"'Till death us part'—oh, words to beOur best for love the deathless."—E. B. Browning.
"'Till death us part'—oh, words to beOur best for love the deathless."—E. B. Browning.
"'Till death us part'—oh, words to beOur best for love the deathless."—E. B. Browning.
"'Till death us part'—oh, words to be
Our best for love the deathless."
—E. B. Browning.
At Biridjik, in the house of Hohannes Meneshian, and in the very room where John Grayson had caught his first glimpse of Armenian domestic life, two women sat at work. Mariam, looking old and careworn, was behind her wheel as usual; Shushan was bending over her beautiful embroidery. The room looked much barer than in the olden days, most of the curtains and rugs had disappeared, and there was no sign of any cooking in progress. This mattered the less however since grapes were in season now, and a basket of great, luscious clusters lay in the corner, destined to form, with rye bread, the evening meal of the family.
The villagers with whom Shushan had been staying had brought her home the day before. She was no longer safe with them. A Kourd, whohad shown them a little friendliness, and to whom they had given backsheesh, had called to one of their men over the wall of the vineyard where he was working, "Take care! you have got a lily our sheikh wants to gather." So they acted on the hint. Shushan was once more with her kindred, and in the place of her birth. But little joy had she, or they, in the meeting.
Her presence was a danger to her friends. She was hunted from place to place, like a partridge the dogs start from its cover that it may fall by the gun of the sportsman. Happy partridge, that would fall at once, gasp its little life out on the grass, and rest! No such rest for the Moslem's victim!
More than once indeed, across the sad texture of Shushan's life, there had shot a gleam of gold. She had been a happy girl in Urfa, when she went with her cousins to the Mission school, and learned beautiful things from the dear foreign ladies there. Afterwards in Biridjik, for a little while, she had been still happier, though with a different kind of happiness. The brave, strong, splendid English youth had come into her life and transfigured it. He had saved her from the savage dogs; he had done a still more wonderful thing than that. He had come to her help in her direst need, choosing her, claiming her for his own. Her heart throbbedyet with the fearful rapture of that day, the wonder-day of her short life—the day of her betrothal.
But now Yon Effendi was gone from her. All her joy seemed to have melted from her like the snow on the mountains, like the dreams of the night. It had left instead a yearning, painful in its sweetness, an "aching, unsatisfied longing," for him who was its core and its centre. Yon Effendi was gone; but Mehmed Ibrahim, whom she had never seen, yet regarded with unutterable dread and loathing, seemed by his agents and instruments to be ever present, all around her, pressing her in on every side. She feared death far less than she feared him; but she was not yet quite sixteen, and since she had known Yon Effendi, she would have liked to live.
The well-taught pupil of the Mission school thought more clearly and felt more keenly than her simple-hearted mother, who had never had her chances; but the more capacious vessel only held in larger measure the bitter wine of pain. She had once or twice to turn her head aside, lest her tears should fall upon the work she was doing and spoil it.
"Mother," she said at last, "I think, if God willed it, it were better I should die. There seems no place in the world for me."
"Child, it is wrong to speak so," Mariam answered. "We must live in the world as long as God pleases. To go out of it by our own act were a sin."
"Except it were to avoid a sin," said Shushan gravely, raising her sad eyes to her mother's.
Both were silent for a moment. Then the mother spoke again.
"Daughter, before you went away you used to tell me the good words you learned in the school. I liked them, and they often came back to me when I was anxious and frightened. You remember how sore afraid I was that day the zaptiehs came for the taxes? Thy father had Gabriel's tax and Hagop's all right, but he thought Kevork's would be paid in Aintab, and never thought of getting ready to pay it here. But they demanded it all the same, and I thought—'Now surely they will beat or torture him or your grandfather, because we have it not.' But I remembered that word you told me from the letter of the holy St. Peter, 'Casting all your care upon Him, for He careth for you.' So I said, 'Jesus, help us!' with all my heart,—and He did. For though they found and took away all our rice, they never saw the barley, or the bulghour, so we have that to live upon. And they went away content."
Shushan put a few stitches in her embroiderybefore she answered. She was working, with crimson silk, the deep red heart of a rose. Richly the colours glowed beneath the skilful touch of her slight brown fingers, but out of her own life all the colour seemed to have gone. And now it was the strong that failed, and leaned upon the weaker for support; it was the better taught that turned wistfully to the simpler for words of cheer.
"Oh, my mother," she said, "my heart is weary, my heart is sad! Sometimes even it asks of me, and gets no answer: 'Does He care for us Armenians?"
Does He care for Armenians? Not only from the trampled land herself has that cry gone up in the ears of the Lord of Sabaoth,—from many a quiet home in countries far away, wherever the tale of her woes has come, it has echoed and re-echoed. "Strong spirits have wrestled over it with God" in the silent watches of the night, even until the breaking of the day; "tender spirits have borne it as a terrible and undefined secret anguish." Is there any answer,yet, except this one, "What I do thou knowest not now, but thou shalt know hereafter"?
Mariam had no wise words of comfort to give her child; but she had the mother's secret of love, which so often is better than wisdom. She foldedShushan tenderly in her arms and kissed her. Then the girl recovered a little.
"I ought not to talk so to you, mother," she said. "We know He does care."
"Amaan! God is good," Mariam said. "He cares for every one; even, I suppose, for the Turks."
