Missionary Stories from Turkey & Armenia
Their Treasure
The Little Red Book
Mahmoud's Victory
Too Busy to Help
THEIR TREASURE
"WIFE, we cannot leave this book behind," said the man, as he came from the little Armenian church. "It is heavy, and if I take it, something else must be left. But this must go with us. It is too precious to lose, and we shall need it." As he spoke, he laid aside one of the things that he had intended to take on their flight to safety, and put the pulpit Bible in its place.
It was during the massacres of 1909 in Turkey and Syria, and a whole village, having heard that the Turks were coming, was hurriedly leaving the valley. Men, women, and children; animals, bedding, and cooking utensils; food and furniture—it was a motley array of things that go to make up a home. Soon the line reached out toward the mountain over which they must go.
All the men were loaded with things; most of the woman carried children, and among the rest walked the church deacon with the Bible which had been given to their church by Dr. Elias Riggs in memory of his daughter. It first been a gift of the father to his daughter on her fiftieth wedding anniversary, so it was a very fine book. It was one of the treasures in the village, and the Christians had been proud to have it in their church.
At first the bundles did not seem to be very heavy, as the exiles hurried on, but as the way grew steeper, articles began to be abandoned. As long as he could strength to do so, the man carried the Bible, but at last from sheer weariness, he placed it tenderly on a stone near the road, gave it a last loving look, and went on his tedious way. All were too heavily loaded to help him; night was coming, and he must hurry along. Strangely enough, no one seemed to notice that the Bible had been left behind.
After darkness had settled over the path, a woman came along, carrying one little child and dragging another after her. She had been left behind because she could not keep up with the rest.
"I must rest," she said at last. "I can go no farther." As she started to sit down on a rock by the road, her hand struck something unfamiliar. She felt of it and turned it over. "It is a book," she said. "I believe it is our church Bible. Who could have left it here? That is too precious to leave. Somehow I must take it."
A half hour later, when she wearily rose to her feet, she left behind the extra blanket which she had brought for the protection of the children and took the Bible. When she finally came to the next village, she found that the enemy were already there and that the women had all taken refuge in an old Gregorian church for the night. About the streets was an ugly, fighting crowd of men and boys. She crept cautiously to the door of the church and whispered her name. It opened a very little and she went inside. On the floor were several hundred women and children, huddled together, their faces full of terror, hardly daring to speak above a whisper.
The woman came to them lovingly and whispered: "Don't worry, neighbors. I have our Bible." One whispered it to another, "She has our Bible," until the whole room had heard the good news.
"I have a little candle that I found near the door," said some one in a hushed voice.
"And I have one match," whispered another.
The woman carried her Bible into the center of the group and sat down. She lighted the one little candle: the one lone match, while the women shaded it with clothing lest its flame be seen outside the church. Then in the darkness of the church there came to be felt a new Presence as she read from the Word:
"'Thou shalt not be afraid of the terror by night, nor for the arrow that flieth by day. A thousand shall fall at thy side, and ten thousand at thy right hand, but it shall not come nigh thee. For He shall give his angels charge over thee to keep thee in all thy ways.'" On and on, she read the promises of God.
When the candle had burned itself out they were less afraid and they could still feel the presence of the Book in their midst. So they quoted to each other the verses which they had learned from the Book in their own little church until they fell asleep there on the floor of the old church.
For two days and two nights they stayed there, expecting every moment that the doors would be broken in; but when they went out they were safe, for the enemy had gone.
"It was very strange," said a man to one of the women later in the week. "The enemy tried again and again to burn the church. They even tried to pour kerosene through the roof and burn you, but something seemed to hold them back. Every effort seemed to fail. I do not understand at all."
But the woman did. "God is a refuge and strength a very present help in trouble." The Book said so.
THE LITTLE RED BOOK
IT WAS nothing new for Mariam's uncle to make a gun in his little shop in the mountain village of Hassa Beyli in Turkey, but this one was different, and Mariam often came to see how soon it would be finished. This gun was to belong to a brigand whose home was in the hills, and Mariam had heard dreadful things about what the brigands did with guns.
At last her uncle went away with it, and she waited anxiously for his return that she might ask questions. Was the brigand very big? Did he live in a cave? Did he look very fierce? Patiently he answered all her questions, when he was home again, and then he said:p>
"When I gave him the gun, he said he had nothing with which to pay for it. He should have told me that before I made it for him. I need the money for the gun. When I said he must pay something, he brought out this little red book and said I could have it. There was nothing else to do, so I took the book in payment for my gun. Now you may have it," said the uncle, handing it to her.
