The Circassian Chief: A Romance of Russia

“My mother,” answered our hero. “When a child, I was carried away with her by a Russian commander; she continued to watch over my youth till death tore her from me.”

“It is enough; you are – you are my son, my long mourned son. I need no more to convince me,” cried the chieftain, clasping the youth in his arms, while manly tears of joy burst from the long dried up fountains of his eagle eye.

“Am I! am I, noble chief, your son?” cried the youth, no less overcome, and falling on his knees while returning his new-found father’s embrace. “Has heaven, indeed, granted me so proud a blessing? See, I have borne this amulet from childhood, and have ever religiously guarded it. This may prove my birth.”

“I need no mark to convince me that you are my son. Nature speaks loudly for you, though well do I remember that amulet,” cried the chieftain. “You are, indeed, my son, and Allah be praised for his bounty. I felt it when first I saw you, like a guardian angel, fighting by my side, and rescuing me from death; I felt it when first I heard the rich manly tones of your voice inciting your followers to the fight. Yes, my heart beat with joy that another warrior should be added to the cause of the Attèghèi; and now how proud and grateful I am, let Heaven witness. See, chiefs, I here present to you my son. Great Heaven has granted me the only boon I craved,” he added, lifting up his son. “After the witness you have borne of his bravery you all must know how proud I am of him.”

“Have I not a sister, too, my father? Let her also participate in our joy,” cried his son, hastening to embrace Ina, who, trembling with agitation, had advanced to the spot. “My sister, my sweet sister!”

“Oh, my brother! Allah be praised that I may pronounce that dear name. Now can my father’s heart rejoice that he has found his long-wished-for son. Already does my heart give some of the love our father once claimed, to you, my brother,” she said with a sweet smile beaming through her fast falling tears of joy.

The chieftains had courteously retired to some distance, so as not to restrain the indulgence of Arslan Gherrei’s feelings of happiness; but they gazed with deep interest, as the once stern and gloomy champion of their country melted into softness, as he looked on his newly-found gallant son.

The Hadji also was delighted. “I knew, my friend,” he cried, “that none but a noble father could have owned a son brave as my young friend, Selem Gherrei. Say, warriors, are they not worthy of each other?”

“Yes, yes! may Allah grant a long and prosperous life to our gallant champion, Arslan Gherrei, and to his brave son, the young Selem,” was shouted by the assembled warriors. “Long live Selem Gherrei!” was echoed through the grove, as they advanced in gallant and martial array, each grasping Selem’s hand as they passed him and his proud and happy father; nor could they refrain from giving an admiring but respectful glance at the fair Ina, as she stood clinging to her newly-found brother’s arm.

Then arose the song of a wandering minstrel, who, attracted by the fast flying news of the storming of the fort, had repaired hither to commemorate the victory with his muse; and here was a theme well worthy of his martial strains. First tuning his lyre he broke forth into a loud triumphant hymn of victory; then, changing his theme, he described the fierce attack of the Russians, when the noble chief Arslan Gherrei was deprived of his wife and son; then it sunk into a low strain of grief, worked into rage against the ravishers. He next enumerated the many bloody combats in which the chief had fought to revenge himself on his foes, the coming of the youthful stranger, his fighting by his father’s side and rescuing him and his sister from the enemy. Finally, as he pictured their surprise and joy at meeting, his notes were melting and pathetic, till, by degrees swelling high to triumphant strains of joy, he was joined by numerous other minstrels of scarcely less note, who had followed him to the scene.

A band of maidens then, taking the word from the bard, advanced, and surrounding the group with their wreaths of flowers, joining their sweet, rich voices to the melody as the cadence rose and fell with the subject.

Then the bard changed his theme to the rescue of the Polish stranger; and as he sang, all eyes were turned towards Thaddeus; and as Ina caught his gaze drinking in with enraptured delight the beauty of her form and features, she cast her look on the ground, blushing she knew not why; while he, the brave soldier, seemed seized with the same bashful feeling.

The bard had ceased his strains when a party of musicians struck up light and cheerful airs, and some of the youthful mountaineers, in spite of the fatigue of the fight and march, led forth the village maidens, nothing loath, to the dance; the nobles looked on to applaud, until messengers arrived from the house of the Tocav to say that a banquet was prepared to welcome the warriors.