There was a silence during which Mariam resumed her spinning, and Shushan her embroidery.
"I am not easy about the grandfather," Mariam said presently. "I wish we could get him to eat a little more. Since the fright about thee, and the loss of his flocks and herds, he has scarcely been his own man. And that last visit of the zaptiehs did him no good—What is that noise in the court? Some one has come."
The whirr of the spinning wheel ceased, and Shushan dropped her work, growing very pale. Neither thought of going forth to see, for neither expected any good thing to come to them. Shushan would have hidden herself, but there did not seem time; so they sat in silence, listening to a confused Babel of sounds outside. But presently both cried at once,—
"The voice of Kevork, my son."
"The voice of Yon Effendi, my betrothed."
"Cover yourself, my daughter," said Mariam hastily. And Shushan veiled her face, and satstill where she was, while the mother went forth to welcome her son, whom she had not seen for more than eighteen months.
That night, for once, the voice of joy and thankfulness was heard in the house of Hohannes Meneshian.
Jack had taken Kevork into council over the communication made to him by the wife of Thomassian. The two young men had agreed that no time was to be lost in returning to Biridjik and bringing Shushan back with them to Urfa, even if they had to disguise her for the purpose as a boy. Thinking the knowledge of their plan might imperil the Vartonians, they did not tell them of it. They told no one in fact except Miss Celandine, whose promise to receive and shelter Shushan was readily given.
Jack went to Muggurditch Thomassian, and asked him to lend him a sum of money. To this the merchant made no objection, for he felt certain the young Englishman would eventually have funds at his command. Jack gave him a written acknowledgment and promised him good interest, requesting him at the same time not to mention the matter to the Vartonians, who might be hurt at his not applying to them in the first instance. There was indeed little danger of his doing so, for the cousins, at the time, were notupon friendly terms. The Vartonians, like other Armenians, rich and poor, had contributed liberally to the needs of the unfortunate fugitives from Rhoumkali, even taking some of them into their house. They were indignant with their wealthy kinsman, who had given a handsome subscription to the cause, but seemed to be recouping himself by heavy charges upon the drugs and medicines supplied to the sufferers; and the younger members of the family expressed very freely their opinion of his conduct.
With part of Thomassian's money Jack bought Kourdish dresses for himself and for Kevork, and also a smaller one, fit for a boy of about fourteen. He had still the good horses upon which he and Gabriel had ridden to Urfa. After a sharp conflict with himself, he decided not to wait for the Consul's communication. Shushan could be still his betrothed; as such he and Kevork could bring her to Urfa, and place her under Miss Celandine's protection. The marriage could take place afterwards.
However, to his great delight, just as they were starting, the necessary papers arrived. Miss Celandine's influence had obtained them, and she also procured for the travellers a zaptieh to guard them on their journey. They took an affectionate farewell of the Vartonians, whom they told simplythat they were returning to Biridjik, and of Gabriel, now an ardent and delighted pupil in the Missionary School.
Their journey to Biridjik was without adventure. On the way they agreed together that they would not say much to their friends about the massacres. But the precaution was a needless one, for already they knew enough.
As it was September and very hot, they travelled by night, arriving in Biridjik on the morning of the second day. The remaining hours were given up to talk, to rest, and to making arrangements for the future.
In spite of all the dangers that surrounded them, Kevork could not be unhappy as he sat with his mother's hand in his, his father looking on with interest, and his brother Hagop with adoring admiration, while he told of his wonderful eighteen months in the Missionary School at Aintab. And if the name of Elmas Stepanian slipped sometimes into his story, was there anything wrong in that? Did he not see her every Sunday in church, and did he not hear of her splendid answering at the examinations, and of the prizes she gained? Had not his teacher told him and the other youths about it, that they might be stirred to emulation by the grand achievements of the girls?
For Jack there were even sweeter joys that day. It is true that he was only permitted to see Shushan veiled, and in the company of her mother, or of some of the other women. Still, he could whisper a few words of cheer about the home they hoped to have by-and-by in free, happy England. And when she murmured doubtfully, "But my people, Yon Effendi?" he said the whole household must follow them to England. There Kevork could find a career, the younger boys an education, and all of them peace and safety, and bread enough and to spare. It is true the difficulties in the way of these arrangements would have seemed to him, in his sober moments, almost insurmountable; but in certain moods of mind we take small account of difficulties.
There was much to be done that day in arranging for the wedding, which all agreed should take place the next morning. According to custom, Jack ought to have provided the dress of the bride; but this, under the circumstances, he could not do. Avedis however came to him privately, bringing a beautiful robe of blue satin with long sleeves, trimmed with gold embroidery. "You know," he said, "I was to have married Alà Krikorian. Sometimes I think it was well she died, for she has escaped the woes that are coming on our people. But I had the bridal robe allready; and I shall never marry any one else. Take it as my gift to you; give it yourself to Shushan; and God bless you both."
His own best garments Jack laid ready, with care, for the morning. Rising very early, he put on his ordinary clothes, and went forth to meet Der Garabed, who came by appointment to bless the bridegroom's apparel. This ceremony accomplished, Jack arrayed himself for the wedding, and, with Hohannes and the other men of the family, went to the church. He sat in his own place on the men's side, Shushan coming in afterwards with her mother and other female relatives, and sitting among the women. The service proceeded as usual, until, at the appointed time, Jack, with a beating heart, stepped out of his place, and came and stood before the altar. Shushan also was led to the spot, and stood there beside him. Neither dared to look up.
