THE DEATH OF SAMOUIL
The courtyard of the college was all astir with life: the students
were arriving in small groups, and there was a constant succession of
salutations and embraces, for Orientals are more demonstrative than
northern people. Among the new Juniors, we find our friends of last
year: the two cousins, Nejib and Dikran, Boghos and his inseparable
companion Soghomon, fatter than ever; Aram, Archag and Garabed, who
had traveled together from Moosh; and lastly Sumpad and Samouil. The
latter was not at all well; he had taken cold during the holidays,
and since then had been growing very weak; his cheeks were sometimes
burning with fever, again ashen pale. His uncle had been alarmed by
his cough, and unwilling to let him go away, but Samouil had begged
so hard to be allowed to return to his beloved college, that he had
been allowed to come.
"Oh! What is the matter with you?" asked Archag, as he came upon him
in the midst of a fit of coughing.
Samouil could not reply for a moment; then he said:
"It's this cough that hangs on so, and I'm so tired all the time,
I can hardly move."
"The good air of Aintab will make you feel better, and we'll all look
after you. Take my arm to go upstairs, and lean hard on me."
On rejoining their classmates they heard an unexpected piece of news:
Professor Hagopian had sent in his resignation, desiring to take
a few years' rest. His place was filled by Mr. Hairemian, who thus
became proctor of the Junior class.
The first recitation was scarcely over when the boys poured into the
hall to see if the postman had come. The mail was brought to Aintab
only on Fridays, and professors and students, Armenians and Americans,
awaited this great day with equal impatience. Twenty times during
the day the boys would run to the porter and ask:
"Posta geldiné? (Has the mail come?)"
"Yok, yok, Effendis."
But this time it really had come. A cry rang through all the buildings:
"Posta gelmidé! Posta gelmidé! (The mail has come!)"
Boys, big and little, came running downstairs. Badvili Melikian
opened the bag and distributed the letters scattered over the table,
with a word for each:
"Nejib, here's a letter from your father in Heidelberg. Is he going
to stay much longer in Germany?"
"Garabed, the letter from your parents."
"Monsieur Bernier, a letter from Switzerland, and a parcel of
newspapers."
"Professor Piralian, three letters from your friends in America."
"Boghos, a letter from your father. Please give him my greetings when
you write."
"Three more letters for Monsieur Bernier. Is it your birthday,
or what?"
"Soghomon, the 'Avedaper.' Please lend it to me after you have
read it."
"Samouil, there is nothing for you this week."
"Aram, two letters from Diarbekir."
"Archag, one letter from Van, and one from--what, Tabriz? I didn't
know you had acquaintances in Adgemistam?"
Archag was blushing with pleasure, for he guessed at once from whom
the letter came. He stammered out that one of his friends had been
in Persia for the last few months; then, making a sign to Aram to
follow, he went out of the room and upstairs to the dormitory. The
two boys sat down on a trunk and Archag opened the precious letter,
and lowering his voice, read as follows:
"Siréli paragamner, (My dear friends)
"What must you think of me? It is five weeks yesterday since I left
Van, and it is only to-day that I am able to keep my promise and
tell you that, thanks to the mercy of Astwatz (God, in Armenian),
I have arrived at Tabriz; but it was not without difficulty, and my
adventures have been little less than miraculous.
"But let me not anticipate. When you left me, and I saw you
disappearing all too quickly from the shore of Lake Van, I stopped
for a moment, to follow in thought those faithful friends whom I
shall probably never see again.
"I used to walk at night, avoiding the highways for fear of some
misadventure; at daybreak I would lie down at the foot of a pine
tree, in the shadow of a rock, no matter where, provided the place
was deserted. A fortnight passed in this way; I had accomplished more
than half of my journey, and everything led me to hope that I should
reach the end without hindrance. Alas! it must needs be otherwise. My
provisions were now gone; the country was barren, there was no
fruit, not even wild strawberries or whortleberries. One day, toward
nightfall, I ventured to knock at the door of a solitary house. I was
well received, and my host, an old Kurd, gave me a bountiful supper,
to which I did full justice. I speak Turkish fluently, so it was easy
to pass myself off for a Mussulman merchant on my way to Tabriz, and
I said that I had been attacked by thieves who had made off with my
horse and my baggage.
"'May the will of Allah be done!' said my host. 'He will repay you
fourfold for what he has taken from you. But a curse on these brigands
who rob the servants of the Prophet, instead of contenting themselves
with Christian dogs!'
