They passed through Bitlis and Marash, in turn. At last, one morning, as the caravan reached the crest of a hill, one of the Arabs pointed out to Archag a great city embowered in foliage, lying in the plain below. It was Aintab. Twenty-two days had passed since their departure from Van. The Mussulman showed his young protégé the principal buildings; the old half-ruined “kala” (fortress), the dome of the Gregorian Cathedral, the towers of the Franciscan church, the Mosque with needle-pointed minarets, the American Hospital, and finally the College, its façade in English style contrasting strangely with the native architecture of the other buildings. The camels, urged on by their drivers, quickened their pace, sniffing and uttering mournful cries. They made good time, and toward noon the caravan drew up at an inn where it was to stay for several days.
Aintab contained at that time about sixty thousand inhabitants, twenty-five thousand of whom were Armenians. Mussulmans and Christians lived in separate quarters of the town, and had little intercourse with each other. The city lies in a fertile plain watered by a tributary of the Euphrates. The vine grows luxuriantly on the surrounding hills, producing grapes that are famous throughout the country. Aintab, being about seventy kilometers from a railway, has been very little affected by European civilization. The American Mission has established here, a hospital, a normal school for girls, and a college. The latter was founded in 1876 by Dr. Trowbridge, a Christian and an elect soul, removed, alas, too soon, from the field of his activity. At the time of which we are speaking, the college had two hundred students, forty of whom were resident pupils. It was well situated, on a hill overlooking the city and the plain.
BENEATH THE CASTLE AT AINTAB
As soon as Archag had had his passport visé-ed, he set out for Central Turkey College. From a long distance he could see the great red brick building around which were grouped the houses of the president and professors. The campus was enclosed by a high wall. At the entrance, Archag had a moment’s talk with the porter, then the heavy iron-barred gates turned on their hinges, and the lad went up the hill.
Some boys at play in front of the school building looked with curiosity at the newcomer, and our friend went up to one of them and asked in Armenian if he could see Badvili (Pastor) Melikian, who was in charge of the resident students. The boy looked at him in some surprise, and replied in Turkish,[2] bidding Archag follow him.
The pastor was busy writing when the boys entered his office, but his kind face lighted up with a smile, and Archag at once felt drawn toward the good man. The badvili was perhaps about fifty years old, a small man, short and stout; a shock of gray hair escaped from the fez worn like a skull-cap on the back of his head, and every other minute he would try to push this head-covering straight, but the rebellious fez resumed its slanting position. After several years’ pastoral work in Asia Minor, Mr. Melikian had been appointed Headmaster at Central Turkey College; here he found himself much more in his element than in his position of preacher, for he had a weakness for young people, and was much attached to this school where he had been one of the first pupils. He shook hands with Archag, and asked if he had had a good journey, enrolled him at once among the Sophomores, and assigned him a place in one of the dormitories.
“We shall be together,” said the other boy, whose name was Garabed.
“I’m very glad of that,” said Archag, “for you are the only boy I know here.”