Our hero, whom we must in future designate by his true name of Selem Gherrei, now took the hand of Thaddeus. “My sweet sister,” he said, “I will lose no time in making known to you one, who has been my friend under various circumstances, and will, I trust, always continue so.”

“My brother’s friend is welcome to me,” she answered in Turkish, a language Thaddeus was also slightly acquainted with. “But I cannot perform the courtesies you have been accustomed to in Frangistan. I have but few words to express my feelings in the tongue in which I now speak.”

“Think not so meanly of yourself, Ina,” said Selem. “My friend is one of those noble Poles, whose country you have doubtless heard the Russians have treated as they would ours; and yet he hesitates to draw his sword against such foes. But I must leave him to your soft persuasions to supply him with excuses for joining us.”

“I fear that I could scarce disobey your wishes, sweet lady,” said Thaddeus; “then pray do not bid me act against my conscience.”

“I would not do as you fear,” answered Ina. “But among the sons of the Attèghèi the claims of friendship are paramount to every other. Surely you would not quit my brother’s side in the battle-field. His foes should be your foes, and his friends your friends.”

“Cease, lady, cease,” exclaimed Thaddeus earnestly; “or you will gain too quick a victory. The sweet tones of your voice alone are too eloquent to be withstood.”

“Silence, my friend,” interrupted Selem, in Russian smiling. “You bring, indeed, the courtly style of St. Petersburg with you, when you commence by paying compliments. I must assert a brother’s privilege to stop such language, or you may turn my gentle sister’s head. Remember that she is unaccustomed to phrases of flattery.”

“Her looks bespeak her to be far too sensible to be influenced by terms of compliment,” answered Thaddeus.

“There breathes no woman of any clime, and but few of the nobler sex even, who are uninfluenced by flattery,” returned Selem. Then speaking again in his own language, “Pardon me, my sister, for speaking in a language you understand not. I was but scolding my friend for paying the empty compliments which the fair ones of the cities of Frangistan receive as of sterling value.”

“Your friend, my brother, would not surely use phrases unbecoming a mountain girl to hear. He looks too wise, too good,” said Ina, blushing as she spoke.

Another messenger now approached to summon the hero of the day, the young Circassian Chief, and his Polish friend, to the feast, where the other chieftains were waiting their arrival. Great however was the disappointment of both, when they found that the chief ornaments would be wanting; for though the most chivalrous devotion is paid to the fair sex, such is the custom of the country, that no woman may be present at the festive board, except on private occasions when in attendance on their lords.

Most unwillingly, therefore, Selem was obliged to part from his newly-found beautiful sister, and many an enraptured glance did the young Pole cast towards her as she retired with her women and the daughters of the host; while the two friends followed the gallant chief, Arslan Gherrei (his heart beating with happiness at the restoration of his son), as he led the way to the scene of festivity.

End of Volume Two

Volume Three – Chapter One

A romantic and chivalrous scene was presented to the eye, as a cavalcade of warriors wound their way along the richly clad mountains of Ghelendjik.

The fresh dews of the night still moistened the green herbage; the crystal drops sprinkling the grass, shone in the early sun-beams like the precious diamonds of Golconda; while the air which played round their heads, came laden with the fragrance of the mountain herbs and sweet scented flowers. The pure and elastic atmosphere seemed to sparkle with life and light: all nature, rejoicing in the bright new-born day, breathed an air of contentment and happiness; how sadly belied by the scenes of devastation and misery the country was doomed to suffer!

The chiefs were clad in rich and polished armour; their spear-points and swords glittering in the sun-beams, and their gay banners fluttering in the breeze. At their head, on his noble black charger, rode Arslan Gherrei and the gallant Hadji Guz Beg, followed by many chiefs of note and consequence. In the centre came Ina, more fresh and lovely than the bright morn itself, followed by her damsels, and tended with the utmost care; on one side, by her brother Selem, who guided her palfrey over the uneven ground, while Thaddeus guarded her on the other, as she listened earnestly to the description of his own loved land, comparing it to the one in which he now was destined to live. Every now and then she would turn her eyes from her brother, stealing a glance at him, which was as quickly withdrawn.

