Wildly beautiful is the resounding TÉrek in the mountains of DariÁl. There, like a genie, borrowing his strength from heaven, he wrestles with Nature. There bright and shining as steel, cutting through the overshadowing cliff, he gleams among the rocks. There, blackening with rage, he bellows and bounds like a wild beast, among the imprisoning cliffs: he bursts, overthrows, and rolls afar their broken fragments. On a stormy night, when the belated traveller, enveloped in his furry boÚrka, gazing fearfully around him, travels along the bank which hangs over the torrent of TÉrek, all is terror such as only a vivid imagination can conceive. With slow steps he winds along, the rain-torrents stream around his feet, and tumble upon his head from the rocks which frown above and threaten his destruction. Suddenly the lightning flashes before his eyes—with horror he beholds but a black cloud above him, below a yawning gulf, beside him crags, and before him the roaring TÉrek. At one moment he sees its wild and troubled waves raging like infernal spirits chased by the archangel's brand. After them, with a shout as of laughter, roll the huge stones. In another moment, the blinding flash is gone, and he is plunged once more in the dark ocean of night: then bursts the thunder-crash, jarring the foundations of the rocks, as though a thousand mountains were dashed against each other, so deafeningly do the echoes repeat the bellow of the heavens. Then a long-protracted growl, as of massive oaks plucked up by their roots, or the crash of bursting rocks, or the yell of the Titans as they were hurled headlong into the abyss; it mingles with the war of the blast, and the blast swells to a hurricane, and the rain pours down in torrents. And again the lightning blinds him, and again the thunder, answering from afar to the splinter-crash, deafens him. The terrified steed rears, starts backward—the rider utters a short prayer.

But after this how softly smiles the morning—morn, in whose light TÉrek glides, and ripples, and murmurs! The clouds, like a torn veil whirling on the breeze, appear and vanish fitfully among the icy peaks. The sunbeams discover jagged profiles of the summits on the opposing mountain wall. The rocks glitter freshly from the rain. The mountain-torrents leap through the morning mist; and the mists themselves creep winding through the cliffs, even as the smoke from a cottage chimney, then twine themselves like a turban round some ancient tower, while TÉrek ripples on among the stones, curling as a tired hound who seeks a resting-place.

In the Caucasus, it must be confessed, there are no waters in which the mountains can worthily reflect themselves—those giants of creation. There are no gentle rivers, no vast lakes; but TÉrek receives in his stream the tribute of a thousand streamlets. Beneath the further Caucasus, where the mountains melt into the plain, he seems to flow calmly and gently, he wanders on in huge curves, depositing the pebbles he has brought down from the hills. Further on, bending to the north-west, the stream is still strong, but less noisy, as though wearied with its fierce strugglings. At length, embraced by the narrow gorge of Cape M. Áloi (Little KabÁrdi,) the river, like a good Moslem, bending religiously to the east, and peacefully spreading over the hated shore, gliding sometimes over beds of stone, sometimes over banks of clay, falls, by KizlÁr, into the basin of the Caspian. There alone does it deign to bear boats upon its waters, and, like a labourer, turn the huge wheels of floating mills. On its right bank, among hillocks and thickets, are scattered the villages (aoÚle) of the KabardÍnetzes, a tribe which we confound under one name with the TcherkÉss, (Circassians,) who dwell beyond the KoubÁn, and with the TchetchenÉtzes much lower by the sea. These villages on the bank are peaceful only in name, for in reality they are the haunts of brigands, who acknowledge the Russian government only as far as it suits their interest, capturing, as Russian subjects, from the mountaineers, the plunder they seize in the Russian frontier. Enjoying free passage on all sides, they inform those of the same religion and the same way of thinking, of the movement of our troops, and the condition of our fortresses; conceal them among themselves when they are assembling for an incursion, buy their plunder at their return, furnish them with Russian salt and powder, and not rarely take themselves a part, secret or open, in their forays. It is exceedingly irritating to see, even in full view of these mountaineers, nations hostile to us boldly swim over the TÉrek, two, three, or five men at a time, and in broad day set to work to rob; it being useless to pursue them, as their dress has nothing to distinguish them from the friendly tribes. On the opposite bank, though apparently quite peaceable, and employing this as their excuse, they fall, when in force, upon travellers, carry off cattle and men when off their guard, slaughter them without mercy, or sell them into slavery at a distance. To say the truth, their natural position, between two powerful neighbours, of necessity compels them to have recourse to these stratagems. Knowing that the Russians will not pass to the other side of the river to protect them from the revenge of the mountaineers, who melt away like snow at the approach of a strong force, they easily and habitually, as well as from inevitable circumstances, ally themselves to people of their own blood, while they affect to pay deference to the Russians, whom they fear.