Mariam was pleased to own a book of her own. The print was not large; there were no pictures in it; but it was a book, and so she carried it to her house to put it away. When she began to read, she would take the book out and try to make out the words. Soon she could make out sentences. Sometimes she would find an interesting story, but it was a long time before she knew that her little red book was called a Bible.
When Mariam went away to school at Aintab Seminary, the book went with her, and it began to have an influence in her life. In time she became a Christian. Then she married Mr. Koondakjian, a young native pastor, and they used the book in their splendid work in the village.
One day a missionary named Mrs. Coffing came their town and asked to hold a service for the women, the town. When all was ready, Mrs. Coffing found t she did not have her Bible handy, so she asked if one of the women had a Bible. Immediately Mariam Koondakjian passed the little red Bible up to where Mrs. Coffing stood.
The missionary looked at the book with a start. Why was it so familiar? Where had she seen it before? She turned to the fly-leaf, and there, in his own handwriting was her own husband's name. For a moment Mrs. Coffing could hardly speak. Then, holding the treasured book her hand, she told the women the story of a trip which her husband had taken many years before.
"He went to tell the Good News to the people in the valleys," she said, "but he never came home again. He was attacked by brigands not far from your own village here. They took what he had, and then killed him. This was his book, and here is his name in the front, just as he wrote it. No one ever knew what happened to his things after the brigands took them, but now his little Bible has come back to me and I am so glad. How came into the hands of Mrs. Koondakjian, I do not know, I only know it once belonged to my dead husband." After she had read a passage, she gave the Bible back to Armenian woman.
Soon all the women were crowding around the little red book, and Mrs. Koondakjian was telling them how her uncle had taken it in payment for a gun when as a very little girl. Then, much as she loved her Bible, she placed it again in the hand of the one who really owned it, and Mrs. Coffing took it away with her.
Was the brigand who killed Mr. Coffing the one who bought the gun? Why did he keep the book? One can only guess. Some one killed the teacher, but God sent the red book into the life of a new teacher who is still carrying the Message, even though she is seventy years of age.
When Mr. Koondakjian and her two sons were killed in the massacre by the Turks some years ago, it was to the verses that she had learned from the little red book as a girl that Mrs. Koondakjian turned for comfort:
"I will not leave you comfortless. I will come unto you...: Let not your heart be troubled; neither let it be afraid.... Lo, I am with you always, even unto the end of the world."
And so, you see, the little red book is still helping.
MAHMOUD'S VICTORY
WHAT a queer schoolhouse that was! It had no roof over it, no seats for the pupils, and no one had a book except the teacher. Yet it was a real school, and some of the boys walked more than five miles every day to come there to learn. You see it had not always been a school. Only two years before it had been the home of a very rich man. The house was large and was shaded by great fig trees. In front of the house was a beautiful garden, in the center of which was a fountain. Back of the house was an orchard where figs, apricots, and pears grew abundantly. Back of the orchard was a vineyard containing several acres of luscious grapes.
Now the house was empty; not a window pane was left in it; the roof had been blown off; the orchards were ruined, and only a few flowers grew among the weeds. It was a bare, desolate place. And how did it happen to be used for a school?
Well, this was how it came about. One day word came that a band of Turks were coming through the valley, burning everything they found and killing the Armenians. So this Armenian took what he could of his household things and fled for his life. When the Turks came, they ruined his home and his fields, as the man had warned they would do. The old house had stood there empty for two years when a missionary, who was riding along the road, saw it, thought how nice it would be to live in the hills for a few weeks, and finally brought his family to stay there during the heat of the summer.
How could they live in a house with no roof? Easily; for it does not rain in that country for six months, and so with the trees above for shade, there was no need of a roof. By bringing their own furniture, the family were as comfortable as in a tent. Soon after reaching there, the missionary found that there were many boys round about who longed to go to school, so one day he told them that if they cared to come each morning while he was there, he would have a school for them and would teach them games to play, and interesting things to do.
Soon twenty boys sat each day on the floor of the largest room, studying and working with their new teacher, as happy as could be. The missionary told them Bible stories, taught than better ways of living, and was, to them, a real friend.
About a mile south of the school lived Mahmoud, a Mohammedan boy. He soon heard of the school and wanted to go; but when he spoke of it at home, he was beaten, and his father told him of the evil eye of Christians which brought trouble and sorrow to others. Mahmoud was warned never to listen for a moment to anything that the teacher had to say. For a time he obeyed, for he was afraid, but boys like to tell others of things that are interesting them, and soon Mahmoud knew some of the stories that had been told in school. He heard of the wonderful games of baseball and volley-ball which the teacher had taught the boys, and he wanted to go to that school.
