2015년 9월 10일 목요일

By Far Euphrates A Tale 19

By Far Euphrates A Tale 19


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?"
 
"You _must_. 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 he _had_ to 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 pain _very_ bad now, my Shushan?" he asked.
 
"No," she answered, smiling. "It is only _a 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, "but _I_ did not
want to tell _you_."
 
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
of steeds 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 Gregorian Cathedral, 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."
 
FOOTNOTE:
 
[3] See the Appendix.
 
 
 
 
CHAPTER XIII
 
WHAT PASTOR STEPANIAN THOUGHT
 
"But he was holy, calm, and high,
As one who saw an ecstasy
Beyond a foreknown agony."
 
--_E. B. Browning._
 
 
John Grayson left his young bride, for the present, in the care of Miss
Celandine. "She is safe; she is absolutely safe!" he kept saying to
himself, that one thought swallowing up all the rest. He went constantly
to see her, and was relieved to find that she very soon recovered from
the effects of her sprain, which indeed was not serious. Meanwhile he
stayed with the Vartonians, and watched anxiously for the coming of the
Meneshians to Urfa. Until he saw them settled there, and in some measure
safe, he did not think he ought to apply for a passport for himself and
Shushan, or, as she would then be called, Lily Grayson.
 
It was October now. The gloom of a great terror seemed gathering over
the town. So accustomed had Jack grown to fears and apprehensions that
he did not notice it as anything unusual. But he could not fail to
notice a most astonishing and unexpected outburst of rejoicing and
festivity that came suddenly in the very midst of the gloom. As
sometimes in a day of storm, when the great thunderclouds sweep across
the sky, the sun looks out for a moment, flashing a shaft of light
through the darkness,--so here, when all seemed blackest, a sudden
rumour passed from heart to heart, from lip to lip, "_The Sultan has
granted the Reforms._" Not only did the Armenians of Urfa whisper it
within closed doors--as they were wont to do with anything bearing,
however remotely, upon politics; men said it aloud to each other in the
streets and in the shops; and women talked of it as they baked their
bread, or drew their water from the fountains. What did these Reforms
mean? Did they mean--men said they did--no more plundering Kourds, no
more tyrannous zaptiehs, no more dungeons and tortures for innocent men,
and, best of all, no more of that wordless, nameless terror that made
the life of the Armenian woman one long misery? If indeed they meant
_this_, ought not the whole community to go mad with joy?
 
The t                         

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