Indeed, there exists among them certain persons really devoted to the Russians, but the greater number will betray even their own countrymen for a bribe. In general, the morality of these peaceful allies of ours is completely corrupted; they have lost the courage of an independent people, and have acquired all the vices of half-civilization. Among them an oath is a jest; treachery, their glory; even hospitality, a trade. Each of them is ready to engage himself to the Russians in the morning, as a kounÁk (friend), and at night to guide a brigand to rob his new friend.

The left bank of the TÉrek is covered with flourishing stanÍtzas [21] of the KazÁks of the Line, the descendants of the famous ZaporÓjetzes. Among them is here and there a Christian village. These KazÁks are distinguished from the mountaineers only by their unshaven heads: their tools, dress, harness, manners—all are of the mountains. They like the almost ceaseless war with the mountaineers; it is not a battle, but a trial of arms, in which each party desires to gain glory by his superiority in strength, valour, and address. Two KazÁks would not fear to encounter four mountain horsemen, and with equal numbers they are invariably victors. Lastly, they speak the Tartar language; they are connected with the mountaineers by friendship and alliance, their women being mutually carried off into captivity; but in the field they are inflexible enemies. As it is not forbidden to make incursions on the mountain side of the TÉrek, the brigands frequently betake themselves thither by swimming the river, for the chase of various kinds of game. The mountain brigands, in their turn, frequently swim over the TÉrek at night, or cross it on bourdoÚchs, (skins blown up,) hide themselves in the reeds, or under a projection of the bank, thence gliding through the thickets to the road, to carry off an unsuspecting traveller, or to seize a woman, as she is raking the hay. It sometimes happens that they will pass a day or two in the vineyards by the village, awaiting a favourable opportunity to fall upon it unexpectedly; and hence the KazÁk of the Line never stirs over his threshold without his dagger, nor goes into the field without his gun at his back: he ploughs and sows completely armed.

[Footnote 21: Villages of KazÁks.]

For some time past, the mountaineers had fallen in considerable numbers only on Christian villages, for in the stanÍtzas the resistance had cost them very dear. For the plundering of houses; they approached boldly yet cunningly the Russian frontier, and on such occasions they frequently escaped a battle. The bravest OuzdÉns desire to meet with these affairs that they may acquire fame, which they value even more than plunder.

In the autumn of the year 1819, the KabardÍnetzes and TchetchenÉtzes, encouraged by the absence of the commander-in-chief, assembled to the number of 1500 men to make an attack upon one of the villages beyond the TÉrek, to seize it, carry off prisoners, and take the droves of horses. The leader of the KabardÍnetzes was the Prince (KniÁzek) DjenboulÁt. AmmalÁt Bek, who had arrived with a letter from Sultan Akhmet Khan, was received with delight. They did not, indeed, assign him the command of any division; but this arose from the circumstance that with them there is no order of battle or gradation of command; an active horse and individual courage secures the most distinguished place in action. At first they deliberate how best to begin the attack—how to repel the enemy; but afterwards they pay no attention to plan or order, and chance decides the affair. Having sent messengers to summon the neighbouring OuzdÉns, DjemboulÁt fixed on a place of assembling; and immediately, on a signal agreed on, from every height spread the cry, "GharÁi, gharÁi!" (alarm,) and in one hour the TchetchenÉtzes and KabardÍnetzes were assembling from all sides. To avoid treason, no one but the leader knew where the night-camp was to be, from which they where to cross the river. They were divided into small bands, and were to go by almost invisible paths to the peaceful village, where they were to conceal themselves till night. By twilight, all the divisions were already mustered. As they arrived, they were received by their countrymen with frank embraces; but DjemboulÁt, not trusting to this, guarded the village with sentinels, and proclaimed to the inhabitants, that whoever attempted to desert to the Russians should be cut in pieces. The greater part of the OuzdÉns took up their quarters in the sÁklas of their kounÁks or relations; but DjemboulÁt and AmmalÁt, with the best of the cavaliers, slept in the open air round a fire, when they had refreshed their jaded horses. DjemboulÁt, wrapped in his boÚrka, was considering, with folded arms, the plan of the expedition; but the thoughts of AmmalÁt were far from the battle-field: they were flying, eagle-winged, to the mountains of Avar, and bitterly, bitterly did he feel his separation. The sound of an instrument, the mountain balalÁika, (kanous,) accompanying a slow air, recalled him from his reverie, and a KabardÍnetz sung an ancient song.

