A few days afterward an article appeared in the Ikdam discussing Turkish and American relations. This contribution, for the greater part, was extremely complimentary to America; its real purpose, however, was to contrast the present with the past, and to point out that our action in furnishing ammunition to Turkey’s enemies was hardly in accordance with the historic friendship between the two countries. The whole thing was evidently written merely to get before the Turkish people a statement almost parenthetically included in the final paragraph: “According to the report of correspondents at the Dardanelles, it appears that most of the shells fired by the British and French during the last bombardment were made in America.” At this time the German Embassy controlled the Ikdam, and was conducting it entirely in the interest of German propaganda. A statement of this sort, instilled into the minds of impressionable and fanatical Turks, might have the most deplorable consequences. I therefore took the matter up immediately with the man whom I regarded as chiefly responsible for the attack—the German Ambassador.
At first Wangenheim asserted his innocence; he was as bland as a child in protesting his ignorance of the whole affair. I called his attention to the fact that the statements in the Ikdam were almost identically the same as those which he had made to me a few days before; that the language in certain spots, indeed, was almost a repetition of his own conversation.
“Either you wrote that article yourself,” I said, “or you called in the reporter and gave him the leading ideas.”
Wangenheim saw that there was no use in further denying the authorship.
“Well,” he said, throwing back his head, “what are you going to do about it?”
This Tweed-like attitude rather nettled me, and I resented it on the spot.
“I’ll tell you what I am going to do about it,” I replied, “and you know that I will be able to carry out my threats. Either you stop stirring up anti-American feeling in Turkey or I shall start a campaign of anti-German sentiment here.
“You know, Baron,” I added, “that you Germans are skating on very thin ice in this country. You know that the Turks don’t love you any too well. In fact, you know that Americans are more popular here than you are. Supposing that I go out, tell the Turks how you are simply using them for your own benefit—that you do not really regard them as your allies, but merely as pawns in the game which you are playing. Now, in stirring up anti-American feeling here you are touching my softest spot. You are exposing our educational and religious institutions to the attacks of the Turks. No one knows what they may do if they are persuaded that their relatives are being shot down by American bullets. You stop this at once, or in three weeks I will fill the whole of Turkey with animosity toward the Germans. It will be a battle between us, and I am ready for it.”
Wangenheim’s attitude changed at once. He turned round, put his arm on my shoulder, and assumed his most conciliatory, almost affectionate, manner.
“Come, let us be friends,” he said. “I see that you are right about this. I see that such attacks might injure your friends the missionaries. I promise you that they will be stopped.”