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The Circassian Chief: A Romance of Russia

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“No! no! hopeless is my lot! I am forsaken by the mighty Spirit! and thus to die without the slightest chance of one fond look on him for whom I have sacrificed all on earth! Then the bitter anguish to feel he knows me not; or, if he knew, perchance would spurn my love. Death – annihilation would be better far. No, he shall never learn the truth. And yet I would that he should know how true and firm a heart mine was; and then, when I am reduced to the ashes from whence I sprung, perchance he would cast some fond regret upon my memory. Oh! did I think that he would love me, the very joy would make me laugh at death. But thus to die!” The sobs of the supposed page were renewed. He started, and strove to suppress his agitation, for he heard steps approaching.



It was now midnight – that time when the feelings are the acutest, the nerves most easily excited; when the thoughts strive to wander o’er the regions of boundless space to search out things mysterious and inscrutable; when the spirit often seems to quit the bonds of this our living mortal frame, to visit ideal regions. It is not the spirits of the dead, which long have flown to other realms we wot not of, which mortals fancy oft they see, but their own yet earthly souls are worked into fever by some potent and subtle influence when the vivifying power of the sun has been withdrawn.



Conrin listened earnestly.



“Ah! well I know that foot-fall! Oh! mine enemy, hast thou found me? Even now I feel his baneful influence, like that dark spirit who roves about to seek for prey. The bigot fools need not have decked him with other attributes than those of mortal man, when foul passions gain the mastery over him.”



“Who goes there?” shouted the sentry at the door of the hut.



“Your Colonel,” answered the deep tones of Count Erintoff’s voice. “Stand there, and turn not till I call you.”



After which words, Conrin heard the door of his prison open, and, by the light which faintly streamed in, he beheld the tall form of the Count, who, closing the door, placed a lanthorn he carried in his hand on the ground, so as to throw its rays on the features of the prisoner. The page rose not, spoke not, but remained in the attitude in which he had been sitting, with his hands clasped together, and his head bent down.



The visitor surveyed him earnestly ere he addressed him, meditating apparently on what he should say.



“I am come to give you liberty and life, instead of the death you so madly seem to seek. Think you I know you not? When yon dull sottish bear, the General, was questioning you, I knew you by the glance of those expressive features, that haughty brow, that lip curling in proud disdain. Think you a boy would have stood undaunted before the furious rage of yonder overbearing Baron, or would have returned him word for word and glance for glance? You played your part but ill just now, whatever you may have done before to deceive (if so you have) the youth you followed to Circassia. Can he be so dull, so hard of heart, as not to recognise the maid who loves him? By Heavens, I do believe his wits so dull, his heart so careless of those charms which drove me near distracted at their loss, that he has not yet discovered you; and loves you not, basking, as you humbly look on in the senile character of a page, in the bright smiles of some of those mountain beauties.”



With an hysterical cry, the girl, finding further disguise was useless, exclaimed —



“Begone, base villain. What demon prompts you to come hither to torment me?”



“Nay, nay, my pretty page,” said the Count, approaching her, “I would not wound your feelings for the universe. I merely spoke what I know to be most true. I ask you why, for one who loves you not, you would sacrifice your life, and throw away all the bright offers that I have made you, and which I would fulfil? Oh! it would be a cruel thing to let those charms, which have enchained my heart, mingle with the dust, to leave this bright and joyous world so full of pleasures, (to those who have the sense to find them) to go you know not where. I do not ask you to betray the man you loved. I am not fool enough to think you would do so, until you should be convinced that he despises you; though I believe that haughty rebel, young Selem Gherrei, as he is called, cares not for you. But fly hence with me, and I can easily deceive this brutish General. I offer you wealth and happiness, a bright and glorious future, where such charms as yours will far eclipse the proudest beauties of the capital. Believe me, I am not so dull a fool as not to appreciate that bright and soaring spirit – that proud undaunted soul – which raises you above your sex. I am not scrupulous as fools would be. I love you more myself, now that I know your heart is capable of so much feeling; and I would make it all my own. Then come, loved girl. This instant you shall be free. A few days more will see you on your road to Russia, where wealth, luxury, and happiness, await you.”



The Count approached yet nearer, and attempted to take the girl’s hand.



“Man!” she exclaimed – “if you are not rather the incarnation of the evil one, begone. Come not to torment my heart, already almost broken. Know, then, that luxury and wealth are things I despise almost as much as him who offers them; and as for happiness, I never in this world shall know it again, nor have you the power to give it me. Begone, and leave me to myself. You stir not. Then if you will not obey my commands, but still have a soul that can be influenced by prayer, oh! hear my earnest supplication, and leave me to myself.”



