A LAST RIDE.
We endeavoured to return in a small way the kind hospitality of our
friends by having a little déjeûner on board. Breakfast was prepared
on deck, we arranged quantities of roses and ferns round the masts,
and the yacht was dressed out gaily with all her flags. As the Governor
came on board, the Russian ensign was hoisted at the fore, and when
our friends left us, the Claymore's four little cannon fired a salute,
with much military, or rather naval, precision.
The modest roar of our diminutive weapons had scarcely subsided when
the huge guns of the Russian frigate bellowed forth the answering
salute, then flash after flash came in rapid succession from the
other vessels, until the air was filled with the warlike sounds. Long
after the report was over, the distant thunder was heard muttering
fainter and fainter as it rolled from cavern to cavern amongst the
hills and valleys, as if it had awakened all the sleeping echoes of
the mountains.
The more we see of this country, the more we are enraptured with
its great and varied beauties. But beautiful as we find it now,
every one tells us we can hardly form an idea of its loveliness when
arrayed in its garment of spring flowers. Then the earth is carpeted
with violets, narcissus, bluebells, cyclamen, and the many-coloured
iris, while the sides of the hills glow with the red, pink, and lilac
blossoms of rhododendrons and azaleas.
Wherever we walk and ride, we see the wild vine growing luxuriantly
amongst the trees (its long branches often covered with fruit),
making delicate green arches and canopies in the darker shade of the
woods. The grapes are small, and not so sweet as when cultivated,
but the slightly acid flavour is very agreeable in a hot climate. It
is sad to see the bunches decaying on the vines, for the people never
take the trouble of gathering them to dry for winter consumption.
Day by day the feeling of pain grows stronger to see that, while
Nature has been so generous, so profuse in her valuable gifts, man
will not even take the trouble to avail himself of the luxuries she
offers with so lavish a hand.
Undeterred by the sad fate of the poor soldier, and confident in
the valour of the gallant Cossacks and of the Russian officers who
accompanied us, we made as many rides as possible in the neighbourhood
of the town, but it was in vain to look with longing eyes towards the
mountains. They were pronounced unsafe, and we dared not venture near
them. Still the hilly low ground was so wondrously lovely that we could
have ridden for months instead of days, and have found fresh beauties
to charm us. The last ride we can never forget, perhaps because it
had the sad charm of being the last--because we knew that each long
lingering glance would never be renewed, that our eyes would never
again rest upon the marvellous beauties of form and colouring that
were lying in such abundant loveliness around us.
Soon after leaving the town we skirted a long narrow valley that
gradually inclined towards the hills. We were riding through masses of
fern, that began here and there to show a few bright autumnal tints. On
the grassy slopes above and below were groups of magnificent trees,
their long shadows almost stretching across the valley. Far away to
the left the giant mountains reared their lofty heads, great dark
lines marking the many ravines that scored their rugged sides.
So still was the air, so absolute was the hush of evening, that not a
bush rustled, not a leaf moved in the great calm. We could only hear
the tinkle of a little brook as it ran merrily amongst the brushwood
beneath, and as we occasionally stopped to listen, there came the
faint murmur of many a distant streamlet, as it threaded its way
through the far away valleys and passes of the mountains.
The sun, that had been very oppressive before we entered the valley,
now only glowed upon the tops of the hills, making the trees and
rocks on one side quiver in the flood of light, while all was cool
and fresh around us.
We pursued our way through fern and underwood, up hill and down,
sometimes crossing the little stream that rippled with a thousand
pleasant voices over shining stones and gravel, then again entering a
thick wood, where the trees grew so closely together that the sunbeams
in vain attempted to pierce the interlaced boughs above, and where we
had to bend low over our horses' necks to avoid the masses of climbing
plants that hung like ropes from the branches of the trees, until we
arrived at an open space or plateau on the summit of a steep hill,
and here we had a view as beautiful as it was extensive.
In this lovely region the atmosphere is so transparent that space seems
almost annihilated. The eye travels far into the deep blue distance,
tracing peak after peak in the wondrous clearness, until at length
sky and mountain are blended into one line of quivering light, and
the sight, fatigued with the magnitude and remoteness of objects on
the vast horizon, seeks rest by gazing on the tender green of the
fair valleys spread so invitingly around.
Far, far away, glittering with dazzling whiteness, was the range of
mighty snow-mountains, some of the nearer peaks frowning majestically
above the sombre masses of the great pine forests that stretch for
more than a hundred miles into the interior of the country. The
chain of the Caucasus is considerably more lofty than that of the
Alps. The highest point of El-Barouz is rather more than 2,000 feet
higher than Mont Blanc; but from the climate being so much warmer,
there is apparently less eternal snow here than in Switzerland.
The valleys very much resemble those of the Tyrol, near Botzen. The
same rich pastures, the same fertilizing streams, sunny slopes, and
wooded hills are found here, but, unlike happy Tyrol, in the sister
vales of Circassia not a house is to be found, and, unless a warlike
band should pass, not a human being may be met with for hours.
