Volume Two—Chapter Seventeen.

Scarce a whole day had passed since the band of gallant warriors had left the neighbourhood of Ghelendjik, when they returned crowned with victory. One of the detested forts of the foe was levelled to the ground, and thus one of the first links of the chain, the fana Moscov were striving to throw around the land was burst asunder at a single blow. This showed them what they might still do; it raised their courage; it inflamed their ardour. Again and again they vowed never to yield while an arm remained to strike.

The noble Hadji was in high spirits at the success of this the first enterprise he had engaged in since his return to his native land; nor the less so at the gallantry which his son had displayed. He careered along, at the head of the party, gay as the most youthful warrior among them. The heroic Arslan Gherrei, on his magnificent black charger, his plume towering above the others, rode sedately near him, his features, except when excited amid the combat, ever wearing the same grave stern expression.

In each of the small secluded hamlets through which they passed, the women came forth to welcome them, throwing flowers in their path, and singing triumphant hymns of praise for their victory. Some made eager inquiries for husbands, and fathers, or brothers; and sad was the wail raised in lieu of songs of triumph, when the death of any loved one was announced to them.

By the side of our hero rode his friend Thaddeus, for whom he had procured a horse, and who now related the events which had lately occurred to him, and the attempted revenge of the Count Erintoff.

“You are now then, my dear Thaddeus, surely absolved from all allegiance to the Emperor?” said Ivan. “And you may join, without scruple of conscience, the only cause for which a man is justified in fighting, when not for the protection of his own country, the defence of a gallant people’s dearest liberties, their homes, their families, against the power of tyrants who would enslave them.”

“True, my friend,” answered Thaddeus, “such I now feel is a righteous cause, sanctified by Heaven; such the true cause in which the pure spirit of chivalry delights to engage; far different from the hireling service which would place a tyrant or an usurper on the throne, and aid him in oppressing a people whom it is his office to govern.”

“I am rejoiced to hear you speak sentiments so like my own,” exclaimed Ivan, “and of which you, of all men, have just reason to feel the truth.”

“Since we parted, I have thought much on the subject, even though death was hanging over me,” returned the young Pole. “One of the causes, which then made me refuse to join your party, has been removed. My father is no more. The thraldom under which his noble spirit groaned, and grief for his country’s overthrow, have at length brought his life to a close.”

“Then, surely,” said Ivan, “you can no longer, with reason, consider yourself bound to Russia.”

“I do not; I consider myself justly absolved from my oath of service to the Emperor,” answered Thaddeus. “But can you blame me, when I hesitate to turn my sword against my former brothers in arms, many bound to me by the ties of friendship?”

“That you need never do,” answered Ivan; “and henceforth, I shall hail you as my brother in arms; for Circassia has foes enough without numbering the few you can claim as friends. The fierce and daring Cossacks shall be your opponents, and along the banks of the Kouban, they will afford you abundance of opportunities of gaining credit and renown among us.”

“Press me not further on the subject, my friend,” returned the Pole. “I have scarcely yet learned to consider myself as numbered among the living, so rapid and stunning has been my delivery from death. I have much to give me serious reflection.”

The two friends relapsed into silence for some time; for Ivan’s thoughts were also deeply occupied with conjectures, vague, uncertain, yet full of hope, as to who was the brave chieftain, whose name he had heard, and whose noble bearing, heroic valour, stern and melancholy, yet courteous deportment had inspired him with feelings of love and admiration, such as his heart was unaccustomed to accord to others; but he could not yet bring himself to address him.

As the party approached the beautiful village they had left the previous day, a group of bright and graceful forms was seen between the trees, waving garlands of flowers; their sweet voices singing songs of welcome and congratulation to the victorious warriors. The chiefs, throwing their reins to the squires, leaped from their steeds, as they reached the woodland glade, already mentioned as the romantic hall of assembly for the neighbourhood.

The maidens advanced to meet the warriors, each anxious to welcome the most beloved of their gallant defenders; and still more lovely than all, came Ina, rushing with joy into the arms of her father. That one affectionate embrace of his child, was a full recompense to the heart of the noble hero, for all the risks and dangers of war. The wife and daughters of the chief of the hamlet came forward also to welcome him and his sons; and many a bashful maiden betrayed her hitherto concealed love for some gallant youth, in her joy at his safe return from battle.

It was a highly interesting scene. Diana-like forms of women, clothed in coloured and richly ornamented robes, with long white veils floating gracefully from their heads; the shining and embossed armour, jewelled weapons, and tall plumes of the noble chiefs; the groups of high-mettled steeds, and bands of retainers, assembled on the verdant lawn, surrounded by the bright foliage of lofty trees and canopied by the blue vault of heaven; formed a picture, such as Titian or Rubens might have loved to paint. It reminded one of the romantic days of chivalry, now long since faded from all other lands but that of the heroic Attèghèi.

