Memoir, The Story of my Life, by Krikor Z. Yeghoyan.

Krikor Z. Yeghoyan The Story of my Life

Written in 1952

Condensed and translated by Vicgtoria Dadekian September 26, 1970

Tribute to my wife, Marian, without whose ingenious help I could never succeed in my struggle for survival.

1914 ----1919 My brother Rev. Asadoor Z. Yeghoian

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Memoirs I was born in Harpoot, Turkey, in the village of Tulgadin, commonly called Koulou. My father’s name was Zakar and mother’s Zartar. My grandfather was Mahdesi Krikor and his father’s name Garabed, and his father’s name Yeghya.

These forefathers of mine lived in a near by hamlet called “The Lake” (Tzovk).

Approximately 250 years ago the village became half submerged in mud. The little church still stands half buried in mud and water, and serves as a shrine for people of Koulou and Harpoot in general.

After this disaster took place, the villagers began migrating to different places and my great-great grandfather left his home and came over to Koulou. Lo! This is the story of our clan. Events prior to this era, are shrouded in darkness.

Tulgadin, Koulou was mostly populated by Armenians. There were 350 families, including 15 families of Turkish origin. The village had three churches, Catholic, Apostolic and Protestant. My grandfather’s oldest brother was priest, his name was Der-Marsoob. In the days of my grandfather Haji Krikor, some of our clan became protestant.

My parents had 12 children. I was the youngest, my brother Rev. Asadoor Yeghoyan was the sixth. I also had two sisters, Mariam Hampartzoomian in Fresno and Kohar Yeghoyan who passed away not too long ago in Beirut, Lebanon.

Tulgadin-Koulou was a famous little town, had a high standard of education, even before our days people all over neighboring villages came in our schools for higher learning, then attended Euphrates College in the City of Harpoot. Koulou had quite few graduates. Some of whom live in this country strewn all over U.S.A. To name a couple “Tulgadin”, Hovhanness Haroutunian known to all Armenians all over the world, also Rev. Asadoor Yeghoyan known for his evangelical work. Our village enjoyed the fame of being the richest amongst the surrounding settlements, had good size industry oin manufacturing and finishing leather good. Koulou alone supplied all the leather for the needs of all the people of Harpoot.

We also had able bodied geologist on the person of Magar Varzabed and a millionaire in the person of Bagdasar Agha. We also had smart but a notorious son who engaged himself in making counterfeit money. He got caught and was imprisoned for life. He died under untold tortures during Armenian massacres.

We also had famous architect, carpenters. Architect Garabed designed and built the magnificent Apostolic Church in Koulou, the fame of this amazing skill spread as far as Constantinople.

For entertainment, besides Christmas and Easter, they had other holidays.

Young people were dancing and making merry for three days in gorgeous attire.

We also had saints and shrines, especially there was this church from time

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immemorial one and a half miles away from Koulou toward south. This shrine seemed to cast a spell upon everybody. People came from far and wide and found cure from their physical ailments.

Some walked from Kesrig, seven miles bare-footed, tog et rid of their distress.

They brought chicken, lamb and doves to offer as sacrifices and prayed, and what is so amazing, their faith worked wonders. They seemed to get the cure they desired and went home happy and healthy. Priest and parishioner alike had profound faith in God. Just to mention one, Father Paul was arrested on false charges of course under pressure to denounce his faith, but he ignoring their threats he prayed more making the sign of the cross, three times and fell dead under cruel beating. His uncle Avedis followed the priest’s example, he too fell dead. Thus, our undaunted clergymen the true shepherd of the sheep fell dead under Turkish brutal blow upholding their faith.

I managed to stay in Koulou up to 1907 and seeing there was no safety for the Armenians. I planned to leave the country and head on toward the U.S.A. After six months of hazardous travels I reached Boston, Mass., 1907. I spent seven years in the Eastern states, around Haverhill, Nashua, Worcester. The year of 1914 I returned to by birth place and here starts the horrible story of massacres, slaughters and genocide of my unfortunate people.

In 1914 I left Boston, Mass, to go back to Turkey, stayed there for few months but due to mounting unrest, I left Turkey again and a year later I arrived in Boston again. When my brother Rev. A.Z. Yeghoyan received my letter in Harpoot. He wrote to me in reply “Krikor you travelled all round the world,nou you know by experience that the world is round, tke care so you will not fall off it.”

When I came to America the first time in 19-08 a month before the newly adopted Constitution, which promised protection of freedom (which we had none). We could not go from one City to another much les abroad. Five times I attempted to flee the country but every time I revealed my plan to my brother he stopped me.

On the fourth time my brother asked me “Does the Lord want you to go?” I said I don’t know, then he said, “Wait until you find out if it is the lords will”. Fifth time, I went to him again, I told him it was the Lords will. “How do you know?” Well, I said current politics and the way they watch our every move convinces me I have to go back to America, even if I have to walk.

Sixth time I came to his house again, this time right away he put the question to me, “How are you going?” I revealed my plan—which was a secret. He did not question me any more. At this juncture he called his wife Araxie saying, “Let us pray for Krikor, he will try again to U.S.A.” The three of us knelt down. It was a hushed solemn moment, he prayed fervently and commended me to the safe keeping of God. 1907 autumn I left Harpoot and arrived in Alleppo Syria with twelve companions.

We remained in Aleppo for seven months in the mountains of Taraboulous. We were robbed of our money and the few incidentals we carried. The boys gave up

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hope our plight got worse by the day. Nevertheless I never gave up hope. Some how my brothers fervent prayers inspired me with faith. Some how I felt sure I was going to get there (America).

Through a good Arab, boy from Palou and I left for Alexandria, the rest of them (10) of them went back. After six months journey I landed in U.S.A. I lived in Boston and near by states for six years. I had pretty good life. I got myself a good job in Nashua N.H. I made $4.80 a week in a shoe factory, plus I got a carpentering job, these two combined brought me good living, besides I was able to send money home. Seeing that I had some cash and a good trade I decided to go back to Harpoot again and join my family. In 1914 I left Worcester, Mass.

In December I arrived in Harpoot, Koulou. In spite of equal constitutional rights, there prevailed a depressive political atmosphere all around, which made me feel restless and fearful. In the following spring I started working. I bought myself eighty dollars worth of lumber, got myself a helper, secured some contracts and began building houses, the wages were high in Tulgadin, Koulou. It went good for a while on the surface at least, then on day I picked up my tools and went to Mezre to start working on a job, a hospital which Dr. Mikael had planned to construct. The doctor called me aside and told me that few leading Armenians, such as Armen Garo were arrested. “There is a big turmoil, he said, let us postpone our plan.” Now we understand that the fatal clouds of war looking on the horizon of Europe were set loose pouring down fire and brimstone.

