a few minutes only, as I pinned him to the earth by an arrow, but he rose and staggered away. This man was named Archipp Osepoff, of whom more anon.
I now dismounted, and, throwing the bridle over the neck of my docile Zupi, approached the insensible female I had rescued.
She was attired in the richest fashion of our Circassian damsels. A robe of costly silk open in front, and confined at her slender waist by a glittering girdle of silver; trowsers of the finest pink muslin; and the red slippers on her pretty feet were embroidered with gold; a turban, composed of the most delicate shawl, fell in graceful folds over her small and beautiful neck, and a large veil of lace entwined with silver, enveloped her whole person, and floated like a white mist about her.
This I dared to draw aside that the air might play upon her face, and so revive her. Oh, Mahmoud resoul allah! the beauty of our women is proverbial, and as you know, gentlemen, the world acknowledges it; but how shall I describe the loveliness of this Circassian damsel, who proved to be the flower of the Abassian maids? Her complexion was of the purest white, the result of excessive delicacy, and perhaps of that seclusion which was necessary to conceal her from the prying eyes of the Russian soldiers, or of the trading Turks; and this paleness of skin, when contrasted with the blackness of her massive braids of hair, was almost startling. Her eyes were also dark, but beautiful and dove-like in expression, for a languishing gentleness was in every feature, and over all her form. She was but a girl; yet so full, round, and tall, that for the house of the sultan I had seen many thousand piastres paid for an odalisque, who was unfit to kiss even her slipper. Basilia was among the most beautiful of our Circassian maids, or, as Schamyl calls them, the daughters of the rocks and streams.
She soon recovered on perceiving that she was free and that the protecting arm of a Circassian was around her; but she tremblingly drew the veil over her face, as I led her by the hand from the spot where her late capturers lay dead on the sward, with their blood congealing beneath them.
"It pleased the Prophet to send me to your aid, fair damsel," said I; "are there any other means by which I can serve you?"
For a time she could only reply by incoherencies and with profuse thanks, for her mind was bewildered by terror and agitation.
"Fear nothing, maiden," said I, "for a strong hand and a stout heart are at your service. I am Osman, whose people dwelt by the Kisselbash River; you have heard of me, perhaps?"
"Yes, Aga——"
"Alas! no Aga am I; but a poor outcast, whose sword and bow are his sole inheritance; yet you have heard of me?"
"Yes, and of your two brothers, Selim and Karolyi, for to them and to you the people look as leaders when war is made on the Muscovites."
"As soon it must be, maiden; and then I hope to see the ramparts of yonder fortress of Anapa flung into the Euxine. But may I ask your name?"
"Basilia," she replied, in a low voice, and drew her veil yet closer.
"Basilia, the daughter of Abdallah ibn Obba, the rich merchant of Soudjack Kaleh, who is said to be making pyramids of gold by trading with Tartars of the Crimea, and exporting from Sampsoon the copper of Tocat, and the silks and fruit of Amasia?"
"I am the daughter of Abdallah, and, rich though he is, I assure you he is yet poor in his own idea; for neither the Prophet nor the santons can bound my father's idea of wealth; but convey me to him, and for the good deed of to-day, he will reward you, noble Osman, by the most gorgeous suit of armour, the richest weapons, and the noblest horse a Tcherkesse warrior ever possessed."
"I seek no reward; let the horse and armour be given to some poor patriot who is without them; I seek no reward, Basilia," I continued, with enthusiasm, "beyond your own approbation and the memory that I have this day done a kind, and, it may be, a gallant deed, in rescuing you from the fate which those sons of the devil had in store for you; but how came you into their hands?"
"We had gone on a pilgrimage to the tomb of the Santon Seozeres among the mountains, when we fell in with these marauders; my father's aged hands were unable to protect me; he was struck to the earth; his reverend beard was spat on, and his turban torn off and flung in his face, while I was dragged from the arms of my terrified attendants; but see, Osman Rioni, they are now approaching us, and behold my father."
She uttered a cry of joy, and rushed to meet the old merchant Abdallah ibn Obba, who now came forward on horseback, with rage, alarm, and grief in his eyes, and his great turban awry. He corroborated her story, saying, that having a large ship, which had long been delayed on her voyage from Stamboul, he had paid a propitiatory visit to the tomb of Seozeres, the most famous and powerful of Circassian Santons, and the object of especial reverence by all merchants, seamen, and dwellers on the coast; for the waves and winds are reputed to be under his subjection, and the storm and the thunderbolt are alike at his disposal; thus we celebrate his festival in the early days of spring, and when on this mission had Abdallah and his daughter fallen among the Russians.
