The Circassian Chief: A Romance of RussiaKingston, William Henry Giles
History
The Circassian Chief: A Romance of Russia
Kingston, William Henry Giles
Caucasus -- History -- Juvenile fiction
Here and there, the tiny white sail of some light caique seemed like a
sea bird floating calmly on the waters, and farther off, the loftier
sails of larger vessels, seen through the haze caused by the heat,
resembled thin and shifting pillars of white smoke. All nature seemed
to slumber. Not a human being, nor a dumb animal was to be seen abroad.
The sails suspended in festoons from the yards of the few vessels
floating in the bay, hung down without moving, nor were the crews
stirring. Not a boat was visible. All were taking their rest, till the
great heat of the day should have passed.
As the travellers entered the small sea port of Varna, the streets also
were dull, and deserted; and it was only when they reached the
neighbourhood of the few cafenehs, of which the place boasted, that some
signs of life were perceived; and, even here, few of the inmates had as
yet roused themselves from their mid-day sleep. At the barber's shop
also, the loquacious and vivacious operator might be seen just awaking
from his slumbers, to welcome his customers, as, one by one, they lazily
strolled to his door, either to submit their heads to his care, or to
converse with his friends, or with any strangers who could supply the
place of newspapers.
Our travellers first proceeded to the caravanserai, to which they had
been directed, to leave their horses to be returned to their owners; and
they then repaired to the principal cafeneh, to refresh themselves with
food and rest.
As they entered, a few of the occupants roused themselves to gaze at the
strangers; and in a short time, the coffee-house was again filled with
guests. Some, forming knots, filled their chibouques, and as they
smoked the fragrant weed, discussed various subjects in a grave and
solemn tone. Here a group of listeners formed a circle round one of
those story tellers, to be found in every Turkish coffee-house, intently
hearing the wonderful tales he narrated, and expressing their
satisfaction by low exclamations of applause.
Ivan and his companions had not been long seated, when a smoking dish of
pilau and other Turkish dainties were placed before them.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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