Der Garabed read from the Holy Book of the first bridal in Paradise; and again, from its later pages, of how Christian wives and husbands ought to love and cherish one another. Then, as they turned and stood face to face, each for one instant looked into the other's eyes, and read there the secret of the love that is more strong than death. They had to clasp hands, and to bow their heads until each forehead touched the other. OldHohannes took a cross from the hand of the priest, and, his own trembling with many emotions, laid it on the two bowed heads. The priest recited a few prayers, and put the solemn questions that the ritual of every Christian Church prescribes. Then, raising their bowed heads they stood together, with the right, before God and man, to stand together until death should part them. The psalm was sung, and the benediction given; and John Grayson led forth his Lily—all his at last. There was deep, solemn gladness in his heart; he felt as if, in the expressive Scottish phrase, "his weird was won."
Peril might be behind them, before them, all around them, yet this one hour must be given to joy. It is true he had no mother to "crown him in the day of his espousals," no father to breathe the blessing his filial heart missed so sorely. Still he believed in blessing, Divine and human. His faith was strong, his hope was high. He thought it would be no hard task to bring his bride in safety to his English home—and hers. Once there, they could both work together for the deliverance of her people—"ourpeople" was what John Grayson thought, with a throb of joy, of sympathy, and—is it strange to say it?—ofpride.
"What if we still ride on, we two,With life for ever old yet new,Changed not in kind but in degree,The instant made eternity."—R. Browning.
"What if we still ride on, we two,With life for ever old yet new,Changed not in kind but in degree,The instant made eternity."—R. Browning.
"What if we still ride on, we two,With life for ever old yet new,Changed not in kind but in degree,The instant made eternity."—R. Browning.
"What if we still ride on, we two,
With life for ever old yet new,
Changed not in kind but in degree,
The instant made eternity."
—R. Browning.
About noon Kevork came to Jack with a pale, anxious face. "You see the state men's minds are in here?" he said.
"It is only too easy to see," Jack answered.
"Did you notice the scared faces in church?" Kevork went on. "There is nothing talked of here among our own people but death and massacre; and among the Turks, but how they are going to kill us and take all we have. And our own house is in the greatest danger of all. My uncle and the rest are afraid we will be held accountable for Shushan; and Heaven knows what the Turks will do to us when they find she is gone. In a word, they are all saying that if you go to Urfa and take her with you, the whole householdmust go too. They think they will be safer there, lost in a crowd."
"But are they not afraid of coming so near Mehmed Ibrahim?"
"They think that very nearness will save them. He will never think of looking for them at his own door. One and all, at least, are quite determined to go, except perhaps my grandfather, who is rather passive about it, and my father, who is doubtful. Still they do not oppose the rest. My grandfather says 'Heaven is as near in Urfa as in Biridjik.'"
"Very good," said Jack, "but then, can they go to-night?"
"To-night!" exclaimed Kevork. "Heaven bless you! It will take them a fortnight or three weeks to get ready; they must do it all quietly, you know, for fear of the Turks."
"Then, look here, Kevork," Jack said, with a determined air, "I am not going to leave Shushan in this place another day; the rest may follow as they like."
"You are right," Kevork answered. "But as for me, I must stay. Think of it! here are three-and-twenty souls, for the most part women and children, to be brought to Urfa; and not one of them has been twenty miles from home before—not even my Uncle Avedis, who is so shrewd andclever. And then we shall have to make all our preparations, and to sell off everything we can, but with the greatest secrecy, lest the Turks should find out and stop us. Yes, I must stay. You shall take the horses."
Jack nodded. "We must start at midnight," he said. "I am going now to arrange matters, and to tell the women."
He went, and was fortunate enough to find Shushan for the moment alone. He held in his hand a large bundle, which he laid on the ground beside her. "My Shushan," he said, taking her hand tenderly, "I know you trust me utterly. I am going to ask you for a proof of it."
She looked up at him, and her eyes said for her, "But prove me what it is I will not do."
"Dearest, put on this clothing I have brought, kiss your father and your mother, and be ready at midnight to ride with me to Urfa."
She looked at the garments, as he unfolded them, with an involuntary shudder. "They are Kourdish clothes," she said.
Jack smiled. "At least they are clean," he answered. "They have never been worn. And there is no law, that I know of, against sheep in wolves' clothing."
"Oh, but all want to go, father, and mother, and Hagop—all of us."
"They shall follow us, my Shushan."
"But to leave them in such peril! And, Yon Effendi, it is I who have brought it on them."
"Not altogether, my beloved. Now it is not one here and there who is persecuted; the danger threatens your whole race—ourrace," he said, with a sudden throb of the passionate, pitying love that was springing up in his heart for the people of his adoption. "Without you," he added, "their danger certainly will be less. And if God wills, we will all meet again, in Urfa."
"I will do what you tell me,—my husband," Shushan said, and the words, if low, were quite steady. The whole trust of her simple heart was his; and although tender, modest, refined, it was still a hot, impulsive Eastern heart.
