Schamyl The Hero Of Circassia
In the region lying between the Black Sea and the Caspian Sea rise the
rugged Caucasian Mountains, a mighty wall of rock which there divides
the continents of Europe and Asia. Monarch of those lofty hills towers
the tall peak of Elbrus, called by the natives "the great spirit of the
mountains." Farther east Kasbek lifts its lofty summit, and at a lower
level the whole jagged line, "the thousand-peaked Caucasus," rises into
the snowy summits beyond. Fruitful clearings appear to the height of
five thousand feet on the western slopes; garden terraces mount the
eastward face, and the valleys, green with meadows or golden with grain,
are dotted with clusters of cottages. Sheep and goats browse in great
numbers on the hill-sides; lower down the camel and buffalo feed; herds
of horses roam half wild through the glades, and from the higher rocks
the chamois looks boldly down on the inhabited realms below.
In these mountain fastnesses dwells a race of bold and liberty-loving
mountaineers who have preserved their freedom through all the historic
eras, yielding only at last, after years of valiant resistance, when the
whole power of the Russian empire was brought to bear upon them in
their wilds. For years the heroic Schamyl, their unconquerable chief,
braved his foes, again and again he escaped from their toils or hurled
them back in defeat, and for a quarter of a century he defied all the
power of Russia, yielding only when driven to his final lair.
In the aoul or village of Himri, perched like an eagle's nest high on
a projecting rock, this famous chief was born in the year 1797. The only
access to this high-seated stronghold was by a narrow path winding
several hundred feet up the slope, while a triple wall, flanked by high
towers, further defended it, and the overhanging brow of the mountain
guarded it above. Such is the character of one of the strongholds of
this mountain land, and such an example of the difficulties its foes had
to overcome.
There are no finer horsemen than the daring Circassian mountaineers, who
are ready to dash at full speed up or down precipitous steeps, to leap
chasms, or to swim raging torrents. In an instant, also, they can
discharge their weapons, unslinging the gun when at full gallop, firing
upon the foe, and as quickly returning it to its place. They can rest
suspended on the side of the horse, leap to the ground to pick up a
fallen weapon, and bound into the saddle again without a halt. And such
is the precision of their aim that they are able to strike the smallest
mark while riding at full speed.
Such were some of the arts in which Schamyl was trained, and in which he
became signally expert. In the hunt, the trial of skill, all the labors
and sports of the youthful mountaineers, he was an adept, and so valiant
and resourceful that his admiring countrymen at length chose him as
their Iman, or governor, during the defence of their country against the
Russian invaders.
The first battle in which Schamyl engaged was behind the walls of his
native village. Himri, well situated as it was, was hurled into ruin by
the artillery of the foe, and among its prostrate defenders lay Schamyl,
with two balls through his body. He was left by the enemy as dead, and
in after-years the mountaineers looked upon his escape and recovery as
due to miracle.
Schamyl was thirty-seven years of age when he became leader of the
tribes. Of middle stature, with fair hair, gray eyes shadowed with thick
brows, a Grecian nose, small mouth, and unusually fair complexion, he
was one of the handsomest and most distinguished in appearance of the
mountaineers. He was erect in carriage, light and active in tread, and
had a natural nobility of air and aspect. His manner was calmly
commanding, while his eloquence was at once fiery and persuasive.
"Flames sparkle from his eyes," says one, "and flowers are scattered
from his lips."
In 1839 the Russians made one of their most determined efforts to crush
the resistance of the mountaineers. Schamyl's head-quarters were then at
Akhulgo, a stronghold perched upon the top of an isolated conical peak
around whose foot a river wound. Strong by nature, it was well
fortified, trenches, earthworks, and covered ways now taking the place
of those stone walls which the Russian cannon had so easily overturned
at Himri.
Other fortified works were built on the road to Akhulgo, which was
retained as a last resort, behind whose defences the mountaineers were
resolved to conquer or die. Its garrison was composed of the flower of
the Circassian warriors, while some fifteen thousand men beside stood
ready to take part in the fight.
In the month of May the Russians advanced, with such energy and in such
force that the anterior works were soon taken, and the mountaineers
found themselves obliged to take refuge in their final fortress of
defence. The fight here was fierce and persistent. Step by step the
Russians made their way, pushing their parallels against the intrenched
works of their foes. Point after point was gained, and at length, in
late August, the crisis came. A sudden charge carried them into the
fort, and the defenders died where they stood, leaving only women and
children to fall as prisoners into the Russians' hands.
But Schamyl had disappeared. Seek as they would, the chief was not to be
found. The fortress, the approaches, every nook and corner, were
explored, but the famous warrior, for whom his foes would have given
half their wealth, had utterly vanished, no one knew how. To make sure
of his death they had scarcely left a fighting man alive, yet to their
chagrin the redoubtable Schamyl was soon again in the field.
How the brave mountaineer escaped is not known. Of the stories afloat,
one is that he lay concealed until night in a rock refuge, and then
managed to swim the river while some of his friends attracted the
attention and drew the fire of the guards. All that can be said is that
in September he reappeared, ready for new feats of arms, and was seen
again at the head of a gallant body of mountain warriors.
His head-quarters were now fixed at Dargo, a village in the heart of the
mountains and in the midst of the primeval forest. But the chief had
learned a lesson from his late experience. The Circassians were no match
for the Russians behind fortifications. He resolved in the future to
fight in a manner better suited to the habits of his followers, and to
wear out the foe by a guerilla warfare.