During this day's ride the only man we saw was a goatherd, who,
fully armed with sword and gun, was tending his flock of Circassian
goats. These pretty creatures, smaller than those of Greece and Syria,
are covered with long delicate hair, with which the Abasian women make
many fine stuffs. The man was sitting under a tree up which a vine
had climbed, and the ripe grapes were hanging in great clusters, high
on the upper branches. Seeing that we looked both thirsty and tired,
with the courtesy of a true gentleman and mountaineer, he threw down
gun and sword, climbed the tree with the activity of a squirrel,
and in a few minutes descended, laden with bunches of the lovely
purple fruit, which he offered us with a grace of manner both simple
and dignified. We had come into his native woods, and with the easy
bearing of a stately host he offered his guests the best refreshment
in his power. He then showed us his matchlock, of which he seemed
not a little proud. It was made of beautifully-polished walnut wood,
had scarcely any stock, and was so small that it looked like a pretty
child's toy.
Like most mountaineers, the Circassians are excellent marksmen. They
fire very quickly, so much so that they scarcely appear to take aim. On
horseback they are equally at home, and load and fire with the greatest
rapidity when at full gallop. War with them makes the delight as well
as the occupation of their lives. They despise and avoid every sort
of domestic and agricultural employment, and consider even hunting,
unless in pursuit of some dangerous animal, beneath manly dignity.
To make the boys hardy and independent, as soon as they are old enough
to sit on horseback they are sent to some friend's house, in order to
be completely removed from the enervating influence of home. Here they
remain several years, only occasionally visiting their parents. During
this period they are taught warlike exercises, and are encouraged to
encounter every description of danger and fatigue. Often are these
hardy lads sent into the mountains during the severest winter weather
to pass their days in the saddle, their only shelter at night a cave
or an overhanging rock, their only food the roots of grasses and herbs.
No wonder that the Russians find it hard to subdue men who not only
from their earliest youth have been thus inured to hardship, hunger,
and thirst, but are also entrenched amidst the wildest of mountain
fastnesses--fastnesses that can only be reached by many days' journey
through forests and over morasses, where vegetation grows with such
rank luxuriance that few would encounter willingly the dangerous
miasma that reigns there nearly all the year.
Besides weaving woollen stuffs for clothing, the women of Abasia and
Georgia make very pretty striped shawls and rugs from the long hair
of the Circassian goat. They also excel in dyes, the colours mostly
used, red and dark blue, being exceedingly fine in shade. The red
is clear and brilliant, and the blue is quite free from the black
dingy hue of the cloth worn by the Fellah women in Egypt, but is
like a dark shade of the bright "Impératrice" blue. They also make
the crimson boots or slippers that are worn alike by both sexes. The
manufacture is very simple: the skins are scraped, tanned, and then
dyed. The boots are cut out in a single piece and sewn up in front,
the seam being lined with a narrow strip of leather. They are then
thoroughly soaked in a mixture of resinous gum and water, which makes
them nearly waterproof, and the owner should wear them thus wet for
a few hours. The process is not very agreeable, but has its reward,
inasmuch as the boots then take the exact shape of the feet, and fit
with the pliability and comfort of a glove.
The women have besides a very ingenious way of carving beads. A
long piece of wood, dyed red or black, is pierced lengthways by a
heated wire. It is shaped either into an octagon, or is smoothed
round. Then, with a knife and heated needles, it is cut and engraved
into various patterns. Considerable taste is often shown in the
designs, many of them being remarkably intricate and pretty. When
the wand is sufficiently decorated, the beads are sliced off the size
required. Beyond these primitive ornaments, we could not hear of any
other articles de luxe being manufactured in Abasia.
In Georgia there are native jewellers, who make both gold and silver
ornaments, and we saw some bracelets and necklaces made of gold that
seemed very pure. The designs were also good, but the workmanship
was coarse and ill-finished, and far inferior to the jewellery both
of Persia and India.
But now the day had come when we must leave this fairy-like Eastern
land--this earthly Paradise, where war, suffering, and trouble have
taken such deep root. Perhaps, were it happy, peaceful, and prosperous,
one would care for it less, for prosperity and riches have little
need of sympathy, and can always ensure plenty of friends, whereas a
poor people and a distracted country are thankful to accept all the
friendship that may be bestowed upon them.
It may appear like exaggeration to say what real pain also it was to
part from such newly-made friends, but we must have had very cold
hearts not to have been touched by the great, unmerited kindness
we had received. So now we must say good-bye to the joyous rides,
to the merry evenings, that kindly intercourse has made so pleasant,
and can only look forward, in exchange, to many a rough day and night
on the stormy waves of the Black Sea.
As usual in this world, past pleasures must be paid for by some pain,
and our visit here has been both so charming and so interesting,
that we have been beguiled into making a stay somewhat longer than
warranted by strict prudence.
Autumn brings many a storm to this easily-excited sea, and we shall be
fortunate if we get back to the Bosphorus, or Sevastopol, without a
"streak," as it is called, of bad weather. At present, however, all
looks fair and sunny, the wind is favourable, to-night therefore we
leave. Our friends accompanied us to the shore, and the last cordial
hand-shake was given.
When we arrived on board the yacht we found that kind thoughts
for us had already preceded us there. Flowers, grapes, music,
drawings--everything they thought could add to our comfort or
pleasure--had been sent on board by these kind people.
The anchor was up, the sails were set, the yacht was only lying-to
until we embarked. The sea was as smooth as glass, the light of the
rising moon covered the mountains with a tender veil, as we glided
slowly away from Soukoum. Not a sound broke the silence of the night
but the gentle wash of the water against the bows of the vessel. A soft
breeze just filled the sails, and with really sad hearts we watched
landmark after landmark disappear, until, on rounding the headland of
the bay, the last light of the little town was shut out, and we said
farewell, probably for ever, to the loveliest spot we have ever seen.