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BY FAR EUPHRATES

A TALE

BY

D. ALCOCK

_Author of "The Spanish Brothers" "Crushed, yet Conquering"
"Dr. Adrian" etc_

London

HODDER AND STOUGHTON

27 PATERNOSTER ROW

MDCCCXCVII


BUTLER & TANNER,
THE SELWOOD PRINTING WORKS,
FROME, AND LONDON.


"Lo, I see four men loose, walking in the midst of the fire;... and
the form of the fourth is like the Son of God."




PREFACE


Many a tale of blood and tears has come to us of late from far
Euphrates, and from the regions round about. It is not so much the aim
of the following pages to tell these over again as to show the light
that, even there, shines through the darkness. "I do set My bow in the
cloud" is true of the densest, most awful cloud of human misery. As in
the early ages of Christianity, "what little child, what tender woman"
was there


     "Who did not clasp the cross with a light laugh,
     Or wrap the burning robe round, thanking God"?


As in later times, of no less fervent faith, "men took each other's
hands and walked into the fire, and women sang a song of triumph while
the gravedigger was shovelling the earth over their living faces," so
now, in our own days, there still walks in the furnace, with His
faithful servants, "One like unto the Son of God."

Every instance of faith or heroism given in these pages is not only true
in itself, but typical of a hundred others. The tale is told, however
feebly and inadequately, to strengthen our own faith and quicken our own
love. It is told also to stir our own hearts to help and save the
remnant that is left. The past is past, and we cannot change it now; but
we CAN still save from death, or from fates worse than death, the
children of Christian parents, who are helpless and desolate orphans
because their parents _were_ Christians, and true to the Faith they
professed and the Name they loved.

D. ALCOCK.




CONTENTS

                                     PAGE
CHAPTER I

THE DARK RIVER                          1


CHAPTER II

FATHER AND SON                          9


CHAPTER III

FIRST IMPRESSIONS                      17


CHAPTER IV

A NEW LIFE                             26


CHAPTER V

BARON MUGGURDITCH THOMASSIAN           44


CHAPTER VI

ROSES AND BATH TOWELS                  59


CHAPTER VII

GATHERING STORMS                       66


CHAPTER VIII

A PROPOSAL                             73


CHAPTER IX

PEACE AND STRIFE                       91


CHAPTER X

AN ARMENIAN WEDDING                   113


CHAPTER XI

AN ADVENTUROUS RIDE                   125


CHAPTER XII

THE USE OF A REVOLVER                 143


CHAPTER XIII

WHAT PASTOR STEPANIAN THOUGHT         155


CHAPTER XIV

A MODERN THERMOPYLÆ                   173


CHAPTER XV

DARK HOURS                            194


CHAPTER XVI

"THE DARK RIVER TURNS TO LIGHT"       214


CHAPTER XVII

A GREAT CRIME                         229


CHAPTER XVIII

EVIL TIDINGS                          241


CHAPTER XIX

A GREAT CRIME CONSUMMATED             256


CHAPTER XX

BY ABRAHAM'S POOL, AND ELSEWHERE      271


CHAPTER XXI

"GOD-SATISFIED AND EARTH-UNDONE"      287


CHAPTER XXII

GIVEN BACK FROM THE DEAD              301


CHAPTER XXIII

BETROTHAL                             315


CHAPTER XXIV

UNDER THE FLAG OF ENGLAND             323


CHAPTER XXV

AT HOME                               341


CHAPTER XXVI

A SERMON                              351


APPENDIX                              367




Chapter I

THE DARK RIVER

     "A thousand streams of lovelier flow
     Bathed his own native land."


The Eastern sun was near its setting. Everywhere beneath its beams
stretched out a vast, dreary campaign--pale yellowish brown--with low
rolling hills, bare of vegetation. There was scarcely anything upon
which the eye of man could rest with interest or satisfaction, except
one little clump of plane trees, beside which a party of travellers had
spread their tents. They had spent the day in repose, for they intended
to spend the night in travelling; since, although summer was past and
autumn had come, the heat was still great.

The tent in the centre of the little encampment was occupied by an
Englishman and his son, to whom all the rest were but guides, or
servants, or guards. The Syrians, the Arabs, and the Turkish zaptiehs
who filled these offices were resting from their labours, having
tethered their horses under the trees.

It was about time for them to be stirring now, to attend to the animals,
to make the coffee, and to do other needful things in preparation for
the journey. But they were used to wait for a signal from their master
for the time being--Mr. Grayson, or Grayson Effendi, as they generally
called him. Pending this, they saw no reason to shorten their repose,
though a few of them sat up, yawned, and began to take out their tobacco
pouches, and to employ themselves in making cigarettes.

Presently, from the Effendi's own tent, a slight boyish form emerged,
and trod softly through the rest. "Hohannes Effendi"--so the Turks and
Arabs called him, as a kind of working equivalent for "Master John"--was
a bright, fair-faced, blue-eyed English lad in his sixteenth year. He
was dressed in a well-worn suit of white drill, and his head protected
by a kind of helmet, with flaps to cover the cheeks and neck, since the
glare reflected from the ground was almost as trying as the scorching
heat above.

Once beyond the encampment, he quickened his pace, and, fast and
straight as an arrow flies, dashed on over the little hills due
eastwards. For there, the Arabs had told him, "a bow shot off," "two
stones' throw," "the length a man might ride while he said his 'La
ilaha ill Allah!'"--ran the great river. Waking some two hours before
from the profound sleep of boyhood, he had not been able to close his
eyes again for the longing that came over him to look upon it. For this
was "that ancient river," last of the mystic Four that watered the
flowers of Eden, witness of ruined civilizations, survivor of dead
empires, the old historic Euphrates. Not that all this was present to
the mind of young John Grayson; but he had caught from his father, whose
constant companion he was, a reflected interest in "places where things
happened," which was transfigured by the glamour of a young imagination.

On and on he went, for the wide, featureless, monotonous landscape
deceived his eye, and the river was really much farther than he thought.
He got amongst tall reeds, which sometimes hindered his view, though
often he could see over them well enough--if there had been anything to
see, except more reeds, mixed with a little rank grass--more low hills,
and over all a cloudless, purple sky.