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Data Structures & Algorithms in Python
 Data Structures & Algorithms in
Python

John Canning
Alan Broder
Robert Lafore

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ISBN-13: 978-0-13-485568-4
ISBN-10: 0-13-485568-X
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 To my mother, who gave me a thirst for knowledge, to my father, who
taught me the joys of engineering, and to June, who made it possible to
pursue both.

John Canning

For my father Sol Broder, a computer science pioneer, who inspired me to

follow in his footsteps.

To my mother Marilyn Broder, for showing me the satisfaction of teaching

others.

To Fran, for making my life complete.

Alan Broder
 Contents
1. Overview

2. Arrays

3. Simple Sorting

4. Stacks and Queues

5. Linked Lists

6. Recursion

7. Advanced Sorting

8. Binary Trees

9. 2-3-4 Trees and External Storage

10. AVL and Red-Black Trees

11. Hash Tables

12. Spatial Data Structures

13. Heaps

14. Graphs

15. Weighted Graphs

16. What to Use and Why

Appendix A. Running the Visualizations

Appendix B. Further Reading

Appendix C. Answers to Questions

 Table of Contents
1. Overview
What Are Data Structures and Algorithms?
Overview of Data Structures
Overview of Algorithms
Some Definitions
Programming in Python
Object-Oriented Programming
Summary
Questions
Experiments

2. Arrays
The Array Visualization Tool
Using Python Lists to Implement the Array Class
The Ordered Array Visualization Tool
Python Code for an Ordered Array Class
Logarithms
Storing Objects
Big O Notation
Why Not Use Arrays for Everything?
Summary
Questions
Experiments
Programming Projects

3. Simple Sorting
How Would You Do It?
Bubble Sort
Selection Sort
nsertion Sort
Comparing the Simple Sorts
Summary
Questions
Experiments
Programming Projects

4. Stacks and Queues

Different Structures for Different Use Cases
Stacks
Queues
Priority Queues
Parsing Arithmetic Expressions
Summary
Questions
Experiments
Programming Projects

5. Linked Lists
Links
The Linked List Visualization Tool
A Simple Linked List
Linked List Efficiency
Abstract Data Types and Objects
Ordered Lists
Doubly Linked Lists
Circular Lists
terators
Summary
Questions
Experiments
Programming Projects
6. Recursion
Triangular Numbers
Factorials
Anagrams
A Recursive Binary Search
The Tower of Hanoi
Sorting with mergesort
Eliminating Recursion
Some Interesting Recursive Applications
Summary
Questions
Experiments
Programming Projects

7. Advanced Sorting
Shellsort
Partitioning
Quicksort
Degenerates to O(N2) Performance
Radix Sort
Timsort
Summary
Questions
Experiments
Programming Projects

8. Binary Trees
Why Use Binary Trees?
Tree Terminology
An Analogy
How Do Binary Search Trees Work?
Finding a Node
nserting a Node
Traversing the Tree
Finding Minimum and Maximum Key Values
Deleting a Node
The Efficiency of Binary Search Trees
Trees Represented as Arrays
Printing Trees
Duplicate Keys
The BinarySearchTreeTester.py Program
The Huffman Code
Summary
Questions
Experiments
Programming Projects

9. 2-3-4 Trees and External Storage

ntroduction to 2-3-4 Trees
The Tree234 Visualization Tool
Python Code for a 2-3-4 Tree
Efficiency of 2-3-4 Trees
-3 Trees
External Storage
Summary
Questions
Experiments
Programming Projects

10. AVL and Red-Black Trees

Our Approach to the Discussion
Balanced and Unbalanced Trees
AVL Trees
The Efficiency of AVL Trees
Red-Black Trees
Using the Red-Black Tree Visualization Tool
Experimenting with the Visualization Tool
Rotations in Red-Black Trees
 nserting a New Node
Deletion
The Efficiency of Red-Black Trees
-3-4 Trees and Red-Black Trees
Red-Black Tree Implementation
Summary
Questions
Experiments
Programming Projects

11. Hash Tables

ntroduction to Hashing
Open Addressing
Separate Chaining
Hash Functions
Hashing Efficiency
Hashing and External Storage
Summary
Questions
Experiments
Programming Projects

12. Spatial Data Structures

Spatial Data
Computing Distances Between Points
Circles and Bounding Boxes
Searching Spatial Data
Lists of Points
Grids
Quadtrees
Theoretical Performance and Optimizations
Practical Considerations
Further Extensions
Summary
Another Random Scribd Document
with Unrelated Content
introduction to Mustapha Hara, the chief man of the village. The inhabitants
of Ibrahamli were Kurds, and without the doctor’s letter, our friends would
have found every door closed to them.

