Chapter IX: Part 9

"You see that grave; one of you two will fill it before ten minutes are over," said the bandit, with terrible calmness.

"Oh, oh! then I will join you or do anything you wish, most worthy and honourable gentlemen," exclaimed the poor fellow, trembling in every limb.

"You have selected wisely, friend," said the bandit, with an unpleasant smile; "but you will understand that we require proof of your sincerity; vows are, like strings of macaroni, easily broken. You will have the goodness to take this pistol, and shoot yonder contumacious slave of the steward of the Prince Montefalcone. I wish that I could have given you the satisfaction of shooting the Prince himself."

The postillion took the pistol which the brigand handed to him, but hesitated to lift it towards the head of the victim.

"Come, come! we are transacting business," cried the brigand, with a terrible frown. "If you are in earnest, fire; if not, we will give him his choice of shooting you."

The servant, who had not seemed till this moment to understand the cruel fate prepared for him, turned an imploring glance at the brigands surrounding him; but no expression of commiseration could he discover in the countenances of any of them. He was in the act of lifting up his hands towards the blue sky above his head, when the report of a pistol was heard, and he fell flat on his face to the ground.

Instantly the outer clothing was stripped off, the pockets rifled, and the yet warm corpse was thrown into the grave and covered up.

"Put on this," said the brigand, handing the murdered man's jacket to the postillion; "you've made a good beginning, and, as your life is now not worth a half carline if you were to appear in Naples, when you have taken the oath you may consider yourself one of us; but you'll remember, that if you ever turn traitor, though you were to fly to the centre of the Vatican, or to cling to the altar of Saint Peter's, you would not be safe from our vengeance. Now, onward, comrades!"

After climbing some way the band reached their huts, where, the remains of the carriage being piled in a heap, a fire was lighted, and they set to work to cook the remainder of their provisions, with the pleasant knowledge that they had now the means amply to replenish their supply. Having eaten and drunk their fill of salt fish, oil, garlic, macaroni, and sour wine, they stretched themselves, wrapped up in their cloaks, at their lengths inside the hut, while one stood sentry at a spot whence he could watch the only approach to this rocky domain. Such was the everyday life of these gentlemen. It would require a curious twist of the imagination to conceive Ninco Nanco a hero, or his followers otherwise than unmitigated villains.

Poor Pietro, the postillion, soon discovered that he was to be a mere hewer of wood to the band.

While awaiting a reply to their letters, Greco and a companion were sent occasionally into the neighbouring village to procure provisions and necessaries, for which they honestly paid, the traders not finding it convenient to give credit to gentlemen of their profession. Only two recruits joined them, invited by Greco, old hands at the trade. No answers were returned to the rest of their epistles.

"We must take other means of recruiting our forces," exclaimed Ninco Nanco, pulling his moustachios in a way which meant mischief.

Story 11--CHAPTER TWO.

A long, low cottage, with broad verandahs, over which luxuriant vines had been taught to creep, stood on the side of one of the numerous ridges of the Apennines, some way to the east of Naples, in the province of Basilicata. It belonged to old Marco Maffei, a contadino, or small farmer, who had nothing very peculiar about him except that he was an honest man, and that he had a very pretty daughter, an only child, born when he was already advanced in life, and now the joy and comfort of his declining years. It was no fault of the pretty Chiarina that she had admirers, especially as she did her best to keep them at a respectful distance. Her heart, however, was not altogether made of stone; and therefore, by degrees, the young, good-looking, and gallant Lorenzo Tadino had somehow or other contrived to make an impression on it, deeper, perhaps, than Chiarina would have been willing to acknowledge, even to herself. From the house could be seen, some way below, the high road already spoken of, which stretches from the Adriatic to the western waters of the Mediterranean. Lorenzo, or 'Renzo, as he was more familiarly called, was standing just outside the entrance-gate of the farm, while Chiarina, distaff in hand, sat within, under the shade of the wide-spreading vines which, supported by trellis-work, formed an arch overhead. Her father had gone to market some miles off, leaving her in charge with an old man, who had been with him for many years, and her serving-maiden as her attendant. In the absence of her father, her sense of propriety would not allow her to admit 'Renzo within the gate; nor did he complain, for Chiarina had confessed that if she ever did such a foolish thing as to fall in love, she should in all probability select him as the object of her affections, provided always that her father approved of her choice. 'Renzo had just gone inside the arbour to thank her, it is possible, for her judicious selection, when their attention was drawn towards the road by the sound of horses' feet galloping furiously along it. There were three horsemen, wild-looking fellows, each with a carbine or rifle in his hand. As they were passing directly under the house one of the steeds fell, and the rider was thrown with violence to the ground. His companions pulled rein, and dismounted to assist him. He must have been severely hurt; for, after they had tied their horses to a tree, they were seen bearing him up the steep path leading to the cottage.

"You will have the goodness to take care of this cavalier, and to see that no injury befalls him," said one of them to Chiarina, as they reached the arbour.

'Renzo frowned, but to little purpose, at their impudent manner. It would have been against Chiarina's gentle nature to refuse to take care of the injured man. There was not another house along the high road for nearly half-a-league, and he would die before he could be carried there.

