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 retur