A MONTH'S HOLIDAY IN ASIA MINOR
After the fall spent in America in raising the necessary funds, it was
the now famous Carmania which carried us to England. In spite of a few
days' rest at my old home, and the stimulus of a Grenfell clan
gathering in London, my wife and I were both in need of something
which could direct our minds from our problems, and Boxing Day found
us bound for Paris, Turin, Milan, and Rome.
Just before Christmas I had had a meeting at the famous office of the
Hudson Bay Company in London, and attended another of their
interesting luncheons where their directors meet. My old friend Lord
Strathcona presided. I could not help noting that after all the lapse
of years since we first met at Hudson Bay House in Montreal, he still
retained his abstemious habits. He was ninety-three, and still at his
post as High Commissioner for a great people, as well as leading
councillor of a dozen companies. His memory of Labrador and his days
there, and his love for it, had not abated one whit. Hearing that the
hospital steamer Strathcona needed a new boiler and considerable
repairs, he ordered me to have the work undertaken at once and the
bill sent to him. He, moreover, insisted that we should spend some
days with him at his beautiful country house near London, an
invitation which we accepted for our return, but which we were never
fated to realize, for before the appointed date that able man had
crossed the last bar.
It is said to be better to be lucky than rich. We had expected in Rome
to do only what the Romans of our pocket-book do. But we fell in with
some old acquaintances whose pleasure it is to give pleasure, and New
Year's night was made memorable by a concert given by the choir of the
Sistine Chapel, to which we were taken by the editor of the
"Churchman" and later of the "Constructive Quarterly," an old friend
of ours, Dr. Silas McBee. A glimpse into the British Embassy gave us
an insight into the problem of Roman modern politics and the factions
of the Black and White.
Rome is always delightful. One is glad to forget the future and live
for the time in the past. Sitting in the Coliseum in the moonlight I
could see the gladiators fighting to amuse the civilized man of that
period, and gentle women and innocent men dying horrible deaths for
truths that have made us what we are, but which we now sometimes
regard so lightly.
I confess that religious buildings, religious pictures, religious
conventions of all kinds very soon pall on my particular temperament.
It is possibly a defect in my development, like my inability to
appreciate classical music. On the other hand, like Mark Twain, I
enjoy an ancient mummy just because he is ancient; and were it not for
the irritation of seeing so much religious display associated with
such miserable social conditions in so beautiful a country, I should
have more sympathy with those who would "see Rome and die." The
sanitation of the one-time Mistress of the world suggests that it
could not be difficult to accomplish that feat in the hot weather.
Brindisi is a household word in almost every English home, especially
one like ours with literally dozens of Anglo-Indian relatives. I was
therefore glad to pass _via_ Brindisi on the road to Athens. Patras
also had its interest to me as a distributing centre for our Labrador
fish. We actually saw three forlorn-looking schooners, with cargoes
from Newfoundland, lying in the harbour.
One poignant impression left on my mind by Greece, as well as Rome,
was its diminutive size. I almost resented the fact that a place
civilized thousands of years ago, and which had loomed up on my
imagination as the land of Socrates, of Plato, of Homer, of Achilles,
of Spartan warriors, and immortal poets, all seemed so small. The
sense of imposition on my youth worried me.
In Athens one saw so many interesting relics within a few hundred
yards that it left one with the feeling of having eaten a meal too
fast. The scene of the battle of Salamis fascinated me. When we sat in
Xerxes' seat and conjured up the whole picture again, and saw the
meaning to the world of the great deed for which men so gladly gave
their lives to defeat a tyrant seeking for world power, it made me
love those old Greeks, not merely admire their art.
On Mars Hill we stood on the spot where, to me, perhaps the greatest
man in history, save one, pleaded with men to accept love as the only
durable source of greatness and power. But every monument, every
bas-relief, every tombstone showed that the fighting man was their
ideal.
The idea of sailing from the Piraeus reconciled us to the very mediocre
vessel which carried us to Smyrna. Our visit to Asia Minor we had
inadvertently timed to the opening of the International College at
Paradise near Smyrna. This college is the gift of Mrs. John Kennedy of
New York. Mr. Ralph Harlow, our host and a professor at the college,
with Mr. Cass Reid and other friends, made it possible for us to enjoy
intelligently our brief visit. It was just a dream of pleasure. Time
forbids my describing the marvellous work of that and other colleges.
Men of ambition, utterly irrespective of race, colour, creed, or sect,
sit side by side as the alumni. The humanity, not the other-worldliness,
of the leaders has made even the Turks, steeped in the blood of their
innocent Christian subjects, recognize the untold value of these
Christian universities, and kept them, their professors, and buildings,
safe during the war.
Dr. Bliss, of Beyrout, once told us a humorous story about himself. He
had just been addressing a large audience in New York, when
immediately after his speech the chairman rose and announced, "We will
now sing the one hundred and fiftieth hymn, 'From the best bliss that
earth imparts, we turn unfilled to Thee again.'"
The preservation of Ephesus was a surprise to us, though of late the
Turks have been carrying off its precious historic marble to burn for
lime for their fields. One large marble font in an old Byzantine
baptistry was broken up for that purpose while we were there. We stood
on the very rostrum in the theatre where St. Paul and the coppersmith
had trouble--while at the time of our visit, the only living
inhabitant of that once great city was a hungry ass which we saw
harboured in a dressing-room beneath the platform.
