By Far Euphrates: A Tale on Armenia in the 19th Century

By Far Euphrates: A Tale on Armenia in the 19th Century by Deborah Alcock
*****
This book is certainly a tale of blood and tears. I had never heard or read about the horrors that were committed against the Armenian Christians. The book was written to imform, in the words of the author, "to strenghten our own faith and quicken our own love. It is told also to stir our own heart to help and save..." The book was written a hundred years ago, when children still lived who had been orphaned for Christ. Alcock writes, "Where it [the passion of cruelty] really exists, where men kill and torture -- not for rage or hate, or greed, or fear -- but for the joy they have in doing it, it is as a demon possessing the soul. It lives, it grows, it thirsts, it craves sacrifices even greater and more ingenious. It develops a horrible, a Satanic sublety. It inspires deeds at the mere recital of which humanity shudders. We may not tell, we may not even think of them. Involuntarily we close our eyes, we stop our ears,. But ought we not sometimes to remember that our brothers and our sisters have endured them all?"

The book opens with two Englishmen, a father and son, touring Armenia. They go through the tall grass to see the famous river Euphrates, and are dissapointed by its black color. They watch as the sun set, casting its rays over the water. "So the dark river turns to gold," is the comment of the father. Malaria strikes father and son. Jack, the son, has a nightmare in his fever. He cries out abut the river, and his father's last words to him were an echo of those spoken earlier, "the dark river turns to gold." When Jack comes to himself, he is living with the Armenians, remembering nothing of his past. One day an event triggers a recolection in England in his mind. He asked about his father and was told, "You know you have been ill... You recovered, your father did not." The post office is not reliable for communicating with his relatives in England, so he remains with the Armenians. He sees their way of life, how they are misused by the Kourds and the Turks because they refuse to convert to Islam. He knows their constant fear and expectation of death. He understands what it is to live "in the shadow of the grave." He lives through the terrible Armenian massacres, when the Turks sweep down and annihilate villages. And he knows there are worse things than death. In all the cruelty and horror, he questions God.

I should not give the whole plot away, but those who are being killed are given the option of converting to Allah, "only lift one finger and we will spare you." The response is the reason for the bloodshed and the reason for the book. "We will not deny Christ." Somewhere in the book, Jack reflects on what the English read in their papers about all those people killing each other over there. How it would seem so unimportant and distant and impossible to those sitting in their comfortable homes, surrounded by their loved ones, safe from fear. This is a book for today. For Christians who read this book in their easy chair to know that our redemption is a gift, but it is not free. It cost the son of God a cruel death on a cross, and it cost his disciples countless horrors here to affirm that we indeed have eternal life through the blood of Christ. Christians are being killed even today because they count Christ, eternal life, of more value than their mortal lives on earth. The author states, "This is no fiction; it is literal truth." And it is a truth we need to hear.

This tale is a true account; the author spent a great deal of time with people who were there. Each account of martyrdom is precisely factual. Most of the people in the book are real people, although their names have been changed, and what is related about them is accurate.

This is not a book for young children. The terrible things are for more mature readers. Although this book chronicles the Armenian massacres, it is "clean." There is nothing that is unfit to tell or read, it is just unsuitable for young ones.