Chapter IV (1)

Wildly beautiful is the resounding Térek in the mountains of Dariál. There, like a genie, borrowing his strength from heaven, he wrestles with Nature. There bright and shining as steel, cutting through the overshadowing cliff, he gleams among the rocks. There, blackening with rage, he bellows and bounds like a wild beast, among the imprisoning cliffs: he bursts, overthrows, and rolls afar their broken fragments. On a stormy night, when the belated traveller, enveloped in his furry boúrka, gazing fearfully around him, travels along the bank which hangs over the torrent of Térek, all is terror such as only a vivid imagination can conceive. With slow steps he winds along, the rain-torrents stream around his feet, and tumble upon his head from the rocks which frown above and threaten his destruction. Suddenly the lightning flashes before his eyes--with horror he beholds but a black cloud above him, below a yawning gulf, beside him crags, and before him the roaring Térek. At one moment he sees its wild and troubled waves raging like infernal spirits chased by the archangel's brand. After them, with a shout as of laughter, roll the huge stones. In another moment, the blinding flash is gone, and he is plunged once more in the dark ocean of night: then bursts the thunder-crash, jarring the foundations of the rocks, as though a thousand mountains were dashed against each other, so deafeningly do the echoes repeat the bellow of the heavens. Then a long-protracted growl, as of massive oaks plucked up by their roots, or the crash of bursting rocks, or the yell of the Titans as they were hurled headlong into the abyss; it mingles with the war of the blast, and the blast swells to a hurricane, and the rain pours down in torrents. And again the lightning blinds him, and again the thunder, answering from afar to the splinter-crash, deafens him. The terrified steed rears, starts backward--the rider utters a short prayer.

But after this how softly smiles the morning--morn, in whose light Térek glides, and ripples, and murmurs! The clouds, like a torn veil whirling on the breeze, appear and vanish fitfully among the icy peaks. The sunbeams discover jagged profiles of the summits on the opposing mountain wall. The rocks glitter freshly from the rain. The mountain-torrents leap through the morning mist; and the mists themselves creep winding through the cliffs, even as the smoke from a cottage chimney, then twine themselves like a turban round some ancient tower, while Térek ripples on among the stones, curling as a tired hound who seeks a resting-place.

In the Caucasus, it must be confessed, there are no waters in which the mountains can worthily reflect themselves--those giants of creation. There are no gentle rivers, no vast lakes; but Térek receives in his stream the tribute of a thousand streamlets. Beneath the further Caucasus, where the mountains melt into the plain, he seems to flow calmly and gently, he wanders on in huge curves, depositing the pebbles he has brought down from the hills. Further on, bending to the north-west, the stream is still strong, but less noisy, as though wearied with its fierce strugglings. At length, embraced by the narrow gorge of Cape M. áloi (Little Kabárdi,) the river, like a good Moslem, bending religiously to the east, and peacefully spreading over the hated shore, gliding sometimes over beds of stone, sometimes over banks of clay, falls, by Kizlár, into the basin of the Caspian. There alone does it deign to bear boats upon its waters, and, like a labourer, turn the huge wheels of floating mills. On its right bank, among hillocks and thickets, are scattered the villages (aoúle) of the Kabardínetzes, a tribe which we confound under one name with the Tcherkéss, (Circassians,) who dwell beyond the Koubán, and with the Tchetchenétzes much lower by the sea. These villages on the bank are peaceful only in name, for in reality they are the haunts of brigands, who acknowledge the Russian government only as far as it suits their interest, capturing, as Russian subjects, from the mountaineers, the plunder they seize in the Russian frontier. Enjoying free passage on all sides, they inform those of the same religion and the same way of thinking, of the movement of our troops, and the condition of our fortresses; conceal them among themselves when they are assembling for an incursion, buy their plunder at their return, furnish them with Russian salt and powder, and not rarely take themselves a part, secret or open, in their forays. It is exceedingly irritating to see, even in full view of these mountaineers, nations hostile to us boldly swim over the Térek, two, three, or five men at a time, and in broad day set to work to rob; it being useless to pursue them, as their dress has nothing to distinguish them from the friendly tribes. On the opposite bank, though apparently quite peaceable, and employing this as their excuse, they fall, when in force, upon travellers, carry off cattle and men when off their guard, slaughter them without mercy, or sell them into slavery at a distance. To say the truth, their natural position, between two powerful neighbours, of necessity compels them to have recourse to these stratagems. Knowing that the Russians will not pass to the other side of the river to protect them from the revenge of the mountaineers, who melt away like snow at the approach of a strong force, they easily and habitually, as well as from inevitable circumstances, ally themselves to people of their own blood, while they affect to pay deference to the Russians, whom they fear.

Indeed, there exists among them certain persons really devoted to the Russians, but the greater number will betray even their own countrymen for a bribe. In general, the morality of these peaceful allies of ours is completely corrupted; they have lost the courage of an independent people, and have acquired all the vices of half-civilization. Among them an oath is a jest; treachery, their glory; even hospitality, a trade. Each of them is ready to engage himself to the Russians in the morning, as a kounák (friend), and at night to guide a brigand to rob his new friend.