Young Alp Beg, and other gallant youths, dressed in their gayest attire, on high mettled steeds, curvetted in every direction, in hopes of catching a glance from her bright eyes, or of hearing the sweet tones of her voice. Close to them followed the young page Conrin, and, though rejoicing in his master’s happiness, every now and then a deep shade of melancholy would steal across his features; nor would he, on these occasions, listen to the words of consolation which Javis vainly endeavoured to offer. The squires of the knights, their pages, and other attendants followed, bringing up the cortège.

As they rode on, they were shrouded by the thick autumnal-tinted foliage of the lofty trees; and the mountain’s side, covered with flowering heaths, when trampled on by their horses’ hoofs, gave out a sweet odour. In the vale below, flowed a blue sparkling stream, between rich pastures, bounded by sloping banks; while on the opposite side, rose jagged and fantastic cliffs, and in the extreme distance, a sea of azure-tinted and swelling hills.

Messengers had arrived on the previous evening from the warriors already encamped on the banks of the Ubin, a rapid stream falling into the Kouban; summoning the chiefs from all parts of Circassia to meet them there without delay. Some grand object was in contemplation, either to attack the Russians before they should retire into their winter quarters, or to prevent them in their turn from making any inroad among their own mountain-homes. The Hadji was all fire and eagerness to set forward, in the hopes of some engagement taking place; in which, under his guidance, his darling son might gain victorious laurels, he looked on the storming of the fort as an action of no note to try his mettle. Arslan Gherrei had also determined to proceed onward to the same destination, leaving Ina – who was now fully able to undertake the journey – with the family of a noble kinsman, the Chief of the Demorghoi, the venerable Prince Aitek Tcherei.

Their host, Shamiz Bey, with most of the warlike inhabitants of the neighbourhood, was compelled to remain to guard that part of the country threatened by the garrison of Ghelendjik, it being considered a point of honour for every district to protect itself against the foe, except from an overwhelming force.

A large body of horsemen were, however, collected, many chiefs having come to greet the renowned Hadji on his return from his pilgrimage, to congratulate Arslan Gherrei on the recovery of his long lost son, and to welcome Selem to his native land.

Their journey was like a triumphant procession. From every hamlet through which they passed, the inhabitants rushed out to congratulate the warriors on their victory; the fame of their exploit having already preceded them. The villagers made their admiring comments, not less on the dignified and noble Arslan Gherrei and his son, than on his lovely daughter; and the stranger Pole was hailed as another champion added to their country’s cause. The minstrels struck their harps to strains of triumph, joined by the voices of the maidens. The wild youths, galloping on before, fired off salvos from their rifles, which were answered by others from the hamlets discharging theirs in return, as they threw themselves on their ready-saddled steeds, and flew to join the festive cortège. The green banks, sloping down from the villages, were covered with old men, women, and children, joining their voices to the general shout which welcomed the party, wherever they appeared. The Hadji’s name sounding above all.

Sometimes the cavalcade would halt to salute some aged chieftain, unable longer to join in the hardships of war, who had caused himself to be carried out to meet them, and to hear from their own mouths, an account of their late exploit. The eye of the now decrepit warrior would kindle, and his cheek burn with enthusiasm, as he listened to the tale; or his voice would tremble, and a tear of regret roll down his furrowed cheek, that he was no longer capable of participating in the glories and dangers of war. So often had they to stop, and so many questions had they to answer, that it was late in the day before they could reach their resting-place for the night; and happy was the chief, whom they had chosen as their Tocav, to receive such distinguished guests.

Their route on the next day’s journey, lay along the base of the far-extended line of the black mountains; when towering high above his brethren, appeared the lofty Elborous, dark, rugged, and precipitous. The cavalcade traversed a savage glen, overhung by beetling cliffs, seeming ready to fall on their heads. The light was subdued and gloomy; and the air was moist and heavy from the water which trickled down over the moss-covered rocks. An oppressive feeling overcame all the party – a foreboding of coming evil. Dangers in unknown shapes seemed to threaten them. Even the Hadji’s joyful tone was quelled; a chill fell on his spirits. He cast a fond and anxious glance at his son Alp, as, for a moment, the dangers to which he was about to expose him, crossed his mind.

“Why are you so silent, my sister?” said Selem, as he rode by Ina’s side; “why does that shade of sadness steal over a face, but now so bright with smiles?”

