By Far Euphrates A Tale 23
"Come on! come on! Don't look," said Barkev. "We have my cousins to save
from a like fate."
They found the Meneshians in a corner of the Market Place, still keeping
the foe at bay. They had the advantage of being, most of them, on horses
or on mules; but the density of the hostile crowd, and the number of
women and children they had with them, had kept them from breaking
through, while they made all the better mark for stones and mud.
However, their tormentors were getting tired of a kind of sport which
yielded no profit. Rather a pity, when their brethren were looting the
well-stocked Armenian shops in the Bazaar! So the crowd soon gave way
sufficiently to enable Jack and Barkev to extricate their friends, and
they led the terrified party towards the Armenian Quarter. Some were
bleeding from the stones that had been thrown at them; all had their
clothing torn and disfigured with mud. The children were crying, and two
or three of the women were ready to faint.
Meanwhile, there was a roar behind them like the roar of many waters,
breaking on a rock-bound shore. The mob--the savage mob of an Eastern
city--was "_up_." "Death to the Giaours!" was the cry that rose and
surged, surged and rose again. The luckless Armenians who had ventured
into the Turkish town were fleeing before the storm,--fleeing for their
lives, many of them streaming with blood.
Would that mob pour on, like sea waves in a storm, into the narrow
streets of the Armenian Quarter? Would they slay utterly young and old,
men and maidens and little children? No, the weak should not die, if the
strong could protect them. Barkev, Kevork, Jack, and other young men
sent the rest on before them, and took their stand in a narrow street at
the entrance of their Quarter. It bade fair to be a little modern
Thermopylæ. Surely neither Greek nor Roman ever fought in a holier
cause, or for dearer issues; nor against greater odds, nor with more
determined courage.
Gabriel, just back from school, came with the rest. Jack sent him for
his revolver. "You know where to get it," he said. The others armed
themselves, as they could, with sticks and stones. Not another firearm
was seen, save this revolver.
The Turks had plenty of firearms. With the rabble were mingled regular
soldiers, Zaptiehs, Redifs, Hamidiehs, Kourds, all fully armed, all
thirsting for blood and plunder. The Armenians could scarcely have held
their own had they not had good allies on the flat roofs of their
houses. These had all parapets of loose stones, treasuries of effective
weapons for the men, the women, and the boys, who flung them down on the
heads of the Moslems.
Jack's two barrels were soon emptied, as two of the Turks knew to their
cost. But he could not reload, so a friend behind him snatched the
weapon out of his hand, and thrust into it a stout bludgeon. With this
he played the man, his whole soul in the blows he dealt. He was
fighting for dear life--for dearer lives than his own. Was it minutes,
hours, years that he stood there, struggling in that desperate _mêlée_?
Were the Moslems giving ground at last? What did it mean? There
certainly was a space growing before the defenders; they had room now to
breathe. Two or three Turks lay in the street dead or dying, others were
well bruised with bludgeons or cut with stones. A panic began among
them. And presently--for an Eastern crowd does nothing by halves--the
street was cleared with a rush. It was a regular stampede.
The Christians drew breath, and looked one another in the face. "Safe at
last!" Jack said.
"For the present," said Kevork, wiping his brow. But the next moment he
cried in horror, "My father! he is dying!"
The Christians, of course, had suffered in the fray. Several lay dead,
others were sorely wounded. One of these was Boghos, who, though no
longer young, had chosen to take part in the defence. Jack and Kevork,
in great distress, carried him into a house at hand; the owner, a
carpenter named Selferian, cordially inviting them in, and his handsome,
intelligent wife, Josephine Hanum by name, bringing linen and cold
water, while the eldest boy ran for the nearest doctor. Fortunately, the
wound, when examined by him, did not seem to be immediately dangerous,
though it was certainly serious.
When the Armenians had time to compare notes, it appeared that all the
principal entrances to their Quarter had been defended with the same
desperate courage and with equal success. There was considerable loss of
life, inevitable when their assailants had firearms and they had none,
but at least for the present they were safe, with their wives and
children.
That is to say, they were safe within the limits of their own Quarter;
outside of it, even at its very entrance, every Armenian was mercilessly
slain. At least, to be accurate, the men and the boys were slain.
Armenian shops, of which there were many, including the best and richest
in the town, were given over to plunder, and Armenian houses shared the
same fate.
Still, at first, in the Armenian Quarter, the feeling was one of relief.
When a naked sword that has been held at your throat is suddenly
withdrawn, your first sensation is delightful, whatever the next may be.
