From the Lakes of Killarney to the Golden Horn

by Henry M. Field

Such was the end of Abdul Aziz, who passed almost in the same hour from his throne and from life. Was there ever a more mournful sight under the sun? As we stand over that poor body covered with blood, we think of that brilliant scene when he rode to the mosque, surrounded by his officers of state, and indignation at his selfish life is almost forgotten in pity for his end. We are appalled at the sudden contrast of that exalted height and that tremendous fall. He fell as lightning from heaven. Did ever so bright a day end in so black a night? With such solemn thoughts we turn away, with footsteps sad and slow, from that royal tomb, and leave the wretched sleeper to the judgment of history and of God.

His successor had not a long or brilliant reign. Calamity brooded over the land, and weighed like a pall on an enfeebled body and a weak mind, and after a few months he too was removed, to give place to a younger brother, who had more physical vigor and more mental capacity, and who now fills that troubled throne.

I said also that "the curtain might rise on great events in the East before the close of the present century." It has already begun to rise. The death of the Sultan relieved the State of a terrible incubus, but it failed to restore public tranquillity and prosperity. Some had supposed that it alone would allay discontent and quell insurrection. But instead of this, his deposition and death seemed to produce a contrary effect. It relaxed the bonds of authority. It spread more widely the feeling that the empire was in a state of hopeless decay and dissolution, and that the time had come for different provinces to seek their independence. Instead of the Montenegrins laying down their arms, those brave mountaineers became more determined than ever, and the insurrection, instead of dying out, spread to other provinces.

Servia had long been chafing with impatience. This province was already independent in everything but the name. Though still a part of the Turkish Empire, and paying an annual tribute to the Sultan, it had its own separate government. But such was the sympathy of the people with the other Christian populations of European Turkey, who were groaning under the oppression of their masters, that the government could not withstand the popular excitement, and at the opening of summer rushed into war.

It was a rash step. Servia has less than a million and a half of souls; and its army is very small, although, by calling out all the militia, it mustered into the field a hundred thousand men. It hoped to anticipate success by a rapid movement. A large force at once crossed the frontier into Turkey, in order to make that country the battle-ground of the hostile armies. The movement was well planned, and if carried out by veteran troops, might have been successful. But the raw Servian levies were no match for the Turkish regular army; and as soon as the latter could be moved up from Constantinople, the former were sacrificed. In the series of battles which followed, the Turks were almost uniformly successful; forcing back the Servians over the border, and into their own country, where they had every advantage for resistance; where there were rivers to be crossed, and passes in the hills, and fortresses that might be defended. But with all these advantages the Turkish troops pressed on. Their advance was marked by wasted fields and burning villages, yet nothing could resist their onward march, and but for the delay caused by the interposition of other powers, it seemed probable that the campaign would end by the Turks entering in triumph the capital of Servia and dictating terms of peace, or rather of submission, within the walls of Belgrade.

This is a terrible disappointment to those sanguine spirits who were so eager to urge Servia into war, and who apparently thought that her raw recruits could defeat any Turkish army that could be brought against them. The result is a lesson to the other discontented provinces, and a warning to all Europe, that Turkey, though she may be dying, is not dead, and that she will die hard.

This proof of her remaining vitality will not surprise one who has seen the Turks at home. Misgoverned and ruined financially as Turkey is, she is yet a very formidable military power—not, indeed, as against Russia, or Germany, or Austria, but as against any second-rate power, and especially as against any of her revolted provinces.

Her troops are not mere militia, they are trained soldiers. Those that we saw in the streets of Constantinople were men of splendid physique, powerful and athletic, just the stuff for war. They are capable of much greater endurance than even English soldiers, who must have their roast beef and other luxuries of the camp, while the Turks will live on the coarsest food, sleep on the ground, and march gayly to battle. Such men are not to be despised in a great conflict. In its raw material, therefore, the Turkish army is probably equal to any in Europe. If as well disciplined and as well commanded, it might be equal to the best troops of Germany.

So far as equipment is concerned, it has little to desire. A great part of the extravagance of the late Sultan was in the purchase of the most approved weapons of war, which seemed needless, but have now come into play. His ironclads, no doubt, were a costly folly, but his Krupp cannon and breech-loading rifles (the greater part made in America) may turn the scale of battle on many a bloody field.

Further, these men are not only physically strong and brave; not only are they well disciplined and well armed; but they are inflamed with a religious zeal that heightens their courage and kindles their enthusiasm. That such an army should be victorious, however much we may regret it, cannot be a matter of surprise.