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SHALL THIS NATION DIE? BY Rev. JOSEPH NAAYEM, O.I. With a Preface by LORD BRYCE and An Historical Essay by Rev. GABRIEL OUSSANI, D.D. Chaldean Rescue Published 1920 A.D. Assyrian International News Agency
PREFACE
BY LORD BRYCE
The bloodstained annals of the East contain no record of massacres more unprovoked, more widespread or more terrible than those perpetrated by the Turkish Government upon the Christians of Anatolia and Armenia in 1915. It was the sufferings of the Armenians that chiefly drew the attention of Britain and America because they were the most numerous among the ecclesiastical bodies, and the slaughter was, therefore, on a larger scale. But the minor communities, such as the Nestorian and Assyro-Chaldean churches, were equally the victims of the plan for exterminating Christianity, root and branch,. although the Turks had never ventured to allege that these communities had given any ground of offense. An account of these massacres, organized and carried out with every circumstance of cruelty by Enver and Talaat, chiefs of the ruffianly gang who were then in power in Constantinople, has been given in the Blue Book, published by the British Foreign Office in 1916, and entitled " Treatment of the Armenians in the Ottoman Empire." In the present volume there is presented a graphic and moving narrative of similar cruelties perpetrated upon members of the Assyro-Chaldean Church in which about half of them, men, women and children, perished at the hands of Turkish murderers and robbers. The narrative is written by the Rev. Father Naayem, who saw these horrors with his own eyes and narrowly escaped with his life. He has recounted to me and to other friends of his people in En land the terrible story, and we have encouraged him to believe that his English translation of his book will be read with sympathy and pity both here and in the United States. I venture to recommend it to those who wish to know what these innocent victims have suffered, trusting that it may do something to sustain that interest in the sorely afflicted Christian Churches of the East, which has been manifested in both countries, and hoping also that the charitable aid so generously extended to them in their calamities may be continued. The need of relief is still very great and it is for their Christian faith, to which they have clung during centuries of oppression and misery, that they have now again had to suffer.
23rd July, 1920.
AN HISTORICAL ESSAY ON THE ASSYRO-CHALDEAN CHRISTIANS BY REV. GABRIEL OUSSANI, D.D. The Rev. J. Naayem, the author of this work, and an eye-witness of most of the horrible scenes of massacre herein described, has requested me to write an introduction to this English version of his book for the benefit of the American public, which is perhaps not so well acquainted with the history, geography and religion of the Assyro-Chaldean Christians who suffered during and after the great war (1915-1920) at the hands of the unscrupulous Turks, indescribable tortures, and who lost through murder and famine 250,000 of their membership. Having the interest and the welfare of this unfortunate nation at heart, being myself a native of that unhappy land, and having already known of these things through direct correspondence with bishops, priests, merchants, friends and relatives in Mesopotamia, I gladly accede to his request, hopeful of awakening in the loving hearts of the American people a genuine sympathy and commiseration for this martyred race, one of the most ancient and glorious nations; but, alas, decimated and reduced to ruin. Never in the past have the American people had such an opportunity of extending a helping hand to oppressed Christian nations as they have at the present time in Upper Mesopotamia. The sufferings of the Belgian, French, Polish, Serbian and Austrian peoples during the great war completely fade away by comparison with what the helpless countries of the Near East suffered and endured, and are still enduring, from Turkish and Kurdish ravages and cruelties. The excellent work done by the Near East Relief Committee has accomplished much; but a great deal more must be done, and done quickly, if the Christianity of the Near East, and especially of Mesopotamia and Persia, is to be rescued from immediate and total destruction. The well-merited relief so generously extended to the suffering Armenians has in a way so completely focused the attention and the generosity of the American people on this unfortunate race, that the other,-smaller, but just as unfortunate,-races of the Near East have been to a great extent lost sight of. These smaller Christian nations, and particularly the Assyro-Chaldeans, suffered as much at the hands of the Turks as the Armenians, and proportionately more, and thus deserve as much sympathy and help. Ethnographically, the modern Assyro-Chaldeans are the descendants of the Ancient Babylonians, Assyrians and Arameans, who for many millenniums inhabited and ruled over the Tigris-Euphrates valley, Upper Mesopotamia and Syria, and who were the political masters of the Near East for many centuries before the Christian era. With the downfall of the Kingdoms of Assyria and Babylonia (7th and 6th centuries B. C., respectively) and the political ascendancy of the Medians, Parthians, and Persians (from circa 6th century B. C. to 6th century A. D. especially during the reign of the Sassanide dynasty), they suffered many political and later on religious persecutions, but stood the test heroically. Incidentally, their very ethnographic identity and their national spirit of independence were completely crushed. They were, so to say, engulfed in the many religious, racial and political whirlpools and currents which swept over their country for more than ten full centuries. Under the Arab domination (from the 7th to the 13th century A. D.) they once more prospered, and developed the greatest and most extensive Christian Church of the Near East, enjoying vast political and religious privileges, marred at times by occasional and local adversities. From the 13th century on and until our own day, however, this heroic Christian nation suffered such untold misery and persecutions at the hands of the cruel Tartars, Moguls and Mohammedan Turks that at the beginning of the 20th century this once great and fertile country, this glorious and powerful nation, was reduced to less than one-tenth of its former size. The Assyro-Chaldean nation embraced Christianity, if not during the first, certainly during the middle of the second century. Setting aside the controversy as to the early evangelization of Edessa in Upper Mesopotamia during the reign of King Abgar (circa 35 A. D.) and the traditional propagation of the Gospel throughout Mesopotamia by the Apostles Thomas, Addai and Mari, it is unanimously agreed by all ,scholars that towards the end of the second century the Christian religion bad penetrated into the whole country inhabited by the Assyro-Chaldeans. In the third and fourth centuries, they already possessed a highly developed and well organized hierarchy, with numerous dioceses and churches, a Patriarchal See, stationed at Seleucia-Ctesiphon on the lower Tigris and a Christian population exercising, at times, a far-reaching political and religious influence over the Sassanian dynasty of Persia and the Arabian dynasty of Hira. During the fourth, fifth and sixth centuries, the Assyro-Chaldean Church became so extensive and powerful that it excited the fear and the hatred of the Sassanian kings of Persia, who determined to exterminate it with a series of almost uninterrupted persecutions and unheard-of cruelties. Hundreds of thousands of martyrs gave their lives willingly for the faith of Christ. Patriarchs, bishops, priests, virgins, widows, children and adults, noble and poor, vied one with the other in their faith and love for Christ, and were massacred with tortures the like of which was not even dreamed of by the most cruel of Roman emperors. And if the number of martyrs in the Roman Empire during the first three or four centuries, according to a generous' estimate, may have reached the grand total of 200,000, that of the Assyro-Chaldean martyrs in the Persian Empire, from the 3rd to the 7th century, must have reached the half million mark and perhaps twice that number. Entire cities and whole districts were destroyed and their Christian inhabitants slaughtered. Monasticism also penetrated and flourished early among the Assyro-Chaldean Christians. The mountains of Assyria and Kurdistan teemed with hundreds of their monastic institutions, and their inmates equaled and often surpassed the most austere and absurd asceticism of the early Egyptian and Syrian monks and anchorites. Great schools of theology and philosophy also flourished within this great Church, and it is a well known fact that Arabian philosophy, mathematics, medicine, the arts and the sciences of the Middle Ages, though to a great extent of Greek origin, penetrated the Abbaside Empire through the influence of the numerous Nestorian and Jacobite scholars and schools of learning; and thus preserved Western culture from utter destruction and ma de possible its reintroduction into Europe through Spain at the hands of the Mohammedan Arabs. Up to about the middle of the 5th Christian century, the Assyro-Chaldean Christians professed the same orthodox Christian Faith. In 429, Nestorius, a native of Syria and Patriarch of Constantinople, began to preach his doctrine that in Christ there were two distinct persons, (the human and the divine) just as there were in Him two distinct corresponding natures, and thus denying the Divine Maternity of the Virgin Mary. Condemned by the Council of Ephesus (431) and repudiated by the whole Church of the West, and finding no outlet for his doctrine in the Roman Empire, Nestorius, or rather his Syrian followers and admirers, bishops, priests and monks, found in Mesopotamia and Persia a fertile field for their teaching. Aided by the Sassanian kings of Persia, the inveterate enemies of the Roman Empire and of Western Christianity, they succeeded in propagating Nestorianism throughout the length and breadth of the Persian Empire, with the result that within a few decades the vast and powerful Christian Church of Persia embraced the Nestorian doctrine and thus separated itself from the Christianity of the West, becoming an autonomous church. Hardly had this been accomplished when a new christological heresy appeared on the horizon,-that of Eutyches, another Syrian monk, and Abbot of Constantinople. In his opposition to Nestorianism, Eutyches ended by propounding the opposite theory to Nestorius, by maintaining that as in Christ there was but one Person, so also His two natures became so thoroughly united or admixed as to form but one composite nature. He was deposed and his doctrine condemned by the Councils of Constantinople (448) and of Chalcedon (451). Finding again no outlet in the West, this new teaching began to spread in Syria, Egypt, Armenia, Mesopotamia and throughout the Persian Empire, rivaling in its rapid spread Nestorianism itself; with the result that throughout all the following centuries and till our own days, Assyro-Chaldean Christianity, which in the 10th and 11th centuries boasted of not less than five hundred dioceses, thousands of churches and millions of adherents, reaching in its extension from Central Asia' China, Tartary, Mongolia, India (Malabar), Mesopotamia, Persia, Syria, Cyprus and as far as Egypt, became divided into two great rival Churches, viz., the Nestorian Church, and the Eutychian or Jacobite Church. From the 14th century, however, and as late as, our own day, missionaries from religious orders of the Roman Catholic Church centered their activities on converting these people, with the result that ever since, and for the last six centuries hundreds of thousands of these Assyro-Chaldean Nestorians and Jacobites entered the Roman Catholic Church, preserving, however, their own national and ecclesiastical language, liturgy, church discipline and customs. At present, therefore, the Assyro-Chaldean Christians are divided into four big sects or churches, with their own corresponding hierarchy and distinct church organization and government, differing but slightly in their faith, in their liturgy and liturgical language (rather dialects of the same language), church discipline and ecclesiastical customs. At the beginning of the great war, according to more or less reliable statistics, the total number of the Assyro-Chaldean Christians in Turkey and Persia was about seven or eight hundred thousand, scattered ,over the plains of Babylonia, Mesopotamia, Upper Syria and the mountains of Assyria, Kurdistan and Persia, whereas at the present time, having lost more than 250,000 souls at the hands of the tyrannical Turks, Kurds and Persians, they hardly number 500,000, many of whom had to abandon their country and homes and flee into Russia, Syria and lower Mesopotamia. They are the following: 1.The Nestorian-Assyro-Chaldeans - commonly Called Nestorians. 2.The Catholic Assyro-Chaldeans - commonly called Chaldeans. 3.The Eutychian Assyro-Chaldeans - commonly called Jacobites. 4.The Syrian Catholic Assyro-Chaldeans - commonly called Catholic Syrians. Numerically: No. 1 before the war numbered circa 250,000. No. 2 before the war numbered circa 150,000. No. 3 before the war numbered circa 250,000. No. 4 before the war numbered circa 50,000. Owing to the staggering losses, it is almost impossible to give accurate statistics of the Assyro-Chaldean Christians at the present time. When the whole tale of destruction is told and the condition of the country becomes normal (keeping in mind the horrible slaughter of 250,000 souls, the total destruction of the churches, the burning of thousands of homes, the killing of a dozen or more bishops and hundreds of priests, the plunder and spoliation of public, private and church properties, the ravages of hunger, starvation, violence, disease, poverty, deportation, tortures, amputation and mutilation of thousands still alive and rendered helpless and in a state of abject poverty, ridicule and shame), then, and only then, will the American people be enabled to form an adequate estimate of the terrific losses in property and human life, in domestic and personal happiness, in religion and education among the unfortunate Assyro-Chaldean Christians. For this reason Father Naayem's book is of timely interest, as it will give the American public an accurate, though meager pen picture of the horrible sufferings of but a small portion of the Assyro-Chaldean Christians. . America and American principles of justice and liberty, American love for suffering humanity and American charity are the only hope of stricken Eastern Christianity and the one bright star in the once brilliant, but, alas, now darkened Eastern sky!
