2015년 9월 10일 목요일

By Far Euphrates A Tale 28

By Far Euphrates A Tale 28


There was silence when he ended. At last the oldest man amongst them
stretched out his hand to him and said, "Baron Thomassian, you have
taught us a lesson."
 
"You are better than the rest of us," another said impulsively.
 
"Better? No; worse, a thousand times. Not worthy to stand amongst you as
one of Christ's martyrs. But since He has this joy to give to me, the
last and least, think what gifts He must have for _you_, His true and
faithful servants!"
 
"Certainly He will not forsake us in the hour of death," Kaspar said.
"Baron Thomassian, I take this answer of God to your prayer as a token
of good for us all."
 
"My mind is made up," said a quiet, elderly man, who had not spoken
hitherto. "Let them do their worst. I stand by the Lord Christ; and I
trust the Lord Christ to stand by me."
 
Then Dikran, the youngest of them all, spoke up too. "I think it is
scarce so hard for me as for the rest of you. For I am an orphan, and my
only brother was killed in the fighting two months ago. All through, it
was not death, it was agony I feared. But now, I know Christ will help
me through that."
 
"And He will care for those we leave after us," another said in a low
voice.
 
"Yon Effendi, _you_ have not spoken yet," said Kaspar.
 
John Grayson started, as if from a dream. "There is only one thing to
say," he answered firmly, "I stand by Christ."
 
"So likewise said they all." In prayer, and mutual counsel-taking and
encouragement the long night wore on. Amongst them all, there was only
one who slept. Worn out with his long and bitter conflict, and at rest
in the ineffable peace in which it ended, Thomassian fell into a
dreamless sleep, with his head pillowed on John Grayson's knee. Jack
himself feared to sleep, on account of the waking that must follow. He
prayed, thought of his past life, of his father and all his friends;
above all, of Shushan. Often his mind would wander for a little amongst
unconsidered, half-forgotten trifles, but it always turned back again to
the things which made its home.
 
The morning light stole at last through their narrow grated window.
Thomassian stirred, and sat up. He looked round upon them all with a
smile; but his eyes grew grave and full of thought as they rested on the
face of John Grayson, who, just then, was absorbed in what he thought
might be his last prayer for Shushan.
 
"Yon Effendi," he said, "are you ready to die?"
 
Jack looked at him steadily for a moment, then bowed his head in
silence.
 
"But you would rather live, if it were the will of God? Is it not so?"
 
"I do not seem to care _now_, not greatly," Jack said. "It seems easy to
die _now_, with you all. But"--his voice sank low--"but there is
Shushan."
 
"And if I can, in some slight measure, atone for the harm I have done
you, you will be glad, for her sake? But do not build on it--it is but a
chance. Rather, since there is no chance really, it will be as God
wills."
 
"Hush!" some one suddenly exclaimed.
 
The key was grating in the door. In another minute it was thrown open,
and the jailor entered. He did not waste words. "Come," he said.
 
The band of confessors rose to their feet, and looked one another in the
face.
 
"One moment, I pray of you," Kaspar said in Turkish to the jailor. Then
in Armenian, "Let us bid each other farewell."
 
"Not so," Thomassian answered, smiling. "It is not worth while, we shall
meet so soon with joy in the presence of our Lord."
 
As they went forth, John Grayson thought once more of the last words he
had heard his father say, "The dark river turns to light."
 
It was the morning of Christmas Day, 1895.
 
 
 
 
Chapter XVII
 
A GREAT CRIME
 
"The clinging children at their mother's knee
Slain; and the sire and kindred one by one
Flayed or hewn piecemeal; and things nameless done
Not to be told: while imperturbably
The nations gaze, where Rhine unto the sea,
Where Seine and Danube, Thames and Tiber run,
And where great armies glitter in the sun,
And great kings rule, and man is boasted free!"
 
