“You said that you wanted to protect women and children,” I remarked, “but I know that your orders are not being carried out.”
“Those stories can’t be true,” he said. “I cannot conceive that a Turkish soldier would ill-treat a woman who is with child.”
Perhaps, if Enver could have read the circumstantial reports which were then lying in the archives of the American Embassy, he might have changed his mind.
Shifting the conversation once more, he asked me about my saddle, which was the well-known “General McClellan” type. Enver tried it and liked it so much that he afterward borrowed it, had one made exactly like it for himself—even including the number in one corner—and adopted it for one of his regiments. He told me of the railroads which he was then building in Palestine, said how well the Cabinet was working, and pointed out that there were great opportunities in Turkey now for real-estate speculation. He even suggested that he and I join hands in buying land that was sure to rise in value! But I insisted in talking about the Armenians. However, I made no more progress than before.
“We shall not permit them to cluster in places where they can plot mischief and help our enemies. So we are going to give them new quarters.”
This ride was so successful, from Enver’s point of view, that we took another a few days afterward, and this time Talaat and Dr. Gates, the President of Robert College, accompanied us. Enver and I rode ahead, while our companions brought up the rear. These Turkish officials are exceedingly jealous of their prerogatives, and, since the Minister of War is the ranking member of the Cabinet, Enver insisted on keeping a decorous interval between ourselves and the other pair of horsemen. I was somewhat amused by this, for I knew that Talaat was the more powerful politician; yet he accepted the discrimination and only once did he permit his horse to pass Enver and myself. At this violation of the proprieties, Enver showed his displeasure, whereat Talaat paused, reined up his horse, and passed submissively to the rear.
“I was merely showing Dr. Gates the gait of my horse,” he said, with an apologetic air.
But I was interested in more important matters than such fine distinctions in official etiquette; I was determined to talk about the Armenians. But again I failed to make any progress. Enver found more interesting subjects of discussion.
He began to talk of his horses, and now another incident illustrated the mercurial quality of the Turkish mind—the readiness with which a Turk passes from acts of monstrous criminality to acts of individual kindness. Enver said that the horse races would take place soon and regretted that he had no jockey.
“I’ll give you an English jockey,” I said. “Will you make a bargain? He is a prisoner of war; if he wins will you give him his freedom?”