By Far Euphrates A Tale 10

By Far Euphrates A Tale 10

John Grayson thought, for one, that certainly for the present he would

stay where he was. "It is not in the hour of danger one rides away and

leaves one's friends behind," he said to himself.

 

More than four years had passed now since his first coming to the

country. He was twenty years of age, full six feet with his slippers

off, with light brown hair and beard, fair complexion well tanned by the

sun, English blue eyes, and frank, fearless English face.

 

 

 

 

Chapter VIII

 

A PROPOSAL

 

He either fears his fate too much,

Or his desert is small,

Who spares to put it to the touch

And gain or lose it all.

 

--_Marquis of Montrose._

 

 

Jack often went to the service held daily, a little after sunrise, in

the Gregorian Church.

 

So did many members of the household, Mariam, Shushan, and Gabriel

especially being constant attendants.

 

One day the returning party was met at the door by Hagop, weeping

bitterly.

 

Asked by every one what was wrong, he sobbed out, "The cattle! The

cattle!"

 

"What is wrong with the cattle?"

 

"They are not wrong--they are all gone. The Kourds have taken them

away--every one."

 

"Every one? The kine, and the sheep and goats as well?"

 

"There's not a cow left to low nor a lamb to bleat of them all. The

shepherds have come in, wounded and beaten, to tell us. Grandfather

says they did all they could. Amaan! Amaan!"

 

By this time the women were all weeping. For them it meant ruin--almost

starvation. But Gabriel touched his mother's hand caressingly, and

whispered a word from the Psalm they had just sung in church: "His are

the cattle upon a thousand hills."

 

"But that is unbearable!" Jack burst out.

 

"It _has_ to be borne," Mariam said sadly.

 

"We shall see! I cannot believe such things are done--here even--and

there is no remedy. A man's whole possessions swept away at a stroke.

Hagop, where are the men?"

 

"In the great front room."

 

"I will go to them. Come, Gabriel."

 

But Hagop pulled his brother back. "_You_ won't be let in," he said. "I

was not."

 

"I am two years older."

 

"But you are not a man. Father said, 'This is for men,' and took me by

the shoulder and turned me out."

 

Jack rather wondered what had to be talked of which intelligent boys of

twelve and fourteen ought not to hear, but he said nothing, and went in

at once.

 

He found all the men of the household, with a few of their intimate

friends, gathered in the large room of which Hagop had spoken. As he

entered all were silent. They stood together in a dull stupor, like

cattle before a thunderstorm. In their faces was profound sadness,

mingled with fear. Jack looked around on them, and cried out

impetuously, "Are we going to stand this outrageous robbery? Is there

nothing to be done?"

 

There was no answer. Some bowed their heads despairingly; others put

their hands on their hearts, and said, "Amaan!" Others, again, looked up

and murmured, "God help us!"

 

Jack turned to Hohannes. The old man was weeping, his face buried in his

cloak. The sight touched him.

 

"Father, do not weep," he said gently. "We will try to recover at least

something."

 

Hohannes flung his cloak aside with a gesture of passionate pain. "Dost

think I am weeping for sheep and oxen?" he said. "Friends, this young

man is to me as a son, and to Shushan as a brother. Tell him--I cannot."

 

Pale with a new alarm, Jack turned to the rest, "What is _this_?" he

cried. "Tell me, in God's name."

 

They looked at each other in silence. At last Avedis, who seemed fated

to belie his name, found his voice. He said hoarsely, "Just after the

shepherds came to tell about the flocks, my father was called aside. It

was a private message from the Kamaikan, who is not so bad as some. He

sent to warn us that Mehmed Ibrahim has found out Shushan is here. He

will send to demand her for his harem, and we will have to give her up."

 

Jack groaned, and turned his face away. Silence fell upon them all--a

silence that might be felt. After a while some one said, "He has not

sent yet. The Kamaikan's warning was well meant."