At midnight a group assembled in the courtyard of the Meneshians house. There was no moon,—all the better for their purpose; but from the cloudless sky the great, beautiful stars shone down upon them. Avedis brought out a lantern, which showed two strange figures. In the midst stood a young Kourdish warrior, his head protected by a gay "kafieh" of yellow silk, bound about it with rolls of wool, and having the front thrown back to reveal the face, which was nearly as dark as a mulatto's. His zeboun was of bright scarlet, and it boasted, instead of a skirt, fourseparate tails, or aprons, which showed beneath them Turkish trousers of crude and staring blue, while a crimson belt contained the perilous revolver, its two available barrels loaded. It was not necessary now to conceal it, for it was part of the equipment.
A Kourdish boy, attired in similar fashion, and with face and hands yet more carefully blackened, clung to the breast of Mariam, as if they could never part.
"Come, my daughter," Boghos said at last; "the moments are precious."
"'Tis not as if the parting were a long one," Kevork said cheerfully. "A few weeks, at most, and we follow you to Urfa."
"As we stand now," old Hohannes said solemnly, "everyparting may be as long as life, or death; but we Christians are not afraid of death. Shushan, my Lily, in Christ's name I bless thee, and bid thee God-speed."
Shushan had been given into his arms by her mother, and now her father stood waiting for the last embrace. As he gave it with tear-dimmed eyes, Jack turned to Hohannes; "You have been as a father to me," he said. "Bless me also, as a son."
In a broken voice, the old Armenian spoke the words of blessing. The Englishman bowedhis young head in reverence, then shook hands with the others, and turned to lift into her saddle the shrinking girl in her boy's attire. Next, he sprang lightly upon his own horse, which Kevork was holding for him. "Good-bye,brother," he said, stooping down to wring his hand.
Slowly and silently they moved along, the good horses climbing the terraces that led out of the town. A bribe,—cleverly administered beforehand by Hohannes, who had a life-long practice in these matters,—opened to them the ancient gate of Biridjik, and they found themselves in the road outside.
"Softly, softly," Jack whispered, stroking the neck of his steed, who seemed quite to understand him. He wondered if, in this strange country, even the dumb creatures learned to accommodate themselves to the exigencies of a hunted life. Both their horses might almost have been shod with felt, for all the noise they made.
When the terraces and gardens were left behind, a running stream or two had to be crossed, and they found themselves beside the ancient reservoir which supplied the town with water. After passing this, they came to a place where three roads met, and where a Turkish guard was always stationed. This was a serious danger; he might demand their passports, and they had none.
"What shall we do if he does?" Shushan whispered. Jack pointed to his purse. But, happily, the Turk gave them no trouble, being fast asleep in his little booth by the roadside.
When they got into the open country, their road lay over rocks, which rang to the feet of their horses. At first the sound almost scared them, used as they were to fear. But for the present, in all the wide landscape, there was no one to hear, and nothing to dread.
They rode out into the still night—no mist, no dew, the stars flashing down, the great planets bright enough to cast perceptible shadows. The brilliant, shimmering starlight lent the campaign a beauty not its own; there was a kind of glamour over everything. Jack's spirits rose with the sense of freedom and solitude. He and Shushan put their horses at full speed, and they seemed to be flying through the clear still air,—not cold, but cool enough after the hot day to be refreshing.
"Are you frightened, love? Are we going too fast for you?" he asked, hearing a little sigh, and slackening his pace accordingly.
"No; but I never rode like this before. When Cousin Thomassian brought me to Biridjik, it was "Jevash!Jevash!" (a Turkish word, which may be rendered in English, "Take it easy").
"Do you like it, my Lily?"
"I like it well," she answered, breathless but rejoicing. "Go on fast again; I like it well."
Did Jack like it? There was a light in his eye, a bounding rapture in his every vein, as they flew along, alone with each other in that desolate waste, which to them was as the Garden of Eden.
After a while they drew rein again, that they might talk. "They tell me"—Jack spoke dreamily, out of a depth of half-realized delight—"they tell me the Garden of Eden washere, in this land of yours."
"So our fathers say," Shushan answered. "And it is lovely enough, at least in spring, when the flowers are out. If only we were not afraid,—always."
"That was what struck me," Jack said, "when, after my long illness, I began to get strong, and to notice what went on about me. Always, over every one, there seemed to hang the shadow of a great fear."
"But I suppose, in your England also, there are sin and sorrow."
"A great deal of both, my Lily. But in England law isagainstwickedness and cruelty, and stops them if it can. Then there is the same law in England for all. There are not two kinds of people, one booted and spurred to ride, and the other bridled and saddled to be ridden. It took me agood while to understand that was the case here, and I was among the bridled and saddled."
"Because you were not born here. You know, Yon Effendi, we alwaysexpectto suffer, because we are Christians. Ever since I can remember, every one was afraid—afraid of the Turks in the street, afraid of the Kamaikan, afraid of the zaptiehs, afraid of the Kourds. Kevork and I were great companions, but I do not think we played much. Sometimes I played with the little ones, but I liked better to help my mother, or to hear the talk of the elders. Then came the dreadful time when Mehmed Ibrahim, our Kamaikan——"
"Don't talk of it! You shall never see his face again, my Shushan."
"I never have seen it, to my knowledge. I was only ten years old."
"When a little English girl would still be playing with her doll, as my cousins used to do. Poor child!"