Mustapha was a bilious-looking little man, with a nose like an eagle’s beak;
his mouth was hidden by an enormous mustache, which curled back over
his chin. At first, he looked at his guests rather distrustfully, but after
reading the letter from Dr. Spencer, who had cured him of typhus, his face
brightened. He offered his best room to the two masters, and had some
straw spread in the courtyard for the boys. His wife and children stood in a
ring around the party of Christians, for strangers are rarely seen in this
obscure village. Monsieur Bernier especially excited their curiosity; the
children felt of his clothes, and a young Kurd even went as far as to rob him
of a lock of hair, having been assured by a sorcerer that the fair head of the
“Frangi” (Europeans) was an efficacious protection against the evil eye.

Monsieur Bernier and Mihran hodja had lain down on the floor, rolled up in
the quilts which Mustapha had provided, and they were just dropping off to
sleep when a sound of scratching at the door made them start. In an instant
they were on their feet.

“Bouyourun (Come in),” said Mihran hodja.

It was Boghos, in great agitation.

“Effendis, come quick! Soghomon is very sick; he says he is going to die!”

“Bah!” cried Monsieur Bernier. “It’s those eggs.”

He had, before this, had some experience of the terrible fear of sickness by
which these good people are tormented; they have iron constitutions, but at
the most trifling ailment, they imagine their last hour has come.

In the courtyard the masters were greeted by the groans of the sufferer. The
other boys and the members of the household were standing round him in a
circle, shouting and gesticulating. Each had some advice to give, but
Monsieur Bernier went up to Soghomon and offered him a spoonful of
castor-oil.

“Take this, it will make you feel better.”

If the patient were afraid of sickness, he was equally afraid of medicine.

“What is that horrid stuff! I can’t take that!” and he pushed away the spoon
in disgust.

“Soghomon, if you don’t drink this, nothing can save you.”

These words had the desired effect, and the sick boy swallowed the oil,
making a thousand wry faces.

“He’ll be all right to-morrow,” said Monsieur Bernier, as he went back to

his room.

In the morning, the party set out for the ascent of Sof, leaving their horses
with Ibrahamli, and Soghomon, who preferred to remain behind.

The mountain of Sof is shaped like a tooth. The ascent was very difficult,
over a rough trail, scaling walls of rock, and often passing close to the edge
of a precipice, but on reaching the summit the climbers were rewarded for
their exertions by a magnificent view. At their feet lay a vast plain enclosed
by the hills which separate Aintab from Killis; toward the north towered the
great wall of Anti-Taurus. Most of the boys lay down on the grass, to dry
the perspiration that streamed from their faces. A few of the more
adventurous went off to investigate the huge blocks of granite jutting out
over the depths below.

“Be very careful,” called Mihran hodja, as he stretched himself out beside
Monsieur Bernier.

“Does our Sof remind you of your Swiss mountains?”

“Not exactly; our Alps are higher and more majestic, but we seldom enjoy
such pure air and sunshine——”

He was interrupted by a terrible cry, followed by the sound of something

falling.

“There has been an accident!” said he to his companion, and they both ran
toward the rocks. There they found Dikran, Aram, and three other boys, all
pale and trembling.

“What is the matter?” asked Mihran hodja.

In reply, Dikran beckoned to them to come nearer, and pointed straight

down. There was his cousin, suspended over the chasm, and clinging to a
small tree. The boys gave a cry of horror.

Poor Nejib had slipped as he was gathering anemones, and had fallen
between two walls of rock. His fall had been broken by a narrow ledge
covered with thick grass; a few meters lower, he had caught hold of a young
pine, but the frail tree might give way at any moment, and then the
unfortunate boy must roll down to the turbulent stream below. With neither
rope nor ladder, it seemed impossible to save him; yet he could not be left
to perish like that. There was perplexity on every face.

At last Archag went up to Monsieur Bernier and said:

“He must have been hurt as he fell; I hear him groaning. I am going to try to
get down to him.”

“You will certainly be killed in the attempt.”

“I’m used to mountains, and I can scramble over the rocks like a wild goat.
Let us make a rope of our girdles;1 you fasten it about me and let me
down.”

It was the only chance of saving Nejib, and after a moment’s consultation
the two masters consented. They bound the improvised rope about Archag’s
loins, and let him down.