May 1915 Lusitania, a passenger liner was sunk without warning. This embittered the Americna feeling and before you knew it, they too were in it (World War One).

Few weeks later on one mournful day the Turkish soldiers with trumpets were heralding the existence of war between enemies proclaiming that all the male population 18 to 45 are in draft age and should enlist, defectors will be punished.

Immediately most every body with a weeks rations on his back came to register.

It was surprising to see a defiant man like Shero Keferdeze a Kurd obey the orders like a lamb. Caravan after caravan came to present themselves. I too, with my food on my back went to enlist. They sent me a place called Mektab (school). Aslan Agha was supervising the building. All around Mezre, Husenig plateau was covered with tents for draftees which were mostly Kurds and Armenians. After four days we were told that 35 and 45 year olds can pay a sum of 40 liras in two weeks period and be exempt from service. I figured these people were only after money so I decided to wait until two weeks were over.

After fifteen days, I was called again and this time they meant business. They would not even consider my money (Badel) they had different plans for me.

I began to look round for help. I heard Mr. Emman’s translator Mr. Dekijian can arrange or mediate on my behalf. I went to him, talked to him about my plight…he replied, I had to do one of two things: one, I had to pay more badel, instead of 40 liras I had to pay 60, or he said “your brother could write a letter to the draft board telling them you were sick”, if he signs a manuscript of this nature

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only then I will go and arrange matters.” My brother did not see me in bed, he would never tell a lie. To make the long story short Mr. Dikijian himself wrote the letter and got it signed by the village chiefs, then brought it over to Mr. Emman, somewhat reluctantly yet he too put his signature to the letter. Mr. Dikijian and I went to the draft board, paid 60 liras, got a receipt finally and walked to get into more trouble.

Day by day the situation was getting worse. The government sent out a proclamation demanding all weapons to be surrendered and also after ten days they would go from house to house and confiscate them and punish the owner.

There was also the problem of draft dodgers, defectors.

Few days later they started demanding from people by name and ransacking homes expecting to find guns and when they could not find conventional weapons, because the Armenians did not carry them, they only carried little revolvers. The military subjected the Armenian families to untold tortures, in the meantime they were looking for draft dodgers and causing mothers, sisters agonizing physical and mental anguish. They would also rob, plunder and pillage the house of all foodstuffs, clothing or anything of importance they laid eyes on.

One sad morning I work up to find on both sides of my house (which was situated at the junction of two roads leading to the wheat barley fields.) Also in front of my house lay the beautiful fountain of cool clear drinking water supplying the need of 2/3 of the villagers. Young maidens and young men often started their romance here under the pretext of carrying water home in earthenware, or watering their horses. Soldiers took position here, turning back those who were on their way to work in the fields, and about fifty policemen were spreading terror in the houses.

Their chief was the sheriff of Kegvank a bloodthirsty man. In the evening Dadekian, Hagop Amoo and Aghoian, Yeghig came over and asked me to go with them and inform my brother Rev. Yeghoyan, in the hope that he may talk to Mr. Emman to avert this catastrophe. We did go to my brother, he got very upset and said “Hagop Amoo whatever you told me I beg of you, go and tell Mr. Emman yourself, he may listen to you more than he would to me.

Mr. Emman had some sort of authority in government circles – Hagop Amoo repeated the awful events to Mr. Emman, he too was much perturbed. Right away he ran to government headquarters saw the commissioner of the Army.

The commissioner sent a delegation to stop the cruelties, but the vindictive sheriff had already deported the majority of the Armenians. This sheriff of Kegvank had no jurisdiction on Koulou. Finding out we applied authorities for help, he got furious. At this point there were some Armenian soldiers who deserted the Armey, they became home sick, they suffered unaided and died under a load of lice and lice. This was true about the Turkish and Kurdish soldier as well.

Every time I went to Mezre from Koulou. I used to witness lots of bodies by the walls of the market place and lots more dangling on the gallows. What a heart

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rendering sight it used to provide! One day I saw five of them in a row all of them Kurdish. These were charged helping the defectors. Three times I was present when people were shot for some lousy excuse. The Armenians were shot under false accusation of hiding big weapons, which they did not own anyway.

Going back to the time when Koulou was besieged by the military to capture guns. Something unfortunate happened which gave rise to more persecutions.

Papazian, father Moses and son were working in the vineyard. Moses was executive secretary to Tashnagtzagan committee. Surmising the seriousness of the situation makes a bundle of all the documents and books, letters and also couple of firearms and tells his wife to hide, in case of danger. The wife on hearing the village was already surrounded takes the bundle, goes up the roof, and throws it down to her husband. One of the soldiers sees this from far, runs, grabs it, opens it up and reads 17 prominent names, right away, most these men were captured thrown into prison or were hanging on gallows.

This sub-human sheriff of Kegvank was at the top of his wickedness going from village to village hunting for victims under pretext of looking for guns and ammunition. His immediate target was Garmiri where he arrested several men among them was the priest, father Der Asadoor Hoosigian, he brought them to Kegvank under merciless beating accusing the priest of having knowledge about the spot where Koulou people buried their weapons in their church. The lynching the pulling of his nails and scaring his tongue with hot poker weakens this courageous man of God. Now he wants to put an end to his existence, he asks them to take him to Koulou and church. They put him on a donkey and bring him to the village with several gendarmes accompanying him on horseback.

Koulou had lots of wells, (That is where it derives its name Koulou. In Turkish it means wells). Therefore, as soon as they get closer to a deep well, the valiant priest throws himself in the well to rid himself of the barbarous men. The Kegvank sheriff was exasperated; he figured he was humiliated and insulted.

Immediately, he ordered two men of Armenian descent, Hovaness Norsoyan and Kachadoor to get down the well and bring the priest up. In a minute or so the water pushed him up on the surface, he was grabbed by the hair and brought up half dead. I guess those men had to obey him or else.

In those days, the government demanded 35 wagons to take food and ammunition to the fighting men over the front of Moosh. I was fixing those wagons when that happened. I became possessed by a terrible intuition, I would be next. So I left Koulou and went to Mezre.

The Armenian soldier was not trusted upon. (This feeling was mutual among those two races.) Therefore they had taken their guns away, and were keeping them busy by making them build roads between Haghi and Habousi in the meantime waiting for an opportunity to exterminate them. This was their prime purpose.

