A party had been sent out to cut firewood; the unfortunate man strayed away from his comrades, and was missing when the detachment returned. His body was discovered this morning, shot through the head with a Circassian bullet. Though nominally in possession of the Russians, Circassia is still in a very disturbed state. The mountain fastnesses are held by the Circassians, and until roads are made, morasses drained, and the plains and valleys that lie between the mountains and the sea are inhabited and cultivated, predatory bands can traverse the country at their will, making it unsafe for any foreigner to venture beyond the protection of the Russian forts and pickets.
Even strangers can see that Circassia, like a lovely wild animal, must be tamed rather than beaten, and that roads and harbours will avail far more towards her complete subjection than the intimidating presence of a vast standing army.
Though the Abasians have now for some years been Russian subjects, their sympathies are with their highland brethren, and it is well known that they aid and abet the guerilla war that so incessantly harasses the district. The Russian officers declare that this species of hidden warfare is most trying to the troops. It brings neither honour nor profit, and the hatred that is felt by the Circassians is heartily returned by their conquerors.
In Georgia this ill-feeling does not exist. The people have shown themselves much more amenable to foreign rule. The Georgians are more indolent and less warlike than their neighbours in Circassia, and also have a great tie with Russia in being members of the same church.
The religion of the Circassians is shrouded in much mystery. Apparently they acknowledge no Supreme Being, they have no saints, nor do they observe any sacred days. Sometimes they sacrifice a chicken, though to whom, or for what, nobody knows. Some profess, however, a species of Mohammedanism, though they are absolutely disowned by all good Moslems, who consider such co-religionists a disgrace, and call them heretics and pagans of the worst description. They are amongst the few people in the world who make use of no sort of ceremony, even on occasion of a marriage. A certain price having been covenanted for, the father takes his daughter to her new home, and there leaves her, having received the gun, or horse, for which she is considered the fair equivalent. A mountain woman is valuable, as she is an excellent beast of burden, and a very hard-working slave.
From all we hear of the mountaineers, they seem to be a haughty, reserved people, proud of their poverty, of their unspotted lineage, and of their dauntless courage. Loving their wild country with passionate devotion, no reverses dishearten them. War is both their duty and their happiness, and at the cry of such a leader as Schamyl, they flock eagerly around his standard, prepared to suffer or to die in defence of their beloved prince, and of the wild liberty that is far dearer to them than life.
Few characters of modern days are invested with such romantic interest—nay, even at one time, with such mysterious interest—as that of Schamyl. Born in prosaic modern times, his life presents all the attributes of the hero of the middle ages. Endowed with personal beauty and strength rare even amongst the hardy tribe of which he was the chief, Nature had bestowed upon him another gift, yet more precious. She had given him the rare tact, the wondrous charm that wins personal love, and that enables men, and sometimes women, to rule mankind with absolute power. It is that love which makes men rush to death with heroic rapture, eager to shed their blood at the bidding of their beloved leader. The very faults also in Schamyl’s character endeared him to his followers, or rather he adroitly contrived that they should be the means of binding his people still more closely to him.
Naturally of a morbid and melancholy disposition, he was at times subject to gusts of stormy passion that awed and subdued all those who witnessed the terrific bursts of rage which transformed the stern, calm man into a wrathful demon. Woe to him who aroused the dread spirit! The strongest men quailed before the furious glance, the mighty arm of their terrible chief. It is reasonable to suppose that these outbursts were but the effects of insanity, for during one attack of ferocious rage the unhappy man slew his young wife and infant child, to both of whom he had been tenderly attached. It is said that though in after-years many other wives filled his harem, never again did any woman gain that place in his heart which had been occupied by the young girl whom he had done to death with his own hand.
Not only did the great strength and wild fury of Schamyl awe his people into subjection, he skilfully led them to believe that on him the mantle of the Prophet had descended, and that in spirit he was constantly conveyed to the presence of the Almighty, there to receive the commands of the Divine Will. The wild ravings, therefore, that fell from his lips were treasured by his followers as direct communications from heaven.
Schamyl no doubt possessed sufficient control over himself to have some method in his madness, and contrived that his sentences should convey threats, encouragement, and orders calculated to strengthen his power amongst wild and independent people. It is difficult to ascertain, from the many conflicting statements, whether he was a Mohammedan or not; probably he found a certain amount of religious fervour of great utility in augmenting his influence amongst the more distant tribes, and he succeeded in making them believe in him as in a leader directly inspired by Heaven.