Forty Days of Musa Dagh (64 page)

 

 

This was so true that the major had nothing more to say. Since the highest
quarters, the Wali, the Minister of War, had had their attention drawn to
Musa Dagh, a third failure would mean a court martial for the major.
It would probably handle him even worse than it had his rosy-cheeked
predecessor. He and the Kaimakam were linked together for good or ill.
He must be kept in with. He grunted a pacific remark and set to work again.
The companies in the north were ordered to advance immediately against the
Armenian trenches along the Saddle. The South Bastion along the steeper
ridge was not to be meddled with, since neither the major nor his effectives
were anxious for another avalanche. The major called his officers together
and ordered them to tell their platoons that any man who turned back in
the next advance would be shot down without mercy. A long line of saptiehs
and chettehs, detailed especially for this executioner's work were posted
along the hollows of the fore-slope. They received stringent orders to
open fire on retreating infantry. Neither saptiehs nor sharpshooters had
any objection to the duty. At the same time the major advanced a third,
very long line of armed villagers (they even included a few women) into
the region of apricot orchards and vines. The companies' terror of the
major's drastic orders had its effects. The men, driven on by panic,
came rushing up the steep slopes. They did not so much as dare to get
second wind. They shut their eyes and stormed through the komitajis'
fire. The afternoon was well over by the time the three platoons, under
gruelling bullets from above, managed to set foot on the upper slopes,
and dig themselves in, as best they might, with their infantry spades,
under the Armenian positions, or else take cover behind rocks, heaps of
rubble, or folds in the ground. By this heroic advance between two fires,
the major's troops had obtained their first outstanding success. That
officer, drunk with the lust of battle, waving his sword, led on fresh
lines to the assault. These, too, succeeded in implanting themselves
below the Armenian trenches, and so extending the line of attack. Such
successes inspired the Turkish soul. They opened wild fire along the
new line, on every attacking point. At first it mattered nothing to the
major whether his bullets found a mark. For two whole hours the ears
and hearts of these Armenians were to be so basted into terror that the
dregs of their courage should ebb away. They were also to be shown that
the Turkish state had enough bullets at its disposal to keep the fire
as hot as ever for the next three days. The defenders crouched back,
paralyzed, in their trenches, letting this dense hailstorm of bullets
patter and spin above their heads. The worst of it was that the infantry
nearest the Town Enclosure sent unlimited shot among the log huts,
so that from time to time both dumdum and ordinary rifle bullets caused
terrible wounds among the inhabitants. Ter Haigasun therefore gave orders
for the whole enclosure to be vacated, and for non-combatants to retire
towards the sea and among the rocks.

 

 