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Later on, we heard a group of gendarmes brought those soldiers to Mezre, hungry and thirsty to transport them to Diyarbakir, (Dicrana gerd) and to Bagdad in Iraq. A couple of young men and four students from my brothers Bible school had no kin and no money. My brother and some missionaries collected some money and blankets and sent them out with two German nurses. The supply did no good to them. They were killed on the way before getting to their destination.

Terror was reigning high and wide. Armenians were getting slaughtered, deported, exiled, and driven away from home and country. That week I stayed with my brother. He and few others were spared because they worked in German Institutions, orphanages and one day a police came and put up a sign on the door which read --- Besides your immediate family if you hide or harbor a friend or somebody else, you and your family will get deported too.

At this point in 24 hours period the city of Harpoot proper and Mezre alike was deserted, if there were few women left they were exposed to harassment all the time.

One day Rev. Amirkhanian came over my brother’s house, he could not stay in the city of Harpoot any more. He was intent to save his life. We thought the only way he could be spared would be to pretend he was sick and be sent to the American Hospital with no delay. We sent word to Dr. Atkinson; he called Rev. Amirkhanian and produced proof positive that he was a sick man.

Finally I told my brother it was dangerous to remain under his roof and endanger his family, so I decided to go to the orphanage. It was called (Peniel) when I got in, Miss Katherine’s Institution; I hid myself in the garden amongst these and waited quietly for my fate. The porter-girl right away informed the German Mother. She sent out her aide Taunt Mary after me, to me in her room, closed the doors and said “Mr. Yeghoyan evidently they are going to kill you people, so I am going to do my best to save your life.” And turning to Taunt Mary she commanded, “Nobody should know about this.” So those two saintly girls protected me from harm at the expense of their own security. This orphanage housed about 300 women and girls; some of them were survivors of the massacres, wounded and sick. These ladies would take them in at night, against strict orders of the Turkish government, would feed them wash and dress their many wounds.

The deportation of my village, Koulou did not take them too far, just couple days journey. They were slaughtered and butchered on the slopes of Doros Mountains. Hazarbaba in a valley by a Kurdish village known as “Kurdemilig”, those heartless butchers including adults as well as kids alike rushed upon the people with knives, with rocks, cudgels with sharp and blunt instruments, running here and there among seated exiles with one aim in mind to annihilate these innocent women and children. Even kids were taught how to kill a man. They repeated their ghastly act all day, making sure to let nobody survive. At night they piled up the bodies and set fire to them. However, miracles happen all the time. Two women and two girls came out alive, one of the women was Mrs.

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Kholigian and one of the girls was the daughter of a relative of mine, Victoria Yeghoyan Dadekian. Their eyewitness story was hard to believe but the absence of thousands of people, the empty village and the 27 stab-wounds that Victoria was inflicted with, you could not help believing the atrocities unleashed against Armenians were true.

For three weeks Taunti Mary sheltered me, fed and cared for me, but one day she came over, with tears in her eyes. “They have informed on me and threatened my life, in the other orphanage across the street have noticed some shadows of a man and they are almost sure it is you.” The orphanage became full of fugitives, all anxious to save their lives. Refugees came from the north Erzinga, Trabizon, Erzooroom and left their children in the street of Mezre with a scant hope that they might be spared. These children roamed round naked and hungry and sick and dying. The city streets were covered with corpses, consequently the air became polluted and heavy, in order to clean out the streets, they brought some garbage trucks and loaded them in the back of the boys orphanage where there was a ditch ready, and threw them in. Thus the quick and the dead shared a common grave. I often wonder if those heatless monsters of hum race got off scot-free!!!

At this period of time, even those under German jurisdiction, living outside, teachers and preachers were not safe in their homes. So my brother moved into the orphanage, where I was hiding. At this point Taunt Katherine said “badveli” Reverend, we can no more take care of your brother. He is your responsibility now, and I was taken in a closet in brother’s quarters.

Seeing I was still alive, my wife and children came to Mexre to the orphanage and got mixed among the orphans. My wife too hid herself in the shed, where they kept wood. Eventually news reached Mr. Emman that Rev. Yeghoyan’s brother was in hiding in the building. He wrote a letter to Sister Katherine to put him out or else. The whole orphanage might be in jeopardy. She answers his letters evasively. At last, one day he came over in person, when I heard his footsteps, I got petrified, my brother was very sick in bed. Mr. Emman entered his room without greeting him, se spoke, “Badveli Asadoor, I know your brother is in this building; he should get out right away.” My brother did not utter one work but his wife excitedly added, “Hairig where can he go; they will kill him.” Then again Mr. Emman spoke, “I heard there are quite few fugitives in the mountains; let him go join them.” When he left, my brother said, “Close the doors and the windows. Krikor come out. Did you hear?” I heard, I said, “What do you think?”

Nothing I said, and then added I should go out, I murmured I’d rather perish alone. I will go out….I changed my mind. I called my wife and asked her to go investigate the same place where I was hiding before. She went, and returned right away saying it was full of furniture belongings to Prof. Boojookanian, Prof.

Moosekian and Rev. Yeghoyan…After pondering awhile. Well, I said, call one of my brother’s boys to help me. When he came I said to him. My darling whatever we do together here you are to keep a secret. You are not to tell anyone, not even your mother and father. You go and find me a hammer and a saw, a pail and a shovel and hide them, and bring them to me at night. He did like I told him.

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Toward morning I fixed a place under the floor, a subterranean hole, halfway beneath the floor in the earth. I got in, my wife was supposed to bring me food and water and also she was instructed by me to tell a lie to convince people that I went out of the building at night.

On the other hand my life became unbearable in that hole. I could not eat or drink. I was more dead than alive. Seven week went by, it was in August now, the foul air, the fleas, the lice were driving me out of my mind. I decided life was not worth living this way. I had reconciled to the idea of death. Now nothing and nobody seemed that important to me to induce me otherwise. I felt I could welcome death in any form and manner than live another day in that miserable rat-hole.

At night my wife came to open the door. I lifted up the cover of my hiding hole.

She hushed me right away and said that word was circulating round that Constantinople had granted amnesty to Catholics and it was hoped that Protestants would receive same tomorrow. This news was sort of disappointing to me, because I had made my peace with God. The following day Mr. Emman informed the Protestants too, about so called amnesty, saying by this decree, deportations and killings will be abolished. My sister-in-law Araxie and Taunti Katherine had surmised my wife’s undercover activities, now they deemed it necessary to ask my wife to reveal her secret about “Amoo” somewhat reluctantly, yet my wife leads them to where I was hiding. My wife called me to come out. I opened up the top of my hole and squeezed myself out. There was an outburst of a mixture of crying and joy; crying because I had turned into a skeleton. Immediately all the girls and women joined in celebration. This occasion failed to make me happy, because I thought I was the only male alive. Afterwards Rev. Bedros, Haji Matheos and my brother came over, Haji Matheos cut my hair, gave me a bath and made me lie down to rest. After few days I regained my strength.