The men turned their glances uneasily up the road. Some object was seen approaching. They immediately placed their burden on the ground, and were about to make off down the hill at full speed, when Chiarina exclaimed that it was her father.

Old Marco, though he did not look over well pleased at seeing the strangers, after exchanging a few words with them, at once consented to take charge of their wounded comrade. Calling 'Renzo to his aid, he lifted the man from the ground to bear him towards the house.

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"Remember, if harm befalls him!--" exclaimed one of the men, lifting up his finger, as he turned to hurry down the hill.

"If harm befalls him it will be no fault of mine," answered Marco.

The stranger was carried in and placed on Marco's own bed, and his injuries carefully looked to; while his comrades, having caught his horse, galloped off with it along the road at the same headlong speed as that at which they were before going.

After some time the stranger opened his eyes and looked about him with a very troubled expression, till they fell on Marco. He then seemed more satisfied.

"What has happened?" he asked.

Marco told him.

"I can trust you, old friend?" he whispered.

"Yes, yes, no fear," said Marco, turning away; "I would, though, that your shadow had never darkened my doorway."

Chiarina longed to know who the stranger could he; yet she did not like to ask her father. 'Renzo, left equally in ignorance, at length was compelled to take his departure, not at all satisfied in his mind that all would go well.

Story 11--CHAPTER THREE.

Had the stranger been a son, Marco could not have tended him with greater care than he did, aided by Chiarina, who, however, never got over the mistrust she had felt of him from the first. 'Renzo came whenever he could, and never before had he been so sensible of making rapid progress in her affections. The truth is, she felt that she required some one on whom she could rely for protection and support. Her father never gave a hint as to who the stranger was, and all she knew was that he looked at her in a way she did not like, and that he spoke in a bold, self-confident tone, which grated harshly on her ears. He had now almost entirely recovered his strength, but, except when the shades of evening came on, he did not go out of doors. The only reason he gave for this was, that the light of day was disagreeable to his eyes. It was evident that Marco wished that he would take his departure. In the first place, Marco could not go to market; in the second, the stranger was making love, in a rough way, to his daughter; in the third, he was eating up his provisions; and, in the fourth place--but that reason, probably stronger than any of the others, he kept to himself. 'Renzo would gladly have volunteered to turn him out crop and heel, but that would not have suited Marco's notions of hospitality; nor was it likely that such proceeding would have passed by unnoticed in some disagreeable manner by the stranger's friends.

One day, at noon, as Marco was working in his fields, and had just been joined by Chiarina, who came to tell him that his dinner was ready, they saw in the distance a cloud of dust, out of which shortly emerged a troop of dragoons. Chiarina remarked her father's agitation as he hurried towards the house. Their guest, on hearing who was approaching, instantly retired to his room, telling Marco to say, if any inquiries were made, that there was a sick man up-stairs with an infectious fever. "Invite the officer to come in and prescribe for me," he added, laughing.

The body of cavalry halted under the house, but only an officer dismounted and came up the hill. He entered the house, and asking carelessly for a jug of wine, inquired of Marco whether he had been annoyed by the brigands.

"Ah, signore! I am, happily, too small game for them to fly at," he answered; "yet I love them not, nor wish to have any dealings with them."

The officer looked satisfied, and Marco hoped that he would ask no further questions.

"Have you other inmates besides yourself and daughter?" asked the officer.

"Assuredly, yes--a sick man up-stairs, who has been earnestly begging that any gentleman who has a knowledge of the healing art, passing this way, would come and see him," answered Marco, with all the calmness he could command. "His fever, he says, may be infectious; and, at all events, I wish to have as little to do with him as possible. Perhaps, if you have a surgeon with your troop, you could send him up; or, if you have any skill, signore, you would see him."

"I! My skill is to kill, not to cure," said the officer, laughing at his own wit, and completely deceived.

It was with no small satisfaction that Marco saw him again moving on at the head of his men.

The stranger soon after appeared.

"I owe you a good turn, Marco Maffei," he said, with more cordiality than he generally exhibited. "The day may come when I can repay it. I shall not much longer trouble you with my society."

Marco did not say what he thought--that the sooner he was gone the better.

Day after day, however, passed by, the guest employing his time in making love, as before, to Chiarina, to her evident annoyance, though at this he seemed in no way disconcerted.

At length, one evening after dark, a loud knock was heard at the door, and, when Marco opened it, an unshorn countenance was thrust in.

"Come, signore, we have been watched, and shall have no little difficulty in rejoining our comrades if there is any delay," said a gruff voice from out of the hair-covered mouth. "You have been here too long as it is."

The stranger, without demanding any explanation of the last remark, jumped up, shook Marco warmly by the hand, and, endeavouring to bestow a kiss on Chiarina's cheek, which she narrowly escaped, disappeared through the doorway.

"A good riddance of bad rubbish!" thought Marco, as he muttered something between a blessing and a curse between his teeth.

Chiarina was thankful that the stranger was gone, yet she was not happy; for 'Renzo had not been to the cottage for three days, and she could not tell what had become of him. She no longer concealed from herself that she loved him very dearly.

Story 11--CHAPTER FOUR.

