Chapter II: Among Officers of the Czar

Welcomed by officers of the guard--Being _Cossackized_--An
interrupted sleep--Presentation to the governor-general--An amusing
interview--The general’s vanity and how it was tickled--The story
of the Cossacks--An Ingoosh brigand--An expedition into the
mountains.

Prince Andronnikov, some time lieutenant in the Terskoi-Koubansky Cossack regiment, presently attached to the person of the empress, received me in Vladikavkas with a graciousness known only in the East--charming formality blended with cordial warmth--and I at once felt at home.

The prince was in the uniform of the Cossacks of the mountains. A kilted outer garment of gray, loose-fitting, but well cut, offered a pleasing background for what was to me a startling array of side-arms--a saber, a dagger, a revolver, and a row of rifle cartridges across the breast.

“You will be one of us across the Caucasus?” he said in exquisite French. “Our regiment is indeed honored.”

It was the noon hour when I presented myself to Prince Andronnikov, and the officers of his regiment were about sitting down to lunch. I was introduced to a score or more of them, charming fellows all, scions of some of the noblest families in Russia. The commander of the regiment was Count Schouvoleff, who bore the distinction of being an aide-de-camp to the czar.

Russian officers enjoy the privilege of maintaining their headquarters in the hotels--if such there be--in the vicinity of the place where their troops are stationed. The hotel accommodations of Vladikavkaz being somewhat better than of the average town of similar size, I found my officer companions all most comfortably quartered. I was received with profuse cordiality and the charm of personality of all of them possessed me from the first moment. They all spoke excellent French and several perfect English--one, indeed, spoke English absolutely without accent and with a vocabulary far richer than my own. They apparently looked upon my joining them as school-boys look forward to a frolic. For, of course, my advent was celebrated in true Russian military fashion, by a dinner, which, to my still un-Russianized stomach, seemed to go on and on, rivaling the famous brook of poetry. When I had wrestled to master the names of my companions and had told them all the incidents worth recounting of my journey from St. Petersburg, a captain, Count Scherematiev, carried me off to a military tailor to have me measured and fitted for the Cossack uniform I was to wear on that long and eventful journey through the mountains. This uniform is extremely picturesque and far more comfortable than any military uniform I know, although its quaintness and exaggerated ferociousness suggests a time long gone by. A long, loose undergarment called a _bishmet_, tight-fitting around the neck, clinging to the body, and ending with a kind of short skirt effect at the bottom; above, another loose garment called a _tcherkaska_; riding trousers, and loose Circassian boots made of goose-skin. The color of the cloth used in this uniform depends entirely upon the taste of the wearer. I chose black, though the Russians frequently prefer crimson, or gray, or brown. The hat surmounting this uniform, called a _papakha_, is made of lamb’s wool somewhat coarser than astrakhan, with a top of cloth colored blue or red according to the regiment to which the officer belongs. Our color was blue. Across the breast of the _tcherkaska_ is a line of cartouches which ordinarily are of metal, and, being purely for ornamentation, are empty. Originally, however, this was the regular rifle cartridge belt and the soldiers to this day carry their cartridges here. The invariable accompaniment of the Circassian uniform is a dagger worn suspended from the belt exactly in the middle of the body. These daggers are often highly and beautifully ornamented with silver and gold hand-work by the Circassians of the Caucasus. At the left side hangs the Cossack saber, which differs somewhat in form from the swords worn by officers in other branches of the army. The handles of these sabers as well as the scabbards are, like the daggers, generally richly ornamented with carvings and beaded metal work. On the right hip the revolver is carried. Although these Cossack officers spend most of their lives on horseback, they wear no spurs.