"My childhood ended then. They sent me to Urfa, with some merchants from our town, who were going there. Oh, I was happy there! I had the school, and the dear foreign ladies, and my cousins the Vartonians, and, above all, Elmas Stepanian."
"Do you know, my Lily, that Kevork loves Elmas, just a little bit in the way I love you?"
"How could he help it?" Shushan said, and smiled quietly. "In the school," she went on, "I learned many things about the Bible, and about our dear Lord, that I did not know before, though I think I always loved Him. They helped me to understand why all the troubles came to us. Has He not said, 'In the world ye shall have tribulation'? But He has said also, 'I am with you always.' If one is true, so must the other be."
"Yes," said Jack thoughtfully, "I think I can believe it now."
"It all seemed so real in the happy years at school; and afterwards, when I first came back to Biridjik, I felt as if all day long He was close by me; and then all the fear went out of my heart. There was no room for it when He was there."
Jack was silent. He feared God, prayed to Him devoutly, and desired sincerely to do His Will; but this experience of His personal presence and nearness was beyond him as yet.
"But I could not help seeing how things went on about me," Shushan resumed. "And for a year and more we have been hearing of worse things yet. I did not talk of them, for what was the use of frightening everybody? We could do nothing; we were helpless. But they sank into my heart. Then the horror—about Mehmed Ibrahim—came again. I began to think God hadforsaken us. Do you know the sad things about that in the Psalms? They seem just written for us. 'But now Thou art far off, and puttest us to confusion ... so that they that hate us spoil our goods. Thou lettest us be eaten up like sheep, Thou sellest Thy people for nought, and takest no money for them. Thou makest us to be rebuked of our neighbours, to be laughed to scorn, and had in derision of them that are round about us. For Thy sake also we are killed all the day long, and are counted as sheep appointed to be slain.'"
"Oh, Shushan, stop! It is too sad."
"Only one word more. 'Up, Lord, why sleepest Thou? Awake, and be not absent from us for ever. Wherefore hidest Thou Thy face, and forgettest our misery and trouble?' That was what I feared—that He forgot—that He did not care." Shushan's head bent low. Jack stretched his hand out to touch hers; she raised her head, and turning her face to his in the dim light, said, "He did not forgetme, He sent me you. And it is not likely He has remembered Shushan Meneshian, and forgotten all the rest."
In talk like this, passing gradually into lighter topics, they rode along, now fast, now slow. Shushan, little accustomed to riding (save to the vineyard on a donkey), grew very tired, though shewould not have confessed it for worlds. They had a mountain gorge to go through, where the narrow path, only wide enough for one, winds along the mountain side, a slope above, a deeper slope—almost a precipice—beneath. One false step, and the unlucky traveller would lie, a mangled corpse, in the rocky gulf below. They had only starlight to guide them, and the mountain on the other side increased the obscurity.
"Trust your horse, my Shushan," Jack said. "Horse sense is better here than ours."
Shushan did so; and though she trembled, no cry, no word of fear, passed her lips. Only she murmured the favourite prayer of her people, "Hesoos okné menk"—Jesus, help us.
Her prayer was heard: they emerged safely from the perilous gorge. Then presently, in the soft starlight, there fell upon their ears a perfect burst of song—sweet, liquid notes, rising and falling in thrills and gushes of delicious melody that seemed to fill the air around them. "The nightingale!" Shushan whispered; "Listen, oh, listen!"
Hitherto, not a tree had relieved the monotony of the waste and dreary path, which indeed was rather a mule track than a road. Now they were drawing near a couple of stunted thorn-bushes, one of which gave a shelter to the sweet songster.
"There is a well here," Jack said. "Kevork tells me travellers always rest and sup—or breakfast as the case may be—beside it. Ah, there it is!"
He sprang from his horse, and helped Shushan down from hers. Then he spread the saddle cloths beneath her on the ground, and took from the small bag strapped beside him on the horse the viands it contained—bread, white delicious cheese in small squares, apples, pears, and peaches. He had with him his father's little flask and cup, one of the few things that had escaped the rapacity of the Syrians; and they needed no better beverage than the cold, pure water with which the well supplied them. Very happily they ate and drank together in the starlight.
Shushan refused the last peach, saying, "No more, I thank you, Yon Effendi."
"My Lily must not call me that again. English wives do not speak so to their husbands. 'Mr. John!' how odd it would sound!"
"I think it has a very pleasant sound—Mis-ter John."
"No, dearest, you must call me, as my father used—Jack."
"Shack? Oh, that is so short, so little of a name for a great, tall Effendi like you!"
"But I love it best, Shushan. And I will loveit, oh, so much better! when I hear it fromyourlips."
"Now I will say it—Shack."
"Not 'Shack'—Jack, likeJohn, which you say quite right."
"I will say that quite right too. Don't you think we ought to ride on, Shack?"
"Not 'Shack'—those naughty lips of yours, Shushan, must pay me a fine when they miscall me so."
He exacted the fine promptly, saying, "I have the right, you know."
Nevertheless Shushan adhered to the name of "Shack," which she softened until it sounded like the French "Jacques." Evidently she thought the harsher sound uncouth, if not disrespectful.
"But don't you think we ought to ride on?" she resumed.
