Chapter Two"How did sunshine get into the garden? By whose leave came the wind?"
A TIME AND TIMES AND HALF A TIME
When Cydnus bore the Taurus snowsTo sweeten Cleopatra's keels,And rippled in the breeze that singsFrom Kara Dagh, where leafy wingsOf flowers fall and gloaming stealsThe colors of the blowing rose,Old were the wharves and woods and ways--Older the tale of steel and fire,Involved intrigue, envenomed plan,Man marketing his brother manBy dread duress to glut desire.No peace was in those olden days.Hope like the gorgeous rose sun-warmedBlossomed and blew away and died,Till gentleness had ceased to beAnd Tarsus knew no chivalryCould live an hour by Cydnus' sideWhere all the heirs of evil swarmed.And yet--with every swelling springEach pollen-scented zephyr's breathRepeats the patient news to earsMade dull by dreams of loveless years,"It is of life, and not of deathThat ye shall hear the Cydnus sing!"
We awoke amid sounds unexplainable. Most of the Moslems had finishedtheir noisy ritual ablutions, and at dawn we had been dimly consciousof the strings of camels, mules and donkeys jingling out under thearch beneath us. Yet there was a great din from the courtyard ofwild hoofs thumping on the dung, and of scurrying feet as if a mile-longcaravan were practising formations.
So we went out to yawn, and remained, oblivious of everything butthe cause of all the noise, we leaning with elbows on the woodenrail, and she laughing up at us at intervals.
The six Zingarri, or gipsies, had pitched their tent in the verymiddle of the yard, ambitious above all other considerations to keepaway from walls. It was a big, low, black affair supported on shortpoles, and subdivided by them into several compartments. One couldsee unshapely bulges where women did the housekeeping within.
But the woman who held us spell-bound cared nothing for Turkishcustom--a girl not more than seventeen years old at the boldest guess.She was breaking a gray stallion in the yard, sitting the frenziedbeast without a saddle and doing whatever she liked with him, exceptthat his heels made free of the air, and he went from point to pointwhichever end up best pleased his fancy.
Travelers make an early start in Asia Minor, but the yard was byno means empty yet; some folk were still waiting on the doubtfulweather. Her own people kept to the tent. Whoever else had businessin the yard made common cause and cursed the girl for making thedisturbance, frightening camels, horses, asses and themselves. Andshe ignored them all, unless it was on purpose that she brought herstallion's heels too close for safety to the most abusive.
It was only for us two that she had any kind of friendly interest;she kept looking up at us and laughing as she caught our eyes, bringingher mount uprearing just beneath us several times. She was prettyas the peep o' morning, with long, black wavy hair all loose abouther shoulders, and as light on the horse as the foam he tossed about,although master of him without a second's doubt of it.
When she had had enough of riding--long before we were tired of thespectacle--she shouted with a voice like a mellow bell. One of thegipsies ran out and led away the sweating stallion, and she disappearedinto the tent throwing us a laugh over her shoulder.
"D'you suppose those gipsies are really of that Armenian's party?"Will wondered aloud. "Now, if she were going to Zeitoon--!"
Feeling as he did, I mocked at him to hide my feelings, and we hungabout for another hour in hope of seeing her again, but she kept close.I don't doubt she watched us through a hole in the tent. We wouldhave sat there alert in our chairs until evening only Fred sent anote down to say he was well enough to leave the hospital.
We found him with his beard trimmed neatly and his fevered eyes allbright again, sitting talking to the nurse on the veranda about aniece of hers--Gloria Vanderman.
"Chicken in this desert!" Will wondered irreverently, and Fred, wholikes his English to have dictionary meanings, rose from his chairin wrath. The nurse made that the cue for getting rid of us.
"Take Mr. Oakes away!" she urged, laughing. "He threatened to killa man this morning. There's too much murder in Tarsus now. If heshould add to it--"
"You know it wasn't on my account," Fred objected. "It was whathe wrote--and said of you. Why, he has had you prayed for publiclyby name, and you washing the brute's feet! Let me back in therefor just five minutes, and I'll show what a hospital case shouldreally look like!"
