AMONG OFFICERS OF THE CZAR
Welcomed by officers of the guard--Being _Cossackized_--An
interrupted sleep--Presentation to the governor-general--An amusing
interview--The general’s vanity and how it was tickled--The story
of the Cossacks--An Ingoosh brigand--An expedition into the
mountains.
Prince Andronnikov, some time lieutenant in the Terskoi-Koubansky
Cossack regiment, presently attached to the person of the empress,
received me in Vladikavkas with a graciousness known only in the
East--charming formality blended with cordial warmth--and I at once felt
at home.
The prince was in the uniform of the Cossacks of the mountains. A kilted
outer garment of gray, loose-fitting, but well cut, offered a pleasing
background for what was to me a startling array of side-arms--a saber, a
dagger, a revolver, and a row of rifle cartridges across the breast.
“You will be one of us across the Caucasus?” he said in exquisite
French. “Our regiment is indeed honored.”
It was the noon hour when I presented myself to Prince Andronnikov, and
the officers of his regiment were about sitting down to lunch. I was
introduced to a score or more of them, charming fellows all, scions of
some of the noblest families in Russia. The commander of the regiment
was Count Schouvoleff, who bore the distinction of being an aide-de-camp
to the czar.
Russian officers enjoy the privilege of maintaining their headquarters
in the hotels--if such there be--in the vicinity of the place where
their troops are stationed. The hotel accommodations of Vladikavkaz
being somewhat better than of the average town of similar size, I found
my officer companions all most comfortably quartered. I was received
with profuse cordiality and the charm of personality of all of them
possessed me from the first moment. They all spoke excellent French and
several perfect English--one, indeed, spoke English absolutely without
accent and with a vocabulary far richer than my own. They apparently
looked upon my joining them as school-boys look forward to a frolic.
For, of course, my advent was celebrated in true Russian military
fashion, by a dinner, which, to my still un-Russianized stomach, seemed
to go on and on, rivaling the famous brook of poetry. When I had
wrestled to master the names of my companions and had told them all the
incidents worth recounting of my journey from St. Petersburg, a captain,
Count Scherematiev, carried me off to a military tailor to have me
measured and fitted for the Cossack uniform I was to wear on that long
and eventful journey through the mountains. This uniform is extremely
picturesque and far more comfortable than any military uniform I know,
although its quaintness and exaggerated ferociousness suggests a time
long gone by. A long, loose undergarment called a _bishmet_,
tight-fitting around the neck, clinging to the body, and ending with a
kind of short skirt effect at the bottom; above, another loose garment
called a _tcherkaska_; riding trousers, and loose Circassian boots made
of goose-skin. The color of the cloth used in this uniform depends
entirely upon the taste of the wearer. I chose black, though the
Russians frequently prefer crimson, or gray, or brown. The hat
surmounting this uniform, called a _papakha_, is made of lamb’s wool
somewhat coarser than astrakhan, with a top of cloth colored blue or red
according to the regiment to which the officer belongs. Our color was
blue. Across the breast of the _tcherkaska_ is a line of cartouches
which ordinarily are of metal, and, being purely for ornamentation, are
empty. Originally, however, this was the regular rifle cartridge belt
and the soldiers to this day carry their cartridges here. The invariable
accompaniment of the Circassian uniform is a dagger worn suspended from
the belt exactly in the middle of the body. These daggers are often
highly and beautifully ornamented with silver and gold hand-work by the
Circassians of the Caucasus. At the left side hangs the Cossack saber,
which differs somewhat in form from the swords worn by officers in other
branches of the army. The handles of these sabers as well as the
scabbards are, like the daggers, generally richly ornamented with
carvings and beaded metal work. On the right hip the revolver is
carried. Although these Cossack officers spend most of their lives on
horseback, they wear no spurs.
When I had been amply measured, had selected the materials for the
different garments of the uniform and bought a pair of goose-skin
riding-boots, Captain Scherematiev took me to an arms shop to buy me a
saber. Here we met with a piece of rare good fortune. The proprietor
brought out a beautiful Circassian hand-worked Cossack sword that had
been made expressly for a certain Cossack officer who had been killed
only the day before! He would sell me the weapon at a reasonable price.
