away. In Samsoun, one of the most prominent Protestants of the place
was not allowed to go with the crowd that was first sent out. The
Governor came to him, and said to him: “You are a man, a real man;
we do not want you to be lost. Now just say that you will be a Turk,
and your life and that of your family will be saved.” The man
replied: “But I cannot say I believe a thing of which I am not
convinced. I do not believe the Mohammedan religion; you must
educate me.” So they sent their teachers to him, and every few days
would send in an official and ask him: “Now, are you not convinced?”
Thus two weeks went by and finally the officials’ patience wore out,
for the man continually said: “No, I cannot see what you see, and I
cannot accept what I cannot understand.” So the ox-carts came to the
door and took the family away. The wife was a delicate lady, and the
two beautiful daughters well educated. They were offered homes in
harems, but said: “No, we cannot deny our Lord. We will go with our
father.”
From this city the whole Protestant community went together, led
bravely by the Pastor. We heard from them near Shar-Kishla, but
their men had all been taken away and the women robbed terribly.
In a mountain village there was a girl who made herself famous.
Here, as everywhere else, the men were taken out at night and
pitifully killed. Then the women and children were sent in a crowd,
but a large number of young girls and brides were kept behind. This
girl, who had been a pupil in the school at X., was sent before the
Governor, the Judge and the Council together, and they said to her:
“Your father is dead, your brothers are dead, and all your other
relatives are gone, but we have kept you because we do not wish to
make you suffer. Now just be a good Turkish girl, and you shall be
married to a Turkish officer and be comfortable and happy.” It is
said that she looked quietly into their faces and replied: “My
father is not dead, my brothers are not dead; it is true you have
killed them, but they live in Heaven. I shall live with them. I can
never do this if I am unfaithful to my conscience. As for marrying,
I have been taught that a woman must never marry a man unless she
loves him. This is a part of our religion. How can I love a man who
comes from a nation that has so recently killed my friends? I should
neither be a good Christian girl nor a good Turkish girl if I did
so. Do with me what you wish.” They sent her away, with the few
other brave ones, into the hopeless land. Stories of this kind can
also be duplicated.
The number of Armenians in Turkey was variously estimated at from
one and a half millions to two and a half millions. Most people who
know this country well, think that not over five hundred thousand
are now left. This, however, may be too small an estimate, for there
are thousands left in the various cities who have become
Mohammedans. But this “turning” is recognised by both Christians and
Mohammedans as a temporary thing. There are also many in hiding,
especially in Greek villages and in the mountain districts. In
previous years, after massacres, people have sprung up from most
unexpected quarters, and I expect that this will be the case again.
Those who were left, however, have been more thoroughly stripped of
all worldly possessions than has ever been the case before. The best
houses are immediately occupied by Turkish officials. Furniture has
been taken to furnish officers’ houses and Government buildings. The
disposal of the rest of the property varies in different places.
In X., the best furniture is being stored in the Gregorian churches,
to be disposed of by the Commission appointed by the Government.
However, almost everything that is valuable is gradually
disappearing. The more common things are thrown into an empty square
and auctioned or sold for a song.
X. is a city of weavers, and all the equipment for the looms was in
the public square when I came away, and was ruined by rain and mud.
Whatever may be said about the revolutionary intentions of the
Armenian people, a rebellious nation is not executed by its
government, but is fought in fair fight, and those of us who have
loved the Turks and believed that they would, in the end, work out a
government that could be respected, grieve almost more over this
great failure of theirs than over the suffering of their unfortunate
subjects.
-----
Footnote 123:
The Constitution of 1908.—EDITOR.
89. NARRATIVE OF MISS AA., A FOREIGN TRAVELLER IN ASIATIC TURKEY,
DESCRIBING A JOURNEY FROM X. TO Z., 10th AUGUST TO 6th
SEPTEMBER, 1915; COMMUNICATED BY THE AMERICAN COMMITTEE FOR
ARMENIAN AND SYRIAN RELIEF.
