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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 
From Liberty’s harp are the strains you now hear;
Men of Attèghèi rise at the call;
Hark! hark! to its sounds, for the foemen are near,
It summons us warriors all
To fight for the land of our ancestors’ graves,
Who died that their children might never be slaves.
 
 
The Russ marches onward with chains in his hand,
To bind our free arms will he try.
His banner’s dark eagle o’ershadows our land,
But we’ve sworn or to conquer or die,
For we fight o’er the sod of our ancestors’ graves,
Whose valiant hearts ne’er would have yielded to slaves.
 
 
’Tis Poland’s enslaver with foul bloody hand,
Remember her story of woe!
Her brave sons are captives, or fled their lov’d land,
Beware, or her fate we may know!
Let us swear on the earth of our forefathers’ graves,
That we ne’er will be conquered or yield to those slaves.
 
 
Remember we fight for our mountains so green,
For our vales, for our streams’ sparkling tide,
For those fields which our father’s for ages have been,
And where, ever unconquer’d, they died.
Then let not their bones be disturbed in their graves,
By the tread of a Muscovite army of slaves.
 
 
See the glorious banner of freedom unfurl’d.
It waves o’er our lov’d native land.
Muster round it, and valiantly prove to the world,
That alone we are able to stand.
As our fathers who lie in their warrior graves,
Fighting died, that their children might never be slaves.
 
 
Then curs’d be the traitors who yield to the foe,
And curs’d be the cowards who fly!
May they ne’er while they live, peace or happiness know,
And hated, and scorn’d, may they die!
In lands far away may they rot in their graves,
And their children bear ever the foul mark of slaves!
 
 
Now sharpen our spears, well prove each tough bow,
And the swords of our forefathers wield.
Don the armour so often they wore ’gainst the foe,
Seize each rifle and glittering shield,
And their shadows yet hovering over their graves,
Will guard us from foes who would make us their slaves.
 
 
Then to arms, then to arms, and this harp shall proclaim
The proud deeds that your valour has done;
And the world shall resound with the praise of your name,
To be handed from sire to son;
And tell of the heroes who lie in their graves,
Who died that the Attèghèi ne’er should be slaves.
 

The warriors grasped their swords, their eyes kindled, their breasts heaved at the minstrel’s tones, the effect was such as would be difficult to understand from the above meagre translation, without the accompaniment of the bard’s rich and animated voice, and the high loud tones of his instrument.

Several other baras succeeded, taking various themes for their song. When describing the heroic deeds of their warriors, their tones were lofty and inspiring. When singing of their untimely deaths, cut off by the foe, their voices would sink to a low and plaintive wail. When picturing the beauty of some maiden more lovely still than her companions, the air would be soft, sweet, and melting.

When the banquet was concluded, the gallant Hadji and his brother, Achmet Beg, rose to depart, for their home was at no great distance, and the Hadji’s wife was anxiously expecting the return of her lord, though the old warrior dreamed not of giving himself a day’s rest, but had engaged to be ready on the following morning, to accompany the other chiefs to the banks of the Ubin.

When search was made for young Alp, he was nowhere to be found, for he had early stolen from the feast.

“Your gallant son has been a constant visitor here, of late,” said the venerable host to the Hadji. “The youth loves to listen to my tales of our wars with the Urus. He will follow closely in your steps, noble Hadji, and I love him much. I know not if it is so; but I sometimes think he casts an eye of affection towards my Zara; and if it please you, my friend, he may have her.”

“It is no time for the youth to take to himself a wife, when his thoughts ought to be alone of war,” answered the Hadji; “but Mashallah! he would be happy to possess so sweet a partner.”

The aged chieftain’s suspicion was correct, for Alp was at last discovered, coming from the direction of the anderoon; and he set off with his father to their home.

The next morning a large band of warriors, amounting almost to a small army, assembled in the valley, prepared to set off for the camp on the Ubin. Headed by the aged chief, they repaired to a sacred grove in the neighbourhood, in which stood an ancient stone cross, a relic of the former religion of the country, round which the chieftains and their followers knelt, while supplications were addressed to the One all-powerful being, to aid their arms in driving the Urus from their country. Each warrior bore a chaplet in his hand, which he hung up as a votive offering to the Divinity – a heathen custom handed down from the remotest times.