'Renzo was one day on his way over the mountains to visit Chiarina, when before him appeared the barrels of three or four rifles, and a voice in an authoritative tone ordered him to stop. As he knew that rifle bullets were apt to travel faster than he could run, he obeyed, and presently, found himself in the hands of a party of especially savage-looking bandits.

After proceeding for a couple of leagues or more, 'Renzo found himself in a wild rugged part of the mountains, into which, though so near his home, he had never penetrated. Here a large band of ragamuffins were collected, all armed; to the teeth, some of them being peasants whom he knew by sight. He was welcomed by name as a future comrade.

"Your comrade, indeed! I will be the comrade only of honest men," he answered boldly.

At this reply there was a laugh.

"We'll see what persuasions our brave chief, Giuseppe Greco, can employ," exclaimed one of the band.

"He our chief? What do you mean, Oca? Our chief is Ninco Nanco, and no one else," cried another.

"Then he should show himself,--he may be dead, or captured, for what we know," said a third.

"We want a clever leader, like Greco, who can at will increase the number of the band, and lay the whole country under contribution."

"Who will bring traitors among us, and make enemies on every side," muttered an old brigand, who had followed the craft from his earliest days.

From all he heard 'Renzo knew that there was a division in the camp of the brigands, and soon ascertained that Greco was plotting to depose his absent chief. This was satisfactory, as he hoped it might be the means of breaking up the confederacy. It did not make him the less anxious to effect his escape. In vain he watched for an opportunity all night.

The next day the band moved some leagues farther to the east. He found himself strictly guarded, but not otherwise ill-treated; while his companions used every means to impress him with the pleasures and advantages of the life they led.

"I confess I do not perceive them," he answered. "You have to live up in the mountains; often like wild beasts, hunted from spot to spot. Your fare is coarse, and often scanty. Every day you run a chance of being shot. If taken, you will be hung, or sent to the galleys for life; and, without scruple, you kill your fellow-creatures, if they attempt to defend their property."

"Make the fellow hold his tongue," cried a voice near them; it was that of Greco, who had approached unperceived. "We must induce you to change your mind, friend 'Renzo," he remarked. "I want a sturdy fellow like you as a lieutenant."

Greco was doing his utmost to increase the number of the band, hoping thus to overpower the adherents of Ninco Nanco. Small parties were constantly sent out, therefore, who returned either with prisoners, or recruits as they were called, or some booty and provisions. What was poor 'Renzo's grief and horror when, one day, he saw Marco Maffei, the father of his dear Chiarina, brought in a prisoner, mounted on his mule! He looked pale and alarmed. Greco seemed highly satisfied at seeing him.

"Ah! ah!" he exclaimed, "you refused me your daughter in honourable marriage three years ago. I have waited ever since then to be revenged on you, and now I have the opportunity."

The band was at this time collected in a hollow, with rocks and trees around, effectually concealing its members from the world beyond. The only approach was by the pathway up which Marco had been led.

"Now, friend 'Renzo, the moment has arrived to decide whether you will become one of us!" exclaimed Greco, in a harsh tone. "I want yonder old man put out of the world--to you I award the task."

'Renzo's heart sank within him. He resolved, however, to make every effort to save the life of his old friend. He pleaded and argued. He might as well have talked to the surrounding rocks.

"Give him a rifle," at length exclaimed Greco, losing patience. "See that you use it as I direct."

'Renzo took the weapon, and ascertained that it was loaded properly. The old man had been allowed to sit on his mule. 'Renzo approached him.

"Friend, forgive me for the deed I am compelled to commit," he said aloud; then he hurriedly whispered, "I will draw off the attention of the villains, and, as I do so, dash down the mountain. Your beast is trusty, and will not fall."

Once more he retired nearer to Greco, and again pleaded earnestly for the old man's life.

"Fire!" cried Greco, stamping on the ground.

"Ay, I will!" exclaimed 'Renzo, swinging himself round so as to cover the would-be chief of the band.

At that moment a report from another quarter was beard--a bullet whistled through the air, and Greco fell, shot through the head.

"Fly, father, fly!" cried 'Renzo, springing towards Marco, and urging on his mule.

The unexpected appearance of Ninco Nanco himself, who leaped down from the rocks among them with three well-armed followers, drew off the attention of the brigands from 'Renzo's proceedings. Those who had openly sided with Greco grasped their weapons, expecting to have to fight for their lives.

"Nonsense! No fighting among friends," said Ninco Nanco. "I heard of all that fellow was doing, and have settled scores with him pretty sharply. In future you'll all follow my orders."

Loud vivas greeted this address, and it was not for some minutes that the brigands discovered that their prisoners had fled. Some proposed following them.

"No, no! To the old man I owe a debt; it were an ill way of paying it if I slew him," exclaimed Ninco Nanco. "Though I love not the other, I can afford to be generous, and so let him go also. I can trust them. They dare not betray us."

This act of the chiefs was looked upon as the very acme of heroic generosity; and certainly nothing more worthy of praise has been recorded of Ninco Nanco, the Brigand.

