CENTRAL TURKEY COLLEGE
Three years and a half have elapsed since Nizam's marriage. These
years were marked by only one important event in the family of Boghos
Effendi: the birth of little Jersebeth, the daughter of Nizam and
Jousif hodja. Hanna badgi is still living, but her delicate health
causes great anxiety to the other members of the family, who are in
constant fear of losing her. Archag is now a lad of sixteen, slight
and strong, looking quite eighteen. Last year he spent his holidays at
the Highland Farm; this time his visit was not spoiled by adventures
such as we have related; he was a great help to his father, and even
took his place at the horse sales.
He has completed the course in the school at Van, and his father has
decided to send him to the American College at Aintab. Our friend
has heard a great deal about it from his older companions; he is
fond of his studies, and delighted to be able to go on with them,
for he has little inclination for mercantile life, although he has
not yet chosen his vocation.
Boghos Effendi had written to the president of the college, and at
last, after two long months of waiting and suspense, the post-master
one day gave Archag a letter bearing the Aintab postmark. [16] Our
friend made haste to carry it to his father. The president, Dr. Mills,
wrote that he would admit Archag to the Sophomore class on payment
of twelve Turkish pounds (fifty-five dollars) for the year. The term
was to begin on the twentieth of September, and as it was already
the twenty-fifth of August, there was no time to be lost, for it was
necessary to allow three or four weeks for the journey. A caravan
was leaving Van for Aleppo on the first of September, passing through
Marash and Aintab, and it was decided that Archag should travel in the
company of these merchants. It would have been quite impossible for a
boy of his age to take such a journey entirely alone. These last days,
filled with a host of preparations, passed all too quickly for our
friend, who was feeling sad at the thought of leaving home and family.
The day before his departure he went with his father to the serail to
ask for a teskereh (passport). The kaimakan, engrossed in reading his
Stamboul newspaper, received them sullenly; but as Boghos Effendi was
one of the most influential members of the Armenian community, he did
not dare refuse the desired passport. He wrote down Archag's name and
age, his weight and height, the color of his hair and eyes and even of
the clothes he was to wear on the journey; then he made a note of all
the places through which the lad would have to pass. Boghos Effendi
willingly paid the two mejidiehs (about two dollars) for the precious
paper, for at this period the Armenians were often refused passports
and so were unable to travel at all; father and son kissed the pasha's
hand, as a sign of submission, and made low bows as they withdrew.
Archag spent the rest of the day with his sister and
brother-in-law. Jousif hodja had studied at Aintab, and so was able
to give the boy some good advice:
"Think yourself fortunate, my lad," said he, "to have the privilege
of working with such men as Professor Pagratian and Professor
Hagopian. Go to see Mrs. Spencer, the doctor's wife, now and then;
she loves our people, and her example will stimulate you. And whatever
any one may say to you, always remember with joy and pride that you
are an Armenian."
"And our president!" asked Archag.
"Dr. Mills is a man of high attainments, and the college has made
remarkable progress under his direction."
Nizam begged her brother to write often, to be a good boy and go to
church regularly. Archag embraced his sister and brother-in-law with
much feeling, and promised to do everything they wished.
His last meal at home was a sad one, for every one was silent and
pre-occupied. Archag went to bed early but he did not sleep well; he
kept waking up with a start, dreaming that he was late. At daybreak
old Gulenia came to call him and he dressed quickly. He had hardly
finished his breakfast when the tinkling of camels' bells was heard.
"Archag Effendi, are you ready?" called an old Arab.
The lad's horse was waiting in the courtyard. Krikor had fastened our
friend's boxes to the saddle, one on each side, and spread a mattress
and blankets over the horse's back. Archag flung himself into the arms
of his father and mother, then knelt to receive their blessing. He
gave his brother a hug, called out a last good-by to the servants
gathered in the courtyard, mounted his horse and settled himself very
comfortably on the seat that Krikor had arranged. Again and again he
looked back to wave his handkerchief, tears streaming down his cheeks.
His journey was long and difficult; the camels walked at a pace so
exasperatingly slow, that Archag, worn out with fatigue, would fall
asleep with his arms around his horse's neck. To avoid the heat,
the caravan would start at daybreak and travel till noon, rest till
three or four o'clock and then go on several miles farther. Each night
was spent at an inn, where Archag could scarcely sleep at all for the
vermin. When he was just falling into a doze, one of his companions
would wake him up, saying that it was time to be off.
