Round one fire, wrapped in thick horse-cloaks, sat the champion, Arslan Gherrei, with Selem, Thaddeus, the Hadji, and several other chiefs.
“Now, my son,” said the old warrior, Hadji, “to-morrow you will have a field worthy of your bravery, and honour your father by your deeds. Where the thickest of the fight is, there let your sword be waving amid the ranks of the foe. By example alone, can we expect our followers to be brave; and those nations quickly become slaves to their neighbours, whose chiefs hang back in the combat. It is only by being ready to sacrifice our own lives, that we can secure the liberty of our country; and how much better is it to be sent to the realms of paradise, than to eke out a few more years of existence, with the galling chains of the slave! But I fear not for you, my son.”
Alp rose and took his father’s hand. The act was unpremeditated, and scarce consciously performed; he knelt by his side. “Father your son shall not disgrace you.”
The words were simple, but there was a deep tone of feeling, which showed that he would keep his word. He took no oath, nor called the gods to witness his words; and his father was satisfied.
At length, one by one, the party sought a few hours’ repose, wrapped in their cloaks with their feet towards the fire, and their heads pillowed on their saddles. The clear sky was densely spangled with myriads of brilliant stars. Ere Selem slept he looked round on the scene. Far as the eye could reach, the wide heath was covered with the recumbent figures of the warriors; yet a moment would call them all into fierce activity, should the Russians draw nigh. Yet though they seemed so calm to the eye, who could know the fiery thoughts and passions working in the brain of the sleeping thousands? Even now, many in imagination were engaging in the onslaught of the morrow.
Oft did the image of Ina return to Thaddeus, as he slept. His thoughts then flew to his far distant home, the abode of his childhood, the proud castle of his fathers, now laid low by the hands of his country’s oppressors. He saw the Eagle of Russia hovering over the slaughtered bodies of his countrymen, while captives knelt in chains, bound to the staff of her standard. In the midst of them appeared a warrior of majestic front and noble bearing, one who had never bent the knee to despotism. As he waved his sword, the chains fell from the captives’ necks, the dead arose, and the Eagles fled shrieking from the land before the resuscitated band. Again the scene changed. He stood once more before his paternal castle, with Ina by his side. His faithful dependants welcomed him with shouts of joy. He brought them glorious news. Russia had been stopped in her headlong career of victory. She had retreated before the gallantry of a mountain nation. Poland might again be free!
Volume Three—Chapter Thirteen.
“To horse! to horse!” was shouted about two hours before dawn, and, in the course of a few minutes, all the warriors of that little army were in their saddles, formed in close array under their respective leaders, and advancing steadily forward. The ground over which they rode was broken and rough, offering many impediments to their progress; as in darkness and silence they crossed the Kouban.