This ceremony being performed, the chiefs mounted their war-steeds, and commenced their journey; the aged chief raising his hands towards Heaven, bestowing blessings on them as they passed.

Selem had much difficulty in compelling young Conrin to remain behind; but at last he succeeded in drawing a reluctant promise from the boy that he would not quit the valley without permission, but would remain as the page of Ina, and obey her behests. He did not attempt to persuade Thaddeus to accompany him, and the young Pole had found attractions, stronger even than those of friendship, to detain him in the valley. It would also have been against the usual custom to allow one, who had so lately quitted the enemy, to appear in arms on the side of the patriots; a degree of suspicion existing among the chiefs against all strangers, until their fidelity to the cause had been proved. He therefore remained, with Karl as his attendant – a life the honest serf seemed wonderfully to enjoy.

Volume Three – Chapter Two

Deep was the grief of Ina when she saw her beloved father and brother depart for the scene of conflict, nor could her heart refrain from sad forebodings when she thought of the dangers to which they must be exposed. Too often had she been witness to the misery and heart-rending wailing of her countrywomen, when anxiously expecting a father, a husband, or a brother, as they met in lieu the mangled remains of the loved one brought home on a bloody bier by his comrades. Such grief she herself had never known; but she felt too clearly that horrors like those might be in store, too, for her; nor could the fierce blast of war, which raged round the land, steel her heart.

Zara did all in her power to tranquillise and cheer her friend under her affliction; but too well could she also enter into and share her fears, for she had seen her gallant father brought home stiff and cold on his shield, slaughtered by the foe in repelling an inroad into his country. That father was the last prop of her grandsire’s declining years; and hopelessly for him had the old man mourned, for he had now no warrior descendant to succeed to his name and possessions, and none to guard his child from danger. At his death the disposal of Zara in marriage would devolve on the eldest of his tribe, and they would not inquire if her heart could be given with her person. Her destiny, therefore, might be a cruel one. A new chief would be chosen to lead the clan to battle, and, in peace, to preside at their councils, and poor Zara might be neglected.

Such was the fair girl’s account of herself; and thus the two friends, by pouring their griefs into each other’s bosom, found mutual consolation. She confessed, indeed, that there was one whom she hoped might win her, and whom she thought loved her; but he had no wealth, and as yet had little renown in arms. Yet she whispered to her friend’s ear, that she fondly loved the gallant young Alp, though she had enjoyed but few opportunities of meeting him.

The aged Prince, Aitek Tcherei, having warmly embraced the tenets of Mahomet, the two maidens were more strictly secluded than Ina had been accustomed to; the old Ana, or nurse, who presided over the domestic arrangements of the anderoon, keeping a constant and vigilant watch upon them. Though the custom of the country would not allow of their being limited to the same strict seclusion as in a Turkish harem, the nurse was, nevertheless, horrified at the idea of Ina’s appealing in public without her face being entirely shrouded by a thick veil, nor did she at all approve of her propensity to ramble through the groves, or amid the shadowy cliffs.

The old Kahija’s ideas of female happiness did not extend beyond the acquisition of a new veil or robe, or, more than all, the enjoyment of a gossip. What pleasure could the girls find in scrambling over the dirty mountains and damp grass? or why should they dance or sing, except to please their lords and masters, when other persons are paid to dance and sing to them?

Her parents had sold her, when young and promising great beauty, to a Turkish slave-merchant; and it was with unalloyed pleasure, in anticipation of the novelty and magnificence of the great Stamboul, that she leaped on board the vessel which was to convey her from her friends and country. At first she herself felt the irksomeness of constraint; but soon became reconciled to her self-chosen lot, and learned to approve of all the regulations of the harem to which she was consigned. Her notions, therefore, on her return, at the death of her master, to her own country, were much scandalised at the freedom and what she considered the levity of her young countrywomen; and she loved to expatiate on the superior manners and customs of the fair captives in the seclusions of Stamboul. Like other dames, who find that their charms can no longer captivate, her temper at times became rather cross and crabbed, though she always tried to treat her young motherless charge with kindness.

