The Circassian Chief: A Romance of Russia

The scouts, who had been sent to watch the vessel, brought word that she had just arrived in the bay, and that troops had been landing from her; but this did not damp the ardour of the mountaineers, though Ivan remained in a state of alarm, lest his friend might be ordered out for execution before they could attack the fort.

The night had been far spent before all the arrangements were made; and, at a signal given by their leader, the army advanced cautiously and in deep silence towards the fort. A storm with terrific fury now broke over their heads, when the Hadji proposed to delay no longer; but (their footsteps being unheard amid the tempest) to rush on at once to the assault. The plan was, however, over-ruled by the advice of Achmet Beg.

“Stay, my brother,” he said; “though the foe hear not the sound of our footsteps, the flashes of lightning would betray our approach.” And as they arrived at the skirts of the forest nearest the sea, with the fort below them, he added: “See the lightning plays round the bayonets of the sentinels at their posts. Wait, till they grow weary of the storm, and then perchance they may endeavour to seek shelter beneath their walls, and their eyes may not be turned this way.”

“Your advice is good,” answered the Hadji. “Let it be so.”

Attentive to their chief leader, all the bands therefore halted; watching, in eager expectation, for the order to advance again.

While our hero was waiting for the command to proceed, he fancied that he observed a small light figure, which now advanced, moving among the dark masses of human beings surrounding him. He looked earnestly through the obscurity to catch a glimpse of the object as the lightning flashed brightest. All was again obscure, when he heard a low sigh near him. He turned: his page Conrin stood by his side.

He spoke rather angrily. “How is this, boy? I left you under the Lady Ina’s care. Do you thus so soon disobey my orders?”

A low sob was the answer. At length the boy found words to speak. “And do you thus so soon forget your promise, Sir? Did you not say that I might follow you through all dangers and hardships? and am I to be left at home in safety, while you are thus exposed to peril? Let me now accompany you, and no harm can happen to me. My life is charmed when near you.”

Before Ivan had time to answer, the rain poured down in torrents from the dark clouds, and the lightning ceased.

“Now is our time to advance,” cried the Hadji to the leaders assembled around him. “To you, my son Alp, with your fiery Dehli Khans, shall be given in charge to scale the steep rocks which form the side of the fort to the right. Do you, Uzden Arslan Gherrei, form your band on my left, and we will rush up the smooth ground in front. We have often fought side by side, and can best face danger together, while our armour will protect us in the most exposed situation. You, stranger, with your light-clad followers, must storm on the left, and as far round towards the sea as they can reach over the rough and rocky ground; while do you, my brother, be ready to strengthen any of us who may require aid. And now, chiefs, in the name of Allah! lead on your followers.”

The leaders hastened to the head of their bands, and, amidst the loud roaring of the tempest, and the dashing of the rain, they stole in deep darkness close beneath the walls of the doomed fort.

The sentinels at their posts, with their heads muffled in their cloaks, did not suspect the danger that surrounded them; or, when they looked beyond the walls, were blinded by the rain, and saw nothing besides the dark veil which shrouded them.

Our hero, with a guide, whom he kept close to him, reached the very trench of the fort, on the south-western angle, at the very moment that the other bands gained their destined posts. Then crouching down, they could scarcely have been distinguished from the rocks and coarse herbage which covered the ground, even had the clouds cleared off, and allowed the stars to give their light.

There the hardy mountaineers waited, scarcely daring to breathe, for the Hadji’s preconcerted signal to commence the attack. Silent, as tenants of the grave, they watched, while not a human being within the fort perceived the thick clustering foe, or dreamed that danger was nigh.

The rain had ceased, and the tempest had passed away, when the pale cold light of dawn began, by imperceptible degrees, to appear; yet, before it had thrown a gleam of brightness on the scene, the deep sonorous voice of the Hadji, uttering the cry of “Allah! Allah!” broke the stillness of the air, and was taken up on all sides by the eager warriors, as they rushed impetuously to the assault. They had gained the summit of the ramparts, before the sentinels could recover from their panic. Vain was the slight resistance they could offer, as they sunk beneath the powerful arms of their assailants.