“What madness makes you utter words like these?” said the Count. “Think well of what you throw away, and of the dark fate which awaits you. The Baron vows – and well I know he keeps his oaths when prompted by cruelty and revenge – that you must die to-morrow; and no mortal power but mine can save you. A word from me would rescue you. Fly with me. Ah! If you refuse, think not the man you love will benefit by your sacrifice; for here I swear that I will pursue him with the utmost rancour to avenge your death, of which he has been the cause. He has crossed my path before, and ere long I trust to see him in my power.”



“You move me not by fear of any harm you can do him,” answered the girl calmly. “He is above your malice, and would despise your vows of vengeance.”



“If not for his sake then, save yourself for your own,” exclaimed the Count. “Think how you will die, disgraced, unknown till after you have ceased to breathe; and then you will be a thing for savage soldiers to pass their brutal jest upon. Oh, why this madness? Let me save you from yourself, and fly with me.”



The proud Count knelt at her feet, and again endeavoured to take her hand. “See,” he exclaimed, “I kneel to you to beseech that you will let me save you from cruel death and contumely.”



The girl then shrinking back, “Begone, I say, again,” she cried. “Believe me, I despise you far too much even to seek your pity.”



The Count sprang to his feet. “Know then, wilful girl,” he exclaimed, “that nothing shall save you. Your cruelty will change my love to hate; and though I still might save your life, I shall not rest until I see you die. None shall know that Count Erintoff has humbled himself in vain. There are yet some hours to dawn. Think on my vows, and promise to obey my wishes. A word of yours would win my love again; else, before the sun mounts highest in the sky, you will have become a cold and senseless clod. I leave you now.”



The girl answered not, but looked disdainfully on the Count as he retired. Then, sinking on the hard log, she placed her hands before her eyes – to shut out something dreadful from her sight. A terrific struggle seemed to take place in that tender, that loving, bosom, as if the agitated spirit were about to burst its tabernacle; but it passed, and she was calm – so calm that it seemed she slept.



Volume Three – Chapter Ten

The morning came, the glorious sun rose undimmed by clouds, and nature wore a face of gladness; the birds sung sweetly from their leafy coverts, the refreshing dew which sprinkled the herbage, and the autumnal-tinted leaves, sparkled brightly. A light mist, rising from the lowlands, faded away, and left the landscape more clear and lovely from the contrast.



The prisoners were led forth from their places of confinement. Their trial commenced. Undauntedly they stood before all the highest officers of the garrison.



Several soldiers declared that they had seen them fighting on the side of the enemy. Neither of the prisoners would answer a word to the interrogations made to them. Their sentence was passed. Death was recorded. Their guilt was clear, nor did they deign to sue for pardon. As their sentence was pronounced, Javis sprang forward with an imploring look towards the president, and was again about to utter some exclamation; but a glance from the supposed page stopped him, and, dejectedly he stepped back, turning a troubled and anxious eye towards his companion, though he seemed perfectly resigned to his own fate. The Baron hurried over the proceedings with brutal haste; and the prisoners were ordered forthwith to be led from the camp and shot as traitors to Russia.



They were conducted from the tent where the court martial was held, between a file of soldiers, walking as firmly and composed as if they had forgotten that a few minutes more were to be their last.



The fort, as we have before said, was erected on some elevated ground, at a short distance from the mountains, rising like an island from the plains and marshes of the Kouban. The intervening space between the fort and the mountain, was one uninterrupted meadow, unbroken by rocks or inclosures. The spot selected for the cruel execution, was on a green slope reaching from the entrenchments to the plain facing the mountains; and here a body of the troops were now drawn up while the remainder continued at their labours digging the entrenchments, and erecting the requisite buildings for barracks and store houses, in preparation for the coming winter.

 



At a short distance from the fort, a foraging party in compact order, accompanied by artillery and cavalry were seen marching along the plain, from the direction of the Kouban, unaware of the execution about to take place.



The Baron had sternly commanded the Count Erintoff to lead the troops destined for the execution, though it seemed that he would willingly have escaped the office; but he was compelled to obey: and he now stood at the head of his regiment, drawn up in line on the green slope we have described, the firing party a little in advance of the other troops. The General himself stood at some distance on the newly raised embankments of the fort, pacing to and fro, with a dark frown on his brow, and his eyes glancing restlessly around. As the young prisoners were led out from the fort, they passed the spot where he stood. He commanded the party who guarded them to halt, and bring them before him.



The disguised page wore the same stern look as on the previous day; but a brighter almost supernatural foe burned in her eye as she met that of the General. Javis advanced boldly with a firm tread and perfect composure; but as he turned his looks towards his companion, his features would become convulsed as if some pang of agony passed through his frame.



