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
Vartonians, with whom she was very intimate; and he thought Kevork a
fortunate man; with the mental reservation that he was much more
fortunate himself--a reflection which makes it easy to "rejoice with
them that do rejoice."
Jack heard from Shushan, when he visited her, many lamentations over the
departure of her beloved young teacher, Miss Fairchild. Many stories
lingered in Urfa, and were told him by the Vartonians, of those loving
ministrations to the poor, and especially to the Sassoun refugees, which
had nearly cost the young missionary her life; and also of the gratitude
and affection with which they were repaid. Once during her illness, when
her life was almost despaired of, a poor man, a seller of antiquities,
heard that she had asked for fish. This seemed impossible to procure,
for it was summer, and the Euphrates, from which fish was brought in
winter, was two days' journey off. But, in the midst of the city is the
beautiful Pool of Abraham, where are kept the sacred fish, which every
one feeds, and which the Moslems esteem so highly, it is death to touch
one of them. The poor Armenian watched by the pool until the darkest and
most silent hour of the night; then, at the peril of his life, he caught
some of the fish, and brought them to the Mission House. David's Three
Mighty Men, who brought the water from the well of Bethlehem, did no
more.
Very touching also was the story of the service held in the Cathedral to
pray for her recovery. The Gregorian Bishop, and all the priests in the
city took part in it, and the great building was thronged from end to
end. "God _must_ give her back to us," the Armenians said.
On Sunday, the 27th of October, Jack attended Pastor Stepanian's church.
After the service he went to meet his friends, who had most of them gone
to the Cathedral. He saw, before he reached it, that something unusual
was going on. All the Armenians he met seemed to be in a curious state
of excitement; most of them were hurrying somewhere in hot haste.
Whatever possessed them this time however, it was certainly not fear.
The scraps of conversation that reached his ear savoured of hope, and of
confident appeal to Law. "Have him up,"--"Go to Government House,"--"See
what they will do," and words like these.
"Oh, Gabriel, is that you?" he cried, seeing the boy come towards him.
"You will tell me, what is all this about?" Gabriel, who had been at the
Cathedral, explained: "There was a crowd of us standing about in the
churchyard after service, when a Turk came in. He looked from one to
another, no one caring to say anything to him--though of course he had
no business there--till at last he lighted upon poor Baghas, the
money-changer. He began to curse him by the Prophet, and to give him all
sorts of foul language. How had he, a dog of a Giaour, dared to come to
_his_ house, and ask him for money? Baghas stood his ground, with a
courage that astonished us all. He told the Turk plainly it was all his
own fault. What business had he to buy gold coins of him, if he could
not pay for them? Let him give him the money he owed him, and make an
end, that was all he wanted. There came to be a crowd round the two of
them; yet was no man quick enough to stop the Turk when he flashed out
his scimitar, and stabbed poor Baghas to the heart. 'Take that for
payment, Giaour,' saith he. But he said no more; for our people closed
upon him with a cry of rage. I heard them saying, 'Now we shall see the
good of the Reforms!' 'Now we shall have justice!' 'Djanum[4]! are our
men to be killed like dogs?' and more of that kind."
"Heaven send they have not harmed the Turk," Jack said; "the bill for
that would be too heavy."
"I don't think they have. They got him in the midst of them, and they
are taking him to the Government House, to lodge a complaint against him
there."
"I remember once, in England, seeing a sparrow fly at a cat, in defence
of her young. It reminds me of that," said Jack. "Gabriel, I want to
see this thing through, but I don't want _you_ to come. There may be
rough work."
"Oh, I should _like_ to come. I am not afraid."
"But, if you were hurt, Shushan would not like that; we must think of
her."
"Yes," said Gabriel slowly. "Yon Effendi, I will go home."