The left bank of the Térek is covered with flourishing stanítzas [21] of the Kazáks of the Line, the descendants of the famous Zaporójetzes. Among them is here and there a Christian village. These Kazáks are distinguished from the mountaineers only by their unshaven heads: their tools, dress, harness, manners--all are of the mountains. They like the almost ceaseless war with the mountaineers; it is not a battle, but a trial of arms, in which each party desires to gain glory by his superiority in strength, valour, and address. Two Kazáks would not fear to encounter four mountain horsemen, and with equal numbers they are invariably victors. Lastly, they speak the Tartar language; they are connected with the mountaineers by friendship and alliance, their women being mutually carried off into captivity; but in the field they are inflexible enemies. As it is not forbidden to make incursions on the mountain side of the Térek, the brigands frequently betake themselves thither by swimming the river, for the chase of various kinds of game. The mountain brigands, in their turn, frequently swim over the Térek at night, or cross it on bourdoúchs, (skins blown up,) hide themselves in the reeds, or under a projection of the bank, thence gliding through the thickets to the road, to carry off an unsuspecting traveller, or to seize a woman, as she is raking the hay. It sometimes happens that they will pass a day or two in the vineyards by the village, awaiting a favourable opportunity to fall upon it unexpectedly; and hence the Kazák of the Line never stirs over his threshold without his dagger, nor goes into the field without his gun at his back: he ploughs and sows completely armed.

[Footnote 21: Villages of Kazáks.]

For some time past, the mountaineers had fallen in considerable numbers only on Christian villages, for in the stanítzas the resistance had cost them very dear. For the plundering of houses; they approached boldly yet cunningly the Russian frontier, and on such occasions they frequently escaped a battle. The bravest Ouzdéns desire to meet with these affairs that they may acquire fame, which they value even more than plunder.

In the autumn of the year 1819, the Kabardínetzes and Tchetchenétzes, encouraged by the absence of the commander-in-chief, assembled to the number of 1500 men to make an attack upon one of the villages beyond the Térek, to seize it, carry off prisoners, and take the droves of horses. The leader of the Kabardínetzes was the Prince (Kniázek) Djenboulát. Ammalát Bek, who had arrived with a letter from Sultan Akhmet Khan, was received with delight. They did not, indeed, assign him the command of any division; but this arose from the circumstance that with them there is no order of battle or gradation of command; an active horse and individual courage secures the most distinguished place in action. At first they deliberate how best to begin the attack--how to repel the enemy; but afterwards they pay no attention to plan or order, and chance decides the affair. Having sent messengers to summon the neighbouring Ouzdéns, Djemboulát fixed on a place of assembling; and immediately, on a signal agreed on, from every height spread the cry, "Gharái, gharái!" (alarm,) and in one hour the Tchetchenétzes and Kabardínetzes were assembling from all sides. To avoid treason, no one but the leader knew where the night-camp was to be, from which they where to cross the river. They were divided into small bands, and were to go by almost invisible paths to the peaceful village, where they were to conceal themselves till night. By twilight, all the divisions were already mustered. As they arrived, they were received by their countrymen with frank embraces; but Djemboulát, not trusting to this, guarded the village with sentinels, and proclaimed to the inhabitants, that whoever attempted to desert to the Russians should be cut in pieces. The greater part of the Ouzdéns took up their quarters in the sáklas of their kounáks or relations; but Djemboulát and Ammalát, with the best of the cavaliers, slept in the open air round a fire, when they had refreshed their jaded horses. Djemboulát, wrapped in his boúrka, was considering, with folded arms, the plan of the expedition; but the thoughts of Ammalát were far from the battle-field: they were flying, eagle-winged, to the mountains of Avar, and bitterly, bitterly did he feel his separation. The sound of an instrument, the mountain balaláika, (kanous,) accompanying a slow air, recalled him from his reverie, and a Kabardínetz sung an ancient song.

"On Kazbék the clouds are meeting,
like the mountain eagle-flock;
up to them, along the rock,
Dash the wild Ouzdéns retreating;
Onward faster, faster fleeting,
Routed by the Russian brood.
Foameth all their track with blood."

"Fast behind the regiments yelling,
Lance and bayonet raging hot,
And the seed of death their shot.
On the mail the sabre dwelling
Gallop, steed! for far thy dwelling--
See! they fall--but distant still
Is the forest of the hill!"

"Russian shot our hearts is rending,
Falls the Mullah on his knee,
To the Lord of Light bows he,
To the Prophet he is bending:
Like a shaft his prayer ascending,
Upward flies to Allah's throne--
Il-Alláh! O save thine own!"

"Ah, despair!--What crash like thunder!
Lo! a sign from heaven above!
Lo! the forest seems to move
Crashes, murmurs, bursts asunder!
Lower, nearer, wonder! wonder!
Safe once more the Moslem bold
In their forest mountain-hold!"

"So it was in old times," said Djemboulát, with a smile, "when our old men trusted more to prayer, and God oftener listened to them; but now, my friends, there is a better hope--your valour! _Our_ omens are in the scabbards of our shoóshkas, (sabres,) and we must show that we are not ashamed of them. Harkye, Ammalát," he continued, twisting his mustache, "I will not conceal from you that the affair may be warm. I have just heard that Colonel K---- has collected his division; but where he is, or how many troops he has, nobody knows."

"The more Russians there are the better," replied Ammalát, quietly; "the fewer mistakes will be made."

"And the heavier will be the plunder."

"I care not for that. I seek revenge and glory."

"Glory is a good bird, when she lays a golden egg; but he that returns with his toróks (straps behind the saddle) empty, is ashamed to appear before his wife. Winter is near, and we must provide our households at the expense of the Russians, that we may feast our friends and allies. Choose your station, Ammalát Bek. Do you prefer to advance in front to carry off the flocks, or will you remain with me in the rear? I and the Abréks will march at a foot's pace to restrain the pursuers."