“I scarce know, Selem, why I am sad,” returned the fair girl; “but I thought of the dangers our noble father is constantly exposed to; that you, my newly found brother, may again be torn from me; that you must live a life of constant hardship and warfare. I thought of the miseries of our country – our homes and fields burned, our fathers and brothers slain, and that Allah should have created men wicked enough to do these things. Tell me, my brother, why do the Urus attack our country? why do they try to possess themselves of our humble cots and rocky mountains, when they have abundance of land covered with mighty cities?”

“The lust of power, of conquest, such as you can have no conception of,” replied Selem. “They care little to possess our mountain-homes, and nothing for the noble hearts, whose blood they spill. What, to their deaf ears, are the cries of the orphan, the moans of the bereaved widow? There are rich and fair lands beyond our’s, in which they would set their grasp, could they reach them, to add to their already vast territories, peopled by slaves. But they fear to advance, leaving behind them one spot of unconquered ground, such as our own land, lest we might impede them on their return home, laden with booty. We are like a castle in a plain, overrun with marauders, which, as long as provisions last, may withstand a host of such foes; so shall we, as long as true and brave hearts beat in Circassia. But now, Ina, banish such sad thoughts; see, we have gained a bright and joyous scene.”

As Selem spoke, they emerged from the dark ravine, into a broad and extensive valley; so broad, indeed, as almost to be called a plain. It was surrounded by mountains, rising gradually in slopes or bosomy swells, to form the sides of the vast amphitheatre. Green pastures and corn fields, interspersed with clumps of fine trees, enriched its surface, which was further adorned by cottages, surrounded by orchards, farm-yards, paddocks, and granaries.

“See, Ina,” exclaimed her brother, enthusiastically; “let not your spirits sink with forebodings, for we have passed in safety through that savage glen: and now what a lovely scene has opened to our view! So may it be with our country. We yet may see bright and glorious days shine on Circassia, when freed from the dark wing of the Russian eagle.”

The country through which they were passing, had the appearance of a magnificent park, or the estate of some rich noble of Frangistan; the fields were separated by high well clipped hedge-rows, and irrigated by canals filled from a stream, meandering through the centre. The hill sides were covered with flocks of sheep; and fine cattle fed in the fertile pastures.

Leaving the valley, the cavalcade mounted the sides of one of the hills, by which it is entirely encompassed, traversing the summit of a narrow ridge, looking down on each side into a deep ravine. Wherever the eye could reach, appeared a country impracticable to any foes, when guarded by even a handful of brave inhabitants.

The cavalcade did not keep in the same order as described in the commencement of the journey; sometimes, the chieftain Arslan Gherrei would ride to his daughter’s side, and address words of affection and encouragement to her; then he would enter into converse with his son, on subjects of deep interest and importance. But there was one who never left Ina’s side. Each moment that Thaddeus passed in her company, he became more and more enchained, without being conscious of it.

As the mighty Elborous appeared in view, with numerous other wild and rugged mountains at its base, “Know you,” said the Hadji to Selem, “that the brother of that traitor Besin Kaloret Khan has his dwelling among yonder rugged mountains, though they prove not so wild and barren, as at this distance they appear? He is rich in flocks, herds and noble horses, and many fierce followers are at his beck. I think he will prove a dire foe to you and your’s, if he discovers that his traitor brother fell by your hand; or worse still, by that of your youthful page. But, Mashallah! fear him not. He knows himself in the wrong, and will dread to take vengeance.”

Ina turned pale, as she heard this account. “Does, indeed, that dreadful Khan dwell so near us?” said she. “I always feared to look on him: he seems so fierce, so cruel, so unlike our father or you. Oh, avoid him, for his presence can bring nothing but harm.”

“Fear him not, fear him not, maiden,” exclaimed the Hadji. “What harm can he do? His followers cannot compete with us. Till he washes out the stain of his brother’s dishonour in the blood of our foes, he cannot again appear in the company of the chiefs of Abasia.”

“I fear not for myself,” answered Ina; “but I fear him for the evil he may work to my father and brother: I know that to meet him in open fight they would have nought to dread; but he is subtle as well as fierce, and may seek secret means to injure them.”