One day Mahmoud's father found that he had to go away for a month, and so the boy was told that he must tend the sheep, driving them to pasture, and milking the goats at night. This was just what he wanted to do, for the very first day he drove the sheep right up close to the school. He dared not go in and sit down, but he knew he could hear if he sat in one of the holes where a window had been, and that would do very well. The grass was green near by, and the sheep were satisfied, so Mahmoud had plenty of time to listen to the teacher.
The very first day the story was about the Good Samaritan. As Mahmoud listened, he liked the man who cared for the sick man and took him to the inn. The boy had seen much killing and robbing along the road near his house in the few years of his life, and he knew what the story meant.
"I think that that teacher would have been kind, too,” said Mahmoud to himself. "He has a nice look in his eyes.”
That very night as the boy went home he saw a dog with a wounded leg. Usually he would have gone right along, but this time he stopped, made a rude splint, as had learned to do when a sheep was wounded, and he brought a drink of water from a well for the dog. Another day when he had enjoyed the story of the feeding of the five thousand, he brought a great basket of grapes from his father's vineyard for the teacher and the boys.
Almost every day Mahmoud sat in the window, never daring to get inside because of what his father had told him of the evil eye. Almost every night he found himself saying, as he went along the road with the sheep, "I like that man, Jesus, about whom the teacher tells.”
Finally there came a day when one of the boys was absent and the ball game could not be played unless Mahmoud would join with the rest. The boys let him handle the ball and taught him the game; soon he was as merry as the rest, and since he was a good runner, he was helping his side to make a good score. At last there came a tie, with only two or three minutes to play. One of the opposite side made a fine hit and the hall went flying over into the field. Soon it came back to Mahmoud who ran to third base to put one of the boys out, if possible. They reached there together and rolled in the dust at the base.
"Out! Game!" called the teacher-umpire. Mahmoud's side had won, and the boys crowded around him, cheering and slapping him on the back. "You must play with us every day," they said. "You are a fine player."
The boys went back to their lessons and Mahmoud to the window: Soon he left right in the middle of an interesting story and all the boys looked surprised. He went across the garden plot and then out to where the sheep were grazing. Finding a tree there, he sat down alone to think. For almost an hour he sat right there. Then he rose and went back to the house, motioning to the teacher that he wished to speak to him.
Raising his voice so that all the boys could hear, he said, "I didn't touch Aram with that ball at all when we slid on that base. It looked as if I did, but I didn't. My hand was right under me all the time, where you couldn't see it I don't want to cheat him like that. I can't be a Jesus-boy, because I am a Mohammedan, but I can act like one. I want to play that over again and play it right."
At first the boys who had won looked very angrily at Mahmoud, but the teacher came to him and, shaking his hand, said, "We would much rather have you do right than to win. That is why we play the games. All want to learn to play fair. Come, boys! Let's see if Mahmoud can help you win again."
They all went to the field, and another inning was played. This time Mahmoud had the pleasure of helping his side to win by two points, instead of one.
When he drove his sheep home, Mahmoud had a happy feeling inside, for he had acted like the man in the stories which he had heard told in the school that had no roof, no seats, and no windows.
TOO BUSY TO HELP
BEFORE an open fire in his beautiful home a wealthy, manufacturer stood holding out a check for twenty-five dollars to the man who had come to ask him to help in the every-member-canvass of the church.
"Because I like our pastor and want to help him I am giving you the same amount for missions that I did last year," he said, "but each year I believe less and less in sending missionaries across the sea. My son Bob, who is selling oil in Turkey, says that the missionaries are always getting into trouble because they can't seem to remember that their job into tend to the heathen and not do a thousand other things which they are not asked to do. I am too busy to help with the canvass," added the man, firmly.
"Word has just come that another missionary in Turkey is being held for ransom," said the canvasser. "He runs a little hospital and is a very real friend to all that natives in the region round about. The bandits are becoming very bold."
"My Bob doesn't mind them at all," said the man: "Probably the missionary was out on the roads where he had no business to be," and he opened the door of the library to show his caller to the street.
The visitor sighed as he put the check and the church card into his big envelope. "Always too busy to help, except with money," he said, "but what could we do without his money?"
More than a year went by, and both the busy man America and his busy son in Turkey prospered financially. One day in the fall of the year an Armenian came running into the office of a small hospital in Turkey. Before the desk sat a doctor who was vainly trying to get to the bottom of a great pile of papers.
