Archag, the Little Armenian

by Charles H. Schnapps

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.”