"That is what I also intend. I will be where the greatest peril is. But what are the Abréks, Djemboulát?"

"It is not easy to explain. You sometimes see several of our boldest cavaliers take an oath, binding them for two or three years, or as long as they like, never to mingle in games or gayeties, never to spare their lives in battle, to give no quarter, never to pardon the least offence in a brother or a friend, to seize the goods of others without fear or scruple--in a word, to be the foes of all mankind, strangers in their family, men whom any person may slay if he can; in the village they are dangerous neighbours, and in meeting them you must keep your hand on the trigger; but in war one can trust them." [22]

"For what motive, or reason, can the Ouzdens make such an engagement?"

"Some simply to show their courage, others from poverty, a third class from some misfortune. See, for instance, yonder tall Kabardínetz; he has sworn to be an Abrék for five years, since his mistress died of the small-pox. Since that year it would be as well to make acquaintance with a tiger as with him. He has already been wounded three times for blood-vengeance; but he cares not for that."

"Strange custom! How will he return from the life of an Abrék to a peaceable existence?"

"What is there strange in this? The past glides from him as water from the wild-duck. His neighbours will be delighted when he has finished his term of brigandage. And he, after putting off Abrétchestva (Abrékism) as a serpent sheds his skin, will become gentle as a lamb. Among us, none but the avenger of blood remembers yesterday. But the night is darkening. The mists are spreading over Térek. It is time for the work."

Djemboulát whistled, and his whistle was repeated to all the outposts of the camp. In a moment the whole band was assembled. Several Ouzdéns joined from the neighbouring friendly villages. After a short discussion as to the passage of the river, the band moved in silence to the bank. Ammalát Bek could not but admire the stillness, not only of the riders, but of their horses; not one of them neighed or snorted, and they seemed to place their feet on the ground with caution. They marched like a voiceless cloud, and soon they reached the bank of Térek, which, making a winding at this spot, formed a promontory, and from it to the opposite shore, extended a pebbly shoal. The water over this bank was shallow and fordable; nevertheless, a part of the detachment left the shore higher up, in order to swim past the Kazáks, and, diverting their attention from the principal passage, to cover the fording party. Those who had confidence in their horses, leaped unhesitatingly from the bank, while others tied to each fore-foot of their steeds a pair of small skins, inflated with air like bladders; the current bore them on, and each landed wherever he found a convenient spot. The impenetrable veil of mist concealed all these movements. It must be remarked, that along the whole line of the river is a chain of mayáks (watch-towers) and a cordon of sentinels: on all the hills and elevated spots are placed look-outs. On passing before them in the daytime, may be seen on each hillock a pole, surmounted with a small barrel. This is filled with pitch and straw, and is ready to be lighted on the first alarm. To this pole is generally tied a Kazák's horse, and by his side a sentinel. In the night, these sentinels are doubled; but in spite of the precautions, the Tcherkéss, concealed by the fog, and clothed in their boúrka, sometimes pass through the line in small bodies, as water glides through a sieve. The same thing happened on this occasion: perfectly acquainted with the country, the Beláds, (guides) peaceable Tcherkéss, led each party, and in profound silence avoided the hillocks.

[Footnote 22: This is exactly the Berserkir of the ancient Northmen. Examples of this frantic courage are not rare among the Asiatics.]

In two places only had the brigands, to break through the line of watch-fires which might have betrayed them, resolved to kill the sentinels. Against one picket, Djemboulát proceeded himself, and he ordered another Bek to creep up the bank, pass round to the rear of the picket, count a hundred, and then to strike fire with a flint and steel several times. It was said and done. Just lifting his head above the edge of the bank, Djemboulát saw a Kazák slumbering with the match in his hand, and holding his horse by the bridle. As soon as the clicking struck his ear, the sentinel started, and turned an anxious look on the river. Fearing that the sentinel did not remark him, Djemboulát threw up his cap, and again crouched down behind the bank. "Accursed duck!" said the Donétz; "for this night is a carnival. They squatter away like the witches of Kíeff." At this moment, the sparks appeared on the opposite side, and drew his attention: "'Tis the wolves," thought he: "sometimes their eyes glitter brightly!" But the sparks reappearing, he was stupefied, remembering stories that the Tchetchenétzes sometimes use this kind of signal to regulate the movements of their march. This moment of suspense and irresolution was the moment of his destruction; a dagger [23], directed by a strong arm, whistled through the air, and the Kazák, transfixed, fell without a groan to the earth. His comrade was sabred in his sleep, and the pole with the tub was torn down, and was thrown into the river. All then rapidly assembled at the given signal, and dashed in a moment on the village which they had determined to attack. The blow was successfully, that is, quite unexpectedly, struck. Such of the peasants as had time to arm, were killed after a desperate resistance: the others hid themselves or fled. Besides the plunder, a number of men and women was the reward of their boldness. The Kabardínetzes broke into the houses, carrying off all that was most valuable, indeed every thing that came to hand: but they did not set fire to the houses, nor did they tread down the corn, nor break the vines: "Why touch the gift of God, and the labour of man?" said they; and this rule of a mountain robber, who shrinks at no crime, is a virtue which the most civilized nations might envy. In an hour, all was over for the inhabitants, but not for the brigands. The alarm spread along the line, and the mayáks soon began to glimmer through the fog like the stars of morning, while the call to arms resounded in every direction. In this interval, a party of the more experienced among the brigands had gone round the troop of horses which was grazing far in the steppe. The herdsman was seized, and with cries, and firing their guns, they charged at the horses from the land side. The animals started, threw mane and tail into the air, and dashed headlong on the track of a Tcherkéss mounted on a superb steed, who had remained on the bank of the river to guide the frightened herd. Like a skilful pilot, well acquainted, even in a fog, with all the dangers of the desert sea, the Tcherkéss flew on before the horses, wound his way among the posts, and at last, having chosen a spot where the bank was most precipitous, leaped headlong into the Térek. The whole herd followed him: nothing could be seen but the foam that flew into the air. Daybreak appeared; the fog began to separate, and discovered a picture at once magnificent and terrible. The principal band of forayers dragged the prisoners after it--some were at the stirrup, others behind the saddle, with their arms tied at their backs. Tears, and groans, and cries of despair were stifled by the threats and frantic cries of joy of the victors. Loaded with plunder, impeded by the flocks and horned cattle, they advanced slowly towards the Térek. The princes and best cavaliers, in mail-coats and casques glittering like water, galloped around the dense mass, as lightning flashes round a livid cloud. In the distance, were galloping up from every point the Kazáks of the Line; they ambushed behind the shrubs and straggling oak-trees, and soon began an irregular fire with the brigands who were sent against them.

