From the Lakes of Killarney to the Golden Horn

by Henry M. Field

As the result of this campaign, however calamitous, was merely the fortune of war, gained in honorable battle; whatever sorrow it might have caused throughout Europe, it could not have created any stronger feeling, had not events occurred in another province, which kindled a flame of popular indignation.

Before the war began, indeed before the death of the Sultan, fearing an outbreak in other provinces, an attempt had been made to strike terror into the disaffected people. Irregular troops—the Circassians and Bashi Bazouks—were marched into Bulgaria, and commenced a series of massacres that have thrilled Europe with horror, as it has not been since the massacre of Scio in the Greek revolution. The events were some time in coming to the knowledge of the world, so that weeks after, when inquiry was made in the British Parliament, Mr. Disraeli replied that the government had no knowledge of any atrocities; that probably the reports were exaggerated; that it was a kind of irregular warfare, in which, no doubt, there were outrages on both sides.

Since then the facts have come to light. Mr. Eugene Schuyler, lately the American Secretary of Legation at St. Petersburg, and now Consul in Constantinople, has visited the province, and, as the result of a careful inquiry, finds that not less than twelve thousand men, women, and children (he thinks fifteen thousand) have been massacred. Women have been outraged, villages have been burnt, little children thrown into the flames. That peaceful province has been laid waste with fire and slaughter.

The report, coming from such a source, and accompanied by the fullest evidence, created a profound sensation in England. Meetings were held in all parts of the country to express the public indignation; and not only at the brutal Turks, but at their own government for the light and flippant way in which it had treated such horrors: the more so that among the powers of Europe, England was the supporter of Turkey, and thus might be considered as herself guilty, unless she uttered her indignant protest in the name of humanity and civilization.

But why should the people of Christian England wonder at these things, or at any act of violence and blood done by such hands? The Turk has not changed his nature in the four hundred years that he has lived, or rather camped, in Europe. He is still a Tartar and half a savage. Here and there may be found a noble specimen of the race, in some old sheik, who rules a tribe, and exercises hospitality in a rude but generous fashion, and who looks like an ancient patriarch as he sits at his tent door in the cool of the day. Enthusiastic travellers may tell us of some grand old Turk who is like "a fine old English gentleman," but such cases are exceptional. The mass of the people are Tartars, as much as when they roamed the deserts of Central Asia. The wild blood is in them still, with every brutal instinct intensified by religion. All Mussulmans are nursed in such contempt and scorn of the rest of mankind, that when once their passions are aroused, it is impossible for them to exercise either justice or mercy. No tie of a common humanity binds them to the rest of the human race. The followers of the Prophet are lifted to such a height above those who are not believers, that the sufferings of others are nothing to them. If called to "rise and slay," they obey the command without the slightest feeling of pity or remorse.

With such a people it is impossible to deal as with other nations. There is no common ground to stand upon. They care no more for "Christian dogs," nor so much, as they do for the dogs that howl and yelp in the streets of Constantinople. Their religious fanaticism extinguishes every feeling of a common nature. Has not Europe a right to put some restraint on passions so lawless and violent, and thus to stop such frightful massacres as have this very year deluged her soil with innocent blood?

The campaign in Servia is now over. An armistice has been agreed upon for six weeks, and as the winter is at hand, hostilities cannot be resumed before spring. Meanwhile European diplomacy will be at work to settle the conflict without another resort to arms. Russia appears as the protector and supporter of Servia. She asks for a conference of the six powers—England, France, Italy, Germany, Austria, and Russia—a conference to decide on the fate of Turkey, yet from which Turkey shall be excluded. Already intimations are given out of the nature of the terms which Russia will propose. Turkey has promised reform for the protection and safety of her Christian populations. But experience has proved that her promises are good for nothing. Either they are made in bad faith, and are not intended to be kept, or she has no power to enforce them in the face of a fanatical Mohammedan population. It is now demanded, in order to secure the Christian population absolute protection, that these reforms shall be carried out under the eye of foreign commissioners in the different provinces, supported by an armed force. This is indeed an entering wedge, with a very sharp edge too, and driven home with tremendous power. If Turkey grants this, she may as well abdicate her authority over her revolted provinces. But Europe can be contented with nothing less, for without this there is absolutely no safety for Christians in any lands cursed by the rule of the Turk.

It is quite probable that the negotiations will issue in some sort of autonomy for the disaffected provinces. This has been already granted to Wallachia and Moldavia (which have been united under the name of Roumania), the result of which has been to bring quietness and peace. It has been granted to Servia. Their connection with the Porte is only nominal, being limited to the payment of an annual tribute; while even this nominal dependence has the good effect of warning off other powers, such as Austria and Russia, from taking possession. If this same degree of independence could be extended to Bulgaria and to Bosnia and Herzegovina, there would be a belt of Christian states, which would be virtually independent, drawn around Turkey, which would confine within smaller space the range of Moslem domination in Europe.

And yet even that is not the end, nor will it be the final settlement of the Eastern question. That will not be reached until some other power, or joint powers, hold Constantinople. That is the eye of the East; that is the jewel of the world; and so long as it remains in the hands of the Turks, it will be an object of envy, of ambition, and of war.

The late Charles Sumner used to say that "a question is never settled until it is settled right;" and it cannot be right that a position which is the most central and regal in all the earth should be held forever by a barbarian power.