I bought it with avidity, being indeed fascinated by the exquisite
workmanship of the ornamentation and the excellent temper of the blade.
I had speedy assurance that I had made no mistake in purchasing it, for
that very night an officer offered me exactly double what I had paid for
it.
That night I dined alone, by preference, for I wanted a simple meal, and
retired early, to rest from my long journey across the empire from St.
Petersburg. About one o’clock in the morning a vigorous pounding at my
bedroom door startled me into instantaneous wakefulness; lighting a
candle I turned the key and opened the door to a police officer
accompanied by several gendarmes. With profuse apologies in voluble
French, the officer begged me to grant him the permission of examining
my luggage and my papers. With all the graciousness I could master I
assured my visitor that the unaccustomed privilege of a midnight search
was a pleasure and a joy. I begged him to permit me to assist him in any
way I could. After a superficial survey of my really innocent documents,
he turned suddenly and said, “Now, monsieur, where is your revolver?” “I
have none, sir,” I replied. The officer looked incredulous for a moment,
then said in surprise: “Do you mean you have come to the Caucasus
without a revolver?” “Yes,” I replied, “I have. Though as I am soon to
adopt Circassian dress, I presume I shall be equipped with a revolver.”
The officer was puzzled at this until I showed him my credentials and
explained to him my reasons for coming to Vladikavkaz. Immediately his
manner toward me changed completely and in a tone of real concern he
told me that I must permit him to loan me one of his own revolvers until
I secured one of my own, for he should feel very badly if any harm were
to befall me while I was the guest of their city, especially as I was
to travel with the officers of the Terskoi-Koubansky regiment.
Taking a 38-caliber American revolver out of an inner pocket he laid it
on the table and very courteously said:
“I know it is late, monsieur, but may I trouble you to accompany me to
my office that I may give you extra cartridges?”
“Extra cartridges!” I exclaimed. “But this weapon is loaded. Surely I
shall not be needing more than seven bullets before morning!”
“Pardon, monsieur. You are now in the Caucasus. It is always best to be
prepared for anything. You will return here in half an hour, and you
shall have an escort.”
To me the idea of getting out of bed at 1 A.M. to visit police
headquarters for extra cartridges seemed preposterous, but I was gently
coerced into assent. A mounted escort surrounded our carriage all the
way to the headquarters, and when I returned with the cartridges, the
escort clattered behind my cab.
Early next morning Andronnikov called for me to present me to the
governor-general of the territory of the Terek--the ataman, as the chief
of a Cossack district is called. This interview was one of the oddest
experiences I had ever had. The roomy reception-hall of the official
residence was crowded with people, mostly peasants, awaiting an audience
with the ataman to present one or another grievance. The acting
aide-de-camp recognized my friend and we were received without delay.
The general was an oldish man with a brief gray beard, and metallic gray
eyes whose glitter was emphasised by the strong glasses he wore. He was
thick-set and heavy, not above medium height.
The prince was received with marked respect, and when he had made his
formal salutations he presented me as an American correspondent. He got
no further. The general pushed back his chair, and, stepping toward me,
asked in apparent anger if I knew a Mr. S----, an American merchant in a
certain town in Siberia. I had never heard of the gentleman.
“Americans are not white!” he exclaimed. “They are not true.” Just what
the general’s grievance was against Mr. S---- I could not discover, but
his tirade against Americans in general and Mr. S---- in particular was
heartfelt and prolonged, and neither Andronnikov nor I seemed able to
turn the general to other topics. Suddenly he paused in his wrath and,
looking me straight in the eye, asked: “You are a correspondent?” I
replied affirmatively. “That is bad!” he answered emphatically. “You
remember Mr. ---- of the ‘London Times’?” The name was familiar to me,
for this man had been asked to leave Russia for his plain speaking. The
general then vented his feelings in regard to this man, and toward
correspondents in general. Poor Andronnikov, my host, grew more and more
confused and embarrassed till I suffered for him.
