It will be inferred that the assignment, furnishing and direction of these several expeditions, nearly a thousand miles distant, four weeks by personal travel, six weeks to write a letter and get reply, from two days to almost any time by telegraph, according to the condition of the wires, and in any language from Turkish and Greek to Arabic, with all other duties immediately surrounding, could not leave large leisure for home correspondence. While conscious of a restlessness on this score, we began to be mystified by the nature and text of dispatches from committees at home: “Contributors object to Turkish distribution.” What could it mean? We could only reply: “Do not understand your dispatch. Please explain.” These were followed by others of a similar character from other sources; finally letters expressing great regret at the means to which I had been compelled to resort in order to accomplish my distribution, and the disastrous effect it could not fail to have upon the raising of funds. “Well, it was probably the only way to do, they had expected it, in fact, foretold it all the time.”—What had I done? The mystery deepened. Finally, through the waste of waters and the lapse of time it got to me.—A little four-line cablegram from Constantinople as follows:
The council of ministers has decided that Miss Clara Barton can work only in conjunction with the Turkish Commission in the distribution of relief, and can only use their lists of destitute Armenians. An Irade to that effect is expected.
No one had thought to inquire if this statement were true, no one had referred it to me, and as well as I ought to be known by our people, the question if I would be likely to take such a step, seems not to have been raised. It had been taken for granted through all America, England, and even the Missionary Boards of Turkey, that I had pledged myself and signed papers, to distribute the funds entrusted to me, under Turkish inspection and from lists furnished by Turkish officials. Myself and my officers appeared to be the only persons who had never heard of it. Astonished and pained beyond measure it was plainly and emphatically denied.
Our press books of that date are marvels of denial. Sir Philip Currie and the Turkish Government itself, came to the rescue, declaring that no such course was ever intended. Secretary Olney was cabled to try “to make the people of America understand that the Turkish Government did not interfere with their distribution.” In spite of all this, it went on until people and committees were discouraged; the latter cabling that in the present state of feeling little or nothing more could be expected, and gently suggesting the propriety of sending the balance in hand to other parties for distribution. My own National Red Cross officers in America, hurt and disgusted at the unjust form affairs were taking, in sympathy, advised the leaving of the field and returning home.
Here was a singular condition of affairs. A great international work of relief, every department of which was succeeding beyond all expectation, wherein no mistakes had been made, letters of gratitude and blessing pouring in from every field of labor, finances carefully handled and no pressure for funds. On the other hand a whole nation in a panic, strong committees going to pieces, and brave faithful officers driven through pity to despair and contempt, and the cause about to be abandoned and given up to the lasting harm of all humanity. So desperate a case called for quick and heroic measures. Realizing the position of the committees from their own sad reports, I at once cabled relieving them from further contributions: “We will finish the field without further aid.” To my Red Cross officers I dictated the following letter, which I believe was used somewhat by the harassed committees in struggling on to their feet again:
Ayaz-Pacha, Taxim, Constantinople, April 18, 1896.
P.V. DeGraw, Esq., Corresponding Secretary,
American National Red Cross, Washington, D.C., U.S.A.:
Dear. Mr. DeGraw: I received both your and Stephen E. Barton’s heavy-hearted and friendly letters, and they fell on soil about as heavy. I could not understand how it could be, for I knew we had done our best, and I believed the best that could have been done under the circumstances and conditions. I knew we held a great, well organized relief that would be needed as nothing else could be. That, besides us, there was no one to handle the terrible scourge that was settling down—no one here, no one to come, who could touch it. I knew I was not interfered with; that no “restrictions” nor propositions had been imposed or even offered; that the government was considerate and accorded all I asked.
But what had stirred America up and set it, apparently, against us? The relief societies going to pieces, and turning sad glances here? We could not understand it. I did not wonder that you thought we “had best come home,” still I knew we would not; indeed, we could not. I have a body of relief on these fields, hundreds of miles away in the mountains, a thousand miles from me, that I could not draw off in six weeks, and if we were to, it would be to abandon thousands of poor, sick, suffering wretches to a fate that ought to shock the entire world. Sick, foodless, naked, and not one doctor and no medicine among them; whole cities scourged and left to their fate, to die without a hand raised to help excepting the three or four resolute missionaries, tired, worn, God-serving, at their posts until they drop. The civilized world running over with skilful physicians, and not one there; no one to arrange to get them there; to pay expenses, take special charge and thus make it possible for them to go. And we, seeing that state of things, holding in our grasp the relief we had been weeks preparing and organizing in anticipation of this, to turn back, draw off our helpers, send back the doctors already started, give all up because somebody had said something, the press had circulated it, the world had believed it, our disappointed committees had lost heart and grown sore struggling with an occupation rather new to them, and the people had taken alarm and failed to sustain them.
Was this all there was of us? No purpose of our own? “On Change,” like the price of wheat on the market? In the name of God and humanity this field must be carried, these people must be rescued; skill, care, medicines and food for the sick must reach them. And it is a glad sight to my soul to think of Turkish troops taking these bands of doctors on to Marash. They have done it, and are at this very hour marching on with them to their field of labor. What does one care for criticism, disapproval or approval, under circumstances like these. Don’t be troubled—we can carry it. We are fair financiers, not dismayed, and God helping, can save our hospitals.