“Prisoners,” said the Baron, “you have but a few short moments to live; but, even now, I give you a chance of escape. Obey my orders, and I promise to pardon you. To you, boy, I speak first. Will you do as I wish?”



“Never!” answered the page in a deep firm voice. “I am prepared to die.”



“Then lead him on,” cried the Baron furiously. “You, perchance, may have more wisdom,” he continued, addressing Javis, “than yonder obstinate boy, who brings his own fate on himself. Will you save, not only your own life, but his?”



“I would save his life on any terms,” exclaimed Javis; “but he would be the first to blame me. For my own, I value it not. But, Oh! spare him, General, spare him for his youth alone. Ask him not to do that to which he cannot consent. You know not what you do in slaying him. Spare him, as you hope for mercy!”



“Lead off the audacious rebel,” cried the Baron furiously. “Let the boy be shot first,” he added, addressing an officer who waited his commands. “I can gain nought from him; and let his companion witness his fate: perchance it will bring him to reason.”



There was not an officer in the camp who would not, if he could, have saved the lives of those youths at this moment; but none dared speak; even the dull soldiers felt tears spring to their eyes. The wild Khan, who was on horseback in company with a troop of cavalry, looked on with astonishment; and, as he witnessed the noble bearing and bravery of the prisoners, even he repented that he had brought this untimely fate upon them, until he remembered that it was by the hand of one of them that his brother fell. But of all the party the Count Erintoff seemed the most affected. His countenance was as pale as death; he dared not turn his eye towards the prisoners. He felt himself to be a wretch cursed by heaven; a cold-blooded murderer, instigated by the basest, the blackest revenge. The prisoners had reached the fatal spot, and the youngest was placed upon the ground, while Javis was led aside: they exchanged glances, but neither spoke. The supposed page heaved a deep-drawn sigh as she saw the glance of agony which the faithful Javis – of whose death she was too truly the cause – cast towards her.



A soldier advanced to bind her eyes.



“No,” she cried, putting the handkerchief aside. “I would look my last upon the bright blue heavens, to which my spirit so soon must fly. I can face death as fearlessly as the oldest-soldier present. Let my eyes at least be at liberty, to the last.”



The soldier looked towards his officer, who ordered him to follow the prisoner’s wishes, and he returned to the ranks.



All was prepared. The girl stood undaunted; but her eyes wandered towards the mountains with an anxious glance. What does she see there? Is it the sun which sparkles on the shining leaves of the forest? She stands entranced, regardless of her executioners; for a band of steel-clad warriors, their swords flashing in the sun like a foaming torrent, sweep downward from the mountain’s brow. The wood is full of them. On every side they pour forth from amid the trees. At their head rides one urging on his steed at its utmost speed, and waving aloft his sabre. The eye of love distinguishes him from afar, before the Russians, intent on the scene of execution, have perceived their danger. The prisoner uttered a cry of joy. “Thank thee, Great Spirit, that I see that loved one ere I die!” she exclaimed. “Yes! yes! I’ll join you, in spite of these tyrants!”



Forgetful of her situation, forgetful of all but that he whom she loved was approaching to her rescue, she lifted up her arms to rush to meet him. It was the signal of her death; and Javis, breaking from his guards, sprang forward and threw himself before her.



At that moment the foraging party reached the fort, when a soldier rushed forward from the ranks to where the Baron stood.



“Hold! hold!” he cried with fierce excitement. “Stay the execution. Barbarous chief! you know not what you do! Stay, or you will murder your own daughter, who was carried off from you by the dwarf Ladislau; she was placed in my hands for her mother’s sake, a daughter of my tribe. Know me as the Gipsy Conrad.”



The Baron seemed as one who heard him not; he was astounded, and gazed wildly at the speaker. His faculties were paralysed; his limbs trembled. The precious moments flew by. He lifted his arm.



“Stay the execution!” he shrieked. But ere the words were uttered, the rattle of musketry was heard. The smoke hung like a funeral pall over the spot, as, rushing towards it, the fierce Baron fell senseless near the slaughtered form of his daughter, the Gipsy girl, Azila; and by her side lay the body of her humble, devoted, and despised lover, Javis.



The alarm was given that the enemy were upon them. There was no time to retreat to their entrenchments. Fast and furious came the mountain horsemen. The drums beat to arms, the soldiers rushed to man the guns, and to seize their weapons. The troops drawn up outside wheeled to receive the shock from the furious charge of the foe, the cavalry advanced to meet them; but they were like reeds bent beneath the tiger’s spring. Men and horses trembled at the wild war shriek. None could withstand that desperate onset; and the first, the foremost who fell, was the traitor Khan, cut down by the sword of Thaddeus.



