By Far Euphrates A Tale 20
"Allah!" cried the discomfited follower of Mahomet, looking at him with
a dazed, astonished air. An Armenian to strike a blow like that! Surely
Shaytan had got into him!
"Come--come quickly," Vartan said, hurrying his sister on, for fear of
pursuit. "More Dajeeks may come," he explained to Jack, who mounted
guard on the other side of Elmas. "Let us go to the church. It is the
nearest place where we can be safe."
"The Cathedral?"
"No; that is a long way off. My father's church."
They walked quickly, and were soon there. When in Urfa before, Jack had
always attended the cathedral services; he had not entered the beautiful
Protestant church since he saw the dead lying there in her peaceful
rest, on the morning of his first arrival. Vartan led him through it;
then, by the little side door, into his father's study. All around the
room there were bookshelves, filled to overflowing, and with books in
several languages. The Pastor was seated in a chair, before a little
deal table, reading. He was dressed _à la Frank_, and when, after a few
words from Vartan in Armenian, he rose and greeted his visitor in
excellent English, Jack thought himself back in his own land again. He
almost thought himself back again in the study of the good old clergyman
who had been the pastor and teacher of his childhood.
It broke the illusion a little when that stately gentleman touched his
own forehead, and stooped down to kiss the hand Jack stretched out to
him, instead of taking it in a hearty grasp. But this was in especial
thanks for the service rendered to his children, and a few earnest words
just touched with Eastern grace were added.
The pastor said a word or two to Elmas and Vartan, who left the room.
Then he invited Jack to take the one chair, and seated himself on the
little divan under the window.
Delighted at hearing his native tongue so perfectly spoken, Jack said
impulsively and in English,--
"Pastor, you are more than half an Englishman."
Pastor Stepanian shook his head rather sadly, but did not speak.
Then Jack remembered the nationality of the missionaries, his friends.
"I beg your pardon," he said, "I meant--you are more than half an
American."
"Neither English nor American," said Hagop Stepanian proudly. "Every
drop of my blood, every pulse in my heart, belongs to my own race. But I
am very grateful to the Americans, our benefactors."
The blood rushed to the face of John Grayson. "I am afraid," he said,
"you have no cause to be grateful to _us_."
The pastor waved his hand. "I say nothing against the English," he
said.--"Pardon me a moment."
He rose, looked carefully round, and opened both doors of the study,
ascertaining in this way that there was no one within earshot, either in
the churchyard or the church. Then he closed the doors again, sat down,
lowered his voice, and began: "Have you been long enough in this
country, Mr. Grayson, to have seen a dead horse, with half a dozen
hungry dogs snarling round it? Each wants a bit, yet each is so jealous
of all the rest, that if one dares touch it the others fall on him, and
drive him off. Can you read my parable?"
"Yes; the nations, England and the others, stand thus around Turkey.
Would it _were_ dead, Pastor!"
"Take care, my young friend, lest some such word escape you as you walk
by the way, or ride among the vineyards, or sit with a friend over your
coffee in his private room, where the very hangings may conceal a spy."
"Oh, I am cautious enough. I have been here nearly five years."
"Were you here fifty, you might still have failed to learn your lesson.
A word, a whisper, a scrap of paper found upon you,--nay, the assertion
of some one else that you have given him a scrap of paper--may consign
you any moment to a horrible dungeon, where you will be tortured into
saying anything your accusers wish. Nor is that the worst. Men have been
flung into prison, and tortured almost to death, without being able to
guess the crime laid to their charge. I knew of one who was used in this
way, and at last they found they had mistaken him for another of the
same name. He was brought half dead before the Kadi, who said to him
coolly, 'My son, regard it not. It was an error. Go in peace.'"
"The stupidity of these people would be ridiculous, if the horror were
not too great," Jack said.
"Nay, Mr. Grayson, it is not stupidity. It is savagery, and savagery
dominating civilization, but that savagery is armed with an ingenuity
almost devilish for the bringing about of the designs in view. All
_special_ outrages upon the Christians are cleverly timed for some
moment when the eyes of Christian Europe are turned elsewhere. Our
people are first entrapped, made to give up their arms if they have any,
cajoled with false promises of safety, if possible induced or forced to
accuse each other, or themselves, of seditious plans they never even
thought of."
"Then, Pastor, are all the rumours of plots and seditions here and there
mere fabrications?"
"There are plots, no doubt, _outside_ Armenia. Bands of desperate
exiles, in the great cities of Europe, have committees, hold meetings,
make revolutionary plans. And I do not say their emissaries may not find
a foothold and gain a hearing in some of our towns, those near the
Russian frontier, for instance. But _I_ know of none such. And I do know
what happened here a short time ago. A young man, with an air of
importance, and dressed _à la Frank_, appeared one day in the Cathedral.
The bishop noticed him, sent for him, and asked his business in the
town. He said he had come to ask help for the Zeitounlis, and to
establish communications between them and the Urfans. The bishop
answered him, 'In two hours you will be either outside the city gate, or
in the guard-house. You have your choice. It is not that I do not desire
the deliverance and the freedom of my people, but they will never gain
it in this way. This is only pulling down our house upon our own heads.'
So much, and no more, sedition and disloyalty has there been in this
city, Mr. Grayson."
"But do you not think the worst for your country is over now? These
Reforms----"
The Pastor shook his head. "Only another snare," he said. "At least, I
forbode it. The Sultan gives us reforms on paper to lull us into
security, and to deceive our European friends, while he sharpens the
dagger for our throats."
"You think then that the reforms are worth--"
"The paper they are written on. If the Sultan meant them even--which he
does not--who are to carry them out? The Pashas, Valis, Kamaikans? They
are our deadliest enemies. They want our lands, our houses, our gold;
they want--the dreadful word _must_ be said--our wives and our
daughters. And the Zaptiehs, the Redifs, the Hamidiehs, the Kourds and
the Turkish rabble of every town want to share the spoil."
"Do they not think too that in killing us they do God service?" Jack
said "us" quite naturally now.
"In literal truth. Have you never heard the prayer they recite daily in
their mosques? 'I seek refuge with Allah from Shaytan the accuser. In
the name of Allah the compassionate, the merciful! O Lord of all
creatures! O Allah! destroy the Infidels and Polytheists, thine enemies,
the enemies of the Religion! O Allah! make their children orphans, and
defile their abodes! Cause their feet to slip, give them and their
families, their households and their women, their children and their
relations by marriage, their brothers and their friends, their
possessions and their race, their wealth and their lands, as booty to
the Moslems, O Lord of all creatures!' Rather a contrast this to 'Our
Father which art in Heaven!'"
"Is it possible they think God will answer such a prayer?" said Jack.
"They _do_ think it. You must remember their God is not the God and
Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, nor the Father of mankind. He
represents Will and Power apart from love and righteousness. 'The will
of Allah' means everything to them, but it is not necessarily a holy or
a loving Will."
"Still people are often better than their creed, you know."
"They are. Moreover, the Moslems' creed has in it some grand elements of
truth. They acknowledge one God, and they believe in the duty and the
efficacy of prayer. Oh yes,--and there are some good and generous Turks,
who are as kind to us as they dare to be. I have known such. There was
one, a Pasha, who tried to rule according to the avowed intentions of
the Sultan, _not_ according to his secret instructions. He was deprived
of his office, and banished to a distant part of the empire. There a
friend of mine, a missionary, visited him not long ago. At first my
friend was disappointed, for though the Turk received him with all
cordiality, he could not be got to talk. But when he returned the
missionary's visit, and in his lodgings felt tolerably safe, he told
him that every step he took was dogged, every word he said reported by
the Sultan's spies: even in his most private chamber he never knew what
safety meant; a spy might lurk behind the tapestry or outside the door.
'I count my life,' he said, 'by days and hours. Soon or late I am sure
to be murdered.' If he is, I think He who said, 'Inasmuch as ye have
done it unto the least of these,' will have something to say to him."
"Surely in this land," Jack observed, "'he that departeth from evil
maketh himself a prey.' But what do you think of the outlook here just
now, Pastor?""Do you want to hear the truth, Mr. Grayson?"
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