Our friend made good use of his hands and feet, and finally reached Nejib.
He braced himself against a rock, gripping it with his right hand, while with
the left he untied the rope and fastened it about Nejib. The lad had sprained
his ankle, and his arm was badly bruised. Archag gave a whistle, and the
rope began to go slowly up with its burden. The spectators held their breath
in suspense: if a single girdle were to break, Nejib would be lost.

The rope ascended; one more last pull, and—Nejib was saved! The shock
and pain had exhausted his strength, and he fell fainting on the grass.
Mihran hodja hastened to take off the rope; he examined it carefully and
then threw it down to Archag, who in a few moments gave the signal, and
again the boys began pulling. Three-quarters of the ascent had been
accomplished, when the rope began to split.

“Destowe, destowe (take care)!” all the boys cried out together, and Archag
had just time to save himself by clinging to a projecting angle of rock. He
discarded the rope, now useless, and set himself to climb up the narrow
cleft in the cliff that rose sheer before him. By dint of fitting his feet to the
rough surface of the rock, and gripping where he might with his hands, he
managed to reach the top, but not without many a bruise.

His companions received him in their arms, and gave him a regular ovation.
Nejib had come out of his swoon, and as he looked at Archag, his eyes
filled with tears.

“Avf-edersin (forgive me),” he said, under his breath.

“Forgive you for what?”

“For pushing you that day when you were looking at Professor Missirian’s
collection.”

“Was it you?”
“Yes. Thanks to your blundering, I was punished for reading ‘The Arabian
Nights.’ I thought you did it on purpose, out of spite—Stay still; I know
now that wasn’t true,” (Archag had started to go away) “I was furious, and I
was bound I would pay you back. But I haven’t had a moment’s peace
since. You are so good, so generous; do say you forgive me.”

Archag held out his hand in silence, and Nejib clasped it with both his own.
Masters and pupils alike watched this scene with astonishment.

“Nejib, I can’t say I congratulate you on your behavior,” cried Monsieur

Bernier. “I wouldn’t have believed it of you.”

“Nor I, nor I,” murmured the others.

“Let him alone,” said Mihran hodja. “Reproaches do no good.”

The boys broke off some pine boughs and made a litter for Nejib, but the
descent was very difficult, for the boy was suffering severely, and every jolt
drew from him a groan of pain.

At Ibrahamli, the village sorcerer massaged his foot, and dressed his
wounds according to all the rules of the profession. The next morning he
was put on a horse, and the whole company set out on the return trip to
Aintab. The president and professors were indignant when they learned of
Nejib’s ill-conduct. Dr. Mills imposed a punishment of three days on
bounds, and made him ask pardon of Archag publicly.

1 Each girdle is from one to two meters long. ↑

CHAPTER XII
 AN EXPULSION FROM COLLEGE
After the excursion to Sof, Archag became the hero of the college. The boys
tried in kind ways to make him forget how unfriendly they had been to him,
and, naturally enough, vented their ill-humor upon Nejib. But Archag and
Garabed took his part; they made him join in their walks and games, and the
other boys, seeing the attitude of these two toward the one who had
wronged them, gradually withdrew the ban of ostracism which they had laid
upon him.

As for Aram, he was beginning to tire of his Urfali, and was only too glad
to resume his friendship with Archag.

Archag and Garabed had taken their duties as “fédaī” very seriously, and
were trying to win converts to the new ideas, and now Nejib and Aram
seemed to them the best fitted to join the “Dachnaktzoutioun”
(revolutionary federation). It must be acknowledged that Aram had changed
very much of late; though he still loved to laugh and joke, he also took an
interest in the serious conversations of his friends. They, of course,
exercised extreme caution; they talked to Nejib and Aram about the
misfortunes of Armenia, then they lent them copies of the “Droshak”
(Standard), “Pro-Armenia,” and other newspapers which gave descriptions,
terrible but true, of the condition of Christians in Turkey; and, at last, one
evening, they had the happiness of admitting their two friends into their
Society.

They also won an unexpected recruit in the person of Monsieur Bernier.

The young teacher often felt lonely among all the Americans so much older
than he, and had become especially attached to Ghevont, Archag and
Garabed. In their company he learned to love and to pity Armenia, and got
rid of certain false conceptions about it; for he saw, instead of the Nihilists
who had been portrayed to him, generous men struggling not only for their
liberty, but for their very existence. He came to understand the tribulations
of the Armenians, and to feel a warm sympathy for them.
The young students understood his feeling for them, and used to lend him
their newspapers, or translate for him passages from the romances of Raffi
and Baronian,1 thus introducing him to the literature of their country.
Monsieur Bernier offered to give them private lessons in German, and they
were with him constantly.

