HAMALLS, SHOWING MANNER OF CARRYING HEAVY BURDENS.
The inquiry will naturally be made as to how relief was received. The gratitude of the people was almost overwhelming at times. If you could only have heard the blessings that were poured out upon Clara Barton, the Red Cross, and the good people everywhere who have aided, you would realize that deep as the need, so fervent and sincere have been the thankful prayers and blessings that the unfortunate people who survive the massacre could alone render to all who help them. To you and your name especially were they responsive. Of all this, I would say we often had most gratifying evidence and expression on the lonely roads, in the stricken homes, and through personal letters from many sources.
When we were some six miles out on the road to Egin, we met the leading men of the village of Shepik coming to town; they had heard that we were going away soon, and the villagers had sent this committee to Arabkir to express their gratitude for what they had received and for all that had been done for them. This was five or six weeks after we had made a distribution of seeds, and as we came in sight of their village we saw gardens green with onions, potatoes, beans, cucumbers, melons, squash, pumpkins, etc., from the seeds we had given. Here, too, the women were in the fields cutting the grass and grain with the sickles which, the blacksmith had made from the iron and steel we had furnished. The men were plowing with the plows and oxen we had supplied and, notwithstanding they had been plundered of every movable thing and their houses burned or destroyed, there was an air of prosperity in the fields that banished thoughts of want or suffering. We rode on past the little room where the school was kept and every child rose to his feet and made a most profound, though youthful bow to our passing company.
Egin is an old, strangely beautiful city, inhabited by the descendants of the noble families of Mosul (NINEVEH) who fled to this mountain stronghold on the Euphrates during the Persian invasion, many years ago, and they are still a royal and gentle people. At Egin the officials declared it unsafe for us to go to the villages as we had proposed. Accordingly we made purchases in this market and sent them to the needy points. Egin had bought the Kourds off with 1500 lire, and consequently it had remained up to the date of our arrival unharmed through all the destruction about it. We also left a sum of money with a responsible committee for eight unfortunate villages, and did what medical work we could in our short stay. We then returned to Harpoot.
On our road back, Miss Bush had with her a young girl whom we were taking to Harpoot for safety (we had frequent charges of this kind), and she wanted me to stop at her favorite beautiful village of Biervan, for a pleasant picture to carry back in memory to America. We had a long day’s journey at best to reach our village, and had met with delays; four hours in the morning waiting for a zaptieh. Our muleteer left us at the ferry some twelve miles back, in order to stop over night at his own village; and the second zaptieh was two hours late, but having started we must keep on through the mountain pass, and it was ten o’clock at night when we reached the village. Our zaptieh took us to the house of the “Villageman” (each village is provided with such a personage whose duty it is to see that shelter is provided for travelers). We rode up together and the zaptieh pounded on the door. The dog on the roof barked viciously, then all the dogs in the village barked. A woman on another roof above this one raised herself and talked, then shouted down the chimney-hole (the roof is the sleeping place in warm weather), after a time she pointed with her hand and the zaptieh started off in the direction indicated; the moon had gone down and it was too dark to see anything distinctly. He came to a small pile, poked it with his foot, punched it with his gun, kicked it.
After a time a part of the pile raised itself in a sort of surprised astonishment, mystified, uncertain, complicated attitude—evidently looking at the “poker.” Then the pile expressed itself emphatically, the zaptieh did the same more emphatically, each in turn louder and louder, all with necessary and unnecessary gesticulation. Then the pile got up and began on our servants for having the pack mules and animals on his roof. After these had been led off the house, he wanted to know what we came there for anyway, at that time of night, to wake him up when there were six other villages we could have gone to; why didn’t we go to one of them? Then our zaptieh changed his tone and attitude and in the most polite, persuasive, pleading voice and manner, tried to explain that he himself was not to blame for all this trouble, he was under orders and had to come with these people; he couldn’t help doing his duty. But this made no impression, and we were told there was no place for us.
None could be found at this time of night; besides there was no barley for the horses, and nothing was to be done unless it was to go on and try another village. Our zaptieh seemed to have exhausted his resources and said no more. Other villagers had come and were standing around the “villageman,” who still insisted that he could do nothing. Miss Bush quietly suggested “Argentum.” We got down from our horse, went around carelessly, and slipped a “cherek” (a five piaster piece) into his fingers. He took and felt of it, and then went away without a word. After about ten minutes he returned with a light, a door was opened close beside us, and we unloaded our animals, put them all in, took in the luggage, went in ourselves, got our supper, spread our blankets, drove away our audience of villagers, fastened the stable door and announced to ourselves that we were one hour into the “next day,” and went to sleep. We were off again the next morning before the sun was up. This is a sample incident of what happened in frequent variation during interior travel.
At Harpoot we arranged for supplying tools and cattle to the remaining villages which we failed to reach from Egin. Here, too, we found Mr. Wistar busy supplying harvesting and threshing implements, and cattle for plowing in the Harpoot plain and villages. In this vilayet there are upwards of two hundred villages either plundered or wholly destroyed, and from these many persons of all classes came for medical or surgical help.
Preparations were made to work in Malatia, where, some weeks before, we had ordered supplies and medicines sent to be ready for our arrival, but owing to the unsettled conditions there, no such work could be done to advantage. The time for our return to Constantinople was drawing near and on the twenty-seventh of June we were ready to start for the Black Sea. We called to pay our respects to the governor of Harpoot and found him as cordial as he had always been. Inquiries were made and explanations given, so that he might more thoroughly understand the character and purposes of the Red Cross. His Excellency remarked that it gave to those engaged in the work great opportunities to become acquainted with different countries, and that we must have found Turkey the most difficult of them all to work in. He regretted that he himself had been of so little assistance to our efforts, etc., but we took pleasure in saying that he had done at all times all that we had asked and ofttimes more. Speaking for those associated with our work I could safely say that all the recollections of our personal relations with the vali of Harpoot will remain with us as pleasant and satisfactory.
The principal food and the main crop of the interior is wheat, and this year’s growth wherever we have been is reported to be unusually good. If the wheat can be distributed where the destitution will be this coming winter, many lives may be saved; if not, many must inevitably be lost for want of food. When we left the Harpoot valley harvesting had well begun, and was even more briskly going on as we neared the Euphrates, which we crossed for the last time at Isli on the twenty-ninth of June. The usual Euphrates ferry-boat is twenty-four to thirty feet long, eight feet wide, and two feet high at one end and eight at the other where a rudder, or sweep, forty feet long is hung. An American frequently sees methods of work and management that lead him sometimes, when first traveling, to make suggestions. After seeing the ferrymen upon many occasions putting loaded wagons on the boat, lifting them by main force some two or three feet with much awkwardness over the edge of the craft, we ventured to suggest that two planks laid on the bank and end of the boat so as to roll the wagons in or out would save much trouble and time and extra help and labor. We were met with this unanswerable reply: “Who would pay for them?”