Forty Days of Musa Dagh

by Franz Werfel

  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.

  They were expecting a fierce attack. But Sarkis Kilikian quietly stood in front of the center trench, not going either on or back, not shouting any word of command. Three hundred Mauser rifles opened a gruelling quick fire on the rigid human targets above them, who stood out black against the glittering sunset. In a few seconds a third of the garrison of this sector were crouching, with groans and howls of pain on the blood-soaked earth of Musa Dagh. Sarkis Kilikian stood on, in thoughtful surprise, his hands in his pockets. The Turkish bullets seemed to avoid him, as though fate considered that to put an end to this unique destiny by a simple death in the field would be far too banal a proceeding. When at last he raised his hand and shouted something to his riflemen, it was much too late. He was swept along in the general flight of what still remained of the garrison, a flight which only turned and collected itself half-way to the stone barricades. These were four fairly oblong heaps of piled-up stones, almost outside the Town Enclosure. Before the fugitives reached their cover, they left twenty-three dead and wounded behind them. The Turkish infantry, shouting indescribable war cries, took possession of the vacated trenches. Their reserve crowded in after them, the saptiehs, the chettehs, and last the armed villagers. A fair number of bellicose Moslem women had followed their men. When these women, hidden behind the trees of the ilex gully, saw the success of the Turkish advance, they broke forth, like frenzied maenads, from the wood, took each other's hands, formed a chain, while from their throats came a long, shrill sound unlike any other, the
zilgith, the ancient battle cry of the women of Islam. This raking scream let loose the devil in the men. They, as their bold creed instructs them, had ceased to care for life or death; they dashed in a mad gallop against the wretched heaps of stone, without firing another shot, with fixed bayonets.

  In this disaster several bits of isolated luck came to the aid of the Armenians. As they saw the Turks bayonet their wounded and tread them into the ground with their army boots, the whole watchful, frigid alertness of their unavoidable destiny came upon them again. They lay stiffly behind their cover and aimed quietly, with all their accustomed deadly certainty. The Turks had the last, dazzling sun in their faces, the Armenians at their backs. Another advantage in misfortune was the confusion arising from the circumstance that attackers before the neighboring sectors, running past their own officers, left their posts and, drunk with victory, swarmed towards the breach. Therefore defenders also left their trenches and crowded, left and right, towards the danger spot. The consequence was a confused hand-to-hand struggle, in which friend and foe (many Armenians were wearing plundered Turkish uniform) got mixed in together unrecognizably. It was a long time, and many men had to lose their lives, before the enemies sorted themselves out, and superior numbers succeeded in driving back the Armenians towards the Town Enclosure. Bagradian arrived with his mobile guard at the very last second to avert the worst for the camp itself. The Turks were driven back, but only as far as their captured trenches, which they held stubbornly.

  Luckiest of all, it was now night, and a cloudy moonless night into the bargain. It had gathered quickly, unperceived. The major could no longer venture on another decisive thrust. In the dark the Armenians, who knew the Damlayik like their own bodies, had still, in spite of their many wounds, the advantage over a whole division. The Kaimakam, disturbed profoundly by the immense losses they had sustained, did not quite know what to do with this unused victory. The major swore by all his gods that by three tomorrow he would have the whole business cleared up. He developed his next plan of action. The Turks, all except a few camouflaged protecting garrisons, were to be noiselessly withdrawn from the defense sector. The whole force should encamp for the night in the wide ilex gully and be ready, a few hours before daybreak, to thrust forward, like a great battering-ram, through this last, inconsiderable obstacle.

  But that did not prevent the new Moslems in the villages, since now they were all householders, from preferring a night indoors to one in the open, and leaving the troops.

  Towards six o'clock Pastor Aram Tomasian, bathed in sweat and broken with fatigue, came into the women's tent, gulped down two glasses of water, and gasped: "Iskuhi, Hovsannah. Get ready. Things aren't going well. I'll fetch you in time. We must find somewhere to hide, down among the rocks. I'm going out now to look for Father."

  Tomasian had vanished again at once without properly getting his breath. Iskuhi, who had kept her promise, and not left the tent all day, helped the complaining Hovsannah to get dressed as well as she could, gave the child its bottle of watered milk, and with her right arm drew out from under the bed what little baggage they possessed. But suddenly she stopped her unfinished work and left Hovsannah without a word.

  An hour after sunset. The big square, with its trampled grass before the altar in the Town Enclosure. The leaders had not retired into their hut, but were sitting on the grass by the altar steps. The people squatted close around them in heavy silence. The huts were abandoned. From time to time the screams of badly wounded men came across from the "hospital." Some of the recent dead had been rescued from the last attack. They lay in rows, incompletely hidden by sheets and sacking. No light. No fire. The Council had forbidden any voice to be raised above a whisper. The crowd was so heavily silent that all could easily distinguish the whispering voices of representatives.

  Ter Haigasun seemed the only one there who could still keep his presence of mind. His voice sounded quiet and circumspect. "We have only one night, that is to say eight hours darkness."

