“We’ll leave the Sion Sisters alone for the present,” he said, “but we must get their money.”
Reluctantly I acquiesced in his suggestion—knowing that all the valuables were safely reposing in the American Embassy. So I had the pleasure of standing by and watching Bedri and his associates search the whole establishment. All they turned up was a small tin box containing a few copper coins, a prize which was so trifling that the Turks disdained to take it. They were much puzzled and disappointed, and from that day to this they have never known what became of the money. If my Turkish friends do me the honour of reading these pages they will find that I have explained here for the first time one of the many mysteries of those exciting days.
As some of the windows of the convent opened on the court of the Cathedral, which was Vatican property, we contended that the Turkish Government could not seize it. Such of the Sisters as were neutrals were allowed to remain in possession of the part that faced the Vatican land, while the rest of the building was turned into an engineers’ school. We arranged that the French nuns should have ten days to leave for their own country; they all reached their destination safely, and most are at present engaged in charities and war-work in France.
My jocular statement that I intended to write a book deeply impressed Bedri, and in the next few weeks he repeatedly referred to it. I kept banteringly telling him that, unless his behaviour improved, I should be forced to picture him as the villain. One day he asked me, in all seriousness, whether he could not do something that would justify me in portraying him in a more favourable light. This attitude gave me an opportunity I had been seeking for some time. Constantinople had for many years been a centre for the white slave trade, and a particularly vicious gang was then operating under cover of a fake synagogue. An international committee, organised to fight this crew, had made me chairman. I told Bedri that he now had the chance to secure a reputation. Because of the war, his powers as Prefect of Police had been greatly increased, and a little vigorous action on his part would permanently rid the city of this disgrace. The enthusiasm with which Bedri adopted my suggestion and the thoroughness and ability with which he did the work entitle him to the gratitude of all decent people. In a few days every white slave trader in Constantinople was scurrying for safety. Most were arrested, a few made their escape; such as were foreigners, after serving terms in gaol, were expelled from the country. Bedri furnished me with photographs of all the culprits, and they are now on file in our State Department. I was not writing a book at that time, but I felt obliged to secure some public recognition for Bedri’s work. I therefore sent his photograph, with a few words about his achievement, to the New York Times, which published it in a Sunday edition. That a great American newspaper had recognised him in this way delighted Bedri beyond words. For months he carried in his pocket the page of the Times containing his picture, showing it to all his friends. This event ended my troubles with the Prefect of Police; for the rest of my stay we had very few serious clashes.
CHAPTER XIV
WANGENHEIM AND THE BETHLEHEM STEEL COMPANY—A HOLY WAR THAT WAS MADE IN GERMANY
All this time I was increasing my knowledge of the modern German character, as illustrated in Wangenheim and his associates. In the early days of the war the Germans showed their most ingratiating side to Americans; as time went on, however, and it became apparent that public opinion in the United States almost unanimously supported the Allies, and that the Washington Administration would not disregard the neutrality laws in order to promote Germany’s interest, this friendly attitude changed and became almost hostile.
The grievance to which the German Ambassador constantly returned with tiresome iteration was the old familiar one—the sale of American ammunition to the Allies. I hardly ever met him that he did not speak about it. He was constantly asking me to write to President Wilson, urging him to declare an embargo. Of course, my contention that the commerce in munitions was entirely legitimate made no impression. As the struggle at the Dardanelles became more intense, Wangenheim’s insistence on the subject of American ammunition grew. He asserted that most of the shells used at the Dardanelles had been made in America and that the United States was really waging war on Turkey.
One day, more angry than usual, he brought me a piece of shell. On it clearly appeared the inscription, “B.S.Co.”
“Look at that!” he said. “I suppose you know what ‘B.S.Co.’ means? That is the Bethlehem Steel Company! This will make the Turks furious. And remember that we are going to hold the United States responsible for it. We are getting more and more proof, and we are going to hold you to account for every death caused by American shells. If you would only write home, and make them stop selling ammunition to our enemies, the war would be over very soon.”
I made the usual defence, and called Wangenheim’s attention to the fact that Germany had sold munitions to Spain in the Spanish War; but all this was to no purpose. All that Wangenheim saw was that American supplies formed an asset to his enemy; the legalities of the situation did not interest him. Of course, I refused point-blank to write to the President about the matter.