[Footnote 23: The Tartars and Circassians possess extraordinary dexterity in the use of their national weapon--the kinjál, or poniard. These are sometimes of great size and weight, and when thrown by a skilful hand, will fly a considerable distance, and with the most singular accuracy of aim.]

In the meantime, the foremost had driven across the river a portion of the flocks, when a cloud of dust, and the tramp of cavalry, announced the approaching storm. About six hundred mountaineers, commanded by Djemboulát and Ammalát, turned their horses to repulse the attack, and give time to the rest to escape by the river. Without order, but with wild cries and shouts, they dashed forward to meet the Kazáks; but not a single gun was taken from its belt, not a single sháshka glimmered in the air: a Tcherkéss waits till the last moment before he seizes his weapons. And thus, having galloped to the distance of twenty paces, they levelled their guns, fired at full speed, threw their fire-arms over their backs, [24] and drew their sháshkas; but the Kazáks of the Line having replied with a volley, began to fly, and the mountaineers, heated by the chase, fell into a stratagem which they often employ themselves. The Kazáks had led them up to the chasseurs of the brave forty-third regiment, who were concealed at the edge of the forest. Suddenly, as if the little squares had started out of the earth, the bayonets were leveled, and the fire poured on them, taking them in flank. It was in vain that the mountaineers, dismounting from their horses, essayed to occupy the underwood, and attack the Russians from the rear; the artillery came up, and decided the affair. The experienced Colonel Kortsaréff, the dread of the Tchetchenétz, the man whose bravery they feared, and whose honesty and disinterestedness they respected, directed the movements of the troops, and success could not be doubtful. The cannon dispersed the crowds of brigands, and their grape flew after the flying. The defeat was terrible; two guns, dashing at a gallop to the promontory, not far from which the Tcherkéss were throwing themselves into the river, enfiladed the stream; with a rushing sound, the shot flew over the foaming waves, and at each fire some of the horses might be seen to turn over with their feet in the air, drowning their riders. It was sad to see how the wounded clutched at the tails and bridles of the horses of their companions, sinking them without saving themselves--how the exhausted struggled against the scarped bank, endeavouring to clamber up, fell back, and were borne away and engulfed by the furious current. The corpses of the slain were whirled away, mingled with the dying and streaks of blood curled and writhed like serpents on the foam. The smoke floated far along the Térek, far in the distance, and the snowy peaks of Caucasus, crowned with mist, bounded the field of battle. Djemboulát and Ammalát Bek fought desperately--twenty times did they rush to the attack, twenty times were they repulsed; wearied, but not conquered, with a hundred brigands they swam the river, dismounted, attached their horses to each other by the bridle, and began a warm fire from the other side of the river, to cover their surviving comrades. Intent upon this, they remarked, too late, that the Kazáks were passing the river above them; with a shout of joy, the Russians leaped upon the bank, and surrounded them in a moment. Their fate was inevitable. "Well, Djemboulát," said the Bek to the Kabardínetz, "our lot is finished. Do you what you will; but for me, I will not render myself a prisoner alive. 'Tis better to die by a ball than by a shameful cord!" "Do you think," answered Djemboulát, "that my arms were made for a chain! Allah keep me from such a blot: the Russians may take my body, but not my soul. Never, never! Brethren, comrades!" he cried to the others; "fortune has betrayed us, but the steel will not. Let us sell our lives dearly to the Giaour. The victor is not he who keeps the field, but he who has the glory; and the glory is his who prefers death to slavery!" "Let us die, let us die; but let us die gloriously," cried all, piercing with their daggers the sides of their horses, that the enemy might not take them, and then piling up the dead bodies of their steeds, they lay down behind the heap, preparing to meet the attack with lead and steel. Well aware of the obstinate resistance they were about to encounter, the Kazáks stopped, and made ready for the charge. The shot from the opposite bank sometimes fell in the midst of the brave mountaineers, sometimes a grenade exploded, covering them with earth and fragments; but they showed no confusion, they started not, nor blenched; and, after the custom of their country, began to sing, with a melancholy, yet threatening voice, the death-song, replying alternately stanza for stanza.

[Footnote 24: The oriental nations carry their guns at their backs, supported by a strap passing across the breast.]

DEATH-SONG.

CHORUS.

"Fame to us, death to you,
Alla-ha, Alla-hu!!"

SEMICHORUS.

