CIBULSKY.
Of the most rudimentary education these simple people do not exhibit a trace. Reading and writing appear to them the acme of human science, which the poor Cossack may never hope to reach on this side of the Styx. When a map is spread before them at random, they promptly inquire which is the side of the rising sun, and then turn that very properly to their right, but beyond that their intelligence comes to a halt. Streams, roads and boundary-lines are to them only a labyrinth of confusion. Even as scouts and foragers they would be nearly useless without local guides; hence German officers have been added to their native leaders since they left the Russian border. The commander of this force is a renegade Pole, a Prussian subject, by name Cibulsky, anglicé onion-man—a remarkable coincidence, in view of his favorite diet. Though he treats me with becoming respect, he is not the sort of man to win my affections.
Though intellectually obtuse, the Cossack must not be supposed to lack either sagacity or common sense. On the contrary, the keenness of his instinct and perception, as in the case of most savages, is quite remarkable. Human nature seems to him an open book, and it is instructive to watch his ingenuity in getting the upper hand in a bargain, a bet or a game of chance. This morning I felt anxious to secure a sketch of one of their typical faces, undisfigured by the traditional beard, but coaxing did not succeed. A few silbergroschen which I then displayed—all I claimed to possess—were merrily gobbled up by right of conquest and divided among the group around me. I felt near the end of my wits, when, observing a dirty pack of cards protruding from the pocket of my subject, I asked permission to show him a trick. It was one of those parlor-magic sleights of hand—like Columbus's egg, the simplest trick in the world when you know it. I never saw Bashkirs' eyes look half as large as on that occasion, and half a dozen beards at once were put upon the market at the same price. For want of time, however, I had to decline all except the one I had first selected, which rapidly fell under the dexterous scissors of brother Frank; and opposite is my sketch.
Of military drill there is very little in Cossack training in the French or Prussian sense of the word, although the discipline is much better than might be expected from such irregular troops. Their control of their horses is unsurpassable, and greatly assisted by the natural docility of the animal itself. In size below the standard of our lightest cavalry, these ugly little beasts display uncommon strength and endurance. Possibly a cross between the Arab and the Percheron might, on a larger scale, produce a heavy and yet spirited head like that of the bright-eyed Cossack or Ukraine horse, but to attain an equally fantastic neck and rump some less symmetrical elements would have to be resorted to.
Speaking of horses, I am on foot at present, as you may well suppose, but that only brings me all the nearer to my fellow-sufferers, who, like myself, are in need of all the sympathy within their reach. Our Bashkirs being, upon the whole, a good-natured set of fellows and much the worse for wear, we hope to get along without serious trouble; and for my part I shall keep a sharp lookout once we reach a familiar section of country. It looks as if our route would take us through Dömitz, one of my former posts. If so, patience!
Colis, near Dömitz, Tuesday, 6th April.
Yesterday, at 2 p. m., we halted near a village five miles from here to secure the first decent meal since we broke camp. Our sub-officers and privates received good pickled meat with vegetables, pumpernickel (black bread) and rye whiskey. The officers were taken into the village and billeted on comfortable houses for refreshments. Before I started I cut out of the belt of my drawers six napoleons d'or, which I divided between my brothers, informing them that we were not far from Dömitz. They understood me well, and wished me God-speed, promising to follow my example if any opportunity occurred before they were exchanged. Their last injunction was to report them to you, my dear parents, in good health and spirits and bravely resigned to fate; and it was mainly the hope and desire to treat you to this satisfaction that nerved me to the risk and pain of separation from the dear boys in their deplorable condition. I would have given one half of my remaining life to be able to carry them away in my breeches pockets. It was because they truly felt this that they cheerfully forgave me this desertion. God bless and protect them for ever, for better sons and brothers and truer soldiers never lived!
BASHKIR SHORN AND COMBED.