Wherever the Russian soldiers turned, as they rushed in disordered affright from their huts, they found themselves surrounded by foes. Even on the side they considered impracticable, Alp Beg, with his youthful and active followers, assaulted them; while on the sea-side, Ivan and his band had sprung over the entrenchments, and had driven those who attempted to withstand him from the walls. A few of the most determined of the garrison made a desperate rush towards the guns, which vomited forth a shower of grape; but in a few minutes, the men who fired them were cut down by the mountaineers.

On every side arose those tremendous cries which quailed the stoutest hearts. Innumerable foes seemed to be hurled from out of the obscurity of the sky among the Russians, as the Circassians leaped over the trenches. Arslan Gherrei and the Hadji had met with the greatest opposition in front; but the latter, fighting his way, had joined his son Alp, on the right, while the brave commander of the fortress, rallying a strong body of troops, met the former chieftain in his victorious course. The Russians opened a tremendous fire, beneath which many of their assailants fell, as encouraged by their officer’s example, they advanced to meet them, the Circassians rushing to their very bayonets’ points.

So bravely did the former fight, that many of the Circassians were for a time driven back; and Arslan Gherrei found himself surrounded by Russians. Many of the most daring advanced to seize him, but his sword kept them at bay; yet they seemed determined to overwhelm him: when our hero, on seeing so large a body of defenders still keeping together, led on some of his men, and fought his way towards the spot. There was just sufficient daylight to distinguish objects at no great distance; when, catching sight of the heroic Arslan Gherrei, hard pressed, and defending himself singly against a host of foes, he shouted loudly his name, and strained every nerve to reach him. He almost shrieked with eagerness, as he fell, like a tiger, on the intervening combatants, till he hewed a way to the rescue of the noble chieftain. And, once again, those two brave warriors fought side by side, their foes giving way before them: none could withstand their arms. Then as their followers united, the enemy retreated to a building in their rear, into which some found entrance, and opened a heavy fire on the assailants, while the rest remained without, fighting with their backs to the walls.

The firing lasted but a few minutes; when a terrific explosion took place. The earth shook with violence; and the combatants, interrupted in their deadly strife, were covered with the falling ruins, and obscured by smoke and dust.

Ivan looked around. Arslan Gherrei stood unharmed near him. Around them, and amid the fallen building, lay strewed the bodies of their late opponents, and of many of their own party, killed by the descending ruins.

Wherever Ivan moved, the daring young page was by his side, fearless of the strife. Unharmed by the swords of the foe, and the falling ruins, he pursued his way, fighting as bravely as the boldest warrior, and regarding only his master’s safety.

By the light of the burning rafters, which blazed furiously, Ivan eagerly hastened in search of his friend; and as the smoke and dust cleared off, he caught sight of a human being, endeavouring to extricate himself from the ruins of a small building. He leaped over the smoking ruins, towards the spot, followed by some of his men. In a few minutes he had the happiness of lifting his friend Stanisloff in his arms, and seeing his fetters knocked off, while loud shouts proclaimed the satisfaction of his liberators.

In the mean time, the venerable Hadji and his gallant son had cleared the fort of all who opposed them. Young Alp drove the Russians to the water’s edge, so that at the time the magazine blew up, all opposition had ceased. As the victors hurried through the fort, the sound of cannon from the ship of war in the harbour, proclaimed that some of their enemies had reached the shore, and were being protected in their embarkation. A party, therefore, hurried off to assist Alp in capturing the remainder of their defeated foes, or in utterly destroying them.

As the sun rose in majestic splendour over the mountains, what a scene of havoc and destruction it revealed! On every side were the bodies of the slaughtered Russians, ghastly with the terrific wounds of the broad bladed cama, which had pierced home to the breasts of the victims, doing its work surely. Their countenances were livid, and their limbs distorted into every frightful attitude. Among them, near the walls, lay many bodies of the mountaineers, their sabres firmly clasped in their clenched hands, scarcely shewing the small death wound caused by the bullet. Some lay pierced by the bayonets of the defenders of the castle, as they leaped from the parapet among them.