Dr. Mills suspected the presence of “fédaī” in the college, and was
especially mistrustful of Ghevont and some of the other Juniors; but he
could not bring accusation against them without proofs, and, so far, he had
been unable to procure any. The boys were usually very cautious, but one
bit of carelessness nearly brought disaster to their Society. While playing
football one afternoon, Aram dropped a “Droshak” which he was carrying
hidden under his zouboun. He did not notice its loss until after supper, and
then he ran immediately to the campus, but his paper had disappeared. It
was a serious matter, for if the “Droshak” were taken to Dr. Mills, the fédaī
would be in great danger.

Aram went up to the schoolroom, and taking Archag aside, whispered in his
ear what had happened, and Ghevont and Garabed were soon made
acquainted with the story. Ghevont turned pale; he had received a packet of
patriotic songs the evening before, and had not yet been able to convey
them to the central committee in town. The others, too, had some
compromising literature in their trunks, some of Raffi’s novels, and the
rules of their Society. For a moment they looked at one another in great
perplexity.

“I have it,” said Archag at last, under his breath. “Let us take all these books
to Monsieur Bernier, and ask him to take care of them for us.”

Aram breathed a sigh of relief.

“That’s a fine idea! Do you think he will consent?”

“We can try, anyway,” said Garabed.

The four boys went up to their dormitory on tiptoe. They hastily tossed to
one side their articles of clothing, and pulled out books and newspapers
helter-skelter, covering them over with a cloth. The most important
publications they hid under their zoubouns, which made them look like
some sort of grotesque creatures with strange humps and deformities on
back and chest.

Monsieur Bernier gazed at them in astonishment, as they entered his room.

“What is all this?” he asked.

Ghevont explained the situation briefly, and asked if he would be willing to

take care of their books until all danger was past.

Monsieur Bernier consented without hesitation; he was heartily glad to

render this service to his young friends, and they appreciated his kindness.

The next morning before the boys had finished dressing, the president
entered the Sophomores’ dormitory.

“Open your trunks,” he said; “some of you are in possession of books

forbidden by the government, and it is necessary for me to find out which
boys are guilty.”

The boys obeyed, trembling. Aram and Archag exchanged significant

glances behind the president’s back; they were congratulating themselves
on their foresight in taking the books to Monsieur Bernier at once, for if
they had waited till morning, it would have been all over with them.

Needless to say, the search proved fruitless. Dr. Mills made a thorough
investigation in all the dormitories, but the only contraband article he could
find was a pot of jam which Soghomon was keeping concealed under a pile
of socks. He then went back to his house. The evening before, Soghomon
had brought him the “Droshak” which had been found on the campus, and
he suspected Ghevont of being the guilty person.

A few days later, he called a meeting of the faculty to obtain a vote on the
question of the expulsion of Ghevont and several other members of the
Junior class. Professor Pagratian opposed the measure, but in vain; in the
inmost recesses of their hearts the other masters revolted against the idea of
sending away intelligent and studious boys whose only fault had been a
loyal love of their country and a little imprudence, quite excusable at their
age; but they dared not say so.

To repeat: centuries of tyranny and oppression have rendered the Armenians

timorous and distrustful to an extreme degree; in Europe, this lack of
courage has often given them a reputation for cowardice which they do not
really deserve.

The boys suspected nothing; they had been working hard for their final
examinations at the close of the college year. Our friends had all done very
well; Ghevont stood second among the Juniors, Garabed was at the head of
his class, Dikran second, Archag third, Nejib fourth and Aram fifth.
Soghomon was lowest, with five marks which had been given him as a
favor.

On Commencement Day, Professor Piralian preached the baccalaureate

sermon, and Mrs. Mills presented the diplomas and the prizes. Then the
president went into the pulpit to make a farewell address to the students,
and to wish them a pleasant vacation.

“I hope,” said he in closing, “that you will return in the autumn with fresh
vigor, and ready to take up your work with renewed energy and purpose.
The members of the faculty regret the necessity of informing Ghevont,
Bedros, Avedis, Hamparzoum (Ascension), Panos and Jakoub, all of the
Junior class, and Levon of the Sophomore class, that the college cannot
receive them next year.”

And that was all!