Near Ivan stood Thaddeus, enraptured by the beautiful and noble scene; but, more than all, by the loveliness of Ina, as his glance first fell on her, clinging to her father’s arm. His very soul became entranced as he gazed, nor could he withdraw his admiring eyes; never had he seen a being more lovely, more graceful. It was to him, as if, after arriving from the dark regions of death, he had entered a glorious paradise.

Scarcely were the first greetings over, when the Hadji advanced towards Ivan, and taking his hand, led him forward into the midst of the assembled chiefs, exclaiming, “To you, my noble friend Arslan Gherrei, and to you, chieftains all, I speak. I have this day a pleasing duty to perform. Here stands one whom I am proud to call my friend; with me he came to these, our native shores; but to this moment, I know not his name. He was under an oath, and none could disapprove it, not to tell his name or lineage, until he had gained for himself a warlike and noble title, and proved himself worthy to belong to the pure race of the Attèghèi. I call on you all, who have been spectators of his deeds of arms; who have seen his heroic bravery, when combating against the foes of our country; to bear witness, that he is worthy to be called one of the noblest of the children of the Attèghèi; I call on you all, to declare, if you will welcome him as a brother, the bravest of the brave among us?”

“We do! we do!” was shouted from all sides; “he is a true son of the Attèghèi. We welcome him as a gallant brother in arms.”

Uttering similar expressions, each chieftain advanced to grasp his hand, in token of approval. The heart of our hero beat quickly, as the blood tumultuously rushed through his veins, with a glow of noble pride, at the applause of his countrymen; but more than all, at the hope that the consummation of his most anxious wishes was about to draw near.

“I knew, my friends, that you could have but one opinion,” said the Hadji. “But to you, Arslan Gherrei, I more particularly speak, for twice have you been witness of the bravery of the stranger warrior; twice has he rescued from peril, that life so prized by our country.”

“Truly do I know how brave and noble he is,” answered the chieftain advancing; “and gladly do I hail him as a son of the Attèghèi.”

“Young warrior, you hear what has been spoken of you by some of the most gallant chiefs of Circassia. What more would you have to absolve you from your oath?” exclaimed the Hadji with animation.

“I am overwhelmed with the proud feelings of my heart,” cried our hero. “No greater praise can I ever hope to gain. I will keep my secret no longer. The name I bore at my birth was Selem Gherrei!”

“What! speak that name again,” cried Arslan Gherrei, springing forward. Seizing his hand he held it in his grasp, while he gazed earnestly into his face.

“Noble youth, whence come you? can a blessed spirit rise from the dead? Speak, ere my heart burst with impatience; say who gave you that name?”

“My mother,” answered our hero. “When a child, I was carried away with her by a Russian commander; she continued to watch over my youth till death tore her from me.”

“It is enough; you are—you are my son, my long mourned son. I need no more to convince me,” cried the chieftain, clasping the youth in his arms, while manly tears of joy burst from the long dried up fountains of his eagle eye.

“Am I! am I, noble chief, your son?” cried the youth, no less overcome, and falling on his knees while returning his new-found father’s embrace. “Has heaven, indeed, granted me so proud a blessing? See, I have borne this amulet from childhood, and have ever religiously guarded it. This may prove my birth.”

“I need no mark to convince me that you are my son. Nature speaks loudly for you, though well do I remember that amulet,” cried the chieftain. “You are, indeed, my son, and Allah be praised for his bounty. I felt it when first I saw you, like a guardian angel, fighting by my side, and rescuing me from death; I felt it when first I heard the rich manly tones of your voice inciting your followers to the fight. Yes, my heart beat with joy that another warrior should be added to the cause of the Attèghèi; and now how proud and grateful I am, let Heaven witness. See, chiefs, I here present to you my son. Great Heaven has granted me the only boon I craved,” he added, lifting up his son. “After the witness you have borne of his bravery you all must know how proud I am of him.”

“Have I not a sister, too, my father? Let her also participate in our joy,” cried his son, hastening to embrace Ina, who, trembling with agitation, had advanced to the spot. “My sister, my sweet sister!”

“Oh, my brother! Allah be praised that I may pronounce that dear name. Now can my father’s heart rejoice that he has found his long-wished-for son. Already does my heart give some of the love our father once claimed, to you, my brother,” she said with a sweet smile beaming through her fast falling tears of joy.

The chieftains had courteously retired to some distance, so as not to restrain the indulgence of Arslan Gherrei’s feelings of happiness; but they gazed with deep interest, as the once stern and gloomy champion of their country melted into softness, as he looked on his newly-found gallant son.

The Hadji also was delighted. “I knew, my friend,” he cried, “that none but a noble father could have owned a son brave as my young friend, Selem Gherrei. Say, warriors, are they not worthy of each other?”

