Jack hoped he might be able to speak to the priest; but this boon was denied him. He was placed at the other end of the file of captives. The man to whom he was bound seemed either afraid, or too thoroughly crushed and dejected to speak to him. His own state of mind was not enviable. His first feeling was that he had failed. He meant to do such great things; he had gone forth full of hope and courage, as one who should work a great deliverance in the earth. And now?—and now?—What would they all feel, all the friends who loved and trusted him so? They would be waiting, wondering, speculating about his fate. Their anxiety would change into suspense, their suspense would deepen at last into sad certainty. Yet, most likely, there would be none to tell of his fate. And Shushan? The thought of her sorrow swallowed up all other thoughts, all other regrets. And Shushan? For her dear sake he would not give up hope, he would struggle on even to the end. His English name and his English race might save him yet.
Not likely, after those fatal shots. Meanwhile, at the present moment, where was he? Whither was he going? All the stories which, in the last five years, he had heard spoken with bated breath of the horrors of Turkish prisons rushed like a sea of bitter waters over his soul. They brought with them a sensation absolutely new to him—utter, unreasoning, overpowering fear. Terror and anguish took hold on him; large drops, like the touch of cold fingers, stood upon his forehead; he shivered from head to foot. He had faced death before this, and it had seemed to him but a light thing. "After that, no more that they can do." After that; but how much before—oh, God of mercy, how much before!
All at once Stepanian's voice seemed sounding in his ears. "You must trust God utterly." Wherever they might bring him, whatever they might do with him, God would be there. He could not get out of that Presence, nor could they. A thrill shot through him of hope restored and strength renewed; a vision of conflict over, and victory won at last. As a cry "unto One that hears," his prayer went up: "Oh, God of my fathers, I beseech Thee, suffer me not through any pains of death to fall from Thee. Suffer me not to deny my faith, nor yet to accuse my brethren, in the Name of Christ, my Redeemer!"
While he thought of God he was calm. When he thought of his chances, of what might happen to him, of whether any one would believe his story, the dark fears came again. Even of Shushan it did not do to think too much just now—he could only commend her to God. Constitutionally, he was brave and fearless. But to think of a Turkish prison without shuddering requires much more than constitutional bravery,—either nerves of adamant, or faith to remove mountains. Perhaps not either, perhaps not both together could prevent the anguish of anticipation, whatever strength might be given for actual endurance.
Back again in Urfa, and at the Government House where he had seen Melkon witness his brave confession, Jack found that his story would not be listened to for a moment. Some of the captives were taken away, he knew not whither; others, along with himself, were led within the gloomy gates of the prison, and after passing through several dark passages, thrust into a room or cell. As well as he could discern by the light that streamed from a narrow window high up in the wall, this cell was already full—nay, crowded—men standing packed together as those who wait for a door to open and admit them to some grand spectacle. "I suppose," he thought, "they will take us out by-and-by for some sort of trial. But what stifling, fœtid, horrible air! Enough to breed a pestilence!"
It was utterly impossible to sit down, difficult even to raise a hand or move a foot, so dense was the crush. Occasional thrills through the living mass told that some wretch was making a frantic effort to get a little air, and thus increasing the misery of his neighbours. Jack contrived to say to a companion in misfortune, whose ear touched his mouth, "How long will they keep us here?"
At first the only answer was a mournful "Amaan!" followed by piteous groans.
He repeated the question—"How long will they keep us in this horrible place?"
"As long as they can," gasped the man he had addressed;—"until death sets us free.—Why not?—It is the prison."