With a self-denial Jack scarcely appreciated at its full value, he
turned away and ran quickly down a side street. Jack went on his way,
and he had no difficulty in finding it, for cries and shouts, and the
trampling of many feet directed him to a market place, some distance
off. Here, at first, he could not see the wood for the trees. All the
place seemed full of Turks and Armenians mixed together, shouting,
struggling, swaying, and pushing, now this way, now that. It seemed to
be a free fight, but what they were all fighting about was not clear to
an onlooker. Still, not to be left out when good things were going, Jack
took his share by snatching a knife from the hand of a Turk who was
threatening an Armenian with it.
Presently half a dozen Turkish horse--Regulars, with a splendid-looking
officer at their head, came dashing into the square, and sending both
Turks and Christians running in all directions. But one Turk did not
run, for he lay dying on the ground. It was the murderer of Baghas. The
soldiers took up the wounded man and set him on a horse. And then the
Turks began to return; a number of them gathered round the group, with a
few Christians also. Jack heard them cry out that the man was dying.
"How did you get here, Yon Effendi?" said the voice of Barkev Vartonian
beside him.
"I met Gabriel, and came. What are they going to do?"
"Going to take the man to the Government House, I suppose. They will
never get him there alive."
"Barkev, who killed him?"
"The zaptiehs, of course, when they could not get him from us. I _saw_
one of them stab him with a bayonet."
"I thought one of our people might have done it, seeing they wanted to
take him from us."
"How, save with sticks or stones? We have nothing else, as you know. But
the Turks will try to put it on us, no doubt. Come along to the
Government House, and let us see what happens."
As they reached the place, Barkev exclaimed, "Djanum! there is Dr.
Melkon, of all men, in the hands of the zaptiehs. What can _he_ have
done?"
"Not arrested as a criminal, I hope, but called in as a doctor," said
Jack, as they came up.
If so, the wounded Turk was beyond his skill. They heard those around
him saying he was dead. At the same time Melkon's voice reached their
ears. He could do no good now, he pleaded, entreating the Turks to let
him go about his business, which was urgent. He had a serious case to
attend to--a Mussulman Effendi.
No; he must stay, and certify to the cause of death. Barkev and Jack
followed the crowd, which streamed into the Government House--an open
court, where they could see all that passed.
They saw the body laid on a divan, and they saw Melkon approach to
examine it. The Turkish officer stood beside him, a drawn sword in his
hand.
"This man has been killed by the blows of sticks or bludgeons," he said,
in a loud voice. Melkon stooped over the body; the officer stooped also,
and whispered something in his ear.
Almost instantly Melkon stood up, his face pale as that of the dead man
who lay before them. For once the noisy, chattering Eastern crowd kept a
profound silence. Melkon's low, firm voice reached every ear,--
"This man has died of wounds inflicted by the bayonet."
"No case against us," Barkev said.
But Melkon had sealed his own death warrant, and he knew it. For one
moment he faced the crowd--
"I can die, but I cannot lie," he said.
His voice was drowned in a howl of execration, and a dozen furious hands
laid hold on him at once.
"To the rescue!" cried Jack and Barkev together, dashing in amongst the
throng.
"Keep quiet!" muttered a voice beside them, and a Turk they knew laid
his hand on Barkev's shoulder. "Keep quiet and go home," he went on in a
whisper; "my brothers have got the doctor, and will hide him in our
house. He has attended us; we like him, and we will not let him be
killed."
Somewhat comforted, the young men went home. As they passed through the
streets, the Moslems greeted them with threats and insults.
"We will soon make an end of you, dogs of Giaours," they cried. Boys
threw stones at them, and women screamed curses--foul and hideous
Turkish curses--at the top of their shrill voices.
"I do not like the look of things at all," said Barkev, when they got
into their own quarter.
"Nor I," Jack answered. "I think it would be no harm for some of us to
keep watch to-night. I volunteer, for one." And he went apart to clean
his precious revolver, and to load the two serviceable barrels. He had
not dared to get it set in order; that would have been far too
dangerous.
The night, so far as they knew, passed quietly away. Many Armenians had
shops or booths, or other business to attend to outside their own
Quarter, and this was the case with some members of the Vartonian
family. On Monday morning the women prayed of them to stay at home, and,
indeed, the greater number did so. But others thought it the part of
wisdom, as well as of manly courage, to go about as usual. Barkev
Vartonian was amongst these, and Jack went with him for company.
