Their desire of preserving these trophies was only second to the hope of escape; for the standard is ever the palladium of a regiment, even as the National Insignia are the palladium of a free people, and, as such, should be preserved from degradation.
Perceiving that, fearless of his cannon—those terrors of the simple Circassians, who name them the great pistols of the Czar—I had made every disposition for an assault, which must have been successful, the valiant Ivan Carlovitch led out his shattered garrison among us, sword in hand; and, favoured by a dark and tempestuous night, escaped with a few, but a few only; for by sabre and by musket we made a fearful slaughter among the soldiers of the Novoginski Regiment, and taking their famous banner of St. George, tore it to fragments, and spitting upon these, trampled them to the earth in blood and mire.
Thanks to the Prophet and to my coat of mail, uncounted balls and bayonets touched me without harm. Above the roar of that red musketry which lit the darkness with its streaky gleams; above the howling of the wind, which tore through every mountain gorge; above the cheers of the desperate, and the shrieks of the dying, the wild, shrill, and unearthly war-cry of the Circassians ascended to the throne of Mohammed; and the approach to the breach was like the bridge of hell, as we rushed through the battered gates to take possession of the fortress; but at the moment that the 'enceinte,' or interior wall which surrounded the place, and was composed of bastions faced with brick, was crowded by our flushed and exulting warriors, a tremendous explosion was heard the earth gaped, and rocked, and rent; then it rose beneath our feet; a broad, hot, scorching blaze of fire surrounded me, and blown up by a concealed mine of powder, the whole fort of Mikhailov, with more than two thousand Circassians, was torn from its foundations, and swept on the whirlwind along the mountain slopes.
Struck down by a stone in the moment of victory I became senseless, and remember no more of that night of horrors!
Heaven, I have said, has put great valour into the hearts of these unbelievers.
Archipp Ossepoff, the same grenadier of the Tenginski Regiment whom I had wounded by an arrow and from whom I had rescued Basilia, volunteered to remain behind his comrades; and in order to prevent the fort from being of service to the confederated princes, laid his hands solemnly on the standard of St. George, and promised to Ivan Carlovitch, that he would fire the magazine—a noble act of self-sacrifice and military enthusiasm. This man of course perished with Mikhailov, and with our people; but in order to commemorate this act of valour and devotion, the Emperor Nicholas ordained that his name should be continued on the muster-roll of the Tenginski Grenadiers; that it should be called daily on parade, and that on the sergeant summoning "Archipp Ossepoff," the next grenadier on the list should answer—
"Dead at Mikhailov for the glory of Russia!"
When I recovered, I found myself lying on the hillside, many yards from the fort, the site of which resembled the crater of the volcano; for it seemed as if the powder had rent, torn, and blackened the bosom of the earth, in its efforts to efface the fort for ever. The free soft wind of the Caucasus was passing over the ruins; above me the sky was bright, and blue, and sunny; the birds were twittering among the mangled bodies of the slain; and about those ghastly heaps, or between their piles of arms and limbered field-pieces, the Russian soldiers (whom the flight of our people had left in possession of the locality) were laughing and singing, as they drained their canteens of sour quass, and prepared to cook their breakfasts, and to bury the dead.
Around us, the scenery was beautiful; there were summer woods in all their heavy foliage; the terraced vineyards of lighter green, screened by the dense and wiry pine; little cottages and pretty mosques, with gilded minars shining in the sun; bright streams dancing down the rocks; the sea, blue as the sky and rippling gently in the wind; while in the back-ground of all, rose hills piled up on hills, until their steeps reached Heaven, and every peak was capped with pure white snow, or tipped by a golden gleam.
Close by me a group of Russian officers were seated around one, who, by his dark green uniform, his heavy silver epaulettes and jack-boots; his varnished leather helmet surmounted by an eagle; his enormous mustache and cruel expression of eye, I knew to be Ivan Carlovitch; and I lay still and feigning death, believing that my fate would be sealed, if life was discovered in me.