"Weep, O ye maidens, on mountain and valley,
Lift the dirge for the sons of the brave;
We have fired our last bullet, have made our last rally,
And Caucasus gives us a grave.
Here the soft pipe no more shall invite us to slumber
--The thunder _our_ lullaby sings;
Our eyes not the maiden's dark tresses shall cumber,
_Them_ the raven shall shade with his wings!
Forget, O my children, your father's stern duty--
No more shall he bring ye the Muscovite booty!"

SECOND SEMICHORUS.

"Weep not, O ye maidens; your sisters in splendour,
The Houris, they bend from the sky,
They fix on the brave their sun-glance deep and tender,
And to Paradise bear him on high!
In your feast-cup, my brethren, forget not our story;
The death of the Free is the noblest of glory!"

FIRST SEMICHORUS.

"Roar, winter torrent, and sullenly dash!
But where is the brave one--the swift lightning-flash?
Soft star of my soul, my mother,
Sleep, the fire let ashes smother;
Gaze no more, shine eyes are weary,
Sit not by the threshold stone;
Gaze not through the night-fog dreary,
Eat thine evening meal alone,
Seek him not, O mother, weeping,
By the cliff and by the ford:
On a bed of dust he's sleeping--
Broken is both heart and sword!"

SECOND SEMICHORUS.

"Mother, weep not! with thy love burning:
This heart of mine beats full and free,
And to lion-blood is turning
That soft milks I drew from thee;
And our liberty from danger
Thy brave son has guarded well;
Battling with the Christian stranger,
Call'd by Azrael, he fell;
From my blood fresh odours breathing
Fadeless flowers shall drink the dew;
To my children fame bequeathing,
Brethren, and revenge to you!"

CHORUS.

"Pray, my brethren, ere we part;
Clutch the steel with hate and wrath!
Break it in the Russian's heart--
O'er corpses lies the brave man's path!
Fame to us, death to you,
Alla-ha, Alla-hu!"

Struck by a certain involuntary awe, the Chasseurs and Kazáks listened in silence to the stern sounds of this song; but at last a loud _hurrah_ [25] resounded from both sides. The Teherkéss, with a shout, fired their guns for the last time, and breaking them against the stones, they threw themselves, dagger in hand, upon the Russians. The Abréks, in order that their line might not be broken, bound themselves to each other with their girdles, and hurled themselves into the mêlée. Quarter was neither asked nor given: all fell before the bayonets of the Russians. "Forward! follow me, Ammalát Bek," cried Djemboulat, with fury, rushing into the combat which was to be his last--"Forward! for us death is liberty." But Anmalát heard not his call; a blow from a musket on the back of the head stretched him on the earth, already sown with corpses, and covered with blood.

[Footnote 25: "Hurrah" means _strike_ in the Tartar language.]

CHAPTER. V.

LETTER FROM COLONEL VERHOFFSKY TO HIS BETROTHED.

_From Derbénd to Smolénsk. October_, 1819.

Two months--how easy to say it!--two centuries have past, dearest Maria, while your letter was _creeping_ to me. Twice has the moon made her journey round the earth. You cannot imagine, dearest, how dreary is this idle objectless life to me; with nothing to employ me--not even correspondence. I go out, I meet the _Kazák_ [26] with a secret trembling of heart: with what joy, with what exstacy do I kiss the lines traced by a pure hand, inspired by a pure heart--yours, my Maria! With a greedy rapture my eyes devour the letter: then I am happy--I am wild with joy. But hardly have I reclosed it when unquiet thoughts again begin to haunt me. "All this is well," I think; "but all this is past, and I desire to know the present. Is she well? Does she love me yet? Oh! will the happy time come soon--soon--when neither time nor distance can divide us? When the expression of our love will be no longer chilled by the cold medium of the post!" Pardon, pardon, dearest, these black thoughts of absence. When heart is--with heart, the lover trusts in all; in separation he doubts all. You command--for such to me is your wish--that I should describe my life to you, day by day, hour by hour. Oh, what sad and tiresome annals mine would be, were I to obey you! You know well, traitress, that I live not without you. My existence--'tis but the trace of a shadow on the desert sand. My duty alone, which wearies at least, if it cannot amuse me, helps me to get rid of the time. Thrown in a climate ruinous to health, in society which stifles the soul, I cannot find among my companions a single person who can sympathise with me. Nor do I find among the Asiatics any who can understand my thoughts. All that surrounds me is either so savage or so limited, that it excites sadness and discontent. Sooner will you obtain fire by striking ice on stone, than interest from such an existence. But your wish to me is sacred; and I will present you, in brief, with my last week. It was more varied than usual.

[Footnote 26: The Kazáks are employed in the Russian army frequently as couriers.]

I have told you in one of my letters, if I remember, that we are returning from the campaign of Akoúsh, with the commander-in-chief. We have done our work; Shah Ali Khan has fled into Persia; we have burned a number of villages, hay, and corn; and we have eaten the sheep of the rebels, when we were hungry. When the snow had driven the insurgents from their mountain-fastnesses, they yielded and presented hostages. We then marched to the Fort of Boúrnaya, [27] and from this station our detachment was ordered into winter quarters. Of this division my regiment forms a part, and our head-quarters are at Derbénd.

[Footnote 27: Stormy.]