President Mills came down from the pulpit in the midst of a deathlike
silence, the precursor of a tempest. As soon as the professors had
withdrawn, an indescribable uproar arose; the Juniors gesticulating and
shouting that if their classmates were to be sent away so unjustly, they
would all leave too; the other fédaī giving the signal for revolt by climbing
on the benches and waving their handkerchiefs for flags.
That afternoon, Ghevont, Bedros and Avedis went to the president to ask for
an explanation. Dr. Mills received them with a pleasant smile. Yes, he said,
he had always been quite satisfied with their diligence, and counted them
among his best students. But he could not keep them; he had good reasons
for this, which he should not tell them.

“But Dr. Mills,” said Ghevont, “do you not know that no other college will
receive us? We shall be accused of misconduct, and this stigma of bad
character will follow us all through our student life.”

“If that is all,” replied the president, “I will give each of you a certificate of
good character.”

He sat down at his desk, and quickly wrote a few lines; then he gave to each
boy an excellent testimonial. The boys were so astonished that they did not
know what to say. Dr. Mills had to help them out with a gentle push, after
shaking hands once more.

1 Baronian: a satirical writer, born at Adrianople, in 1840. ↑

CHAPTER XIII
 THE HOLIDAYS
The holidays were at hand. The boys were so absorbed in their preparations
for departure and their farewell visits to town, that the affair of the Juniors’
expulsion was to some extent forgotten. Each morning small groups of
students left the college, to attach themselves to some caravan of merchants.
They scattered to the four points of the compass; some journeyed toward
the high table-lands of Asia Minor, others set out for the Euphrates or the
Tigris, in order to go down stream on rafts as far as Mosul or Bagdad. As
they separated, they made great protestations of friendship, which were
speedily forgotten in the happiness of returning home.

Dikran and Nejib were among the first to leave, their home being at Aleppo,
a city easily reached from Aintab. Next, came the turn of Garabed,
Soghomon and Samouīl. The Juniors who had been expelled went to Syria,
for the president of the American college at Beyrout, a man of broad views,
had promised to admit them at the next term.

The college emptied rapidly; the dormitories acquired a mournful

atmosphere, and the voices of chance speakers re-echoed in the deserted
corridors. Archag and Aram still lingered, impatiently chafing at the delay.
As a violent epidemic of typhus was raging at Diarbekir, Aram’s parents
thought it more prudent for their son not to come home. This was a hard
blow for the poor boy, and he was broken-hearted at the idea of having to
spend the holidays all alone at Aintab, but at the last moment Archag
invited his friend to go home with him to Van. Needless to say, the proposal
was joyfully accepted.

After a week’s delay, the boys succeeded in making arrangements for their
journey; they were the last to go, and Badvili Melikian was the only person
left to wish them a good journey. The merchants in whose company they
were to travel were going to Tabriz to buy Persian silks to be sold again at
Damascus and Beyrout. They were pressed for time, and made long stages,
so that the journey from Aintab to Van occupied only sixteen days.
Soon the country began to look familiar to Archag; he recognized villages
where he had been with his father to buy horses or sheep, and at one place
an old man who was a friend of Boghos Effendi stopped him for a chat; his
was the first familiar face.

Dear reader, have you ever spent a long year at boarding-school? If so, you
will understand Archag’s joy at seeing his native town again. A landscape of
marvelous beauty lay spread before his enchanted eyes. At his feet the great
lake of brilliant blue was sparkling in the sunshine, and in its transparent
waters was reflected the sublime peak of Subhan Dagh. The town with its
mighty rock crowned by the castle, and its fortified walls and towers, lay
embowered in orchards and gardens. To the right, a snow-crowned peak
dominated a natural amphitheater, in which rose the walls of the Armenian
Convent of Jedi Klissia (the Seven Churches). To the west of the lake were
the Nimrona Dagh and the high table-lands which nourish the sources of the
great rivers of Mesopotamia. The hills in the foreground were carpeted with
gay flowers, and were the pasture ground for sheep and cattle.

The horses, urged on by the spur, broke into a gallop, and soon passed the
city gates.

May I be allowed a short digression concerning Van?

According to the history of Armenia, the city was founded by Semiramis,

who gave it the name of Shamiram Yerd. Here, in the charming gardens
which she had planted and irrigated by means of a thousand canals, the
Assyrian queen was accustomed to seek refuge from the intolerable heat of
the Mesopotamian summer; returning to her palaces at Nineveh at the
approach of winter. The first city, having fallen in ruins, was rebuilt, it is
said, by an Armenian king whose name was Van, shortly before the invasion
of Alexander the Great. It was sacked by Tamerlane,1 and again rebuilt by
the Armenians.