Such was the old Ana, Kahija, who, wrapped in her feridji, now entered the anderoon to interrupt with her gossip the conversation of the two maidens. She delighted in gossiping – what old nurse does not? particularly a Turkish one. She now came out of breath, with her exertion of walking from a neighbouring cottage, to say with great eagerness, that the chief shepherd had just come in from the distant mountains, where he had seen the dark mountain khan, Khoros Kaloret, whose brother had turned traitor, and been killed by the young chief Selem, galloping by with a long train of savage followers, who were riding furiously in the direction of the Ubin.

“Oh, Allah, grant that he meet not my father or Selem there!” exclaimed Ina, in accents of terror.

“I know not what may happen, child,” said the old nurse. “They say he is a fierce chief. I hear, too, that he sought your hand. Mashallah! but you might have been proud to wed so rich a Khan; and yet, Bosh! what is he even to a merchant of Stamboul?”

“Why could you not love him?” asked Zara; “they say he is of gallant appearance.”

“Ah, Zara! love him? you know not what love is, to ask such a question. Love him! No! I could only fear him, he looks so stern and fierce; so unlike the calm and grave features of my father,” said Ina.

“What is all this stuff the girls are talking about love?” chimed in the old nurse. “Bosh! what nonsense is this? Love! What is love? it is nothing; it is worse than nothing; it is folly – it is Bosh! What should maidens know about love? Let them be married, and then it is time to love their lords and masters.”

Ina and Zara were in despair; for it was hopeless to carry on any interesting conversation on their own feelings, with the constant observations and interruptions of old Kahija; who could be very entertaining at times, when she had the whole of the conversation to herself, with her wonderful stories about Turkey and Stamboul. They were relieved, however, from the dulness their constrained silence threw over them, by the entrance of Conrin, with a small packet from his master to Ina.

We have said that Arslan Gherrei had been educated in Turkey, and held a high post in the army of the Sultan, where he acquired many accomplishments very unusual to the generality of his countrymen. In the calm retreat of his daughter’s anderoon, when no strangers were by to witness his occupation, he had endeavoured to cultivate her youthful mind by the aid of the few books he had brought with him; and he had taught her not only to speak, but to read and write Turkish, accomplishments possessed probably by no other maiden in Circassia; for few were blessed with fathers equally heroic in war, and capable of enjoying the blessings of peace.

Zara, ignorant of her friend’s accomplishments, looked with mute surprise when Ina, taking the note from the page’s hand, hastily broke the thread which tied it, and read an account of the safety of her father and brother, as far as they had as yet proceeded in their warlike operations. The page was equally eager.

“Tell me, lady, tell me is my dear master in safety?” he said.

“Yes he is. Allah be praised! he and my father are well; and he tells me not to forget my care of you, Conrin.”

“Heaven be praised that he is safe. That he remembers me, brings joy to my heart!” exclaimed the youth, clasping his hands.

The venerable Prince was kind and courteous in the extreme to his Polish guest; yet Thaddeus found, to his great disappointment, that the anderoon was, to him, forbidden ground; and instead of the constant communication he had delighted in the prospect of enjoying with Ina, he could never approach her, except to offer a few words of courtesy when she was taking the air. Those short sentences were understood by Kahija, who was scandalised that the young lady should be addressed, even in the ordinary terms of greeting; and more so on perceiving that Ina tolerated them. All his attempts at any further conversation were fruitless, owing to the constant vigilance of the old woman; and Ina’s native modesty forbade her making any advances herself, however she might have received them on his part.

At last he bethought him of gaining the confidence of young Conrin; but the boy constantly avoided him, though he would now and then stop to listen if he began to speak of his master, and to make any observations in his praise. He thus felt the time hang heavily daring the absence of his friend; for he had few to converse with, except the old Prince, who spoke Turkish, and some of the Polish prisoners, or rather deserters, from the Russian army; his only satisfaction being the occasional glimpses he caught of Ina, and the delight of hearing the musical tones of her voice as she returned his salutations.