Winter came around fast. Mr. Emman planned to get me in one of the German institutions as a carpenter to teach the trade to the boys, so he applied to the government and enrolled me as one his workers. Tragedy struck again my wife believing in the news of so-called amnesty, went to Koulou to get some food.

The Gendarmes again worked havoc. They got these few remnants together, including my wife and exiled them. As soon as I heard the news with the help of Mr. Emman, we sent wire to Diyarbakir. Dekranagerd where they were supposed to arrive, but in vain…on the third day they were taken in a bar, there happed to be a Kurd in there, who was acquainted with Margaret Dadekian, on recognizing her, the Kurd promises to help her escape. Naturally Margaret tells her companions about this and they all beg of the Kurd to help them a well. In return the Kurd would get ten liras, for each, provided he would get them to Mezre safe and sound. My wife vouches for another woman’s fee telling the Kurd her brother-in-law is “badveli” in a German establishment. He will indeed get his money.

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One day we spotted a man with a letter in his hand, at the door. The porter-girl brought the note to my brother. My brother assures this man he will get his money as soon as he bring them alive – sure enough he brings them one by one and collects 10 liras for every one of them.

It was autumn now, and was getting cold. Mr. Emman sent me and five young men from the orphanage, and his Turkish servant to his summer home to get the window and doors fixed against winter hazards. One day we were sitting to rest, two of the boys went out, and returning back they each had a skull in his hand covered with long hair! How horrible! They told us the valley was full of human bones and hairy skulls.

Later on Mr. Emman came riding a horse, he too was petrified at the sight of those horrible skulls of women and girls. He turned to his servant and said “What is that?” Ebosh took up the broken thread of the terrible take and began. “Two months ago they brought a caravan of women and children and shot them in there. I saw with my own eyes and I heard with my own ears.” Yes, this was only a fraction of one and half million Armenians exterminated in the manner.

In October the town Courier was spreading the news round Erzooroom was occupied by the Russians – to protect our beloved country. Everybody is automatically a soldier, educated, uneducated young and old, rich or poor is supported to present himself to the draft board.

Luckily for some of us, in those days Kurds form Dersim would help the Armenians make their escape to Dersim. So taking 12 boys with me from the orphanage paid eight liras for a head to a Kurd and fled the country by night.

In the morning we landed in Aghzoonig – a village. We looked for an inn and found a barn. We took over the responsibility of feeding and caring for the animals in exchange for our stay for the night.

The Kurd Mohammed Agha got a taste of money. So every day he brought new Armenians who found favor in his eyes. Our number reached the two hundred mark in this hamlet. He told us we were safe as long as we were with him in the meantime he advised us to buy some guns, which we did, and started lending help to Mahmud Agha, when they decided to fight against the Turks.

Time was ebbing away rather slowly in those miserable stables, dirt, foul air, malnutrition worked havoc on our health, most of us contacted yellow jaundice and skin trouble and itch.

After winter went by into spring, we fixed inside the barn and stables and they became suitable place to live. This village became a model, other tribes men used to comment, Aghzoonig has become a model like Paris. We built fountains, lakes, even waterfalls. Now that snow started melting, the climate got warmer, we were getting our baths regularly in our lake, but something unfortunate happened a little stream was meandering away. Our young men in order to have

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a better lake to swim in, they blocked its way, the water rose and the impact loosened out the muddy dyke and the water rose and the impact loosened out the muddy dyke and the water started gushing around uncontrolled. This stupid act on the part of our boys, made the chieftains angry.

They called for a meeting and wanted to find out if I could do something to control the flow, because their fields were getting scorched. I promised the chiefs to build a wall provided the boys gave me a helping hand. So we did, with 150 men in 4 days. We finished and this was a lot better than what they had before now they were astonished and happy to find a big reservoir for their fields.

In the month of February the Turkish military officials started their persecution again. They demanded by the Kurds to give up the Armenians in their homes.

At this point, we decided to send two men with chief Sahid and see if we could get into Russian Army in Mamakhaloon and inform them of our plight. We started on our way to Mamakhaloon, the bandits attacked up robbed us of our clothing except our shirts and shorts. Eventually we reached a village; on request from Sahid the villagers gave us some rags to wear. We continued our journey, and tour delightful surprise we saw Armenian children looking out of windows, with equally surprise on their part to find that we were Armenians. We talked in Armenian to them; they could not understand us. We stayed with them for few days.

We took up to our wonderings again, through a deep canyon, a gorge this time a narrow passage in the mountains of Dersim. We walked for seven hours, when the weather warmed up, from above, huge chunks of landslide, solid earth and also mud in some cases fell tumbling down with thundering noise. Fear fell on us and we prayed…God save us from that catastrophe…but when we reached the end of the canyon, we perceived about fifty soldiers watching our movements, on the spur of the moment, we tried to hide but in vain. Sahid advanced before us, after that a voice came, “Do not be afraid, we are friends.” When we got closer, we noticed they were deserters of Turkish Army. They were Kurdish. They asked us about current events in Harpoot. After hearing our story, they thought it impossible for us to go to Mamakhaloon. Nevertheless, we started our travels again. With a full load on our backs, with a new guide, called Vali Agha, who got our money supposed for safe keeping. Wen we got to a certain spot he said.” No more danger her. Go.” We asked for our money, he quipped, “Do I owe you money? Ho! Ho!, stupid Armenians, Sahid grabbed your money; I only snatched it from him. I owe you nothing.” We pleaded with him for something. He opened up his purse; there were only some pennies (para) about seven para. He gave those to us.

We thanked him for accompanying us, and departed. We went to Zenial Agha and told him about our adventure. He said, “It is a miracle he left you alive. Vali Agha is chief of guerrillas.” We trailed back to Aghzoonig. Mahamed Agha’s place. The snow was melting. We did not have proper clothing, no shoes; the passage on the mountainside was covered with mud and rocks. The terrain was

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almost insurmountable barefoot. I felt sick on the way, and was unconscious for a while. My friends picked me up and carried me along. I was sick for three weeks.

