Barnes. Pdf

 
Chapters 
52
`We shall ascend the mountain,' said Miss Fergusson.
`But we do not know how to do such a thing.' 
`We shall ascend the mountain. Sin must be purged with water. The sin of the world was purged by the waters of the flood. 
It is a double blasphemy that the monk commits. We shall fill our bottles with snow from the holy mountain. The pure juice of 
Noah's vine we came in search of has been rendered impure. We shall bring back purging water instead. That is the only way 
to salvage the journey.' 
Miss Logan nodded, in startled acquiescence rather than agreement. 
They set off from the village of Arghuri on the morning of June 20th, in the year of Our Lord 1840, accompanied only by 
their Kurdish guide. The elder regretfully explained the villagers' belief that the mountain was sacred, and that no-one should 
venture upon it higher than the Monastery of Saint James. He himself shared these beliefs. He did not try to dissuade the party 
from their ascent, but he did insist on loaning Miss Fergusson a pistol. This she displayed at her belt, though she had neither 
the intention nor the resource to use it. Miss Logan carried a small bag of lemons, which had also been advised. 
The ladies rode with white umbrellas raised against the morning sun. Looking upwards, Miss Fergusson observed the halo 
of cloud beginning to form itself around the summit of the mountain. A daily miracle, she noted to herself. For several hours 
they appeared to make little progress; they were traversing a barren region of fine sand and yellowish clay, broken only by a 
few stunted, prickly bushes. Miss Logan observed several butterflies and numerous lizards, but was 
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secretly disappointed that so few of the creatures which had descended from the Ark were manifesting themselves. She had, 
she admitted to herself, foolishly pictured the slopes of the mountain as a kind of zoological garden. But the animals had been 
told to go forth and multiply. They must have obeyed. 
They dipped into rocky ravines, none of which contained the smallest stream. It seemed an arid mountain, as dry as a chalk 
down in Sussex. Then, a little higher, it surprised them, suddenly unveiling green pasture and rose bushes with delicate pink 
blossom. They rounded a spur and came upon a small encampment - three or four rude tents, with matting walls and black 
roofs made from goats' hair. Miss Logan was slightly alarmed by the sudden presence of this group of nomads, whose flock 
could be seen lower down the slope, but Miss Fergusson directed her horse straight towards them. A ferocious-looking man 
whose tangled hair resembled the roof of his own tent held up to them a rough bowl. It contained sourish milk mixed with 
water, and Miss Logan drank somewhat nervously. They nodded, smiled, and continued on their way. 
'Did you judge that a natural gesture of hospitality?' asked Amanda Fergusson suddenly. 
Miss Logan considered this strange question. 'Yes,' she responded, for they had previously come across many similar 
instances of such behaviour. 
`My father would have said it was merely an animal bribe to turn away the wrath. of strangers. It would be an article of 
faith with him to believe that. He would have said those nomads were just like beetles.' 
`Like beetles?' 
`My father was interested in beetles. He told me that if you put one in a box and tapped on the lid, it would knock back, 
thinking you were another beetle offering itself in marriage.' 
`I do not consider that they were behaving like beetles,' said Miss Logan, while carefully indicating by her tone that this 
was only her private opinion and in no way derogatory of Colonel Fergusson. 
`Nor do I.' 
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Miss Logan did not fully understand her employer's condition of mind. Having come this great distance to intercede for her 
father, she now seemed instead to be constantly arguing with his shade. 
At the first steep slope of Great Ararat they tethered their horses to a thorn tree and hobbled them. They were to proceed 
from here on foot. Miss Fergusson, umbrella aloft and pistol at her belt, led the way with the certain tread of the righteous; 
Miss Logan, dangling her bag of lemons, struggled to keep up as the terrain grew more precipitous; their Kurdish guide, 
weighed down with baggage, brought up the rear. They would be obliged to spend two nights on the mountain if they were to 
reach the snowline. 
They had climbed hard all afternoon, and shortly before seven o'clock, with the sky softening towards apricot, were resting 
on a rocky outcrop. At first they did not identify the noise, or what it signified. They were aware of a low rumble, a granite 
growl, though whence it came, whether from above or below them, was not evident. Then the ground beneath their feet began 
to vibrate, and there came a noise like thunder - but internal, suppressed, terrifying thunder, the sound of a primeval, 
subterranean god raging against his confinement. Miss Logan glanced fearfully at her employer. Amanda Fergusson was 
directing her field-glasses at the Monastery of Saint James, and her face bore an expression of prim pleasure which shocked 
her companion. Miss Logan was near-sighted, and consequently it was from Miss Fergusson's features rather than from 
personal observation that she grasped what was happening. When the field-glasses were finally passed to her she was able to 
confirm that every roof and every wall of the monastery church and of the little community they had left only that morning had 
been thrown down by the violent commotion. 
Miss Fergusson got to her feet and briskly began to continue the ascent. 
`Are we not to help the survivors?' asked Miss Logan in perplexity. 
`There will not be any,' replied her employer. Adding in a 
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sharper tone, `It was a punishment they should have foreseen.'

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J
ULIAN 
B
ARNES
: A History of the World in 10 ½