Suddenly, for a third time, the general changed the subject. This time
he hurled his invectives against the Jews. “The Jews are at the bottom
of all of Russia’s troubles,” he cried. “If we could settle the Jews we
would tranquilize Russia.” I hastened to assure him that I was not a
Jew, though in America there were many people who welcomed the Jews from
Russia.
“You are not a Jew. No. But have you a courier?” I told him no, but I
expected to secure one that day. “Then don’t get a Jew!” he warned. “If
you do you will both be killed!” As he went on, in his bitterness I
realized again how deep-rooted is this hatred of the Jew in the minds
and hearts of certain Russian officials, and why the responsibility for
Jewish massacres is so seldom fixed. The general strode back and forth
like a caged tiger. Twice he came so near to me that his breath was on
my cheek. My discomfort was great and I was beginning to lose my temper.
I wished heartily I had not come. At last I had an inspiration.
Interrupting the general without apology, I exclaimed: “Your excellency
is quite right. The problem of the Jew is a tremendous one. The firm and
courageous way that you, sir, look at this vast question and the
strength with which you approach it fills me with admiration. I shall
tell the people of America about you, sir. America knows how great is
Russia’s problem. I pray your excellency permit me to send a photograph
of yourself to America--a photograph in this uniform, sir, with those
medals on your breast--”
“This uniform?” put in the general. “You like this? Ah! But you should
see me in my other uniform!”
“I would I might!” I replied with feeling. “I pray your excellency to
permit me to come when you are wearing it!”
“Wait!” he shouted as he disappeared from the room. For a quarter of an
hour the prince and I waited. Then the door was opened by an orderly,
and the general entered, clad in a magnificent uniform. It was
Circassian in style, and in color a rich royal purple. The prince and I
both spent ourselves in admiration till the general resumed his seat and
began to discuss the object of my visit. His whole attitude was altered
and from this on I found him most kind, affable, and courteous. He did
all that any man could to help me and make easy my journey. He
expressed satisfaction that I was interested in the Cossacks, when I
asked him to tell me about this branch of the service. Who were the
Cossacks? What were they? I did not know, although no word is more
commonly on the lips in connection with Russia.
“Cossacks are the bravest, the truest we have,” he said. “It is a source
of regret to all who know the Cossacks that so little is known about
them in their home life, for the stories of the pogroms, the massacres,
give so false a view of the Cossack as he really is.”
“I want to know him as he really is,” I replied; “that is why I have
come so far at this time, and why I am so eager to travel with a party
of Cossack officers through this marvelous country of the Caucasus.”
“If you will wait until I have received some deputations I will tell you
much about them and then plan a trip to some of their villages for you,”
said the general.
Andronnikov and I were both intensely relieved at the general’s change
of manner, and I was deeply grateful for the opportunities he presented
to me. Long afterward when Andronnikov and I would sometimes meet--in
St. Petersburg and elsewhere--we would always have a hearty laugh over
our reception at the hands of this crotchety old general, and of how he
melted into winsome affability when we played on his ridiculous vanity.
While the deputations were being presented Andronnikov and I remained in
an adjoining room, Andronnikov examining the various war trophies with
which the room was stored, souvenirs for the most part of battles in the
long, not-yet ended war to subdue the tribes of the Caucasus and bring
the many peoples of that extraordinary region under the Russian yoke. I
was silently framing questions about the Cossack that I would put to
the general when I got back to him. In regard to this strange friend of
the czars I suppose I knew about as much as the average reader, but
certainly no more, and my notions were all vague and shadowy. I had
heard war critics condemn him as practically useless in battle, though
useful for scout duty and skirmish work. I had heard it said that he
makes a skilful artilleryman, but with a rifle is a notoriously poor
shot. But then he is not a proper military man. Scientific soldiering is
not his _métier_. “Irregular” cavalry, military people call him when he
is mounted. Regular Cossack officers are apt to be snubbed and looked
down upon by other officers because they are not subject to the same
rigid tests that regular army officers must submit to, and the
discipline which is traditional with soldiers has never been imposed
upon the Cossack.
