Salonica is unfortunate in possessing a colony of each of the Macedonian races. Besides Turks and Jews, there are many Greeks and Albanians, some Bulgarians and Servians, and a few Kutzo-Vlachs (Wallachians) and Tziganes, and still another people peculiar to the town. One is struck in Salonica by the beautiful Mohamedan ladies who walk along the streets with their veils thrown back; and it impels one to think that the woman who pulls her veil down when she sights a man must necessarily lack beauty. Not so; one is a Turk and one is not a Turk.
The handsome females who wear the Turkish garb, but do not always cover their faces, are a peculiar sect of Jews alleged to be converted to Mohamedanism. They live, like all the other peoples, distinctly to themselves, not even associating with the Turks; and while they are too few to have a national entity, they carry on, nevertheless, their little feuds with the Jews. Their story is this: Some centuries ago a Jew of Salonica, by name Sebatai Sevi, declared himself to his people as their long-promised redeemer, and won a certain following. He is an example of power making jealous his monarch. At the Sultan’s order he was conveyed to Constantinople and taken into the Padisha’s presence. His plea was heard, but found no credence at the Palace, and the false prophet was given the alternative of death for himself or conversion to Mohamedanism with his entire flock. The Government, no doubt, granted all the assistance Sebatai needed to ‘persuade’ his followers to make the change, and it was soon accomplished. But, unlike Christians converted by pressure or force to the religion of the Turk, these Jews have not become fanatics. Indeed, they are quite luke-warm about the religion, and it is supposed they profess Mohamedanism simply for safety, and practise Sebatai’s religion in secret. They never marry outside their own sect, not even with the Turks. There is a story of long standing to the effect that the little circle of Dunmehs (for this they are called) once subscribed a purse of 4,000l. to purchase the pretensions of a Turkish pasha to the hand of a fair maiden of their colony.
The Dunmehs are the richest people, on the whole, in Salonica. With their Hebrew instincts for business and their position as Mohamedans, they have a decided advantage over the other peoples. They fill largely the rôle of Government contractors, and secure many of the plums in the gift of the administration, which it is impossible for non-Moslems to get, and for which the Turks are too indifferent to trouble themselves. The Dunmehs make a speciality of purchasing the rights to gather tithes, for which they often pay more than the legal value thereof. These rights they divide into small sections and dispose of at a profit to the actual collectors of taxes. The tithe is legally one-tenth of the crop, but as it is measured by the collectors, supported by a guard of Turkish soldiers, it generally assumes larger proportions, sometimes attaining to a quarter, and even a half, of the peasant’s harvest. And there is no resource for the peasant against this unjust confiscation, as the first law of the Turkish court is the Koran, which, as interpreted, provides that the word of a Christian shall not offset that of a Mohamedan.
But army and other contracts, for which the payment is forthcoming from the Turkish Government, are not often sought by the Dunmehs. These are left to Turks with influence at the Palace; for influence at the Palace or at the Porte is necessary in order to secure any payment from the Turkish Government. Ismail Pasha, an Albanian in the high esteem of Abdul Hamid, and with many friends among the Palace clique, is the only man in Salonica with courage enough to undertake Government contracts. And his daring is proportionately rewarded.
This man’s history is worthy of recital; it reads like that of a self-made millionaire. He was born of poor but dishonest parents, and educated himself—dispensing with the arts of reading and writing. He began life as a khanji’s boy, learned there how to rob the wayfarer, and attained, at the age of eighteen, a competency in a brigand band. Step by step, as the men above him died off (sometimes by indigestible pills, and sometimes by falling backward on the knife of an ambitious subaltern), Ismail became a leader. In this capacity he did his work so well, striking terror to the heart of both Turk and Christian, that his ability was recognised by no less a person than Abdul Hamid, who saw in him a man of exceptional ability. This self-made man was invited by the Sultan to Constantinople, there decorated, given the title of Pasha, and sent to Salonica with the high commission of first-class spy, assigned to the task of reporting to his Padisha the doings of the governor of the vilayet.
Now, an official in Turkey always knows his spy, and the spy always knows that his man knows him. The spy and his man, of course, are always together, and they become the most intimate friends. Naturally, the man seeks ever to please his spy, which in this case makes Ismail Pasha virtual Vali of the vilayet. He dictates the names of the police who shall be employed—and naturally has a preference for outlaws; kaimakams and other officers of districts hold their places at his pleasure; and Government contracts are awarded to Ismail Pasha, be his bid high or low. Ismail is the trusted ally of Abdul Hamid, and is permitted, therefore, to grow rich and powerful.
CHAPTER VII
THE DYNAMITERS
On the occasion of my first visit to Salonica one of the American missionaries took me over the town sightseeing. When we came to the local branch of the Imperial Ottoman Bank, a modern bank building of quite an imposing appearance, my fellow-countryman said he had heard that ‘the committee’ were going to dynamite the place. But this was no news to me, for, on alighting at the railway station, the Greek porter of the Angleterre had told me of this project of the insurgents, giving it as a reason why I should stop at his hotel instead of at the Cristoforo Colombo, which stood just beside the bank; and the Jew bootblacks while shining my shoes had discussed the coming ‘outrages’ and had told me several exact days on which they would take place. A revolutionary plot so widely known could be little more, I thought, than a work of native imagination, and, as the missionary held a similar view, I lengthened not my stay in Salonica to await the event. I was in search of exciting ‘copy,’ and without the slightest solicitude for that I left behind, took my way to the interior of the country. During my absence the authorities raided a Bulgarian khan in the neighbourhood of the bank, which rumour fixed upon as the bomb factory of the committajis; but they discovered no insurgents and no dynamite. The real factory, however, was not a hundred feet away, and when I returned from my excursion inland I occupied a room in the Hôtel Colombo which directly overlooked it. It was, to all outward appearance, a little Bulgarian shop in a narrow, unpretentious street, and the shopkeeper and his customers were only simple, dirty peasants. I often watched the Bulgars enter and leave the place, but so little did I suspect their real character that only three days before their attack I deserted Salonica again for the Albanian district.