"Would skin a German for hide and tallow," nodded Will.
"Exactly. Germany would object vigorously if we or the States should
land marines to prevent the Turks from applying the favorite remedy,
vukuart--that means events, you know--their euphemism for massacre
at rather frequent intervals. Germany would rather see the Turks
finish the dirty work thoroughly than have it to do herself later on."
"You mean," said I, "that the German government is inciting to massacre?"
"Hardly. There are German missionaries in the country, doing good
work in a funny, fussy, rigorous fashion of their own. They'd raise
a dickens of a hocus-pocus back in Germany if they once suspected
their government of playing that game. No. But Germany intends
to stand off the other powers, while Turks tackle the Armenians;
and the Turks know that."
"But what's the immediate excuse for massacre?" demanded Fred.
The consul laughed.
"All that's needed is a spark. The Armenians haven't been tactful.
They don't hesitate to irritate the Turks--not that you can blame
them, but it isn't wise. Most of the money-lenders are Armenians;
Turks won't engage in that business themselves on religious grounds,
but they're ready borrowers, and the Armenian money-lenders, who
are in a very small minority, of course, are grasping and give a
bad name to the whole nation. Then, Armenians have been boasting
openly that one of these days the old Armenian kingdom will be
reestablished. The Turks are conquerors, you know, and don't like
that kind of talk. If the Armenians could only keep from quarreling
among themselves they could win their independence in half a jiffy,
but the Turks are deadly wise at the old trick of divide et impera;
they keep the Armenians quarreling, and nobody dares stand in with
them because sooner--or later--sooner, probably--they'll split among
themselves, and leave their friends high and dry. You can't blame 'em.
The Turks know enough to play on their religious prejudices and set
one sect against another. When the massacres begin scarcely an Armenian
will know who is friend and who enemy."
"D'you mean to say," demanded Fred, "that they're going to be shot
like bottles off a wall without rhyme or reason?"
"That's how it was before," said the consul. "There's nothing to
stop it. The world is mistaken about Armenians. They're a hot-blooded
lot on the whole, with a deep sense of national pride, and a hatred
of Turkish oppression that rankles. One of these mornings a Turk
will choose his Armenian and carefully insult the man's wife or daughter.
Perhaps he will crown it by throwing dirt in the fellow's face.
The Armenian will kill him or try to, and there you are. Moslem
blood shed by a dog of a giaour--the old excuse!"
"Don't the Armenians know what's in store for them?" I asked.
"Some of them know. Some guess. Some are like the villagers on
Mount Vesuvius--much as we English were in '57 in India, I
imagine--asleep--playing games--getting rich on top of a volcano.
The difference is that the Armenians will have no chance."
"Did you ever hear tell of the Eye of Zeitoon?" asked Will, apropos
apparently of nothing.
"No," said the consul, staring at him.
Will told him of the individual we had talked with in the khan the
night before, describing him rather carefully, not forgetting the
gipsies in the black tent, and particularly not the daughter of the
dawn who schooled a gray stallion in the courtyard.
The consul shook his head.
"Never saw or heard of any of them."
We were sitting in full view of the roadstead where Anthony and
Cleopatra's ships had moored a hundred times. The consul's garden
sloped in front of us, and most of the flowers that Europe reckons
rare were getting ready to bloom.
"Would you know the man if you saw him again, Will?" I asked.
"Sure I would!"
"Then look!"
I pointed, and seeing himself observed a man stepped out of the shadow
of some oleanders. There was something suggestive in his choice
of lurking place, for every part of the oleander plant is dangerously
poisonous; it was as if he had hidden himself among the hairs of death.
"Him, sure enough!" said Will.
The man came forward uninvited.
"How did you get into the grounds?" the consul demanded, and the
man laughed, laying an unafraid hand on the veranda rail.
"My teskere is a better than the Turks give!" he answered in English.
(A teskere is the official permit to travel into the interior.)
"What do you mean?"