The two boys bade a friendly farewell to their traveling companions, in

front of the khan of Achmet Pasha, and went on their way. Before long,
Archag caught sight of his father’s house at a turn of the road.
Levon was keeping watch on the roof, and as soon as he saw the travelers
he hurried down and ran to meet them. Boghos Effendi and his wife,
together with all the servants, followed him out of the house. Archag sprang
from the saddle, and embraced his father and mother and Levon.

“How tall he has grown!” exclaimed Hanna badgi with a motherly pride in
her son’s fine bearing.

“Look at his pretty mustache!” said Levon. Everybody laughed, for

Archag’s mustache consisted of a scant score of downy hairs.

Then Archag presented Aram to his parents; Boghos Effendi bade the boy
welcome, and inquired for his father and an uncle with whom he had once
had some business dealings. Meanwhile Levon plied Archag with questions
about the college.

When they went into the house, the travelers found a regular collation
awaiting them, prepared by old Gulenia; tea, three kinds of jam, caghkés,
still hot, with grapes and watermelon. They felt a keen appreciation of the
comfort and happiness of being at home. They talked gayly about their
college life, their teachers and comrades. In spite of Archag’s protestations,
Aram insisted on telling the story of the butterflies and Nejib’s rescue. The
father and mother had heard no word of this, and Hanna badgi shed tears as
she learned of the danger into which her boy had run, and gave thanks to
God for having so miraculously preserved him.

The voice of the Bakshi (watchman) crying ten o’clock reminded Boghos
Effendi that the boys must be very tired, so he went with them to their
room, which had formerly been Nizam’s, and made them good night. Hanna
badgi lay awake a long time that night, unable to sleep for the joy of seeing
her son again.

Aram and Archag spent the next day with Nizam and her husband, and also
paid a short visit to the old Bishop who had always been especially fond of
Archag. They made numerous plans for all sorts of jaunts and excursions,
and even talked of making the ascent of Subhan Dagh; but Boghos Effendi
forbade that.
The days and hours of the holidays passed all too quickly for our lads. Aram
was eager to see everything, and Archag took pleasure in showing his
favorite haunts to his friend. About a week after their arrival they made a
trip to Akhtamar, an island in Lake Van, where there is a celebrated
monastery, formerly the residence of three Gregorian patriarchs. When the
Catholicos of Echmiadzin became Primate of the Church, the office of his
two associates was abolished, but the convent still continues to be a famous
object of pilgrimage; its library contains many precious manuscripts in old
Armenian. It is a charming spot, with magnificent stretches of garden and
lawn, and ancient trees offering repose beneath their venerable branches.

An old sailor was commissioned to take the boys over in his boat, and
Archag held the tiller, while Aram lay stretched out on a seat, and sang at
the top of his voice, or chaffed the boatman, whom he called “Captain of
the ship.”

The Superior of the monastery, a distant cousin of Boghos Effendi, gave the
lads a cordial reception and directed a lay brother to show them all the
treasures of the place: the relics of the Saints, the old pictures, the golden
censer, and the manuscripts and objects of early art in the library.

Then Archag and Aram went off to eat a picnic lunch on the banks of a
stream. The Superior had given them permission to take their dessert from
the trees in the garden, so our two friends filled pockets and stomachs with
plums and peaches. When they had satisfied their appetite, they explored
the whole island; Archag, conscientious as usual, hunted for some
coleoptera which he had promised to take back to Professor Pagratian.

About four o’clock, however, they had to think about going home. They
found the boatman sitting in front of the convent with some of the monks,
and when he saw the boys he stood up at once.
 LITTLE ARMENIANS

“Well, Ibrahim ammi (uncle),” said Archag, “are you ready?”

“Ewet, my young Effendi, bouyourun (Yes, yes, let us be off).”

“I really think,” said one of the monks, pointing to a little cloud over
Subhan Dagh, “that you will do well not to linger too long. We may get a
squall.”
The old sailor looked up at the cloud, which he had not noticed before.

“Yes, yes, we must make haste; Lake Van isn’t pleasant in a storm.”

“A storm!” cried Aram laughing. “You see everything on the dark side to-
day, uncle. The lake is as smooth as glass.”

But Ibrahim was already untying his boat, so our friends bade the monks
good-by, and followed him.

