Читать книгу Archag, the Little Armenian - Charles H. Schnapps - Страница 5

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The next morning, Archag rose with the dawn. He went down to the courtyard, drew a bucketful of cold water from the well, and plunged his head in it, shivering. Then he went back to the kitchen, and hastily ate his joghurt (a sort of curdled milk) which he spread on bread. His breakfast was dispatched in less than five minutes, and calling “Good morning” to his father, he rushed out of doors.

The farm of Boghos Effendi was on a plateau three or four kilometers in length, resting on the lower foothills of Ararat. The house was low but spacious, and served as a dwelling for a dozen or more shepherds. Great herds of horses and flocks of sheep grazed freely in the fine pastures which extended as far as eye could see. The nights being very cold, the live-stock had to be brought in every evening to the caves and cellars which served as stables.

Archag was enchanted as he looked around. The sun had just risen, and shed a rosy light on the glaciers of mighty Ararat. The country on which it shone was wild and dreary, leading one to conjecture that at some period a terrible cataclysm must have shaken it to the very foundations. The plateau terminated at either end in a steep precipice, at the base of which rushed a noisy stream; it was sheltered on the north by a wall of impregnable rock; on the south the wooded slopes descended gently to the valley. Archag had never seen anything like it, and was greatly impressed. As he roamed about, here and there, he discovered a little lake formed in the crater of an extinct volcano. He clapped his hands as he caught sight of the emerald waves, and jumping over the border of rocks, he plunged his hand in the water. It was icy cold. He then amused himself with skipping stones, but at the end of half an hour he had become tired of this sport, and resumed his journey of exploration. The sheep had gone toward the house, for it was time for them to be milked. Appetite comes quickly on the mountains, and Archag, having a strange feeling of emptiness in his stomach, asked one of the shepherds to give him a glass of milk. He drank it with relish, and then licked off the cream which had formed a thick mustache on his lips.

Next, he ran to look at the horses, for like all Orientals, he had a passion for them. There were about two hundred here; small animals with intelligent eyes and long tails which swept the ground. One of them especially excited his admiration; it was a five-year-old stallion, entirely black except for a white star on the forehead. Archag went up to it, holding out a bit of sugar, which the animal took with a distrustful air.

“Take care, Baron Archag!” called a shepherd, “the very devil is in that beast. I mounted him this morning, and he gave me a good shaking up, I can tell you! I left the saddle on, so he might get used to it.”

But Archag, not listening, had already jumped on the horse’s back. The creature gave a start on feeling this unaccustomed burden, kicked, stood up on his hind legs, then, seeing that nothing could rid him of his rider, darted off like an arrow toward the valley. But Archag had been used to horses ever since he was a baby, and the stallion did not succeed in throwing him by any of these tricks. He sat up straight in the saddle, holding the reins lightly. This mad ride was enchanting to him, and he had no sense of danger. At length the horse’s high spirit began to flag; he stopped a moment to drink at a stream, then started up a steep slope. After running half way round the valley, he returned to the pasture of his own accord, and Archag soon caught sight of the Highland Farm. The shepherds, well frightened by these pranks, came to meet him and praise him for his courage. The little boy sprang to the ground, gently patted his steed, and wiped off with his handkerchief the sweat that covered him.

After that, our friend took a ride on his new horse every morning, and before long claimed him as his own. A young shepherd lad, called Jakoub, was his companion on these rides. Boghos Effendi had not the time to go about with him, and he considered his son still too much of a child to ride about alone over hill and dale. The two boys would go off early in the morning, taking their dinner of hard-boiled eggs, cheese, bread and fruit with them, and would not return until evening. The country offered a great variety of excursions; in two months the boys had roamed over all the valleys, climbed all the hills in the vicinity, and explored the forests, still almost virgin. With this sort of life, Archag’s face grew brown, his chest broadened, and his muscles hardened.

“Where shall we go to-morrow?” he asked his new friend one evening.

“To the Kutshukdéré (Little Valley), and we will go in bathing in the lake.”

“Yok yok, (no, no,)” replied Archag, “we have been there four times already.”

“Well, then, let’s go to the village of Buldur.”

“No, I don’t care anything about that.”

Archag was in a naughty mood; he kicked his heels against the rock on which he was sitting.

“We might go to the cave of Karadéré (Black Valley),” said Jakoub, after a while, hesitating, “only——”

“Only what?”