AUTHOR'S PREFACE Several works have already appeared on the atrocities and massacres perpetrated by the Turks in Armenia, Asia-Minor and Syria. Eyewitness and victim of these cruelties, I come in my turn to present my testimony. It is my heartfelt wish to reveal to the public yet one more prey of the Monster of Anatolia;-the brute whose history is one of felony, pillage, destruction, murder and massacre;-the beast whose life has been prolonged by fifty years through the action of the Great Powers to the ruin of the unhappy Christians, ground for centuries beneath his heel. I desire to plead the cause of a little people as deeply interested as it is abandoned; a nation descended from a great Empire and from the most ancient civilization known to history; a race whose country, like that of Armenia, has been the theatre of abominations practiced by the Turks, who have assassinated its men and deported the women, children and graybeards to be subjected to the worst of outrages, and martyred with cold and cruel calculation. That little people is the Assyro-Chaldean race. In this work will be found: My account of the massacre of the Christians in my own district of Urfa, the ancient and celebrated city of Mesopotamia (better known perhaps in history by its former name, Edessa). I recount the tragic fate of my father, victim of Turkish hatred, and my own flight from Urfa. In 1895-96, as a child of seven, I had witnessed, in this same city of Urfa, the butchery of 5000 Christians, whose throats were cut by their Turkish fellow-citizens. On that occasion, thanks to some Arab merchants, his faithful friends, my father had escaped the massacre.
The testimony of a German of sincerity, one of that nation whose government is not itself altogether guiltless of complicity in the tragedy. Documents confided to my care and detailed narratives given me personally by eyewitnesses or actual victims of the persecution who survived, miraculously, their sufferings. Three hundred pages stained with human blood! A story full of horrors and degradation in which the Turk reveals himself for what he is; - a double-dealing fanatical hater of the Christian. I should like to quote a few lines from a letter written to me on the 31st of May 1919, by a Frenchman who had passed more than three years among the Turks as a prisoner of war: "…I received your letter just at the moment when you were giving your lecture, and was with you in spirit as I thought of what you had to say as you retraced the unheard-of suffering of the poor people who, during the war, lay prone under the Turco-German whip. But have you told everything? Did you witness over there all the misery and sufferings of those unhappy people? I saw them in camp on their way through Kara-Pounar, a flock of miserable, bleeding, starving, fever-riddled wretches, living skeletons who had not even strength enough to dodge the cudgels of their murderers. How I should have applauded had I had the good fortune to be among your audience and hear you show up those butchers! …" Would that I could bring to light the details of the martyrdom of the Assyro-Chaldeans in the district of Djezire on the Tigris and of Mediat, where over fifty villages I know were completely sacked and ruined, all the inhabitants being put to the sword: - a district which was fertile and prosperous and looked forward to a happy future, because of the fact that the Baghdad Railway was about to run through their territory. There is not the slightest doubt that not less than 250,000 Assyro-Chaldeans, perhaps rather more than a third of the race, perished through Turkish fanaticism during the Great War, and immediately after the signing of the Armistice. During the occupation by the Allied Armies, in June and July, 1919, two other Chaldean districts, Amadia and Zakho, not far from Mosul, which until that time had been preserved by the frenzied efforts of the Patriarch of Babylon, were invaded by the Kurds, who put the men to death, and, after pillaging and sacking everything, rode off with the women and girls. A letter from the Patriarch, given me by his Vicar General at Rome, Mgr. Paul David, and which I published in the press, briefly relates the details of this new horror. Today the situation of this little nation is indeed precarious, surrounded as it is by a thousand fanatical and hostile Arab and Kurd tribes, which are still armed and seem contemptuous of the small Allied forces sent to maintain order. At the first opportunity they will fall upon our unhappy countrymen and exterminate the race. In desperation we launch our appeal to the pity and the justice of the Great Allied Powers, whose aim it is to safeguard the rights of little nations, and we pray that they will not delay in offering efficacious protection to this little Assyro-Chaldean people which for centuries has groaned in slavery and oppression. Confidently we hope and trust that they will assuage its misery, mindful of its attachment to their cause, and will at length restore to it its fatherland, its liberty and its autonomous existence. J. NAAYEM. CONTENTS
PART I CHAPTER Page 1. My Father's Death 1 II. My Escape 25 III. The Fate of Urfa 39 IV. My Prison Experiences 43 V. My Successor's Experience 113 PART II CHAPTER I. Depositions Concerning the Massacre at Sairt 121 II. Halata 145 III. Karima (aged 13) 163 IV. Stera and Warena 167 V. In the Desert 171 VI. The Massacre of Diarbekir 181 VII. In the Tents of the Bedouins 191 VIII. The Massacre of Lidja 199 IX. What Happened in Kharput 207 X. Rape, Loot, and Murder 217
CHAPTER I. In Hakkiari and Persia 261 III. The Experience of the Right Reverend Petros Aziz, Bishop of Salmas 303
ILLUSTRATIONS Page The Author Disguised as a Bedouin Frontispiece The Author's Father 22 The Prison Camp 44 Mazloum Bey 53 The Patriarch of Babylon 121 Djalila 131 Wadi Wawela 139 Halata 145 The Archbishop of Sairt 158 The Archbishop's Secretary 162 Karima 163 Stera and Warina I 167 Hunting for Gold 172 The Archbishop of Diarbekir 181 Rafts on the Tigris 187 Michael and His Brother 191 Eyewitnesses 199 The Archbishop of Jezire 207 Habiba 254 Mar Shimoun 261 The Rev. Lazare Georges 267 The Bishop of Salmas 303 The Bishop of Urmia 308 Map of Mesopotamia 318
PART 1
CHAPTER I
At the commencement of the Spring of 1915, I was in my parish at Urfa. The Great War was still in its early stages. The Russians in the Caucasus were advancing with great strides, and the Christians followed their operations with great interest, for they preferred Muscovite to Turkish rule. One day, while I was paying him a visit, Bishop Ardawart showed me a map, pointing out with great satisfaction the progress of the Russians in their march on Erzerum. This happened some days before the-arrest of the leading men of the town; and the poor Bishop had no premonition whatever of the fate awaiting him. Propaganda of Armenian treachery was circulated. The faces of the Turks changed and became more threatening. Photographs, purporting to show Christians killing Turks, were passed from hand to hand in the police stations, where they were shown -to the Turkish populace in order to excite their fanaticism. It was alleged that bombs and rifles were found in Christian houses and churches. In March 1915, there began to arrive at Urfa, in the most pitiable state, convoys of women, children and old men who were being deported. The girls and pretty women had been carried off while on the road, and the men had been separated from them or killed. To prolong the wanderings of the unfortunate people, and to make them spend all they possessed, they were compelled to halt several days at a time. This gave the Moslem population sufficient time to besiege the convoy, and appropriate for nominal prices whatever they wanted. At the same time, the soldiers and police, who monopolized the trade with the convoys, charged exorbitant sums for the provisions they had to buy. They did worse, for at night they scaled the walls of the large yard in which the Christians were kept, selected various women and girls and carried them off across the flat roofs of the houses. After being kept for some days as playthings, the wretched creatures were then abandoned or massacred. The yard where the convoys were taken soon became infested with vermin, and rank with refuse, so that for several months from ten to fifteen people died every day. The bodies were piled on carts and taken outside the town, and thrown into ditches. Those who had the strength wandered about the streets, ill and in rags, reduced to begging their bread. Whenever I went out, I met many of these poor people, the sight of whom unnerved me, and I would hasten home again, sick at heart, obliged to refuse alms, to my intense mortification, to so great a number. Many fell in the streets and died there of starvation, their deathbed one of mud or dust. Aye! These eyes of mine have seen little children thrown on manure heaps, while life still lingered in their little bodies. The Armenian Bishop, although assisted by the members of his community, was unable to cope with all this misery, for the convoys multiplied in number. As soon as one had passed, after being pillaged and ill-treated, another followed, and the same heart-rending scenes were repeated, again and again. This state of things, far from touching the hearts of the Turks, increased their fanatical hatred toward the followers of Christ. In the bazaars, the cafes,- everywhere,- one saw them whispering together, planning foul surprises for the Christians. Finally, several well-known persons were arrested, and to force them to reveal the names of imaginary Comitadjis (Members of secret organizations, here obviously for the overthrow of the Turkish Government) and to reveal the places where they had hidden arms, unmentionable tortures were inflict upon them. This made me so apprehensive that I advised my father to call upon the local head of the Committee of Union and Progress, one Parmaksis Zade Sheikh Muslim, who was acting mayor, and an associate of my father's in business. To him my father confided his intention of leaving for Aleppo with his family, but Sheikh Muslim reassured my father, saying: "Do not worry; you have nothing to fear. In case of danger I shall know how to get you away without difficulty." My father was comforted by his words, but I was still very doubtful and anxious, for I knew to the bottom the character of the unspeakable Turk. The continual passage of the convoys through the town caused the Christians to live in a state of great anxiety. One day the Chief of Police called upon the Armenian Bishop, and ordered him to summon his flock to the Cathedrals he wished to address them. The bell was rung, and all the people ran to the Cathedral, filling it. Then the Turkish Commandant entered, harangued the crowd, and in the name of the Government ordered them to deliver up whatever arms they possessed under pain of suffering the same fate as those perishing in the convoys. "If you obey," he added, "not one of you will be interfered with." The Commandant with the Bishop then proceeded to Garmush, a large village of five hundred Christian families, situated about an hour and a half from the town, where he repeated his harangue. Whereupon the National Council assembled immediately at the Bishop's residence and discussed the advisability of surrendering weapons. Treachery on the part of the Turkish Government was feared, and the Council was divided in opinion. Bishop Ardawart, seeing danger imminent, implored his flock to yield their arms, in order to appease the anger of the Turks. "I am ready to sacrifice myself, if necessary," said the prelate, kneeling before his flock in tears. Touched by his words, his hearers decided unanimously to obey, and next day carts carried from the church to the Governor's house rifles, revolvers and other arms which had belonged to the Armenians. Unfortunately, a number retained their better weapons. Knowing the Christians to be disarmed, the Turks began their foul work. First of all fifteen or twenty prominent men were arrested and thrown into prison, and their houses, that of the Bishop and the Cathedral, were confiscated. All papers, books and registers were taken to the Governor's house to be examined minutely; and corners of the Cathedral and the Episcopal residence were dug up in search of arms. Gradually, all men of influence were arrested, imprisoned, and subjected to long inquisitions, during which they were flogged until blood was drawn. Special envoys with full powers arrived at Urfa from Constantinople to direct the tribunals, and were entertained as the guests of ex-deputy Mahmoud Nedim, a bloodthirsty man, all powerful in the province. Bishop Ardawart, himself, and several of his priests were soon arrested and taken to prison. Panic reigned among the Christian population. As for the Moslem civilians, they markedly avoided the society of the Christians, and held secret meetings at night, their sinister looks showing that they were hiding some tragic plan. 