CONSTANTINOPLE FROM WITHIN
A City of Maimed and Wounded--I See the Sultan--Enver’s
Popularity--Talaat Bey the Real Administrator--Gallipoli
Day--Constantinople “Mafficks”--The Return of the Ten
Thousand--How the _Goeben_ and _Breslau_ Escaped--Their Fateful
Arrival at Constantinople--German Privileges--Mendacities of the
Turkish Press--The Egyptian Situation--A German Camel Corps--The
Turks a Formidable Factor.
To me Constantinople seemed to be a city of maimed and wounded. One
morning I strolled out of my hotel, intending to take a carriage to
Stamboul, one of those strange vehicles drawn by two lean but vigorous
horses that still remain on the streets for hire. From twenty-five to
thirty carriages passed me as I stood vainly endeavouring to persuade
one of the drivers to pull up. They took not the slightest notice of my
gesticulations, but continued precipitately on their way. I was curious
to know the reason for this, and on my return to the hotel I inquired
of the porter. He informed me that the carriages were going to the
Bosphorus to take up the wounded arriving from different battlefields.
“After what you have told me,” I remarked, “I shall be afraid of using
a carriage in Constantinople.” But shaking his head, the porter replied
dispassionately, “Do not be afraid. By order of the Germans, every one
of these carriages must be disinfected after use.” “The East is the
East and the West is the West,” I meditated as I passed into the hotel.
It would be interesting to have the frank opinion of the highly-placed
Turk upon the “thoroughness” of their German allies.
I very soon discovered that every big building in the city had been
turned into a hospital, one of the biggest being the Lyceum. All the
beautiful houses belonging to the wealthy English and French residents,
which overlook the Bosphorus, have been commandeered for the Red
Crescent, the occupants being obliged under Turkish war regulations to
live in hotels.
The Sultan is a mere figure-head, as is well known. One Friday I saw
him walking from his palace to a mosque a little distance away--he
has given up taking the longer journey to the Aya Sofia for fear of
assassination--and his fat, heavy appearance suggested to me that
the Turks knew their business when they removed all power from his
hands. In the old days a Sultan could not make his appearance in the
streets without its being the occasion for a great demonstration.
That was yesterday; now popular enthusiasm was for Enver Pasha when
he accompanied the Commander of the Faithful. The potentate himself
might be persuaded that the acclamations were for his holy person, but
everyone else knew better. I was told that the Sultan leaves everything
to Talaat Bey and to Enver Pasha. To me the Sultan looked like an
unidealised copy of one of Rembrandt’s Rabbis.
Enver may claim to be the power behind the throne, but the real ruler
of Turkey is that shrewd statesman Talaat Bey, who, although a great
Germanophile, is credited with the belief in the ultimate victory of
the Entente Powers. This conviction on the part of Talaat may account
for some of the rumours circulated in the Balkans to the effect that he
would be not unwilling to conclude a separate peace.
I was in Constantinople when the evacuation of Gallipoli was announced.
The town was gay with flags, mobs passed up and down the streets
shouting. Notices in Turkish and German were exhibited everywhere.
Special newspaper bulletins were being rushed hither and thither by
ragged boys. The Turks, who are never over-prodigal of truth, announced
the evacuation as a great victory for their soldiers, which had
resulted in the English being driven into the sea. Although I had no
other news than that supplied by the official proclamation, I was not
in the least disturbed, knowing full well the Turkish character. Had
there been a great victory there would have been prisoners, and the
German knows too well the advantages of clever stage management not to
produce these for the edification of the cheering crowd.
Three days later, when Constantinople had to some extent recovered from
its mafficking, there passed through the streets about 10,000 of the
weariest soldiers it has ever been my lot to see, a long bedraggled
line, most of them stumbling along as if scarcely able to stand for
fatigue. The people did not know where they had come from. Had they
been aware that these poor wretches were some of the stout defenders of
Gallipoli they might have given them a warmer cheer. As it was, I saw
little or no enthusiasm, although here and there people ran out to give
the men cigarettes.
