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
He had so early been taught to conceal his feelings and opinions within
his own bosom, that none of his companions were aware of their force or
tendency, and had the officers of the college become acquainted with
them, a decisive check would have been given to his advancement.
As far back as his memory could carry him, no event of importance had
occurred to him: ere he was sent to college his education had been
placed under the direction of a very worthy but most unintellectual
priest, who did not attempt to give him more than the first general
rudiments of knowledge; so that from an early age he was accustomed to
depend much on his own powers to attain what he sought after.
At times the Baron seemed to take an interest in his welfare, and in the
progress of his studies, but he was very uncertain and variable in his
behaviour towards the boy; sometimes treating him with the greatest
severity, at others, with indulgence; but never with that kindness or
justice which wins the love and respect of youth.
He would frequently summon him to attend at the usual field sports of
the country, in which he soon learnt to excel; but when the boy could
make his escape, he would prefer wandering by himself in the woods with
his gun, far more occupied with his own contemplations, than in the
pursuit of game; or at other times he would urge his light skiff over
the surface of a neighbouring lake, then resting on his oars, would sit
gazing on the waters, his thoughts wandering to regions far away.
When safe from the Baron's detection, he would hasten to a rendezvous
with his beautiful guardian and friend, and spend hours of delightful
intercourse in her society.
Reclining at her feet, his recollection would revert faintly and
indistinctly to scenes of a far distant, undefinable period, when he
fancied he could recall to memory a picture of the bright and sunny
mountains of a soft and genial clime--a cottage on the green hill's
side, in front a clear and rapid stream, bounding from rod to rock, and
sparkling joyously on its way to the blue distant sea beyond; the trees
of varied foliage waving in the breeze, and gay-coloured flowers filling
the air with sweet perfumes. Then would appear, before the vision of
his mind, a figure of commanding stature, with noble features, clad in
glittering armour, who ofttimes had carried him in his arms. He
remembered the very shape of his shield, and the dazzling brightness of
his sword, as it was wielded before his eyes in the rays of the sun.
Then a confused tumult--the loud roar of cannon--the rattle of
musketry--the clashing of swords--red blood flowing around--the wild
shouts of men striving in deadly combat--the shrieks of terror-stricken
women--the anguish-wrought groans of the wounded and dying--rushed
across his recollection.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account