During this long frenzy of munition wasting, the major advanced one after
another, his company reserves, his saptiehs, and last of all his armed
peasants, all led by officers, so that overwhelmingly superior numbers,
when at last he stormed, might have their effect in ever-increasing lines
of men. The second, third, fourth lines of attack were stationed at fairly
wide intervals behind the front. When these shaken and excited troops,
emerging from the komitajis' cross fire, had come on bellowing up the
slopes, the major ordered his first line to attack. The Armenians,
seasoned by now in the art of repelling such wide advances, fired
down from their, as a rule higher, positions and calmly dispersed
the attacking waves. Quickly as these lines, one after another, were
advanced, they broke each time, severely handicapped by the roughness
of this mountain terrain, far from the Armenian trenches. In spite of
superior numbers and unlimited supplies of ammunition the Moslems could
not manage till almost nightfall to advance one pace on any point of
attack. The Armenians still found it comparatively easy to repel them
without too many losses, owing to the fact that their defences had been
so skilfully contrived. Here and there their trenches formed sharp
angles, so that the oncoming Turks had to take both front and flank
fire. Added to which the komitajis, who suddenly on this or that part of
the line spattered the reserves with a quick and deadly rain of bullets,
disconcerted these regulars. The compulsory valor of these attacks,
all equally vain, had already cost the major as many men as the last
defeat of the poor bimbashi, whose losses had brought him such dire
disgrace. But the yüs-bashi was made of sterner stuff. He would not
retire. Again and again he put himself at the head of his men, avoiding
death a hundred times, by virtue of that miraculous law which seems
to protect all real valor in leadership. He usually stayed with the
ilex-gully sector, since gradually it had grown apparent that this was
the weakest part of the defence. Gabriel, thanks to his mobile guard,
had still control of all the threads. "Three hours more," he thought,
"and it'll be dark." The guard had again and again come galloping up
to reinforce a threatened sector, hold unsteady trenches, fill up the
menaced gap between two divisions, and relieve an exhausted decad. Now,
however, Gabriel lay fagged out, white, breathless as a corpse, he could
not tell where, and finding it hard to regain his strength. Avakian sat
beside him, and about twelve orderlies of the cohort of youth awaited
his orders. Haik was one of them. Not Stephan. Messages came in every
minute. Mostly they came from the North Saddle, which till now had been
having an easy day. But at about this time the Turks seemed to change
their intention and prepare a big coup against the north. Chaush Nurhan's
messages were more and more anxiously framed. Not only the major but
the whole staff of other officers had come up from behind cover on to
the counter-slope. He had recognized them quite plainly through his
field-glass. Bagradian intended to use the guard, his last defence,
as sparingly as he possibly could, and not let himself be imposed upon
by the inexperience of individual section leaders. This north section
was by far the best defended position, and he could see no reason for
sending up reinforcements into this particular system of his defence,
before the real fight had even begun. It seemed far more important to
Gabriel to stay continually in the vicinity of the ilex-gully sector,
by far the most menaced, and do his best to avert disaster there.
So there he lay, with his eyes shut, and seemed not to heed the continual
messages from the north ridge. "Only two and a half hours more of it," his
thoughts kept whispering. A lull had set in. The firing died down. Gabriel
let exhaustion overwhelm him. It may have been this mental and physical
enfeeblement which caused him to fall into the major's trap.

 

 

 

 

Sharp echoes of the fight sounded all along the "Riviera." Some acoustic
trick made the ping and clatter of the bullets seem to whip the ground
all round Gonzague and Juliette. They got the sensation of sitting in the
very midst of a battle, although really it was a good way off. Juliette
kept tight hold of Gonzague's hand. He listened. The whole of him seemed
to be listening. He sat very excited, and very still.

 

 

"I think it's coming nearer all round. At least, that's what it sounds like."

 

 

Juliette said nothing. The hissing din was so fantastically strange
that she seemed not to understand and, so far, scarcely to have heard
it. Gonzague only bent slightly forward, to get a better view of the surf
as it leapt round the rocks many feet below. The sea today was unusually
rough: its distant anger mingled with the din of the rifles. Maris
pointed south, along the coast. "We ought to have made up our minds
sooner, Juliette. By now you should have been sitting quite peacefully
in the manager's house, beside the alcohol factory."

 

 

She shivered. Her lips opened to speak, but she took a long time to find
any voice; she seemed to have lost it. "The ship leaves on the twenty-sixth.
This is only the twenty-third. I've still got three days."

 

 

"Well, yes" -- he calmed her down with the tenderest forbearance --
"you've got three days. . . . I won't deprive you of one of them . . .
if others don't."

 

 

"Oh, Gonzague, I feel so strange, so incomprehensible . . ." Her voice
died halfway through the sentence. There seemed no object in trying to
describe a state of mind which was so entirely unfamiliar. It was like
drawing something soft and very vulnerable out of its protective chrysalis
by the very part that felt most coldly exposed. All her limbs had a cold
life of their own, scarcely in touch with her general consciousness. She
could, she felt, regretfully take off her arms and legs at any minute
and lock them up in a trunk. Ages ago, when she inhabited her bright and
reasoned world, Juliette would not have remained inactive. "I must have
something the matter with me" would have been her instantaneous reaction,
and so she would, no doubt, have taken her temperature. Now she could
only sit and wonder how it was that her appalling situation should at
the same time feel so right, so comfortable. As she thought this, she
twice repeated: "Incomprehensible . . ."

