FIRST DISQUIETING RUMORS
My wife and I were at Sevdikeuy, a Greek village a few miles south of
Smyrna on the Ottoman railway, when the news that the Greek army was
meeting with serious reverses arrived. These rumors were not believed at
first, but they grew more and more insistent, throwing the population
into an agony of fear.
At last the report became a certainty. The official news was received
that the Greek army had suffered a terrible and irretrievable defeat and
that nothing now prevented the Turks from descending to the coast. The
population began to leave, a few at first, then more and more until the
flight developed into a veritable panic.
The town was fast filling with refugees from the interior. The majority
of these refugees were small farmers who had lived on properties that
had descended from father to son for many generations. Their forebears
had settled in Asia Minor before the Turks had begun to develop into
a nation. They were children of the soil, able to live and care for
themselves in their little houses and on their few acres, each family
with its cow, its donkey and its goat. They were even producing tobacco,
figs, seedless raisins and other products for export. They were expert
in the cultivation and manipulation of the better qualities of cigarette
tobacco and the priceless raisins, of which latter Asia Minor produces
the best quality in the world. This valuable farmer element, the very
backbone of the prosperity of Asia Minor, had again been reduced to
beggary and thrown upon American charity. They were arriving by thousands
in Smyrna and all along the seacoast. They were filling all the churches,
schools and the yards of the Y. M. and Y. W. C. A. and the American
mission schools. They were sleeping in the streets. Many were getting
away during those first days on steamers and sailing craft. The _caiques_
in the harbor, loaded with refugees and their effects, were a picturesque
sight. For the man whose heart has not suffered atrophy as a result of
the Great War, the spectacle of great numbers of helpless little children
was particularly moving. Unfortunately, atrophy of the human heart has
been one of the most noticeable phenomena of the great Armageddon. Doctor
Esther Lovejoy, of New York, already referred to, used an expression
with regard to certain Americans who were present during the scenes of
suffering and outrage.
“Their minds did not seem to register.” Had she said “hearts,” she would
have been nearer the truth. The refugees carried with them as much of
their belongings as their strength permitted and one often saw a little
child sitting on top of a great bundle of bedding, the whole supported on
the shoulders of some man or woman stumbling along.
In normal times the sick are not seen, as they are in the houses lying in
bed for the most part. In case of a great fire or panic one is surprised
at the number of sick or disabled thus brought to light. Many of the
refugees were carrying sick upon their shoulders. I remember especially
one old gray-haired woman stumbling through the streets of Smyrna with an
emaciated feverish son astride her neck. He was taller than the mother,
his legs almost touching the ground.
Then the defeated, dusty, ragged Greek soldiers began to arrive, looking
straight ahead, like men walking in their sleep. Great numbers—the more
fortunate—were sitting on ancient Assyrian carts, descendants of the very
primitive vehicles used in the time of Nebuchadnezzar.
In a never-ending stream they poured through the town toward the point
on the coast to which the Greek fleet had withdrawn. Silently as ghosts
they went, looking neither to the right nor the left. From time to time
some soldier, his strength entirely spent, collapsed on the sidewalk
or by a door. It was said that many of these were taken into houses
and given civilian clothes and that thus some escaped. It was credibly
reported that others whose strength failed them before they got into
the city were found a few hours later with their throats cut. And now
at last we heard that the Turks were moving on the town. There had been
predictions that the Greek troops, on entering Smyrna, would burn it,
but their conduct soon dispelled all such apprehensions. In fact the
American, with the British, French and Italian delegates had called
upon General Hadjianesti, the Greek commander-in-chief, to ask him what
measures he could take to prevent acts of violence on the part of the
disorganized Greek forces. He talked of a well-disciplined regiment from
Thrace which he was expecting and which he promised to throw out as a
screen to prevent straggling bands from entering the city and even of
organizing a new resistance to the Turks, but could give the delegates no
definite assurance. He was tall and thin, straight as a ramrod, extremely
well-groomed, with a pointed gray beard and the general air of an
aristocrat. He was a handsome man, with the reputation of a lady-killer.
That was the last time I saw him, but when I read later of his standing
before a firing squad in Athens, I still retained a vivid mental picture
of that last interview in the military headquarters in Smyrna. If it
was he who was responsible for sending away the flower of his troops to
threaten Constantinople at a time when they were most needed in Asia
Minor, he deserved severe punishment or confinement in a lunatic asylum.