They passed through Bitlis and Marash, in turn. At last, one morning,
as the caravan reached the crest of a hill, one of the Arabs pointed
out to Archag a great city embowered in foliage, lying in the plain
below. It was Aintab. Twenty-two days had passed since their departure
from Van. The Mussulman showed his young protégé the principal
buildings; the old half-ruined "kala" (fortress), the dome of the
Gregorian Cathedral, the towers of the Franciscan church, the Mosque
with needle-pointed minarets, the American Hospital, and finally the
College, its façade in English style contrasting strangely with the
native architecture of the other buildings. The camels, urged on by
their drivers, quickened their pace, sniffing and uttering mournful
cries. They made good time, and toward noon the caravan drew up at
an inn where it was to stay for several days.
Aintab contained at that time about sixty thousand inhabitants,
twenty-five thousand of whom were Armenians. Mussulmans and Christians
lived in separate quarters of the town, and had little intercourse with
each other. The city lies in a fertile plain watered by a tributary
of the Euphrates. The vine grows luxuriantly on the surrounding hills,
producing grapes that are famous throughout the country. Aintab, being
about seventy kilometers from a railway, has been very little affected
by European civilization. The American Mission has established here,
a hospital, a normal school for girls, and a college. The latter was
founded in 1876 by Dr. Trowbridge, a Christian and an elect soul,
removed, alas, too soon, from the field of his activity. At the
time of which we are speaking, the college had two hundred students,
forty of whom were resident pupils. It was well situated, on a hill
overlooking the city and the plain.
As soon as Archag had had his passport visé-ed, he set out for Central
Turkey College. From a long distance he could see the great red brick
building around which were grouped the houses of the president and
professors. The campus was enclosed by a high wall. At the entrance,
Archag had a moment's talk with the porter, then the heavy iron-barred
gates turned on their hinges, and the lad went up the hill.
Some boys at play in front of the school building looked with curiosity
at the newcomer, and our friend went up to one of them and asked in
Armenian if he could see Badvili (Pastor) Melikian, who was in charge
of the resident students. The boy looked at him in some surprise,
and replied in Turkish, [17] bidding Archag follow him.
The pastor was busy writing when the boys entered his office, but
his kind face lighted up with a smile, and Archag at once felt drawn
toward the good man. The badvili was perhaps about fifty years old, a
small man, short and stout; a shock of gray hair escaped from the fez
worn like a skull-cap on the back of his head, and every other minute
he would try to push this head-covering straight, but the rebellious
fez resumed its slanting position. After several years' pastoral work
in Asia Minor, Mr. Melikian had been appointed Headmaster at Central
Turkey College; here he found himself much more in his element than
in his position of preacher, for he had a weakness for young people,
and was much attached to this school where he had been one of the
first pupils. He shook hands with Archag, and asked if he had had a
good journey, enrolled him at once among the Sophomores, and assigned
him a place in one of the dormitories.
"We shall be together," said the other boy, whose name was Garabed.
"I'm very glad of that," said Archag, "for you are the only boy I
know here."
Then the two boys went back to the play-ground where others
joined them, and Archag soon found himself taking part in a lively
conversation. They talked about the professors, the president and his
wife, of what they had learned, and what they had yet to learn. Then
all the Sophomores began playing ball, and kept up the game until
they heard the bell ring for supper.
Three tables were spread in the dining-hall; one for the preparatory
class, the second for the Freshmen and Sophomores, and the third for
the Juniors and Seniors. Archag sat down beside Garabed as Badvili
Melikian was saying grace. The fare would no doubt have seemed very
frugal to American boys; it consisted of tea, bread, and hard-boiled
eggs, but the boys seemed to be satisfied; they dispatched their
supper in ten minutes, and then went back to their play, as lessons
had not yet begun.
Archag walked about arm in arm with Garabed, who told him his own
story. He was a thin, frail-looking lad of seventeen; he had grown too
fast, and was round-shouldered. His face was sweet and attractive, but
unfortunately his expression was spoiled by a large pair of spectacles
which made him look like a little old man. He was a native of Goerum,
near Sivas, and had been two years at Aintab.
"I was glad to come back," he said, "for the professors are very nice,
and the boys are fine chaps. My father wanted me to go to Marsivan,
which is nearer home, but I preferred to return here."