'If approached for help, they answered that they could not mix themselves up' in these matters, and declared definitely that it was impossible for them to offer protection or shelter to a Christian. Such action had been forbidden formally by the Government. In fact, all Turks had been made to swear in the Mosques on the Talak (A characteristic Turkish oath, by which the swearer pledges to divorce his wife if it be proved that his statement be false, or that he has broken his oath) that they would give no assistance to the Christians. One evening a police agent, accompanied by several soldiers, knocked at our door, and when we opened, announced that he had come to search the house. Three days before, two Armenian villagers had become our guests, since they were our employees and helped in our transport of cereals. In Syria, and especially in Lebanon, business was limited to trade in foodstuffs, on account of the war. Urfa, being an agricultural town, my father, among others, exported cereals to Aleppo and to Lebanon. According to an old custom, peculiar to this country, villagers in the employ of merchants or farmers, when they come into town, become their guests, and are lodged and fed by their masters; in many houses, indeed, rooms being set apart for this purpose. (The very same custom prevails today in the wheat belt in our Western States) Not knowing what was happening in the provinces, we had no suspicion of the danger we were running in receiving these people into our house. Nor did our guests tell us of what was going on in the country from which they had come. Nevertheless, as a matter of prudence, my father, before leaving for his office the day after their arrival, suggested to my mother that she should advise them to seek lodgings elsewhere. The poor villagers, unwilling to leave us, remained yet another day, and made up their minds to go only when my mother insisted. Next morning they left, to return again in the evening and spend the night with us, and had not left the house when the police found them biding in the corner of the kitchen. It was not until later that we learnt that the village where the poor people had lived -Hochine, a dependence of the Sandjak of Severek - had been entered by soldiers and Kurds, who had massacred nearly every inhabitant. A few men escaped to the mountains, among them our two villagers, who later came to us. They were arrested, of course, and taken to prison. My mother was alone in the house when my father returned at seven in the evening, at which time a policeman called and arrested him, on a charge of having given refuge to two insurgents. It was even alleged that he had relations with the enemy, and was exporting cereals to them via Lebanon. One of my brothers at once ran off to my father's intimate friend, already mentioned, Sheikh Muslim, the head of the Committee of Union and Progress, gave him an account of what had occurred, and implored him to intervene. Although the official reassured him, my brother went to the Chief of Police, likewise a friend of my father's, who a fortnight before, in company with Sheikh Muslim, had accepted our hospitality and spent the evening at our house. The Commandant promised to release my father the very next day, whereupon my brother returned at a late hour and calmed the family. Next day he went again to our Turkish friends, who, this time, declared that we must have patience for two or three days, since to liberate my father immediately would only attract public attention, inasmuch as none of the influential Armenians had been released. These repeated promises led us astray and prevented us from taking recourse to other and perhaps more practical methods. Several days passed, fruitful of no more than promises. Hadji Bekir Bey, father of Sheikh Muslim, an octogenarian millionaire, who occupied the position of Honorary Persian Consul, and who held my father in great esteem, sent every day to obtain news and begged his son to make every effort to save him. A month passed, and the definite promises of the earlier period became evasive. My father's friends, now seeing themselves powerless to save him, ended by declaring that it looked as if someone in high authority was opposing his release. They would not name the person whose interest it was to ruin my father, although Sheikh Muslim admitted to us later that it was no other than the ex-deputy, Mahmoud Nedim, the terror of the countryside. Six months before, Mahmoud Nedim had had a difference with my father, and became his enemy. This man had a large property at Tel-Abiad, an important station of the Baghdad Railway, forty kilometers from Urfa, a point from which cereals are exported on a large scale. Here, also, it happened that my father kept on hand a large stock of empty grain sacks. Nedim had harvested his crops and wished to send them to Aleppo for sale, but was unable to procure sacks, which had become rare and costly, owing to requisitions by the Government. Knowing that my father had some stored at the Railway Company's depot, he went to the official in charge, unknown to us, and asked for them, saying that my father had taken his sacks under similar circumstances, they being intimate friends. Either of his own free will or through fear of the consequences if he refused, the storekeeper handed over several hundred sacks, which belonged to my father. My father soon learnt of the loss of his sacks, which did serious harm to his business, but in view of the accomplished fact, he said nothing. Later he requested payment for the sacks-a rather large sum in itself. Nedim was deaf to the appeal. Several months passed! Eventually my father encountered him at a meeting of the influential men of the town, and, tired of waiting, asked him to settle the matter. This his debtor considered a personal affront, and in an insulting manner refused to pay. My father, outraged, expostulated indignantly, and left him. Now, it was this man, Mahmoud Nedim, who was acting as host to the high officials sent from Constantinople to take charge of the persecution at Urfa. It was his influence with his powerful guests, which was stultifying the efforts of my father's old Mohammedan friends, Sheikh Muslim and the Chief of Police, to secure his release. Arrest followed arrest, and Sheik Safwet, a deputy of the town, went to Diarbekir in the infamous role of instigator of a Djehad. (A religious or "holy" war) The Christians of Ourfa were terrified, as well they might be, and in desperation and in the hope of saving their men folk, the women cast themselves at the feet of these officials and tried by every means in their power to soften their hearts. The Tchettas patrolled the town armed to the teeth, and watched the Christians with sinister intent, pursuing those who tried to escape to the mountains to join the deserters from the army. As an example of the barbarity of these Tchettas chiefs I will digress here for a moment to repeat an incident that was related to me by Mr. Demarchi, controller of the Ottoman Bank at Urfa, who is a friend of mine. He was attending an open reception in the Governor's official residence upon one occasion when he saw one of these men in heated discussion with the commandant of the city, an Arab from Damascus. As he watched, he saw the Tchetta box the ears of the commandant and then draw his revolver to shoot him. Only the swift intervention of the Governor himself saved the soldier's life, and the weakness of the Turkish Government is manifested by the fact that instead of punishing the chief the Governor pacified him, adopting the friendliest attitude towards him, as though he himself were afraid of similar treatment; though the Turk continued to hurl insults upon him and all other Arabs. A commission charged with the trial of those detained in prison arrived at Urfa from Aleppo; whereupon we hastened to call upon the President of the Court, and endeavored to gain his sympathy by every means in our power. He told us that my father, being innocent, would be released without delay, and he repeated this to my mother when she, too, sent to him. In the meantime many of the Armenians decided to send a petition to the Governor, informing him that they intended to embrace Mohammedanism, which had no effect whatever upon the Turkish chiefs. From the date of the arrival of these brigand chiefs matters took a grave turn. No news came from the outside. Letters, which had been sent to our cousins, the Roumis, at Diarbekir, the sons of the former dragoman of the French Consulate, were returned to us, marked "Absent." We learned later that the Roumis had been put on a raft on the Tigris, with the first Diarbekir Convoy, and had been murdered en route. The manager of the Ottoman Bank of Diarbekir had arrived in great haste some days before this. Utterly panic-stricken, he would tell us nothing of what he had seen. He had undergone many dangers on the road, and remaining only for two days, during which time he was concealed with Mr. Demarchi, he hastened to Aleppo. One day a rumor was spread that a soldier had been killed by a bullet fired by one of the Armenian refugees who had taken to the mountains. Thereupon, even greater hostility began to be shown to the Christians. As the body of the soldier was being taken through the streets, those who accompanied it made fanatical demonstrations, and would have stoned a priest whom they encountered had he not taken refuge in the barracks. This was Father Wartan, who later, after three years' imprisonment, was unjustly hanged at Adana, although the Armistice had already been declared. Meanwhile, the Turkish soldiers in charge of the convoys returned, their fell work done and their purses filled with the pieces of gold they had taken from those whom they had deported, and wantonly put to death. During this time my father was confined in the part of the prison reserved for those under sentence. There he soon contracted dysentery and, very much reduced in strength and needing proper care, begged us to use every possible means to procure his release. The influential Turks who claimed to be his friends were unwilling to intervene. It was tile Arabian Commandant from Damascus, the one whom the Tchetta Chief had struck in the Governor's mansion, who, at the request of a friend, went to tile captain in charge of the prison, and asked him to remove my father to a place of less severe confinement. Meanwhile, the arrests continued, and became the sole occupation of the Government officials and the police. For hours, the head of the telegraph office remained at the instruments, his anxious and worried expression showing the importance of the secret orders he was receiving. All Christian officials were discharged, and the Christian members of the palace force were degraded and dismissed with contempt. The hatred of the Turks for the "Gaour" (Infidel) increased, their looks became blacker and blacker, and the fear of the Christians increased with the passing of time. The Turkish populace now openly menaced the Christian citizens, with the connivance of the police, calling them traitors, adopting a threatening attitude and seeming to await the signal for assault. At night, the dwellings of rich Christians were invaded, when a thoroughbred would be appropriated, or whatever else of value pleased the robber. If the owner resisted, shots were fired, and in the end he had to submit. We now lost all hope of seeing my poor father released, and I, myself, avoided leaving the house, so intolerable did I find it to face the openly expressed hatred and scorn of the Turks. One day I had occasion to go to the Ottoman Bank on business, and went out of my ordinary route so as not to pass the Government Building, wishing both to avoid black looks and to spare myself the pain of seeing the prison where my poor father languished. Although short, my journey seemed long to me and fearing insult or pursuit, I walked more quickly. On arriving at the Bank I knocked at a door on the first floor, and found myself opposed by a sentry, who hitherto had shown me every respect. He asked me impertinently whom I wished to see. "The Manager", I replied. "He is not here", he said. "I shall wait for him," I answered. On entering, I found neither M. Savoye nor my young brother, who was an accountant. Two minutes later the guard entered and said insolently, "There is no one here. It is forbidden to wait here. Get out!" Keeping quite cool, I told him I required to see the Manager, whom I should ask if he, a mere sentry, had the right to act as he had done. My reply irritated him and he advanced towards me angrily. I then made my way to the door of Mr. Savoye's apartment, which was in the same building, entered and met Madame Savoye, whom I asked if her husband was there. She replied in the negative, and noticing that, in view of the grave circumstances of the time, my presence troubled her, I told her in two words of the gross rudeness of the sentry. I then asked to be allowed to leave by her back door so as to avoid a scene which might easily have fatal results for me, and hurried off, thinking sadly of the unhappy lot of a Christian in Turkey. Some days before this incident, two well-known deputies, Zohrab and Wortkes Effendis had arrived from Constantinople. After being received with honors by Haidar, the barbarous governor of the town, and invited to his table by the hypocrite Mahmoud Nedim, they were foully assassinated by Tchettas on the road from Diarbekir to Sheikhan Dere. Shortly before this, Nakhle Pasha Moutran of Baalbek, after being spat upon in the streets of Damascus, had been taken as far as Tele Abyadh, and put to death. Police Commissioner Chakir, brother-in-law of Mahmoud Nedim, made use of the occasion to fill his own pockets. It was his custom to order the arrest of a Christian, liberate him on receipt of a bribe, and then re-arrest him two days later. Whoever arrived, exile, prisoner, or one who had been deported, Chakir always found a means of getting money out of him. Later, in the Prisoners' Camp at Afion-Kara-Hissar, I heard of one instance in which he failed. Major Stephen White, an Englishman, who had been captured on the Suez Canal and taken to Urfa with another officer of the Egyptian Army, told me that this same Chakir, learning that he had received a sum of money from his mother in England, tried his best to obtain a share of it, but in vain. Major White always alluded to Chakir and Nedim as the outstanding ruffians in the massacres of Urfa. One morning, the news spread that fifty of the more prominent prisoners had been taken after midnight to Diarbekir. The anxiety of my home may be imagined! Was my father of the number? We rushed off to the prison to find out. No, he was still there, and was yet hopeful, for he had no suspicion of the terrible fate, which awaited him. Little did he dream that his wife and eight children would soon be weeping at his tragic end and he the victim of a shameful injustice. We ran to the houses of the chief friends of our family. "Have mercy, Muslim Bey! Save our father, your old associate! Save your friend, your brother! He is going to be deported and we shall lose him," with tears in his eyes, cried my younger brother, Emine, who daily grew thinner and paler, by the fear of losing his beloved father. But the chief of the Union and Progress Committee remained mute, saying nothing, doing nothing. We could not make out his attitude. He was probably obeying some order he had received. Everything, even one’s best friends, had to be sacrificed for the Committee. During the night, a new convoy, in two sections, was sent towards Diarbekir, the victims bound arm to arm. One or two hours outside the town, near Kara Koupru, they were shot in cold blood, and their bodies left on the road for the ravens and the wolves. Although they could not precisely know what had happened to their menfolk, the families of these martyrs experienced the wildest apprehension and grief, and the hearts of the mothers, wives, and daughters told them that their dear ones were no more; a foreboding which was confirmed by the hypocritical looks and smiles of the murderers, who in the hope of further bribes, came to reassure the relatives that all was well. More and more anxious as to the fate of our own dear prisoner, we returned to the prison. Alas! We were too late. My father, a follower of no party, innocent of political crime, absorbed in his family and his business, loved and esteemed by all, had been taken along and slaughtered without the semblance of a trial. He was mourned even by Turks, and his friend Hadji Bekir, the leading Turk in the place, shed tears on learning that he had been done to death. A person who saw him being deported told us, two days later, that my father was one of a group of thirty led in the direction of Diarbekir. He delivered to us a scrap of paper upon which the head of our family had scribbled by moonlight, with trembling hand the following: "We are leaving for Diarbekir. Pay Monsieur N_____ the sum of… which he has lent me." The note was signed with my father's signature. He had then wept, according to our informant, and said: "I am patiently awaiting my fate. My life is of little importance to me! But my children! What is to become of them?" Taking out his watch he handed it to the messenger to be delivered to Sami, his youngest child, then a boy of nine, and requested him to keep it in remembrance of him.