Farther in the centre, amid their slain husbands and fathers, were the bodies of several women and children, who, rushing from their huts, at the first terrific sound of the onslaught, had been, in the darkness and confusion, overthrown, unknowingly slain, and trampled upon, by the fierce combatants of either side. Round the smoking ruins of the magazine which had exploded, were the blackened remains of the gallant commander of the fort, and of the few faithful soldiers who had taken refuge with him in the building attached to it; and, crushed amid the heaps of earth and stones, were the bodies of several of the fierce mountaineers who were attacking it.

Some of the store-houses and barracks had likewise caught fire, and were blazing up furiously, to add to the destruction and confusion. Parties of the victors were hurrying over the fort, some ransacking the quarters of the officers, others piling the arms of the conquered, and others collecting the prisoners who had lain down their arms. The cannonading soon ceased, and the brig of war was seen standing out of the harbour, carrying away the poor remains of the garrison, who had first escaped to the shore, though the greater part had either been slain, or made prisoners.

None of the chiefs of note had fallen, they being well protected for this species of fighting, by the coats of chain armour they wore under their dress; but it was a dearly-bought victory to their followers, three score of whom had perished by the bullets of the Russians, and by the explosion of the magazine.

Achmet Beg, notwithstanding his advanced age, had not been able to restrain his ardour; but with somewhat of the fiery valour of his brother the Hadji, when the shouts of the combatants arose, had quitted his post outside, and, scaling the ramparts, with many of his followers, joined in the fray. Overcome with fatigue he stood like the statue of an aged Mars, leaning on his sword reeking with the blood of his foes, and covered with the dust and smoke of the combat.

Alp Beg now returned from the pursuit of the enemy, whom he had almost cut to pieces before the remnant succeeded in escaping to the boats of the brig. Among the latter, was probably the Count Erintoff; as when Ivan and Thaddeus went in search of his corpse, it was no where to be found. The chieftains then assembled in the centre of the fort; when our hero led forth his rescued friend, who was received with warm and sincere congratulations by his gallant liberators. Few words passed between them; for there was still much to be done, and all were anxious to return to give assurance to their friends of their success.

By Ivan’s side stood young Conrin, amid the fierce and bearded warriors; one bright and glowing spot alone remained on his otherwise pale cheek, and his eyes burned with the same unearthly lustre which they had shewn after the former combat. His lip at times quivered, and his arm still trembled with the exertion he had undergone, as his hand grasped a weapon marked with many a red stain. Alas! that one so young, and seemingly of so gentle a nature, should engage in scenes of bloodshed like this! The boy gazed up in his master’s face with a look expressive of such satisfaction and joy, that he had escaped the dangers of the attack, that Ivan relented from the displeasure he had felt at the youth’s rashness, and, placing his hand on his shoulder, said:

“It was for your safety, my brave, but rash, Conrin, that I forbade you to accompany me on this expedition; and for my own sake also. For my grief would have been, indeed, great, and I should never have ceased blaming myself, had you fallen, or received any injury. Therefore, if you love me, venture not again into such danger.”

The boy burst into tears. “It would be my greatest joy to die at your feet, if I thought you loved me as I would be loved!” exclaimed he passionately. “And I am amply rewarded for all the horrors of this scene, now that the moment has arrived in which I know that you are safe.”

“Boy, you will wear that gallant young spirit out, if you thus exert it before its time. For my sake, if not for your own, play me not thus false again,” said Ivan. “And, now as a truant, I must return you to your mistress.”

“Am I then forgiven, Sir?” asked the boy.

“Yes, Conrin, yes, you are forgiven; and gladly, as you have not suffered. But see, the chiefs are moving on, and I must join them.”

The chiefs had been holding a consultation, in which it was agreed to destroy the fort completely. Achmet Beg volunteering to remain with a party of his followers, to superintend its entire demolition. The rest quitted the fort, the drawbridge being lowered for their exit. They were received with shouts of congratulation by the party outside the walls, each man laden with the arms and other booty which they had found in the fort, and carefully guarding the few prisoners they had taken.