The island of Akhtamar soon lay a good distance behind them; Ibrahim
rowed in silence, scanning the horizon from time to time. Aram laughed and
joked; Archag was pre-occupied, for he knew the treacherous character of
the lake. Great clouds, too, were coming over the mountains, and the boat
rocked lightly on the waves.

“Perhaps we should do better to go back,” said the old man after a while.
“In an hour we should be safe at Akhtamar, and it will take at least two
hours and a half to reach Van.”

But the boys opposed this wise suggestion. The family at home would be
anxious if they did not come back, and there was no storm yet. Besides, if
the situation should grow worse, they could at any time put in to one of the
villages along the shore, not more than two miles away.

The old man bowed his head, muttering some words of resignation. He and
Aram now bent to the oars. An hour passed thus. They were nearing the
shore, and Archag was hoping yet to make port safely, when a flash of
lightning rent the clouds, followed by the rumbling of thunder. The old man
crossed himself: “We are in for it now!” he said. He lowered the sails, and
prepared for a struggle against the elements now let loose. The wind was
blowing a gale; huge waves broke against the boat, drenching the three
occupants with spray, and the little vessel rolled and pitched. Aram was no
longer joking; everything seemed to turn upside down, and his stomach was
very uneasy. The poor lad had never been off the solid earth before, and
soon became very sea-sick.
The sky was on fire; peals of thunder reverberated from the cliffs, and rain
fell in torrents. Instead of keeping on toward Van, Ibrahim had put about
and was making with all speed for the nearest land. Calm and resolute, he
preserved his sailor’s coolness. The boys made the best of a bad business,
but now they realized the danger that threatened them, and repented of their
rashness.

The tempest increased in fury, and the boat seemed one moment on the
point of being engulfed in the deep, the next of being tossed up to the sky.
They were near land, but the increasing darkness prevented them from
seeing the reefs which line these shores. Suddenly a black mass rose before
them, and the boat trembled under the force of a terrible blow. At the same
time it was lifted up by a tremendous wave and dashed against the rocks.
Before they knew what was happening, all three were thrown into the water.

Instinctively, Archag caught hold of Aram, and held him under his left arm.
He ducked to let a great wave pass over them, then, taking advantage of a
momentary calm, he swam around the reef, holding fast his precious
burden. Presently his feet touched bottom, and he laid Aram on the ground,
in a swoon.

The night was so dark that he could not make out where he was. Bending
over his friend, Archag first made sure that he was not seriously injured,
and that the blood on his face came from nothing but scratches; then from
the gourd that he had with him, he forced a few drops of rum between the
closed lips of the unconscious boy. He had not long to wait for the desired
effect; Aram opened his eyes in astonishment, wondering where he could
be.

The boys’ haven proved to be a deep cave in the rocks. Archag gathered
some dried water-weeds which lay strewn on the sand, and made a great
heap of them; he had no matches, but was not hindered by such a trifle as
that. He looked about and found two flint pebbles which he rubbed one
against the others to make the sparks fly. Before long a brisk fire was
burning, and the shipwrecked travelers dried their drenched garments. They
were not uneasy about Ibrahim, for they supposed that he must have found
shelter somewhere, and that they should find him in the morning. Archag
went down to the beach and called repeatedly, but his voice was drowned in
the tempest, and he went back to his companion. Then they took off their
clothes, which had become soaked through again, and stretched themselves
out on a thick bed of dried weeds. Worn out as they were, with fatigue and
excitement, they soon fell into a deep sleep.

When they awoke, the bright sunlight was streaming into the cave, and their
clothes were thoroughly dried, so they dressed and went outside. There was
not a trace of the storm; the sky was azure, and there was scarcely a ripple
on the lake.

Our two friends were rejoiced to find that they were not on a desert island,
as they had feared, but on a promontory jutting out into the lake. The cliff
against which their boat had been wrecked formed the point; on three sides
it rose perpendicularly, but was slightly inclined on the fourth, making a
little cove, and here the boys had come ashore.

As they stood watching the lake, their attention was attracted by a dark
object which was being washed by the waves against the rocks. On looking
more closely, they thought it resembled a human body, and both were seized
by the same apprehension: could it be poor Ibrahim?

In a flash Archag stripped off his clothes and swam out toward the object.
Alas! it was no longer possible to doubt; it was the old sailor. His feet
protruded from the water, and his open zouboun was floating on the waves.
Archag took him in his arms and swam back to the beach where Aram was
anxiously waiting. Here, he laid the body down on the sand. The poor man
must have been hurled against the rocks, for his face was disfigured by a
bad wound on the temple. The boys stood looking at him, dumb with terror.