The other day, the general, who was about to depart on another campaign on the Line, came to take leave of us, and thus there was a larger company than usual to meet our adored commander. Alexéi Petróvitch came from his tent, to join us at tea. Who is not acquainted with his face, from the portraits? But they cannot be said to know Yermóloff at all, who judge of him only by a lifeless image. Never was there a face gifted with such nobility of expression as his! Gazing on those features, chiselled in the noble outline of the antique, you are involuntarily carried back to the times of Roman grandeur. The poet was in the right, when he said of him:--

"On the Koubán--fly, Tartar fleet!
The avenger's falchion gleameth;
His breath--the grapeshot's iron sleet,
His voice--the thunder seemeth!
Around his forehead stern and pale
The fates of war are playing....
He looks--and victory doth quail,
That gesture proud obeying!"

You should witness his coolness in the hour of battle--you should admire him at a conference: at one time overwhelming the Teberkéss with the flowing orientalisms of the Asiatic, at another embarrassing their artifices with a single remark. In vain do they conceal their thoughts in the most secret folds of their hearts; his eye follows them, disentangles and unrolls them like worms, and guesses twenty years beforehand their deeds and their intentions. Then, again, to see him talking frankly and like a friend with his brave soldiers, or passing with dignity round the circle of the tchinóbniks [28] sent from the capital into Georgia. It is curious to observe how all those whose conscience is not pure, tremble, blush, turn pale, when he fixes on them his slow and penetrating glance; you seem to see the roubles of past bribes gliding before the eyes of the guilty man, and his villanies come rushing on his memory. You see the pictures of arrest, trial, judgment, sentence, and punishment, his imagination paints, anticipating the future. No man knows so well how to distinguish merit by a single glance, a single smile--to reward gallantry with a word, coming _from_, and going _to_, the heart. God grant us many years to serve with such a commander!

[Footnote 28: Literally, a person possessing rank, used here to signify an _employé_ of Government in a civil capacity--all of whom possess some definite precedence or class (tchin) in the state. ]

But if it be thus interesting to observe him on duty, how delightful to associate with him in society--a society to which every one distinguished for rank, bravery, or intellect, has free access: _here_ rank is forgotten, formality is banished; every one talks and acts as he pleases, simply because those only who think and act as they _ought_, form the society. Alexéi Petróvitch jokes with all like a comrade, and at the same time teaches like a father. As usual, during tea, one of his adjutants read aloud; it was the account of Napoleon's Campaign in Italy--that poem of the Art of War, as the commander-in-chief called it. The company, of course, expressed their wonder, their admiration, their different opinions and criticisms. The remarks of Alexéi Petróvitch were lucid, and of admirable truth.

Then began our gymnastic sports, leaping, running, leaping over the fire, and trials of strength of various kinds. The evening and the view were both magnificent: the camp was pitched on the side of Tarki; over it hangs the fortress of Boúrnaya, behind which the sun was sinking. Sheltered by a cliff was the house of the Shamkhál, then the town on a steep declivity, surrounded by the camp, and to the east the immeasurable steppe of the Caspian sea. Tartar Beks, Circassian Princes, Kazáks from the various rivers of gigantic Russia, hostages from different mountains, mingled with the officers. Uniforms, tchoukhás, coats of chain-mail, were picturesquely mingled; singing and music rang through the camp, and the soldiers, with their caps jauntily cocked on one side, were walking in crowds at a distance. The scene was delightful; it charmed by its picturesque variety and the force and freshness of military life. Captain Bekóvitch was boasting that he could strike off the head of a buffalo with one blow of a kinjál; [29] and two of those clumsy animals were immediately brought.

[Footnote 29: It is absurd to observe the incredulity of Europeans as to the possibility of cutting off a head with the kinjál: it is necessary to live only one week in the East to be quite convinced of the possibility of the feat. In a practiced hand the kinjál is a substitute for the hatchet, the bayonet, and the sabre.]

Bets were laid; all were disputing and doubting. The Captain, with a smile, seized with his left hand a huge dagger, and in an instant an immense head fell at the feet of the astonished spectators, whose surprise was instantly succeeded by a desire to do the same: they hacked and hewed, but all in vain. Many of the strongest men among the Russians and Asiatics made unsuccessful attempts to perform the feat, but to do this strength alone was not sufficient. "You are children--children!" cried the commander-in-chief: and he rose from table, calling for his sword--a blade which never struck twice, as he told us. An immense heavy sabre was brought him, and Alexéi Petróvitch, though confident in his strength, yet, like Ulysses in the Odyssey, anointing the bow which no one else could bend, first felt the edge, waved the weapon thrice in the air, and at length addressed himself to the feat. The betters had hardly time to strike hands when the buffalo's head bounded at their feet on the earth. So swift and sure was the blow, that the trunk stood for some instants on its legs, and then gently, softly, sank down. A cry of astonishment arose from all: Alexéi Petróvitch quietly looked whether his sabre was notched--for the weapon had cost him many thousands [of roubles], and presented it as a keepsake to Captain Bekóvitch.

We were still whispering among ourselves when there appeared before the commander-in-chief an officer of the Kazáks of the Line, with a message from Colonel Kortsáreff, who was stationed on the frontier. When he had received the report, the countenance of Alexéi Petróvitch brightenened--"Kortsáreff has gloriously trounced the mountaineers!" said he. "These rascals have made a plundering expedition beyond the Térek; they have passed far within the Line, and have plundered a village--but they have lost not only the cattle they had taken, but fallen a sacrifice to their own fool-hardiness." Having minutely questioned Yesoúal respecting the details of the affair, he ordered the prisoners whom they had taken, wounded or recovering, to be brought before him. Five were led into the presence of the commander-in-chief.