When I had been amply measured, had selected the materials for the different garments of the uniform and bought a pair of goose-skin riding-boots, Captain Scherematiev took me to an arms shop to buy me a saber. Here we met with a piece of rare good fortune. The proprietor brought out a beautiful Circassian hand-worked Cossack sword that had been made expressly for a certain Cossack officer who had been killed only the day before! He would sell me the weapon at a reasonable price. I bought it with avidity, being indeed fascinated by the exquisite workmanship of the ornamentation and the excellent temper of the blade. I had speedy assurance that I had made no mistake in purchasing it, for that very night an officer offered me exactly double what I had paid for it.

That night I dined alone, by preference, for I wanted a simple meal, and retired early, to rest from my long journey across the empire from St. Petersburg. About one o’clock in the morning a vigorous pounding at my bedroom door startled me into instantaneous wakefulness; lighting a candle I turned the key and opened the door to a police officer accompanied by several gendarmes. With profuse apologies in voluble French, the officer begged me to grant him the permission of examining my luggage and my papers. With all the graciousness I could master I assured my visitor that the unaccustomed privilege of a midnight search was a pleasure and a joy. I begged him to permit me to assist him in any way I could. After a superficial survey of my really innocent documents, he turned suddenly and said, “Now, monsieur, where is your revolver?” “I have none, sir,” I replied. The officer looked incredulous for a moment, then said in surprise: “Do you mean you have come to the Caucasus without a revolver?” “Yes,” I replied, “I have. Though as I am soon to adopt Circassian dress, I presume I shall be equipped with a revolver.” The officer was puzzled at this until I showed him my credentials and explained to him my reasons for coming to Vladikavkaz. Immediately his manner toward me changed completely and in a tone of real concern he told me that I must permit him to loan me one of his own revolvers until I secured one of my own, for he should feel very badly if any harm were to befall me while I was the guest of their city, especially as I was to travel with the officers of the Terskoi-Koubansky regiment.

Taking a 38-caliber American revolver out of an inner pocket he laid it on the table and very courteously said:

“I know it is late, monsieur, but may I trouble you to accompany me to my office that I may give you extra cartridges?”

“Extra cartridges!” I exclaimed. “But this weapon is loaded. Surely I shall not be needing more than seven bullets before morning!”

“Pardon, monsieur. You are now in the Caucasus. It is always best to be prepared for anything. You will return here in half an hour, and you shall have an escort.”

To me the idea of getting out of bed at 1 A.M. to visit police headquarters for extra cartridges seemed preposterous, but I was gently coerced into assent. A mounted escort surrounded our carriage all the way to the headquarters, and when I returned with the cartridges, the escort clattered behind my cab.

Early next morning Andronnikov called for me to present me to the governor-general of the territory of the Terek--the ataman, as the chief of a Cossack district is called. This interview was one of the oddest experiences I had ever had. The roomy reception-hall of the official residence was crowded with people, mostly peasants, awaiting an audience with the ataman to present one or another grievance. The acting aide-de-camp recognized my friend and we were received without delay. The general was an oldish man with a brief gray beard, and metallic gray eyes whose glitter was emphasised by the strong glasses he wore. He was thick-set and heavy, not above medium height.

The prince was received with marked respect, and when he had made his formal salutations he presented me as an American correspondent. He got no further. The general pushed back his chair, and, stepping toward me, asked in apparent anger if I knew a Mr. S----, an American merchant in a certain town in Siberia. I had never heard of the gentleman.

“Americans are not white!” he exclaimed. “They are not true.” Just what the general’s grievance was against Mr. S---- I could not discover, but his tirade against Americans in general and Mr. S---- in particular was heartfelt and prolonged, and neither Andronnikov nor I seemed able to turn the general to other topics. Suddenly he paused in his wrath and, looking me straight in the eye, asked: “You are a correspondent?” I replied affirmatively. “That is bad!” he answered emphatically. “You remember Mr. ---- of the ‘London Times’?” The name was familiar to me, for this man had been asked to leave Russia for his plain speaking. The general then vented his feelings in regard to this man, and toward correspondents in general. Poor Andronnikov, my host, grew more and more confused and embarrassed till I suffered for him.