CHAPTER II My Escape We received the news of my father's murder early in August 1915. That very evening one of my brothers, Djemil, who had come from Aleppo to Urfa some days before, fled on horseback with some companions back to Aleppo in fear. At Tell Abyadh he encountered Sallal, the son of an Arab Sheikh who was a friend of the family, whom he begged to return to Urfa with our horses and rescue the rest of the family. Three days later some English civilian prisoners employed at the Ottoman Bank in the Administration of the Public Debt, obtained permission to leave the town, and despite the risk they ran, very kindly took with them in their carriage two of my brothers, George, aged thirteen, and Fattouh, who was two years older. Thus there remained in Urfa only my two youngest brothers and my mother. Soon after Saltal, accompanied by Aziz Djenjil, a very brave and devoted Christian employee of ours (dressed as a Bedouin) arrived, and took the rest of the family, excepting Emine and me, to Tel-Albiad. The stationmaster, another friend, put them in the train for Aleppo. My mother, before leaving, sent a large part of our furniture to her cousin, M.P. Ganime. Twenty days later it was all looted by the Turkish populace. My brother Emine and I remained at Urfa, where the arrests continued, several of my friends and acquaintances being taken and massacred. On August the 19th a police agent with some soldiers went to the house of an unfortunate Armenian to take him into custody. Determined not to be trapped without making an effort to defend himself, the man knowing that arrest meant death, shot and killed the policeman and two soldiers. Armed Turks rushed through the markets and streets, killing all the Christians they encountered. Some managed to save themselves by hiding. Many took refuge in the presbytery. My brother Emine, who had been obliged to go to the bank, had the greatest difficulty in reaching me. The streets were strewn with the bodies of the six hundred Christians kille4 that night, and their blood literally ran in the streets. The murderers steeped their hands in the steaming gore and made imprints on the walls that bordered the streets. In this frightful orgy English and French civilians, some of whom had been interned at Urfa a month previously, also perished. Several of them who happened to be in the streets at the moment of the outburst were taken back by soldiers to their homes, lest the populace should fall upon them by error. One of them, a Frenchman of Aleppo, M. Germain, had his throat cut by the ruffians. A Maltese who was pursued and stoned took refuge in the house of a Christian and was saved. Two hours after the firing had ceased, I mounted to the roof to see what was happening in the streets, and noticed that the police, instead of calming the fanaticism of the Turks, were inciting them to renew the massacre. Not until all the Christians who were discovered in the shops or in the streets had been killed was an order issued to end the carnage. In the evening, all was quiet, but no Christian dared show himself and the Armenians prepared to defend themselves, barricading their premises. But the cowardly murderers were afraid and attempted no further harm. The next morning I heard cries in a little lane near our house where there was an oil press. A moment later I saw a Turk named Moutalib leave his house and make off in the direction of the cries. Half an hour later I saw him return with his dagger stained with blood, proud of his work, laughing and shouting: "Hiar Guibi Kestim" (I chopped him up like a cucumber!). The victims were two workmen who had hidden themselves in the oil press. The Turks, under pretence of saving them, had succeeded in making them come out into the streets, where they cut their throat, stamped on their heads and dragged their bodies along the ground. It was the duty of the Jews to drive carts and pick up the dead bodies and throw them outside the town to the dogs and birds of prey (This sinister duty had been imposed upon the Jews by the Turks during the massacre of the Christians.) In the afternoon, a soldier, accompanied by the porter from the Bank, came by order of the Manager, M. Savoye, for my brother, Emine, who returned to the Bank, where he resided. There he was safe, the establishment being guarded by the police. Towards ten o'clock I saw the Governor himself Haidar Bey, passing through the streets with the Chief of Police, to show that he had no official cognizance of any disturbance, and to prove to the Christians that order had been restored, and that they could come out without fear. M. Savoye, I should like to state, displayed the highest courage during these terrible days in the way he helped our family in our extremity. We owe him the warmest debt of gratitude. Sallal, our Bedouin friend, had promised to return as soon as he had taken my mother and brother to a place of safety and the day after the massacre he came to see me at the Presbytery. Being now alone, I was in danger of arrest every moment, and decided to take to flight. It was a hazardous undertaking, but I was determined to make the attempt. Urfa had become a very hell! Muffling myself in Bedouin robes, I prepared to leave with Sallal. The town was not yet quite calm, and Christians remained shut up in their houses, fearful of new out-bursts, although every one of prominence among them had already been executed. About five hundred Christian soldiers employed on the construction of roads near the town had also been put to death. One alone escaped. In giving me an account of his experiences, he declared that the officers were keeping in their tents young Christian girls, stolen from the convoys. He spoke in particular of one very beautiful Chaldean girl from Diarbekir, kept as a prostitute, and passed from one Turk to another. By a miracle the girl survived and is living today in Urfa. At seven o'clock of the evening of August the 21st, 1915, Sallal came, and I bade farewell to my friends, including Father Emmanuel Kacha, who stayed behind with his family. Hurrying through the almost deserted streets, we reached the house of one of my relatives, where I donned the costume of a Bedouin. This consisted of a long wide-sleeved shirt of white linen, an "aba" (a sleeveless cloak of camel hair) and on my head I wore a "tcheffie" (a headdress, square in shape, with long fringe, surmounted by an " agal" a kind of camelhair crown). As I spoke Bedouin a little, I was not likely to be recognized. Near the edge of the town we met a police agent and two soldiers, who seemed to be waiting for us. The valiant Sallal, who was armed with a large sword and a revolver and was a man of great height, advanced fearlessly. We both salaamed profoundly and passed on, our salute being returned. - A hundred yards further on, my companion remarked that we had just had a very narrow escape. At the house of a friend outside the town we found our two horses, and took the road to Tell Abyadh. The moon shone softly down upon us, and my companion, happy to have saved a friend from the claws of the Turk, and moved by the beauty of the scene, burst like a troubadour into the most beautiful Arabic verse. Three hours later, as we were about to halt on the bank of a river, two horsemen appeared and rode towards us. Sallal told me to take my horse and keep at a distance. The newcomers turned out to be a Turkish tax collector and a soldier, and after asking Sallal for news of the town, they rode on. Farther along, we met some Arabian horsemen, among whom was Sallal's brother, a despotic chief with whom he was on bad terms, Sallal was in the happiest of moods. While passing us his brother, bent on loot, called out, "I quite understand! You are busy saving another Christian." At these words I was alarmed, but Sallal, always resourceful, replied with a joke, and the danger passed. At twilight we came to the village where my companion lived, and where I accepted his hospitality for a day, his mother and brother welcoming me as if I were a relative. We had intended to continue our journey without delay, but several Turks inopportunely arrived. They thought me a Kara-Guetch, one of a marauding Arabian tribe, then in revolt, and asked Sallal why he had taken me under his roof. Fearing that it might be discovered that I was a Christian, Sallal had his brother take me to a distant spot in the country, and the Turks left, threatening to report him to the Kaimakan (Lt. Governor). On my return to the village I found everyone in a state of alarm and terror, declaring that Sallal had jeopardized their safety' so he mounted his horse, told me to do likewise, and we rode at a gallop to Tell Abyadh. There I met several of my parishioners, who were in the service of the Baghdad Railway Company, and was taken to the house of one of them, M. Youssouf Cherchouba, who received me in a very friendly spirit. Then, wishing me a safe journey, my Arab protector said good-bye, and returned to his own home. Day had not yet broken. Cherchouba told me in a low voice that persecutions had begun at Tell Abyadh and that he was very anxious. I knew the telegraph operator of the Railway Company, M. Dhiab, and on expressing a desire to see him, was taken to his office by George Khamis, one of my Chaldean parishioners. Circassian Guards, of whom the Railway employees were in deadly fear, were posted at the station. Had they suspected me, I should have found myself in considerable danger. The operator was very much astonished to see a Bedouin, and wondered what one could want with him. He was still more astonished when he found that the Bedouin spoke and understood French. He was the friend who had assisted to smuggle my mother and brothers through, and it might be compromising for me to remain in his office dressed as a Bedouin was unable to change, as Sallal had left my clerical dress on the road, so I hid until the evening train left. An Arab had been notified, and for baksheesh (a bribe) hid me in a neighboring village, which the inhabitants had, abandoned for the summer (evidently the winter home of a nomadic tribe). There I waited alone, and, being very fatigued, fell asleep on the floor in a tiny room, to awake at break of day, bathed in perspiration, but very much the better for my rest and very hungry. An hour later the Arab returned with some bread and "khather" (curdled milk, sour milk) but the bread was so very bad that, hungry as I was, I could not eat it. When night came the Arab took me back to the station, where I hid in a building until the arrival of the Aleppo train. My friend, the telegraph operator, came to an understanding with the conductor, receiving a guarantee that I should be taken safe and sound to Aleppo for a stipulated sum of money, which I readily paid. I was put aboard a cattle truck, which had not been cleaned since its prior load had been unshipped, so gave off a very disagreeable odor. The train stopped and through the crack in the doors I saw a guard approach my truck. It was the conductor to offer me a place in a first-class carriage. Because of my dress, I asked him to let me travel third-class, but a brakesman, who noticed us conversing and who suspected our agreement, at Arab Punar forcibly put me into an open truck, during the absence of the conductor. At this place we took on deported families of English and French civilians, going from Urfa to Aleppo. At the next stop, the first guard returned me to my compartment in the coach, which was shared with some invalid soldiers and some Turks from Urfa. The latter commenced to make fun of me, as is their custom with Bedouins, but I pretended to be asleep. We arrived in Aleppo at ten o'clock the next morning. At Aleppo I hunted up my cousin, Faris, who acted as storekeeper for the Railway, in order to ask him to direct me to where my mother lived. I asked a Mohammedan who was in the station to show me where the company's store was located. He demanded baksheesh, and when I had complied he condescended to point with his finger to the particular depot. Faris had not yet come to his office, and in accordance with the Bedouin custom, I took up my position in the shade of a wall a short distance away and waited. He arrived ten minutes later and, recognizing me gave a cry of astonishment. I made a sign to him to keep quiet. Much moved at seeing me, he abandoned all thought of work, and placing himself entirely at my disposal, conducted me to my family, who, fearing to be molested by the authorities, had decided to live in a house in the outskirts of the town. To get there we to pass through many narrow and winding lanes. Imagine, if you can, the tears of delighted surprise with which my mother, who had begun to fear that I had shared my father's tragic fate, welcomed me. I had been a month at Aleppo, assisting the Chaldean parish priest of the town, when I received a telegram from His Beatitude, Thomas Emmanuel, the Chaldean Patriarch of Babylon, suggesting that I should go to Constantinople as a Chaplain to the English and French prisoners of war in a Turkish camp.
