“We do not lack anything,” they assure me. “All we want is to save our Fatherland. It would be wrong of us to use up the wood and material for building houses that may be required in the war.”
Then, for farewell, the old Bible-greeting of “God be with you.”... “And bring us peace,” is all I can find voice to reply.
CHAPTER XXX
FROM BILIDJIK TO BROUSSA BY YAILI—AFTER THE DAY’S ROUGHENING EXPERIENCES ONE CAN SLEEP WHATEVER THE ACCOMMODATION.
Our adieux to Bilidjik did not delay us long. As there were no trains to Constantinople, we had to take the road to Broussa and Moudania, whence the boat runs to Constantinople. I now joined the American in one carriage, the two Turkish boys following in a second. Although yaili means “a carriage with springs,” neither of ours justified their name, for they had none. An American, however, is nothing if not resourceful, and my companion performed wonders with straw, rugs, and boxes.
It was about nine o’clock when we started along the muddy roadway, in charge of one of the most happy-go-lucky coachmen it has ever been my good fortune to employ. He had ten animals of his own before the war, and, now the Greeks have taken them all, he is making a fresh start with the best he can hire from others. He said that these were steady and sound, but I could not believe we should have known the difference, over these ploughed fields on the edge of the mountains, so caked with mud that our carriages frequently stuck fast. It was a wearisome business enough, the constant alighting to be dug out for fresh starts; but I was altogether beyond sharing the American’s alarm lest we should sink for ever in a bog! I was far more concerned about the difficulty of getting really comfortable, among my disordered rugs and shawls.
As our coachman provides us with many evidences of Greek barbarity from the ruins of every village we pass, my companion’s indignation shows rapid signs of approach to fever heat. “We’ve not played ‘straight,’” he cried, “I am not pro-Greek nor pro-Turk, and, at the moment, I haven’t much use for Christians; but I don’t see myself keeping quiet about all this. You and I have to get quick and publish a little truth for a change.”
I told him that I had been trying in vain to get something done, or at least known, about Angora; but that if ever an article of mine included a word about Greek atrocities, the editorial scissors promptly got busy, and the truth remained untold.
Obviously the American belonged to that fine type, which abounds in young countries, who put all their dollars into the acquisition of knowledge, and who delight in using the knowledge they have acquired, backed by their own wealth, in the service of mankind. His keen inquiries about my impressions of the sad people he had come so far to understand, were proof enough that no kind of vanity, or pursuit of self-glorification, lay behind his insatiable curiosity.