They had not gone far beyond the limits of their own Quarter when a boy
ran against them, screaming with terror, and caught Jack by the zeboun.
"What is it? What is the matter, poor child?" he asked; then looking
more closely cried out, "Hagop! Hagop Meneshian! How is this? Have you
all come? Where are you?"
"We came in at the gate," Hagop gasped out. "Then the Dajeeks set on us
with sticks and stones and knives. Oh, they are going to kill us! What
shall we do?"
"Don't be afraid; we will protect you. Where are the rest?"
"Down there--in the Market Place--the corner, by the dead wall. Kevork
and the others are defending the women and children as well as they
can. I slipped through somehow, and ran on to tell you."
"Don't come back with us. Run along that narrow street, keep to the
right, and once in our Quarter you will be safe. Ask any one for Baron
Vartonian's house. You can send us any men you find to help."
Barkev and Jack hurried on to the rescue of their friends. They were met
on their way by a hideous rabble of Turkish men and boys, the very scum
of the city, who were dragging along at the end of a rope, with shouts
and ribald laughter--_something_. Was that a human form, so horribly
torn and mutilated? Was that a human face? Was it the face they saw, not
four and twenty hours ago, white and set, yet calm in its brave resolve?
"It is Melkon," Jack whispered in horror; "they have killed him. Oh,
God, what things are done here!"
"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,
everything would come out. I should be known as the Englishman, John
Grayson, who married an Armenian in Biridjik, and who afterwards killed
Kourds, and fired on Mussulmans with a revolver."
"They would probably be afraid to meddle with you."
"They might. You know their ways much better than I do. But I suspect
they would find a way of paying me back my revolver shots in kind--or
worse--before I left the country. And even suppose I got safe out, and
Shushan too, what would be the fate of the Meneshians? Would not
sevenfold vengeance descend on them--which, even if _I_ could bear to
think of--what of Shushan? There is another thing, though I scarce like
to say it," Jack added in a different tone, and with a kind of relapse
into boyishness: "all the people here, the Meneshians, the Vartonians
and the rest--in some queer way I cannot explain--seem to cling to me.
They give me far more credit than I deserve for the repulse of the Turks
the other day, and somehow they fancy I can protect them. I suppose it
is because I am an Englishman, come of fathers and mothers who have not
been afraid--because they had nothing to be afraid of--for generation
upon generation. So I want to stay, at all events, till this affair is
over."
"John Grayson, you are a brave lad," said Miss Celandine, stretching out
her thin, worn hand to him.
Jack took it with all reverence. What deeds of kindness and pity, and
heroic beneficence that weak woman's hand had done! Like the people he
dwelt amongst, he bowed over it, touching it with his lips and his
forehead. Then he said, smiling, "But also I am a man now. If it please
you, Miss Celandine, may I see my wife?"
"Certainly. I will go and fetch her."
In a few minutes Shushan entered. She had grown a little pale with the
anxieties of the last days, but he thought she looked sweeter than ever.
She had much to hear from him about her family, and about her father, of
whom he was able to give her a hopeful report.
An hour passed in earnest talk; but what each said to the other, neither
told afterwards. When at last the moment of parting came, neither cared
to think how long a parting it might be. Lip met lip, heart throbbed
against heart. Shushan was the braver now. "You know, Shack," she said,
"the cross of Christ was laid on us together. Nothing can keep us parted
after that."
"The cross laid on us together," Jack repeated; "indeed, it looks like
it. But do not droop, my Lily. With God's help we will win through yet,
and have a joyful ending to all our troubles."
But something in his own heart gave the lie to his hopeful words, as he
took one last lingering gaze, and sadly turned to go.
"Yertaak paré," said Shushan softly.
"Menaak paré," he responded, and went.
FOOTNOTE:
[4] Djanum="my soul." A common exclamation.