The delay of our party in Constantinople was hard to bear there, but
the circumstances found on our arrival at X. were so distressing as
to make the delay heart-breaking. All the Armenian college
people—professors, teachers, servants and their families, with many
from the hospital—had gone on the 10th August. We arrived on the
evening of the 11th, and the next morning the Government officers
had wagons driven on to the premises for the girls in the A.G.S. The
order was peremptory. Of course the Kaimakam was visited, but no
change in the order could be obtained. The Principal and I finally
went and asked that Miss A. and I might be allowed to accompany the
girls. This was refused, but finally a paper was given allowing us
to precede or follow them by an hour.
There were at this time 74 Armenians in the school. The children in
the deaf school with two caretakers were allowed to remain in their
building, and the two old ladies, Miss AG. and Miss AH., who had
been connected with the school during all its fifty years of life,
were also allowed to stay. (There had been some 135 people in the
school for several weeks, but they had many of them gone to other
cities for safety, or, in the case of girls, had gone with their
mothers into exile.)
The company that left the premises consisted of 62 people—7 trained
nurses, 6 teachers, 3 dressmakers, 15 servants or members of their
families, and 31 students. One of the only two trained teachers in
the Ottoman Empire for teaching vocal speech to the deaf, was there.
Perhaps the best trained native nurse in Anatolia was there. One of
the few good music teachers in the country was there. The Armenian
nurse who had gone in the winter to take care of the soldiers sick
with typhus was there. The Presidents of the City Y.W.C.A. and of
the student Y.W.C.A., the advisory officer, and four members of the
cabinet were in the company. It was indeed too precious a group to
be swept into the mälström of wretchedness that makes up the
unending procession of the “exiled” in Anatolia. (It is said that
91,000 have passed south through Harpout, and that 250,000 is the
number that must pass south over the mountains from Malatia.)
Just before Miss A. and I left the house, an urgent order came to
the Principal, summoning him to the outskirts of the city. The
Kaimakam wished him to be present when the official invitation was
given to the girls to become Mohammedans. The invitation was
politely given to each girl individually, and no force was used;
but, an hour further on, another officer was sent to urge them again
and to tell them of the inevitable death that awaited them in a very
short time if they did not yield; then the wagon drivers began their
work, telling continually of the horrors that lay before them. This
was only the beginning of the pressure brought to bear upon them.
The girls say that no day passed in which at least three formal
representations were not made. Men of all types, even the most
disgusting, were brought to them to urge them to “turn.” Whenever
the officers presented the matter, they were always asked if they
did not want to take “a new name.” This is entirely different from
the former custom of the Turks when enforcing their religion.
Formerly all have been asked simply to affirm their belief in one
God. This “New Name” makes one shudder, when one connects it with
the Revelation. The party was most splendidly protected physically
on all their journey, for, in accordance with the promises, the
greatest care had been taken in choosing the gendarmes and their
sleeping places; but in spite of this care on the part of the
Government, several nights were spent in their wagons, so vile were
the threats made to them if they should descend. However, they
reached AW.-han (one day’s journey beyond AX.) without any change in
their number. There they were kept two nights and days, and every
effort was made to terrorise them. One girl finally gave up the
fight and consented to become the wife of an officer from Y. Here,
also, the servants with their families and the older nurse, Miss K.,
were separated from the others and sent on via V., while the girls
and teachers were sent on to Z. The girls say that the reason for
this was the belief that the older ones in the party influenced the
younger not to “turn.” However, the men were finally convinced of
the uselessness of their efforts when one of the younger and
prettiest girls spoke up for herself and said: “No one can mix in my
decisions; I will not turn, and it is I myself that say it.”