It was summer now. Some of us went to help the Kurds in the fields to reap the harvest when they came to Aghzoonig village. They told me they heard bomb exploding in the distance. The following day we went to sleep in the valleys, because the news had reached our hamlet too; Erzinga had fallen to the Russians.

Immediately, I and six others offered Sahid Agha few liras to lead us to Erzinga.

At this point the news was quite frustrating: some verified, others refuted it. While we were proceeding toward the east a few armed men made their appearance.

We made a move to run backward; they recognized us right away and shouted, “Hey! Armenians do not be scarred; you are free. There are no more Turkish left here to molest you; they ran away. The Russians are here now.” By this time we climbed a snow covered mountain where we found plenty of water. We drank to our hearts content to quench our thirst. We spent the night over the mountains and watched Erzinga bathing in the floodlights of electricity. Yes, now I was positive Erzinga belonged to Russia. In a happy frame of mind we went to sleep under the blue canopy of heaven. The night seemed restful but short. We came down, before we knew it, we were in Sultan Sahid, a town. We had heard that the Turkish Army had pulled back, but much to our surprise, we spotted some military in Sultan Sahid. This time they were friendly. They asked up, if we were Armenians. We answered, “Yes,” in Armenian, Turkish and English, and we made the Sign of the Cross. Somebody woke the officer up; he questioned us again and when he got persuaded about our nationality, the officer added, “We knew there were lots of them in Dersim; now they are free! Free!”

This officer gave us a note we brought it to Erzinga’s Commander. This officer spoke with us at length, and said he was a Tartar. That is why he spoke such good Turkish. We were still proceeding, the fields were scorched and bone dry.

The little towns and villages were deserted and lay in ruins. There was plenty of dry fruit under the trees. We picked up some to eat on the way; finally we reached the river. Thousands of soldiers were swimming and bathing their horses. Availing ourselves of the opportunity, we too got in the water and took a ice cool swim. There were lots of Kazak soldiers (mounted); one of them stopped us and inquired if we were Armenians; when the answer was positive, he said, “When you get in town you will meet a lot of them. They have orders to take you to Dekran Devoian He will undertake all the arrangements for you.”

We met Dekran Devoian. He sent us to a merchant’s inn where there were a lot of displaced persons, refugees, and everyday there were more and more coming. They were fed clothed and taken care of.

Couple days later, an Armenian officer came over and wanted to find out if there were any who knew a trade. I was mentioned as being a carpenter. He showed me a wagon and asked if I could build some. He took me to his office lectured on

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certain duties imposed on me. Then they took me to the Armenian prelates building and advised me that it would be my responsibility to watch over all the tradesmen, cobblers, tailors, carpenters, bakers, blacksmiths. “You are going to receive 100 rubles.” The other men too will get paid according to their abilities.

He ordered two soldiers to stand by and supply the stuff to fix the wagons and build some new ones. Lucky for me, I was expert on the job. I had worked on wagons in Adana. So I did not encounter any difficulties in fixing the wheels either.

There was an important thing on my mind. I had an urge to talk to that officer.

When I went to see his place, his bed was empty. There was one over the roof and he was just laying on it. I was afraid to greet him because in those days, 1917, Tsar Nicholas was overthrown. A provisional government was formed by Kerensky, who was superseded by Lenin and Trotsky. July 16, 1918, Nicholas and his family were executed – so I did not know what to expect. Seeing me so timid he began, “What do you want?” I said that certain job, how am I going to manage?...He shouted at me. I felt miserable at night. I decided not to go, to do that job. The two guards squealed on me. He ordered them to find me and bring me back. We were shopping the market place; the whole gang of us, we joined in plundering too, as everything was stolen goods anyway: one stealing from the other. The two guards came and found me. They told me the officer wanted to see me. I had no choice I had to go with them, on our way they asked me why I did not report to work. I stammered because that officer swears too much. I refused to work for a man like that. The guards went back and told him the reason. The officer was surprised, very much, to find men of that caliber. I guess, now they took me back to him, he apologized and added, I am going to be your best friend, do not forget this.”

I began to work, and gave work to each and every man. We had all sorts of tradesmen among us, and we produced all sorts of things that could be useful round the refugee camp, and the officer was satisfied with us and had respect for us.

A month later some guy came over from Tiflis. He was the superintendent of Sazgorov, a national organization. He and his wife came to visit our factory.

They were so amazed they even offered to transfer us to Caucasus. After a short while our officer Yervant Agha had to quit his job; he was a sick man, but very smart and educated; he attended Moscow’s University. He was replaced by a man, very crude and illiterate. He was from Kharkov. He became our new boss. We continued our work. Everything went well for a while until Bolshevism broke out and the military was on the move. We heard rumors that they advanced as far as Sevas and Harpoot.

During those few months, Sazgorov saved and sheltered lots of homeless and orphans. Some fled Turkish homes; some were the remnants of perished families; some from Dersim. For a while the institution was in topsy-turvy condition, but later Dr. Bogosian from Sevas became superintendent. He was very efficient in organizing and making people satisfied.

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Those surviving Armenians when arrived in Erzinga, they busied themselves in business, figuring there being 60 thousand service men. Business was bound to be good. All of a sudden Sazgorov was planning to curtain his activities and let us know that our factory would be transferred to Erzooroom (us included). The boys did not consent to this; consequently we left the factory and started on our own. I opened up a store with a partner who was a shrewd businessman. I supplied the goods and he did the selling. We continued this way until the Russians pulled back.

During this period, I became acquainted with Mr. Moorat, because I was a carpenter and was fixing places for displaced homeless persons. We spent evenings together. We took mutual pleasure in each other’s company. He had great confidence in me, and I was very fond of him.

Finally the officer in charge demands to quit and go home, therefore, General Leakhor called Mr. Moorat and suggested that we should get organized, take up arms, and defend the front as best as we could. Then there came an edict for all Turkish Armenians to get enrolled for action, active duty. They would get trained under Russian-Armenian Lieutenants and Sergeants for a few months and then take over, to release the old tired soldiers. Mr. Moorat was in command. He was smart efficient good man. He advised us to get along peacefully with local Turks and Kurds, in the meantime we were encouraged to stay put because we would soon get help from Caucasus. Now at this point there were three Turkish envoys and seven from Caucasus, one of whom was Arshag Domalian. They signed a brief truce for three months, i.e.

Domalian called for a mass meeting, which went well, and he told us to defend the front for additional two weeks at which time one thousand Armenian soldiers would come and join us. Mr. Moorat spoke, “Comrade Domalian, there is no more blood left in our veins to spill again, send us home, you know as well as we do, no soldier, no reinforcement will come from Caucasus.” Nevertheless, other officers persuaded us to stay on with some Soviet soldiers. When those more influential officers left for home, things went bad for us. The Turk and Kurd elements began to put demands on us for more food and other things.