"While he was talking, one of his grandchildren, a little boy of four,
had climbed on my knee and was playing with my watch; suddenly he took
hold of my beard and pulled it with all his might, and the string
that held the false hair broke, leaving the beard in his hands,
to his great terror. I saw my host's eyes grow big with fright.
"'Ah!' said he, 'so you are not the old merchant Abdallah, as you
pretended.' He rose, and by a quick movement pulled off my turban
and white wig.
"'You are doubtless a spy, one of those fédai that infest our
country. A curse on you!' and he spat on the ground, as a sign
of scorn.
"Seeking safety in flight, I rushed to the door; it was locked. I tried
to force it open, but my host had already thundered out his orders:
"'Hola, Jousif, Raschid, Hamid! Seize this dog!'
"In an instant I was thrown to the ground, and bound fast; then my
tormentors took me to an underground room and double-locked the door. I
was convinced that my last hour had struck, and resigned myself to my
fate, but as the days slipped by I began to wonder, from curiosity,
rather than fear, what they were going to do with me. Every evening
the door of my prison was opened, and a hand passed me a jug of water
and some bread. The continued suspense began to weigh upon me. Five
days had now passed since the catastrophe. I was lying in a troubled
sleep, when a slight sound made me wake up with a start.
"'Who is there?' I cried.
"'Don't stir,' replied a voice, 'it is a friend.'
"'A friend? Then I have not been forgotten?'
"'No; I am an Armenian like yourself, and all the sons of Haik are
brothers. Everything is ready for our flight; there is not a moment
to lose. Come.'
"We went out of the cellar, and I breathed in the pure night air with
delight. The watch dog gave a threatening growl when he saw us, but
as soon as he recognized my companion he became quiet and wagged his
tail with joy. Two horses were waiting for us, with a pistol attached
to each saddle. We mounted them and soon disappeared in the night. I
waved my arms for joy; I was free; fortune was smiling on me again.
"As we galloped along over a by-way, my companion told me his
story. His name was Puzant, and he was the son of Armenian farming
people. When he was twelve years old, the Kurds plundered his village,
his parents were killed, and he himself was taken prisoner and sold
as a slave. The same old story, so common in Armenia.
"My host had bought him, and converted him to the Mussulman faith,
giving him the name of Hamid. The child became a youth; he was
diligent, and apparently submissive and attached to his master, but he
had not forgotten; he steadfastly cherished the purpose of fulfilling
the oath of revenge which he had taken before his dying father.
"When my disguise was discovered, he made a vow to set me free and
at the same time to regain his own liberty. Fate had favored him,
for Rhasoul Khan, instead of cutting my throat immediately, had sent
one of his men to fetch zaptiehs from the neighboring town. This
delay had given Puzant time to get everything in readiness for our
flight. First he put poison in the Kurd's rhaki (liquor) and that
of his men; then he saddled the horses, took arms and ammunition,
and finally opened the door of my prison. The zaptiehs could not
reach the farm before morning; we had Rhasoul Khan's best horses,
and at least six hours' start.
"For three days all went well. We were nearing the end of our journey,
without having met with any hindrances; only a few miles more lay
between us and the frontier, which we planned to cross during the
night. When the full moon was up, we set out, and made our way
very cautiously across a marsh, leading our horses by the bridles,
and attentive to the slightest sound. The hoot of a screech-owl
startled us, and as we stopped, in momentary hesitation, the sound
of a pistol-shot rang out, and a bullet went whistling over Puzant's
head. We could hesitate no longer; we were discovered, so we left
our good horses, regretfully, and took to our heels, rushing madly
forward. It was a wild chase. In the darkness we had many a slip and
fall, and our hands and faces were torn by thorns. Our enemies were
in hot pursuit, and shooting at random, guided by the sound of our
voices. Our strength was spent: then, at last, we heard the sound of
rushing water; it was the stream that separates the two countries. We
sprang forward and leaped into the surging waters--we set foot on
the other side! As a response to our shout of joy, came a howl of
rage and five pistol-shots. I felt a sharp pain in my shoulder: the
bullet had entered the flesh, but I nerved myself to bear the pain,
for liberty was opening her arms to me. We soon disappeared behind
the rocks; we were saved, for our enemies would not dare follow us
on Persian territory.
"What more shall I tell you? We had come to the end of our adventures,
and the rest of the journey was child's play. After resting a few
days in the village, where the hodja dressed my wound and applied a
healing balm, we resumed our journey to Tabriz, no longer on foot,
but by carriage, and in broad daylight.