The Principal decided to accompany Miss A. and me to Y. This was a
great blessing to us. We passed the long line of fourteen wagons on
the plain, and hastened on to find the Mutessarif Pasha if possible
that night. This, however, proved impossible, and we were obliged to
content ourselves with peering out of our han window at the line of
wagons slowly winding through the streets of the city in the dusk to
a camping place outside the town. The police of the city immediately
called on us, and refused to accept our travelling papers, saying
that they knew no Kaimakam’s orders—that they only recognised the
police. We were not received by the Pasha early, and so were
blocked; but we were given permission to go to the girls with food
and money. The night had been a frightful one, and it seemed as if
we could never let them go alone, but orders soon drove them out and
they bravely started off. It was a heart-breaking experience to all
of us. We hastened back to the city for permission to follow them.
The Pasha was very stiff, and would not admit that the Government
needed any assistance in looking after its children. We soon saw
that it was useless to do anything but send a complimentary telegram
to the Vali, asking him to keep our pupils under his personal
protection.
We came back to X. and for four days worked to get more satisfactory
travelling papers, but were finally obliged to start off with only a
note from the police saying that no papers were needed for
travelling within the bounds of the same vilayet, except in the case
of suspects. In Y. our papers were again refused, but we had written
to the Mutessarif the nicest note we could get translated into
Turkish, asking his help in securing an opportunity for us to visit
the Vali in Z. Twenty-four hours went by, and then we heard that a
town meeting had been called and a negative decision made to our
request. We decided that that word must never officially reach us.
We started for the Pasha’s office, but he had gone to his harem.
Here we followed him. We found his wife a real woman, with great
sympathy for our desire to save our girls from the terrors of
deportation, and the Pasha in his home was a transformed man. He
promised to get us to the Vali if possible, and in due time this
promise was made good. The police succeeded in putting enough
obstacles in our way to keep us in the city another night, and so
our people were six days ahead of us when we started from Y. The
last annoyance was a peremptory command to sleep in a certain han.
This we refused to do because of its inconvenience, and so we stayed
in a han in the heart of the city, only a short distance from the
recently burned district. We do not know why we were not wanted
there, but the sickening odour that came into our windows till late
into the night, the words which dropped from groups of men passing
under our windows, and the five slowly fading fresh fire-spots on
the ruins of the buildings, said to have been set on fire by the
“turned” Armenians of the city, make me morally certain that a
ghastly revenge had been taken that night.
Our guard was ready betimes in the morning. Our wagoner—a great
Turkish thug—was on our side and ready to make time. The Pasha’s
paper assured the greatest courtesy at every police station, and
with rising hope we started off. But hope fades in the face of the
great sight of these deported people, and we soon felt that in all
human reason our request must be fruitless. We passed that first day
two great processions of the exiles, all villagers from the
mountains of BU. A few were riding in ox-carts, but the great
majority were on foot. The dust was suffocating, and the poor things
all carried great burdens—sometimes little children, often cradles
with babies in them, always sacks of supplies. All we could do was
to hold out a little money to them. We tried most often to give to
the old or to young girls. They were often too much frightened or
dazed to come to our carriage and take it, but our great husky
driver would shout out: “Do not fear, these will help you.” Then
they would come, but their fear only too plainly told of their
experience. I must, however, witness to the fact that we did not see
any sign of anything but patience and even kindness on the part of
the gendarmes walking with these crowds. The general impression
gotten everywhere is that orders are carried out, only orders, and
that even the cruelties are well organised. Very few men were in the
parties, but there were some. These people had been on the road more
than three weeks.