“A well-timed blow, brave Pole,” cried the Hadji, as he swept by to charge the Russians. “Thus die all traitors to Circassia!”



Close to him was Selem, encountering the sword of Count Erintoff, who shouted, “Ah! we have met at length? Traitor to Russia, yield!”



“Heaven defend the right!” cried Selem, parrying his blow. Their swords flashed quickly round, and in a moment the Count fell mortally wounded from his horse.



The Hadji, Alp, and many other chiefs, and their followers rushed on the bayonets of the infantry. “Ah! Allah!” shouted the old warrior, “we’ll cut through that wall of steel. Onward, men of Attèghèi!” So terrific was the onset that the two foremost ranks of the Russians trembled, wavered, and fell back on the rear, as the dauntless warriors approached them, driving the others in hopeless confusion, cut down by the Circassian sabres, and trampled under foot by their war-steeds.



“Ah! Allah!” again shouted the Hadji. “Follow me, my son, and we shall soon be within their trenches!” and attacking those who alone stood their ground, followed by a dense cloud of horsemen, sweeping over their prostrate foes.



The remnant of the Russian cavalry had turned, and fled towards the entrance of their fort; but none succeeded in reaching it: the drawbridge was drawn up, the gates were closed.



Why does Selem stay in his career of victory, his cheek blanched even amid the excitement of the combat? On the ground weltering in blood, he sees the slaughtered form of his faithful, loving page; he bends low from his horse, and lifts it in his arms.



Onward, onward rushed the mountaineers towards their hoped for prize; but as they mingled among the confused mass of flying infantry close to the trenches, a tremendous discharge of cannon saluted them. On friend and foe fell alike the crashing showers of deadly grape; and the ramparts were lined with bristling rows of bayonets. Many of the gallant patriots fell beneath the devastating fire in their career of victory.



“Turn, turn, my noble friends!” cried the brave Chief Arslan Gherrei. “It is madness to be exposed to this iron storm. We can never take the fort on horseback.”



At the word, the dense troop swept round. A horseman, in the uniform of Russia, seized Selem’s rein, and urged on his horse, while Thaddeus, on the other side, joined the retreating Circassians. Before the guns could be reloaded, they were beyond their range.



The mountaineers halted in the confines of the forest. Selem sprang to the ground, endeavouring to staunch the blood which flowed from many wounds in the breast of his page. He tore open his vest; his heart turned sick with horror and grief as he discovered a woman’s form. He leant over it with deep grief. The veil which so long had obscured them was torn from his eyes. He knew the features of Azila. In a moment he read the history of her deep unswerving love, constant to the last through trials, hardships, and neglect. He felt her heart to discover if it yet beat. He tried to persuade himself that her yet warm breath fanned his cheeks; but it was in vain. A faint smile still lingered on her features; but no throb answered to his touch. The dark blood flowed slowly from the wounds; her heroic, her loving, spirit had fled; Azila was dead!



None of the chiefs, not even Selem’s father, approached him. They had witnessed the scene, and read the sad story at a glance. Long did he bend, in deep agony, over that inanimate form.



He was aroused by the Russian deserter.



“Think you not, young chief, that I, too, have cause for grief? Remember you not how I loved that fair and noble girl? Do you not know me?”



“Yes, yes, I know you now, my friend,” answered Selem, recognising in the stranger the Gipsy chief who had aided his escape from Russia, the reputed father of Azila. “You have, indeed, deep cause to grieve for your daughter.”



“Except that she sprung from my race, she is not my daughter, though I loved her more than one. See, two of my race I have lost today most cruelly murdered;” and he pointed to the body of Javis, which he had also brought off on the horse of one of the slain troopers. “She, too, murdered by her own father, though he knew it not till too late, when madness seized his brain; and yon poor youth, he also deserves our pity, for I know his deep, yet hopeless, love for Azila, for whose sake he followed you.”



“What say you, my old friend?” said Selem, rising from the ground whereon he had been kneeling. “By what strange fortune came you to learn so horrid a tale? and what wonderful chance conducted you hither at this moment?”