“Only the neighborhood is infested by brigands, and your father would never let us go there if he knew.”

“Is it far from here?”

“Six hours on horseback; but the road is bad, and hard to find.”

“Have you been there yourself?”

“Yes, last year with my dayeh (uncle). Just imagine a hall underground, as high as a cathedral, all decorated with festoons and lace of stone! I never saw anything so beautiful in all my life, and I would just like to go there again like everything!” cried Jakoub, quite carried away by his enthusiasm.

“Didn’t the brigands do anything to you?”

“Oh, a poor shepherd boy like me? They knew well enough that I hadn’t a penny. But you, you see, you’re the son of the rich Boghos Effendi; it would be worth their while to put themselves out for such good pickings.”

“Pshaw, they wouldn’t know who I am. I’ll put on old clothes, and any one would have to be pretty sharp to recognize me. All right, then, that’s settled for to-morrow; come and wake me up to make sure. I’ll get our lunch ready.”

The thought of this adventurous ride had restored Archag’s good humor. He stood up, gave his comrade a slap on the back, and ran away from him, calling out:

“Catch me if you can!”

He was more nimble than Jakoub, and soon disappeared in the farm-yard.

At four the next morning, he awoke with a start at the sound of a servant’s rap on the door. In an instant he was on his feet, and had rolled up his mattress and coverlets, and stuffed them into a cupboard. His father was still in bed when Archag went into his room to speak to him.

“Pariluis hairick (Good morning, papa),” he said, kissing his father’s hand. “Jakoub and I are off for a ride. It’s so hot we want to start early.”

“Tschatkeretsick (Very well),” replied Boghos Effendi. “Be careful, and don’t be too late in coming home this evening.”

These last words were lost on Archag, who had already left the room. Jakoub was waiting for him in the kitchen:

“I’ve saddled the horses; everything is ready.”

“Good boy! Have you had any breakfast?”

“No, not yet.”

Archag offered his companion a bit of cheese, setting his pretty teeth in his own portion as he did so.

“These poor sheep!” said he. “They give us their milk and we eat their lambs. Men are really very unkind.”

Jakoub stared at him in astonishment.

“Bless my soul, I never thought of that, nor the sheep, either, you may be sure; they are too stupid.”

“Luckily for them; but they do suffer just the same as we do, and you mustn’t hit them any more.”

“I promise not to, if that can give you any pleasure; but we had better be off, instead of arguing about the sheep.”

“Right you are!”

A few minutes later the two boys were speeding along, rocked by the motion of the galloping horses, which made good headway, undaunted by the rough, stony road.

After riding up the Karadéré (Black Valley) for about three hours, they had to climb a slope covered with fallen rocks and débris. They followed a narrow trail which was scarcely discernible, and Jakoub lost his way twice, so that they had to retrace their steps. For several hours they did not meet a human being, although from time to time they heard the growl of a bear in the distance, or a troop of wild asses ran away from them in fright. Archag was beginning to be afraid they would never find the cave, when his companion gave a joyful shout:

“Here we are all right, this time,” and he pointed out a ravine sparsely overgrown with shrubs.

They sprang to the ground and tied their horses. Archag looked all around.

“You must be mistaken,” he said at last, “there isn’t a sign of any cave here.”

Then Jakoub showed him an opening half hidden by the bushes and so narrow that it seemed almost impossible that any one could squeeze through it. Jakoub, however, had already disappeared with the agility of a snake, and our friend attempted to follow him. But it was no easy matter; the rocks held him as in a vise, and he was nearly strangled. His feet dangled in space, he was in a critical situation, there was no way to climb either up or down. Then, suddenly, he felt himself being pulled from below, and the next minute he was at Jakoub’s side, very dizzy indeed. The two boys were at the top of a sunken passage, which they followed valiantly, making their way down with many a slip, until at last they came to the end. Here Jakoub lighted his lantern, and they cried out together in wonder and surprise. The chamber to which they had found their way was so high that they could scarcely make out the vaulted roof. Marvelous stalactites gave the place a magic beauty; along the walls were ranged thrones and seats wrought with artistic grace, which seemed to beckon them to rest; at their feet crept stone monsters of repulsive form. Archag wondered if he were really awake, or if he had been transported in a dream to some subterranean palace of the “Arabian Nights.” Behind a row of columns was an outlet leading to a gallery, and the boys set out to explore this also, but when they had taken perhaps a hundred steps, they were obliged to stoop down and crawl along the ground, for the passage had become no more than a narrow tunnel in the rock.

