The Circassian Chief: A Romance of Russia

by William Henry Giles Kingston

Uttering loud cries, they charged the Russians, driving the cattle among their ranks. The troops gave way, when they were again saluted with a tremendous flanking fire of grape; and, ere they had got clear from the range of the guns, a large body of Cossack horse, who had that moment arrived from the neighbouring towns, met them at full charge. Already had many of their number fallen under the fire from the town; but the old warrior Hadji, undaunted by the overwhelming force of their new opponents, shouting his war cry, called to his followers to charge them.

Tremendous was the shock of the two fierce bodies of hostile cavalry, animated with the most bitter hatred, and excited by the fiercest rage; but the superior skill, agility, and courage of the Circassians compensated partly for their inferiority in numbers. The Cossacks were arrested in their course; while the mountaineers literally hewed themselves a road through their ranks. They discovered, however, when too late, that they had committed a dreadful error in so doing; for a fresh body of Cossacks arriving from the same direction, they found themselves completely surrounded. The ground they fought on was a broad open heath, in front of the town, which gave full scope for the larger body of their assailants to bring their whole force against them.

The main body of the Circassians, with whom was Alp and Selem, on receiving the Hadji’s message, and on hearing the firing, wheeled to support him. The first of the band was the brave young Alp, eager to join the affray, and assist his father.

The Hadji, with scarcely three hundred followers, was bravely defending himself against several thousand Cossacks, shouting his war cry, cheering on his men to the attack, who wheeled and charged in every direction, keeping a complete circle in the midst of their foes, and placing their horses back to back in such close order that few of the enemy could get within the brave troop; or if they did, they were cut down by the inner ranks. At length, however, the Cossacks seemed ashamed at being held at bay by so small a body, and charged them with renewed vigour, hoping to destroy them before the main body came up. Great numbers of the Circassians fell beneath this fresh attack; though the remainder fought on with yet undaunted courage. But even their gallant old leader looked out anxiously for the succour of their friends. They made many fresh, desperate, but unavailing, attempts to cut their way through, still the Hadji fought on, shouting to his brave companions, and never for a moment thinking of yielding.

“Ah! Allah! well done, my sons!” he cried. “Well done, men of Attèghèi! See, the vile Cossacks are thinning fast around us. We shall soon have a hill of their bodies to ride over. Fight on, my men! our friends will be here anon; and then we shall see how fast these Giaours can fly. Charge, my sons! charge! Ah! Allah! here comes my noble son, my own Alp. I knew that he would be the first to rescue his father.”

While shouting these cries, the old warrior had made such desperate charges with one or two followers, that the Cossacks, partly opening their ranks, again closed before the rest could get up to them, thus completely hemming him in. His enemies, who recognised him as one of the most daring chiefs, pressed hard upon him, endeavouring either to make him prisoner, or to cut him down on the spot; when Alp, the foremost of the advanced guard of the main body of the Circassians, beheld his father’s imminent danger.

Not waiting even to see who followed, the young warrior shouted his war cry, and dashed boldly at the foe, the foremost of whom gave way as they saw the gallant youth approaching. But a young Cossack officer, seeing him advance unsupported, spurred on his charger, and fired his light rifle at the same time. For this movement Alp was prepared; and throwing himself on his horse’s side, the ball passed over him. In a moment his own gun was in his hand; he fired, but the Cossack imitating his manoeuvre, escaped his aim. Urging on their steeds their swords met, fast whirling round their heads as they were wheeling: and backing their horses. Alp, seeing an opportunity, threw up the Cossack’s guard, endeavouring to seize him and plunge his dagger in his heart; but ere he could effect his purpose, a ball from his antagonist’s pistol entered his horse’s neck, and the noble animal fell mortally wounded to the ground. But Alp was not overcome; disengaging himself from his horse in a moment, he sprung like a tiger on his opponent; and, striking him with his dagger, hurled him to the ground. Then springing on his steed’s back, and waving his sword, he stayed not an instant to cast a parting glance at his conquered foe, but led on his friends who had just come up.

The father and son recognised each other amid the turmoil of the fight; when, again shouting loudly his war cry, Alp urged on his steed amidst the thickest of the foe, followed by the few who owned the fastest horses, and fought his way up to his father’s side, shielding him from the many blows aimed at him, and regardless of those he himself received. Desperately did he strive to keep his foes at bay until his friends could come to his relief.

The old chief was saved; but at what a sacrifice! The blood flowed from Alp’s side; his eyes grew dim; his head giddy; he could not see longer to guard off the blows of his enemies.

Selem, at the head of his brave troop, as he saw the predicament of his friends, charged the foe furiously, cutting down all who opposed him, or drove them off till he reached the Hadji, who shouted his thanks as the last Cossack disappeared between him and his rescuers. But why does Alp not advance? Oh! Allah! where is he? Alas! behold him now weltering in his blood beneath his horse’s hoofs. Gasping out his last breath, he thanks Allah that he has saved his father. He pronounced, too, his loved Zara’s name. He is lifted on his horse; but his pulse has ceased to beat. The young warrior is no more. The old Hadji seems like some aged oak scathed by lightning. He hears not the shouts of the combatants. His own voice is stilled. He knows not where they lead him. One thing alone he sees—his noble, gallant boy a corpse by his side. He mourns that he yet lives while the young and the brave have fallen.