Suddenly, for a third time, the general changed the subject. This time he hurled his invectives against the Jews. “The Jews are at the bottom of all of Russia’s troubles,” he cried. “If we could settle the Jews we would tranquilize Russia.” I hastened to assure him that I was not a Jew, though in America there were many people who welcomed the Jews from Russia.

“You are not a Jew. No. But have you a courier?” I told him no, but I expected to secure one that day. “Then don’t get a Jew!” he warned. “If you do you will both be killed!” As he went on, in his bitterness I realized again how deep-rooted is this hatred of the Jew in the minds and hearts of certain Russian officials, and why the responsibility for Jewish massacres is so seldom fixed. The general strode back and forth like a caged tiger. Twice he came so near to me that his breath was on my cheek. My discomfort was great and I was beginning to lose my temper. I wished heartily I had not come. At last I had an inspiration. Interrupting the general without apology, I exclaimed: “Your excellency is quite right. The problem of the Jew is a tremendous one. The firm and courageous way that you, sir, look at this vast question and the strength with which you approach it fills me with admiration. I shall tell the people of America about you, sir. America knows how great is Russia’s problem. I pray your excellency permit me to send a photograph of yourself to America--a photograph in this uniform, sir, with those medals on your breast--”

“This uniform?” put in the general. “You like this? Ah! But you should see me in my other uniform!”

“I would I might!” I replied with feeling. “I pray your excellency to permit me to come when you are wearing it!”

“Wait!” he shouted as he disappeared from the room. For a quarter of an hour the prince and I waited. Then the door was opened by an orderly, and the general entered, clad in a magnificent uniform. It was Circassian in style, and in color a rich royal purple. The prince and I both spent ourselves in admiration till the general resumed his seat and began to discuss the object of my visit. His whole attitude was altered and from this on I found him most kind, affable, and courteous. He did all that any man could to help me and make easy my journey. He expressed satisfaction that I was interested in the Cossacks, when I asked him to tell me about this branch of the service. Who were the Cossacks? What were they? I did not know, although no word is more commonly on the lips in connection with Russia.

“Cossacks are the bravest, the truest we have,” he said. “It is a source of regret to all who know the Cossacks that so little is known about them in their home life, for the stories of the pogroms, the massacres, give so false a view of the Cossack as he really is.”

“I want to know him as he really is,” I replied; “that is why I have come so far at this time, and why I am so eager to travel with a party of Cossack officers through this marvelous country of the Caucasus.”

“If you will wait until I have received some deputations I will tell you much about them and then plan a trip to some of their villages for you,” said the general.

Andronnikov and I were both intensely relieved at the general’s change of manner, and I was deeply grateful for the opportunities he presented to me. Long afterward when Andronnikov and I would sometimes meet--in St. Petersburg and elsewhere--we would always have a hearty laugh over our reception at the hands of this crotchety old general, and of how he melted into winsome affability when we played on his ridiculous vanity.

While the deputations were being presented Andronnikov and I remained in an adjoining room, Andronnikov examining the various war trophies with which the room was stored, souvenirs for the most part of battles in the long, not-yet ended war to subdue the tribes of the Caucasus and bring the many peoples of that extraordinary region under the Russian yoke. I was silently framing questions about the Cossack that I would put to the general when I got back to him. In regard to this strange friend of the czars I suppose I knew about as much as the average reader, but certainly no more, and my notions were all vague and shadowy. I had heard war critics condemn him as practically useless in battle, though useful for scout duty and skirmish work. I had heard it said that he makes a skilful artilleryman, but with a rifle is a notoriously poor shot. But then he is not a proper military man. Scientific soldiering is not his _métier_. “Irregular” cavalry, military people call him when he is mounted. Regular Cossack officers are apt to be snubbed and looked down upon by other officers because they are not subject to the same rigid tests that regular army officers must submit to, and the discipline which is traditional with soldiers has never been imposed upon the Cossack.