A more mournful procession followed, conveying on quickly-formed biers, the bodies of their slain comrades, the bearers changing, at intervals, the triumphant songs of victory into cries of lamentation for their early fate. The victorious little army first repaired to the secluded vale where they had left their horses, their rifles, their cloaks, and provisions, and where the last sad obsequies were to be performed to the slain. But it was a consolation to all the true believers in Mahomet, that, falling in defence of their country, their souls would find a quick passage to Paradise. Short, consequently, was the burial service of the brave warriors, though the grief of the survivors was not the less for the friends who had fallen.

The chieftains, therefore, leaving a party to commit the bodies to their last resting-place in that quiet spot, hastened back to defend the passes of Ghelendjik, lest the garrison, taking advantage of the absence of many of the inhabitants, should attempt to ravage the country.

Volume Two – Chapter Seventeen

Scarce a whole day had passed since the band of gallant warriors had left the neighbourhood of Ghelendjik, when they returned crowned with victory. One of the detested forts of the foe was levelled to the ground, and thus one of the first links of the chain, the fana Moscov were striving to throw around the land was burst asunder at a single blow. This showed them what they might still do; it raised their courage; it inflamed their ardour. Again and again they vowed never to yield while an arm remained to strike.

The noble Hadji was in high spirits at the success of this the first enterprise he had engaged in since his return to his native land; nor the less so at the gallantry which his son had displayed. He careered along, at the head of the party, gay as the most youthful warrior among them. The heroic Arslan Gherrei, on his magnificent black charger, his plume towering above the others, rode sedately near him, his features, except when excited amid the combat, ever wearing the same grave stern expression.

In each of the small secluded hamlets through which they passed, the women came forth to welcome them, throwing flowers in their path, and singing triumphant hymns of praise for their victory. Some made eager inquiries for husbands, and fathers, or brothers; and sad was the wail raised in lieu of songs of triumph, when the death of any loved one was announced to them.

By the side of our hero rode his friend Thaddeus, for whom he had procured a horse, and who now related the events which had lately occurred to him, and the attempted revenge of the Count Erintoff.

“You are now then, my dear Thaddeus, surely absolved from all allegiance to the Emperor?” said Ivan. “And you may join, without scruple of conscience, the only cause for which a man is justified in fighting, when not for the protection of his own country, the defence of a gallant people’s dearest liberties, their homes, their families, against the power of tyrants who would enslave them.”

“True, my friend,” answered Thaddeus, “such I now feel is a righteous cause, sanctified by Heaven; such the true cause in which the pure spirit of chivalry delights to engage; far different from the hireling service which would place a tyrant or an usurper on the throne, and aid him in oppressing a people whom it is his office to govern.”

“I am rejoiced to hear you speak sentiments so like my own,” exclaimed Ivan, “and of which you, of all men, have just reason to feel the truth.”

“Since we parted, I have thought much on the subject, even though death was hanging over me,” returned the young Pole. “One of the causes, which then made me refuse to join your party, has been removed. My father is no more. The thraldom under which his noble spirit groaned, and grief for his country’s overthrow, have at length brought his life to a close.”

“Then, surely,” said Ivan, “you can no longer, with reason, consider yourself bound to Russia.”

“I do not; I consider myself justly absolved from my oath of service to the Emperor,” answered Thaddeus. “But can you blame me, when I hesitate to turn my sword against my former brothers in arms, many bound to me by the ties of friendship?”

“That you need never do,” answered Ivan; “and henceforth, I shall hail you as my brother in arms; for Circassia has foes enough without numbering the few you can claim as friends. The fierce and daring Cossacks shall be your opponents, and along the banks of the Kouban, they will afford you abundance of opportunities of gaining credit and renown among us.”

“Press me not further on the subject, my friend,” returned the Pole. “I have scarcely yet learned to consider myself as numbered among the living, so rapid and stunning has been my delivery from death. I have much to give me serious reflection.”

The two friends relapsed into silence for some time; for Ivan’s thoughts were also deeply occupied with conjectures, vague, uncertain, yet full of hope, as to who was the brave chieftain, whose name he had heard, and whose noble bearing, heroic valour, stern and melancholy, yet courteous deportment had inspired him with feelings of love and admiration, such as his heart was unaccustomed to accord to others; but he could not yet bring himself to address him.