His great resource was the chase. With a light rifle in his hand, and attended by Karl and his former Polish servant, who enjoyed their life of freedom and independence, so different from the abject servitude to which they had hitherto been accustomed, he roamed the woods and mountains. In these excursions he was also accompanied by several of the youths of the valley, too young to go to war, who guided his steps along the precipices, and shewed him where same abounded. At other times he would mount a steed, appropriated to his use, galloping along the green valleys, and up the mountain’s sides, and vieing with the young mountaineers in their equestrian exercises, till he became as expert a horseman as they. He would often, with his rifle, bring down a bird on the wing which they could not hit; thus winning their hearts by his proficiency in what they most admired.

He, however, began to regret not having accompanied his friend to the camp; and accused himself of want of friendship towards him.

We have said that Ina longed to breathe the free air of the mountains, unrestrained in her liberty by the slow-moving steps of old Kahija. Though she could not persuade the timid Zara to accompany her, she frequently asserted her independence by sallying forth attended only by her page. On her return, she listened, with composure, to the severe lectures she received for these transgressions of decorum; and still determined to renew them at every opportunity. How delighted she felt as, bounding like a young fawn, whose fleetness she rivalled, she flew through the shady groves. Then she would climb the mountain’s brow, inhaling the fresh pure air, and almost forgetting, as she gazed over the fair land of mountain, vale, and stream, the miseries which threatened it.

Towards the end of one lovely day, she left the confines of the anderoon, attended by her page, who had now learned to love her, not more from his affection for her brother than for her own endearing qualities; looking around from the open wicket and seeing none to impede her progress, she took her way through the grove towards a valley she had long wished to explore, at some distance from the house. It was a lovely place, originally formed from a fissure in the mountains, increased by the constant wear of winter floods. Under the summer heat, the torrent had dwindled into a tiny and clear rivulet, in one part leaping in a bright cascade, then flowing in a gentle current, and next rushing over a ledge of rocks, and falling into the larger valley, where it expanded into a tiny lake.

The lady and her attendant walked on by its side over the soft velvet herbage which the receding waters had left, and began to climb the rocky sides of the glen, the summits of which were now blooming with various sweet scented shrubs and herbs. A soft and mellow sky cast a soothing influence over the scene, and the air was laden with fragrant odours. Thoughtless of the difficulties they had passed, and fearless of the steep and rocky paths, they clambered on, leaping lightly from ledge to ledge, and holding by the shrubs and plants to aid their steps, till at length they reached a platform, where they rested to view the broad and beautiful valley into which the little ravine opened.

Below them was the smiling village amid its groves of stately trees, its farm-yards, granaries, orchards, and cattle-pens. At a little distance, at the side of the stream, was the rustic and unpretending Mosque, from the platform of whose primitive minaret the Muezzin was calling all true believers to the evening prayer. Here were shepherds driving their flocks from the mountain’s side to their pens, to shelter them from the wild beasts. The kine were lowing on their way to their sheds, while the village maidens carolled gaily as they milked their cows. The birds were singing from every rock and spray; and all living nature seemed calm and contented —

The page roused Ina from her contemplation of the scene.

“Lady,” said he, “we ought ere this to have sought our homeward way: the path is steep and difficult, and the shades of evening will overtake us, ere we can reach the valley.”

“Fear not, Conrin. There are no dangers we need dread,” returned Ina. “Old Kahija’s scolding is the worst that can happen to us. We mountain maids are sure of foot, and fearless as you seem, on the edge of the steepest precipice. But, as you say, it is full time we should return home; for, as it is, we shall be missed from the anderoon, and old Kahija will think that we have fled for ever from her grave rule.”

But as they looked round, doubtful on what part of the steep cliff to begin their descent, they found that to return was not so easy an achievement as Ina had pronounced it to be; for so many turnings had they taken, that they could not discover the path by which they had attained the spot where they stood.

It was difficult to say how they could have reached their present position, as in vain they searched for the path. At length, Conrin hazarded a spring to a lower ledge, from which it appeared that practicable footing was to be found, when he was startled by a scream from above; and, gazing upward, he beheld the Lady Ina in the grasp of a ferocious, wild-looking man, who was endeavouring to drag her up the steep cliff, while she resisted with all her power, calling her page to her assistance. Conrin fruitlessly attempted to reach the upper ledge, for the slender shrubs and herbage gave way in his hands as he clutched them. Trembling with agitation, he fell back to the spot from which he was strenuously trying to climb.