  He was misunderstood. Even Aram Tomasian, whose heart was torn by the thought of Hovsannah, Iskuhi, and the child, proposed all kinds of hasty plans. He suggested in all seriousness that perhaps it would be better to clear the camp and seek shelter in clefts among the rocks, in the limestone caves and grottoes of the cliffs. But his suggestion found no partisans. It was evident that these men, without any reason for it, had begun to love their habitation and would defend it to the very last. They began to argue. These few hours of darkness threatened to crumble away, minute by minute, without results. Here and there out of the crouching people, a woman's suppressed shriek and convulsive sobbing from time to time. This day had brought death to over a hundred families, reckoning those whose wounded had fallen into Turkish hands. Nor did anyone know how many seriously wounded were still lying out before the positions, whom no one so far had managed to bring back to camp. The heavy night pressed like a low ceiling on Musa Dagh.

  As their whisperings grew wilder and more pointless, Ter Haigasun assailed Gabriel sharply: "We've only one night, Bagradian Effendi. Oughtn't we to use these eight hours?"

  Gabriel had stretched himself out full length, his arms under his head, and was staring up at the dark above. He could scarcely defend himself against sleep. Everything sank away. Meaningless words came splashing round his ears. At this instant he had not even the energy to answer the priest. To himself he mumbled something incomprehensible. It was then he felt the little, ice-cold hand touching his face. It was too dark to recognize Iskuhi. After long straying about from post to post, she had found him at last. Now she sat down, as though it were the most natural thing for her, at his side, in the circle of the leaders. She did not seem even ashamed before her brother. This was their last and only night.

  Iskuhi's cool hand roused and quickened Gabriel like fresh water. His torpor began to melt away, his mind to germinate. He sat up and took her hand, not heeding whether anyone saw his tenderness in the dark. Iskuhi's hand seemed to lead him back to himself through the stubborn confusion of his fatigue. His muscles became taut. That physical well-being filled him which a thirsty man feels who has drunk his fill. Suddenly the Council held its breath. Voices came nearer. They all sprang up. Turks? Some lanterns swung into view. It was a komitaji detachment returning to camp. It wanted its orders for tomorrow. The komitajis reported that only one of their number had been killed, and two taken prisoners by the Turks, and that they had kept their positions as before. At the same time they announced that the Turkish companies were vacating most of the sectors on the height, to collect again in the ilex gully. Communication between the captured trenches and the command was being maintained by chains of patrols. Their intentions were clear as daylight.

  "We'll use tonight, Ter Haigasun!"

  Gabriel said it so loud that the crowd could hear him. Simultaneously the other leaders seemed to have conquered their paralysis. The same thought flashed through all their minds before Bagradian said a word. Only a strong surprise attack on the Turkish camp could avert disaster. But for such an attack the exhausted fighters of this day of blood had no strength left in them. The whole people, women and children, must in some way or other take part and give it the added physical weight of thousands. Now they were all talking at once. Every mukhtar and teacher had his suggestions, till Gabriel sharply commanded silence. They must not discuss this question aloud. It was not impossible that Turkish spies had slipped into camp. Gabriel sent Chaush the Lion back to his sector to pick a hundred and fifty fighters, out of the twenty decads by which it was manned, who had suffered comparatively little. He was to bring them quietly. Those left behind could and must suffice to hold their particular trenches and rock barricades against a counterattack. The South Bastion and the sectors on the edge of the mountain, twenty decads in all, were to furnish the same, and did in fact, in the course of the next few hours, silently assemble on the altar square. With his komitajis and mobile guard Bagradian rallied a force of over five hundred. All these movements took a long
time, since they had to be done in absolute quiet, and no commands, but only the most necessary directions, briefly whispered, could be given. It was very hard, in the thick darkness, to classify. Only his knowledge of each individual among them enabled Bagradian to divide into two groups these wearily torpid men. The first, the larger, was put in charge of the captain of the komitajis. When they had eaten a few rations and received their supply of cartridges -- which again in the dark proved very difficult and laborious -- they were moved some way towards the south, to creep down by remote tracks, noiseless as shadows, with endless precautions, through woods and thickets, across clearings and open spaces, nearer and nearer the Turkish camp. They had more to help them than their own instinctive knowledge of the ground; they had the campfires of the companies, which the yüs-bashi had allowed to be lit on the edge of the ilex gully. These fires were built up on barren or rocky places, since otherwise, though the great gully itself was heavy with damp, the dryness of the undergrowth beyond might easily have caused a heath fire. But, in spite of these campfires, komitaji leaders managed to surround the whole elliptical valley. Armenians sat motionless in the trees; they lay hidden behind the thick arbutus bushes; here and there they curled themselves, without proper cover, round knotted roots. With never-shifting eyes they watched the camp, which gradually quietened into silence. They kept their rifles trained, although it must still be more than an hour before sudden firing up on the mountain gave them the signal.