“Halt!” cried Jakoub, who had taken the lead.

“What’s the matter?” asked Archag.

“Look!”

The tunnel had come to an abrupt end, and a black chasm yawned before them. Jakoub inspected it with his lantern, and found that it was a pit full of water. For a while they amused themselves by throwing in stones to sound the depth and then retraced their steps. At length they regained the entrance to the cave.

“That was splendid!” said Archag, “but I’m glad enough to breathe fresh air again and get away from that everlasting night.”

Their escapade had made them hungry, and they ate their luncheon eagerly. Then they lay down in the shade of a rock and fell fast asleep.

Archag, who was not in the habit of taking a siesta, was the first to wake, and he rubbed his eyes in bewilderment at sight of two cross-looking men standing near him. He gave Jakoub a kick, and pointed to them in silence.

“Well, my little friends,” said one of the men, with a crafty look, “waked up at last, have you? You have had a good nap there, Machallah! Now you are going to follow us quietly without any nonsense, or vaī sizi” (the worse for you),” and the “bravo” touched the butt of his pistol.

KURDS

Both boys realized at once that they were in the power of the brigands. Never in all their life had they seen persons of such forbidding appearance: big rough fellows they were, with bristling beards, noses like eagles’ beaks, and sharp teeth all ready to bite, like the fangs of a wolf. They were clad in long cloaks, worked with silver; at the belt of each shone the butt of a pistol and the handle of a yatagan. By their speech the boys easily recognized them as Kurds, the sworn enemies of their race. God alone knew what fate was in store for them!

“Mount your horses and move on,” said the elder of the brigands.

Our two friends obeyed promptly, and each bandit led a horse by its bridle along the path, a dangerous one, which clung to the side of a sheer precipice and overhung the deep gorge below. After riding nearly an hour, they came to a valley confined between high mountains. Here the bandits blindfolded the boys, and a quarter of an hour later they bade them dismount. They were in a spacious cave, lighted up by a number of pine torches, for the daylight scarcely penetrated the place. A dozen brigands were sitting in a circle around a wood fire, eating and drinking; the walls of the cavern resounded with their loud shouts of laughter. When they saw the two boys they invited them to share their repast, and our friends obeyed with alacrity, for the ride had sharpened their appetite.

Archag looked all around with curiosity; he was no longer afraid, and since he had had something to eat, he found some amusement in the adventure. He had concluded, reasonably enough, that since the men had offered them food, they were not going to kill them. The brigands plied him with questions, to which he replied quite simply, and his remarks often provoked a smile from the company. Jakoub, on the other hand did not open his mouth except to eat, and his eyes were big with fear. He did not listen to what was said, while Archag followed the bandits’ conversation with great interest. One of them, a young fellow with a scarcely perceptible mustache, was telling his latest exploit:

“I had been at Bayazid two weeks, looking out in vain for some stroke of luck; but one would have said that Mohammed had forgotten his faithful ones; I hadn’t been able to take a single purse; I was suffering from hunger and had to pull my belt tighter every day. At last, one evening, I saw a richly dressed man pass on his way to the hamam (bath). I followed him, and it went to my heart to have to give up my last piastre for an entrance fee. But once in, I went, as if by chance, and sat down beside him, and I praised the beauty of his beard. ‘Seven times happy,’ said I to him, ‘he upon whom Allah has bestowed a beard like thine, a plain mark of wisdom.’

“The stout fellow bridled and thanked me with a smile.

“‘Thy servant,’ I continued, ‘is still very young; a scant half-dozen hairs chase each other over my chin; but being as yet unable to pretend to wisdom, I always seek the society of learned and erudite men, for their words are as sweet as honey and as intoxicating as cerevisia.’

