"March 4. All day with Murad's men setting
wire entanglements under water; two Turkish destroyers
patrolling the entrance to the bay, and cavalry patrols on the
heights to warn away the curious.
March 6. Forts Alamout and Shah Abbas are being
reconstructed from the new plans. Wired areas under water and along
the coves and shoals are being plotted. Murad Bey is unusually
polite and effusive, conversing with me in German and French. A
spidery man and very dangerous."
"March 7. A strange and tragic affair last night.
The heat being severe, I left my tent about midnight and went down
to the dock where my little sailboat lay, with the object of
cooling myself on the water. There was a hot land breeze; I sailed
out into the bay and cruised north along the coves which I have
wired. As I rounded a little rocky point I was surprised to see in
the moonlight, very near, a steam yacht at anchor, carrying no
lights. The longer I looked at her the more certain I became that I
was gazing at the Imperial yacht. I had no idea what the yacht
might be doing here; I ran my sailboat close under the overhanging
rocks and anchored. Then I saw a small boat in the moonlight,
pulling from the yacht toward shore, where the crescent cove had
already been thoroughly staked and the bottom closely covered with
barbed wire as far as the edge of the deep channel which curves in
here like a scimitar.
It must have been that the people in the boat miscalculated the
location of the channel, for they were well over the sunken barbed[…]
"criss-crossed mesh of wires just below the surface of the water;
but I probed for an hour before I located anything. Another hour
passed in trying to hook into the object with the little
three-fluked grapnel which I used as an anchor. I got hold of
something finally; a heavy chest of olive wood bound with metal;
but I had to rig a tackle before I could hoist it aboard.
Then I cast out again; and very soon my grapnel hooked into what
I expected—a canvas sack, weighted with a round shot. When I got it
aboard, I hesitated a long while before opening it. Finally I made
a long slit in the canvas with my knife… .
She was very young—not over sixteen, I think, and she was really
beautiful, even under her wet, dark hair. She seemed to be a
Caucasian girl—maybe a Georgian. She wore a small gold cross which
hung from a gold cord around her neck. There was another, and
tighter, cord around her neck, too. I cut the silk bowstring and
closed and bound her eyes with my handkerchief before I rowed out a
little farther and lowered her into the deep channel which cuts
eastward here like the scimitar of that true believer, Abdul
Hamid.
Then I hoisted sail and beat up slowly toward my little dock
under a moon which had become ghastly under the pallid aura of a
gathering storm––
"A poor dead young lady!" interrupted the child, clasping her
hands more tightly. "Did the Sultan kill her, daddy?"
"It seems so, Ruhannah."
"Why?"
"I don't know. He was a very cruel and wicked Sultan."
"I don't see why he killed the beautiful poor dead lady."
"If you will listen and not interrupt, you shall learn why."
"And was the chest that Herr Wilner pulled up the very same
chest that is here on the floor beside me?" insisted the child.
"The very same. Now listen, Rue, and I shall read a little more
in Herr Wilner's diary, and then you must have your bath and be put
to bed––"
"Please read, daddy!"
The Reverend Wilbour Carew turned the page and quietly
continued:
March 20. In my own quarters at Trebizond again,
and rid of Murad for a while.
A canvas cover and rope handles concealed the character of my
olive wood chest. I do not believe anybody suspects it to be
anything except one of the various boxes containing my own personal
effects. I shall open it tonight with a file and chisel, if
possible."
"March 21. The contents of the chest reveal
something of the tragedy. The box is full of letters written in
Russian, and full of stones which weigh collectively a hundred
pounds at least. There is nothing else in the chest except a broken
Ikon and a bronze figure of Erlik, a Yildiz relic, no doubt, of
some Kurdish raid into Mongolia, and probably placed beside the
dead girl by her murderers in derision. I am translating the
letters and arranging them in sequence.
March 25. I have translated the letters. The dead
girl's name was evidently Tatyana, one of several children of some
Cossack chief or petty prince, and on the eve of her marriage to a
young officer named Mitya the Kurds raided the town. They carried
poor Tatyana off along with her wedding chest—the chest fished up with my grapnel.
"In brief, the chest and the girl found their way into Abdul's
seraglio. The letters of the dead girl—which were written and
entrusted probably to a faithless slave, but which evidently never
left the seraglio—throw some light on the tragedy, for they breathe
indignation and contempt of Islam, and call on her affianced, on
her parents, and on her people to rescue her and avenge her.
And after a while, no doubt Abdul tired of reading fierce,
unreconciled little Tatyana's stolen letters, and simply ended the
matter by having her bowstrung and dumped overboard in a sack,
together with her marriage chest, her letters, and the Yellow Devil
in bronze as a final insult.
She seems to have had a sister, Naïa, thirteen years old,
betrothed to a Prince Mistchenka, a cavalry officer in the Terek
Cossacks. Her father had been Hetman of the Don Cossacks before the
Emperor Nicholas reserved that title for Imperial use.
And she ended in a sack off Gallipoli! That is
the story of Tatyana and her wedding chest."
"March 29. Murad arrived, murderously bland and
assiduous in his solicitude for my health and comfort. I am almost
positive he knows that I fished up something from Cove No. 37 under
the theoretical guns of theoretical Fort Osman, both long plotted
out but long delayed.
April 5. My duplicate plans for Gallipoli have
been stolen. I have a third set still. Colonel Murad Bey is not to
be trusted. My position is awkward and is becoming serious. There
is no faith to be placed in Abdul Hamid. My credentials, the secret
agreement with my Government, are no longer regarded even with
toleration in the Yildiz Kiosque. A hundred insignificant incidents
prove it every day. And if Abdul dare not break with Germany it is
only because he is not yet ready to defy "the Young Turk party. The
British Embassy is very active and bothers me a great deal.
April 10. My secret correspondence with Enver Bey
has been discovered, and my letters opened. This is a very bad
business. I have notified my Government that the Turkish Government
does not want me here; that the plan of a Germanised Turkish army
is becoming objectionable to the Porte; that the duplicate plans of
our engineers for the Dardanelles and the Gallipoli Peninsula have
been stolen.
April 13. A secret interview with Enver Bey, who
promises that our ideas shall be carried out when his party comes
into power. Evidently he does not know that my duplicates have been
stolen.
Troubles threaten in the Vilayet of Trebizond, where is an
American Mission. I fear that our emissaries and the emissaries of
Enver Bey are deliberately fomenting disorders because Americans
are not desired by our Government. Enver denies this; but it is
idle to believe anyone in this country."
"April 16. Another interview with Enver Bey. His
scheme is flatly revolutionary, namely, the deposition of Abdul, a
secret alliance, offensive and defensive, with us; the
Germanisation of the Turkish army and navy; the fortification of
the Gallipoli district according to our plans; a steadily
increasing pressure on Serbia; a final reckoning with Russia which
is definitely to settle the status of Albania and Serbia and leave
the Balkan grouping to be settled between Austria, Germany, and
Turkey.
I spoke several times about India and Egypt, but he does not
desire to arouse England unless she interferes.
I spoke also of Abdul Hamid's secret and growing fear of
Germany, and his increasing inclination toward England once
more."