It took the Armenians some days at least to realize two awful facts:
that their friends and relatives outside were hopelessly lost, and that
they were themselves straitly shut up and besieged.
Had the Meneshian family been twelve hours later in entering the town,
not one of them, probably, would have been left alive. Their journey
from Biridjik to Urfa had been a most perilous one, as every Moslem in
the country seemed to be in arms against them. They could scarcely have
accomplished it at all but for an expedient of Kevork's. Jack had
provided a Kourdish dress for him, as well as for himself and for
Shushan, supposing that he would return with them to Urfa. He wore this
during the journey, and rode boldly in front of the party, whose guide
and protector he was supposed to be. He had changed it, however, before
entering the city, as he never dreamed of danger _there_, and imagined
it would expose him to ridicule.
Great anxiety was felt about Miss Celandine, and the other inmates of
the Mission premises. But this, as far as Jack was concerned, was soon
allayed, though in a way that caused his friends a terrible alarm. Two
zaptiehs came to the Vartonian house, enquiring for one Grayson Effendi.
Every one thought nothing less than that he had been identified in the
crowd at the gate as the man who used the revolver, and that this
summons meant imprisonment, as bad or worse than death. Great was the
relief when it proved to mean only a polite request to visit Miss
Celandine. True to his system--and he does everything upon system--the
Turk would not willingly injure a foreign subject. Miss Celandine
therefore was not only left unmolested, but given a guard of zaptiehs to
protect her premises from the mob. These zaptiehs did their work
faithfully; and it seems that some of them at least were won to regard
their charges with respect and liking.
Jack went to the Mission House, as safe in reality as if he had been
walking in a London street, though under the escort of men who, at a
word from their captain, would have torn him limb from limb with the
greatest pleasure in the world. He found the mission premises crowded
with persons who had taken refuge there during the late disturbances.
Many of them were wounded, and all were destitute. The courtyard was
filled with them, as well as most of the rooms of the house. Miss
Celandine--who, since the departure of her youthful fellow-worker, had
stood completely alone--looked ten years older than when he saw her
last. Thinner she could scarcely be, but her eyes had dark circles round
them, and her face an abiding look of horror. She led him into the only
private room she had left, and made anxious enquiries about the state of
the Armenian Quarter, which, although it was at her very gates, it was
practically impossible for her to enter. Then she said, "Mr. Grayson, I
am sending to the Pasha to ask for a passport."
"It is what any one would do in your place--what any one else would have
done long ago," he answered.
"This is why I do it. The danger seems over here. The massacre is
stopped. Yet I cannot resume my work amongst the people; that is not
permitted to me. Here I am useless; I am only witnessing misery I cannot
relieve. But in England or America I could do a great deal. I could tell
the truth--the very truth--about what is done here. If England and
America knew _that_, I think it would change everything. I am persuaded
better things of my fellow-Christians than that they would sit still and
tolerate the destruction--with every aggravation of refined, diabolical
cruelty--of a nation of Christians, only because they _are_ Christians."
Miss Celandine seldom spoke in this way; but her heart was hot and sore
within her, she had just been hearing a recital of horrors such as may
not be mentioned here, and was in no mood to guard her words. The hatred
of Turks for Armenians is a growth of centuries, rooted in complex
causes; but the fact that they are Christians lifts the bridle from the
jaws of the oppressor, making every act of cruelty to them a
merit--their extermination a holy war. And since by embracing Islam
they would come under the protection of the Prophet, it is because of
their firm adherence to their faith that these unhappy ones are given
over to the sword, _and worse_.
"You are right to go," Jack said simply. "And oh!" he added, his eyes
kindling and his whole face changing, "you will take Shushan with you?
That is what you mean--why you sent for me. God bless you, ten thousand
times!"
The smile that lit up the worn face made it very sweet to look upon.
"Yes, my dear boy," she said. "I do mean that. But I dare not take her
with me, either as Shushan Meneshian, or under the name she has now a
right to bear. It would cause too much remark and enquiry. No; she had
better pass as one of my servants, a certain number of whom I have the
right to take. But this is what I sent for you to ask: Will you also
apply for a passport, and come with us?"
Jack was silent. Indeed, he could not speak, for the fierce hope, the
passionate longing that arose within him was too strong for words. To
leave all this misery, to stand with Shushan on the shores of
England--_free_!
"The thought grew frightful, 'twas so wildly dear."
But soon reflection came. It could not be. All at once he threw back
his head with a sharp, sudden "No," very startling to the lady, whose
nerves were already strung to their utmost tension. "In the first place,
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