"On KazbÉk the clouds are meeting,
like the mountain eagle-flock;
up to them, along the rock,
Dash the wild OuzdÉns retreating;
Onward faster, faster fleeting,
Routed by the Russian brood.
Foameth all their track with blood."

"Fast behind the regiments yelling,
Lance and bayonet raging hot,
And the seed of death their shot.
On the mail the sabre dwelling
Gallop, steed! for far thy dwelling—
See! they fall—but distant still
Is the forest of the hill!"

"Russian shot our hearts is rending,
Falls the Mullah on his knee,
To the Lord of Light bows he,
To the Prophet he is bending:
Like a shaft his prayer ascending,
Upward flies to Allah's throne—
Il-AllÁh! O save thine own!"

"Ah, despair!—What crash like thunder!
Lo! a sign from heaven above!
Lo! the forest seems to move
Crashes, murmurs, bursts asunder!
Lower, nearer, wonder! wonder!
Safe once more the Moslem bold
In their forest mountain-hold!"

"So it was in old times," said DjemboulÁt, with a smile, "when our old men trusted more to prayer, and God oftener listened to them; but now, my friends, there is a better hope—your valour! Our omens are in the scabbards of our shoÓshkas, (sabres,) and we must show that we are not ashamed of them. Harkye, AmmalÁt," he continued, twisting his mustache, "I will not conceal from you that the affair may be warm. I have just heard that Colonel K—— has collected his division; but where he is, or how many troops he has, nobody knows."

"The more Russians there are the better," replied AmmalÁt, quietly; "the fewer mistakes will be made."

"And the heavier will be the plunder."

"I care not for that. I seek revenge and glory."

"Glory is a good bird, when she lays a golden egg; but he that returns with his torÓks (straps behind the saddle) empty, is ashamed to appear before his wife. Winter is near, and we must provide our households at the expense of the Russians, that we may feast our friends and allies. Choose your station, AmmalÁt Bek. Do you prefer to advance in front to carry off the flocks, or will you remain with me in the rear? I and the AbrÉks will march at a foot's pace to restrain the pursuers."

"That is what I also intend. I will be where the greatest peril is.
But what are the AbrÉks, DjemboulÁt?"

"It is not easy to explain. You sometimes see several of our boldest cavaliers take an oath, binding them for two or three years, or as long as they like, never to mingle in games or gayeties, never to spare their lives in battle, to give no quarter, never to pardon the least offence in a brother or a friend, to seize the goods of others without fear or scruple—in a word, to be the foes of all mankind, strangers in their family, men whom any person may slay if he can; in the village they are dangerous neighbours, and in meeting them you must keep your hand on the trigger; but in war one can trust them." [22]

"For what motive, or reason, can the Ouzdens make such an engagement?"

"Some simply to show their courage, others from poverty, a third class from some misfortune. See, for instance, yonder tall KabardÍnetz; he has sworn to be an AbrÉk for five years, since his mistress died of the small-pox. Since that year it would be as well to make acquaintance with a tiger as with him. He has already been wounded three times for blood-vengeance; but he cares not for that."

"Strange custom! How will he return from the life of an AbrÉk to a peaceable existence?"

"What is there strange in this? The past glides from him as water from the wild-duck. His neighbours will be delighted when he has finished his term of brigandage. And he, after putting off AbrÉtchestva (AbrÉkism) as a serpent sheds his skin, will become gentle as a lamb. Among us, none but the avenger of blood remembers yesterday. But the night is darkening. The mists are spreading over TÉrek. It is time for the work."