The sight of these utterly worn-out soldiers lingered with me all day.
Some of them were so exhausted that they could proceed no further, and
had to be lifted up and half carried, half dragged along by their more
stalwart comrades. They carried neither rifles nor knapsacks, these
following behind in carts. It was interesting to note to what an
extent the German officering of the Turkish forces has been carried.
For every Turkish officer that passed by in that brown and miserable
procession that smacked so little of victory, there were two German
officers. The Turks may be entitled to all the satisfaction that the
British evacuation of Gallipoli has given them, but I am sure that if
the Anzac heroes, for instance, had been present with me the morning I
stood watching the long war-worn line, they would have been comforted
by the knowledge that however great the hardships and privations they
themselves had suffered, those of the foe had been as bad, if not
worse. It was obvious that some time would elapse before these men were
sufficiently rested to be fit for active service once more, and this in
spite of the fact that the Turkish soldier is famous for his remarkable
recuperative powers.
I have seen it stated in the newspapers (February 13th, 1916), that
large reinforcements of Turkish troops are being sent to Mesopotamia.
This seems to confirm my view that several weeks’ rest would be
necessary before the men who fought so well at Gallipoli would be ready
for active service again. Even these must be picked men, for it is a
long and tedious march from Aleppo to Baghdad over roads that the word
“wretched” utterly fails to describe.
At Stenia, in the Bosphorus, I saw both of those mystery ships, the
_Goeben_ and the _Breslau_, lying at anchor; probably there were never
two ships in all the world about which so much that is inaccurate has
been written. The _Goeben_ was in a bad state, and kept afloat only
by means of the crudest contrivances, shell-holes being filled in
with cement. It is obvious that the authorities, be they Turkish or
German, do not regard her as likely to be of much further assistance to
them, for several of her big guns have been removed for use on land.
The _Breslau_, on the other hand, is in good condition, and as I saw
her riding at anchor she looked very spick and span, having recently
received a new coat of grey paint. She is a finely-built ship, and
looks capable of rendering a very good account of herself.
The stories of how the _Goeben_ and _Breslau_ evaded the Allied fleets
are legion. A Turkish deputy gave me one account which I relate for
what it is worth. According to him it would appear that the two ships
had taken refuge in Messina, and that outside the three-mile limit
there waited 24 Allied ships of war, like hounds ready to pounce upon
their prey. The prospect of escape seemed hopeless, so hopeless in
fact that the commander of the _Breslau_ proposed exceeding his time
allowance in a neutral port so that his ship might be interned. The
commander of the _Goeben_, however, was determined to make an effort
to get away, and being the senior officer his less courageous comrade
had no choice but to acquiesce. They waited until night, and then
steamed away, keeping as near to the coast as possible, and were never
overhauled. It was their arrival in the Dardanelles, the Turkish deputy
assured me, that finally induced Turkey to join the Central Powers,
the Turks believing that with the addition of these two fine ships to
their navy they would be more than a match for the Russian Fleet in the
Black Sea.
One day I made a curious discovery, not without its significance. In
crossing the Galata Bridge a toll of one penny is demanded, which
all the Faithful must pay, and likewise the Infidels. An exception,
however, was made in the case of the Germans, who are exempt, and
for this very interesting reason. When the bridge was damaged by the
torpedo of a British submarine some time ago, the Turks were in a
quandary to know how to repair it, having no engineers of their own
capable of undertaking such work. In their difficulties they turned,
as usual, to their German friends, who readily agreed to undertake
the work, and the damage was accordingly made good. When the bill was
presented from Berlin, however, the Turks wrung their hands, and with
tears in their eyes expostulated that, although they had the best
intentions in the world, they had no money.
The result was that the Germans had to allow the bill to remain owing,
but by way of getting some acknowledgment for their trouble and the
expense that they had incurred, they made it a condition that all
German subjects should be allowed to cross the bridge free of charge.
This I was able to prove by a very simple test, for on presenting
myself to the tollkeepers and speaking German, I was immediately
allowed to pass without any demand of the customary penny. It amused me
to think that the real inhabitants of Constantinople should have to pay
for the privilege that was accorded free to those who had usurped their
authority.