“Do not let such thoughts alarm you for our father or for me, dear Ina,” said her brother. “The Khan could not harm us, if he wished.”

“Mashallah! if he were as cunning as the fox,” exclaimed the Hadji, “we would rout him out of his den, should he attempt any revenge for that young traitor’s just punishment.”

The travellers were now approaching the residence of the venerable Prince Aitek Tcherei, the kinsman of Arslan Gherrei, with whom Ina was to remain during his and her brother’s absence. The whole party, also, were invited to sojourn there that day, ere they proceeded to the camp of the allied princes and chiefs on the Ubin.

The party were descending a hill bounding another beautiful and romantic vale, on the side of which stood the residence of the aged chief, and had just arrived in sight of a grove of lofty trees surrounding the house, when being perceived from the watch-tower in the neighbourhood, a band of gaily caparisoned youths on horseback, galloped out to meet the chiefs, uttering loud shouts of welcome, and firing off their rifles and pistols as they came on at full speed. Halting at the moment they arrived abreast of the leaders of the party, they respectfully saluted them, exchanging greetings with their younger friends as they passed, and then joined the rear of the cortège.

Along avenue of fine trees led up to the gate of the house, where the aged Prince, clothed in a long robe and turban, (the garb of peace), was standing to receive them, attended by his squire, armed more for state than protection, and by his dependants and household serfs, who hastened to take the horses of the chieftains, as they dismounted.

Folding Arslan Gherrei in his arms, “My noble kinsman,” he said, “welcome are you to my home, for gladly do my old eyes once more look on you; and how did my heart beat with joy when I heard that you had recovered your long lost son. Allah is great, who has shielded him from so many perils in the land of the Giaour, to restore him once more to your bosom. Is yonder noble youth he? Worthy he seems to be a Circassian chief. Let me embrace him,” he added, as Selem, dismounting from his horse, advanced towards the old man.

“Come hither, my son, and let your father’s oldest friend embrace you. Ah! I see in his eye and bearing that he is worthy of you, Uzden. And your other child? your daughter? Come hither, Ina; let my old eyes gaze on thee, too. My own Zara will rejoice to see you. Go to her, Ina; she longs to embrace you, but she fears to quit her anderoon before so many strangers. Ah! my gallant friend, Hadji Guz Beg! rejoiced am I to see the Lion of the Attèghèi returned from his pilgrimage, to spread terror among the hearts of the Urus. And you, Achmet Beg, and you, Alp, who will one day be a hero like your father; and you, chieftains, welcome all.”

Thus he addressed them, as each chief advanced to pay his respects to the old man. “My heart,” exclaimed he, “has not beat so joyfully since the cursed Urus slew the last prop of my age, my only son. Chieftains, I have ordered a banquet to be prepared to do honour to your coming, and it will soon be the hour for feasting.”

Saying which, the venerable noble led the way to a grove of lofty trees in the neighbourhood of the house, under which a fresh green arbour had been erected by his retainers, forming a grateful shade from the yet burning rays of the sun. Divans and carpets had been spread under the leafy bower, the front of which opened on a gentle slope, falling to, a green plot of turf, surrounded by groups of trees. Thither the chiefs were ushered, and when all were seated, according to their rank, their venerable host took his place among them.

Many of the neighbouring nobles had assembled to do honour to the guests of their chief, their numerous attendants forming groups with the villagers and retainers of the host collected before the arbour. The Dehli Khans, or young men, amusing themselves in the mean time, in various athletic sports.

Troops of servants soon appeared hastening to the arbour, bearing tables laden with various dishes of richly dressed meats and fruits, which might well vie in taste with the sumptuous fare of less primitive countries. Bowls of mead and boza were handed round to the guests; for even those professing the Mahomedan faith did not hesitate to drink of the former delicious beverage, nor were spirits and wine wanting, to add to the conviviality of those whose scruples did not prevent their indulging in them.

Minstrels, also, came from far and near to add to the festivity of the occasion; for what feast would be complete without the masters of song? The aged Hassein Shahin, the famed bard of the Attèghèi, he who sang of a hundred fights, which he had himself witnessed, and in some of which he had been engaged, now turned his lyre to a high and martial strain. All voices were silent, every ear intent to catch his words which were as follows: