By Far Euphrates A Tale 21
"Certainly."
"Then I think, in the words of your own poet, it is 'dark, dark, dark,
unutterably dark,' and the darkness is over all the land."
"Darker than it has been yet? Is that possible?" Jack queried.
"Yes, what was meant before was oppression. What is meant now is, I
fear, _extermination_."
"But," said Jack, raising his head suddenly, while a new light shone in
his eyes, "there is God to be reckoned with. Does _He_ mean it?"
"'His way is in the sea, His path is in the great waters, and His
footsteps are not known.' Did you notice the name of my boy, whom you
helped so kindly just now?"
"Vartan,--in English, 'Easter.'"
"It is a name dear to every Armenian heart, the name of the hero saint
of our race. And yet, Saint Vartan died in a lost battle. He fought
against the Persians, who summoned the Armenians to submit to them, and
to exchange the law of the Christ for the creed of the fire-worshipper.
The Persians were strong and many, the Armenians were few and weak; but
this was their answer, and Vartan's: 'We are not better than those
before us, who laid down upon this testimony their goods and their
bodies. Ask us no more, for the covenant of our faith is not with men,
but in bonds indissoluble with God, for whom there is no separation or
departure, neither now, nor ever, nor for ever--nor for ever and ever.'
That is what we said fifteen hundred years ago, that is what we say
to-day, when the darkest hour of the darkest night is falling over our
land."
A pause followed, broken by Stepanian. "He died in a lost battle. The
battle is lost, but the cause triumphs."
Jack had covered his face with his hands; but at these words he looked
up again. "Then you see, beyond the darkness, a gleam of light?" he
said.
"Mr. Grayson, I will tell you a parable. Last spring my little son
Armenag came with me one day to the vineyard. I showed him two vines.
One of them was beautiful, covered with luxuriant leaves and tendrils;
the other, a dry, bare stick, with branch and leaf and tendril cut away
by a ruthless hand. 'Which of these two will you have for your own, to
bear grapes for you by-and-by?' I asked the boy. Of course he chose the
beautiful, leafy vine. But the other day, in the ingathering, I brought
him there again. Lo! the vine that kept its leaves and branches had only
a few poor stunted grapes, while the tree that had been stripped and cut
down, was bending beneath the weight of its great clusters of glorious
fruit."
"And?" said Jack, his eyes eagerly fixed upon the Pastor, who went on--
"I see some clusters ripening even now. Is it nothing, think you, that
men and women, and children even, have been witnessing fearlessly unto
death for the Lord they love? In very truth, like the witnesses of old,
they have been tortured, not accepting deliverance. Many have already
joined the noble army of martyrs. And many more are coming--ay, even
from this place. Never of late have I stood up to preach, and looked
down on the faces beneath me, without the thought that these, my people,
may soon be standing in the presence of Christ. And I too--I shall see
Him soon."
"Are you a prophet?" John Grayson asked, looking with amazement at the
calm, refined, intellectual face of this gentleman of the nineteenth
century, who spoke of his own martyrdom as certainly, as quietly, and as
fearlessly, as if he had said, "I am going to France, or to England."
"I am no prophet, Mr. Grayson; but I think I can read the signs of the
times. And though it becomes no man to answer for himself, there are
things in which we may trust God to answer for us;--and things which He
does not ask of us. He does not ask the shepherd to save himself when
the sheep are smitten."
"But death is not the _worst_ thing that happens here," Jack said very
low, "nor even torture--would to God it were!"
"Don't you think I know that?" said the Pastor hoarsely, as a shade of
anguish crossed his face. "Don't you think I thank God every hour for my
Dead--my Dead, who died by _His_ Hand?"
Jack remembered what he had seen in the church that day, and held his
peace. A great silence fell upon them; then Hagop Stepanian stretched
out his hand to Jack, and looked straight into his eyes. "Mr. John
Grayson," he said, "do you trust God?"
Jack's frank blue eyes fell beneath the gaze of those dark, searching
eyes, that seemed to have looked down into unfathomed depths of anguish
and come back from them into peace. "I trust in God," he said very low.
"I am sure of it. But here, where we stand now, we want more. To
overcome in this warfare, a man must have laid, wholly and without
reserve, his own soul and body, and the souls and bodies that are dearer
than his own, in the hands of his faithful Creator and Redeemer."
"Do you mean we must be willing, not only to suffer, but to see them
suffer?" Jack asked in a broken voice. "That's against
nature--impossible."
"Therefore God does not ask it of us. All He asks is that we should be
willing for His will."
"_Not_ His will--oh, _not_ His will!" Jack said almost with a cry. "The
will of wicked men--of devils!"
"Even so;--but He is stronger than they, and will prevail. Mr. Grayson,
will you take my counsel?"
"Except it be to leave this place and save myself, which at present I
cannot do."
"I know it: you have others, you have _another_ to think of,--No; you
share our peril, and unless you share also our strong consolation you
will be as those that go down into the pit, and your heart will die
within you. Remember, you must trust God, and trust Him utterly. In all
the generations He has never yet broken faith with one man who trusted
Him so. He will bring you up out of the depths again, and you shall
behold His righteousness, and one day you shall see His face with joy,
and know wherefore He let these things come upon us."
The conversation was interrupted by the entrance of Vartan and a younger
boy, bringing coffee and sweetmeats. The Pastor drew the little one
towards him, saying in Armenian, "Tell the English Effendi, Armenag,
what our fathers in St. Vartan's day said to the Persians, when they
bade them deny the Lord Jesus."
The child answered steadily, and as if he meant every word: "Ask us no
more, for the covenant of our faith is not with man, but with God, for
whom there is no separation or departure, neither now, nor ever, nor for
ever, nor for ever and ever."
"And what has God said to them, and to us?"
The boy's young voice rang clear and high as he repeated his
well-remembered lesson. "'The mountains shall depart, and the hills be
removed, but My kindness shall not depart from thee, neither shall the
covenant of My peace be removed, saith the Lord that hath mercy on thee.
O thou afflicted, tossed with tempest and not comforted, behold, I will
lay thy stones with fair colours, and lay thy foundations with
sapphires. And I will make thy windows of agates, and thy gates of
carbuncles, and all thy borders of pleasant stones.'"
"I teach my children words like these," the Pastor said, reverting to
English, "that they may know we are watchers for the morning. Which
assuredly our eyes shall see, here or elsewhere," he added with a bright
glance upwards.
Jack sat in silence for a space. Then, rising to take his leave, he
grasped and wrung the Pastor's hand in true English fashion. "I will
remember what you said about trusting God," he murmured.
"God, who is not only above you in heaven, but underneath you in the
depths," the Pastor said. "There is no abyss you can sink into, where
you cannot sink down on Him. And yet," he added with a smile, "I have
good hopes of your safe return at last to your native land, along with
your sweet bride Shushan, the daughter of our people. For you are an
Englishman, and such are always protected here. And, when God gives you
deliverance, think then of this Church of His, which is afflicted,
tossed with tempests, and not comforted. May yours be the hand He uses
to comfort her." Then, once more in Armenian, "Vartan, do you go with
Mr. Grayson to his home; you can take him by the shortest way."
"Yes, father, but I want to tell you"--the boy lowered his voice--"Osman
has just been here, to let us know privately we should not try to hold
a meeting for thanksgiving to-night. The Zaptiehs will disperse it by
force."
"I will see what ought to be done.--So much for the Reforms, Mr.
Grayson. But do not speak of this. Osman is a young Turk who bears us
good will, as I have told you some do; and an incautious word might
bring him into trouble. Once more, farewell; God bless you."
Chapter XIV
A MODERN THERMOPYLÆ
"In yon strait path a thousand
May well be stopped by three;
Now who will stand on either hand,
And keep the (way) with me?"
--_T. B. Macaulay._
Jack often went after this to the Protestant church to hear Pastor
Stepanian preach. He had been much impressed by his words, and still
more by his remarkable personality; and there was the added pleasure of
worshipping with Shushan, who sat demurely by Miss Celandine on the
women's side of the church. Oriort Elmas was there too--a noble-looking
girl, a good deal taller than Shushan, and far less regularly beautiful,
but with a face full of intelligence. He heard much of her courage and
charity in ministering to the poor and sick, as well as of her loving
care of her young brothers and sister. He met her once or twice at the
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