The main body of the Circassians, now arriving, set furiously on the Cossacks, whom they drove before them; but, pursuing them too eagerly, they again found themselves exposed to the deadly fire from the town, showers of grape falling among them, and cutting through their ranks with deadly effect. Thus once more they were compelled to retreat. The Russian infantry then marched out to support the cavalry, now again following the Circassians, who, whenever the Russians approached near enough, would suddenly wheel and charge them, thinning their ranks, and driving them to a distance.
In this hazardous style of fighting, Thaddeus had much distinguished himself, as well as in the principal charge, which he had made by the side of Selem to the rescue of the Hadji. As they approached the Kouban, their own infantry coming up, the Cossacks took to flight, and were pursued with considerable slaughter; but though it had been a day of victory, it had been a disastrous and dearly bought one to the Circassians; many of their chiefs, and a great number of their followers having fallen by the destructive fire of grape, which had played on them from the batteries; though, in comparison, they had lost but few men in their encounter with the Cossacks; so superior are they in horsemanship and the use of their arms.
Arslan Gherrei rode up to the side of his brother chieftain and old friend, to endeavour to offer some consolation.
“Nay, nay, my friend,” said the veteran warrior, “I mourn not for my son. Allah is merciful, and has sent him to Paradise in the midst of victory. And what nobler fate could I wish for him? I would that I too had died with him! For what was he born? For what have I bred him up a warrior, but to die for his country? There will be weeping and wailing enough among the women when he is brought home. Alas! for his bride! her heart will break. And his mother! It is a sad day for them. But I!—no, I cannot mourn! My heart’s feelings have long since been dried up. I grieve not for his loss.”
The low husky voice, the contracted brow, and expanded, but tearless eye of the old chief, sadly belied his words. He spoke no more as he rode on, except to issue some short orders to those of his followers who remained alive. His thoughts were hidden in his own breast; but there was an expression of concentrated agony in his stern features, which shewed too well that a father’s feelings were working strongly within him. Near him rode his squire, guiding the horse which bore the young warrior’s body and arms; and every now and then the father would cast a glance full of deep meaning towards it.
The army encamped that night on the same spot they had occupied on the previous one; stationing, however, picquets to give timely warning in case their enemies should attempt to follow. The Russians, however, had received that day a sufficient lesson to learn that the Circassians were foes not to be trifled with.
That night, no minstrels tuned their harps round the watch-fires; nor did the warriors indulge in tales of their exploits; but, as soon as the horses were sheltered and fed, and they had partaken of their own frugal fare, wrapping themselves in their cloaks, they snatched a few hours’ repose after the fatigues of the day.
As Selem, who took his place at the fire near which the Hadji had thrown himself on the ground, watched the old warrior, he saw many a convulsive throb pass over his frame. Then he would start up, and sit gazing on the burning embers, his thoughts doubtlessly resting on his slaughtered son, his white hair streaming over his stern and wrinkled brow, with mouth firmly set, and his hands clutching his snowy and flowing beard. He might have been compared to some aged oak, whose trunk had been scorched and riven by the lightning’s forked flash, yet refusing to bend beneath the tempest’s power. A true patriot’s motto is, “I may break, but bend not.”