FIRE
In most Turkish towns August is called the month of fires, for it is
the time of the eggplant, a dish perhaps more delicious to the Turkish
palate than any other. The vegetables, cut into long thin slices, and
rolled in flour, are fried in mutton fat over a charcoal brazier.
The Turkish cook is often careless; the frying pan tips over, and
the mutton fat, falling on the live coals, ignites; in his effort to
extinguish the flames, the cook upsets the brazier; the streams of the
burning liquid run over the floor, and into the cracks between the
boards; and almost before you can realize what has happened, the little
room is a mass of flames. Long before the firemen come to the rescue,
the dry wooden house has become a heap of ashes.
Soon after dark Takvor bade the innkeeper good night and was mounting
the stairs to his chamber when he heard the resonant thump of the
watchman’s club on the pavement.
“Yangin var-r-r-r-!” the wild, jackal-like howl, or cry of fire, rang
out through the night, and soon the report of guns, and the tread of
feet hurrying over the paved street, gave promise of unusual excitement.
“Somebody has been frying eggplant,” thought Takvor, looking from the
window of his room to discover whether he was near the fire.
From a house at the foot of the eastern ravine the flames were already
darting high into the air, lighting up the darkness. A strong north
wind, blowing toward the mountain, carried the sparks along the street
and scattered them here and there as if to spread their destructive
work. The wailing cry of the watchman was taken up by dozens of others
throughout the city; and although the shooting of guns increased, the
roaring and crackling of the flames deadened all other sounds. In the
street before the inn a crowd of half-naked, shouting firemen, with a
useless pump on their shoulders, were rushing on at a mad pace, to
be the first to plunder, rather than to save, the burning house; and
following them, crowds of people were hastening toward the ravine.
Within fifteen minutes of the first cry of the watchman half a dozen
houses had caught; and the fire, rapidly getting beyond control, swept
up the hill.
The magnificent spectacle, the ruined homes, the sufferings of the
people, the probable loss of life, scarcely moved Takvor, as he
stood at the window within sight of the darting flames; his eyes
were directed to the darkness beyond. If the fire extended far up
the ravine, to the big old house, what would become of his little
Armenouhi, who was confined behind barred window and bolted door?
Would her keepers in their excitement forget her? Or if the fire did
not reach so far, might there not be an opportunity to steal her away?
Rushing down the stairs, and taking the friendly innkeeper by the arm,
he pulled him into the street, and together they made their way through
the crowd to the ravine. About the burning houses women and children
were screaming hysterically. Vicious-looking men, whose lack of
clothing marked them as firemen, were rushing about, not with what they
had saved, but with what they had stolen, while others had succeeded
in throwing on the flames a stream of water so small that its effect
was hardly noticeable. Higher up the hill another group of firemen were
tearing down a building to check the progress of the conflagration, but
already the flames had leaped over the space which they were making
vacant, and had caught the house above. Before the threatened building
a third group of firemen stood bargaining with its owner for the price
he should pay them for saving his property, and demanding the money in
advance. All along the ravine the men were hurriedly stacking their
furniture in the street, while the women were guarding it.
Takvor and the innkeeper hurried on through the crowd and up the
hill to the chaoush’s big house, whose great bare wall was already
reflecting the light of the fire below. In the street before the
door were gathered the entire family, anxiously watching the sparks
that had begun to fall through the broken roof. There was no longer
a doubt that the old house must go with the others, and following
the example of his neighbors, the chaoush began to bring the scanty
belongings of the family and put them in the street. As the fire came
nearer, the crowd about the house increased so rapidly that Takvor,
unnoticed, approached the latticed window. He could neither see nor
hear Armenouhi. He thought of calling to her, but fearing to attract
the attention of the watchful eunuch, he remained with his eyes fixed
on the lattice. The fire came nearer and nearer, and now the house next
below was ablaze. The chaoush, redoubling his efforts to save his few
remaining possessions, filled his arms with old furniture and hurried
with it to the women; and when suddenly from the fallen roof of the
main building a flame shot high into the air, he rushed in for his
last load. Now that the house was on fire, everything remaining within
became the lawful plunder of the firemen, who ran inside, followed
by Takvor and the Greek. Takvor and his friend paused a moment in
the great hall to locate the part of the house where Armenouhi was
confined, and were about to make their way to the door of the harem,
when they were met by the chaoush, leading the closely veiled figure of
a woman.
Unobserved in the crowd and semidarkness, they turned and followed the
soldier and his companion to the street. To their surprise, instead
of taking Armenouhi to the other women of the household, the chaoush
led her up the hill to the first cross street, and there turning to
the right, left the burning district. Still unobserved, they followed
him through the less frequented and darker streets to the western side
of the city. Here the chaoush turned with his captive into a narrow
dark lane, apparently nearing the end of his journey, when Takvor,
quickening his pace, stepped silently behind him, raised his heavy
walking stick, and felled him with a single blow.
“Armenouhi!” he cried.
Frightened almost to death, but restored by the sound of Takvor’s
voice, she sprang to him and threw herself into his arms. Releasing
himself, but keeping his arm about her, he led her down the less
frequented streets to the inn, while his friend remained at the
street corner to make sure that the fallen chaoush did not regain
consciousness until they were well on their way.