"Take him away!" she laughed. "Isn't it bad enough to be prayedfor? Must I get into the papers, too, as heroine of a scandal?"
The head missionary was not there to say good-by to, life in hiscase being too serious an affair to waste minutes of a precious morningon farewells, so we packed Fred into the waiting carriage and droveall the way to Mersina, where we interrupted Monty's mid-afternoongame of chess.
Fred Oakes and Monty were the closest friends I ever met--one problemfor an enemy--one stout, two-headed, most dependable ally for thelucky man or woman they called friend.
"Oh, hullo!" said Monty over his shoulder, as our names were calledout by the stately consular kavass.
"Hullo!" said Fred, and shook hands with the consul.
"Thought you were due to be sick for another week?" said Monty, closingup the board.
"I was. I would have been. Bed would have done me good, and thenurse is a darling, old enough to be Will's mother. But they puta biped by the name of Peter Measel in the bed next mine. He's amissionary on his own account, and keeps a diary. Seems be contributesto the funds of a Welsh mission in France, and they do what he says.He has all the people he disapproves of prayed for publicly by namein the mission hall in Marseilles, with extracts out of his diaryby way of explanation, so that the people who pray may know whatthey've got on their hands. The special information I gave him aboutyou, Monty, will make Marseilles burn! He's got you down as a drunkenpirate, my boy, with no less than eleven wives. But he asked meone night whether I thought what he'd written about the nurse wasstrong enough, and he read it aloud to me. You'd never believe whatthe reptile had dared suggest in his devil's log-book! I'm expelledfor threatening to kill him!"
"The nurse was right," said the consul gloomily. "There'll be murderenough hereabouts--and soon!"
He was a fairly young man yet in spite of the nearly white hair overthe temples. He measured his words in the manner of a man whosespeech is taken at face value.
"The missionaries know. The governments won't listen. I've beenappealed to. So has the United States consul, and neither of usis going to be able to do much. Remember, I represent a governmentat peace with Turkey, and so does he. The Turk has a side to hischaracter that governments ignore. Have you watched them at prayer?"
We told him how close we had been on the previous night, and he laughed.
"Did you suppose I couldn't smell camel and khan the moment you camein?"
"That was why Sister Vanderman hurried you off so promptly!" Fredannounced with an air of outraged truthfulness. "Faugh! Slangytalk and stink of stables!"
"I was talking of Turks," said the consul. "When they pray, youmay have noticed that they glance to right and left. When they thinkthere is nobody looking they do more, they stare deliberately tothe right and left. That is the act of recognition of the angeland the devil who are supposed to attend every Moslem, the angelto record his good deeds and the devil his bad ones. To my mindthere lies the secret of the Turk's character. Most of the timehe's a man of his word--honest--courteous--considerate--good-humored--evenchivalrous--living up to the angel. But once in so oftenhe remembers the other shoulder, and then there isn't any limit tothe deviltry he'll do. Absolutely not a limit!"
"I suppose we or the Americans could land marines at a pinch, andprotect whoever asked for protection?" suggested Monty.
"No," said the consul deliberately. "Germany would object. Germanyis the only power that would. Germany would accuse us of schemingto destroy the value of their blessed Baghdad railway."
A privy councilor of England, which Monty was, is not necessarilyin touch with politics of any sort. Neither were we; but it happenedthat more
than once in our wanderings about the world things had beenforced on our attention.
"They would rather see Europe burn from end to end!" Monty agreed.
"And I think there's more than that in it," said the consul. "Armeniansare not their favorites. The Germans want the trade of the Levant.The Armenians are business men. They're shrewder than Jews and moredependable than Greeks. It would suit Germany very nicely, I imagine,to have no Armenians to compete with."
"But if Germany once got control of the Near East," I objected, "shecould impose her own restrictions."