 

 

"Poor Juliette. I understand exactly. You've lost yourself -- first
for fifteen years, and now for the last twenty-four days. Now you can't
find either the sham Juliette or the real one. You see, I don't belong
anywhere. I'm not Armenian or French or Greek, or even American; I'm
really and truly nothing, so I'm free. You'll find me very easy to be with.
But you must cut loose."

 

 

She stared, not understanding a word he said to her. The rifle fire was
nearing the climax of its excitement. Impossible to sit quietly in one
place. Gonzague helped her to her feet. She stumbled about as though
she were dazed.

 

 

He seemed to get restless. "We must think what to do, Juliette. That doesn't
sound very reassuring. What are your plans?"

 

 

She half completed the gesture of putting her hands up to her ears.
"I'm tired. I want to lie down."

 

 

"That's quite impossible, Juliette. Just listen. They may break through
at any minute. I suggest we move away from here, and wait farther down,
to see what's happened."

 

 

She shook her head stubbornly. "No. I'd rather go back to the tent."

 

 

He clasped her hips, and gently tried to draw her his way. "Don't be annoyed,
Juliette. But you know it's really absolutely necessary to get this thing
straight in your mind. In the next half-hour the Turks may be in the
Town Enclosure. And Gabriel Bagradian? How do you know he's still alive?"

 

 

The howling and crackling all round them seemed to reinforce Gonzague's
fears. But Juliette suddenly started out of her torpor to all her old
energy and decisiveness.

 

 

"I want to see Stephan. I want Stephan here, with me!" she cried out
with almost angry vehemence.

 

 

Her child's name rent a horrible fog of unreality which had crept upon
her from every side. Her maternity had become a well-built house --
its walls impenetrable, strong enough to keep out the world. She seized
Gonzague with both hands and pushed him impatiently. "Go and bring Stephan
to me at once, you hear. . . . Please don't lose any time. Find him. I'll
wait! I'll wait!"

 

 

For a second he thought it over. Gallantly he suppressed every objection,
and bent his head. "All right, Juliette. I'll do whatever I can to hunt up
the boy. And as fast as I can. I won't keep you waiting long."

 

 

And actually, within half an hour, Gonzague Maris had come back with a
savage and perspiring Stephan, who came reluctantly at his heels. Juliette
threw herself on her son and hugged him, shaken with dry sobs. He was
so tired that, the minute they all sat down, he slept.

 

 

 

 

Gabriel the scholar, the bel esprit, had fully proved that he had the
ability to lead men. The threat of death had forced it to the surface.
Acknowledged and professional generals have often made the mistake that
he now was guilty of -- they have allowed their subjective preference for
a certain, closely studied part of their plan unduly to influence their
decisions. So that Gabriel, prejudiced in favor of the main achievement
of his great scheme of defence, let himself delay too long before at last
he heeded Chaush Nurhan's messages, which had ended as desperate cries
for help. Since the Turks neither renewed their attack in the ilex gully,
nor at any other of the whole circle of possible attacking points round
the mountain, since rifle fire died down on all sides, to begin again
with unexpected ferocity in the north, it began to look as if the enemy
would attempt a break-through on the Saddle, with the whole strength of
his far more numerous effectives. For that reason Gabriel drew together
his decads, dispersed over the whole length of the mountain-slope,
and led them northwards, to await the onslaught of the Turks in the
second-line trench, among the rock barricades. Gabriel expected it any
minute, since the fire kept growing in intensity and dusk by now had
already gathered. (No one but himself could man the howitzers, so they
had to be left to stand unused.)