The man’s appearance was, in truth, ferocious. Of gigantic height, his face was almost covered with tangled dark locks hanging down from his head, on which he wore a cap of undyed brown and white goat-skin, the long hair of which, falling in front over his neck, added to the wildness of his features. His body was clothed in a tunic of the same material, and a long black cloak of goat’s hair fell from his shoulders. Rough sandals of bark were on his feet, fastened to his ankles by thongs of leather. At his back hung a bow and quiver, and in one hand he grasped a thick spear or club and a round black shield of bull’s hide; while in the other he held the slender form of Ina.

“Set me at freedom! How dare you thus insult me?” she cried. “I would seek my way homeward.”

“Not so, fair maiden,” answered the man with rough harsh tones, in a strange dialect, though Ina could comprehend it sufficiently to understand the tenor of his words. “Not so; you are a prize of too much value to be allowed to escape so easily.”

“Begone, barbarian, and loose your hold,” cried Ina, though fearful and trembling in his rude grasp, yet retaining her native dignity. “Think you to escape the vengeance of my tribe, if you should wrong me?”

“Vengeance! say you?” exclaimed the man scornfully. “Think you I fear the vengeance of any?”

“You will have cause to fear it, if you do not release me,” she answered. “Know you not what chieftain’s child I am?”

“I know full well,” said the savage. “You are the daughter of the chief who wronged my master; who slew my master’s brother; and you are the timid maid who would not be his bride. But now you’ll not again refuse to obey his will.”

“I know not of whom you speak,” cried Ina. “My father never slew a chief of Attèghèi.”

“I know your father well,” answered the ruffian. “He is the Chieftain Arslan Gherrei, and you refused to be the bride of the brave Khan, my master, Khoros Kaloret.”

“Your master Kaloret Khan?” cried Ina, still more terrified than before, at the sound of that name. “Yet he would never dare to rob a noble Uzden of his daughter. Release me, ruffian!”

“My master fears not any chief of Attèghèi,” answered the man, fiercely. “I’ll waste no more speech; so cease your cries, and come willingly. My noble master waits your coming.”

Ina shrieked with fear. “Oh, Allah, protect me!” she cried, as the savage endeavoured to drag her away. “Barbarian, release me, I pray you, let me go.”

“No, no, girl, your prayers are useless,” answered the man. “Let my master hear them. On me, they are thrown away.”

“Haste, haste, Conrin,” she cried, in Turkish; “fly to our home. Send messengers to Selem, to my father, and rouse the villagers.”

As the barbarian saw the page hastening to obey, he said to Ina: “Stay that boy, till we are out of sight. If he moves hence, I’ll send an arrow through his breast.”

Conrin, who understood not his words – Ina being too terrified to interpret them – was hurrying from rock to rock, fearless of the peril which a single false step might cause, or of the cruel death which threatened him; when the barbarian prepared to put his threat into execution. For an instant, he loosened his hold of Ina, unslinging his bow from his back, and drawing a shaft to its head, with a hand which never missed its aim. In vain, Ina shrieked to Conrin to stop, and implored the monster to hold his hand. Neither of them heard her voice.

The last moment of the poor boy’s life seemed to have arrived, as the arrow flew from the string; but ere the hand which drew it reached the ear, it was struck by a violent blow, and the shaft wavering in its aim, flew high above the page’s head. The fierce mountaineer, taking a second arrow, turned to his aggressor, when he found his arm held by a powerful and firm grasp.

Ina shrieked with fear for her preserver’s life – for in him she beheld the stranger Thaddeus – as the follower of the Khan attempted to seize his heavy spear, and to fell him to the ground. But the young Pole, grappling with him, prevented his raising it high enough to strike. Though Thaddeus was strong and active, his fierce opponent was heavier and more powerful. Releasing his arm with a sudden exertion, he sought his dagger in his girdle; but the Pole throwing himself upon him with his whole force, the two combatants fell to the ground.

“Fear not for me, dearest Ina,” cried he; “save yourself. Hasten down the cliffs, and fly homewards. I will hold this robber, until you are safe.”