The consul frowned. "Armenians who thrive in spite of Turks--"
"Would skin a German for hide and tallow," nodded Will.
"Exactly. Germany would object vigorously if we or the States shouldland marines to prevent the Turks from applying the favorite remedy,vukuart--that means events, you know--their euphemism for massacreat rather frequent intervals. Germany would rather see the Turksfinish 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 goodwork in a funny, fussy, rigorous fashion of their own. They'd raisea dickens of a hocus-pocus back in Germany if they once suspectedtheir government of playing that game. No. But Germany intendsto 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 blamethem, 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, whoare in a very small minority, of course, are grasping and give abad name to the whole nation. Then, Armenians have been boastingopenly that one of these days the old Armenian kingdom will bereestablished. The Turks are conquerors, you know, and don't likethat kind of talk. If the Armenians could only keep from quarrelingamong 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 withthem because sooner--or later--sooner, probably--they'll split amongthemselves, and leave their friends high and dry. You can't blame 'em.The Turks know enough to play on their religious prejudices and setone sect against another. When the massacres begin scarcely an Armenianwill know who is friend and who enemy."
"D'you mean to say," demanded Fred, "that they're going to be shotlike bottles off a wall without rhyme or reason?"
"That's how it was before," said the consul. "There's nothing tostop it. The world is mistaken about Armenians. They're a hot-bloodedlot on the whole, with a deep sense of national pride, and a hatredof Turkish oppression that rankles. One of these mornings a Turkwill 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. Moslemblood 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 onMount Vesuvius--much as we English were in '57 in India, Iimagine--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, aproposapparently of nothing.
"No," said the consul, staring at him.
Will told him of the individual we had talked with in the khan thenight before, describing him rather carefully, not forgetting thegipsies in the black tent, and particularly not the daughter of thedawn 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 andCleopatra's ships had moored a hundred times. The consul's gardensloped in front of us, and most of the flowers that Europe reckonsrare 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 shadowof some oleanders. There was something suggestive in his choiceof lurking place, for every part of the oleander plant is dangerouslypoisonous; 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 theman 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 (forhe might have been plying the assassin's trade) he had vaulted theveranda rail and stood in front of us. As he jumped I heard therattle of loose cartridges, and the thump of a hidden pistol againstthe woodwork. I could see the hilt of a dagger, too, just emergingfrom concealment through the opening in his smock. But he stoodin 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 afool 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 againfor more than an hour with a fishing pole--and then threw in thegendarmes who ran to arrest him--and only ran when the Eenglis consulcame?"
"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 oldmemories.
"No doubt. Who carried your honor's letter to Adrianople in timeof 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 anundershirt until his hairy left breast lay bare down to where thenipple should have been. Why a bullet that drilled that nipple soneatly had not pierced the heart was simply mystery.
"Kagig, by jove! Kagig with a beard! Nobody would know you butfor 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 heseemed 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 yourselfand the beast."
The man agreed, very bright-eyed. Often it takes a day or two tocome to terms with natives of that country,
yet the terms the consuloffered 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 anddisappeared around the corner of the house, walking without hurrybut not looking back.
"Kagig, by jove! It would take too long now to tell that story ofthe letter to Adrianople. I've no proof, but a private notion thatKagig is descended from the old Armenian kings. In a certain sortof 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 Crusaderancestors, you're in luck!"
"You know it's what I came here for," said Monty. "These friendsof mine are curious, and I'm determined. Now that Fred's well--"
"I'm puzzled," said the consul, leaning back and looking at us allwith half-closed eyes. "Why should Kagig choose just this time toguide a hunting party? If any man knows trouble's brewing, I suspectbe 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 morethan 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 prospectof massacre did not account for all of his expression. There wasdebate, inspiration against conviction, being fought out under coverof forced calm. Inspiration won the day.
"I was wondering," he said, and lit a fresh cigar while we waitedfor him to go on.
"I vouch for my friends," said Monty.