Especially when they realized that our ranks were not that invulnerable. They raised lots of trouble for us. They made efforts to organize attacks on us.

Lucky for us, nothing could escape Moorat’s eyes. Once in a while he got the soldiers together and made them march in the city in great pomp and power, displaying a mighty army to frighten the Turks and Kurds into submission.

Moorat asked us again to stay on until fresh troops came. A young man, a defector amongst us, turned round and shouted, “Why should we stay in the force and die? This is not our country.” Moorat interrupted, “Where do you come from?” When he named the city, Moorat continued, “During Armenian and Tatar War, when your herd was driven away, you must have been seven or eight years old; you must remember who got the herd back. I, Moorat.” “I recall it,” the

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young man murmured. “So you see there is no such thing as your country and my country. We all belong to the Armenian race. That hill you are standing on now was bathed in blood of your brothers.”

We remained few more days, our ranks decreased. The Turks and the Kurds joined again the battle and bloodshed resumed. During this time I was telephone operator. Moorat sent me to the telephone company to learn how to operate, climb the telephone posts, repair and connect the wires. I had to go to the mountains of Mamakhatoon with ten helpers, with the job with great success and satisfaction. The valley between the mountains was a long one; we were to protect the passage way below.

The enemy was waxing stronger. We only numbered about fifty. After ten days when it became impossible to get new help suddenly we heard bombs explode.

We rushed toward Erzinga. We found a battalion of 300 Russian-Armenian soldiers fighting the Turkish. We joined forces; we had five casualties. At this time we were out of bullets. We had sent message to Mamakhatoon to furnish us with some, but they were engaged in another battle and could not do so.

By the time we got to Erzinga, the battle was raging furiously. The next day we held strategic positions. Now we had lots of bullets. Next morning all fighting men were placed in different strategic points. The village was sitting on a huge rock, beneath the rock, the river was flowing from East to West, and on the south were stretching the mountains of Dersim. Parts of this river were frozen. This afforded the enemy lots of ease to launch another attack, which they did. Our boys opened fire from all angles, but the enemy was hiding behind rocks and often took us by surprise.

Finally here again we strengthened our positions and fought doggedly repulsing the energy. We counted our causalities: seven dead and five wounded. The next day we sent a message to the enemy asking them to let us ship our wounded to Mamakhatoon, and we promised them flour and food in return. Both sides agreed to a cease-fire. We spent couple days resting. The enemy violated the cease-fire agreement. All of a sudden we heard the bombs again. We headed toward the city of Erzinga, not too far from us. To our dismay we found that our own troops were retreating toward us, numbering about two thousand soldiers and civilians. The night we stuffed sacks with flour and fortified our positions.

This time Moorat used old tactics to get the people safe during our advance in the valley. The night was very cold; Moorat and other officers were running among the people advising them not to sleep or sit down to rest because they would freeze to death. So we were virtually dragging them all especially women and children.

We made the exit from the canyon from the canyon. When we stepped out, we saw a great fire; the bridge over the river was being destroyed. Men, women and children made a supreme effort to cross the river, come what may. We tried this

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under fire. Our guns, bombs, wagons were abandoned. A lot of women and girls, while crossing the frigid water of the half-frozen river, lost their fingers or died. We lost 200 souls. We still pressed our way to Mamakhatoon. On the way, I found Leon Soulajian sitting with a little woman on the roadside on the snow. I approached him and said, “Are you crazy, sitting down like that, you will freeze to death.” “Oh! Well, he said, I can not walk any more and I have no more desire left to live.” “Get up, I said, and mount my horse,” which he did, and then we put the little woman on the horse and felt happy knowing we saved two lives.

The next morning we reached Mamakhatoon safely. Mr. Moorat put me in charge of the phone. I was supposed to notify him of the least little sound.

We made calls to the City of Baibood in Erzooroom. One day I heard a voice from Baibood. I called Moorat; the speaker happened to be none other than General Sebou. Sebou said that ten miles away from the city, he had a battalion of 300 men and that he was pondering what do with them. Now Mr. Moorat spoke, “I am in Mamakhatoon. I am going to exterminate the enemy and then pull back to Yeni-Key. My dear, you come over too. It suffices us to follow the biddings of the men at the desk and get massacred, wiped out.”

Those of remaining here were composed of Turkish-Armenians and RussianArmenians. One day when I was riding my horse to the water, I met a RussianArmenian soldier, who was watering their horses. I recognized the commander.

He was one of our cavalrymen from Erzinga. His uncle’s name was Sarkis Jebejian, (the one that fought so bravely and fell in the city of Hajen in Turkey).

His nephew too brought his horse to the river. When the soldiers addressed him in Armenian he could not understand them. They thought he was a Turk; they threatened to kill him. I got three just in time, to explain to them, that there were quite few cities in Turkey whose inhabitants spoke Turkish only, and I explained to them, he was the nephew of our cavalry commander. I brought him to A. Jebejian alive.

We went down town where there was a whole company of soldiers. One of the Russian-Armenian men approached me, grabbed by horse charging me with stealing. I refused to give up my animal. I paid a thousand rubles for it. I said, “You have no right to snatch him off me, etc., etc.” At this juncture one of our boys ran to tell Moorad, and he being in a bad mood did not pay attention to his story, so the others encouraged by Moorad’s indifference began to him me right and left. Naturally, my friends interfered; the fight was fierce. A boy from Khozat hearing about the fight ran and thundered, “Stop that or else I will shoot to kill!”

My friends carried me away, my face battered, blood running from my nose.

They beat me hard. These were Russian-Armenians.

When Moorad understood the whole situation he dispatched somebody to get my horse back, and ordered them to apologize for their brutal conduct.

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We continued to go forward. We left two boys behind so they could destroy the ammunition dumps. We had hardly advanced two miles, when hey exploded all the incendiaries. The mountains and the hills engulfed in smoke and fire; they were echoing and trembling. We arrived in Yeni-Key and the next morning we entered Erzooroom.

In Erzooroom, General Sebou and Moorad met. They decided to leave a regiment of well, trained men to garrison the city of Erzooroom. When the military left and when they did too, confusion reigned high in the town. There was no head, no tail; everybody went his own way, everybody knew it all, everybody was commander-in-chief, so to speak. During this chaos, the Turks availing themselves of this opportunity were getting organized for another attack.

