TURKEY—STATESMANSHIP OF PHILANTHROPY—ARMENIA
“Alone, bereft, forsaken, sick and heartbroken, without food, raiment or shelter, on the snow-piled mountain sides and along the smiling valleys they wander and linger and perish. By scores, by hundreds, they die; no help, no medicine, no skill, little food and, as if common woes were not enough, the Angel of Disease flaps his black wings like a pall.” Such the condition, says Clara Barton, in Asia Minor in 1896; and “Help or we perish,” the cry of the people.
DR. G. PASDERMADJIAN
THE DEMOCRACY OF ARMENIA
Armenian Legation,
January 17, 1922.
After the great massacre of 1895, thanks to the personal testimony of Clara Barton, we came to learn of another Christian Power, a nation dedicated to the lofty principles of our common religion, a champion of liberty and justice, and a helpful friend to all oppressed and suffering peoples. We are indebted to Clara Barton in the sense that she was the first among other Americans to inspire us with this faith.
Dr. G. Pasdermadjian,
Minister from Armenia to United States.
I. H. R. PRINCE GUY DE LUSIGNAN
Last of the Royal Line
THE ROYALTY OF ARMENIA
The Armenian Decoration
I have received a decoration, officially described as follows:
Brevet of Chevalier of the Royal Order of Melusine, founded in 1186, by Sibylle, Queen and spouse of King Guy of Jerusalem, and reinstituted several years since by Marie, Princess of Lusignan. The Order is conferred for humanitarian, scientific and other services of distinction, but especially when such services are rendered to the House of Lusignan, and particularly to the Armenian nation. The Order is worn by a number of reigning sovereigns, and is highly prized by the recipients because of its rare bestowal and its beauty. This decoration is bestowed by His Royal Highness, Guy of Lusignan, Prince of Jerusalem, Cyprus and Armenia.—Clara Barton.
See pages between 326–7; decoration No. 22.
To enter Turkey at this time was an undertaking too great for man; this must be the work of woman. There was one woman equal to the emergency, and she seventy-five years of age. All eyes were turned toward that woman. She was chosen unanimously. Her assistants were to be men but she stood sponsor for man’s conduct, a responsibility the greatest in life woman ever assumes. The deference paid to this woman—Mirabile dictu—was some years before a woman was regarded even capable of sitting as member of the American House of Representatives or as Member in the English House of Commons. Did she accept? Nothing too hazardous for her to undertake; she ever was seeking for something to do that no one else would do, no one else could do.
Florence Nightingale sailed for Crimea “under the strong support of England’s military head and England’s gracious Queen;” Clara Barton set sail for Turkey, “prohibited, unsustained either by governmental or other authority,”—destined to a port five thousand miles away, from approach to which even the powers of the world shrank in fear. As Clara Barton, with her four assistants, left New York City, on the S. S. New York, “crowded were the piers, wild the hurrahs, white the scene with the parting salutes, hearts beating with exultation and expectation;” longing the anxious eyes that followed far out to sea that band of five fearless American crusaders, on humanity’s mission.
Would she reach Constantinople? The Turkish Minister, resident at Washington, forbade her and her Red Cross band to enter the land of the Moslem. Her Christian presence there was not desired; would not be permitted. Unperturbed, she proceeded on her way. She arrived at Constantinople. She stopped at Pera Palace hotel. She asked for an audience with Tewfik Pasha, Minister of State. She explained; she begged the privilege of self-sacrifice. The High Official listened attentively, then said: We know you, Miss Barton; have long known you and your work. And you shall have it. We know your position, and your wishes shall be respected. Such aid and protection as we are able to render, we will cheerfully render you. I speak for my government. I extend to you my cordial good wishes in your work among our distressed people.
At the interview Clara Barton thus assured Tewfik Pasha: “We have no newspaper correspondent, and I promise you I will not write a book on Turkey. What we see and hear will be confidential—not repeated.” But she didn’t keep faith with the Government—she reported on the dogs. Dogs in Constantinople are held sacred, but not because decorated with a brassard they serve in Red Cross work or otherwise are useful. The streets and plazas day and night are filled with dogs, colonies of dogs. Fond of dogs, she enjoyed telling this story. About to be overpowered by other dogs the Turkish dog flops over on his back, his feet in air to serve as the dog’s Red Cross flag, over a hospital. In the “hospital” he remains until there is an opportunity of escape when, without so much as “by your leave,” he invalids himself home.