“It’s all our fault,” said Aram after a while. “He wanted to go back, and we
wouldn’t let him.”

“Yes,” said Archag, “we didn’t know the lake, and ought to have listened to
him; but you mustn’t take his death so much to heart, Aram dear; since his
hour had struck, nothing could save him.” But Aram, on his knees beside
the ill-fated fisherman, was sobbing convulsively.

They carried Ibrahim to the cave and recited the prayers for the dead. Then
they decided to go to the nearest village and send back some men to bury
the body. It took them a good hour to reach the hamlet of Bos-Ujuk, but
there they found hospitality at the house of an old servant of Boghos
Effendi, Toros Ammi by name. After eating they felt better, and asked for
horses, for they were still about fifteen kilometers from Van, but before
leaving Archag begged his host to have Ibrahim buried, promising that his
father would reimburse him for the expense. The old sailor had been alone
in the world.

Boghos Effendi and his household were in a torment of anxiety. Hanna

badgi had cried all night, trembling every time a violent gust of wind shook
the house. Her husband tried to console her with the assurance that the boys
must have spent the night at the convent, and would be at home before long,
but he scarcely believed his own words, knowing how venturesome Archag
was. The poor woman shook her head without reply. Gulenia and Krikor,
kneeling before the picture of Sourp Krikor Lousavoritch (Saint Gregory
the Illuminator), muttered prayers for sailors in distress.

Early in the morning Boghos Effendi went to town, hoping to find out
something, but he had only bad news to bring home. It was reported that
several boats had capsized in the storm of the previous night, and the people
at the bazaar were talking of nothing else. About ten o’clock he went to
town again, and met one of the Akhtamar monks, who had come over to
make some purchases. This man said that the boys had spent the day at the
island, but had left late in the afternoon.

Boghos Effendi stood rooted to the ground; the monk’s words had
destroyed his last hope, and he knew that, but for a miracle, the luckless
three must be mourned as dead.

When he reached home he had not the courage to tell his wife these sad
tidings. Dinner-time came, but Hanna badgi refused all food. She had
lighted two tall candles before the picture of her patron saint, believing in
her simple faith that he alone could save her child. Bowed to the ground,
she continued to pray fervently, and at last she seemed to feel that she had
been heard, for she rose to her feet, radiant.

“They are coming, they are coming!” she cried.

All bent to listen: yes, they could hear the gallop of horses at a distance.
The sound came nearer, increasing in intensity, then ceased abruptly, and
the next moment Archag and Aram burst into the room.

They were received with cries and exclamations of joy. Hanna badgi was
too much overcome to speak, and Archag had to tell the story of their
adventure immediately. Holding his mother’s hand, he gave a full account
of their return trip, accusing himself, with Aram, of having caused the death
of Ibrahim, by their rashness.

Boghos Effendi had known the old sailor well; he had had many a chat with
him on the shore of the lake, and was much distressed by the tale of his
death.

“You are almost grown men,” said he sternly, “but you act like children. If
you had listened to the poor old man, we should not be lamenting his death
now. You are well punished, and I hope this accident will teach you a
lesson.” The two boys hung their heads in silence, for they knew that this
reproof was well deserved.

They did justice to their dinner, after which Gulenia ordered them off to
bed. In vain they protested that they were feeling perfectly well; the old
woman would not listen to a word, and they had to obey, half in jest, half in
vexation. Gulenia had been a servant in the family of Hanna badgi, and
upon the marriage of her young mistress, had gone with her to her new
home. She had a heart of gold hidden beneath her sullen countenance, and
always retained a partiality for Archag, whom she had once nursed through
diphtheria. Hanna badgi, who was often ill, intrusted her with all the
household care.
When the boys were in bed, the old woman brought them two bowls of
steaming broth.

“Drink this, my lambs,” said she, “and to-morrow you will be better than
ever.”

“Pouah!” said Aram, “your tea isn’t as sweet as your name2 (Rose). What is
this horrid stuff you are giving us?”

“Hold your tongue, and drink it while it’s hot.”

Aram followed Archag’s example, and emptied his cup, and the old woman,
after tucking them up as if they were little children, went off with an injured
air. A few minutes later our two friends were snoring in concert.

1 Tamerlane: a Mongol chief. ↑

2 Gulenia: little rose. ↑
CHAPTER XIV