Having inspired the inhabitants of the surrounding districts with a wholesome terror of his name, Ninco Nanco soon discovered that the easiest way of collecting his revenue was to write a letter to any wealthy proprietor he might fix on, demanding the sum required, or horses, or provisions, as the case might be; and he seldom, fails to obtain what he demands.

Marco and 'Renzo reached home safely, when Chiarina, who had been almost heart-broken at their absence, in the exuberance of her joy at their return, threw herself into the arms of her father, and then into those of 'Renzo, quite forgetting all rules of propriety.

The young couple married soon afterwards; and, if they are not perfectly happy, it is that they dread lest Ninco Nanco should some day pounce down on them, and insist on 'Renzo joining his band. They, therefore, very reasonably hope to hear some day that that gentleman has been shot, or hung, or sent to the galleys, or has been induced to accept a situation under the Government, or been disposed of in some no less satisfactory manner.

Story 12--CHAPTER ONE.

STORY TWELVE--THE STORY OF THE DEFENCE OF KARS.

However averse we may be to war, we must acknowledge that it is often a stern and cruel necessity: that it is calculated to draw out many of the nobler qualities which exist in the human heart and mind, and that it shows more than most other callings a man in his true colours. There were many gallant deeds performed during the late war with Russia; but, taking all things into consideration, none surpass the defence of Kars, or more completely prove what can be done by courage, energy and perseverance, devotedness and unanimity, when directed by wisdom and science. All these qualities were displayed in a remarkable degree by the British officers who undertook the defence of Kars against the well-disciplined troops of Russia, with materials which ordinary men would have considered utterly useless. I feel particular pleasure in writing a short account of that heroic undertaking, from having soon afterwards met some of the British officers engaged in it in Russia itself. There, no longer enemies, but as honoured visitors, they were received by the Russians with that respect which their gallantry had won. They were visiting, as I was, the gallery in Saint Petersburg of that talented artist and persevering Siberian traveller, the late Mr Atkinson. While exhibiting his magnificent pictures, Mr Atkinson gave us a deeply interesting account of his own adventures when he was engaged in making the sketches from which he had painted them, and altogether I look back to that morning as one of the most agreeable spent during a short visit I made, soon after the war, to Russia.