Three years passed before the Russians again sought to penetrate the
mountains in force. Then General Grabbe, the victor at Akhulgo,
attempted to repeat his success at Dargo. But the experience he gained
proved to be of a less agreeable type. At the close of the first day's
march, when the soldiers had eaten their evening meal and stretched
their limbs to rest after a hard day's march, they were suddenly brought
to their feet by a rattling volley of musketry from the surrounding
woods. All night long the firing continued, no great damage being done
in the darkness, but the soldiers being effectually deprived of their
rest. When day dawned there was not a Circassian to be seen.
Near noon, as the column wound through a ravine in the forest, the
firing sharply recommenced, a murderous volley pouring upon the vanguard
from behind the trees. The number of wounded became so great that there
were not wagons enough for their transportation. Still General Grab be
kept on, despite the advice of his officers, only to be attacked again
at night as his weary men lay in a small open meadow among the hills.
All night long the whiz of bullets drove away repose, and at every step
of the next day's march the woods belched forth the leaden messengers of
death.
The goal of the march was near at hand. The little village of Dargo
could be seen on a distant hill-top. But it was to be reached only by a
path of death, and the Russian commander was at length forced to give
the order to retreat. On seeing the column wheel and begin its backward
march the Circassians grew wild with excitement and triumph. Slinging
their rifles behind their backs, they rushed, sabre in hand, upon the
enemy's centre, breaking through it again and again, while a deadly hail
of rifle-shots still came from the woods. In the end, of the column of
six thousand, two thousand were left dead, the remainder reaching the
fortress from which they had set out in sorry plight.
For several years Schamyl made Dargo his head-quarters. Not until 1845
did the Russians succeed in taking it, their army now being ten thousand
strong. But it was a village in flames they captured. Schamyl had fired
it before leaving, and the Russians were so beset in coming and going
that their empty conquest was made at the cost of three thousand of
their men.
In the spring of the following year the valiant chief repaid the enemy
in part for these invasions of his country. He had now under his command
no less than twenty thousand warriors, largely horsemen, and in the
leafy month of May, taking advantage of a weakening of the Russian line,
he dashed suddenly from the highlands for a raid in the neighboring
country of the Kabardians.
Two rivers flowed between the mountain ranges and the Kabardas, and two
lines of hostile fortresses guarded the frontier, containing in all no
less than seventy thousand men. Between the forts lay Cossack
settlements, and beyond them the Kabardians, an armed and warlike race.
Schamyl had no artillery, no fortresses, no depots of provisions and
ammunition. All he could do was to make a quick dash and a hasty return.
Down upon the Cossacks he rode, followed by his thousands of daring
riders. Plundering their villages, he halted to take no forts except
those that went down in the whirl of his coming. Before the garrisons in
the strongholds fairly knew that he was among them he was gone; and
while the Kabardians believed that he was lurking in the mountain
depths, he suddenly dashed into their midst. Sixty populous Kabardian
villages were plundered, and the mountaineers proudly refused to turn
till they had watered their horses in the Kuban and even reached the
more distant banks of the Laba.
But how were they to return? Thousands of horsemen had gathered in the
way. Long battalions of infantry had hurried to cut off the raiders on
their retreat. Schamyl knew that he could not get back by the way he
had come; but, turning southward, he galloped at headlong speed through
the Cossack settlements in that quarter, and, with his cruppers laden
with booty and his saddle-bows well furnished with food, evaded his foes
and reached the mountains again. May seemed to bloom more richly than
ever as the wild riders dashed proudly back to the doors of their homes
and heard the glad shouts of joy that greeted their safe return.
The whole story of the exploits of the famous Circassian chief is too
extended and too full of stirring incidents to be here given even in
epitome. It must suffice to say, in conclusion, that ten years after his
escape from Akhulgo that stronghold was again attacked and taken by the
Russians, and as before Schamyl mysteriously escaped. Completely
baffled, nothing was left for the Russians but to wear out the chief and
his people by continued invasions of their mountain land. Again and
again their armies were beaten by their indomitable foe, but the
continuance of the struggle slowly exhausted the land and its powers of
resistance.
The Circassians were helped during the Crimean War by the foes of
Russia, who supplied them with arms and money, but after that war the
Russians kept up the struggle with more energy than ever, and, by
opening a road over the mountains, cut off a part of the country and
compelled its submission. At length, in April, 1859, twenty-five years
after the struggle began, Weden, Schamyl's stronghold at that time, was
taken, after a seven weeks' siege. As before, the chief escaped, but the
country was virtually subdued, and he had only a small band of
followers left.
For months afterwards his foes pursued him actively from fastness to
fastness, determined to run him down, and at length, on September 6,
1859, surprised him on the plateau of Gounib. Here the devoted band made
a desperate resistance, not yielding until of the original four hundred
only forty-seven remained alive. Schamyl, the lion of the Caucasus, was
at length taken, after having cost the Russians uncounted losses in life
and money.
With his capture the independence of Circassia came to an end. It has
since formed an integral part of the Russian empire, and its subjugation
has opened the gateway to that vast expansion of Russia in Central Asia
which since then has taken place. The captive chief had won the respect
of his foes, and was honorably treated, being assigned a residence at
Kaluga, in Central Russia, with an annual pension of five thousand
dollars. He, like his countrymen, was a Mohammedan in faith, and removed
to Mecca, in Arabia, in 1870, dying at Medina in the following year.
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