"Presently. In three or four hours we shall come to that queer little village with the black, egg-shaped mud huts—Charmelik, that is the name. The people are Kourds, and will want to talk to us. What shall we do? You do not know Kourdish, any more than I."
"No; but I know Turkish. Some Kourdish tribes speak Turkish, and we can give them to understand we come from one of these. I will talk for us both," said Shushan, whose courage wasrising to meet the exigencies of her life. Jack, as yet, knew only the few words of Turkish he could not fail to pick up in a town partly inhabited by Turks, like Biridjik.
"They will think that odd," he said, "unless I were deaf and dumb."
"Bedeaf and dumb then," she answered, after a thoughtful pause. "You are going to Urfa, to be cured by a wise Frank hakim there; and I, your young brother, go with you, to be ears and tongue to you."
"A splendid notion!" Jack said. It was not the first time he had had occasion to admire the Armenian quickness of resource, and dexterity in eluding danger. These were nature's weapons of defence, developed by environment, and the survival of the fittest. Yet they had their own perils. Does the world recognise how hard—nay, how impossible—it is for oppressed and persecuted races to be absolutely truthful?
Just as they rode on, the glorious sun shot up with tropical splendour and tropical swiftness. It was late September now; the heat was still great, and the travellers were not sorry when at last they saw in the distance the black huts of Charmelik, the walls of the khan, and the minaret of the little mosque. Shushan, in spite of her fatigue, seemed to have changed places with Jack. Sheplanned and exhorted; he listened to her meekly. For fighting, the Englishman comes to the front; for feigning, the Armenian. "Now, I pray of you, Yon Effendi—that is, Shack—remember, you are not to speak; and also, which is harder, you are not tohear—not if a pistol goes off close to your head. You may talk to me by signs, or on your fingers."
Jack gave his promise; and, as both their lives depended on it, he was likely to keep it. At first they thought the khan might be safer to stay in than the huts, but a caravan from Urfa had just stopped there, and both the open enclosure and the rooms round it (if rooms they may be called) were quite full. Moreover, the Kourds of the village came about them with welcomes and questions and offers of hospitality. So Jack gathered from their looks and gestures. He stood among them, gazing about him with as vacant an expression of face as he could manage to assume, only praying they might not be rough with Shushan, for such a set of wild-looking savages, as he thought, he had never seen before; although, of course, since coming to the country, he had seen many Kourds.
After a while Shushan touched him, and motioned to him to come with her. One of the Kourds led them to a hut; and, as it appeared byhis looks and gestures, invited them to consider it their own mansion, with the same magnificent air with which a Spanish grandee might have said, "This is your own house, señor."
As soon as he had attended to their horses and brought in the saddle cloths, Jack surveyed the miserable hovel—some twelve feet in diameter, and with no furniture save a couple of dirty mats and cushions—and wished with all his heart for a decent English pig-stye!
"Youmustget a sleep, Shushan," he said aloud. "But how I am ever to make you comfortable here——"
"Hush!" Shushan breathed rather than spoke, with a warning hand laid upon his arm.
"Well?" said Jack, speaking low, but surprised at her evident alarm.
She pointed to the one little unglazed hole in the mud wall that served as a window. "They sit under that, and listen," she said. "I know their ways."
After that, only low whispers were exchanged. A meal of pillav, with kabobs (little pieces of roast meat), was served to them by their hosts, who were presently—as Shushan ascertained with much relief—going in a body to some neighbouring vineyard, to cut grapes.
When they had finished eating, Jack spreadthe two horse cloths for Shushan, and exhorted her to lie down and sleep. He thought he was far too anxious to do so himself. He sat up manfully near the door, with his back against the wall, for fear of a sudden surprise; but nature in the end was too strong for him, and even in that unrestful position she managed to steep his senses in a profound slumber.
"So let it be. In God's own MightWe gird us for the coming fight."—Whittier.
"So let it be. In God's own MightWe gird us for the coming fight."—Whittier.
"So let it be. In God's own MightWe gird us for the coming fight."—Whittier.
"So let it be. In God's own Might
We gird us for the coming fight."
—Whittier.
It was Shushan who awoke her guardian, near the going down of the sun. "Shack," she whispered, "let us get the horses and begone. I like not the looks of these people. Some of them have come back from the vineyard; and I saw them looking in at the window, and whispering."
Jack shook himself. "So I have slept," he said, surprised. "I did not mean it. What time is it?"
They ate of the provisions they had with them, went together to make ready the horses, bestowed some silver on their hosts, and rode away. As soon as they were really off, Jack asked Shushan if she thought the Kourds were content with their backsheesh.
"Oh yes, content enough," she said. "Still, I do not like their looks. Let us ride on, as fast as we can."
They had some hard riding over the bare,burned-up ground, where not a blade of grass or a leaf of any green thing was to be seen; and then they came again to a mountain gorge. The sun had gone down now—a great relief, for it had been very hot. Shushan, who had scarcely slept at all, was suffering much from fatigue; and though she tried to answer cheerfully when Jack spoke to her, she was evidently depressed and anxious. He asked tenderly what was troubling her.
"Nothing," she said,—"nothing, at least, that I ought to mind. This morning one of those Kourds asked me if we had come down from the mountains to help in killing the Giaours, and to get some of their goods. I asked, why we should kill them when they have done us no harm. And they asked me again where I had come from that I did not know it was the will of Allah and the Sultan, and that the true Believers, who helped in the holy work, were to have their gold and silver and all they possessed. Then they began a story that made my blood run cold—I will not tell it thee. But, Shack, I fear the worst—especially for my people in Biridjik."