"I have found again the generous friends of whom I spoke to you: Doctor
Harontounian and the Vartabet (priest) Gerdulian. They got work for
Puzant with an Armenian weaver. As for me, the hour has again struck
for my departure, and I leave by automobile for Djoulfa to-morrow;
there, I shall take the train for Tiflis, where I expect to stay
several weeks. Then I shall go to Bulgaria to rejoin Andranick. I
take leave of you, my friends: thank you again and again, and, if
God so pleases, may we meet again.
"Yours devotedly,
"Rupen."
"Shall we ever see that brave fellow again?" said Archag.
"Why not?" replied Aram. "We'll run away to Europe and join him,"
he whispered in his friend's ear.
The dormitory was now full of boys, and it was necessary to guard
their speech. Archag put the letter back in his pocket, and went over
to the window, where he began to chat with Samouil.
"What's the matter with you?" he asked, observing his friend's pallor.
"I--I--" stammered Samouil; but his speech was checked by a rush of
blood. The handkerchief which he had put to his lips was stained
crimson. There was a murmur of pity from the boys, and they made
haste to carry the sick lad to his bed: Archag kneeling beside him,
bathed his temples, while Garabed ran for Dr. Spencer.
The doctor's face grew grave as he examined Samouil, and listened to
his breathing.
"He must be taken to the hospital," said he to Badvili Melikian;
"he will get better care there than here."
The change was made at once. Samouil was not suffering, but his life
was ebbing away. Badvili Melikian told the boys that their comrade
was going to die, and they were moved and saddened by his words. The
Juniors took turns in going to spend their spare hours with the sick
boy, taking him gifts of flowers and fruit. Samouil never complained,
but always welcomed his friends with a smile.
"You know," he said once to Garabed, "I'm not going to live much
longer. I am so glad; I have no one left on earth, and I'm so tired
all the time."
For a few days he felt a little better, and was able to get up and
walk about in the hospital garden; then he had another hemorrhage,
more violent than the last.
"It is the end," said Dr. Spencer. "I don't think he will live through
the night."
The boy was drowsy all day, but about five o'clock he opened his eyes
and smiled, as he saw Archag sitting by his bed.
"You all spoil me," he said to his friend, as he smelt the flowers
he offered. "When I am down there" (and he pointed to the hospital
cemetery), "you will cover my grave with cyclamen, won't you? It's
my favorite flower."
"Oh Samouil! You're not going to leave us! What shall we do without
you?"
"Without me?" repeated the sick boy in surprise. "I didn't suppose
there was any one who would miss me."
"Hush, hush! We all loved you" (Archag was already using the past
tense, unconsciously). "Whenever we had a favor to ask, whenever
we had no time to do our work and were afraid of being punished,
to whom did we turn? To you, always to you!"
Samouil listened, happily.
"Is it true, is it really true, what you are telling me?"
"I swear it."
"Then I'm very happy, for I've been of some use in the world, and
there will be somebody to mourn for me when I'm not here any more."
The two boys were silent for a moment. Archag was too much moved to
speak. Samouil seemed very weary; he looked at his comrade in silence,
and after a little while he said:
"I'll wait for you. Up there. I so hope you will all come and join
me. You will do your best to, won't you?"
"Yes."
"And when you want to do something wrong, just think that it hurts me,
and perhaps that will help you resist the temptation."
Archag bent his head in assent. Never before had he seen death so near,
and he was completely overcome.
The sun had disappeared behind the hills that outline the horizon;
the sky had faded from brilliant red to pale yellow. Samouil slept
for a few moments, then he opened his eyes again and said:
"I have just seen the new Jerusalem, the city with streets of
gold. Angels were holding out their arms to me, and I saw my mother
among them; I don't remember her face, for she died when I was only
three years old, but I knew her at the first glance. It's strange,
isn't it?"
His voice was altered, and in his great black eyes was reflected the
mystery of the Beyond. Then he was seized with a choking fit, and
Archag held a glass of lemonade to his lips. He drank a few drops,
and thanked his friend with a smile.
"How beautiful my mother is! And she looked at me so
lovingly! But--she--is--here--and----"
He could not go on; his features contracted in a spasm of pain,
then they resumed their expression of peace and happiness.
Archag, terrified, sprang to the bell.
The nurse came running in.
"Is he worse?" she asked.
"I don't know; I think--he has fainted."
The nurse gave one look at the bed, and divined the truth.
"He is dead," she whispered, kissing the marble brow.
"Good-by, my darling boy; God has taken you to His rest."
Archag was convulsed with tears, as he knelt at the foot of the bed.
The boys planted cyclamen on Samouil's grave, as he had wished, and
in the spring, when the fields are full of flowers, it is covered
with a wonderful carpet of pink and white.