The Cossack is not a soldier, in the ordinary sense, though he is the main prop of the army. He is not a proper, thoroughbred Russian, though he is a loyal servant of the Czar. Cossack life and Cossack government is entirely independent, and the only official in the bureaucracy whom the Cossack recognizes is the minister of war.

The Cossack has all (and more) that the most radical revolutionists in Russia desire. The Cossacks, perhaps, are the largest body of practical communists in the world. Their land, their hunting-grounds, their fishing-preserves, their timber-tracks, are held in common, and no Cossack may fish or shoot or cut wood save by the order and permission of his community. At the same time his individual freedom is beyond that of any people living under the protection of civilization. Exempt from every obligation except one--service in arms. Their service is unique in system as well as in kind.

Popularly the Cossack is a modern Caliban. To the world at large he is pretty much an enigma, but mostly a thing of evil. To the muzhik and the Jew the very name, Cossack, is a synonym of horror, a word instinct with terror, with plunder, rape, massacre; the looting of shops a game by the way and the burning of houses a night’s sport.

To the Czar and the government of Russia the name Cossack is very different; a word almost sacred. The Cossack is the bulwark of czarism, the guardian of autocracy. Without the Cossack, reactionary mandates would long have been impotent. Where there is a dangerous frontier to guard, the Cossacks are employed. Where martial law is prescribed, the brunt of the enforcement is left to Cossacks. Where a province or town is in revolt, the Cossacks are sent. And where people are shot down and cut down in numbers--unarmed men, women, and children--it is generally the Cossack who is charged with the responsibility.

Because the Cossack is so important to the Russian government, because he is so feared by the people at large, because of the uniqueness of his past in history and in modern life, and the originality of his mode of living, I wanted to form his near acquaintance. I wanted to know him, not merely as the war correspondent knows him, in the saddle, in the field, in the barracks; this, but this and much more--in his _stanitza_; in his home, among his fellows and his neighbors. With the officers of Terskoi-Koubansky regiment I would doubtless see a good deal, and from the inside, but I desired much more than this, and the old general in suggesting that I visit some of their villages gave me just the opportunity I desired.

When Andronnikov and I were recalled to the audience-room I inquired of the general as to how long the Cossacks had been in the territory which he at present administered. He gave us a clear and concise account of Cossack history, telling us who they were, their several branches, and concluding by an extravagant recital of their virtues. The general spoke in French and I made no notes while he was speaking, but what he told me was full of interest. As nearly as I could remember it the general’s narrative was as follows:

The origin of the Cossacks dates back to the latter Middle Ages.
The dominions of the kings of Poland and czars of Muscovy were not
sharply defined, and between the territories was a wide stretch of
“debatable” land. Here settled various bands of people who were,
for one reason or another, wanderers on the face of the earth--some
were outlaws and brigands--some were temporarily Bedouin--some were
poor--all were in the nature of “squatters.” They either took the
name or were dubbed “Kazak,” a word which in Tartar means
freebooter, and in Turkish light-armed soldier, and the modern
Cossack is largely a combination of these elements.

As the population of these debatable lands along the Dnieper
increased, they spread out and took possession of other rivers, the
Don and the Volga. In due course a system of simple government
developed among them as a matter of convenience and necessity. This
form of government has been perpetuated in nearly its original form
almost to the present day, and much of it is still preserved
without change.

As they increased in numbers, they found an occupation. From time
immemorial the Tartars have invaded the provinces of what is known
to-day as southeastern Russia, and so to protect their agricultural
population along the steppe borders the kings of Poland and czars
of Muscovy established military cordons, buildings, forts, and
palisades, from which to beat back the invading bands. It was soon
learned that the “Cossack” people who occupied the steppes beyond
these cordons best knew how to cope with these semi-civilized
Tartars. And so the forts and redoubts were manned by Cossacks who
lent their services for pay, to the kings of Poland or the czars of
Muscovy, without prejudice. Thus their organization and their
independence gained recognition. Thus, too, guerilla warfare early
came to be their regular occupation. Being given to a degree of
lawlessness themselves, they were, at times, not averse to mingling
in friendly intercourse with the peoples whom at other times they
were paid to fight.