"Let us ride on," said Jack, after a sorrowful pause. "It will not do for us to stop and think. And certainly not here."
The darkness, or rather the soft half-darkness,of the starry Eastern night had fallen over them quickly, like a veil. And now they were getting among the mountains, and the wretched track called a road was growing more and more indistinct. Presently they entered another narrow gorge, deeper and gloomier than the one before Charmelik. But for their dependence on their sure-footed horses, they never could have faced it, so narrow was the level track, so steep the precipice below, so dark and frowning the heights on either side above them.
But even the horses seemed to get puzzled. The track became fainter and more broken, until at last the travellers found themselves on sloping ground where it was hard to secure a foothold.
Not all Shushan's self-command could keep back a little frightened cry: "I shall fall! Hold me, Shack!"
Jack turned to help her, heard the slip of a horse's foot in the dry, loose clay, and for one awful moment thought both were lost. However, foothold was regained somehow; and Shushan's fervent "Park Derocha!" gave him strength to breathe again and to look about him. He saw distinctly before them another gorge, crossing almost at right angles the one beneath them, and cutting off their path, as it seemed to him. How were they to traverse it? How had it been donebefore, when he rode in hot haste with the zaptiehs and the Post, or back again, with Kevork?
And where was the path itself, from which they had wandered—he knew not how far? Great Jupiter shone above them, bright enough to outline their forms in shadow on the bare brown earth; and, looking carefully, he had light to discern a narrow, crooked thread of white winding some thirty feet below their standing place. He pointed to it. "We must get back," he said.
Shushan drew her breath hard, and looked, not at the perilous slope, but athim. "Yes," she said. Jack would have proposed to dismount, trust to their feet, and let the horses follow, but he knew it was not best. He knew too that he must restrain his longing to take Shushan's bridle and lead her horse—thatwas not best either. How she held on he did not know, nor did she know herself.
They were getting down the steep incline with less difficulty than they expected, and had nearly regained the path, when Shushan cried out suddenly, "Shack, I hear shouts." In another moment horse and rider both were on the ground. Jack could not tell until the end of his life what happened next, or what he did, until he found himself sitting on the path with Shushan's headin his lap, seeing nothing but her face, white through its dark staining. Her horse had narrowly escaped slipping down into the gorge, but had found his feet somehow, and now stood beside Jack's, gazing solemnly at the two dismounted riders.
Happily, Jack had his flask in his wide sash. He got at it, sprinkled Shushan's face with the water, and put some between her lips. After a few moments—it seemed like an age—she looked up. He began to lavish tender words and caresses upon her, asking anxiously if she was hurt, but she stopped him quickly.
"Oh, what does it matter?" she said. "Listen, Shack!"
He had been deaf as well as blind to all except her state. Now he listened. The mountain echoes rang with wild, discordant shouts.
"The Kourds! They are pursuing us," said Shushan, sitting up. Terror had restored her senses more rapidly than all the arts of love could have done.
"Another set of them?" asked Jack, bewildered.
"No. The Kourds of Charmelik," said Shushan in a frightened whisper. "I feared it. They heard us speak, and knew we were no Kourds." Even in that moment's agony she said "heard usspeak," as Jack remembered afterwards,—lest he should blame himself.
"I will run round the corner, and look," he said. "Do you fear a moment alone, my Shushan?"
"No; but take care. Keep under cover of the hill."
Jack ran to a turn that gave him a view of the road from Charmelik. As far as he could see along the track no creature was visible. But high up on the hill he saw dark forms, descending, doubtless by some goat-track known to themselves alone. They could reach Shushan almost as soon as he could.
He tore back to her, possessed with the thought that he would set her on horseback, and make a race for it. But when he came near, he saw their horses had moved away, and were both out of sight.
The shouts sounded nearer and nearer; he saw the flash of a gun, and heard the report.
"Shack!" said Shushan. She was still sitting on the ground, having sprained her ankle in the fall. "Shack!"
He bent down to her. He had been looking to his revolver, and held it in his hand. "If the worst comes," she said, "you will kill me with that—promise."
Jack set his teeth for an instant: then he said firmly, "So help me God."
Another pistol shot—not near enough to harm them. But the Kourds were upon them now. Jack saw the face of the man who had given them his hut—an evil face. He took aim, fired, and the Kourd fell in a heap, and rolled down the sloping ground to his very feet.
But there were twenty following him, and most of them had guns, while Jack had no other shot—for them. He stood at bay between his wife and the robbers, keeping his hand on the revolver as if just about to fire.
The Kourds desire close quarters with a dead shot as little as other men. They wavered,—hesitated. Presently one fellow, braver than the rest, discharged his gun, the shot passing close to Jack's head, then sprang down the slope and flung himself upon him. They closed in mortal conflict, hand to hand, foot to foot, eye to eye. At last Jack turned suddenly, dragged his foe to the edge of the abyss, tore himself loose with one tremendous effort, and with another, flung him over. Down—down—down, still down, he rolled and fell, fell and rolled, till he lay a mangled heap amongst the boulders at the bottom of the gorge. Jack would assuredly have followed him, had he not fallen, or rather thrown himself, backwards at full length on the path. As he lay there two or three bullets whizzed over him.