A cloud passed over his countenance as he beheld them; his brow contracted, his eyes sparkled. "Villains!" said he to the Ouzdéns; "you have thrice sworn not to plunder; and thrice have you broken your oath. What is it that you seek? Lands? Flocks? Means to defend the one or the other? But no! you are willing to accept presents from the Russians as allies, and at the same time to guide the Tcherkéss to plunder our villages, and to plunder along with them. Hang them!" said he sternly; "hang them up by their own thievish arkáus (girdles)! Let them draw lots: the fourth shall be spared--let him go and tell his countrymen that I am coming to teach them to keep faith, and keep the peace, as I will have it."

The Ouzdéns were conducted away.

There remained one Tartar bek, whom we had not remarked. This was a young man of twenty-five, of unusual beauty, graceful as the Belvidere Apollo. He bowed slightly to the commander-in chief as he approached him, raised his cap, and again resumed his proud indifferent expression; unshaken resignation to his fate was written on his features.

The commander-in-chief fixed his stern eye upon his face, but the young man neither changed countenance nor quivered an eyelash.

"Ammalát Bek," said Alexéi Petróvitch, after a pause, "do you remember that you are a Russian subject? that the Russian laws are above you?"

"It would have been impossible to forget that," replied the Bek: "if I had found in those laws a protection for my rights, I should not now stand before you a prisoner."

"Ungrateful boy!" cried the commander-in-chief; "your father--you yourself, have been the enemy of the Russians. Had it been during the Persian domination of your race, not even the ashes would have remained; but our Emperor was generous, and instead of punishing you he gave you lands. And how did you repay his kindness? By secret plot and open revolt! This is not all: you received and sheltered in your house a sworn foe to Russia; you permitted him, before your eyes, traitorously to slaughter a Russian officer. In spite of all this, had you brought me a submissive head, I would have pardoned you, on account of your youth and the customs of your nation. But you fled to the mountains, and with Suleiman Akhmet Khan you committed violence within the Russian bounds; you were beaten, and again you make an incursion with Djemboulát. You cannot but know what fate awaits you."

"I do," coldly answered Ammalát Bek: "I shall be shot."

"No! a bullet is too honourable a death for a brigand," cried the angry general: "a cart with the shafts turned up--a cord round your neck--that is the fitting reward."

"It is all one how a man dies," replied Ammalát, "provided he dies speedily. I ask one favour: do not let me be tormented with a trial: that is thrice death."

"Thou deservest a hundred deaths, audacious! but I promise you. Be it so: to-morrow thou shalt die. Assemble a court-martial," continued the commander-in-chief, turning to his staff: "the fact is clear, the proof is before your eyes, and let all be finished at one sitting, before my departure."

He waved his hand, and the condemned prisoner was removed.

The fate of this fine young man touched us all. Every body was whispering about him; every body pitying him; the more, that there appeared no means of saving him. Every one knew well the necessity of punishing this double treason, and the inflexibility of Alexéi Petróvitch in matters of this publicity: and, therefore, no one dared to intercede for the unfortunate culprit. The commander-in-chief was unusually thoughtful for the remainder of the evening, and the party separated early. I determined to speak a word for him--"Perhaps," I thought, "I may obtain some commutation of the sentence." I opened one of the curtains of the tent, and advanced softly into the presence of Alexéi Petróvitch. He was sitting alone, resting both arms on a table; before him lay a despatch for the Emperor, half finished, and which he was writing without any previous copy. Alexéi Petróvitch knew me as an officer of the suite, and we had been acquainted since the battle of Kulm. At that time he had been very kind to me, and therefore my visit was not surprising to him. "I see--I see, Evstáfii Ivánovitch, you have a design upon my heart! In general you come in as if you were marching up to a battery, but now you hardly walk on tip-toe. This is not for nothing. I am sure you are come with a request about Ammalát."

"You have guessed it," said I to Alexéi Petróvitch, not knowing how to begin.

"Sit down, then, and let us talk it over," he replied. Then, after a silence of a couple of minutes, he continued, kindly, "I know that a report goes about respecting me, that I treat the lives of men as a plaything--their blood as water. The most cruel tyrants have hidden their bloodthirstiness under a mask of benevolence. They feared a reputation for cruelty, though they feared not to commit deeds of cruelty; but I--I have intentionally clothed myself with this sort of character, and purposely dressed my name in terror. I desire, and it is my duty to desire, that my name should protect our frontier more effectually than lines and fortresses--that a single word of mine should be, to the Asiatics, more certain, more inevitable, than death. The European may be reasoned with: he is influenced by conscience, touched by kindness, attached by pardon, won by benefits; but to the Asiatic all this is an infallible proof of weakness; and to him I--even from motives of philanthropy--have shown myself unmitigably severe. A single execution preserves a hundred Russians from destruction, and deters a thousand Mussulmans from treason. Evstáfii Ivánovitch, many will not believe my words, because each conceals the cruelty of his nature, and his secret revengefulness, under excuses of necessity--each says, with a pretence of feeling, 'Really I wish from my heart to pardon, but be judges yourselves--can I? What, after this, are laws--what is the general welfare?' All this I never say; in my eyes no tear is seen when I sign a sentence of death: but my heart bleeds."

Alexéi Petróvitch was touched; he walked agitatedly several times up and down the tent; then seated himself, and continued--"Never, in spite of all this, never has it been so difficult to me to punish as this day. He who, like me, has lived much among the Asiatics, ceases to trust in Lavater, and places no more confidence in a handsome face than in a letter of recommendation; but the look, the expression, the demeanour of this Ammalát, have produced on me an unusual impression. I am sorry for him."