“Yes, yes! may Allah grant a long and prosperous life to our gallant champion, Arslan Gherrei, and to his brave son, the young Selem,” was shouted by the assembled warriors. “Long live Selem Gherrei!” was echoed through the grove, as they advanced in gallant and martial array, each grasping Selem’s hand as they passed him and his proud and happy father; nor could they refrain from giving an admiring but respectful glance at the fair Ina, as she stood clinging to her newly-found brother’s arm.

Then arose the song of a wandering minstrel, who, attracted by the fast flying news of the storming of the fort, had repaired hither to commemorate the victory with his muse; and here was a theme well worthy of his martial strains. First tuning his lyre he broke forth into a loud triumphant hymn of victory; then, changing his theme, he described the fierce attack of the Russians, when the noble chief Arslan Gherrei was deprived of his wife and son; then it sunk into a low strain of grief, worked into rage against the ravishers. He next enumerated the many bloody combats in which the chief had fought to revenge himself on his foes, the coming of the youthful stranger, his fighting by his father’s side and rescuing him and his sister from the enemy. Finally, as he pictured their surprise and joy at meeting, his notes were melting and pathetic, till, by degrees swelling high to triumphant strains of joy, he was joined by numerous other minstrels of scarcely less note, who had followed him to the scene.

A band of maidens then, taking the word from the bard, advanced, and surrounding the group with their wreaths of flowers, joining their sweet, rich voices to the melody as the cadence rose and fell with the subject.

Then the bard changed his theme to the rescue of the Polish stranger; and as he sang, all eyes were turned towards Thaddeus; and as Ina caught his gaze drinking in with enraptured delight the beauty of her form and features, she cast her look on the ground, blushing she knew not why; while he, the brave soldier, seemed seized with the same bashful feeling.

The bard had ceased his strains when a party of musicians struck up light and cheerful airs, and some of the youthful mountaineers, in spite of the fatigue of the fight and march, led forth the village maidens, nothing loath, to the dance; the nobles looked on to applaud, until messengers arrived from the house of the Tocav to say that a banquet was prepared to welcome the warriors.

Our hero, whom we must in future designate by his true name of Selem Gherrei, now took the hand of Thaddeus. “My sweet sister,” he said, “I will lose no time in making known to you one, who has been my friend under various circumstances, and will, I trust, always continue so.”

“My brother’s friend is welcome to me,” she answered in Turkish, a language Thaddeus was also slightly acquainted with. “But I cannot perform the courtesies you have been accustomed to in Frangistan. I have but few words to express my feelings in the tongue in which I now speak.”

“Think not so meanly of yourself, Ina,” said Selem. “My friend is one of those noble Poles, whose country you have doubtless heard the Russians have treated as they would ours; and yet he hesitates to draw his sword against such foes. But I must leave him to your soft persuasions to supply him with excuses for joining us.”

“I fear that I could scarce disobey your wishes, sweet lady,” said Thaddeus; “then pray do not bid me act against my conscience.”

“I would not do as you fear,” answered Ina. “But among the sons of the Attèghèi the claims of friendship are paramount to every other. Surely you would not quit my brother’s side in the battle-field. His foes should be your foes, and his friends your friends.”

“Cease, lady, cease,” exclaimed Thaddeus earnestly; “or you will gain too quick a victory. The sweet tones of your voice alone are too eloquent to be withstood.”

“Silence, my friend,” interrupted Selem, in Russian smiling. “You bring, indeed, the courtly style of St. Petersburg with you, when you commence by paying compliments. I must assert a brother’s privilege to stop such language, or you may turn my gentle sister’s head. Remember that she is unaccustomed to phrases of flattery.”

“Her looks bespeak her to be far too sensible to be influenced by terms of compliment,” answered Thaddeus.

“There breathes no woman of any clime, and but few of the nobler sex even, who are uninfluenced by flattery,” returned Selem. Then speaking again in his own language, “Pardon me, my sister, for speaking in a language you understand not. I was but scolding my friend for paying the empty compliments which the fair ones of the cities of Frangistan receive as of sterling value.”

“Your friend, my brother, would not surely use phrases unbecoming a mountain girl to hear. He looks too wise, too good,” said Ina, blushing as she spoke.

Another messenger now approached to summon the hero of the day, the young Circassian Chief, and his Polish friend, to the feast, where the other chieftains were waiting their arrival. Great however was the disappointment of both, when they found that the chief ornaments would be wanting; for though the most chivalrous devotion is paid to the fair sex, such is the custom of the country, that no woman may be present at the festive board, except on private occasions when in attendance on their lords.

Most unwillingly, therefore, Selem was obliged to part from his newly-found beautiful sister, and many an enraptured glance did the young Pole cast towards her as she retired with her women and the daughters of the host; while the two friends followed the gallant chief, Arslan Gherrei (his heart beating with happiness at the restoration of his son), as he led the way to the scene of festivity.

End of Volume Two.