But to our story about Kars. While the British, French, and Sardinian troops were before Sebastopol, the Russians hoped, by sending a powerful army by way of the Caucasus, to attack the Turkish dominions in Asia on the east, and to compel the Allies to despatch some of their forces to the assistance of the Sultan. The English Government had foreseen that the Russians would do this, and had accordingly sent out General Williams, then holding the rank of Colonel, and other officers, to put the frontier Turkish fortresses in a state of defence. On the confines of the Turkish dominions in Armenia, and to the south-east of the Black Sea, stands the town of Kars. It is situated under a precipitous and rocky range of hills, running east and west, and in most parts impassable for artillery. This range of hills is bisected by a deep gorge, through which flows the river Karschai, over which are thrown four or five bridges. On the south side of Kars a fine level plain stretches away for many miles till it meets a range of easy-sloping heights. Kars has a picturesque old feudal-looking castle, built on the summit of a craggy rock, rising out of the gully, with the brawling river at its base, and commanding the whole of the city. The streets of the town are narrow and dirty, and there are very few even tolerably good houses, while the appearance of the population is sordid in the extreme. Besides the castle, there were no fortifications of any consideration. This was the place which, early in 1855, General Williams, Colonel Lake, Major Teesdale, Captain Thompson, and other English officers were sent to defend, with a disorganised Turkish force under them, against a well-equipped Russian army, commanded by General Mouravieff. General Williams had received the rank of Ferik or Lieutenant-General in the Turkish army, with the title of Williams Pasha. He and the gallant men with him had numberless difficulties to contend with. The Turkish officers were generally utterly worthless-- the neighbouring tribes of Kurdistan broke into revolt--the troops were ill clothed, and ill fed, and unpaid, and the whole _morale_ of the army was at the lowest state, while the town itself was to be placed in a defensible condition, to withstand the assaults of the powerful army advancing towards it. The soldiers were upwards of two years in arrears of pay--their shoes were worn out, their uniforms were in tatters, and a large number were suffering from scurvy, caused by unwholesome food and their long confinement in the ill-ventilated huts of Kars. General Williams and his companions were first engaged in fortifying the town of Erzeroum, which will be found on the map some distance to the west or rear of Kars, and from thence they proceeded to the defence of the latter place itself. The Russians were at that time assembling an army at Gumri, and were evidently meditating a speedy attack on Kars. As no time was to be lost in preparing for it, the English officers set manfully to work to overcome all obstacles, and to put the place in a proper state of defence. All vied with each other in zeal. In all weathers, at all times of the day and night, in the saddle or on foot, they were to be found labouring with head and hand, sometimes in the trenches with spade or mattock, sometimes drilling troops, receiving chiefs, settling disputes, encouraging the wavering, and organising various departments of the service. Here is a description of General Williams when the enemy had arrived before the town:--"We are all in the saddle at half-past three a.m., and ride round the works; the troops are certainly full of enthusiasm, and Williams Pasha or Ingleez Pasha is already a great favourite. They see him everywhere; he is with the sentries at the menaced point ere the morning has dawned, anon he is tasting the soldiers' soup, or examining the bread, and, if anything is wrong here, his wrath is terrible. His eyes are everywhere, and he himself is ubiquitous. Each soldier feels that he is something more than a neglected part of a rusty machine: he knows that he is cared for, and he is encouraged, and confident of being well led." To Colonel Lake, however, belongs the credit of having formed the chief fortifications round Kars, as he was there while General Williams was still at Erzeroum. They were of considerable extent. The chief battery was on the summit of a semicircular range of hills, to the west and north-west, and at the distance of two miles or more from the town. This was Major Teesdale's position, and here General Kmety had his camp. To the north again was a line of fortifications known as the English Redoubts, where Colonel Lake commanded. The river flowed between the town and the above-mentioned batteries. To the east, at a distance of a mile from the town, was Captain Thompson's position--the Karsdagh Battery, and from thence a line of batteries circled round to the south, till they joined the river on the west. Thompson's and Lake's positions were connected by a bridge thrown across the river by the latter. The strongest position was a closed work, constructed by Colonel Lake, on a height overlooking the city to the west, and known as Veli Pasha Tabia, or Fort Lake. It was armed with four heavy and several lighter guns, and was the key of the whole northern position. Day and night, officers and men were employed in strengthening this extensive line of fortifications, the whole northern part being on a succession of rugged heights, commanding the surrounding country. No one worked harder or was more enthusiastic than the gallant Teesdale, and there also was the brave Thompson with Dr Sandwith, the chief of the medical staff, who gives a most graphic account of the first attack of the Russians. It was the 16th of June, the Feast of the Bairam, when the Turks generally deliver themselves up to idleness and rejoicing, and all duty is neglected. But the vicinity of danger kept the garrison of Kars on the alert, and early in the morning news was brought that the enemy were advancing on the town. The alarm was quickly raised, and all the citizens rushed to the batteries. Every one was in gayest apparel--the gallant Karslis slung on their scimitars, buckled on their cartridge-pouches, and shouldered their rifles, and in groups by the dozen, with hearts beating high and glistening eyes, scaled the rocky heights above the city. Here is a picture:--"The women crowd the house-tops, and cry to each passing warrior, `God sharpen your swords! Remember us--we are praying for you--go, fight the infidels--God speed you!' In a short time each man is at his post, where, by those looking down from the batteries, were to be seen the dark masses of the enemy steadily advancing over the broad plain of rich meadow land, covered with brilliant yellow flowers. As they advance, a beautiful living panorama is before the spectators--the enemy throw out their Cossacks and Georgian skirmishers of irregular cavalry; these are met by the Bashi-Bazouks, and a series of tournaments occur in the enamelled grassy space intervening between the stern masses of advancing troops and the breastworks of Kars. Two or three regiments of cavalry now advance from the Russian lines, and, after a trot of a mile or two, charge the retreating squadrons of Turkish cavalry. The rout of the latter is complete, but the Bashi-Bazouks, under a gallant native chief from Damascus, Ali Bey, fight well while retreating. Suddenly puffs of dense white smoke issue from the Karsdagh and Hafiz Pasha batteries, and the screaming balls are seen to plough through the dense Russian masses. The enemy's artillery is now brought up, but their balls glance harmlessly from the dense earthworks. The horsemen from both sides are mingled, and rush for the entrance; but the Cossacks fall under the deadly fire of the batteries, while those on whom our guns cannot play are singled out by the Turkish riflemen, who line the rocky sides of Karsdagh. The attempt to rush into the works has failed; after less than an hour's cannonading the enemy retires, while this repulse raises the spirits of the garrison to the height of enthusiasm. The Turkish loss has been trifling, perhaps twenty, while that of the enemy must have been considerably more." So the fighting went on: sometimes the enemy approached the entrenchments and retired without making an attack--at other times they attempted to storm the place, but were were driven back with slaughter. The British officers did not cease to strengthen their position; but they had soon to contend with a more terrible enemy than the Russians within their own entrenchments.

All their supplies had been cut off--their provisions fell short, and fierce famine made its appearance. Discontent among the troops--the irregulars chiefly--naturally followed; the town was closely beset by Cossack horsemen on every side. Still the war was carried on in a civilised manner, and, from the first, the Russian General Mouravieff showed himself a truly chivalric and humane man. It was felt that, should Erzeroum be taken, a vast number of siege-guns would be brought against Kars, and its doom be sealed.