 

"Yes," said Avedis, "we have given gold. He will get us a respite if he

can."

 

"What use in a respite," Boghos, Shushan's father, moaned in his

despair--"except to dress the bride?"

 

"The _bride_!" a younger man repeated,--rage, hate, and shame

concentrated in the word.

 

There was another pause, and a long one. Then John Grayson strode out

into the middle of the room and stood there, his form erect, his eyes

flashing, his arm outstretched. "Listen!" he cried, in a voice like the

sharp report of a rifle.

 

Every one turned towards him, but old Hohannes said hopelessly, "It is

no use; yet speak on, Yon Effendi; thou dost ever speak wisely."

 

"There is one way of saving Shushan."

 

"Let me speak first," an old man, as old as Hohannes, broke in hastily.

"Englishman, thou hast lived long among us, but thou art not of our

race. Thou dost not yet understand that we are born to suffer, and have

no defence except patience. I wot thou wouldst talk to us of fighting

and resistance; for thou art young, and thy blood is hot. But I am old,

and my head is grey. I have seen that tried often enough--ay, God knows,

too often! Did not my son die in a Turkish prison, and my daughter, whom

he struck those blows to save--Well, she is dead now, and Shushan--as we

hope--will die soon, for God is merciful. But let there be no word

spoken of resistance here; for that means only anguish piled on anguish,

wrong heaped on wrong."

 

Without change of voice or attitude, Jack repeated his words, "There is

one way of saving Shushan."

 

Avedis spoke up boldly. "Let us hear what Yon Effendi has to say. He

saved her once already from the wild dogs."

 

Jack looked round the room. "Do I not see a priest here? Yes, Der

Garabed."

 

The priest had been ill, and had come out now for the first time, drawn

by sympathy for the troubles of the Meneshians. He was sitting in a

corner on some cushions, but when his name was spoken he rose, in his

long black robe with large sleeves, like an English clergyman's gown.

 

"What do you want of me, Yon Effendi?" he asked.

 

"I want you to marry me to-morrow morning to Shushan Meneshian."

 

A murmur of astonishment ran round the room. Old Hohannes was the first

to speak. "Dear son, thou art beside thyself. Forget thy foolish words.

We will forget them also."

 

"I am not beside myself, and I speak words of truth and soberness," said

Jack, to whom Bible diction came naturally now. "There is no other way."

 

"One cannot do things after that fashion," the priest said vaguely,

being much perplexed, "nor in such haste. One must be careful not to

profane a sacrament of the Church."

 

"Where is the profanation? I love her--more than my life." Crimson to

the roots of his hair, and with the blood throbbing in every vein, John

Grayson stood, in that supreme moment, revealed to his own heart, and

flinging out the revelation as a challenge to all that company of

sorrowful, despairing men.

 

"It is a strange thing, a very strange thing," said Hohannes, stroking

his beard.

 

He expressed the sense of the whole assembly. The proposal was a breach

of every convention of their race, amongst whom betrothal invariably

precedes marriage. "It cannot be done in that way," was their feeling.

 

Jack knew their customs as well as they did; but, being an Englishman,

he thought necessity should and must override custom. He spoke again,

with that curious calmness which sometimes marks the very heart of an

intense emotion, the spot of still water in the midst of the whirlpool.

"As the wedded wife of an Englishman, no Turk will dare to molest her. I

should like to see him try it! He would have England to reckon with, and

England can keep her own."

 

Now, if any hope survived in the crushed hearts of these oppressed,

downtrodden Armenians, it was hope in England. The English were

Christians, so they would have the will to help them; they were mighty

warriors and conquerors, so they would have the power. Themselves under

the pressure of a malignant, irresistible power, they had perhaps an

exaggerated idea of what power could accomplish, if combined with

beneficence.

 

Certainly for a young man to marry a girl in that way, without

preparation, without betrothal, without even time to make the wedding

clothes, was a thing unheard of since the days of St. Gregory. Yet, what