DjemboulÁt whistled, and his whistle was repeated to all the outposts of the camp. In a moment the whole band was assembled. Several OuzdÉns joined from the neighbouring friendly villages. After a short discussion as to the passage of the river, the band moved in silence to the bank. AmmalÁt Bek could not but admire the stillness, not only of the riders, but of their horses; not one of them neighed or snorted, and they seemed to place their feet on the ground with caution. They marched like a voiceless cloud, and soon they reached the bank of TÉrek, which, making a winding at this spot, formed a promontory, and from it to the opposite shore, extended a pebbly shoal. The water over this bank was shallow and fordable; nevertheless, a part of the detachment left the shore higher up, in order to swim past the KazÁks, and, diverting their attention from the principal passage, to cover the fording party. Those who had confidence in their horses, leaped unhesitatingly from the bank, while others tied to each fore-foot of their steeds a pair of small skins, inflated with air like bladders; the current bore them on, and each landed wherever he found a convenient spot. The impenetrable veil of mist concealed all these movements. It must be remarked, that along the whole line of the river is a chain of mayÁks (watch-towers) and a cordon of sentinels: on all the hills and elevated spots are placed look-outs. On passing before them in the daytime, may be seen on each hillock a pole, surmounted with a small barrel. This is filled with pitch and straw, and is ready to be lighted on the first alarm. To this pole is generally tied a KazÁk's horse, and by his side a sentinel. In the night, these sentinels are doubled; but in spite of the precautions, the TcherkÉss, concealed by the fog, and clothed in their boÚrka, sometimes pass through the line in small bodies, as water glides through a sieve. The same thing happened on this occasion: perfectly acquainted with the country, the BelÁds, (guides) peaceable TcherkÉss, led each party, and in profound silence avoided the hillocks.

[Footnote 22: This is exactly the Berserkir of the ancient Northmen.
Examples of this frantic courage are not rare among the Asiatics.]

In two places only had the brigands, to break through the line of watch-fires which might have betrayed them, resolved to kill the sentinels. Against one picket, DjemboulÁt proceeded himself, and he ordered another Bek to creep up the bank, pass round to the rear of the picket, count a hundred, and then to strike fire with a flint and steel several times. It was said and done. Just lifting his head above the edge of the bank, DjemboulÁt saw a KazÁk slumbering with the match in his hand, and holding his horse by the bridle. As soon as the clicking struck his ear, the sentinel started, and turned an anxious look on the river. Fearing that the sentinel did not remark him, DjemboulÁt threw up his cap, and again crouched down behind the bank. "Accursed duck!" said the DonÉtz; "for this night is a carnival. They squatter away like the witches of KÍeff." At this moment, the sparks appeared on the opposite side, and drew his attention: "'Tis the wolves," thought he: "sometimes their eyes glitter brightly!" But the sparks reappearing, he was stupefied, remembering stories that the TchetchenÉtzes sometimes use this kind of signal to regulate the movements of their march. This moment of suspense and irresolution was the moment of his destruction; a dagger [23], directed by a strong arm, whistled through the air, and the KazÁk, transfixed, fell without a groan to the earth. His comrade was sabred in his sleep, and the pole with the tub was torn down, and was thrown into the river. All then rapidly assembled at the given signal, and dashed in a moment on the village which they had determined to attack. The blow was successfully, that is, quite unexpectedly, struck. Such of the peasants as had time to arm, were killed after a desperate resistance: the others hid themselves or fled. Besides the plunder, a number of men and women was the reward of their boldness. The KabardÍnetzes broke into the houses, carrying off all that was most valuable, indeed every thing that came to hand: but they did not set fire to the houses, nor did they tread down the corn, nor break the vines: "Why touch the gift of God, and the labour of man?" said they; and this rule of a mountain robber, who shrinks at no crime, is a virtue which the most civilized nations might envy. In an hour, all was over for the inhabitants, but not for the brigands. The alarm spread along the line, and the mayÁks soon began to glimmer through the fog like the stars of morning, while the call to arms resounded in every direction. In this interval, a party of the more experienced among the brigands had gone round the troop of horses which was grazing far in the steppe. The herdsman was seized, and with cries, and firing their guns, they charged at the horses from the land side. The animals started, threw mane and tail into the air, and dashed headlong on the track of a TcherkÉss mounted on a superb steed, who had remained on the bank of the river to guide the frightened herd. Like a skilful pilot, well acquainted, even in a fog, with all the dangers of the desert sea, the TcherkÉss flew on before the horses, wound his way among the posts, and at last, having chosen a spot where the bank was most precipitous, leaped headlong into the TÉrek. The whole herd followed him: nothing could be seen but the foam that flew into the air. Daybreak appeared; the fog began to separate, and discovered a picture at once magnificent and terrible. The principal band of forayers dragged the prisoners after it—some were at the stirrup, others behind the saddle, with their arms tied at their backs. Tears, and groans, and cries of despair were stifled by the threats and frantic cries of joy of the victors. Loaded with plunder, impeded by the flocks and horned cattle, they advanced slowly towards the TÉrek. The princes and best cavaliers, in mail-coats and casques glittering like water, galloped around the dense mass, as lightning flashes round a livid cloud. In the distance, were galloping up from every point the KazÁks of the Line; they ambushed behind the shrubs and straggling oak-trees, and soon began an irregular fire with the brigands who were sent against them.