Archag took a liking to Garabed, and talked to him about Van and his
family, as if he had been an old friend.
"Several of my relatives have been students here," he said, "that's
why I came. My brother-in-law, who left four years ago, told me a
good deal about the professors. Do you----"
Here the conversation was interrupted by the sudden appearance of
another boy who jumped on Garabed's back, his eyes sparkling with
mischief.
"Hi there, Baron [18] Garabed! what stuff are you pouring into the
ears of that innocent lamb!"
"I don't care to be compared to a lamb, thank you," said Archag;
"they are too stupid."
"Aférim! (That's right) Baron Archag," said Garabed, "take Aram down
a peg or two."
The new comer, taking Archag by the arm, said to him:
"Come now, Garabed has been telling you all about the masters; let me
draw the portrait of some of your classmates. First, the wise Garabed
himself, who is the choicest specimen of my acquaintance (this is
between ourselves). Over there you may see two embryo pastors," and
he pointed to two stout, stocky boys chatting in a corner, "Soghomon
(Solomon) and Boghos (Paul), the president's favorites; you may judge
for yourself of his good taste. That tall boy, star-gazing, with his
hands in his pockets, is a Junior by the name of Ghevont. The boy
in European dress, going up to him, is Nejib Rossinian, the son of
a doctor in Aleppo; he's in our class, and so is his cousin Dikran;
they are an artful pair of dogs, who are bound to make their way,
though they don't always consider the means. To-morrow you will have
to make the acquaintance of Samouil and Sumpad, whose brain isn't
quite right, and the five Urfali (natives of Urfa) who always stick
together like burrs. Finally, to complete the list of boarders,
my humble self, Aram Nahabedian of Diarbekir, filling the position
of clown and joker. There are a dozen day-scholars in our class,
besides, but we only see them at recitations."
Archag was laughing heartily; he was delighted with his two companions,
and already felt himself among friends. At nine o'clock the bell
called them in, and they said "Goodnight" to Badvili Melikian,
who had a pleasant word for each, as they went upstairs to their
dormitories. Archag was in the room with Aram, Garabed, Soghomon,
Nejib and Sumpad. Aram and Nejib immediately began a pillow-fight,
making a fearful commotion. Soghomon, the fat boy, half-buried beneath
a mountain of pillows and coverlets, lay groaning and beseeching:
"Oh, I say! I'm smothered! 'Vai! Vai! I shall die!' who will take
pity on me!"
Aram and Archag executed a wild dance about their victim, and the
end of it was that Badvili Melikian was obliged to come and restore
order. He lighted a night-lamp for the boys, for Armenians hate the
dark. Once in bed, the boys went to sleep immediately, and before long
came the sound of their regular breathing, together with Soghomon's
snores.
Archag was dreaming that the bells of the Cathedral of Van were
calling him to Mass, when a shake roused him from his sleep. Aram
was pulling him by the arm.
"Haide, are you never going to wake up, you young mole? Do you think
you're going to be allowed to sleep like that? You're as bad as
Soghomon; he can't get out of bed."
Archag jumped up and dressed quickly; then the whole troop went down to
breakfast. At half-past seven, professors and students all gathered in
the chapel where Dr. Mills conducted morning prayers. He spoke to the
boys of the child Samuel, urging them to imitate his love for the Lord.
"You come here," said he, "not only to receive your bachelor's degree,
which you could get just as well at Constantinople or Damascus or
Smyrna, but in order to become good and upright Christian men. We
desire that these years of study may be blessed for you, and that
later, when you are struggling with the difficulties of life, you
may always remember gladly the days you have spent with us here."
He spoke well, and Archag's heart was touched by his words. How many
good resolutions he made then, together with his comrades! The course
of our story will show whether or not he kept them.
When the speaker had finished, the boys stood up and sang one of
their favorite hymns:
"Rab der bisé Kaimi kala
Fourtunada émin meldja.
Oi Kayanin Kavourhounda
Boulouroum her-den bir meldja."
"The Lord is our strong fortress,
A sure refuge in the storm,
Beside this Rock
I may always find a refuge."
The Sophomores were to begin their work in Natural Science on this
morning. The course was given by Professor Pagratian, who was also
proctor of their class.