CHAPTER III The Fate of Urfa The unhappy town of Urfa suffered one of the saddest fates ever recorded in history. The day after my departure, August the 23rd, the Governor sent an order to the Christians to leave their houses and carry on their businesses. As soon as they obeyed, a second order commanded the Armenians to leave the town. Knowing what this meant, the unfortunate' people refused to obey. Already doomed, they preferred to die in their homes than perish in the desert. The government resorted to force to make them leave, and the Armenians resisted, till finally, on September 23rd, a pitched battle was fought. Although it lasted a week, the Turks were unable to penetrate the Armenian quarter. The Governor sent to Aleppo for reinforcements to put down the so-called "insurgent" Christians and Fakhri Pasha soon arrived at Urfa at the head of an army supported by artillery. The Armenian quarter was attacked, but the Turkish troops, in spite Of all their efforts, were powerless to overcome the resistance of the brave Armenians, who, seeing that in the case they had to die, defended themselves, most valiantly. Several hundred of Turkish Soldiers were killed in the course of the battle. Women and girls threw themselves into the fray and assisted their menfolk to defend their homes, their lives and their honor. Fakhri Pasha then opened fire with his artillery upon the Armenian quarter, and a bombardment commenced which lasted a fortnight. Several English and French witnesses interned at Urfa at the time told me s a German officer who had directed the fire. A large number of combatants took refuge in the American Mission, whereupon the Turks ranged their guns on the Mission and managed to destroy part of the building. Through the breaches thus made, they were able to penetrate the lines of the defenders, who were obliged to hoist the white flag. The bombardment had caused a conflagration, which spread over a wide area, owing to the fact that many of the Armenians, themselves, seeing death approaching, gathered in crowds in their houses, and rather than give themselves up alive to the Turks, set fire to their dwellings and perished in the flames. After the inevitable surrender of the remnant of the Armenians, the Turks gave freer play than ever to their innate barbarity. Throwing themselves on the quarter, they put to the sword ill the Christian men, women and children they met, looted everywhere, and set aflame all that remained. The men still alive were dragged along the Diarbekir road outside the town, as so many of their fellow Christians had been before them, and were executed. Some women and children were ranged on the edge of an abyss, stabbed and pushed over, to be devoured by the dogs and birds of prey attracted by the odor of the bodies. The women and children who still survived, about two thousand in all, were shut up in an immense building, known as the " Millet Khan." Here they were the butt of Turkish ill-treatment. Many of them died of hunger and of typhus,, which spread rapidly. The corpses were taken to a distance and emptied into huge ditches; living children cast in with the dead. In the courtyard of the cathedral, ghastly scenes took place, where heaps of bodies almost blocked the main entrance, living and dead piled together; the death rattle of those in their last agony distinctly audible from time to time. And on one occasion, a large number of men and women were publicly hanged, in the presence of the rejoicing Turkish populace. Thus fifteen thousand people were done to death in a few days. The American Missionary, Mr. Lesly, with whom a certain number of the Armenian defenders had taken refuge, was summoned to appear before a courtmartial on the charge of having taken part in the revolt. One day, on leaving the court, they found him dead on the road. A paper was found in his pocket in which he stated that he had not been implicated in the matter of the Armenian revolt.
CHAPTER IV My Prison Experiences
Pope Benedict XV, after several months' negotiations, had obtained from the Turkish Government permission for priests to visit the Prisoners' Camp. They were, however, to be Chaldeans. On my arrival at Constantinople, the War Office granted me the requisite papers, and on December the 15th I left for Afion-Kara-Hissar, a concentration camp for English, French and Russian prisoners. I was accompanied by a young and very devoted priest from Smyrna, the Reverend Moussoullou, who, claiming to be a Chaldean by origin, obtained permission to replace the Chaldean priest originally appointed to assist me, but who was unable, by reason of his advanced age, to undertake the long journey from Aleppo. It was an opportunity for my colleague to rejoin his parents, who were then at Afion-Kara-Hissar, and whom he had not seen since his ordination. We arrived at Afion on December 17th and were met at the station by a Turkish officer, who conducted us to the camp in which we were to be interned. I pass over here much detail of which I hope to treat in the near future in a separate work, entitled: The Allied Prisoners in Turkey."
Several months passed. Towards the end of September 1916, Mazloum gave orders for a general search to be made in the camp, and the belongings of the officers were searched with meticulous care. Of this we learnt from Dr. Brown, an Englishman, who came to look after the prisoners. Shortly after this, Major Ahmed Hamdi, a reserve officer and a relatively good and honest man, came with Captain Safar to warn me that I was to leave the camp and live in a house near that of the officers. I left my quarters on the morning of October the 2nd, two British prisoners being kind enough to carry my luggage. The new quarters assigned to me had formerly been occupied by Christians, who had been exiled or massacred. The evening being cool, and having a few minutes’ leisure, I took a constitutional walk, up and down a space of a hundred yards before my door, in company with a kindly and sympathetic British naval officer, Commander Goad, and a French lieutenant, named Otavic, who had fought at the Dardanelles. Being desirous of familiarizing myself with English, I chatted a great deal with my companions. In accordance with the routine of the concentration camp, we returned to our respective quarters at 7 o'clock. Five minutes later jailers made their usual round and doubly locked our doors with their large keys. Absolute silence reigned in camp, each man being shut off from his fellows. My orderly, a faithful Indian prisoner, named Enadji, brought me my dinner. As I ate, I thought of the hundreds of prisoners whom I had been obliged to leave. At 8 o'clock, I was glancing through a Turkish daily newspaper, my orderly was sleeping soundly in his quarters, when the lock turned and the hall-door opened. A knock sounded on the door of my room! Leaving my newspaper, I arose and opened the door. Nebzet, a Cypriot Turk, who held the post of English interpreter, entered and told me very politely that Mazloum, the Turkish Commandant, wished to see me. Putting on my overcoat, as it was chilly, I went out with the interpreter, and, expecting to return shortly, I left my lamp alight, and did not even disturb my Indian orderly. I suspected absolutely nothing, and I remember asking the interpreter for what special reason the Commandant wished to see me at this hour. He replied that be knew nothing about it. "I hope he is not angry with me again," I remarked, jokingly, as he had been many times. "I do not think so," said Nebzet. "As a matter of fact, be was very gay this evening." On the way to the Commandant's house the interpreter chatted familiarly and almost cordially, and, on our arrival, deferentially stood aside for me to enter, first. I seated myself on the nearest chair, but Nebzet pressed - or rather obliged - me to take the post of honor, offering me a cigarette, which, not being a smoker, I declined. He then left me; and, two minutes later, the Commandant, clad in his night shirt, entered with Major Ahmed Hamdi, Captain Safar, Nebzet and a companion whom I did not then know, but whom I found later to be an influential citizen of Afion-Kara-Hissar, named Khalil Agha. The Commandant came towards me and with the smiles and gestures of a comedian shook hands most graciously and offered me a seat reserved for honored guests. Then addressing the companion I did not know, he said: "Here is our very great and most sincere friend." After an exchange of greetings, as we sat down, a long silence ensued, until the Commandant broke it by saying to the interpreter: "Now, bring the letter and read it." Nebzet read the following words, which I quote from memory: "Mon bien cher Commandant." As I heard these words, the situation became clear to me. This was a letter I had addressed to the French Captain of the............ eight months previously, when the French prisoners of war had left our camp. I had wished to follow them to Bozanti, in the Taurus Mountains, where they were to be employed on the construction of an important tunnel on the Bagdad Railway. At the time, the camp commandant was Assim Bey, with whom the senior French officer was on good terms. When almost all the English and French prisoners had left I requested Assim Bey to allow me to accompany them, as was natural, writing as well to Monsieur X----- and begging him to use his influence with Assim to this end. At the same time, I recollect, I expressed my regards for the prisoners and towards their country, and also my wish to be able to make myself of use to them. The Turkish Commandant had a grievance against me, and made this letter a pretext for taking his revenge. Four months before, it is true, I had disobeyed his orders in regard to the burial of a Russian doctor, who had died of typhoid fever. My church did not permit me to conduct the funeral services for those professing another religion, and I had tried to excuse myself to Ahmed Effendi, who had come to me with an order from Mazloum to read the last rites for this Russian. I refused, but gave no reason for doing so, fearing I should be misunderstood. The officer re tired without insisting. The next day, the Commandant expressed his displeasure to me in person. The same difficulty arose on two other occasions, when again I refused to obey, and again evaded giving my reason. I was exceedingly loath to wound the susceptibilities of the prisoners, all of whom I regarded as brothers in adversity and between whom I never made distinctions other than those laid down by the canons of the church. But in the end, Commandant Mazloum insisting, it was necessary to give the true explanation. Mazloum had become still further exasperated when, at Easter, on his wishing to prevent my going to see the officer prisoners, I wrote to him that it was my duty to put myself at their service, and that, if lie made difficulties, I should send in my resignation to Constantinople. Shortly after this many English prisoners arrived from Kut-el-Amara, a Russian doctor was assigned to their care, although he knew no English. As I had learned to speak the language a little, I offered my services as interpreter. One day Mazloum came to the prison quarters and, seeing me with the doctor, expressed his disapproval. He told me that I had nothing to do with the Russian doctor, which was absurd, since it was my duty to be with all the prisoners. Furthermore, as the doctor was unable to understand the patients, he manifestly needed my assistance. The camp was completely filled by the new prisoners, almost all invalids, through Turkish treatment. Owing to the great number of them, the doctor was unable to pay them all daily visits, and consequently left certain remedies with me, which I was to administer. To do this, it was necessary to enter certain isolation rooms, labelled "Quarantine Quarters." This was made known to Mazloum, who for this reason bore me still greater ill-will, which was intensified when he discovered that not only did I give the medicine, but, at the request of the prisoners, wrote a few reassuring words to their relatives. Mazloum sent for me one day, and reprimanded me, forbidding me to correspond at all, even with my own nearest relations, for a period of three months. Finally, on the arrival of a convoy of Indian prisoners, these British had to be transferred to another part of the town. I was prevented from following them, being assigned to the incoming Indians, none of whom were Christians, and who spoke a language of which I knew not one word. But the English claimed my services, and even expressed the wish to return to my camp. Wearied by their importunity, the Commandant had them returned, but held me responsible for the incident. Taking everything into consideration, therefore, Masloum Bey cherished considerable animosity towards me, and as he read the words, "Bien cher Commandant," he said, "Look you! It is his very dear commandant!" Then coming to a passage in which I asked the officer to give me some simple information about the condition of the captives, he cried: "You see! He is complaining that we are ill-treating them, so that later on he may pose as their de fender. He is taking notes in order to write on their behalf. He admires their courage, and well he may, for these are the brave warriors who have taken Constantinople and Berlin!" His lips curled in sarcastic taunts. On finishing this tirade Mazloum arose and in a threatening manner said to me: "Now, hand over your notes and those which the French Captain gave you! I want them! Unless you do so immediately, I shall kill you." Those present looked at me in a hostile manner, shouting threats and menaces. Captain Safar ground his teeth and hurled insults at me, and the Commandant cried to the Tchaouche: (Tchaouche is literally "Sergeant," but in as much as the guard at Afion-Kara-Hissar was naval, it probably corresponds to "petty-officer." "Take the priest downstairs! We have important work to get through."