"How did sunshine come into the garden? By whose leave came the wind?"
He stood on no formality. Before one of us could interfere (for
he might have been plying the assassin's trade) he had vaulted the
veranda rail and stood in front of us. As he jumped I heard the
rattle of loose cartridges, and the thump of a hidden pistol against
the woodwork. I could see the hilt of a dagger, too, just emerging
from concealment through the opening in his smock. But he stood
in front of us almost meekly, waiting to be spoken to.
"You are without shame!" said the consul.
"Truly! Of what should I be ashamed!"
"What brought you here?"
"Two feet and a great good will! You know me."
The consul shook his head.
"Who sold the horse to the German from Bitlis?"
"Are you that man?"
"Who clipped the wings of a kite, and sold it for ten pounds to a
fool for an eagle from Ararat?"
The consul laughed.
"Are you the rascal who did that?"
"Who threw Olim Pasha into the river, and pushed him in and in again
for more than an hour with a fishing pole--and then threw in the
gendarmes who ran to arrest him--and only ran when the Eenglis consul
came?"
"I remember," said the consul.
"Yet you don't look quite like that man."
"I told you you knew me."
"Neither does to-day's wind blow like yesterday's!"
"What is your name?"
"Then it was Ali."
"What is it now?"
"The name God gave me?"
"Yes."
"God knows!"
"What do you want here?"
He spread out his arms toward us four, and grinned.
"Look--see! Four Eenglis sportman! Could a man want more?"
"Your face is hauntingly familiar," said the consul, searching old
memories.
"No doubt. Who carried your honor's letter to Adrianople in time
of war, and received a bullet, but brought the answer back?"
"What--are you that man--Kagig?"
Instead of replying the man opened his smock, and pulled aside an
undershirt until his hairy left breast lay bare down to where the
nipple should have been. Why a bullet that drilled that nipple so
neatly had not pierced the heart was simply mystery.
"Kagig, by jove! Kagig with a beard! Nobody would know you but
for that scar."
"But now you know me surely? Tell these Eenglis sportman, then,
that I am good man--good guide! Tell them they come with me to Zeitoon!"
The consul's face darkened swiftly, clouded by some notion that he
seemed to try to dismiss, but that refused to leave him.
"How much would you ask for your services?" he demanded.
"Whatever the effendim please."
"Have you a horse?"
He nodded.
"You and your horse, then, two piasters a day, and you feed yourself
and the beast."
The man agreed, very bright-eyed. Often it takes a day or two to
come to terms with natives of that country, yet the terms the consul
offered him were those for a man of very ordinary attainments.
"Come back in an hour," said the consul.
Without a word of answer Kagig vaulted back across the rail and
disappeared around the corner of the house, walking without hurry
but not looking back.
"Kagig, by jove! It would take too long now to tell that story of
the letter to Adrianople. I've no proof, but a private notion that
Kagig is descended from the old Armenian kings. In a certain sort
of tight place there's not a better man in Asia. Now, Lord Montdidier,
if you're in earnest about searching for that castle of your Crusader
ancestors, you're in luck!"
"You know it's what I came here for," said Monty. "These friends
of mine are curious, and I'm determined. Now that Fred's well--"
"I'm puzzled," said the consul, leaning back and looking at us all
with half-closed eyes. "Why should Kagig choose just this time to
guide a hunting party? If any man knows trouble's brewing, I suspect
be surely does. Anything can happen in the interior. I recall,
for instance, a couple of Danes, who went with a guide not long ago,
and simply disappeared. There are outlaws everywhere, and it's more
than a theory that the public officials are in league with them."
"What a joke if we find the old family castle is a nest of robbers,"
smiled Monty.
"Still!" corrected Fred.
I was watching the consul's eyes. He was troubled, but the prospect
of massacre did not account for all of his expression. There was
debate, inspiration against conviction, being fought out under cover
of forced calm. Inspiration won the day.