They had fortified their positions. They were only waiting for additional troops.

We heard this from Turkish sources from men and women who acted as spies.

In Erzooroom, I busied myself to find out who was the chief or local mayor.

Everybody gave me a different name. They also informed me that General Torkom was in command, couple weeks back. But now he was relieved of command, becauses he declared Erzooroom “independent.” Dejected and disheartened, he returned to Caucasus.

There were only a certain group of people who were free in Erzooroom, and they were those who wore stars on the shoulders, parading in the streets, pillaging and plundering, because these Armenians had jurisdiction over distribution of food and different commodities and over workers and wagons. They were transporting everything to Caucasus and here men and women young and old were left hungry and poor.

Through one of my Dersim friends, Mooshek, I made acquaintance with an American Missionary, Mr. Stupelton. Mooshek’s brother was working for him; few days later people instructed to take a count of their town’s folks and families, make a list and bring it in to get help in money and material. So they could go wherever they wanted to go. Naturally, everybody wished this man was on the job. From Harpoot, were chosen Rev. Bedros Garabedian, Krikor Mooradian, Hagop Aghajanian, but to be honest, I failed to find out how much help was handed out and to whom.

We were hardly in Erzooroom a day or so. They said Antranig Pasha was coming; rumors about his coming were always circulating around. So we did not pay much attention. We were waiting in a corner with rifles in hand in a casual manner. Suddenly we spotted Sarkis Debejian hurrying on hors back. We asked him, where was he riding to, he said, “To greet Antranig Pasha.” We started to run too on foot, to meet our beloved commander. When we entered Khars, we were repulsed by soldiers who said in Armenian, “It is not true.” Almost simultaneously there was an uproar. I looked round and behold! It was him; mounted on a white stallion, decorated with many stars, excitement was reigning high. The military stood at attention, the crowd simply went wild for joy. They were pulling and pushing one another to have a glimpse of this brave patriotic

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man. He was led to the balcony, at this instant, he fixed his penetrating eyes on those Russian-Armenian well-trained fighting men, and thundered, “I ordered you to go with General Nazar Bafgore to the front and yet I fid you here. Are you not the sons of Armenian mothers, brave and true who defy the Turks and their treacherous plots?” The people pulled aside. The soldiers marched away in respectful silence.

On that balcony were also standing Moorad, Sebou, Torkom and others.

Antranig turned to them and ordered them to organize all fight men, TurkishArmenian or Russian-Armenian and stand ready for emergency. Toward evening, before night fell, he called few of Turkish leaders in Khars and had a warning session with them. He then had Turkish coffee and then Antranig and colleagues parted.

That day the troops marched to Elije village and joined those barricading the fort, volunteer and regular alike. Now with a happy frame of mind, we rested and slept all night. Early in the morning every unit was at its job, but pretty soon they were dispatched to different fronts. The main force was sent to Yeni-Key and my unit to the north to repair, fix, or lay new telephone lines. They claimed telephone service was very poor in those parts.

In the morning we were on our way, when suddenly Russian-Armenian officer stopped us and said, “Boys wait here, at this moment the situation looks gloomy.”

In the meantime arshag ran toward us like mad, asking, “Where is the General, where is Moorad? The enemy has besieged the Kughi front, the boys in the village need help otherwise they are doomed.” We went to take a look; we could not do a thing. Later on storied reached us that the infantry soldiers refused to obey orders issued by Antranig Pasha.

Well, now Antranig arrives in Elije with his battalion and sends them off to the village inn toward the Turkish. The boys defy Antranig again and one of the men shouts, “We do not work under Turkish-Armenian General.” On the spur moment, Antranig got mad; he drew his sword, and proceeded in rapid pace to strike the man. Now the whole battalion opens fire on Antranig, but emptying the guns in the air, officers hastened to intercede and to cool down the proud General. In the meantime, the soldiers hearing that a Russian-Armenian commander was chosen by the name of Jampolard, the Russian-Armenian soldiers came back.

The Turkish-Armenian soldiers could not use conventional weapons anyway, beside rifles that is. They were sent to Devaboyni to clean out the snow-covered passes for the army to pass through.

I rounded up my men, 48 of them, and waited for orders. Night fell over us, yet we did not know what to do. We went to sleep with clothes on. It was easy to guess the enemy was pursuing us. I wore my gun-belt with enough bullets; then I woke the others up and stood ready to march wherever we were destined. I stepped out; the shadows of night had given away to morning light. Two boys

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were running in great haste toward me. I asked, “What is the matter?” He said, “The army is in retreat.” My boys and I hurried to the door of Khars-Khapoo; there was a throng of refugees. When finally we were one mile away from Erzooroom, our boys had planted bombs to destroy ammunition after our people had left. It was meant for the Turkish army to fall prey to this trap.

We entered Devaboyni and near by Hasan Kale, but unfortunately those boys who took refuge in Turkish homes were murdered in cold blood, and some commanders perished in the snow covered hill.

When we got in Hasan Kale, we assembled together all the refugees that were coming with us; we sheltered them in an inn and we continued our search for food. We found more towns and villages destroyed. We even made fire in an empty house looking for food, but in vain. Then I thought this seemingly beautiful home that afforded so much happiness to an Armenian family, now it stood silently mourning the fate of its one-time occupants.

Eventually treading along for two days and two nights, we landed in Sarikamish near Russian border. Suddenly we caught sight of a multitude of people. They were waiting for the train. They came from all corners of Turkey with as much luggage as they could carry. Some came with their sheep and cattle.

After we crossed the border, a huge train pulled in the station and instantly about four to five hundred military men walked out. They all wore uniforms and red hats. They looked neat and clean. I drew closer to find out who they were.

There was one man amongst the military who stood the tallest and the most important. It was General Nazar Bagor. He came over to examine the fortifications.

Then there was an edict to give up all weapons. So the soldiers that just arrived started picking them up. We did not exactly relish this, because we bought those rifles at the expense of our food and clothing and carried them on our back to this border. Well, they collected all of our firearms. We had nothing to do except grumble. So we headed toward the shopping place, looking for bread because we were hungry. We visited many places: no open market, no bread, only thousand of people wandering aimlessly like the waves of the sea that hit and retreat from the shore with ever widening ripples. At last we found a big barrel, which contained some crumbs of bread. We helped ourselves to it and went back toward the market place. To our amazement, we encountered the same red hat militia pillaging and plundering the shops. There were four bodyguards of Antranig Pasha from Sevas who still carried their guns. The red hats tried to get the guns off the boys, saying they belonged to the government. “We will not surrender them,” the boys insisted. A red hat, walked few steps backwards and shouted, “Give them up,” and simultaneously opened fire. A few of our men got killed and wounded. One lost his arm and a bystander got killed. One of the cavalrymen from Erzinga intervened and tried to make them understand each other’s point of view. Turkish-Armenian and Russian-Armenian did see eye-toeye, I guess. At last they were gone. One dead, two wounded from us; news

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traveled to the train station where Commander Nazar Bagor was stationed. But to our disappointment, we heard nothing condemning or condoning the red hat soldiers.