0n the Rack A petty officer told me to follow him down a staircase which led to an underground corridor. The Commandant threw himself upon me and commenced to beat and cuff me with all his strength, finally hurling me to the ground. A sailor and the interpreter, Nebzet, held me face downwards with my hands behind my back, while, the petty officer lit up the corridor with a torch. The Commandant then seized a heavy stick, with which he rained blows upon me until I quivered with pain. All the while he blasphemed like a fiend. Each blow jolted every bone in my body and shook me to my very soul. Unable any longer to support my suffering, I ended by screaming, twisting about and howling, each blow seeming to bring death nearer and nearer. The Commandant, after giving me about fifty blows, passed the bludgeon to the Captain, who in turn fell upon me, accompanying his blows with the grossest insults. When he grew tired the Commandant invited Kol Aghassi (Major) Ahmed Hamdi to continue, but he refused; whereupon, seizing the club anew, the Commandant attacked me again, meaning this time to kill me. My whole frame was twisted in agony. One would have thought that my poor soul in its suffering was trying to escape from my body as my screams reechoed through the subterranean gallery. The Kol-Aghassi, touched with pity, and fearing, perhaps, for my life, threw himself upon the Commandant, trying to calm him, but the maniac in his fury continued to rain blows upon me, declaring that he "wanted to kill me". Placing himself before the madman, my protector, with the aid of Khalil Agha, the citizen of Afion-Kara-Hissar, forced him to stop by snatching the instrument of torture from his hands. I was then more dead than alive, my sight was dimmed, and I was in a fever of delirium. The petty officer helped me to arise, and I again stood before the Commandant, who leapt at me again, giving me many blows full in the face with his fists. Then, seizing me by the beard with all his strength, he pulled part of it out by the roots, causing the blood to drip from my chin. Intervening once more, the Kol-Aghassi saved me from his hands, and I was led to the room above by the petty officer. On arriving at the threshold the Commandant said: "Leave him on the ground like a dog in front of the door, for he is the friend of the prisoners, the infamous traitor." Once again he began to insult me as I stood at the door, until, overcome again by blind rage, he rushed at me, grabbed the little of my beard which remained and tugged at it with all his strength. The Kol-Aghassi once more interfered, and snatched me from the clutch of the tyrant. Blood, flowing freely from my chin, was staining my cassock. The tired ruffian stopped and, going straight up to Khalil Agha as if he were mad, knelt before him, and raising his headgear said: "Put your hand on my head! Feel how it is burning!" Arising, he burst out again into a string of insults at my expense. When he had finished, he seated himself and gave orders that I was to be put outside the door on the floor. Then, noticing that his hands were stained with blood, he washed them and cried: "Search the dog thoroughly." The petty officer carried out the order, emptying my pockets and passing what he found to the interpreter, whose face lit up. "Bring me those papers," cried the Commandant, joyfully. "If there are any written in Arabic, I know how to read them. I have been in Syria and know Arabic." To prove his assertion he screamed insults at me in that language. Then the interpreter and the Captain examined attentively the few pages, which remained of my little notebook. On finding no money on me, he exclaimed: "Where is your money, you dog? I have paid you L.T. 100 ($500) during the last year as salary. Give it to me, traitor! Tell me where your money is!" "Search him well!" he ordered the petty officer, who, putting his hands into my pockets, brought out my small purse, which he passed to the Commandant. The latter emptied it, finding some Egyptian banknotes and about ten rupees, which the Indian prisoners had exchanged with me for Turkish money, since their own coinage was not current in the country. Seeing this, the Commandant cried: "Where did you get this money? You have stolen it from the English! You are a thief!" The amount found in my pocket came, if I remember well, to about L. T. 10 ($50) in gold and paper. This was noted. "Search him again," cried Mazloum. "Take off his clothes." The petty officer took off my overcoat and my cassock and turned them inside out. I remained in shirt and trousers for half an hour, kneeling on the ground, shivering with cold. When the petty officer declared that he had found nothing, the interpreter was told by the Commandant to go and search my room. The order was carried out immediately, and he returned with some coins he had found on the table. The Commandant, the Captain, and Nebzet whispered together for a few minutes, after which the interpreter left the room, and the petty officer was instructed by the Commandant to take me to the barracks. It was about eleven o'clock. Passing through several streets in the dark, we came to a large house in the Christian quarter. The interpreter reappeared before us, as if by magic, and made a sign to the petty officer to enter the house, the vestibule of which gave forth a nauseating smell. Pointing to an iron door which was shut, the interpreter said: "There is someone quite near here who will be able to hear us. Let us go up to the next story." We climbed a tiny staircase, which led to a corridor, where three naval petty officers awaited us. Other sailors were asleep. What was going to become of me? What new torture was I to expect? The interpreter, still most polite, spoke to me and invited me to lie on the floor, face downwards. Two petty officers held my arms across my back. This time it was the interpreter who was to be my torturer. Taking a rod he commenced to thrash me, two petty officers held me and two others took it in turn to see which could best exercise his muscles upon me; accompanying each blow with insults and roars of laughter. I cannot give any impression of the suffering I underwent from these blows. As they fell thick upon my bleeding wounds, my whole nervous system seemed to give way. I screamed and writhed and shouted, my body heaving, despite the rough hands of the men who held me, finally fainting from the excruciating agony.
In a Dungeon Water was thrown on my face to bring me back from a condition of lethargy, which seemed likely to be fatal. Opening my eyes, I saw my executioners before me. Five minutes’ respite was given me. The humane and kindly interpreter calmed me, saying: "Come along, sir, don’t make a fuss! A few more strokes and it will all be over. It is the Commandant’s order." Replacing his rod by a whip, he recommenced with greater energy, until I fainted again. On recovering consciousness, I heard the interpreter say to the sailors: "Get him downstairs now." I was unable to arise, so they dragged me the length of the staircase and threw me into a portion of the building which had been changed into a stable, shutting the door upon me and posting a sentry. I remained some time, lying in the dirt, groaning, unable to move because of my wounds, to which even the least movement brought back the pain. When I was able to bring my mind to bear upon my surroundings I found that I was wet through, and I noticed that the room was flooded and that I was lying on a bed of slime. Crawling along with difficulty, I reached a corner of the place, which was, as yet, free of water. The sentry at my door watched me through a little window, grinding his teeth and hurling insults at me all night, for on my account he had been obliged to keep awake all night. Thus I remained in my corner until, at last, day came, when a few faint rays of light penetrated my dungeon. It happened the kitchen was behind the stable where I lay, and the sailors came in turn to wash themselves at a place near by, when each made some ill-disposed or vile observation with reference to me. My jailer declared to his comrades that if he were allowed, he would cut my throat most willingly. Day brought me no rest. I was suffering atrociously; my body was one sore, and my chin, so swollen, and the remains of my beard so stuck together with congealed blood, that I could hardly open my mouth. In the afternoon, stiff from lying motionless on the ground, I made an effort to crawl as far as the little window, which looked out on the main entrance. Here I noticed the grating of an iron gate, which opened and shut again immediately. The Sound of footsteps which followed, made me think that a prisoner of war was being incarcerated. Far from my country, far from my people, having lived now for over twelve months with prisoners, the sight of these men had become as dear to me as the sight of relatives. I pitied this poor prisoner, like me, at the mercy of the pitiless Turk. Raising myself, I tried to get to the window, although the movement caused me great pain. I saw no one from my point of observation but some Russian prisoners at work in a road-mending gang, and from time to time I heard their voices. After remaining for some time at the window, I heard a noise. An adjoining cell opened, and I saw that it was occupied by a British naval officer, a Mr. Skaife, but owing to the presence of the sentry I dared not make him the least sign. In the evening my jailer threw a bit of bread to me through my prison window. That was all! I begged a drop of water to quench my torturing thirst, a request which obtained for answer a torrent of insults. Weak with mental suffering, and with the pain from the wounds in my face where my beard had been torn out, I could not open my mouth to eat. Only on the third day was I able to swallow a morsel of dry bread. Black thoughts began to assail me. I thought of my father, who fifteen months before, without provocation, and through sheer hatred, at the instigation of the worst brigand of the country, Deputy Mahmoud- Nedim, had been imprisoned fifty (lays, and then, perhaps after being scourged, had been massacred on the Diarbekir Road. I realized that I might meet the same fate. The scenes of horror, and the massacres I had witnessed at Urfa came back to me. The spectre of the ferocious Turk stained with human blood seemed to rise before me. Death I looked upon as happiness and a deliverance from what I suffered. Then I thought of my mother, who had lost her husband, and was so soon to hear of the death of her son. I seemed to hear the sobs of my little brothers, who had already suffered so much when my father was butchered, and whose tears would flow again at the news of the tragic death of their elder brother. I thought of my parishioners at Urfa-now scattered; of my poor Assyro-Chaldean fellow-countrymen, ruined and massacred; all, by that same bloody hand of the barbarous and implacable Turk! Another cause of torment to me was the fear that the ferocious Commandant, Mazloum, might discover various notes I had received from prisoners regarding their captivity and ill treatment by the Turks. The knowledge of the existence of these notes was always before my mind, and left me frozen with apprehension. I thought also of the French Commandant, to whom I had addressed the letter which had got me into trouble, and feared that trouble had also come upon him through me. Then my thoughts turned to the poor prisoners, who would be grieved at hearing of my fate, and thought to myself if, for a letter containing nothing of importance, I have had to suffer so much, what shall I have to endure if it be discovered that I have been in the confidence of the prisoners? As soon as inquiries are made, they will learn that I am the son of a man who was executed on the false charge of having conspired against the Government. As I was indulging in these thoughts night fell, and sleep began to overpower me. But how was I to lie down in a room flooded with water? Finding in a corner the wooden frame of a small window, I placed it on the ground and stretched myself upon it, face downwards; for owing to the swelling of my bruises, I could sleep neither upon my side nor upon my back. The wooden frame, at any rate, kept me off the mud' Folding my arms under my head, I drowsed uneasily, haunted by nightmares. Next morning, nothing of importance to chronicle occurred, save that the jailer refused me water. At midday, standing before my little window, I noticed people going to and fro; and Mr. Skaife's door opened and shut repeatedly. I heard some talk of a carriage in which a bed was to be placed, and passing soldiers smiled and congratulated Mr. Skaife, who appeared and prepared to leave. My jailer, having disappeared for the moment, I took my chance and called to Mr. Skaife, who turned, and, surprised to see me, made signs, asking me why I was there. I told him in a few words in English of my imprisonment, and or what I had suffered. The jailer coming on the scene, I ceased speaking, and Mr. Skaife pretended to have heard nothing. Nevertheless, these few words cheered me. "Now, if I disappear," I thought, "this Englishman will be able to bring the matter to the notice of the responsible authorities." The carriage arrived. Mr. Skaife's bed was brought out, and he left the prison. This was about four o'clock in the afternoon. In the evening a Sergeant opened my door, and, telling me to come out, conducted me to Mr. Skaife's room, a tiny cellar with thick walls and a double door of iron. It was seven feet square and had been used by the Christian owners of the house as an opium store. The former Christian population of the town had a monopoly of this drug, which was an important article of exportation from Afion-Kara-Hissar for medical purposes. In changing my quarters I did not forget to take the piece of bread, which had been given to me the evening before, and which served me as a pillow at night. There was a hole about eighteen inches square in the corner of the room opening on the street. Through this, I heard the voices of English and French officers, and realized that I was within their lines. The flagstones being like ice, I decided not to lie down ' and stamped up and down my cage. At length tired out, I wanted to sleep, but had nothing on which to lie. I knocked at the door and a petty officer appeared with a torch, and asked me what I wanted. I requested him to bring me the wooden window frame from my first cell, as I wished to lie down upon it. He refused, crying, "Yassak!" ("That is forbidden!") and