"I was wondering," he said, and lit a fresh cigar while we waited
for him to go on.
"I vouch for my friends," said Monty.
"It wasn't that. I've no right to make the proposal--no official
right whatever--I'm speaking strictly unofficially--in fact, it's
not a proposal at all--merely a notion."
He paused to give himself a last chance, but indiscretion was too
strong.
"I was wondering how far you four men would go to save twenty or
thirty thousand lives."
"You've no call to wonder about that," said Will.
"Suppose you tell us what you've got in mind," suggested Monty, putting
his long legs on a chair and producing a cigarette.
The consul knocked out his pipe and sat forward, beginning to talk
a little faster, as a man who throws discretion to the winds.
"I've no legal right to interfere. None at all. In case of a massacre
of Armenians--men, women, little children--I could do nothing. Make
a fuss, of course. Throw open the consulate to refugees. Threaten
a lot of things that I know perfectly well my government won't do.
The Turks will be polite to my face and laugh behind my back, knowing
I'm helpless. But if you four men--"
"Yes--go on--what?"
"Spill it!" urged Will.
"--should be up-country, and I knew it for a fact, but did not know
your precise whereabouts, I'd have a grown excuse for raising most
particular old Harry! You get my meaning?"
"Sure!" said Will. "Monty's an earl. Fred's related to half the
peerages in Burke. Me and him"--I was balancing my chair on one
leg and he pushed me over backward by way of identification--"just
pose as distinguished members of society for the occasion. I get you."
"It might even be possible, Mr. Yerkes, to get the United States
Congress to take action on your account."
"Don't you believe it!" laughed Will. "The members for the Parish
Pump, and the senators from Ireland would howl about the Monroe Doctrine
and Washington's advice at the merest hint of a Yankee in trouble
in foreign parts."
"What about the United States papers?"
"They'd think it was an English scheme to entangle the United States,
and they'd be afraid to support action for fear of the Irish. No,
England's your only chance!"
"Well," said the consul, "I've told you the whole idea. If I should
happen to know of four important individuals somewhere up-country,
and massacres should break out after you had started, I could supply
our ambassador with something good to work on. The Turkish government
might have to stop the massacre in the district in which you should
happen to be. That would save lives."
"But could they stop it, once started?" I asked.
"They could try. That 'ud be more than they ever did yet."
"You mean," said Monty, "that you'd like us to engage Kagig and make
the trip, and to remain out in case of--ah--vukuart until we're rescued?"
"Can't say I like it, but that's what I mean. And as for rescue,
the longer the process takes the better, I imagine!"
"Hide, and have them hunt for us, eh?"
"Would it help," I suggested, "if we were to be taken prisoner by
outlaws and held for ransom?"
"It might," said the consul darkly. "I'd take to the hills myself
and send back a wail for help, only my plain duty is here at the
mission. What I have suggested to you is mad quixotism at the best,
and at the worst--well, do you recall what happened to poor Vyner,
who was held for ransom by Greek brigands? They sent a rescue party
instead of money, and--"
"Charles Vyner was a friend of mine," said Monty quietly.
Fred began to look extremely cheerful and Will nudged me and nodded.
"Remember," said the consul, "in the present state of European politics
there's no knowing what can or can't be done, but if you four men
are absent in the hills I believe I can give the Turkish government
so much to think about that there'll be no massacres in that one district."
"Whistle up Kagig!" Monty answered, and that was the end of the argument
as far as yea or nay had anything to do with it. Prospect of danger
was the last thing likely to divide the party.
"How about permits to travel?" asked Will. "The United States consul
told me none is to be had at present."
The consul rubbed his thumb and forefinger together.
"It may cost a little more, that's all," he said. "You might go
without, but you'd better submit to extortion."
He called the kavass, the uniformed consular attendant, and sent
him in search of Kagig. Within two minutes the Eye of Zeitoon was
grinning at us through a small square window in the wall at one end
of the veranda. Then he came round and once more vaulted the veranda
rail, for he seemed to hold ordinary means of entry in contempt.