Though originally the Cossacks came mostly from Moscow province and
from Poland, they have mixed with the surrounding races till they
have little ethnological unity. It was once common for the Cossacks
to kidnap Tartar and Caucasian women, and thus there were
introduced dark streams of blood which are still visible in the
race. They have also mixed with the Mongolian Kalmuks from the
country east of the Volga and taken on many of their
characteristics. Nevertheless, they have all continued to call
themselves Christians and to nurture enmity against the
Mohammedans.

When the czars of Russia became supreme the Cossacks pledged their
allegiance to them. If, however, it better suited their
conveniences to disregard the wishes of the czar, they consulted
only their own inclinations. They did not contribute to the royal
coffers, but became allies rather than subjects,--allies who served
for pay. On the other hand, the czars were not eager to claim them
for subjects, and when the Cossacks on the Turkish frontier
enkindled the wrath of the sultan, Russia repudiated them
altogether and they were left to make their own defense against the
Turks.

The Cossacks of the Dnieper and the Cossacks of the Don were the
first of the large bodies of semi-military communities to gain the
recognition of Poland and Russia, and the Cossacks of the Don still
maintain preëminence over all the others. In spite of their
treaties with other states having regularly organized and
disciplined armies, the Don Cossacks never troubled to introduce
military organization among themselves. They lived by shooting,
fishing, trapping and marauding. To foster the martial spirit of
all, agricultural pursuits were prohibited on penalty of death. As
war is scarcely a perpetual occupation, laziness and drinking came
to be fixed habits adopted in the interims of peace and maintained
as deep-rooted characteristics.

The Dnieper Cossacks, or Zaporovians, as they were called from a
word meaning people living “beyond the rapids,” lost their holdings
during the reign of Catharine II, for very excellent reasons.
During Peter’s wars with the Swedes these people allied themselves
with the army of Charles XII of Sweden. The government thought to
punish them by depriving them of their independence. The Dnieper
people resisted until Catharine forcibly broke up their
communities. Some fled to Turkey. Others were given the territory
of the Kuban. The Volga Cossacks, who had also sold their services
to the enemies of Russia, were less obstinate and accepted the
dictum of Russia and removed to the Terek, where the original
“mountain” or “border” Cossacks were already established. Here
Catharine assured them they would be left free and unmolested as
long as they served Russia’s interests against the marauding tribes
of the Caucasus. And from this time to the present these Cossacks
of the Caucasus have rendered signal service along this most
difficult frontier.

The general concluded his story with a tremendous eulogy of the virtues of Cossacks--all of which I listened to but reserved my judgment upon.

As we were about to take our leave I ventured to ask the General if I might not bring a photographer with me when next I came to photograph him in his magnificent purple uniform! For an instant I almost regretted having said this, but the childish delight of the man at the suggestion banished my fears. An hour was set for the next forenoon and with this Andronnikov and I left. The remainder of the day I spent with my officer friends in convivial leisure. In the early evening I went to my room to make arrangements with a man who spoke several of the languages of the district, to serve as my orderly and courier.