slammed the door. Kneeling in the corner of the room, I tucked my overcoat round my legs, placed the bread on the ground, and fell asleep with my head upon it. Next day I was tortured by thirst, not having drunk any water for three days. I knocked on my door and asked for a glass of water. The jailer showed annoyance, but eventually brought me a bottle filled with liquid, which I hesitated to drink, knowing that the savage was capable of poisoning me. As a precaution, I drank at first only tiny mouthfuls at long intervals. Then, breaking my bread, I moistened a little piece in the water and ate it. The fourth night was passed in the same way as the third, and I slept in the same fashion; but I awoke with a chill, and suffered so acutely from colic that I groaned continually. Hearing me, the sentry appeared at the door, and I asked for a doctor. The man told me that I did not deserve one, and that I ought to die like a dog. "You traitor of a priest!" he cried. Then he shut the door and vanished. I was so weak and worn out that I could not stand. Lying on the ground, I resigned myself to death from exhaustion. About ten o'clock the door opened. Commandant Mazloum entered the cell and began to abuse me. "Die like a dog, you ungrateful traitor!" he said. You Christians live among us, but you are ever ready to bite us like venomous snakes. We ought to crush your heads and get rid of you." Raising his foot, he brought it down as if he wished to stamp upon me. Then, with a, final string of his choicest insults, he left me. Towards midday a camp bed, formed of three planks, was brought to me, but without mattress or blankets. The senior petty officer of the camp, Osman Tchaouche, who later robbed me, accompanied the sailor who carried the bed, and as if to let me know of his own goodness, said: "It was I who begged the Commandant to send you the bed." This was a lie, of course. He then remonstrated with me on my treason, and reprimanded me for the attachment I had shown the French, towards their fatherland, and also for my exaggerated devotion to the other prisoners. "Are you not committing a crime towards Turkey," he asked, "when you invite her enemies to your table, give them remedies, and tend them when they are ill? You who are an Ottoman subject?" Evidently my captors had spied upon me at night through the window of my room, which opened on the street, and seen prisoners in my quarters. After a long sermon he went off, still raving about my ingratitude. When evening came, another petty officer arrived, opened my cell and ordered me to follow him. My heart began to beat rapidly, not knowing what new misery I was to undergo. He led me to the spot where Nebzet and his companions had beaten me; and thence into a dark room, which, although without light, was more dry and habitable than the other. This gave me courage. From this day, however, the sailors and jailers were less hard and spiteful towards me. Since I was now in some sense their guest, in that I had come to live among them, they seemed to have less against me, and called me " The Prisoners' Priest." As night fell, silence reigned throughout the barracks. I heard the sailors say to one another in low tones, "Yuzbachi galdi," ("The Captain has come") and soon after Captain Safar, under whose command they served, entered and made his way to my room. His hard and masterful voice demanded light, and, preceded by Osman Tchaouche, who bore a torch, he entered my new cell. Other sailors crowded round curiously. The Captain approached and saluted me amicably, asking after my health, as if nothing had happened. I thanked him, and he made hypocritical excuses for my ill treatment, saying that it had been caused by the natural indignation aroused by my scorn for things Turkish. "At bottom we wish you no harm," he said, and asked me if I had need of anything. I begged him to be so good as to send me a bed, mattress and some blankets. "Certainly," he replied, "you shall have them immediately. You need not worry you are my guest. The Commandant cannot hear your name mentioned, and had resolved to leave you in the cellar, but I interceded for you, and insisted, saying that I should hold myself responsible for you and should keep you in the midst of my men in the barracks." He then left me, taking away the light. An hour later, my bed clothes arrived, and I was able to sleep that night, and recover a little from my experiences. I was puzzled as to my future, and every time I thought of what I had undergone I broke out into a cold perspiration. After a night’s sleep, I felt very hungry, having had almost nothing to eat for several days. The evening before I had asked Captain Safar to allow me to have some eggs and milk. He had said he would ask the Commandant, who had forbidden anything except dry bread. A sentry, who was relieved, every two hours, was posted before my room, which was dark and cold, the panes of the two windows opening on to the corridor being broken. The sentry had orders to watch me closely and even accompanied me to the lavatory, to prevent me from speaking to anyone. I asked to see the petty officer, and asked if I could not get someone to buy me some food. The request was passed on to Captain Safar, who gave me permission to buy milk only, a very great favor, however, although the sailor charged with the purchase swindled me outrageously. The Kol-Aghassi sent me a little money, and continued to do so regularly. Though not yet at liberty, I felt that my new situation was a great improvement on that of the evening before. The coming and going of the sailors was a distraction. Nevertheless black thoughts worried me at night, and in the darkness of my cell I continued to suffer from nightmares. After nine o'clock the silence was as profound as that of a monastery, only the tramp of the sentry was to be heard. About eleven I heard footsteps, my door opened, and there entered Commandant Mazloum, accompanied by the interpreter, Nebzet, and a senior officer. I was overcome at the sight of this savage, who so much desired my death, and remained stretched motionless on my bed as he stood beside it. As usual, Mazloum began with abuse, and then remarked ironically to the officer: "You see this papas? He has come among the prisoners to foment trouble. He is urging the English to bring charges against the Turkish Government to the notice of the American Ambassador. He would appear even to have entered into relations with the English War Office. He distributes money to the English prisoners to help them to escape and urges them to revolt. He is even taking notes which he intends to use later against the Turks." Then looking contemptuously at me, he observed: "Why! He still has some of his beard left!" The officer in his turn said to me: "What evil have the Turks done you that you should dislike them?" I remained silent, and the vile Cypriot interpreter, Nebzet, seized me by the collar and pulled the few hairs, which remained of my beard. "Answer!" he cried. The officer intervened and forbade him to do me further harm. Such evidence of humane feeling in a Turk I shall not easily forget. To myself I said: "What evil have they done me? Well, all they have done is to kill my father, massacre my countrymen, and now to flay me alive!" The officer, asking then whence I came, the interpreter answered: "From Aleppo." He then began to talk to me very affably in Arabic. I did not reply. Mazloum now closed the interview with the usual torrent of vituperation, my visitors retired, and I was able to-breathe again. But Mazloum's words as to my relations with the prisoners remained in my mind. Had he discovered the letters of protest they had written and signed, regarding the ill treatment to which they had been subjected? Had he found my own notes and papers? Among them was a letter of thanks to me from an Englishman, a certain Sergeant Smith, written before we separated. I had helped him with money when he arrived in the camp in so pitiable a state that, had lie not been assisted, he would have died. If the Commandant had chanced upon this letter he would probably take it for granted that I was distributing money among the prisoners to enable them to escape. There were also some fifty pages, which Smith had written about his captivity and that of his companions, and their wanderings between Baghdad to Afion-Kara-Hissar. Smith had dictated this to me to teach me English, and the narrative did not praise the Turk. As for the protest to the American Ambassador, this had emanated from the British soldiers, incensed at the bad treatment accorded the prisoners of war by the Commandant and the jailers. This protest had been forwarded to Mazloum himself for transmission to Constantinople. Nebzet told the Commandant that it was I who had put them up to this. The prisoners bad been condemned to work at house-building from 6 a.m. to 7 p.m. in under the petty tyrant of the garrison, Nebzet, a mere interpreter, who, with a whip in one hand and a revolver in the other, lost no opportunity of scourging the poor victims whenever, wearied with fatigue, they expressed the least discontent. One day a prisoner named Noble revolted, absolutely maddened by the ill treatment of the wretch, and. resisted the Tchaouche. Nebzet came up, and, after beating the man without mercy, reported him to the Commandant, who sentenced him to work on Sundays, a day on which the prisoners did not work as a result of a protest, although at a later date this privilege was abolished. When Sunday came, the Tchaouche arrived to take Noble to his work. Noble refused to go. Nebzet came on the scene, but Noble remained obstinate, even though an English Sergeant, named Cherryman, pleaded with him. The Sergeant then came to me and asked me to advise Noble to work, so as to prevent worse happening to him. I went to his room and persuaded him to start. Nebzet, feeling affronted that I had succeeded where he had failed, went off to the Commandant and stated that it was I who had urged the prisoners to refuse to work on Sundays. Mazloum lost his temper and forbade me to leave the camp either for the purpose of seeing prisoners, whether officers or men, or to make purchases in the market. I was thus "gated" for forty days. With these reflections, I fell asleep, to wake next day, happy in the knowledge that I was going to have some milk. I asked the Tchaouche to send for a pint, for lack of food had greatly weakened me. It made me feel a new man. After this, I had a diet of milk for several days, when, tiring of the milk, I asked Captain Safar to let me have something else. He granted my request, and, encouraged by his kindness, I asked and obtained his consent to have my trunk transferred from my quarters to my cell, since I needed a change of linen. It was brought to me, and on opening it I found everything safe except some provisions, stolen probably by Osman Tchaouche, whose manner made me think him guilty. It was he, in fact, who later robbed me of all my clothes and certain other effects while I was in the hospital. Finding my mirror, I looked at myself, and was terrified to discover that I was as pale as a corpse, with my chin bare of beard except for a few hairs, which but added to my ghastly aspect. My eyes were rimmed with black, and the whites were bloodshot. One day I was brought some food from a restaurant, but the next day instructions were changed, and I had to do my own cooking, a sailor bringing me what was necessary in the way of meat, potatoes, and other edibles. The sentry took me each day to the kitchen to prepare the food. This helped to while away the hours. One day I heard some words in English outside the kitchen window, which opened on a courtyard adjoining the barracks. My curiosity was aroused. In the momentary absence of the jailer, I ran to the window and looked about the yard to see whence the conversation proceeded, and, to my joy, found that I was opposite the house in which lived Commander Goad and several other English officers. The house had a little roof terrace, which overlooked the yard. At all hazards, 1 felt, I must send them a word to say that I was near them, and let them know all I had suffered at the hands of the Turks. If, some day, "I thought," the Turks bring about my disappearance, their deed will not rest unknown." The door into the yard was near the kitchen, and I noticed it was not locked. It was easy enough to write a letter, but to get it to them was another matter. Night and day I concocted plans, but a week passed without my being any nearer a solution, Then fortune favored me. Among the sailors whose duty it was to watch me was one who was very simple and naive, although like all Turks an inveterate thief. On one occasion he got into my cell by means of the broken windows and disappeared with my larder. His lack of intelligence I hoped to turn to my advantage in carrying out my plan. Having no writing paper in my room, I took an envelope, on which I scribbled a few lines to a French officer, telling him briefly what I had suffered. Folding the envelope, I enclosed it in another, addressed to the English officer, and wrapped it in an old newspaper, taking care to weight the packet with about a quarter of a pound of bread. To the string I attached a piece of cardboard, upon which I wrote in English: "Open, please." My object was to throw the parcel onto the terrace over the quarters of the English officers, hoping that the label would attract the attention of someone who would forward the parcel to its destination. My great difficulty was to get into the courtyard, from which I could throw the letter. Time was passing, and at any moment I might be searched. One night towards the end of October my simple jailer, who was on duty outside my room, was astonished to find me still awake at midnight. I told him I was suffering from insomnia, and lit a candle. Then I offered him a slice of melon, which he swallowed willingly. A quarter of an hour later I asked him to take me to the lavatory, and carried with me a saucepan containing the melon skins, which I said I was going to throw out into the yard, our usual dumping place for garbage. To this he agreed most readily, as it was his own duty to get rid of rubbish. When we came to the door into the yard I opened it just enough to pass through, for I did not want him to .see what I was doing, and throwing my bundle on the terrace, slipped back hastily. I heard the thud of the parcel as it fell on the terrace. The trick had succeeded, and I returned, well satisfied, to my quarters, and went to bed.