Another attack was made by the Russians on the 7th of August, but they were driven back with considerable slaughter. But it is with the English officers we have to do:--"No sign of despondency clouded the honest face of General Williams. His `Good morning' salutation was as cheerful as on the morrow of the first little victory. He was thin--he could not well be thinner: no wonder, for he never seemed to sleep. Long ere daylight he was with the sentries of Major Teesdale's battery, the point nearest the Russians, and his glass learned every movement; anon he was encouraging the Bashi-Bazouks and settling their differences, or arranging some plan for feeding the townspeople; and in his confidential conversation with his officers on the state of affairs, he would impress on them the duty of maintaining a bright and hopeful bearing, since all the garrison looked up to them for encouragement, Thompson lived altogether on the Karsdagh, and his glass ranged the horizon from early morning until night; nor did he then go to a quiet couch; for, though he turned in, yet, after an hour's light slumber, he would visit each sentry round the whole works, and no part of the position was as well guarded as that where this Argus had taken up his quarters. Teesdale lived with the gallant Hungarian, Kmety, and acted as chief of his staff. Besides his graver duties, he was constantly harassing the Cossacks with parties of riflemen, or menacing and attacking the Russian cavalry with a company of rifles and a couple of guns." Thus day after day skirmishing went on, but provisions became more and more scarce; scurvy, the cholera, and fever broke out; numbers died, but the courage of the brave leaders never flagged. There was no longer provender for the horses, and some of the cavalry, with a fearful loss, cut their way through the enemy and escaped.

But the day of battle was not longer to be delayed--that day which was to win the renown a soldier covets for the gallant strangers who led the Turkish forces. On the 29th of September, before daybreak, one of the advanced sentries of the chief battery, nearest to the enemy, heard a sound in the distance, something like the rumbling of wheels and the tramp of infantry. Kmety was soon on the spot. He applied his ear to the ground, and recognised the rumble of artillery-wheels; while still the measured tread of infantry was heard advancing nearer and nearer up the valley. The night was moonless, and very dark. Again all was silent. The Zebek riflemen look well to their percussion caps; the word is passed to the artillery-men, "_peshref_" (grape); the advanced posts creep into the lines with the ominous words "_Ghiaour gueliur_" (The infidels are coming). A dark mass, faintly seen through the gloom, is observed. It is moving; it is a column of men! A gun is pointed in the direction, the match is applied, and a hissing shower of grape flies into the mass. An unearthly scream of agony from mangled human frames follows the thunder of the gun, when both are drowned by a loud hurrah which rises on all sides, and soon the whole line of breastworks is assailed in front and flank. All surprise is at an end. The Russians advance in close column on the breastworks and redoubts, while some Russian batteries, well placed on a commanding eminence opposite, pour shot, shell, and grape into the redoubts. Steadily each column advances, while grape, round-shot, and musketry are pelted into them. They still rush on; their officers, with wondrous self-devotion, charge in front, and, single-handed, leap into the redoubts only to fall pierced with bayonets. Their columns, rent and torn, retire to reform. Meantime, on the left flank and rear of the position, the breastworks are carried; a number of tents are occupied by Russian troops, while their officers, ignorant that the redoubts are closed, flatter themselves that the position is won. Kmety now, however, hastily gathers together a formidable body of his best troops; Teesdale turns some guns towards the rear and works them vigorously; Kmety's riflemen pour into these partially victorious Russians a continued and well-directed fire, which holds them in check, and woefully thins their ranks. Meantime, the son has risen, and shows each position of the enemy. A sulphurous cloud envelops the scenes of fiercest conflict, while reserves in formidable numbers crown the distant slopes. Fresh columns of the enemy charge again and again the front line of breastworks and batteries, from which they are at first driven back: they are received with a deadly and withering fire; and thus the fight continues. But this is not the only struggle going on. The line of breastworks and forts protecting the heights on the north of the town are attacked simultaneously by overpowering numbers, and being defended only by a weak force, mainly of Laz irregulars, are carried and occupied by Russian troops, who pile arms and wait for further orders; while the Russian artillery-men employ their time in busily shelling the town, which they now command. Meantime, General Williams from the centre of the camp is watching events. He despatches a body under Kherim Pasha, which appears suddenly on the flank of a large body of Russians now gaining ground in the rear of the Turks on the chief battery. A loud yell arises of triumph and vengeance. Baba Kherim waves his sword; his troops pour a volley into the enemy; Kmety and his men, hitherto overpowered, raise a responsive cheer: they rush on, crying, "_Sungu_! _sungu_!" (The bayonet! the bayonet!) Teesdale pours fresh grape into the staggering masses; the Russians waver--they give way--the havoc slacks not. The Turkish artillery hurl round-shots into these columns of brave and devoted men. Captain Thompson, on the extreme east, is with might and main working a heavy gun, and keeping the enemy in check. Once, and once only, there is a slight sign of giving way, but General Williams despatching reinforcements, changes the backward into a forward movement. The loud hurrahs of the Russian hosts are mingled with the yells of the Turks, who tight like tigers, charging repeatedly with the bayonet. White-turbaned citizens are seen plunging into the fight, hewing with their scimitars; athletic and savage Lazistan mountaineers fight with the clubbed rifle, or hurl stones at the advancing foe, while the latter, ever obedient to a stern discipline, advance again and again to the deadly batteries, and are blown from the very mouths of the guns. Strong proof is there of the excellence of Colonel Lake's batteries. For seven and a half hours the furious contest rages; when about mid-day the Russian columns are seen running down the hill, their cavalry and artillery steadily protecting their retreat. A confused mass of citizens follows them with the utmost temerity, firing into their retreating ranks. But where was the Turkish cavalry? Two thousand horsemen would have destroyed the Russian army, but none remain. The enemy reform, and march off unmolested.