"It's sheer luck that we have him for proctor," said Aram to
Archag. "He's a saint come out from his church, an angel descended
from heaven. Do you know, he has an aureole about his head like Sourp
Hagob (Saint James) in my prayer-book; that's why he never takes
off his fez. Last year we had fat Piralian, who is as harsh as a
Turkish pasha. He used to make us fail just for the pleasure of it;
he teaches English, for he spent several years in Yankeestan. [19]
It was so cold down there his heart got frozen."
The arrival of the professor interrupted the flow of Aram's nonsense;
he then began to draw a caricature of Mr. Piralian, "Yankee Doodle,"
as he called him.
Mr. Pagratian was a chilly little man, who kept his cloak wrapped
about him in summer and winter. His face was partly hidden by a thick
black beard, and a shabby old fez covered his meditative brow, but his
luminous black eyes transformed him, banishing any thought of ridicule
that might be suggested by his old-fashioned clothing. When these eyes,
with their look of goodness, had once been fastened on one, they could
never be forgotten. They laid bare one's soul, and seemed to expose
one's bad thoughts only to drive them away and forgive them. And his
voice--how it would thrill one, now stern and hard, now sweet and
tender as that of a father talking with his child! He had a profound
love for Natural History; his explanations were clear and interesting
and the forty-five minutes in class passed all too quickly for Archag.
Our friend next made the acquaintance of Professor Mahdesian, a
reserved, scholarly man, who taught Armenian, and of Mr. Hagopian,
the Professor of Turkish. The latter was the veteran of the college;
he had been associated with Dr. Trowbridge in founding it thirty years
before, devoting himself body and soul to his task. The beginnings had
been difficult, partly from lack of funds, but he and the president
had met the situation bravely, teaching nine hours a day. Success
came; pupils flocked in from the most remote regions of the vast
Turkish Empire. The courageous Dr. Trowbridge died before his time,
but Professor Hagopian, more favored, was permitted to reap the ample
harvest he had sown.
English was the first lesson in the afternoon, and Archag was
impatient to see the famous professor of whom Aram had had so much
to say. Mr. Piralian was still very young. In order to make himself
respected by his pupils he thought it necessary to treat them with
an extreme severity, and would never let the slightest peccadillo
pass unnoticed. The president often had to remonstrate with him on
the subject of the frequent punishments which he inflicted on his
pupils. He had spent several years in the United States, and had
been a teacher there also. He had become accustomed to the ways of
American children, who are notoriously "terrors," and now employed
the same methods in dealing with the boys of Aintab that he had found
useful with these others. Apart from that he was a capital teacher,
and took an interest in his pupils, but he never let them see it.
From the first he was prejudiced against Archag; he had seen him
walking about familiarly with Aram, for whom he had an actual
antipathy; and that was enough to make him take a dislike to the
new-comer. Then, Archag had learned English from a Scotchwoman, Miss
Dobbie, who spoke broad Scotch, rolling her r's, aspirating her h's,
and saying "auld" for "old." When he began to read, Professor Piralian
made fun of his pronunciation, and asked him sarcastically what great
professor had taught him English. But Archag, who fairly adored his
old teacher, was wounded to the quick at hearing her made an object
of ridicule.
After their lessons, the Sophomores, glad of a chance to stretch their
legs, went out to play football. They ran about, shouting and pushing
each other, with their zoubouns tucked up in their girdles. Archag,
after tripping up Soghomon and Garabed, seized the ball and threw it
with all his might, but he aimed badly, and the ball went straight
through one of the windows of Dr. Spencer's house. The glass fell in
splinters, and Archag cried out in consternation.
"The only thing for you to do," said Garabed, "is to go and make your
excuses to Mrs. Spencer; go right off now and do it."
Archag was chagrined at his awkwardness, and reluctant to present
himself before Mrs. Spencer, as a culprit. But the doctor's wife had
seen the accident, and from behind a curtain she watched Archag coming
toward the house, and observed his embarrassment. When he entered,
and stammered out his apologies, she put him at his ease with a few
friendly words:
"You have had a little misfortune, but that is nothing, and you will
soon play better. Lessons are over, aren't they, so you can stay and
have a cup of tea with me?"
She gave Archag great pleasure by beginning to talk about Van, which
she had visited three years before. She inquired for Miss Dobbie,
whose guest she had been for a week. Archag's spirits revived; he told
a numbers of stories illustrating the old lady's untiring kindness,
and Mrs. Spencer listened with interest. She liked the boy's frank
countenance and vivacity, and when Archag left, he was completely won,
and promised to come again often.