The Cossack is not a soldier, in the ordinary sense, though he is the
main prop of the army. He is not a proper, thoroughbred Russian, though
he is a loyal servant of the Czar. Cossack life and Cossack government
is entirely independent, and the only official in the bureaucracy whom
the Cossack recognizes is the minister of war.
The Cossack has all (and more) that the most radical revolutionists in
Russia desire. The Cossacks, perhaps, are the largest body of practical
communists in the world. Their land, their hunting-grounds, their
fishing-preserves, their timber-tracks, are held in common, and no
Cossack may fish or shoot or cut wood save by the order and permission
of his community. At the same time his individual freedom is beyond that
of any people living under the protection of civilization. Exempt from
every obligation except one--service in arms. Their service is unique in
system as well as in kind.
Popularly the Cossack is a modern Caliban. To the world at large he is
pretty much an enigma, but mostly a thing of evil. To the muzhik and the
Jew the very name, Cossack, is a synonym of horror, a word instinct with
terror, with plunder, rape, massacre; the looting of shops a game by the
way and the burning of houses a night’s sport.
To the Czar and the government of Russia the name Cossack is very
different; a word almost sacred. The Cossack is the bulwark of czarism,
the guardian of autocracy. Without the Cossack, reactionary mandates
would long have been impotent. Where there is a dangerous frontier to
guard, the Cossacks are employed. Where martial law is prescribed, the
brunt of the enforcement is left to Cossacks. Where a province or town
is in revolt, the Cossacks are sent. And where people are shot down and
cut down in numbers--unarmed men, women, and children--it is generally
the Cossack who is charged with the responsibility.
Because the Cossack is so important to the Russian government, because
he is so feared by the people at large, because of the uniqueness of his
past in history and in modern life, and the originality of his mode of
living, I wanted to form his near acquaintance. I wanted to know him,
not merely as the war correspondent knows him, in the saddle, in the
field, in the barracks; this, but this and much more--in his _stanitza_;
in his home, among his fellows and his neighbors. With the officers of
Terskoi-Koubansky regiment I would doubtless see a good deal, and from
the inside, but I desired much more than this, and the old general in
suggesting that I visit some of their villages gave me just the
opportunity I desired.
When Andronnikov and I were recalled to the audience-room I inquired of
the general as to how long the Cossacks had been in the territory which
he at present administered. He gave us a clear and concise account of
Cossack history, telling us who they were, their several branches, and
concluding by an extravagant recital of their virtues. The general spoke
in French and I made no notes while he was speaking, but what he told me
was full of interest. As nearly as I could remember it the general’s
narrative was as follows:
The origin of the Cossacks dates back to the latter Middle Ages.
The dominions of the kings of Poland and czars of Muscovy were not
sharply defined, and between the territories was a wide stretch of
“debatable” land. Here settled various bands of people who were,
for one reason or another, wanderers on the face of the earth--some
were outlaws and brigands--some were temporarily Bedouin--some were
poor--all were in the nature of “squatters.” They either took the
name or were dubbed “Kazak,” a word which in Tartar means
freebooter, and in Turkish light-armed soldier, and the modern
Cossack is largely a combination of these elements.
As the population of these debatable lands along the Dnieper
increased, they spread out and took possession of other rivers, the
Don and the Volga. In due course a system of simple government
developed among them as a matter of convenience and necessity. This
form of government has been perpetuated in nearly its original form
almost to the present day, and much of it is still preserved
without change.
As they increased in numbers, they found an occupation. From time
immemorial the Tartars have invaded the provinces of what is known
to-day as southeastern Russia, and so to protect their agricultural
population along the steppe borders the kings of Poland and czars
of Muscovy established military cordons, buildings, forts, and
palisades, from which to beat back the invading bands. It was soon
learned that the “Cossack” people who occupied the steppes beyond
these cordons best knew how to cope with these semi-civilized
Tartars. And so the forts and redoubts were manned by Cossacks who
lent their services for pay, to the kings of Poland or the czars of
Muscovy, without prejudice. Thus their organization and their
independence gained recognition. Thus, too, guerilla warfare early
came to be their regular occupation. Being given to a degree of
lawlessness themselves, they were, at times, not averse to mingling
in friendly intercourse with the peoples whom at other times they
were paid to fight.