"This is my busy day," said the doctor, "but can I help you?"
"Have you heard that Robert Brooks, who has been selling oil round about here, has been captured by the bandits?" said the man. "They are holding him for a big ransom."
"When was he taken?" said the doctor, hastily rising. "Four days ago," said the man.
"Where was he when taken?" asked the doctor, putting some of his papers into his desk.
"Near the pass, just beyond the ford of the river," replied the Armenian.
"Who took him?" asked the doctor, reaching for his hat.
"He is in Abdullah's hands," answered the man.
"Abdullah," said the doctor, with a low whistle. "Abdullah's men have no mercy when the ransom does not come. We must do something at once. Can you go with me?"
"But, Doctor, you have not been well, and you are expected to go on the visit to the other hospitals next week. This would be a hard trip and your life would be in danger. Please do not go," pleaded the visitor.
"They will not take me again," said the doctor. "They know that I have no money and that I will never consent to have any ransom paid for my life. I have no fear of them, We must do something at once. Send the nurses to me so that I can tell them what to do if we are delayed."
The man started to go, then he turned and said: "I am told that young Farag has joined that band. You know him, I think. We might do something through him. I know where he lives."
"Farag!" cried the doctor. "That is good. I saved life when he had blood poison a few years ago. If we can find him, I think he will help me."
Several hours later three men left the hospital on way to find Farag, the young bandit As they rode through the night the doctor lived over again the weeks when he, too, had been taken by the bandits and kept in terror. He remembered the dark, damp, cold cave in which they had kept him; the dirty water; the poor food; the long forced marches when their hiding-place had been discovered; the brutality of the men. He could still feel the cold steel pressed against his shoulder as they tried to force him to write a letter begging for ransom.
He had refused; he had been told that he would be shot at dawn, but when dawn came, his captors were fleeing for their lives; he had been left behind, too weak to stand. Three days later he had crawled to the road, and waited for some one to tell his friends where he could be found. How vividly it all came back as he rode to rescue another!
For four days the men hunted for Farag. Then one night, as they lay sleeping in an inn, some one touched the doctor on the shoulder and motioned him to follow. It was Farag.
"Word has come to me that I can serve you," he said. "I remember my promise to you, Doctor."
"Are you ready to fulfill your vow?" asked the doctor. Farag hesitated. "I will try," he said at last.
"Young Brooks, whom Abdullah has captured, is a Christian, so he is my brother. I want you to help me to free him. I want him brought to the Mission hospital, unharmed."
"But, Doctor—" began the bandit.
"Perhaps you cannot do it," interrupted the doctor. "I risked my life for you when I drew the poison from your wound. I ask you to try to free Brooks for my sake."
For a moment there was silence between them. Then Farag held out his hand, and slipped away in the darkness without saying a word.
Next morning the three men started back to the hospital, two of them feeling that their search for Farag had been in vain. Two weeks went by and the doctor felt very uneasy about the young captive. Had they killed him? Several cables had come from America, offering to pay more, and then more, if only the life of the son of the busy man in America could be saved. No word had been received from Abdullah since the second demand for ransom had been sent from the hills. No one knew where Abdullah's men had gone.
One morning, nearly three weeks from the day when the doctor had talked with Farag, a lame horse was seen coming down the road. On its back was the slouched figure of a man.
"Robert Brooks has come!" Quickly the word spread through the hospital as they helped him into one of the beds. He was bruised, his clothing was in rags, his talk was almost unintelligible. But he was alive, and the missionary quickly sent a man to start the cable to America, telling his father that he was safe.
For many days he lay between life and death, for he had been starved and badly wounded. One day, when his strength had begun to come back to him, he asked the doctor to sit by his bed.
"Farag saved my life," he said. "He told me about you; he said that he had seen you. He made a ladder of vines so that we could escape over the back of the cliff. He started a fire to draw the men away from the cave where I was hidden. He had put food along the way, so that I would not starve if he were killed and I lived. When we were followed, he put himself between me and the bullet; twice he was wounded. When we came to the place where the old horse was tied, he said to me:
"Now you are to go alone. Tell the doctor that I have kept my vow. Soon they will surely take my life because I have freed you. Tell him the word of a bandit is sometimes as good as the word of an American. I have saved your life at the cost of my own."
For nearly a month the young man was cared for in the hospital; then he was taken by one of the missionaries to the boat which was to take him to his father—the American who thought that missionaries often tended to things that were not their business—the man who had been too busy to help raise money to keep that hospital, and that missionary, in Turkey.
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