The attitude of the Turks in regard to truth is too well known to
require comment, but the lying qualities with which their press seems
to be inspired are worthy of the word inspiration. To believe anything
seen in a Turkish newspaper postulates a simplicity and credulity
which, charming enough in themselves, are scarcely calculated to help
its possessor in the struggle for existence. For instance, in Has
Keiul, on the Golden Horn, a big powder factory was destroyed by a
tremendous explosion; the Turkish newspapers charmingly described how
three persons had been killed and six wounded, and that only two houses
in addition to the factory had been destroyed. I determined to test
this statement, and I found on visiting what is the Jewish quarter,
that the whole neighbourhood was in ruins. Two thousand people at least
had been killed, and, although my visit was not made until a fortnight
after the explosion, search-parties were still digging dead bodies out
of the ruins. The Turk himself is not entirely devoid of thoroughness.
Just as I was preparing to leave Constantinople rumours of the big
Russian offensive in the Caucasus were coming through. Almost the last
thing I saw were five battalions of Turks, splendidly equipped and with
1916 rifles, leaving for the Caucasus front.
I wish I were able to persuade the British public of the seriousness
of the Egyptian situation. What most surprised me on my return to
this country was the incredulity of the general public with regard
to the German threat against Egypt and India. I am a neutral with
no axe to grind, but I have a great respect and affection for a
country where I have received nothing but kindness, and I view with
alarm this dangerous and apathetic frame of mind. All that I saw in
Constantinople, as in Asia Minor, convinces me that the Turks are
serious in their intended invasions, and as the whole affair will be
under German management it will, after the manner of the Germans, be
done thoroughly. I feel that I shall have achieved something if any
words of mine can dispel the illusion on the subject which seems to
prevail everywhere.
Nothing is to be left to chance, and the Germans have taken the
precaution, as a preparation for the Egyptian Expedition, of training
4,000 German soldiers to ride camels, the instruction being given
at Hagenbeck’s Menagerie at Hamburg. All those who know Egypt will
appreciate the value of a body of 4,000 camelry. Aleppo is to be
the starting point, and a glance at the map of Syria will show its
importance. I shall be greatly surprised if within the next few months
something is not heard of Djemal Pasha, who is in command there. When
I was in Constantinople the name of the redoubtable von Mackensen was
freely mentioned in connection with the leadership of this expedition,
but other work will most likely be found for him.
The Turks are still a very formidable factor in the situation, and have
to be seriously reckoned with. Their losses may be, and undoubtedly
have been, very great, but there are plenty of men still available. As
a matter of fact, all able-bodied men are being called to the colours.
That alone should give Great Britain an indication of the magnitude
of the task that lies before the Allies. Turkey may be one of the
weaker members against the combination of the Entente Powers, but she
is nevertheless very strong, and hourly growing stronger under the
masterful domination of the German military mind.
The language difficulty in Turkey is rather amusing. Germany has done
its best to implant its own tongue upon its unfortunate allies, but
with very poor success. It was a constant source of amusement to me to
hear German officers ordering their dinners in French. Everywhere in
Constantinople French is spoken; even the tramway tickets are printed
in French and Turkish. Waiters, shopkeepers, officers, sometimes even
the man in the street speaks French as well as his own language.
Frequently I would go to the rescue of German soldiers and sailors in
shops who could not make themselves understood.
The German opinion of the Turks is very well shown by the following
little episode. I was in conversation one day with two A.B.’s of the
famous cruiser _Emden_. As a souvenir one of them gave me the ribbon
from his cap with the _Emden_ scroll upon it. He informed me that
it was his original intention to give it to his mother, but he was
now convinced that he would never return to the Fatherland alive,
consequently I received it as a compliment in return for the beer and
cigars I had given him. This sailor was communicative to the extent of
saying, “We have lost nearly all our Colonies, and I am sure that we
shall lose the last one, but we are going to make Turkey our newest and
best colony.” I heard similar remarks from other Germans.