Life of Schamyl. J. Milton Mackie

say the villagers, strange fires are lighted on this dancing floor of the spirits, and which reflect on all the mountain sides a lurid and unearthly glare. Then the great white eagle which for a thousand years has housed in the high Caucasus hastens hither on wings which shake the air like the sighing of the night wind, or the howling of the coming tempest; and then assemble here from fairy land the happy peris, who in this lighted chamber dance on fantastic toes until the day peeps over the mountain tops or the first cock crows in Himri.

      But while no one dared to tread this haunted rock after the going down of the sun, it was precisely here that Schamyl, whose intellect, self-illumined, early pierced through the blind which superstition binds over the eyes of all mountaineers, often selected his seat and lingered through the twilight far into the darkness of the evening. With his trustful love of nature he feared no supernatural powers; and while the common mind was filled with dread in the presence of phenomena which, real or imaginary, it could not explain, he found therein only such subjects for reflection as fascinated his imagination and filled his soul with devout admiration of the creative spirit which pervades all things.

      Once, some of his companions offended by some high, scornful words of his, let drop in the excitement of the games, resolved to waylay and maltreat him on his return from the heights in the edge of the evening. They accordingly set upon the enthusiast as descending from the mountain tops his thoughts still lingered behind, but who quickly recovering his presence of mind stood on the defensive. Numbers, however, overpowered him; and he fell bleeding from wounds on his head, arm, and body. But being still able to regain his home, though faint with the loss of blood, he bound up his wounds himself, and with the assistance of a doctoress skilled in simples, made such applications of herbs as at the end of several weeks restored him to health again. Ashamed, however, to acknowledge that he had been beaten even when the odds were greatly against him, he said not a word respecting his illness to any one, save to his revered teacher Dschelal Eddin, to whom he confidentially made known the circumstances of the encounter.

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      HUNTING.

      Schamyl's love for exploring the mountains would naturally make him fond of hunting, as are his countrymen generally, when not occupied with the higher game of war.

      The larger kinds of game being abundant in these mountains, and the use of small shot being unknown, bird-shooting is but little practised, and the fowl fly in these heavens as unscared as in the original paradise. The nightingale sings in the thickets; the woodpecker makes the primeval woods resound with his chisel; crows of the pink and black species croak from the dead branches of the oaks; ravens with dark red legs and scarlet bills build their nests in the top of the elms; detachments of blue wood-pigeons cover the fields as numerous and as tame as sparrows; mergansers and golden-eyed ducks haunt in numerous flocks the running waters; and wild geese flying down in the month of December from the Russian wastes, halt on their way to the waters of Persia, and mixed with swans, float in stately fleets on the shores of both the Euxine and the Caspian. The falcon hawk also is constantly circling over the hills and swooping down into the valleys; the eagle may be seen soaring above his eyrie on Elbrus or Kasbek; the rapacious vulture watches from the high overhanging points of rock the lower woods and pastures; the melancholy owl hoots through the night around the hamlets; and by the side of the lowly mountain tarn stands silent and solitary the pelican of the wilderness. Only the wild turkey in the pinetree's top is a mark for the rifle; or the pheasant, darting up out of the path into the overhanging branches, tempts occasionally the sharpshooter; while, on the contrary, woodcock and snipe bore for worms in every marsh and mud-bank, undisturbed by setter or by pointer.

      The wild boar hunt is the chief sport in Circassian venery. This animal frequents the banks of the rivers overgrown with reeds, and the ravines of the mountains filled with thickets. Both the valleys and the marshes adjacent are ploughed by his snout; nor is the farmer's stock-yard entirely secure from the crunching of his tusks. He is hunted with dogs, generally resembling a cross between the greyhound and the colley of the Scottish highlands. When found the furious beast will sometimes stand at bay, ripping up and tossing in the air a pack of enemies; but generally with horrid gruntings and snortings he plunges down the ravine or canters over the marsh, big almost as a Highland cow, driving aside the tall reeds or saplings as if simple spears of grass, a black monster, bristled, with projecting tusks, and eyes bloodshot. But the well-directed rifle ball pierces at last his tough flanks; the enormous mass reeling rolls over in the mire; and the unclean carcass is left to be feasted on by vultures and prowling wolves.

      There are elk on the Kuban; but the following of the fallow deer in the hills is more common. The hunter searches for the beds of the roes with dogs, or stalking the forests steals upon the herd when browsing upon the tender twigs and the moss of trees, or cropping the herbs along the skirts of the pastures. There are several varieties of them, but all tolerably wild from being so much pursued in the chase; though the sight of this graceful animal is common enough in the farm-yards, where it has been tamed, and where when young it is a great pet.

      A fine breed of greyhounds is kept for coursing the hares. These abound, burrowing in all the mountains, and everywhere nibbling with their sharp teeth the herbage. After a slight fall of snow they are easily tracked; and rarely does the hunter, on awaking in the morning, find the earth newly clad with this white mantle that he does not call his hounds and set off for the fields. The keen air of the morning late in autumn invites to active exercise as the rising sun pours its crimson flood over the hills, all changed in a single night by the witchery of the noiselessly fallen flakes. The dogs eye alternately the hills and their master as they run; and the hunter with overflowing spirits and every nerve drawn tight enters rejoicing into the race.

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      CAMPING OUT.

      Occasionally in the autumnal months a party of huntsmen is made up for an excursion into the high Caucasus. Such expeditions constitute a memorable event in the life of the deli-kan; and it may well be believed that Schamyl must have embraced the opportunity thereby offered of beholding the grandeur of nature amidst "the thousand peaks."

      There would be but little need of preparation. For the Circassian wears his cartouche pockets constantly on his breast; any extra ammunition, together with a scanty supply of provisions, is easily attached to the saddle-bow; the steed is always ready for service; the dogs are eager to set off; and so at short notice the whole party gallops out of the aoul with hurrahs and pistol-firing.

      On the journey, however, they ride slowly. For the road is but a path in the mountains, narrow and rugged, often steep of ascent and descent, for the most part following by the side of the watercourses, and in the dry beds of the torrents, or winding around the mountain sides, by the edge of precipices, and across chasms bridged only by the leap. Indeed so great are the difficulties of the way that the rider is very often obliged to dismount and allow his horse to follow after him as best he can.

      At mid-day they halt for a couple of hours for luncheon; and with the going down of the sun they pitch their tent for the night. For this purpose an opening in the forest beside a spring of water, or the bank of a running stream is selected, where the horses, relieved of their saddles, may find pasture. At morning and noon a little flour of millet and honey suffices for the meals. This in fact is the usual war-provision, and is said to be a diet which gives strength to both body and mind. Being carried in a skin hung at the saddle-bow it soon ferments, but is eaten afterwards with great relish, and may be kept in this condition for a considerable length of time. A cup to convey the water from the spring is made of the burdock leaf which also answers the purpose of a carpet for the saying of prayers, and even furnishes afterward a grateful repast for the horses. To this frugal fare, however,