AN ISLAND IN THE SEA OF HISTORY 



1105 



hair, and tight scarlet leggings bound with 

 golden braid, were already in the saddle, 

 adjusting their silver-mounted rifles, pis- 

 tols, sabers, and poniards, while they 

 awaited the signal for a start; orderlies 

 were running hither and thither in search 

 of mislaid or forgotten equipment, and 

 the air was filled with the shouting of 

 men, the neighing of impatient horses, 

 and the sharp clank of weapons. 



In course of tim^ order was brought 

 out of the prevailing confusion, and at 

 half past two we climbed into out high 

 Tatar saddles and rode away, through 

 the Avarski gate, into the highlands of 

 Daghestan. 



Our first day's journey, owing to the 

 lateness of our start, was not a long one, 

 and after a ride of two or three hours 

 through narrow, wooded ravines we 

 came out, just before sunset, into a shal- 

 low, open valley, and caught sight of the 

 village where we were to spend our first 

 night. It was the aoul, or mountain set- 

 tlement, of Joongootai. 



AN AWE-INSPIRING BUT HEARTY WEECOME 



The inhabitants had evidently received 

 notice of our coming, and while we were 

 still a quarter of a mile distant a mounted 

 sentinel, who had apparently been watch- 

 ing for our approach, chirruped to his 

 horse and dashed away at a gallop for 

 the village, firing his long silver-banded 

 rifle into the air and brandishing it fu- 

 riously above his head in order to attract 

 the attention of his fellow-villagers. The 

 signal was promptly obeyed. 



In a moment a large party of moun- 

 taineers, richly dressed and glittering 

 with silver-mounted weapons and car- 

 tridge tubes, came galloping out of the 

 stone gate of the village, lashing their 

 horses with the hinged whips pictured 

 on the monuments of Assyria ; shouting, 

 whooping, and yelling in what seemed to 

 be the fierce excitement of battle, and 

 firing at us incessantly as they dashed 

 furiously down upon our escort. It 

 stirred one's pulses to see the splendid 

 impetuosity of the attack ; but not know- 

 ing what it all meant, I almost instinct- 

 ively reined in my horse and felt for the 

 butt of my revolver. 



On came the charging horsemen, like 



the Eight Brigade at Balaklava, with a 

 tumult of whooping, yelling, and firing 

 that swelled into a great battle crescendo 

 as they drew near. The distance between 

 us narrowed to 50 feet, 30 feet, 10 feet, 

 until the living thunderbolt of men and 

 horses seemed actually to strike us. 

 Then suddenly up went the hand of the 

 leader, back went the trained horses upon 

 their haunches as the sabers of their rid- 

 ers flashed in the air, and the whole at- 

 tacking force in mid-career halted, slid a 

 yard or two, and stopped within 6 feet 

 of Prince Djordjadzi's saddle-peak. 



For an instant the horsemen, with up- 

 lifted sabers, faced us in a superb battle 

 tableau; then, with a great cry of Asa- 

 laam alaikoum! (Peace be with you) 

 they sheathed their weapons, dismounted 

 from their high Tatar saddles, and ad- 

 vanced on foot to greet Prince Djord- 

 jadzi with the clasping fingers and up- 

 raised thumbs of Caucasian custom, but 

 without the shaking of hands that is 

 practiced in the West. I have witnessed 

 impressive ceremonial receptions in many 

 lands, but nothing to equal in dramatic 

 effect the Caucasian jigatofka — the sham 

 attack of a party of fighting highlanders 

 upon a guest whom, they wish to honor. 



THE HIGHEANDERS AT CEOSE RANGE 



In 10 minutes more we were comfort- 

 ably seated on a rug-covered divan in the 

 house of a mountaineer named Aleskan- 

 dir Bek, Prince Djordjadzi receiving 

 calls from his friends and acquaintances, 

 while I drank cup after cup of fragrant 

 Russian tea and watched the callers. 

 They were all Eesghians of the clan 

 known as Avars, and in stature, features, 

 and coloring they differed little from men 

 of the Teutonic and Anglo-Saxon stock. 



All had the hawk-like intensity of gaze 

 that is characteristic of mountaineers 

 generally, as compared with lowlanders, 

 but in other respects they were west Eu- 

 ropeans ; and in the dress of Great Brit- 

 ain or Germany they would undoubtedly 

 have been taken for Englishmen, Scotch- 

 men, Bavarians, or Saxons. They would 

 have impressed me, however, in any dress 

 and in any part of the world as outdoor 

 men of strong character and fighting ca- 

 pacity. 