--_"The Purple East," by William Watson._
 
 
Meanwhile, over the crowd of anxious hearts the Mission House sheltered,
the sad days went slowly by. Shushan's fears for her husband could find
no relief, and they were intensified by apprehensions about her father,
of whose state disquieting rumours reached her. Her entreaties prevailed
on Miss Celandine to send a couple of her zaptiehs to ascertain the
truth. The zaptiehs brought back word that Boghos Meneshian was dying,
and prayed that his daughter might be allowed to come to him, in order
that he might give her his blessing. Miss Celandine sent her
accordingly, in the charge of a trusted Armenian servant, and with a
guard of four zaptiehs. This was early on the morning of Saturday, the
28th of December.
 
She was left by her escort at the house of the Selferians, where her
father had been staying, and was still supposed to be. The zaptiehs
promised to return for her in an hour. The Armenian said he would be
close at hand; he was going to see a friend in a neighbouring house.
 
"Oh, my dear Oriort Shushan," said Hanum Selferian, hurrying to meet
her, "in the name of God, what brings you here?"
 
Shushan looked at her in amazement. "I have come to see my father," she
said. "How is he?"
 
"Well enough, I suppose. He went to the Vartonians, cured, with your
mother, Mariam Hanum, about a week ago."
 
"Thank God!" said Shushan, drawing a long breath of relief. "They told
me he was dying."
 
"_Who_ told you such a story, my dear? He is dying as much as we all
are, no more."
 
Shushan felt surprised and uneasy, though she did not yet know, perhaps
she was destined never to know, that she was the victim of a plot. "It
may be," she said, a shadow crossing her face, "that they told me wrong
about the house. I ought to go to my cousins."
 
"What? through the streets? You cannot--not even if my husband went
with you. Besides, if the zaptiehs should come back, and find you gone?
No, Oriort Shushan; this is what we will do--my husband will go to the
Vartonians, and, if possible, bring your father to see you here."
 
"I like not to take him from his work, Josephine Hanum."
 
"What signifies his work? There is little enough to do here now, and
more than time enough to do it in."
 
Hagop Selferian, who was at work, stood up from his board, wiped his
brow, and threw on his jacket. "Yes, I will go," he said.
 
Shushan remained with the women and children, and shared the pillav that
formed their early meal, afterwards helping Josephine Hanum in her
pleasant household tasks.
 
But, as time passed on, she grew increasingly anxious. "I wonder the
zaptiehs do not come back," she said. It was now between ten and eleven
in the forenoon.
 
Josephine Hanum went to the window that looked out upon the street.
"There is no sign of them," she said. "But here comes my husband."
 
He crossed the court and came in, looking pale and frightened. "My
father?" Shushan breathed, only one cause of distress occurring to her
mind.
 
"He is well. But there is an army on the slope of the hill. In the
town, the minarets are black with men, and the roofs of the Turkish
houses with women and children. Jesus help us, what is going to happen?"
 
"I would give my right hand to have you back in the Mission House,
Oriort Shushan," said Josephine Hanum, looking at her guest in a sort of
despair. "Hagop, dost think thou couldst bring her there?"
 
Selferian shook his head. "It is not _my_ life I think of," he said.
"Wife, I met in the street that Syrian who used to work with me, Mar
Tomas. He had a black turban on, and was hurrying to his church. He is a
Roman Catholic, you know. It seems there is an order that all Christians
who are not Armenians are to go to their churches, and stay there all
the day. And they are not to let a single Armenian cross the threshold,
at their peril."
 
Here Krikor, the eldest boy, came running in. He had been up on the
roof. "Father, mother, come up," he said. "Come and look. Such a
wonderful sight you never saw!"
 
"A sight that bodes no good to us. What is it, boy?"
 
"Oh, so much, father! I could never tell you. Come and look."
 
All four mounted the stairs that led to the flat roof. The younger
children followed them, eager to see.
 
The slope of the hill above them glittered with Turkish and Kourdish
soldiers, the gay dresses of the latter lending animation to the scene,
and the swords and bayonets of all flashing in the sunlight. Every point
at which the Armenian Quarter could be entered bristled with soldiers
drawn up in battle array, while behind them surged and swayed a savage

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