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
"Death to the Tcherkesse! down with the unbeliever!" and all four
fired upon me at once; but God, the common father of all mankind
(except the Russians) protected me. One bullet tore the plume from
my helmet, another was turned by the fluted pockets which (in lieu of
cartridge boxes) we wear across our breasts, the others whistled
harmlessly past me, and before one of these soldiers could reload or
club his weapon I was upon them. The first two I speared, and hurled
to the earth like ripe pumpkins; a third, I trampled under the hoofs
of Zupi; and afterwards slew at my leisure; the fourth sprung over a
ruined wall and escaped me, but for a few minutes only, as I pinned
him to the earth by an arrow, but he rose and staggered away. This
man was named Archipp Osepoff, of whom more anon.
I now dismounted, and, throwing the bridle over the neck of my docile
Zupi, approached the insensible female I had rescued.
She was attired in the richest fashion of our Circassian damsels. A
robe of costly silk open in front, and confined at her slender waist
by a glittering girdle of silver; trowsers of the finest pink muslin;
and the red slippers on her pretty feet were embroidered with gold; a
turban, composed of the most delicate shawl, fell in graceful folds
over her small and beautiful neck, and a large veil of lace entwined
with silver, enveloped her whole person, and floated like a white
mist about her.
This I dared to draw aside that the air might play upon her face, and
so revive her. Oh, Mahmoud resoul allah! the beauty of our women is
proverbial, and as you know, gentlemen, the world acknowledges it;
but how shall I describe the loveliness of this Circassian damsel,
who proved to be the flower of the Abassian maids? Her complexion
was of the purest white, the result of excessive delicacy, and
perhaps of that seclusion which was necessary to conceal her from the
prying eyes of the Russian soldiers, or of the trading Turks; and
this paleness of skin, when contrasted with the blackness of her
massive braids of hair, was almost startling. Her eyes were also
dark, but beautiful and dove-like in expression, for a languishing
gentleness was in every feature, and over all her form. She was but
a girl; yet so full, round, and tall, that for the house of the
sultan I had seen many thousand piastres paid for an odalisque, who
was unfit to kiss even her slipper. Basilia was among the most
beautiful of our Circassian maids, or, as Schamyl calls them, the
daughters of the rocks and streams.
She soon recovered on perceiving that she was free and that the
protecting arm of a Circassian was around her; but she tremblingly
drew the veil over her face, as I led her by the hand from the spot
where her late capturers lay dead on the sward, with their blood
congealing beneath them.
"It pleased the Prophet to send me to your aid, fair damsel," said I;
"are there any other means by which I can serve you?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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