As the party approached the beautiful village they had left the previous day, a group of bright and graceful forms was seen between the trees, waving garlands of flowers; their sweet voices singing songs of welcome and congratulation to the victorious warriors. The chiefs, throwing their reins to the squires, leaped from their steeds, as they reached the woodland glade, already mentioned as the romantic hall of assembly for the neighbourhood.

The maidens advanced to meet the warriors, each anxious to welcome the most beloved of their gallant defenders; and still more lovely than all, came Ina, rushing with joy into the arms of her father. That one affectionate embrace of his child, was a full recompense to the heart of the noble hero, for all the risks and dangers of war. The wife and daughters of the chief of the hamlet came forward also to welcome him and his sons; and many a bashful maiden betrayed her hitherto concealed love for some gallant youth, in her joy at his safe return from battle.

It was a highly interesting scene. Diana-like forms of women, clothed in coloured and richly ornamented robes, with long white veils floating gracefully from their heads; the shining and embossed armour, jewelled weapons, and tall plumes of the noble chiefs; the groups of high-mettled steeds, and bands of retainers, assembled on the verdant lawn, surrounded by the bright foliage of lofty trees and canopied by the blue vault of heaven; formed a picture, such as Titian or Rubens might have loved to paint. It reminded one of the romantic days of chivalry, now long since faded from all other lands but that of the heroic Attèghèi.

Near Ivan stood Thaddeus, enraptured by the beautiful and noble scene; but, more than all, by the loveliness of Ina, as his glance first fell on her, clinging to her father’s arm. His very soul became entranced as he gazed, nor could he withdraw his admiring eyes; never had he seen a being more lovely, more graceful. It was to him, as if, after arriving from the dark regions of death, he had entered a glorious paradise.

Scarcely were the first greetings over, when the Hadji advanced towards Ivan, and taking his hand, led him forward into the midst of the assembled chiefs, exclaiming, “To you, my noble friend Arslan Gherrei, and to you, chieftains all, I speak. I have this day a pleasing duty to perform. Here stands one whom I am proud to call my friend; with me he came to these, our native shores; but to this moment, I know not his name. He was under an oath, and none could disapprove it, not to tell his name or lineage, until he had gained for himself a warlike and noble title, and proved himself worthy to belong to the pure race of the Attèghèi. I call on you all, who have been spectators of his deeds of arms; who have seen his heroic bravery, when combating against the foes of our country; to bear witness, that he is worthy to be called one of the noblest of the children of the Attèghèi; I call on you all, to declare, if you will welcome him as a brother, the bravest of the brave among us?”

“We do! we do!” was shouted from all sides; “he is a true son of the Attèghèi. We welcome him as a gallant brother in arms.”

Uttering similar expressions, each chieftain advanced to grasp his hand, in token of approval. The heart of our hero beat quickly, as the blood tumultuously rushed through his veins, with a glow of noble pride, at the applause of his countrymen; but more than all, at the hope that the consummation of his most anxious wishes was about to draw near.

“I knew, my friends, that you could have but one opinion,” said the Hadji. “But to you, Arslan Gherrei, I more particularly speak, for twice have you been witness of the bravery of the stranger warrior; twice has he rescued from peril, that life so prized by our country.”

“Truly do I know how brave and noble he is,” answered the chieftain advancing; “and gladly do I hail him as a son of the Attèghèi.”

“Young warrior, you hear what has been spoken of you by some of the most gallant chiefs of Circassia. What more would you have to absolve you from your oath?” exclaimed the Hadji with animation.

“I am overwhelmed with the proud feelings of my heart,” cried our hero. “No greater praise can I ever hope to gain. I will keep my secret no longer. The name I bore at my birth was Selem Gherrei!”

“What! speak that name again,” cried Arslan Gherrei, springing forward. Seizing his hand he held it in his grasp, while he gazed earnestly into his face.

“Noble youth, whence come you? can a blessed spirit rise from the dead? Speak, ere my heart burst with impatience; say who gave you that name?”