Though originally the Cossacks came mostly from Moscow province and
from Poland, they have mixed with the surrounding races till they
have little ethnological unity. It was once common for the Cossacks
to kidnap Tartar and Caucasian women, and thus there were
introduced dark streams of blood which are still visible in the
race. They have also mixed with the Mongolian Kalmuks from the
country east of the Volga and taken on many of their
characteristics. Nevertheless, they have all continued to call
themselves Christians and to nurture enmity against the
Mohammedans.
When the czars of Russia became supreme the Cossacks pledged their
allegiance to them. If, however, it better suited their
conveniences to disregard the wishes of the czar, they consulted
only their own inclinations. They did not contribute to the royal
coffers, but became allies rather than subjects,--allies who served
for pay. On the other hand, the czars were not eager to claim them
for subjects, and when the Cossacks on the Turkish frontier
enkindled the wrath of the sultan, Russia repudiated them
altogether and they were left to make their own defense against the
Turks.
The Cossacks of the Dnieper and the Cossacks of the Don were the
first of the large bodies of semi-military communities to gain the
recognition of Poland and Russia, and the Cossacks of the Don still
maintain preëminence over all the others. In spite of their
treaties with other states having regularly organized and
disciplined armies, the Don Cossacks never troubled to introduce
military organization among themselves. They lived by shooting,
fishing, trapping and marauding. To foster the martial spirit of
all, agricultural pursuits were prohibited on penalty of death. As
war is scarcely a perpetual occupation, laziness and drinking came
to be fixed habits adopted in the interims of peace and maintained
as deep-rooted characteristics.
The Dnieper Cossacks, or Zaporovians, as they were called from a
word meaning people living “beyond the rapids,” lost their holdings
during the reign of Catharine II, for very excellent reasons.
During Peter’s wars with the Swedes these people allied themselves
with the army of Charles XII of Sweden. The government thought to
punish them by depriving them of their independence. The Dnieper
people resisted until Catharine forcibly broke up their
communities. Some fled to Turkey. Others were given the territory
of the Kuban. The Volga Cossacks, who had also sold their services
to the enemies of Russia, were less obstinate and accepted the
dictum of Russia and removed to the Terek, where the original
“mountain” or “border” Cossacks were already established. Here
Catharine assured them they would be left free and unmolested as
long as they served Russia’s interests against the marauding tribes
of the Caucasus. And from this time to the present these Cossacks
of the Caucasus have rendered signal service along this most
difficult frontier.
The general concluded his story with a tremendous eulogy of the virtues
of Cossacks--all of which I listened to but reserved my judgment upon.
As we were about to take our leave I ventured to ask the General if I
might not bring a photographer with me when next I came to photograph
him in his magnificent purple uniform! For an instant I almost regretted
having said this, but the childish delight of the man at the suggestion
banished my fears. An hour was set for the next forenoon and with this
Andronnikov and I left. The remainder of the day I spent with my officer
friends in convivial leisure. In the early evening I went to my room to
make arrangements with a man who spoke several of the languages of the
district, to serve as my orderly and courier.
About nine o’clock we were interrupted by a rapping at the door,
followed by the entrance of a handsome young fellow in Circassian dress.