[Footnote 23: The Tartars and Circassians possess extraordinary dexterity in the use of their national weapon—the kinjÁl, or poniard. These are sometimes of great size and weight, and when thrown by a skilful hand, will fly a considerable distance, and with the most singular accuracy of aim.]

In the meantime, the foremost had driven across the river a portion of the flocks, when a cloud of dust, and the tramp of cavalry, announced the approaching storm. About six hundred mountaineers, commanded by DjemboulÁt and AmmalÁt, turned their horses to repulse the attack, and give time to the rest to escape by the river. Without order, but with wild cries and shouts, they dashed forward to meet the KazÁks; but not a single gun was taken from its belt, not a single shÁshka glimmered in the air: a TcherkÉss waits till the last moment before he seizes his weapons. And thus, having galloped to the distance of twenty paces, they levelled their guns, fired at full speed, threw their fire-arms over their backs, [24] and drew their shÁshkas; but the KazÁks of the Line having replied with a volley, began to fly, and the mountaineers, heated by the chase, fell into a stratagem which they often employ themselves. The KazÁks had led them up to the chasseurs of the brave forty-third regiment, who were concealed at the edge of the forest. Suddenly, as if the little squares had started out of the earth, the bayonets were leveled, and the fire poured on them, taking them in flank. It was in vain that the mountaineers, dismounting from their horses, essayed to occupy the underwood, and attack the Russians from the rear; the artillery came up, and decided the affair. The experienced Colonel KortsarÉff, the dread of the TchetchenÉtz, the man whose bravery they feared, and whose honesty and disinterestedness they respected, directed the movements of the troops, and success could not be doubtful. The cannon dispersed the crowds of brigands, and their grape flew after the flying. The defeat was terrible; two guns, dashing at a gallop to the promontory, not far from which the TcherkÉss were throwing themselves into the river, enfiladed the stream; with a rushing sound, the shot flew over the foaming waves, and at each fire some of the horses might be seen to turn over with their feet in the air, drowning their riders. It was sad to see how the wounded clutched at the tails and bridles of the horses of their companions, sinking them without saving themselves—how the exhausted struggled against the scarped bank, endeavouring to clamber up, fell back, and were borne away and engulfed by the furious current. The corpses of the slain were whirled away, mingled with the dying and streaks of blood curled and writhed like serpents on the foam. The smoke floated far along the TÉrek, far in the distance, and the snowy peaks of Caucasus, crowned with mist, bounded the field of battle. DjemboulÁt and AmmalÁt Bek fought desperately—twenty times did they rush to the attack, twenty times were they repulsed; wearied, but not conquered, with a hundred brigands they swam the river, dismounted, attached their horses to each other by the bridle, and began a warm fire from the other side of the river, to cover their surviving comrades. Intent upon this, they remarked, too late, that the KazÁks were passing the river above them; with a shout of joy, the Russians leaped upon the bank, and surrounded them in a moment. Their fate was inevitable. "Well, DjemboulÁt," said the Bek to the KabardÍnetz, "our lot is finished. Do you what you will; but for me, I will not render myself a prisoner alive. 'Tis better to die by a ball than by a shameful cord!" "Do you think," answered DjemboulÁt, "that my arms were made for a chain! Allah keep me from such a blot: the Russians may take my body, but not my soul. Never, never! Brethren, comrades!" he cried to the others; "fortune has betrayed us, but the steel will not. Let us sell our lives dearly to the Giaour. The victor is not he who keeps the field, but he who has the glory; and the glory is his who prefers death to slavery!" "Let us die, let us die; but let us die gloriously," cried all, piercing with their daggers the sides of their horses, that the enemy might not take them, and then piling up the dead bodies of their steeds, they lay down behind the heap, preparing to meet the attack with lead and steel. Well aware of the obstinate resistance they were about to encounter, the KazÁks stopped, and made ready for the charge. The shot from the opposite bank sometimes fell in the midst of the brave mountaineers, sometimes a grenade exploded, covering them with earth and fragments; but they showed no confusion, they started not, nor blenched; and, after the custom of their country, began to sing, with a melancholy, yet threatening voice, the death-song, replying alternately stanza for stanza.