The British Legation had a blooded rat terrier, also sacred. By chance the terrier slipped out of the yard. Unsuspecting he was “ambushed” and, not knowing Turkish dog strategy, was foully slain. The secretary, in righteous wrath, forthwith imported from England “Bull Brindle,” of a famous fighting breed. The British “warrior” also strolled out on the plaza, but not by chance. A colony of several hundred dogs, with confused noises as terrifying as of a “pack of coyotes” hunting prey, massed an attack on the lone “Britisher.” Victory this time was not with the largest battalions. Bull terrier was killing mongrels without mercy or shame, and with as much ease as the terrier had killed rats, and so continuing until four score or more lay dead on the field.
As ranged
Achilles in his fury through the field
From side to side, and everywhere o’ertook
His victims, and earth was dark with blood.
By chance, through an opening in the walled fence of the embassy, the secretary was an eye-witness. The natives in numbers, aroused, watched the uneven contest but no one dared to lay hands on the “achilles.” Alarmed over the possible consequences to himself, the secretary rushed to the scene, grabbed Brindle by the collar, led him to the embassy, chained him. A diplomat, the secretary returned to the plaza—explained—expressed regrets—almost heartbroken, apologized, but to Miss Barton he confidentially said: “That’s one time I got even with the unspeakable Turk.”
Aghast and horrified had stood the world over the news of the then recent terrible massacres; of the contagious diseases that windswept Asia Minor, leaving thousands and tens of thousands dead and dying in its wake. But proud was America. Her heroine was at the Moslem Capital, the foreign representative of the one country there on guard for humanity. This, her picture of the trip to Killis, the scene of one of the many terrible massacres: “Our security, the official order, ‘Go and we protect,’—camels heavy-laden not with ivory and jewels, gold in the ingots and silk in the bales, but food and raiment for the starving, the sick, the dying. Onward toward dread Killis—the wild tribes’ knives before, the Moslem troops behind—till at length the spires of Aintab rise in view. Weary the camels and weary the men.” In fear that the means might not be at hand to do all she would, in anguish of soul Clara Barton writes to her friend Frances Willard: “My heart would grow faint and words fail to tell the people of the woes here and the needs. In the name of your God and my God, tell them not to be discouraged in the good work they have undertaken.”
She was then on the site of Ancient Byzantium whose history reaches back six hundred years before the Christian Era, a city with its successor Constantinople, the rival of Athens and Rome and Jerusalem, in service to civilization. She might have said, as did the proud Roman General, “I have come, I have seen, I have conquered.” But no word then,—neither before nor since—escaped her lips. She was there, having taken her life in her hands, not thinking of self, knowing no race, no creed, no religion, no nationality; there to distribute to the needy in such a way as an American President said she only knew how.
Permission D. Appleton & Co.
ABDUL-HAMID
1876–1899
Some months after returning home I received through our State Department at Washington, the Sultan’s decoration of Shefacat and its accompanying diploma in Turkish. The translation is here given: “As Miss Barton, American citizen, possesses many great and distinguished qualities and as recompense is due to her, I am pleased, therefore, to accord to her the second class of my decorations of Shefacat.” Clara Barton (in 1897).
See pages between 326–7; decoration No. 12.
Strange and startling must have been the sensation to the Moslem as, on an eventful reunion of the Crusaders, through the open windows of [[10]]Red Cross headquarters there came from his foreign benefactors, in chorus, strains of sweetest music: “Home, Sweet Home,” of which the native was merely dreaming; “Sweet Land of Liberty,” of which he had only read; “Nearer My God to Thee,” which was wholly foreign to his religious teachings. It was on the patriotic Fourth at Constantinople, at the time of her carrying a message to the Turkish people, that in a poem entitled “Marmora,” of her own country Clara Barton sung:
[10]. Red Cross work in Turkey is under the name of Red Crescent.