Suspended from his belt was the usual dagger, beautifully ornamented
with silver. There was an attractiveness about the fellow that
completely captivated me before he had spoken a word. There was a
clearness and frankness of expression in his bright, brown eyes that
inspired immediate trust. He was not tall, but he carried his shoulders
well, and one felt the dashing spirit that must live under his dark,
though scarcely swarthy skin. He bowed with that graceful dignity which
sometimes characterizes Eastern peoples. I motioned him to a seat. He
bowed again, thanked me, but remained standing. My courier talked with
him for some minutes, then turning to me said: “This man is an _Ingoosh_
who has come to you on a strange errand. It seems that in his village he
has won the title of champion sword-dancer. He says he can do remarkable
things with swords and daggers; passing through town to-day he heard
that an American was here, and so he has come to you.” “Yes, I am an
American,” I replied, “but what can I do for the champion sword-dancer
of an Ingoosh village?” My interpreter smiled as he replied: “He says he
has heard that in America there are _café chantants_ where sword-dancing
would be paid for very well; he wanted to know if this is true and if
you will tell him the way to New York.” From the threshold of Asia to
the vestibule of America seemed a long, long way to me that night, but
instantly it occurred to me that this man offered the very opportunity I
had been looking for--to explore the Ingoosh, the Circassian, the
Kabardine and Ossetine villages that lie among the mountains, at the
same time I was visiting the Cossack villages. So I told my interpreter
to tell him that if he would take me safely through the district which I
indicated and bring me back to Vladikavkaz, I would outline the journey
to New York with the probable cost, and that I would provide him with
adequate introductions to people in the city who would befriend him upon
his arrival; also I would pay him well, five rubles a day, for his
services, and a bonus at the end of the trip if all went well. There was
no doubting the man’s keenness to get to New York; and money in anything
like the amount I offered him seldom comes to a
[Illustration: The Governor-General of the Terek]
Circassian of his station--at least _earned_ money. That the man
hesitated and appeared in doubt as to whether he would accept my
proposition or not, aroused my wonder. At last he spoke: “He says it is
very perilous,” my courier translated. At that I knew I could rely upon
him; if he considered my risk in view of the offer I made him, I was
confident of his sincerity. Of course I had explained to him that I
would assume the complete disguise of the Circassian and that I would
assume all of the risks of the journey, provided he did all that I could
reasonably expect him to do, to forestall unnecessary danger. After
further pondering my interpreter translated: “He would like to see you
in Circassian dress before he answers.” We thereupon procured a complete
outfit, which I put on. The man surveyed me critically from all sides,
and finally, smiling broadly, came toward me with extended hand. His
grasp was warm and firm, and had any lingering suspicion of the man
remained in my mind, it would have then vanished. It was decided that we
should not go on horseback, but rather in a wagon, as it would probably
be simpler for them to screen my identity if I were reclining in a cart
than if I were astride a horse. My Ingoosh from this moment on was
fertile in suggestion. He knew just where to procure the horses. In
telling me where they were to be had he related the following incident:
There is a custom among the Circassians, still in vogue, that when a man
chooses a wife and the match fails to meet with parental approval, the
bride is stolen in the night. My Circassian friend had found a girl in a
neighboring village, the queen of all the girls he had ever seen. He
determined to take her to wife. The girl had already told him that he
was her prince. But the family would not sanction it. Therefore my
friend had scoured the country for the swiftest horses in all the
region. A friend, a driver in the town, had four horses that he vowed
could not be overtaken. In the night they drove into the village where
lived the Circassian bride to be, and, pausing before her house, my
friend had rushed to where he knew she was awaiting him, and gathering
her in his arms sprang to the wagon, and the four horses were urged to
their utmost. In twenty minutes they had put eight versts between them
and the village. And I might have these same horses and the same driver,
for my expedition!
The following day my interpreter, whose caution seemed to me quite
excessive, begged me not to depend too absolutely on my brigand friend.
He believed him to be honest, but it might be as well not to have this
driver. And instead he suggested a man whom he knew was the assistant
ataman, or sub-chief, of a Cossack _stanitza_ remote in the territory of
the Terek, and to reach this _stanitza_ we would pass through the
Circassian and Ossetine villages I desired to visit. Our final
arrangement was made with him.