“By talk like this I won the confidence of the fool; and before long, by worming it out of him I had learned his story. He was a rich merchant from Bagdad, who had been up the Tigris to sell a consignment of coffee and to buy Kurdistan rugs. He had been successful in his business, and was planning to set out for his native town the next morning. I passed myself off for the son of a caravan master of Aleppo, reading law at Ispahan, and now returning home for my vacation. In a short time we were the best friends in the world. I ordered innumerable cups of coffee and portions of hasheesh, for which I allowed him to pay. When we left the bath, my companion was completely under the influence of the intoxicating drug; he couldn’t take a step without leaning heavily on my arm. I had arranged my game in advance, and when we were in the lonely part of the town behind the citadel, I attacked him and relieved him of his belt, all lined with gold pieces. He was so stupefied by my behavior that he couldn’t say a word. Then, before leaving him, I cut his beard, ‘for,’ said I, ‘noble descendant of the prophet, your hair will make me a magnificent false beard, and thanks to your profound wisdom, your own will make speed to grow again.’ A smart kick sent him rolling into a ditch, where I left him to work off his hasheesh. I hadn’t time to bother with him any more; I hurried back to my inn, jumped astride my horse, and came straight back here to you.”

During the narration of this tale, the boys, overcome with drowsiness, had dropped off to sleep, and the brigands had laid them on a bed of leaves, where they slept the whole night through without waking.

Meanwhile, Boghos Effendi had been tormented by the most painful anxiety. At six o’clock, finding that the boys had not yet returned, he supposed that they had been delayed. But when at eight they had not come, he began to be seriously alarmed. He sent the shepherds out in bands to scour the neighborhood; but they were unable to bring him any tidings, and the poor father passed the night in mortal fear. At four in the morning, he was about to institute a new search, when he was told that a boy was waiting to speak to him. He went out immediately, and found a Kurd shepherd lad in the courtyard, who handed him a letter. He broke the seal with a trembling hand. There were but a few words to read:

“Your son and his companion have been taken prisoners by the brigands. Send one of your servants without escort to the cave of Kara Dagh, bringing the sum of one hundred pounds and the children will be set at liberty.

“Essad Chan.

“P. S.—If the money is not there by five o’clock this evening, you will never see your son alive again.”

Boghos Effendi put the letter in his pocket and looked up to ask the messenger some questions, but the lad had already disappeared. It was useless to go after him, and so the unhappy father called his steward and two old shepherds to come and give him their advice. They all, without hesitation, counseled him to send the money as quickly as possible, for Essad Chan was the most dangerous brigand in the country, and had both force and cunning at his command. Boghos Effendi then gave his steward the hundred pounds, and charged him to make haste so that he might reach the cavern before noon.

When the boys awoke, they were very much surprised to find themselves in a cave. Little by little, they recalled the events of the previous day, and began to wonder anxiously what the future had in store for them. The brigands, however, gave them no cause for complaint. A bountiful breakfast was offered them, and then one of the bandits invited Archag to play chess with him. The boy accepted with pleasure; he was a good player, but shrewd enough to let his opponent win. Another brigand took up his tamboura (a sort of mandolin) and fell to singing. In this way the morning passed pleasantly enough for the two captives; they were very happy, however, when some one came to tell them that they were free. They were blindfolded once more, so that they might not be able to describe the exact situation of the cave, and the brigands, on removing their bandages, made the boys swear on the crucifix not to follow them, nor try to find their hiding-place. The two lads took the oath, only too happy to get off so easily.

“Only,” said Archag, “I am very thirsty, and I should very much like to have something to drink.”

The brigands burst out laughing, and one of them offered Archag his gourd, with a friendly slap on the shoulder. Archag thanked him, and then the two boys put spurs to their horses and went off at full gallop. When, after a time, they slackened their pace, Kara Dagh was far behind them.

“If that wasn’t a scrape!” cried Archag. “Whatever will my father say?”

Jakoub shrugged his shoulders in reply, and they rode on in silence.

When our friend caught sight of his father, who was anxiously watching for them at the entrance to the farm, he jumped down from his horse, gave the reins to Jakoub, and ran to meet him and to ask forgiveness.

“My son,” replied Boghos Effendi, “your imprudence might have cost you your life. You know that when I go on a journey I never take more money with me than is absolutely necessary. If I had not sold three horses the other day to that Persian from Tabriz, I should not have been able to pay for your ransom, and then you may be sure the robbers would have listened to none of your cries or tears; they would have kept their word and killed you. God has had compassion on us, and He has given you a salutary lesson. Never forget what anxiety you have caused your father to suffer, nor the money your folly has cost me, hard-earned money on which I was depending for this winter’s expenses; and try to be more discreet in the future.”

Archag promised, and was in tears as he kissed his father’s hand. He no longer felt himself a hero, but realized that he was only a little boy come home from a mad escapade. He never thought of this adventure afterward without a blush of shame.