We reached a lonely unfinished han three hours beyond AY. Here we
found our first company of “turned” Armenians. They were from the
town of L., and were going they knew not where. We met many after
this; they are a little more comfortable than the Christians, and
their men are with them, but they have been robbed like the others,
and are full of uncertain fear of what may be coming to them, and
also of remorse because their denial of what is really precious to
them has brought them so little. We only stopped in AX. to send
telegrams and get the story of that city. The men here, as
everywhere else, had been rounded up first and sent off bound in
fours, in gangs of from forty to fifty, in various directions from
the city—to death, as all believe. In every city the citizens all
believe this to be the fate of all men; all the gendarmes and
arabadjis say it is, but all the officers deny it, saying that they
send the men in this way because they have no gendarmes to handle
the situation in any other way. They take all money and weapons
(even razors) from them for the same reason. In AX. the women were
also imprisoned and sent out without any preparation for the
journey. The AX. people say that the AZ. Pass is the place where all
the worst things happen, and we can well believe it. At BA. it
looked ugly, and although it was quiet enough except for the coarse
voices of the terrible-looking officers that were sitting about, you
felt that things were wrong. A little bride and a slim young girl
sidled up to our wagon to talk. In reply to our talk they told us
that they were “busy taking care of the babies.” We asked what
babies, and they said: “O, those the effendis stop here; the mothers
nurse them and then go.” We asked if there were many, and were told
that every house was full. We were watched too closely to make calls
possible. Afterwards we found an officer ready to talk, who said:
“We take them off after a while and kill them. What can we do? The
mothers cannot take them, and the Government cannot take care of
them for ever.” That night we stopped in another lonely place with a
lot of new Turks in it. We were glad to help the sick, both among
them and in the Circassian village near by, though I have no doubt
the Circassians belonged to the bands who rob the exiles so
frequently on this mountain. In the early morning, as we climbed the
AZ. Pass, we passed a great camp of exiles. We decided that we
needed to save the horses, so we walked up the steep ascent. We knew
that our own girls were not far ahead, and wondered if our
professors were here. They were not, but the company proved to be
from BC., and the pastor and people were there. As we walked by, we
saw ahead of us the girl teacher who has so self-sacrificingly
worked there these many years. We had prepared packages of money to
give away, and as she threw her arms about us with a brave quiver of
her chin and a look of agony never to be forgotten, we hid upon her
person a bag of money and told her to use it for all. There was no
opportunity for talk except to learn that the men were still with
the party. At the top of the mountain, when we changed our guard, I
went into the kitchen to buy milk and talk. It was evident that we
had not been allowed to come up the night before, although we had
pleaded for it. Forty prisoners had been there, and they had been
taken off to the tents just the other side of the mountain in the
night and disposed of in some way. We wondered if it could have been
our own professors and workers. We learned later that they (our
people) had been separated from their wives at W. a few days before,
and that the women had been robbed on this mountain only forty-eight
hours before.
We reached AW.-han about nine that morning—only the second morning
from Y.—and went immediately into the town for news, though we were
apparently only interested in the famous rug-industry of the place.
While I was discussing this interesting industry with a man, a woman
told Miss A. to hurry to the deserted factory—that our girls were
there and in danger. My man had already proposed to take us there.
We found no rugs and no girls. The former had been confiscated by
the Government, and the latter had gone only two hours before toward
Z., five hours away. A friend turned up in the street, who told us
that the girls had had a hard time here and that we had better go
directly to the Kaimakam. This we did. He told us a made-up story,
but said that the girls would lunch at BD.-han and that we could
overtake them if we would hurry. We hurried! When we rounded the
last turn of the road we saw the most beautiful sight I ever expect
to see—every window full of dark heads and waving handkerchiefs. The
Kaimakam had telephoned that they might wait for their teachers. He
was the man who had tried so hard to get a girl, and to whom our
small maiden had made her confession of faith! (When you are in the
Government it is just as well not to let your left hand know what
your right doeth.) After a few words with the girls, we hastened on
to the city, reaching there about two hours before the girls. Just
as we reached the city, we said to the gendarme with us: “Why should
not these girls stay with us at the American School while we wait
for the Vali’s decision?” He gave rather a non-committal reply, but
we were scarcely settled with our friends when this man turned up,
saying: “There has been a mistake; I got the permission for the
girls to come here, but they have been taken to a Turkish boarding
school.” A visit to the Turkish school soon straightened this out,
though for a while we feared our misunderstanding would be a fatal
one for our cause. The Vali’s sister is greatly interested in this
school, which has been established for Armenian girls left in
villages whose adult inhabitants had been sent on “sefkyat.” The
authorities thought our girls a new relay, and were a little
disgusted that it was not so. One of the humorous experiences of the
journey occurred before the girls were allowed to leave. In the dim
light they were lined up to meet the commissioner of education, who
wished to say a few words to them. They dressed like Turkish girls
on the journey in white sheets, and were a weird sight in the long
hall; but when the commissioner told them that they had no need to
leave that fine place and go with foreigners, and asked them if they
would not rather change their names and stay there, there came so
emphatic a “Khyar, Effendim” from the long line, that they were
immediately proved to be very lively ghosts. The Vali was away from
the city attending to a Kurdish revolution in the villages, and this
affair gave a very providential opportunity for a call on his
sister, to apologise for the seeming lack of appreciation of her
hospitality on the part of our students. She was stiff and angry,
but we ended the best of friends, I saying that I wished she and all
the world were Christian, and she avowing that she wished me a
Mohammedan, and each of us declaring that we were going to use our
best efforts to bring about our desires.