About nine o’clock we were interrupted by a rapping at the door, followed by the entrance of a handsome young fellow in Circassian dress. Suspended from his belt was the usual dagger, beautifully ornamented with silver. There was an attractiveness about the fellow that completely captivated me before he had spoken a word. There was a clearness and frankness of expression in his bright, brown eyes that inspired immediate trust. He was not tall, but he carried his shoulders well, and one felt the dashing spirit that must live under his dark, though scarcely swarthy skin. He bowed with that graceful dignity which sometimes characterizes Eastern peoples. I motioned him to a seat. He bowed again, thanked me, but remained standing. My courier talked with him for some minutes, then turning to me said: “This man is an _Ingoosh_ who has come to you on a strange errand. It seems that in his village he has won the title of champion sword-dancer. He says he can do remarkable things with swords and daggers; passing through town to-day he heard that an American was here, and so he has come to you.” “Yes, I am an American,” I replied, “but what can I do for the champion sword-dancer of an Ingoosh village?” My interpreter smiled as he replied: “He says he has heard that in America there are _café chantants_ where sword-dancing would be paid for very well; he wanted to know if this is true and if you will tell him the way to New York.” From the threshold of Asia to the vestibule of America seemed a long, long way to me that night, but instantly it occurred to me that this man offered the very opportunity I had been looking for--to explore the Ingoosh, the Circassian, the Kabardine and Ossetine villages that lie among the mountains, at the same time I was visiting the Cossack villages. So I told my interpreter to tell him that if he would take me safely through the district which I indicated and bring me back to Vladikavkaz, I would outline the journey to New York with the probable cost, and that I would provide him with adequate introductions to people in the city who would befriend him upon his arrival; also I would pay him well, five rubles a day, for his services, and a bonus at the end of the trip if all went well. There was no doubting the man’s keenness to get to New York; and money in anything like the amount I offered him seldom comes to a

Circassian of his station--at least _earned_ money. That the man hesitated and appeared in doubt as to whether he would accept my proposition or not, aroused my wonder. At last he spoke: “He says it is very perilous,” my courier translated. At that I knew I could rely upon him; if he considered my risk in view of the offer I made him, I was confident of his sincerity. Of course I had explained to him that I would assume the complete disguise of the Circassian and that I would assume all of the risks of the journey, provided he did all that I could reasonably expect him to do, to forestall unnecessary danger. After further pondering my interpreter translated: “He would like to see you in Circassian dress before he answers.” We thereupon procured a complete outfit, which I put on. The man surveyed me critically from all sides, and finally, smiling broadly, came toward me with extended hand. His grasp was warm and firm, and had any lingering suspicion of the man remained in my mind, it would have then vanished. It was decided that we should not go on horseback, but rather in a wagon, as it would probably be simpler for them to screen my identity if I were reclining in a cart than if I were astride a horse. My Ingoosh from this moment on was fertile in suggestion. He knew just where to procure the horses. In telling me where they were to be had he related the following incident:

There is a custom among the Circassians, still in vogue, that when a man chooses a wife and the match fails to meet with parental approval, the bride is stolen in the night. My Circassian friend had found a girl in a neighboring village, the queen of all the girls he had ever seen. He determined to take her to wife. The girl had already told him that he was her prince. But the family would not sanction it. Therefore my friend had scoured the country for the swiftest horses in all the region. A friend, a driver in the town, had four horses that he vowed could not be overtaken. In the night they drove into the village where lived the Circassian bride to be, and, pausing before her house, my friend had rushed to where he knew she was awaiting him, and gathering her in his arms sprang to the wagon, and the four horses were urged to their utmost. In twenty minutes they had put eight versts between them and the village. And I might have these same horses and the same driver, for my expedition!

The following day my interpreter, whose caution seemed to me quite excessive, begged me not to depend too absolutely on my brigand friend. He believed him to be honest, but it might be as well not to have this driver. And instead he suggested a man whom he knew was the assistant ataman, or sub-chief, of a Cossack _stanitza_ remote in the territory of the Terek, and to reach this _stanitza_ we would pass through the Circassian and Ossetine villages I desired to visit. Our final arrangement was made with him.