"It wasn't that. I've no right to make the proposal--no officialright whatever--I'm speaking strictly unofficially--in fact, it'snot a proposal at all--merely a notion."
He paused to give himself a last chance, but indiscretion was toostrong.
"I was wondering how far you four men would go to save twenty orthirty thousand lives."
"You've no call to wonder about that," said Will.
"Suppose you tell us what you've got in mind," suggested Monty, puttinghis long legs on a chair and producing a cigarette.
The consul knocked out his pipe and sat forward, beginning to talka 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 massacreof Armenians--men, women, little children--I could do nothing. Makea fuss, of course. Throw open the consulate to refugees. Threatena 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, knowingI'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 knowyour precise whereabouts, I'd have a grown excuse for raising mostparticular old Harry! You get my meaning?"
"Sure!" said Will. "Monty's an earl. Fred's related to half thepeerages in Burke. Me and him"--I was balancing my chair on oneleg and he pushed me over backward by way of identification--"justpose as distinguished members of society for the occasion. I get you."
"It might even be possible, Mr. Yerkes, to get the United StatesCongress to take action on your account."
"Don't you believe it!" laughed Will. "The members for the ParishPump, and the senators from Ireland would howl about the Monroe Doctrineand Washington's advice at the merest hint of a Yankee in troublein 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 shouldhappen to know of four important individuals somewhere up-country,and massacres should break out after you had started, I could supplyour ambassador with something good to work on. The Turkish governmentmight have to stop the massacre in the district in which you shouldhappen 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 makethe 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 byoutlaws and held for ransom?"
"It might," said the consul darkly. "I'd take to the hills myselfand send back a wail for help, only my plain duty is here at themission. 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 partyinstead 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 politicsthere's no knowing what can or can't be done, but if you four menare absent in the hills I believe I can give the Turkish governmentso 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 argumentas far as yea or nay had anything to do with it. Prospect of dangerwas the last thing likely to divide the party.
"How about permits to travel?" asked Will. "The United States consultold 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 gowithout, but you'd better submit to extortion."
He called the kavass, the uniformed consular attendant, and senthim in search of Kagig. Within two minutes the Eye of Zeitoon wasgrinning at us through a small square window in the wall at one endof the veranda. Then he came round and once more vaulted the verandarail, for he seemed to hold ordinary means of entry in contempt.His eye looked very possessive for that of one seeking employmentas 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 asthey shall see!"
He exploded the word pigs as if he had the Osmanli prejudice againstthat 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 Turkwould 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 servantsto 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 Turkishmuleteer to each pair."
"Oh, well!" laughed Kagig, leaning back against the rail and movinghis hands palms upward as if he weighed one thought against another."What is the difference? If a few Turks move or less come to anend over Zeitoon brid
ge--"
It was only for moments at a time that he seemed able to force himselfto speak as our inferior. A Turk of the guide class would likelyhave knelt and placed a foot of each of us on his neck in turn assoon as he knew we had engaged him. This Armenian seemed made ofother 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 socialequal. "Servants shall attend you at the Yeni Khan. They will saynothing at all, and work splendidly! Start when you like; you willfind 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 secondlater he grinned at us again through the tiny window. "I am theEye of Zeitoon!" he boasted, and was gone. A servant whom the consulsent to follow him came back after ten or fifteen minutes sayinghe had lost him in a maze of narrow streets.
His latter, offhanded manner scarcely auguring well, we debated whetheror not to search for some one more likely amenable to disciplineto take his place. But the consul spent an hour telling us aboutthe letter that went to Adrianople, and the bringing back of theanswer that hastened peace.
"He was shot badly. He nearly died on the way back. I've no ideahow he recovered. He wouldn't accept a piaster more than the priceagreed on."
"Let's take a chance!" said Will, and we were all agreed before heurged it.
"There's one other thing," said the consul. "I've been told a MissGloria 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 wasvery 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 hischair 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 scandalizedamazement of the stately kavass, who came at that moment shepherdinga small boy with a large tray and perfectly enormous drinks.