Jack and I promised to leave nothing undone to serve him on our arrival at Gibraltar, and assured him that we would see sufficient funds raised to send him either to Malta, or by steamer straight to Constantinople. His ignorance of English and Spanish had sadly puzzled the brain of our poor Circassian, who had landed with his horse and baggage at San Lucar, believing it to be Gibraltar, and had thus lost several days, and, what was of more consequence, much of his money; so that his mind was full of anxiety as to the future, and how his horse--his Zupi--for they seemed one, like a centaur, were to reach that mighty mountain range that lies between the Euxine and the Cape of Alpcheron; and which, with all its black forests, wild rocks, and snowy peaks was his beloved home; the altar of oriental independence--the barrier of the Eastern world against the encroaching Kuos. We supped together in the cabin; and while the Spanish passengers were all smoking or asleep on the benches and lockers, we prevailed upon the Circassian, over a bottle of good wine, to inform us how he came to serve in the Russian cavalry, and why he declined Sir Harry's apparently advantageous offer of a Captain's commission in our Turkish contingent--a service for which he seemed so admirably fitted, and in which he might have won honour and distinction; at least such distinction as John Bull awards to those who are not on the staff, and have no ministerial interest. He shook his head sadly, as I said something to this purpose, and bowing, gave me a pleasant smile. "When you have heard me, you will understand more fully that the only place for me is my native land--that home which is now so far off, that when I trace upon a map the extent of sea and shore that lie between its hills and me, my heart grows faint and sick; but patience yet awhile, and one day I shall stand again an the black rugged mountains of Kushaa, and see at my feet far down below, the fertile plains of Georgia and Mingrelia. Zupi will snuff the pure air of these Alpine peaks, and toss his proud mane on the wind; strong warriors, in their shirts of mail, will be riding by my side; the Albanian musket and the Tartar bow will be there, as we survey the long dark lines that mark upon the green summer fields, or it may be the winter snow, the columns of the Russian Emperor--columns that advance but to defeat and death; for in thousands, yea, hundreds of thousands, have they come to war against us, and to perish on the Circassian hills, until the very soil has been drenched in their blood, and fattened by the bones of men and horses! But my emotions carry me away, gentlemen, and I am forgetting my own story." "Ah--yes, the story," said Jack, refilling the stranger's glass, and pushing the decanters towards me, while our new friend began, as nearly as I can remember, in the following words. CHAPTER XVI. OSMAN RIONI