The victory was complete, and the brave garrison looked forward with hope to relief, but relief did not come--cholera did, and famine. The provisions decreased, and many soldiers died of starvation, of cholera, sometimes fifty in a night. News, however, came that Selim Pasha had landed at Trebizond, and was advancing to their succour, and so our brave countrymen resolved not to yield. Still the relief did not come. Famine, disease, and death stalked round the camp. Human endurance could last no longer. The 25th of November arrived, and General Williams and his aide-de-camp, Teesdale, rode over, under a flag of truce, to the Russian camp, to propose a capitulation. They were well received by the humane Mouravieff. Terms most honourable to the brave garrison were speedily arranged; private property was to be respected; the troops were to march out with colours and music, and surrender themselves prisoners; "and write," said the Russian General to his secretary, "that in admiration of the noble and devoted courage displayed by the army of Kars, the officers shall be allowed to retain their swords, as a mark of honour and respect."

Thus was Kars defended chiefly by the wisdom, courage, and perseverance of a few Englishmen, gallantly supported by the Turkish troops; and thus it fell, not before the arms of Russia, but in consequence of the mismanagement, roguery, and pusillanimity of Turkish generals and officials. It would be difficult to point out to young soldiers an example more worthy of imitation than that set by the gallant officers who have been mentioned in these pages.

Story 13--CHAPTER ONE.

STORY THIRTEEN--THE DOOMED SHIP.

"You see me now an old and careworn man, with my few scanty locks white as the driven snow; my eyes dim, my cheeks hollow, my shrunk and tottering limbs scarce able to support my bent and emaciated body; my blood languid, and flowing slowly round my heart; my voice weak and tremulous as a child's; all my faculties deranged but memory, and that alone survives to tell me who I am. Memory, mysterious, inscrutable power,--gladly would I have escaped its painful influence! Alas! it cannot be. Thought alone, while every other faculty has departed, will pursue me to the grave.

"I was not always thus, young man. Ah! once my blood coursed freely through my veins as yours, my limbs were stout and strongly knit, my muscles were firmly strung, my figure was tall and graceful, and with my arm few dared to compete. No one ever cared a second time to tempt my anger; my eye was bright and piercing as an eagle's, and my voice was clear and powerful, so that it might be heard amid the raging of the fiercest storm. My heart never beat with fear; aloft, no one was more active, or would so readily spring to the weather earing, when, in the strongest tempest, the last reef was to be taken in the topsails. Ah! young man, you look incredulous. I have stood securely on the main truck when landsmen could scarcely keep their feet on deck. I have hung by one hand suspended to a single rope, tossing to and fro in mid air. I have swum for miles on the foaming bosom of the ocean. I have contended with the wild beast of the desert. I have stood amid showers of bell and grape when my shipmates have been falling thickly around. I have with a few daring comrades fought hand to hand against overpowering numbers on an enemy's deck. I have faced death in a hundred shapes, and I never trembled; yet now I bend even before the summer's breeze. Worthless and miserable as I am, I have loved, truly and devotedly, ay, and have been loved too in return. The eye of beauty has sparkled, her lip has smiled sweetly on me, her heart has beat with tender emotions; when I drew near, those lips have uttered words of tenderest endearment for my ear alone. I have been young, strong, handsome, and bold;--I am now old and broken, loathsome and nerveless. Learn a moral, young man. To this all must come whose span of life is lengthened out like mine; then do the work to which you have been called while you have strength. Remember that this life, whether passed in sunshine and in calm, or amid cloud and storm, is like a voyage, speedily over, and that while it lasts every man on board is bound to do his duty, nor like a coward skulk idly below. Vain and bitter are the regrets of age, and if all men did but feel the importance of acting their parts faithfully towards their Maker and their fellow-men, what an amount of misery and anguish would be saved them in their latter days! how different would he the world they are sent to inhabit!

"But I asked you to sit down on this stone by my side, while we watch the shipping in the harbour below, and the deep blue sea sparkling in the rays of the setting sun, to listen to a tale of my younger days, and instead of that, I have been moralising, prating, you will say perhaps, of things which do not interest you. Well, well, follow my counsel; it is all I ask; and so to my tale.