[Footnote 24: The oriental nations carry their guns at their backs, supported by a strap passing across the breast.]

DEATH-SONG.

CHORUS.

"Fame to us, death to you,
Alla-ha, Alla-hu!!"

SEMICHORUS.

"Weep, O ye maidens, on mountain and valley,
Lift the dirge for the sons of the brave;
We have fired our last bullet, have made our last rally,
And Caucasus gives us a grave.
Here the soft pipe no more shall invite us to slumber
—The thunder our lullaby sings;
Our eyes not the maiden's dark tresses shall cumber,
Them the raven shall shade with his wings!
Forget, O my children, your father's stern duty—
No more shall he bring ye the Muscovite booty!"

SECOND SEMICHORUS.

"Weep not, O ye maidens; your sisters in splendour,
The Houris, they bend from the sky,
They fix on the brave their sun-glance deep and tender,
And to Paradise bear him on high!
In your feast-cup, my brethren, forget not our story;
The death of the Free is the noblest of glory!"

FIRST SEMICHORUS.

"Roar, winter torrent, and sullenly dash!
But where is the brave one—the swift lightning-flash?
Soft star of my soul, my mother,
Sleep, the fire let ashes smother;
Gaze no more, shine eyes are weary,
Sit not by the threshold stone;
Gaze not through the night-fog dreary,
Eat thine evening meal alone,
Seek him not, O mother, weeping,
By the cliff and by the ford:
On a bed of dust he's sleeping—
Broken is both heart and sword!"

SECOND SEMICHORUS.

"Mother, weep not! with thy love burning:
This heart of mine beats full and free,
And to lion-blood is turning
That soft milks I drew from thee;
And our liberty from danger
Thy brave son has guarded well;
Battling with the Christian stranger,
Call'd by Azrael, he fell;
From my blood fresh odours breathing
Fadeless flowers shall drink the dew;
To my children fame bequeathing,
Brethren, and revenge to you!"

CHORUS.

"Pray, my brethren, ere we part;
Clutch the steel with hate and wrath!
Break it in the Russian's heart—
O'er corpses lies the brave man's path!
Fame to us, death to you,
Alla-ha, Alla-hu!"

Struck by a certain involuntary awe, the Chasseurs and KazÁks listened in silence to the stern sounds of this song; but at last a loud hurrah [25] resounded from both sides. The TeherkÉss, with a shout, fired their guns for the last time, and breaking them against the stones, they threw themselves, dagger in hand, upon the Russians. The AbrÉks, in order that their line might not be broken, bound themselves to each other with their girdles, and hurled themselves into the mÊlÉe. Quarter was neither asked nor given: all fell before the bayonets of the Russians. "Forward! follow me, AmmalÁt Bek," cried Djemboulat, with fury, rushing into the combat which was to be his last—"Forward! for us death is liberty." But AnmalÁt heard not his call; a blow from a musket on the back of the head stretched him on the earth, already sown with corpses, and covered with blood.

[Footnote 25: "Hurrah" means strike in the Tartar language.]