They were the last salute of the departing foe. The Kourds by this time had had enough of it, and beat a retreat more rapid than their advance. When they found out their guests were not what they appeared to be, brethren from a distant tribe, they had supposed they might be Armenians carrying communications from the revolted Zeitounlis[3]to Urfa, and that therefore they would be worth intercepting. But now they came to the conclusion they were too well armed to be molested any further.
It was long before Jack and Shushan dared to breathe again. "Park Derocha!" said Shushan at last. "Thank God!" Jack responded. He had risen to his feet, and was looking anxiously around to see that all was safe.
"Shack," said Shushan presently, "my foot hurts dreadfully now—praised be the Lord!"
Jack had no linen, but he tore his sash, poured on it all the water remaining in his flask, and wrapped it round the ankle, which was beginning to swell. "I meant that word," Shushan added smiling, "for pain is not felt until danger is past, and danger is—oh, so much worse than pain! But, Shack, the horses!"
"True, we must get them; I daresay they have not gone far. Dare I leave you here while I go to look for them?"
"Youmust. Our lives hang on it. God will take care of me."
Jack drew her gently into a sheltered place under the rock. Then he set off at a brisk run, not letting himself think there was danger for her, since hehadto go, and yet intensely, cruelly anxious about her.
He had a much longer chase than he anticipated, for the horses had quite disappeared from view. Still he went on, keeping the path, and uttering now and then the calls they were sure to recognise.
On account of the intervening gorge, the path descended almost to the very bottom of the valley, through which there ran a little mountain stream with a narrow fringe of green, stunted herbage on each side. Instinct had led the horses to this desirable spot, where having quenched their thirst, they stood contented, cropping the few mouthfuls of short grass. Happily, in this position, the Kourds could not see them.
Jack lost not a moment in leading their reluctant steps from the haunts of pleasure to the very dry and very stony path of duty. Joyfully he brought them back to where Shushan was, and met her joyful welcome.
"Is the painverybad now, my Shushan?" he asked.
"No," she answered, smiling. "It is onlya little very bad, as you say in English. Is not that right? Now you shall lift me on my horse again, and we will go."
In a few minutes more they were on their way. When they came near the little stream, they halted for a while, that Jack might bring water for Shushan to drink, and bathe her ankle with it. She was very weary, and suffering considerable pain, but she kept on bravely, making no complaint. "It would be very ungrateful," she thought, "when God has been so good to us."
"Shushan," said Jack, as they rode along, "do you know what they call this gorge we are coming out of? They call it 'Bloody Gorge,' from the robberies and murders there have been in it. Kevork told me when we rode back together, but I did not want to tell you until we had passed it."
"Yesterday the Kourds told me the same," said Shushan, "butIdid not want to tellyou."
At length the mountain gorges were left behind, and a Roman road was reached, leading to the plain, which now began to assume an appearance of cultivation. There were wheatfields, and many fine vineyards laden with grapes. But if the prospect was pleasing, the road was vile. The great cobble stones the Romans loved had fallen apart, and the mud and gravel between them had caked into a hard cement. Not the surest-footed ofsteeds could avoid constant slips and stumbles, which filled up the measure of poor Shushan's suffering. She could scarcely hold herself upon her horse.
A little comfort came when the sun shot up in splendour. About the same time they got upon a smoother piece of road, and presently Jack said: "My Shushan, art thou too weary to look up, and see old Edessa in the morning light?"
Shushan looked up. "It is a sight to take weariness away," she said, faintly, but joyfully.
Before them rose a hill, crowned with a magnificent ruined castle, and the slopes beneath it covered with buildings, interspersed with fair green patches, telling of shady trees and pleasant gardens. But still the eye turned back to the noble ruin, with its two very tall pillars, the use whereof no man knows, rising upwards towards the sky. Fragments of a great wall remained, enclosing not the castle alone, but all the hill on which the large town is built, with its dense mass of flat roofs, varied by minarets and mosques. Everywhere white was the prevailing colour; so that, in the fair morning light, the old city of King Agbar seemed to have donned a mantle of spotless snow.
A very high, very long roof of white attracted the eye. It belonged to the great GregorianCathedral, a noble structure, of enormous size, capable, it is said, of holding eight thousand persons. Jack turned to point it out to Shushan, but a glance at her face made him say instead: "My Shushan, you are ready to faint. You shall rest a little here. I will lift you from your horse."
"No, Shack, no. We are just at home now. I will keep up till I see Miss Celandine's face."
Through the city gate they rode, unchallenged and unhindered. Then they passed a little market place, rode on through narrow streets, and round the Protestant Church and churchyard, till they reached the gates of the Mission premises. Eyes that loved must have been looking from the window above the front door, for Jack had scarcely time to knock with a trembling hand, and to lift Shushan from the saddle, when the door opened, and a tall, spare figure stood within. The face was the face of one who had thought much, done much, suffered much, and above all, loved much. Jack gave Shushan into the motherly arms that opened wide to receive her; she laid her weary head upon that strong, kind shoulder, and fainted entirely away.
"Do not be afraid for her, Mr. Grayson," Miss Celandine said. "Peace and safety are good physicians."