"It is now more than half a century ago that I got the berth of second mate on board a fine ship belonging to the port of Liverpool. Liverpool was a very different town in those days from what it is now. There were no fine docks and spacious quays, no broad streets and magnificent buildings, but yet it was a place of much bustle and trade; and trade is the true mother of all the improvements. Our ship was called the _Chameleon_. She was bran new, and had never yet made a voyage; she measured four hundred and fifty tons burthen, was ship-rigged, and was well found and fitted in every respect. Her master was as thorough a sailor as ever stepped, and, take them all in all, I suppose a stouter ship, a better crew, or a more able master, never sailed from the port of Liverpool. But I have now more particularly to speak of the master. His name was Derick--Captain Ashby Derick. He was a young man, about seven or eight-and-twenty, I suppose, and was very well connected and educated. He was very good-looking--the women called him remarkably handsome--he was tall, with a firm, well-made figure and broad chest; his complexion was naturally fair, though now bronzed by the sun, with an abundance of light curly hair, and full whiskers; his eyes were large and grey; his lips firm, and his nose fine, though somewhat hooked, which prevented his face from having any approach to effeminacy. He had from boyhood been rather wild; indeed, his principles were none of the best, and it was for that reason that his father, who was a very strict man, had sent him to sea, that he might not set a bad example to his brothers. The world looked on him as a rollicking, careless blade, with more animal spirits than wisdom to guide him; but his employers knew him to be a first-rate seaman, and one liked by his crew, and that was all they had to inquire about. Now for my part, I believe that had he been well guided at first, and properly instructed in his duty to God and man, he would not have turned out a bad man; but he had not his fair play; he was cast like a waif on the waters, without rudder or compass, to find his way as he best could over the troubled sea of life, and how could those who sent him expect him to escape shipwreck? His fate has been the fate of many. He grew up with numerous fine manly qualities. He was brave and bold as man can be; he was generous to his friends, kind-hearted to any in distress, and full of life and animation, but his temper was hot and hasty. He had no religion, though he did not scoff at it in others; but he did not know what it meant; and he had no morality; indeed, no one could trust to his principles. With women he had very winning ways, and was a great favourite with them.

"After his return from his last voyage he went to stay with some friends living in Lancashire, not many miles from Liverpool. At the distance of a mile or two from the house where he was staying, there lived on the borders of a wild heath or common, in an almost ruined cottage, an old woman. The old woman's name was Kirby--Mother Kirby she was called--and she was reported to be a witch by the common people, who told all sorts of stories about her. It is certain that she was of a sour bad temper, that she was very old and very ugly, and could use her tongue most fluently. But it is not about her I am going to speak at present. She had a granddaughter who lived in the hut with her, but was as unlike her in every respect as light from darkness. Amy Kirby was one of the most beautiful girls you ever saw--she was slight and graceful, with a well-rounded form, and tall rather than short; her hair was black as jet; her eyes large, dark, and lustrous; and her cheeks bore all the bloom of health and youth; her complexion was clear, but it just showed that there was a slight touch of gipsy blood in her veins; her step, as she walked along, was as elastic as a young fawn's; and her voice was like the skylark's as it mounts into the blue sky at early dawn.

"It was surprising to see how the old woman loved a being so unlike herself, how carefully she tended her, how well she had brought her up. She had taught her many things which girls in her rank of life never learn; she even got all sorts of books for her to read. Amy was always neatly dressed, and while the rest of the cottage was almost in ruins, her room was as good as any in a well-to-do house. No one knew how the old woman got the money for these purposes, but whenever any was wanted for Amy it was always forthcoming. One thing, alas! she had not taught her--that was religion; and neither the old woman nor her grandchild was ever seen to enter a church.

"Amy was about seventeen when Ashby Derick first saw her. He met her on the common near her grandmother's cottage, and as he was a stranger there he stopped to ask his way, and from one question another was asked, and a few words led to many. His heart in a moment was struck by her beauty, and he felt that he had never seen any one he admired so much. She, too, was pleased with his look and fine manly bearing, but she would not tell him who she was, nor where she came from. She laughingly said that she was the spirit of the heath, that she dwelt in the air, and that her carriage was the storm, and that whenever he would seek her he must come there to find her. This excited his curiosity, and if she had told him that she lived in the ruined cottage hard by, from her dress and language he would not have believed her. Every day he visited the heath, and each time he found her there on the same spot, and hour after hour he spent with her, more and more captivated by her charms. What was extraordinary was, that he could never find out her name, nor anything about her, or he might perhaps have not gone so far as he did. The strangeness of the affair pleased him, for he was of a romantic turn, and I believe fancied her some well-born lady in disguise who had fallen in love with him. She must have been, from what I heard, full of life and wit, and of course showed out more to him than she had ever done to others. Indeed, her mind was of no ordinary character, and had it been well guided she would have been equal to any lady in the land. At last he offered her marriage. She laughed, and told him that he would be marrying a spirit, and that he must come to her home, for that she would never go to his. He had better think over it, for that no good could come of it. This only made him more vehement, and he vowed and swore that he would marry her and her alone. The belief is that she was of the gipsy religion as well as of the gipsy race, and gipsies look upon an oath as binding as any other form of marriage, and therefore after that she considered Ashby Derick as her husband. I cannot say if what she told him about her being the spirit of the heath had anything of truth in it, as some people believed, but her heart and soul were his, and she loved him with all the passionate ardour of a child of a race which comes from the lands of the burning sun of Egypt. The consequence was, that she went to reside with him at his house near Liverpool.

"Her grandmother had never come to see her, but at last the old woman could no longer resist the strong wish she had of visiting her. Derick came in and saw the witch-like creature sitting by the side of the beautiful girl he professed to love so much. He did not like the look of her, and in an angry tone he asked her what she did there.

"`I've as much right to be here as you have,' answered the old woman. `I've come to see my grandchild, and I should like to know what fault you can find with that!'

"`You come to see your grandchild!--you Amy's grandmother! I don't believe it,' he exclaimed, starting back from her with a look of horror. `You, you wizen-faced, shrivelled old hag!'

"`What! you dare to call me names!' screamed the old woman; `you'll repent it--that you will, my master.'