We rumbled out of Vladikavkaz the second morning after I made the
acquaintance of my brigand-guide--for he was a brigand. The road
selected led directly into the mountains; Kazbek, higher than Mount
Blanc, rose immediately before us. At the outset we started through a
valley running southeast and northwest and at an angle of about
forty-five degrees to the east of the famous _Route Militaire de
Georgie_, which crosses the Caucasus from Vladikavkaz to Tiflis. After
ten versts the road became a mere trail, and as we ascended and passed
the snow limit, even this was lost to my eye. Several times that day we
passed through villages of Circassians. Mere hamlets, a handful of
houses in each. One street of
[Illustration: My host--Prince Andronnikov]
[Illustration: Some of my officer companions]
stone and mud, whitewashed, built with the usual roof of thatch and mud.
Back of these houses another row, and back of these scattered huts.
Cattle and pigs roamed familiarly in the spaces which separated the
huts. The most striking feature of the Ossetine villages were the large
curious-shaped water jugs carried by the women, seemingly fashioned of
pewter. These jugs are large and are carried on the backs of the women
to and from the springs and rivulets which are their water sources.
There was nothing to attract the notice of the people in a springless
cart jolting along the rough road, an armful of hay spread over the
board bottom and three men, apparently natives, sitting thereon. The
dress of the people in all of these villages was invariably
characteristic. The silver handiwork of the Circassians is full of
individuality and famed throughout southern Russia. The belts of both
men and women, the bracelets and ornaments of the women, the daggers and
other arms of the men, were all noticeable.
The bride of my brigand friend and guide interested me greatly when we
finally came to visit his home. She was nineteen and did not look a day
older. She spoke no Russian; only her native dialect. She proudly
exhibited a mat worked with silver and golden thread, and a little wall
watch-pocket of elaborate design, which were intended as gifts to one of
the chief men of her village--the chief of one of the brigand bands, my
guide explained to me. I was also shown a pair of baby slippers which
she had worked for the youngest born of another important villager. She
herself was buxom and attractive, and it was in nowise difficult to
understand why my guide had set out upon his nocturnal expedition to
capture her.
Sometimes we stopped for refreshment at houses where either my
brigand-guide or our Cossack driver was acquainted. At these places the
food given us was generally coarse, as might be expected, but on the
whole not bad. Coarse black bread; a kind of bread made of maize which
tasted wholesome enough, and a pastry which consisted of two crusts,
similar to a New England pie crust, but soggy and filled with raisins
and preserved grapes. This seemed to be a delicacy highly appreciated,
for there was evident pleasure and satisfaction on the part of the
housewife who had made this pastry when we appreciated it by consuming
many helpings.
In dress, in manner of living, the Circassians are perhaps the most
pronounced types of any of the peoples inhabiting that polyglot
district. A Caucasian will never suspect a Circassian of belonging to
another tribe or race. If nothing else, the ornaments, and the manner of
wearing them, distinguish them. The belts, for example, which are almost
universally worn, are rich with silver ornamentation and hangings, and
often washed in gold. These things offer a striking contrast to the
poverty of the lives of the people. But in the Caucasus silver has small
value.
During the next two days we traversed a rough and rocky road. More than
once we forded streams full with water. Once the old roadway had
entirely disappeared. Apparently it had been washed away by a recent
freshet. There was naught for us to do but drive into the stream and
follow its course for close on to a hundred and fifty yards. The flow of
water was strong and swift and it was deep to the body of our cart and
flush with the horses’ bellies. The water was straight from glaciers,
and cold, like snow water.
The swift-running tawny Terek had been left far below and to the west.
The trail passed into the forest, where the chill of winter struck at
our marrow, and we closed our _bourkas_ tighter about us. Suddenly the
forest ended abruptly and the open revealed the high valley and the
snowy mountain, now overtopping us. “Here the Cossack country begins,”
shouted my Cossack driver as we passed on to the plateau. As if in joy
at coming once more unto his own, he lifted his rifle and, pointing to a
tree fifty yards behind us, fired. The bullet sped true. Presently the
trail forked with another trail, and the two became a rough road. A
verst farther on the road passed under a crude wooden arch supported by
gate-posts and entered the village--a Cossack _stanitza_, the first
Cossack village I had ever visited, and, as it happened, this particular
village had never before within memory of the oldest Cossack there been
visited by any stranger.