As soon as the Vali returned, we called, and after a very pleasant
talk on every subject but the one in hand, we handed him our formal
petition for the return of the girls. He immediately granted it,
inviting us not to hurry away, but to enjoy the hospitality of his
city as long as possible. We concluded that it was better not to
hasten, for we wanted an opportunity to present another petition for
our professors, and to talk to him about relief for the suffering in
his country. The second call was not so pleasant as the first, for
the idea of his country needing any help from foreign nations under
any circumstances was an absurdity. We told him that no country
could live to itself in this age of reciprocity, and that in time of
great trouble, whether caused by nature or by war, friendship was
shown as much by accepting help as by giving it; that our country
could only in these sad days offer to help the warring nations, and
that it was doing it indiscriminately. He warmed a little, but said
that at present there was no need and that he had not such matters
in charge.
We only left our petition for the return of our other friends, and
took leave after he had assured us that our journey should be
facilitated in every way. This was done. He himself was on the
telephone at the AZ. Pass to hear from our own lips the assurance
that we were passing that dangerous place in comfort. We came in
comfort, and this fact only emphasised the suffering of those we met
always going in the other direction. Our driver one day voiced the
thought of our hearts: “Who will give the Arzu Hal for these?” The
road all along the way was marked by dead and decaying animals, and
though we did not personally see human bodies, we were told of their
presence under bridges and in ravines, and frequent groups of
vultures gave silent witness. There were many feeble and dying in
the processions we met, for the weather was very hot. In Y. we
called on the Pasha and his family and the gendarmerie chief, and
were very politely received and earnestly congratulated. But in the
early morning, when Miss A. and I went up town to get some necessary
supplies for the journey, six men hung on gallows in the streets and
one old man was saying: “Why, that is my son!” So near are joy and
agony in the world, and especially in this land. They were deserters
from the Army.
Our findings, in regard to what we have witnessed, are as follows:—
I. The Armenians have been deported practically universally from
these six vilayets. Many of them have been killed by order of the
Government and many have died by the way, but many also are enduring
months of travel, and are approaching the borders of the great
Arabian desert, where help must be gotten to them. A large plan of
relief is absolutely necessary. It must emanate from the capital and
there receive authority.
II. Orders given from Constantinople are often made void by other
private orders; so anything that is promised must be written, and
put in the hands of the people authorised to carry it out in
co-operation with the Government. Only official seals will be
recognised.
III. The orders about Protestants are only partially acknowledged by
a few authorities, and in most cases all Protestants have either
gone into exile or have been terrorized into becoming Mohammedans.
Some order providing for relief for them, either where they are this
winter or after they return to their plundered homes, is necessary
if any real help is to be given them.
IV. Permission for the recantation of the recently “turned”
Protestants would be of the greatest help to the country, for their
condition is most pitiable. They are neither one thing nor the
other, and are afraid to engage in any real business, for all they
possessed is soon required of them in bribes by different officers.
V. Bribe-taking has been enormous in some places, notably in X.;
many have paid 2,000 liras to save their lives and then been sent
into exile practically without a para.