His eye looked very possessive for that of one seeking employment
as a guide, but he stood at respectful attention until spoken to.
"These gentlemen have decided to employ you," the consul announced.
"Mashallah!" (God be praised!) For a Christian he used unusual expletives.
"They want to find a castle in the mountains, to hunt bear and boar,
and to see Zeitoon."
"I shall lead them to ten castles never seen before by Eenglismen!
They shall kill all the bears and pigs! Never was such sport as
they shall see!"
He exploded the word pigs as if he had the Osmanli prejudice against
that animal. Yet he wore a pig-skin cartridge belt about his middle.
"They will need enormous lots of ammunition!" he announced.
"What else would the roadside robbers like them to bring?"
"No Turkish servants! They throw Turks over a bridge-side in Zeitoon!
I myself will provide servants, who shall bring them back safely!"
It seemed to me that he breathed inward as he said that. A Turk
would have added "Inshallah!"--if God wills!
"Make ready for a journey of two months," he said.
"When and where shall the start be?"
It would obviously be unwise to start from the consulate.
"From the Yeni Khan in Tarsus," said Will.
"That is very good--that is excellent! I will send Zeitoonli servants
to the Yeni Khan at once. Pay them the right price. Have you horses?
Camels are of no use, nor yet are wheels--you shall know why later!
Mules are best."
"I know where you can hire mules," said the consul, "with a Turkish
muleteer to each pair."
"Oh, well!" laughed Kagig, leaning back against the rail and moving
his hands palms upward as if he weighed one thought against another.
"What is the difference? If a few Turks move or less come to an
end over Zeitoon bridge--"
It was only for moments at a time that he seemed able to force himself
to speak as our inferior. A Turk of the guide class would likely
have knelt and placed a foot of each of us on his neck in turn as
soon as he knew we had engaged him. This Armenian seemed made of
other stuff.
"Then be on hand to-morrow morning," ordered Monty.
But the Eye of Zeitoon had another surprise for us.
"I shall meet you on the road," he announced with an air of a social
equal. "Servants shall attend you at the Yeni Khan. They will say
nothing at all, and work splendidly! Start when you like; you will
find me waiting for you at a good place on the road. Bring not plenty,
but too much ammunition! Good day, then, gentlemen!"
He nodded to us--bowed to the consul--vaulted the rail. A second
later he grinned at us again through the tiny window. "I am the
Eye of Zeitoon!" he boasted, and was gone. A servant whom the consul
sent to follow him came back after ten or fifteen minutes saying
he had lost him in a maze of narrow streets.
His latter, offhanded manner scarcely auguring well, we debated whether
or not to search for some one more likely amenable to discipline
to take his place. But the consul spent an hour telling us about
the letter that went to Adrianople, and the bringing back of the
answer that hastened peace.
"He was shot badly. He nearly died on the way back. I've no idea
how he recovered. He wouldn't accept a piaster more than the price
agreed on."
"Let's take a chance!" said Will, and we were all agreed before he
urged it.
"There's one other thing," said the consul. "I've been told a Miss
Gloria Vanderrnan is on her way to the mission at Marash--"
"Gee whiz!" said Will.
The consul nodded. "She's pretty, if that's what you mean. It was
very unwise to let her go, escorted only by Armenians. Of course,
she may get through without as much as suspecting trouble's brewing,
but--well--I wish you'd look out for her."
"Chicken, eh?"
Will stuck both hands deep in his trousers pockets and tilted his
chair backward to the point of perfect poise.
"Cuckoo, you ass!" laughed Fred, kicking the chair over backward,
and then piling all the veranda furniture on top, to the scandalized
amazement of the stately kavass, who came at that moment shepherding
a small boy with a large tray and perfectly enormous drinks.
Chapter Three
"Sahib, there is always--work for real soldiers!"