The anachronism of buzzing along a Roman road, which had not been
repaired since the days of the Caesars, on our way to Pergamos, in the
only Ford car in the country, was punctuated by having to get out and
shove whenever we came to a cross-drain. These always went over
instead of under the road--only on an exaggerated Baltimorian plan.
One night at Soma, which is the end of the branch railroad in the
direction of Pergamos, we were in the best hotel, which, however, was
only half of it for humans. A detachment of Turkish soldiers were
billeted below in the quarters for the other animals. Snow was on the
ground, and it was bitterly cold. The poor soldiers slept literally on
the stone floor. We were cold, and we felt so sorry for them, that
after we had enjoyed a hot breakfast, in a fit of generosity we sent
them a couple of baskets of Turkish specialties. Later in the day we
noticed that wherever we went a Turkish soldier with a rifle followed
us. So we turned off into a side street and walked out into the
country. Sure enough the soldier came along behind. As guide to speak
the many languages for us, we had a Greek graduate of International
College, a very delightful young fellow, very proud of a newly
acquired American citizenship. At last we stopped and bribed that
soldier to tell us what the trouble was. "Our officer thought that you
must be spies because you sent gifts to Turkish soldiers."
At Pergamos, a Greek Christian--very well off--invited us to be his
guests on Greek Christmas Eve. It was the occasion of a large family
gathering. There were fine young men and handsome, dark-eyed girls,
and all the accessories of a delightful Christian home. When the outer
gates had been locked, and the inner doors bolted and blinds drawn
down, and all possible loopholes examined for spies, the usual
festivities were observed. These families of the conquered race have
lived in bondage some four hundred years, but their patriotism has no
more dimmed than that of ancient Israel under her oppressors. Before
we left they danced for us the famous Souliet Dance--memorial to the
brave Greek girls who, driven to their last stand on a rocky hilltop,
jumped one by one over the precipice as the dance came round to each
one, rather than submit to shame and slavery. From our friends at
Smyrna we learned subsequently that when, a few months later, and just
before the war, the German general visited the country, making
overtures to the Turks, the blow fell on this family like many others,
and they suffered the agony of deportation.
At Constantinople the kindness of Mr. Morgenthau, the American
Ambassador, and the optimism bred by Robert College and the Girls'
School, left delightful memories of even the few days in winter that
we spent there. The museum alone is worth the long journey to it, and
when a teacher from the splendid Girls' School, herself a specialist
on the Hittites, was good enough to show it to us, it was like a leap
back into the long history of man. It seemed but a step to the
Neanderthal skull and our Troglodyte forbears.
Owing to shortage of time we returned to England through Bulgaria,
passing through Serbia, and stopping for a day at Budapest and two at
Vienna. We would have been glad to linger longer, for every hour was
delightful.
The month's holiday did me lots of good and sent me back to England a
new man to begin lecturing again in the interests of the distant
Labrador; and with the feeling that, after all, our coast was a very
good place for one's life-work.
We helped to lessen the tedium of the lectures by doing most of the
travelling in an automobile of my brother's, in which we lived, moved,
and had our meals by the roadside. The lectures took us everywhere
from the drawing-room of a border castle on the line of the old Roman
Wall--which Puck of Pook's Hill had made as fascinating for us as he
did for the children--to the Embassy in Paris.
Once more the Mauretania carried us to America. April was spent partly
in lecturing and partly in attending surgical clinics--a very valuable
experience being a week's work with Dr. W.R. MacAusland, of Boston, at
his orthopedic clinics in and around that city. He and his brother
"Andy" had passed a summer with us in Labrador. May found us in Canada
visiting our helpers, and stimulating various branches by lectures.
While loading the George B. Cluett in early June in St. John's,
Newfoundland, we organized an education committee to work with the
Institute Committee, to give regular educational lectures throughout
the winter. Dr. Lloyd, our present Prime Minister, and Sir Patrick
McGrath, always a stanch friend of the Mission, helped materially in
this new activity.
The Institute at the time was housing some of the crew of the
Greenland, who had come through the terrible experiences at the seal
fishery in the spring of 1914. Caught on the ice in a fearful
blizzard, almost all had perished miserably. Some few had survived to
lose limbs and functions from frostburns. The occasion gave the
Institute one of the many opportunities for a service rather more
dramatic than the routine, which did much to win it popularity.
Midsummer's Day and the two following days we were stuck in a heavy
ice-jam one hundred miles south of St. Anthony. My wife and boys had
arrived in St. Anthony before me, and to find them in our own house,
and the hospital full of opportunity for the line of help which I
especially enjoy, afforded all that heart could wish.
Early in July the Duke of Connaught, the Governor-General of Canada,
paid us a long-promised visit. It was highly appreciated by all our
people, who would possibly have paid him more undivided attention had
he not been kind enough to send his band ashore--the first St. Anthony
had ever heard. The resplendent uniforms of the members totally
eclipsed that of the Duke, who was in "mufti"; but he readily
understood that the division of attention was really not attributable
to us. He proved to be a thorough good sport and a most democratic
prince.
The war having broken out in August, we had only one idea--economy on
every side, that we might all be able to do what we could. We had not
then begun to realize the seriousness of it sufficiently to dream that
we should be welcome ourselves. We closed up all activities not
entirely necessary, and even the hospital ship went into winter
quarters so early that my fall trip was made from harbour to harbour
in the people's own boats or by mail steamer or schooner, as
opportunity offered.