“It may seem extraordinary that I am here; and yet such was the decree of fate, when first we met beneath my tent in Russia. You were the unconscious instrument of bringing me hither; and yet, from the remotest period of time, this event was destined. The latest cause was this: It was discovered that I had aided in your escape from Russia, when I and all my tribe, who could be found, were seized and condemned to serve in the ranks of the Russian army of the Caucasus. Azila’s history, I alone, with the dwarf Ladislau, have known from her birth. He was another cause of these events. As you remember well, the Baron always made him his butt, treating him with contumely, little thinking what deep feelings of hatred and revenge rankled in the bosom of the diminutive being. A lovely girl of our race, whose sweet voice enraptured the proudest nobles of Moscow, won the haughty Baron’s heart; and, dazzled by his rank and wealth, she consented, at an unhappy moment, to exchange her liberty to become the slavish wife of a tyrannical master. She soon pined for her freedom, regretting the miserable lot she had madly chosen; and, as her husband’s admiration of her charms wore away, he treated her with cruelty and neglect. Yet jealous feelings, at the same time, possessed the tyrant’s breast; and he began to look with an eye of suspicion on an innocent daughter she had just borne him.

 



“The broken-hearted wife of the Baron died; and Ladislau, to revenge himself on his tyrant, brought away his child, and delivered her to me, making me swear never to reveal her history till his death, and that I heard of ere I left Russia. To rescue her from a life of thraldom and neglect, I determined to keep her as my own daughter, bringing her up with all the accomplishments I could well find means to bestow. She became all I could wish in mind and person, wreathing herself round my heart as much as any child of my own could do; and when she once visited my tents, she seemed so to enjoy the wild freedom of our lives, that I could not again part from her, intending, however, on Ladislau’s death, to make her father recognise her, and restore her to her proper rank and fortune. When you came to my tents, knowing that you were not her brother, I hoped in some way, through your means, to accomplish my purpose; little thinking how deep was the love which had sprung up in the sweet girl’s bosom for you.”



“Blind and dull have I been!” exclaimed Selem in a tone of anguish, “not to have seen through her disguise before; for now, when lost to me for ever, I feel how fondly I could have returned her love.”



He knelt again over her, and took her cold lifeless hand: – “My true Azila, faithful to death! A hundred fold has your murder added to the debt of retribution I owe our tyrannical invaders. Yes, sweet one, I again swear to avenge your death on every one of that cursed race who sets foot on the shores of Circassia. Bear witness, my friend, I sign my vow before as fair an image as nature ever formed! Let this be the token! Where the battle is thickest, there will I bear this silken lock.”



He kissed her pallid brow, and severed with his dagger one of her long black tresses, which he entwined through the links of his chain armour. He knelt over the bleeding form for some moments more in silence: he then rose, and extended his hand to the Gipsy chief.



“Welcome, my friend, to the land I call my own. I may now hope to repay your hospitality.”



“If my services will be accepted, I have come to offer my hand and heart to the cause of the patriots. I should have remained a good subject of Russia, if she had allowed me; but she will now find me and my tribe her mortal enemies; for I doubt not that all my people will take the first opportunity of escaping, when they hear that I am on the side of the Circassians; and heartily will they all join in avenging that poor girl’s death.”



“It was a barbarous deed,” cried Selem, casting an agonised glance on the pale features of Azila, beautiful, even in death.



Arslan Gherrei now approached his son; “Let not sorrow take possession of your soul, my son, for the loss of that faithful girl. I, I too well can share your feelings; but shew yourself stern as a warrior among our countrymen. Think not of grief, while we have swords in our hands to avenge our friends. That poor maiden shall have a befitting funeral, she shall be consigned to the care of Ina, who, with her friends, will mourn over their lost sister.”



“You speak truly, my father,” exclaimed Selem, “no one henceforth shall see me shed a tear of joy or grief, till every hallowed spot of our loved country shall be freed from the defiling tread of the Russian foot, or till the death-wound comes to send me to a warrior’s grave.”



“My son, your words make your father’s heart beat proudly,” said the chieftain; “and worthy are you of our royal race. See, is not yonder sight enough to rejoice the breast of every foe to Russia?”



Selem turned his eyes in the direction his father indicated, where the ground, in front of the Russian entrenchments, was strewn with the slain; so rapidly and surely had the Circassian sabres done their work among the panic-stricken ranks. Few, if any, had reached the gates of the fort; for of those who escaped the first fierce onset, most had been mowed down by the showers of grape and rockets fired by their own countrymen. Many of the Circassians had fallen; but not one had been left on the field; every horseman seizing his comrade as he was wounded or slain, and bearing him on his steed from the ground.



The band of warriors, assembled in the forest overlooking the fort, kept the garrison in a constant state of alarm; their swords and armour being seen amid the trees, when any of them approached the skirts of the wood.



A council of war was now held. The Hadji proposed attacking the fort again at once, rushing from their concealments, without a moment’s warning to the enemy, and leaping the trenches on their chargers, in spite of the shower of grape they might exp