Chapter 43 | The Wintry Guardian | Yussuf the Guide

For four days the snow fell incessantly. The aspect of the whole place was changed, and it was only with difficulty that the appointed guards managed to bring provisions to the prisoners.

Fortunately an ample supply of fuel was stacked by the door, so that a good fire was kept; but on the fourth day no food was brought whatever, and but for the store they had in concealment matters would have looked bad, for there was no knowing how much longer the storm would last.

But on the fifth day the sun shone out brilliantly, and the brigands and their wives were all busy with shovels digging ways from place to place; and when at last the prison-hall was reached it was through a cutting ten feet deep, the snow being drifted right up to the top of the lofty door.

The scene was dazzling; the ruins piled-up with the white snow, the mountains completely transformed as they glittered in the sun, and above all the sky seemed to be of the purest blue.

The cold was intense, but it was a healthy inspiriting cold, and the disappointment and confinement of the past days were forgotten as the glorious sunshine sent hope and life into every heart.

In the course of the day the chief came, bringing with him piled on the shoulders of a lad more rugs and fur coats for his prisoners; and a long conversation ensued, in which he told them through Yussuf that he expected his messengers would have been back before now, but they had probably been stopped by the snow, and they must wait patiently now for their return.

A further conversation took place at the door between the chief and Yussuf, and then the former departed.

“Well, Yussuf,” said Mr Preston anxiously; “what does he say? Not execution yet from his manner?”

“No, excellency; it is as I feared.”

“Feared?” cried Mrs Chumley excitedly; “are we to be kept closer prisoners?”

“No, madam; you are to have greater freedom now.”

“Freedom?” all chorused.

“Yes,” said Yussuf; “you are to be at liberty to go where you please in the old city, but it will not be far, on account of the snow.”

“And outside the town?” said the professor.

“Outside the town, excellency,” said Yussuf sadly. “You do not realise that we had a narrow escape that night.”

“Escape?”

“Yes, of being destroyed; the snow everywhere is tremendous. Even if no more comes, we shall be shut in here, perhaps, for months.”

“Shut in?”

“Yes; the mountains are impassable, and there is nothing for it but to submit to fate.”

“But the snow will soon melt in this sunshine.”

“No, excellency, only on the surface, unless there is a general thaw. You forget where we are, high up in the Dagh. Even where the snow melts, it will freeze every night, and make the roads more impassable. As to our path by the side of the precipice it will not be available for months.”

There was a serious calm in Yussuf’s words that was most impressive. It seemed so hard, too, just as they had been on the point of escaping, for the winter to have closed in upon them so soon, and with such terrible severity; but that their case was hopeless seemed plain enough, for the guards were withdrawn from their door, and in the afternoon they relieved the tedium of their confinement by walking along the cuttings that had been made.

On every hand it could be seen that the brigands were accustomed to such events as this; firing and food had been laid up in abundance, and whether the winter, or an enemy in the shape of the government troops, made the attack, they were prepared.

“There is nothing for it, Lawrence, but to accept our position, I suppose,” said the professor.

“No,” said Mr Burne, who overheard the remark; “but suppose my snuff does not hold out, what then?”

Before anyone could answer, he made a suggestion of his own.

“Necessity is the mother of invention,” he said. “I should have to bake some of this Turkish tobacco, and grind it between stones.”

Then a week glided away, and during that time, being left so much to their own devices, the brigands keeping in the shelter of their homes, the professor visited the ancient passage with Yussuf, and carefully explored it.

“Ancient Greek,” he said when he returned, “like the greater part of this old city. Some of it has been modernised by the Romans, but that passage is certainly ancient Greek, about—”

“But the way out—the way to escape, Mr Preston,” said Mrs Chumley eagerly, “surely that is of more consequence than your dates.”

“To be sure, yes; I forgot, ma’am. Yussuf made a careful investigation of the mouth of the passage where it opens upon the side of the precipice; in fact, I went out with him. The track is many feet deep in snow, and it would be utter folly to attempt to escape.”

“Oh, dear me!” sighed Mrs Chumley.

“We must bear our lot patiently till the first thaw comes, and then try and make our way over the mountains.”

These were the words of wisdom, and for long weary weeks the prisoners had to be content with their position. The brigands did a little snow-cutting, and then passed the rest of their time sleeping by the fires they kept up night and day. Food was plentiful, and the chief behaved civilly enough, often paying his prisoners a visit, after which they were entirely left to their own resources.

“We ought to be low-spirited captives,” Mr Burne used to say, as he beat his hands together to keep them warm; “but somehow nobody seems very miserable.”

And this was a fact, for every day the professor kept them busy with shovels digging away the snow from some piece of ruin he wished to measure and draw, while after the chief had been, and noted what was done, he said something half contemptuously to his men, and no interference took place.

Day after day, with a few intervals of heavy snow and storm, the dazzling sunshine continued, with the brilliant blue sky, and the mountains around looking like glistening silver.

Everywhere the same deep pure white snow, in waves, in heaps, in drifts, and deep furrows, silvery in the day, and tinged with rose, purple, scarlet, and gold as the sun went down.

They were so shut in that an army of men could not have dug a way to them; and, knowing this, the brigands dropped into a torpid state, like so many hibernating bears, while the professor’s work went on.

“Do you know, Lawrence,” he said one day, laying down his pencil to rub his blue fingers, “I think I shall make a great book of this when I have finished it. I have got the castle done, the principal walls, the watch-towers and gates, and if there was not so much snow I should have finished the temple; but, bless my heart, boy, how different you do look!”

“Different, sir!” said Lawrence laughing. “Oh, I suppose the wind has made my nose red.”

“I did not mean that: I meant altogether. You look so well.”

Lawrence had been handling a shovel, throwing snow away from the base of an old Greek column, and he smiled as he said:

“Oh, I feel very well, sir.”

He need not have spoken, for the mountain air had worked wonders. Nature was proving the best doctor, and the enforced stay in that clear pure air, with the incessant exercise, had completely changed the lad.