He had the general reputation of being a megalomaniac, with not too great
ability. Certainly none but a fool would have accepted the Smyrna post
at that time for the sake of glory. What was needed was a man of energy
with a clear understanding of the situation who would have taken hurried
and wise measures to save as much as possible of the wreckage. But
Hadjianesti was busy furnishing in gorgeous style and repairing a palace
on the quay which he had requisitioned for a residence. He deserved to be
pitied, for it is probable that he was not well-balanced mentally.
It was definitely asserted that the Turkish cavalry would enter the town
on the morning of September 9, (1922). The Greek general staff and the
high-commissioner with the entire civil administration, were preparing to
leave. The Greek gendarmes were still patrolling the streets and keeping
order. These men had gained the confidence of every one in Smyrna and
the entire occupied region by their general efficiency and good conduct.
Whatever accusations may be substantiated against the Greek soldiers,
nothing but praise can be said of the Greek gendarmes. All my former
colleagues at Smyrna and all residents of the district will bear me out
in this statement. There would be an interval between the evacuation
of Smyrna and the arrival of the Turkish forces when the town would be
without a government of any kind. Some of the representatives of foreign
governments went to the high-commissioner and asked him to leave the
gendarmes until the Turks had taken over, under an assurance from the
latter that they would be allowed to depart without molestation. The
high-commissioner did not grant this request. I did not join in it. The
Greek officials all left. Mr. Sterghiades had but a few steps to go from
his house to the sea where a ship was awaiting him, but he was hooted
by the population. He had done his best to make good in an impossible
situation. He had tried by every means in his power to make friends of
the implacable Turks, and he had punished severely, sometimes with death,
Greeks guilty of crimes against Turks. He founded a university at Smyrna,
bringing from Germany a Greek professor with an international reputation
to act as president.
One of the last Greeks I saw on the streets of Smyrna before the entry
of the Turks, was Professor Karatheodoris, president of the doomed
university. With him departed the incarnation of Greek genius of culture
and civilization in the Orient.
The Hellenic forces left, civil and military, and the interregnum of a
city without a government began. But nothing happened. Mohammedans and
Christians were quiet, waiting with a great anxiety. The supreme question
was: How would the Turks behave? The French and Italian delegates assured
their colonies that Khemal’s army consisted of well-disciplined troops
and that there was nothing to fear. I had no anxiety for the native-born
Americans, but was very uneasy about the two hundred or more naturalized
citizens, many of them former Ottoman subjects. I, therefore, did not
take the responsibility of assuring the native population, Greeks and
Armenians, that they would be perfectly safe, neither did I say anything
that might tend to create panic. Many ladies, American and others, left
at this time. I counseled my wife to go, but she refused, thinking that
her staying might give comfort to those who remained. I decided to select
a place of rendezvous for the American citizens and to notify all of
them to keep in the neighborhood of this place as much as possible and,
in case of serious disorders and general danger, to take refuge there.
I picked out the American theater, a large and suitable building on the
quay, for the purpose and called the leading members of the American
colony, native and naturalized, to a meeting in my office and advised
them of the measures taken, to be applied in case of need. When I told
them that the meeting was dismissed, Mr. Rufus W. Lane, now a merchant of
Smyrna but formerly American consul there, arose and said: “We did not
come here solely to save our own skins. The refugees that are pouring
by thousands and thousands into the city are dying of starvation and
nobody to help them. I had hoped that this meeting had been called
together to take measures to succor these poor people.” A Provisional
Relief Committee was organized on the spot and a sufficient sum of money
contributed to begin operations. All the leading American firms offered
their lorries and automobiles and their personal services. Bakers were
hired and set to work, stocks of flour found and purchased, and in a few
hours this organization was feeding the helpless and bewildered refugees
who were crowding into the city. But for the American colony in Smyrna
thousands would have died of starvation before the Relief Unit could
arrive from Constantinople.
In the meantime I was insistently telegraphing for American men-of-war to
come to Smyrna. If there was ever a time when a situation demanded the
presence of naval units, this, I thought, was that occasion. Though our
colony was not great, our business interests and property holdings were
very considerable indeed, to say nothing of our large schools with their
staffs of teachers and professors.
The navy in those waters was under the control of that very fine officer
and gentleman, Admiral Mark L. Bristol. I had reason to think that the
admiral had perfect confidence in the good intentions and administrative
abilities of the Turks and believed that the latter would bring a kind
and benevolent administration to Smyrna. In response to telegraphic
insistence with the State Department a wire was received to the effect
that destroyers would be sent to Smyrna, as cruisers were not available,
for the protection of American lives and property. Two small destroyers
were accordingly sent. Naval units of Great Britain, Italy, France and
the United States were present at Smyrna, and anchored but a few hundred
yards or nearer from the houses on the quay during the appalling,
shameful and heart-rending scenes which followed.