"A generous heart," said I, "is a better oracle than reason."

"The heart of a conscientious man, my dear friend, ought to be under the command of reason. I certainly _can_ pardon Ammalát, but I _ought_ to punish him. Daghestán is still filled with the enemies of Russia, notwithstanding their assurances of submission; even Tarki is ready to revolt at the first movement in the mountains: we must rivet their chains by punishment, and show the Tartars that no birth can screen the guilty--that all are equal in the sight of the Russian law. If I pardon Ammalát, all his relations will begin to boast that Yermóloff is afraid of the Shamkhál." I remarked, that indulgence shown to so extensive a clan would have a good effect on the country--in particular the Shamkhál.

"The Shamkhal is an Asiatic," interrupted Alexéi Petróvitch; "he would be delighted that this heir to the Shamkhalát should be sent to the Elysian fields. Besides, I care very little to guess or gratify the wishes of his kinsmen."

I saw that the commander-in-chief began to waver, and I urged him more pressingly. "Let me serve for three years," said I; "do not give me leave of absence this year--only have mercy on this young man. He is young, and Russia may find in him a faithful servant. Generosity is never thrown away."

Alexéi Petróvitch shook his head.

"I have made many ungrateful," said he, "already; but be it so. I pardon him, and not by halves--that is not my way. I thank you for having helped me to be merciful, not to say weak. Only remember my words: You wish to take him to yourself--do not trust him; do not warm a serpent in your bosom."

I was so delighted with my success, that, hastily quitting the commander-in-chief, I ran to the tent in which Ammalát Bek was confined. Three sentinels were guarding him; a lantern was burning in the midst. I entered; the prisoner was lying wrapped up in his boúrka, and tears were sparkling on his face. He did not hear my entrance, so profoundly was he buried in thought. To whom is it pleasant to part with life? I was rejoiced that I brought comfort to him at so melancholy a moment.

"Ammalát," said I, "Allah is great, and the Sardár is merciful; he has granted you your life!"

The delighted prisoner started up, and endeavoured to reply, but the breath was stifled in his breast. Immediately, however, a shade of gloom covered his features. "Life!" he exclaimed; "I understand this generosity! To consign a man to a breathless dungeon, without light or air--to send him to eternal winter, to a night never illumined by a star--to bury him alive in the bowels of the earth--to take from him not only the power to act, not only the means of life, but even the privilege of telling his kinsmen of his sad lot--to deny him not only the right to complain, but even the power of murmuring his sorrow to the wind. And this you call life! this unceasing torment you boast of as rare generosity! Tell the General that I want not--that I scorn--such a life."

"You are mistaken, Ammalát," I cried; "you are fully pardoned: remain what you were, the master of your actions and possessions. There is your sword. The commander-in-chief is sure that in future you will unsheathe it only for the Russians. I offer you one condition; come and live with me till the report of your actions has died away. You shall be to be as a friend, as a brother."

This struck the Asiatic. Tears shone in his eyes. "The Russians have conquered me," he said: "pardon me, colonel, that I thought ill of all of you. From henceforth I am a faithful servant of the Russian Tsar--a faithful friend to the Russians, soul and sword. My sword, my sword!" he cried, gazing fixedly on his costly blade; "let these tears wash from thee the Russian blood and the Tartar _naphtha_! [30] When and how can I reward you, with my service, for liberty and life?"

[Footnote 30: The Tartars, to preserve their weapons, and to produce a black colour on them, smoke the metal, and then rub it with naphtha.]

I am sure, my dear Maria, that you will keep me, for this, one of your sweetest kisses. Ever, ever, when feeling or acting generously, I console myself with the thought, "My Maria will praise me for this!" But when is this to happen, my darling? Fate is but a stepmother to us. Your mourning is prolonged, and the commander-in-chief has decidedly refused me leave of absence; nor am I much displeased, annoying as it is: my regiment is in a bad state of discipline--indeed, as bad as can be imagined; besides, I am charged with the construction of new barracks and the colonization of a married company. If I were absent for a month, every thing would go wrong. If I remain, what a sacrifice of my heart!

Here we have been at Derbénd three days. Ammalát lives with me: he is silent, sad, and savage; but his fear is interesting, nevertheless. He speaks Russian very well, and I have commenced teaching him to read and write. His intelligence is unusually great. In time, I hope to make him a most charming Tartar. (_The conclusion of the letter has no reference to our story_.)

Fragment of another letter from Colonel Verhóffsky to his _fiancée_, written six months after the preceding.

From Derbénd to Smolénsk.

Your favourite Ammalát, my dearest Maria, will soon be quite Russianized. The Tartar Beks, in general, think the first step of civilization consists in the use of the unlawful wine and pork. I, on the contrary, have begun by re-educating the mind of Ammalát. I show him, I prove to him, what is bad in the customs of his nation, and what is good in those of ours; I explain to him universal and eternal truths. I read with him, I accustom him to write, and I remark with pleasure that he takes the deepest interest in composition. I may say, indeed, that he is passionately fond of it; for with him every wish, every desire, every caprice, is a passion--an ardent and impatient passion. It is difficult for a European to imagine, and still more difficult to understand, the inflammability of the unruly, or rather unbridled, passions of an Asiatic, with whom the will alone has been, since childhood, the only limit to his desires. Our passions are like domestic animals; or, if they are wild beasts, they are tamed, and taught to dance upon the rope of the "conveniences," with a ring through their nostrils and their claws cut: in the East they are free as the lion and the tiger.