The day before his departure he went with his father to the serail to ask for a teskereh (passport). The kaimakan, engrossed in reading his Stamboul newspaper, received them sullenly; but as Boghos Effendi was one of the most influential members of the Armenian community, he did not dare refuse the desired passport. He wrote down Archag’s name and age, his weight and height, the color of his hair and eyes and even of the clothes he was to wear on the journey; then he made a note of all the places through which the lad would have to pass. Boghos Effendi willingly paid the two mejidiehs (about two dollars) for the precious paper, for at this period the Armenians were often refused passports and so were unable to travel at all; father and son kissed the pasha’s hand, as a sign of submission, and made low bows as they withdrew.
Archag spent the rest of the day with his sister and brother-in-law. Jousif hodja had studied at Aintab, and so was able to give the boy some good advice:
“Think yourself fortunate, my lad,” said he, “to have the privilege of working with such men as Professor Pagratian and Professor Hagopian. Go to see Mrs. Spencer, the doctor’s wife, now and then; she loves our people, and her example will stimulate you. And whatever any one may say to you, always remember with joy and pride that you are an Armenian.”
“And our president!” asked Archag.
“Dr. Mills is a man of high attainments, and the college has made remarkable progress under his direction.”
Nizam begged her brother to write often, to be a good boy and go to church regularly. Archag embraced his sister and brother-in-law with much feeling, and promised to do everything they wished.
His last meal at home was a sad one, for every one was silent and pre-occupied. Archag went to bed early but he did not sleep well; he kept waking up with a start, dreaming that he was late. At daybreak old Gulenia came to call him and he dressed quickly. He had hardly finished his breakfast when the tinkling of camels’ bells was heard.
“Archag Effendi, are you ready?” called an old Arab.
The lad’s horse was waiting in the courtyard. Krikor had fastened our friend’s boxes to the saddle, one on each side, and spread a mattress and blankets over the horse’s back. Archag flung himself into the arms of his father and mother, then knelt to receive their blessing. He gave his brother a hug, called out a last good-by to the servants gathered in the courtyard, mounted his horse and settled himself very comfortably on the seat that Krikor had arranged. Again and again he looked back to wave his handkerchief, tears streaming down his cheeks.
His journey was long and difficult; the camels walked at a pace so exasperatingly slow, that Archag, worn out with fatigue, would fall asleep with his arms around his horse’s neck. To avoid the heat, the caravan would start at daybreak and travel till noon, rest till three or four o’clock and then go on several miles farther. Each night was spent at an inn, where Archag could scarcely sleep at all for the vermin. When he was just falling into a doze, one of his companions would wake him up, saying that it was time to be off.