CHAPTER XIV

THE SILENT APPEAL

Takvor was less than five rods away. He rushed behind the Kurd who was poking his mother’s face with his foot, wrenched the club from his hand, and before the savage had time to turn, struck him lifeless to the earth. With incredible quickness he aimed a blow at the other Kurd, but the great fellow, seeing his companion fall, was already on his guard. Their contest was unequal. Takvor’s club was struck from his hands. He sprang back and dashed down the street. The Kurd followed. A long-bearded, pious-looking Jew who had been watching them chuckled as the two figures were disappearing down the street, and then entering a vacant house, hurriedly filled the spacious pockets of his long black coat with whatever money and jewelry and silver he could find, locked the door and sealed it, and went away to seek other plunder.

The Kurd and Takvor raced toward the Golden Horn, one for vengeance, the other for life. In and out they went, through the crowds of Jews engaged in moving furniture from the houses of the Armenians. Only a few yards separated them. The Kurd seized a stone from the pavement and hurled it at Takvor’s head, but missed him. Takvor rushed on. Unable to turn the sharp corner at the lower end of the street, he dashed through the narrow passage to the landing. The Kurd had been steadily gaining on him, and now seemed to have him in his grasp; for the water of the Golden Horn cut off escape in that direction. A kaiyik which had brought the savages from Stamboul was just ahead.

If Takvor could but reach its oars, there might yet be a chance to escape. He sprang for them. The boat, struck by his full weight, broke loose from its mooring and darted forward. The Kurd gave a leap. The kaiyik was so far from the shore that he missed it; but as he plunged beneath the water, he caught the dragging rope. Takvor seized an oar and brought its blade down on the cropped head of the Kurd the moment he appeared on the surface. A Turkish soldier in his sentry box stood silently watching the fight; he raised his rifle and aimed at Takvor; then slyly glancing about to satisfy himself that there was nobody to inform on him for neglect of duty, he lowered his gun and resumed his beat.

Takvor fastened the oars to the locks and pulled out to the middle of the stream. There were yet two hours before sunrise; until then he was safe in the kaiyik; but what then? His distracted mind refused to act, save to rehearse the scenes he had just gone through. When he became calmer, he realized where he was, and felt the hopelessness of his position; he was now an orphan, and homeless, pursued by the very government which should have protected him. When daylight came, his sorrows might soon be ended forever; but if not, what could he do? or where could he go? Possibly for a time he might hide in the mountains, or in some village in the interior. The quiet Ak Hissar and the face of his little Armenouhi arose before him. He instinctively put his hand to his pocket, and found the purse which Taviloudes had left there. Its discovery decided him; he would remain in the kaiyik until daylight, and then row to Haidar Pasha for the early train. He had no passport, but in some way he might manage to elude the officials; if not, he might bribe them. He allowed his boat to drift, seeing ever before him the picture of his parents lying in the street. Could he leave them unburied, to be thrown into a pit, or into the sea? The rattling sound of a cart, borne across the water by the quiet morning air, suggested that already they might have been taken away. Once again an almost irresistible desire to look upon the face of his mother seized him. Then the vision of Armenouhi pleaded with him to go to her. The appeal was so real that he caught up the oars and headed the boat downstream.

Now that he was beyond the reach of voices from Hasskeui, he took one last look at the village. In the east, above the hill, the first rays of light were appearing; and there on the horizon, silhouetted against the morning sky, were hundreds of moving figures. It was the Armenians who had fled from their houses, surrounded by their pursuers and falling beneath their blows. To shut out the horrible sight, he fixed his eyes on the bottom of the kaiyik and pulled vigorously at the oars.

Half an hour later he passed beneath the Galata bridge and around Seraglio Point, into the Marmora. At sunrise he left the kaiyik at Haidar Pasha, and started toward the station. Groups of Kurds were sitting idly here and there, and soldiers impatiently walked about the street. His first thought was to return to the kaiyik, and row far out into the Marmora, when a horse and rider dashed round the corner of the street and stopped.

“I will shoot the first person who touches an Armenian,” shouted the horseman, who was Fuad Pasha, the military governor of Haidar Pasha.

By his prompt, bold action, he saved the lives of thousands of people who lived on the Asiatic shore of the Bosphorus. Poor Fuad! he paid dearly for thwarting the will of his imperial master. His military rank was taken from him; his property was confiscated; he was arrested as a traitor, exiled, and put to torture. A few years later he died in a military prison in Damascus. The name of Fuad, Turk and Moslem, should be enrolled among the martyrs.

Takvor’s courage revived and he again started for the station.