Volume Three—Chapter Seven.
We must return again to take a glance at the patriot camp on the Ubin. Except the slight skirmishes already described, nothing of importance had been effected, and as the winter was now fast approaching, the Russians appeared to contemplate no further movement.
A council of war was one day held in a grove, away from the din and bustle of the camp, at which were present, among many of the Princes and nobles of Circassia; Arslan Gherrei, his son and the Hadji, when shots were heard announcing the arrival of some other chief, and presently a band of wild horsemen were seen approaching, dressed in skins and furs, of some of the mountain Tartar tribes.
At their head, rode the Khan Khoros Kaloret; who, after dismounting, singly approached the council ring. The chiefs stood up as he stepped boldly amongst them. His looks were fierce and angry, as his glance passed round on the assembled nobles, who could ill brook his haughty mien. At length, one of the most ancient addressed him—
“Why come you here, Khan, to interrupt our conference? Have you any tidings of importance to communicate?”
“Why come I here?” echoed the Khan, furiously. “Think you, I come for idle sport? No, I come to claim my brother’s blood at your hands. Say, where he is, or I may not continue to be a friend to any here. Say, where is my brother?”
“We know not of your brother, Khan; we have spoken our answer.”
“Does my brother, live? I ask you,” said the Khan.
“We know not of your brother,” answered the former speaker.
“To you then, Uzden Arslan Gherrei, I appeal,” said the Khan. “I sent him to you, to bring back your daughter as my bride; and since he left your house, none of my clansmen know aught of him. At your hands, I require him.”