He gave me innumerable promises of remembrance and regard (which he took especial care to forget), and made his horse curvet several times over the dead Russians, which seemed to console him mightily, and smoothing his ruffled beard, he muttered,—
"Death to them! death to them! the unbelievers, the dogs, the infidels! They shall be destroyed like the wicked people of Noah and of Lot, and like the army of Abraha, lord of the Elephant; and their false gods and pretended saints of brass and of silver shall perish with them! Unless a fear of the Russ prevent thee, Osman Rioni, I shall be glad to see thee in Soudjack Kaleh, where a carpet and pipe, with a cup of such coffee as Basilia alone can prepare, will be at the service of her preserver; and so, God and Merissa take thee into their holy keeping."
With these words we separated; the old merchant and his daughter remounted on her own horse, rode slowly away until they disappeared in the deepening shades of evening; while I remained motionless, and watching them, with a wild, sad beating in my heart, for the face of Basilia seemed yet before me, and her voice was lingering in my ear.
She was gone, but my soul went with her.
Full, round, and red as a Tartar shield, the moon rose above the Isle of Taman to light the waters of the Euxine; the mountains flung their black shadows upon each other; the lurid glow-worm glittered on the dewy grass, and the snakes began to hiss among the long reeds; while the fierce vultures hovered in the starry sky, with their keen eyes fixed on the grim banquet I had made for them; and I heard their hoarse croak of impatience, for I lingered long on the spot where Abdallah and his daughter had left me.
Several days passed away. Men spoke much of the coming struggle with the Russians; my brave brothers were as usual training their horses, tempering their weapons, casting bullets, and pointing arrows; I alone was silent, and full of soft, sad thoughts—melancholy, happy, and anxious by turns; for my whole breast was filled by the image of Basilia.
I visited her father by stealth, for this old man was one who had temporised with the Russians, and paid them a tribute that he might dwell in peace under the cannon of Soudjack; but I found him gloomy, thoughtful, and discontented; his ship had been stranded on the Isle of Serpents, in the Black Sea, and sunk with all her crew, and what was of more importance to Abdallah, with her rich bales of Indian silks, of cashmere shawls, of amber pipes, and other valuables with which she was freighted. This isle, the only one in the Euxine, is infested by serpents of enormous size, say our voyagers. These guard its boundless treasures and devour all who attempt to land; thus Abdallah ibn Obba abandoned in grief all hope of recovering a vestige of his property.
He received me morosely, and after smoking a pipe and drinking with him a cup of coffee, which we received from the white, gentle hands of Basilia, who was enveloped as before in her veil of lace, I departed, happy that I had seen but the tips of her dear fingers once again; happy that I had been under the roof of her father, and happy that for one brief hour I had shared a corner of his carpet, and breathed the same atmosphere with one so beautiful and so well-beloved as she.
Again and again I came to visit Abdallah; for alas! I no longer sighed for the unfurling of our green standard against the Russ; I only counted the days and hours till again I should visit the house of the merchant at Soudjack.
Secluded as the old man kept Basilia—for he deemed her his last and most valuable estate—a piece of property on which he could at any time realise a thousand piastres in the Stamboul market—we had nightly interviews; for what are the difficulties that love cannot surmount? I had discovered that her chamber window opened into old Abdallah's garden; its wall was easily crossed, and then three notes on my lute were the signal which brought Basilia to me; but she was beyond arm's length, and I never dared to climb, though, had the wealth of Ormuz been mine, I had given it all to have kissed but once her hand. Yet, until she was bestowed upon me by her father, what hope had I of ever doing so?
In the wild and half-civilised countries of the East, a lover invests his mistress with a thousand imaginary attributes, such as a lover of Europe or the West can never do. The seclusion in which we keep our women, the danger and risk of approaching or even speaking of them to their nearest relations, all enhance the charm, the secresy, and the romance of an Oriental love; and thus, with such a heart as mine, it became an all-absorbing and engrossing passion, in which to be without hope was to be without life. Hourly I exclaimed to myself,—
"Bismillah! oh, Osman, happy thou to win a heart like hers!" for Basilia responded as warmly as she dared, or as I could have desired.
Nightly we conversed in whispers, and had our interchange of love-letters; not that poor Basilia wrote, or that I then could write; alas, no! Our letters were simply flowers, tied together with a ribband, and in this symbolical language we conferred. It is a language lovers easily learn, and the Circassian sooner than all. I ransacked the bazaars of the Armenians and Muscovites for gaudy trinkets and perfumes, as presents for Basilia; and fearless of the Russ, I daily caracoled my horse—my Zupi—before her father's house, that she might see me attired in the glittering arms and splendid costume of a Circassian cavalier; and happy was I—oh, how happy! if but once I saw the muslin-veiled form of my beautiful Basilia. At her feet I laid the shawls of Cashmere and the beads of Bokhara. She gave me a waist-belt embroidered by herself, and a morocco breast-pocket to hold my cartridges, in return.