The Phantom Regiment; or, Stories of "Ours"Grant, James
General
The Phantom Regiment; or, Stories of "Ours"
Grant, James
Adventure stories; British -- Foreign countries -- Fiction; Soldiers -- Fiction
The most accomplished rider in Europe is acknowledged to sit his
horse like a clown when contrasted with a Circassian cavalier; and
fortunate it was for Karolyi and me, that we--both men and
horses--were bred and reared on the slopes of the Caucasus; as we
were hotly and fiercely pursued by relays of mounted men despatched
fresh and lightly accoutred from the innumerable military posts we
passed. The wild Tchernemorski Cossacks, with their long lances, and
wiry little horses; the Tenginski and Paulowna Hussars, and even the
heavy, helmeted, breast-plated and jack-booted Olga cuirassiers
spurred after us; but among the deep rocky gorges, the tangled
brakes, the shifting mosses, and the fordless rivers, we soon rid
ourselves of the latter, and most of the others, save the Cossacks,
who followed us like spirits of evil, unrelenting and unwearying, for
many a day and many a night.
In desperate hope to reach the Prussian frontier, we had already
crossed the Dnieper, and traversed the palatinate of Minsk, where for
days we rode over a flat country, of which we were ignorant, and
where, in despair, we were frequently about to abandon the hope of
escape, when we found ourselves involved in the mazes of a wild
forest and dreary morass that lie on the banks of its rivers. But
our native hardihood preserved us; for a cleft in a rock, or the
branch of a tree with a sword for a pillow, is home enough at any
time for a Tcherkesse warrior.
However, we now began to experience a serious difficulty in procuring
a knowledge of the route to be pursued. We knew little of the
language; our aspect was jaded, wan, and terrible; our uniform hung
about us in rags; our horses were sinking, and that we were deserters
was evident to every observer. And now the people of Lithuania
joined in the pursuit, and one evening, just as we were about to
cross a river named the Swislocz, our Tchernemorski Cossacks came
upon us, and their wild shout of joy at the termination of that
flight, which to them had been a long and exciting chase, rang in the
air above us, as they reined up their horses on the rocks that
overhung the stream, and brandished their spears.
We were about to plunge in, when one more bold or more freshly
mounted than his comrades, wounded Karolyi by a lance thrust.
"May demons defile thy beard, and their plagues fall on thee and
thine!" exclaimed my brother in a gust of fury; but now he had
dropped or broken every weapon save his dagger, so with that
quickness which is peculiar to the Circassian, he dismounted, rushed
upon the Cossack's horse, drove the weapon into its breast, and
bearing it back at the same time by the bridle, he hurled the
snorting steed over upon its rider, and crushed him to death in an
instant.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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