We rumbled out of Vladikavkaz the second morning after I made the acquaintance of my brigand-guide--for he was a brigand. The road selected led directly into the mountains; Kazbek, higher than Mount Blanc, rose immediately before us. At the outset we started through a valley running southeast and northwest and at an angle of about forty-five degrees to the east of the famous _Route Militaire de Georgie_, which crosses the Caucasus from Vladikavkaz to Tiflis. After ten versts the road became a mere trail, and as we ascended and passed the snow limit, even this was lost to my eye. Several times that day we passed through villages of Circassians. Mere hamlets, a handful of houses in each. One street of

stone and mud, whitewashed, built with the usual roof of thatch and mud. Back of these houses another row, and back of these scattered huts. Cattle and pigs roamed familiarly in the spaces which separated the huts. The most striking feature of the Ossetine villages were the large curious-shaped water jugs carried by the women, seemingly fashioned of pewter. These jugs are large and are carried on the backs of the women to and from the springs and rivulets which are their water sources. There was nothing to attract the notice of the people in a springless cart jolting along the rough road, an armful of hay spread over the board bottom and three men, apparently natives, sitting thereon. The dress of the people in all of these villages was invariably characteristic. The silver handiwork of the Circassians is full of individuality and famed throughout southern Russia. The belts of both men and women, the bracelets and ornaments of the women, the daggers and other arms of the men, were all noticeable.

The bride of my brigand friend and guide interested me greatly when we finally came to visit his home. She was nineteen and did not look a day older. She spoke no Russian; only her native dialect. She proudly exhibited a mat worked with silver and golden thread, and a little wall watch-pocket of elaborate design, which were intended as gifts to one of the chief men of her village--the chief of one of the brigand bands, my guide explained to me. I was also shown a pair of baby slippers which she had worked for the youngest born of another important villager. She herself was buxom and attractive, and it was in nowise difficult to understand why my guide had set out upon his nocturnal expedition to capture her.

Sometimes we stopped for refreshment at houses where either my brigand-guide or our Cossack driver was acquainted. At these places the food given us was generally coarse, as might be expected, but on the whole not bad. Coarse black bread; a kind of bread made of maize which tasted wholesome enough, and a pastry which consisted of two crusts, similar to a New England pie crust, but soggy and filled with raisins and preserved grapes. This seemed to be a delicacy highly appreciated, for there was evident pleasure and satisfaction on the part of the housewife who had made this pastry when we appreciated it by consuming many helpings.

In dress, in manner of living, the Circassians are perhaps the most pronounced types of any of the peoples inhabiting that polyglot district. A Caucasian will never suspect a Circassian of belonging to another tribe or race. If nothing else, the ornaments, and the manner of wearing them, distinguish them. The belts, for example, which are almost universally worn, are rich with silver ornamentation and hangings, and often washed in gold. These things offer a striking contrast to the poverty of the lives of the people. But in the Caucasus silver has small value.

During the next two days we traversed a rough and rocky road. More than once we forded streams full with water. Once the old roadway had entirely disappeared. Apparently it had been washed away by a recent freshet. There was naught for us to do but drive into the stream and follow its course for close on to a hundred and fifty yards. The flow of water was strong and swift and it was deep to the body of our cart and flush with the horses’ bellies. The water was straight from glaciers, and cold, like snow water.

The swift-running tawny Terek had been left far below and to the west. The trail passed into the forest, where the chill of winter struck at our marrow, and we closed our _bourkas_ tighter about us. Suddenly the forest ended abruptly and the open revealed the high valley and the snowy mountain, now overtopping us. “Here the Cossack country begins,” shouted my Cossack driver as we passed on to the plateau. As if in joy at coming once more unto his own, he lifted his rifle and, pointing to a tree fifty yards behind us, fired. The bullet sped true. Presently the trail forked with another trail, and the two became a rough road. A verst farther on the road passed under a crude wooden arch supported by gate-posts and entered the village--a Cossack _stanitza_, the first Cossack village I had ever visited, and, as it happened, this particular village had never before within memory of the oldest Cossack there been visited by any stranger.