 

 

Sarkis Kilikian, a section leader above the ilex gully, had behaved
most gallantly all that day and beaten back five attacks. For a time it
looked as though the extended lines of Turks, notwithstanding all their
losses at that one point, would not try to force their break-through
at any other, since this, after all, was the key position, which led
straight into the heart of the camp. Since in the first few hours of
today's fighting Gabriel still had not been certain that the Russian
would manage to hold out, he had spent a good deal of the day in and
around the ilex-gully sections, and several times had attacked with the
decads, falling on the flanks of the Turks. Sarkis Kilikian's task had
been anything but easy. The main trench extended only the length of a
fairly long strip of ground; the trenches of the flank defence were not
very favorably placed, and were moreover several hundred paces away from
the next sector. And these gaps were not filled up, as were those between
most of the other attacking points, by steep descents, walls of rock,
or such thick undergrowth as made them impossible to negotiate. The
Russian commanded a comparatively small force of eight decads, and it
was set fairly wide apart, considering the character of the terrain. Yet
he had got through the day without too many losses; only two dead and
six wounded. Something of Kilikian's personality, his cadaverous peace,
his indifference, seemed to have gone over into his men. Whenever the
Turks began to attack, these defenders aimed with a deliberation for which
"bored" seems the only word. They felt, it seemed, equally at home in life
or death, so that really it made very little difference which of these
two places of sojourn they inhabited in the immediate future. As Kilikian
levelled his gun, he was careful not to let go out one of the excellent
cigarettes of which Bagradian had made him the present of a box. Now,
after so many blood-smeared hours, he stood resting his shrunken body
against the parapet, and stared down the slope below the trench, strewn
about with tree trunks and branches, shrubs and dwarf pines, that fell
sheer in a steep declivity to the actual mouth of the ilex gully, which
the enemy occupied. Gabriel had, of course, in the first few days caused
the edge of the camp to be cleared of tall trees. Kilikian's youthful
death's-head never moved. His impressive agate eyes betrayed the supreme
faculty of reducing life to a minimum of action. In his looted uniform
the Russian, with his sloping shoulders and figure slender as a girl's,
accentuated still further by a very tightly drawn belt, looked like a
dapper officer. He said nothing at all to the men beside him, who were
equally silent. Their eyes kept straying towards the shadows of trees and
shrubs, which from second to second lengthened and narrowed out, became
golden, secretively alive. Every Armenian on the Damlayik, except perhaps
Krikor and Kilikian, had his mind full of one thought only, of the same
thought as Gabriel Bagradian: "Only two more hours, and then the sun will
be down." From the north came a burst of rifle fire. Down here, wood and
mountain might have been in the deepest peace. Many of these exhausted
men were closing their eyes. They had the strange sensation that stolen
sleep would somehow drive time on more quickly into the arms of rescuing
darkness. There were more and more sleepers. Till at last scarcely one
man of those who held these trenches was still awake. Only the dead,
polished eyes of Sarkis Kilikian, their leader, stared fixedly at the
dark wooded edge of the ilex gully. What happened in the next few minutes
must be classed as one of those enigmas which no explanation explains or
motivates. The streak of incomprehensible lethargy in Kilikian, that trait
in him which the boy of eleven, lying under his mother while she bled to
death, had already begun to build up in himself as protection against too
great an intensity of suffering, might at a pinch be made responsible. In
any case he never moved, nor did his eyes change their expression, when
single attacking infantrymen, followed little by little by whole swarms
of them, began to emerge at the edge of the wood. Not a shot announced
the attack. The Turks seemed too timid to want to detach themselves from
the jagged edge of the ilex gully. They waited uneasily for the defenders
to let off their rifles. Since that did not happen, they thrust forward
-- there were at least three hundred of them -- ran on and again waited,
ducking down behind every obstacle, for the Armenian fire. Some of the men
in the trench were still asleep. Others seized their guns and blinked at
the noiseless, stealthy picture beneath them. At this instant the liquid
glow of sunset intensified, and burst into a thousand gold sequins and
splinters. The half-moons on the officers' kepis glittered. Strangely
enough they did not wear trench caps in this campaign. The Armenians,
dazed with sunset brilliance, lifted their rifles and stared at Kilikian,
awaiting his orders. Then came the inexplicable. Instead of, as he had
before, quietly signaling to them to aim, deciding how near the Turks
were to come, and then setting his whistle to his lips, the Russian,
reflective and deliberate, climbed out of the trench. This looked so
like an order that, half in bewildered exhaustion, half in blind trust
in the unknown intention of their leader, one after another swung over
the parapet. The Turks, who had stalked their way forward to within
fifty paces, started, and flung themselves down. Their hearts stood still.