In the Hospital At the beginning of November, Captain Safar came to my room one morning and, adopting a confidential and kindly manner, said to me: "The Kol-Aghassi, who has a high esteem for you, and 1, have found a way of saving you. The Commandant has left for Constantinople, and we are masters here. We have thought of sending you to the hospital, and have come to an understanding with the medical officer in charge, who is always very good and kind. He will come and see you here. You must tell him you are ill and have heart trouble, and he will order you to the hospital, and, give you a statement to the effect that your confinement in a damp and unhealthy room is bad for you. We shall then allow you to return to the prisoners. When the Commandant returns, the whole affair will be ancient history, and the matter will be closed." "But," said I, "how am I to tell the doctor that I am ill, when I am not?" "You will explain to him that you have heart disease," he replied. "It is a difficult malady to diagnose." I understood later that it was not exactly out of pity that the hypocrite acted. Inspectors were to visit the garrison, and the ruffians did not desire that they should see to what a state I was reduced. Above all, they feared that they would speak to me. To make a long story short, the doctor came two days later and asked me if I were ill. I replied that there was nothing the matter with me. He felt my pulse, inquiring if I had any stomach trouble. In spite of my reply in the negative, he ordered the Tchaouche to send me the next day to the hospital for examination. When the time came, I packed my trunk, and before leaving, Osman Tchaouche (the thief) assured me as to the safety of my belongings, saying that they would be dispatched to the garrison baggage depot, of which he had the key. I felt better on breathing the open air, since for a month I had not been out of my cell. Nevertheless I was puzzled. This admission to the hospital appeared to me very suspicious, and my doubts increased when my companion took a side street, which passed behind the citadel. I was reassured, however, by the sight of the facade of the hospital in the distance. On arrival I was taken to the office of the medical officer in charge, who handed the Tchaouche a paper, and told him to see that I was admitted immediately. He did not even examine me, but I had to take the usual bath on entering, In the ward to which I was conducted I found some sick prisoners from Kut-el-Amara, and was pleased to see my British friends again. I soon got into conversation with them, and learnt that a large number of the prisoners had left the garrison for Angora. An epidemic had broken out among them and carried off several. Doctor M. Wassilaki, who was attached to the hospital, sounded me, and declared that I had a strong constitution and was quite well, although weak. Shortly afterwards the principal medical officer, Dr. Mustapha Loutfi, arrived and instructed the stewards to place me in another room. There, to my surprise, I found a master mechanic from the French submarine "Turquoise," who, nine months before, had left Afion Kara-Hissar with the other French prisoners for Bozanti, where they were to be employed in the construction of the Taurus tunnel. We greeted one another warmly, and he recounted his terrible experiences. After months of imprisonment at Adana he had been sent to Afion-Kara-Hissar, where a few days after his arrival Mazloum had given him work entirely beyond the strength of any ordinary man: namely, to carry on his shoulders blocks of stone weighing from sixty to eighty pounds apiece all day long. I told him what I had undergone myself, and he was most indignant. The senior medical man now wished to separate me from the prisoners, and so ordered me to be sent to a room in which were Turks only. One day, while I was leaning out of the window, I saw four prisoners carrying to the cemetery one of their comrades who had just died. They recognized me and saluted me quite affectionately. One of them was an Irish volunteer fifty years of age, named Walsh, the father of five children. He was very devoted to me, and seeing me so changed, tears came to his eyes, and lie turned his head away. I had been about a week at the hospital, when the doctor in charge told me that I needed to be in the open. I "I am cured now, Doctor," I said. "Why do you not give me the report about which Captain Safar spoke?" "Not yet," he replied, "you must be patient and wait some days." "But, Doctor," I said, "that will be too late. Commandant Mazloum will have returned and the report will have no effect. You know how cruel and despotic he is." "You need have no fear," was the reply. "He cannot go against the report. It is beyond his power." On the following day I was transferred to another building where the second in command was a Turkish dental surgeon named Ali-Riza. I was consigned to an isolated room, the shutters, of which the dentist himself came and nailed up. Being personally responsible for my safe keeping, he was going to make sure that I should not escape. My stay here lasted five days, during which time I saw the dentist attending to the wounds of the soldiers every morning, all the while uttering gross insults. The head steward, a Turkish corporal, was exceedingly kind to me. The doctor prescribed certain tonics, which I accepted with a good deal of distrust. Three days after my arrival in the new ward, I asked the chief steward to tell the doctor that I should like to see him. He came in the afternoon, gave me two letters from home, and asked me what I wanted. "I have had enough of this," I exclaimed. "I was promised that I should be kept only a week in the hospital, and here we are at the tenth day." The doctor, very much taken aback, said that this was his business, not mine, and I began to doubt Safar's sincerity. Finally I heard that Mazloum had returned, and all my hope of deliverance faded away, for I could expect no good from that tyrant. Three days later, when I least expected it, the order came for me to be discharged from hospital. The Kol-Aghassi sent for me, and I was taken from the hospital to the Commandant's office. At first I thought that I was going to be set at liberty and sent back to the prisoners, as Safar had promised, but it was Safar himself who gave the order to a soldier to take me to the barracks, where I was to be shut up. Deceived once again, I set out for the prison. On arriving at the door of the building, I noticed Captain White in front of his own house. We saluted one another, and he did not take his eyes off me until I entered the barracks. Here I was imprisoned again in the black room I knew so well.
Third Degree We were only at the end of the first act of the drama. The second was about to commerce. Hardly had I laid down to rest in the evening, when Osman Tchaouche came to say that the Commandant had given orders that I was not to be allowed to sleep that night. "Get up," he cried, instructing the jailer not to allow me to go to bed again. I obeyed, and remained standing until morning. Nor was I permitted to sleep during the day. This barbarous r6gime made me anxious. I was to have been set at liberty, yet here they were beginning to torture me more than ever. I could not understand the mystery. Next evening at about nine o'clock the Tchaouche came to inform me that the Commandant was asking for me, and took me to the courtyard of the church, where the latter's office was situated. In the vestibule I noticed several prisoners, who looked at me with pity. I entered the room in which the Staff of the Command was assembled. It was composed of Mazloum, Safar, Kol-Aghassi Ahmed, the lieutenant, Nebzet and another interpreter named Dervish. These I saluted. Mazloum fixed his eyes on me and smiled sarcastically. Then Captain Safar remarked ironically: "Guetchmich ôla Papas effendi, rahat oldunuzmi?" ("Congratulations, Reverend Father, are you quite well again?") By this he meant to indicate jocularly that the farce of sending me to the hospital under pretence of setting me at liberty had been carried out satisfactorily. Mazloum still looked at me in a threatening way. Then the fanatical Unionist cried out: "So he is still alive, this dog!" "Nebzet pointed to a chair and asked me to sit down. Distrustful of his politeness, I hesitated. Mazloum flew into a rage and shouted: "Very well, stand then! Valahi, seni yakadjayem!" (I should like to burn you, you wretch!") Pulling my letter to the French Commandant from his pocket, he read me a more or less accurate translation in Turkish. After asking me for my Christian name, surname, those of my father and mother, when I had left my country, how I got to Constantinople, and thence to Afion-Kara-Hissar and so on, he dissected my letter sentence by sentence, to the French Naval officer. Then began a long series of questions. "Who is this Commandant X--------- to whom you write?" "He is a French officer, a prisoner whom you know." "Why do you call him ‘Commandant?’ Do you mean that he is in command here? He is only a captain of a ship." (It is necessary that these words should be left in the original French of the letter. The word, "Commandant," in that language, as is well known, bears a double significance in English in which it may mean "Commandant," e.g. of a Prisoners of War Camp or Captain (also Commander) as applied to a Naval officer. On this two-fold meaning rests the real and pretended confusion made by Mazloum and his subsequent charge against the author. It is, therefore, manifestly impossible to translate the word, and use one or other equivalent, since to so do would be to render the story unintelligible.) "In French, they call him ‘Commandant.’" "Then why do you address him as your ‘dear' Commandant?" asked Mazolum. "I use the word ‘dear’ because one can address in this way anyone with whom one has lived on friendly terms." Meanwhile a Turkish lieutenant, who acted as clerk, took down the questions and my answers in writing He asked me if I knew how to write Turkish. On my replying in the affirmative, I was handed a sheet of paper and a pen, after which I wrote the answers myself. "Why do you eulogize France and show such interest in French prisoners, seeing that you are an Ottoman subject? The French are at the present moment the enemies of Turkey. The matter is the more serious in that you are a Turkish official of this garrison and are paid by the Ottoman Government." "I spoke in praise of France because it is the country to which I owe my education. Naturally I am grateful to France for this. I interest myself in the prisoners of France, for it is precisely to do so that the Government has sent me here." Mazloum and Safar expressed their opinions to one another and offered reciprocal suggestions as to how best to form their questions. "Where are the notes for which you asked in your letter?" "All he gave me was a word of information regarding the death of a non-commissioned officer who died before I came to the camp." |
An
account of my imprisonment and sufferings at the hands of these human
demons in the concentration camp of the Allied prisoners of war at
Afion-Kara-Hissar, to which I had been appointed Chaplain by the
Turkish Government at the request of the Holy See.
My
Father's Death
At the beginning of November 1915, a
telegram from His Beatitude, Emmanuel Thomas, the Chaldean Patriarch of
Babylon, suggested to me that I should go to Constantinople as Chaplain
to the Allied Prisoners of War. I set out, furnished with a permit from
the Governor of Aleppo.
When
I had been there about three or four months, that is to say, early in
the spring of 1916, three British Naval officers escaped. The
Commandant of the camp, Assim Bey, a Staff Colonel, was dismissed, and
replaced by the notorious tyrant, Mazloum Bey, a conscienceless, cruel
and despotic creature of the Committee of Union and Progress. His
assistant, Captain Safar, was no less cruel. Both of them took the
greatest pleasure in worrying and torturing the prisoners.