At this point news leaked that Jampolard had got himself a company of men of Turkish-Armenians and was going to take them to Khars and train them in the forts. Immediately twenty-six boys and I made our way to enlist. There we made inquiries about the happenings of yesterday. We were told they heard about the unfortunately incident. They added they went to Khars; you too can go in the next train. They gave us our guns. The train for Khars was loaded with refugees, displaced women and children, confused, crying, trampling each other and dying unaided and uncared for. Our leader told us we could climb up the roof of the cars if we wanted to. It was 10 o’clock at night and inclement weather.

Old man winter had spread his blanket of snow over mountain, hill and dale. We were freezing, but we figured after two hours or so, we would get to our destination and get warmed up. The train slowed down, and we were at the station in Khars.

We waited until the morning light fluttered around. Then we spotted the same red hat men enter the station, only this time they were accompanied with ten regular soldiers. They asked us, “Where do you come from and where are you going?”

We answered, “We came from Erzooroom; we belong to Jampolard’s group and we are supposed to go to the forts to learn how to maneuver machine guns and bombs.” We also told them Jampolard will meet us here, however, they paid no attention to our story and right away they demanded our guns. We refused to surrender them arguing, we too were fighting men only we were waiting here for our commander’s arrival; even then they insisted for our guns. This time mustering our courage, we gave an explicit, “NO.” We cannot hand over our guns to anybody that demands them. They left us, but soon enough others rushed in to repeat the same old story. Only this time they intended to sell them for money to Tartars. Naturally we used our tongues good, telling them they were few times worse than the Turks. They retired to a corner pretending to hold conference. Then they took off the receiver of the phone and told us that somebody was calling us from the City Hall. Arshag Bolojian went to the telephone and heard someone say come over to the City Hall with your guns.

We stood in line two by two and marched off. All of a sudden we spotted about fifty fully armed men on both sides of the door with their bayonets fixed on their rifles. On the spur of the moment we stopped back a little. We too fixed our bayonets and stood still. Some civilian-clothed man came and talked to us saying misinformation and misunderstanding lead us to this unfortunate situation.

We proceeded toward the City Hall between two rows of guards, with all the town’s folk watching and waiting for the outcome.

The doors of the hall were not opened yet, our feet frozen, finally the doors flung open; we got in, but they made us stand by the wall. The curious rushed in the hall; this gave us an eerie, lonely feeling. We had two young boys in our crew who were able to read the signs on the wall, which read, these men are smuggling guns. They are going to be prosecuted and shot. The boys began

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crying. I tried to appease their fears, in the meantime hiding mine and saying this cannot be true. Minutes later a little man showed up with dark complexion, very nearly dressed. He wore leather jacket, leather boots and expensive hat and a whip fastened in his boots. He came closer to us and asked in Armenian, “Where do you come from?” We replied from Erzooroom and the same story we had gone over ten times. “Well,” he said, “I ordered you to drop off your guns, you did not obey.” By force he got somebody’s gun, then another and another, until all the guns were confiscated. Then he drew out his whip and gave us all a good beating, without regard to eyes, ears, mouth or any place. In the meantime, he ordered his men to take off our clothes to see what we were hiding. They were literally tearing us to pieces. We started crying like frightened babies. We each had some money tucked in our garments. They grabbed that from us. We also had winter garments, soldiers’ uniforms from sheepskin; they looked grotesque, but warm. When they were stripping off our clothes they found a gun in Boloyan’s clothes. He bought that with his money in Erzinga; the struggle began. They attempted to grab it and Boloyan trying to resist. In this dispute somebody got a scratch on the hand. This gave rise to untold atrocities.

Three men ganged up on him and beat him until he was unconscious. They also found a sum of money—rubles. Whey dragged him inside so he could rest up a little. Then they brought him out again. We could not believe our eyes. We started protesting, shouting calling them names, bastards, brutes, and beasts.

You proved to be worse than the Turks and they were supposed to be our guardian angels.

With much reluctance, I present these lines to the reader. Then again I would not be doing justice if I failed to mention it. Oh, yes, war is a cruel game; the only purpose it serves is to bring out the latent beastly nature in human beings…and behold in this confusion our one time comrade Armenag Melikian showed up.

People in the streets reported the events to him: the beating and lynching Boloyan received; it found it hard to believe, and without uttering a word to us, he entered the hall. He too belonged to the red hat group or detachment. He was clad in officer’s uniform, with three stars on his shoulders. They said one time the Russian government had so much surplus uniforms, everybody was free to wear one.

We lost Melikian; we found another comrade, Yeprad Kazanjian, who left us for a while, then hearing about our misfortunes without saying anything to us, he entered the Mayor’s office. After conferring a while, he emerged bringing our money our clothing and led us to a restaurant where we were free to eat to our hearts content.

Around noontime Jampolard’s men came – a group of volunteers – we joined them and went to the forts. I could not sleep a wink that night; my mind was hovering over past and present events. Then I came to the conclusion, I have to get out of this mess. In the morning I requested audience with my officer of that time. I met him; I told him my story. Although I volunteered for the army, gradually I am getting too old; consequently I requested permission to leave the force on those grounds. It appeared to me that the man himself was fed up, so

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he told me quite candidly, “Go wherever you wish and so whatever you wish. I wish you luck.”

I directed my pace toward the city; there was great commotion, everybody was hurrying toward someplace. I got mixed in the crowd too. When we got out of the city, the insurgents were turning back, those of draft age. They let me go, I had scarcely gone two miles. I was that regardless of age, all men were turned back. I moved away to take a little ret. I pretended I was exhausted. A soldier came over, “Up,” he said. I told him I was not a soldier any more. I have papers from Captain Leakhor. I was almost sure those men were illiterate, could not read or write in any language. At this time, I made it my business to free myself from this chaos, from this hell. He said, “Let me see the papers.” I drew them out and put my finger on Leakhor’s name and spelled it out to convince him. I obtained those papers from the Captain in Erzinga, so that I could go to Erzooroom to import goods for my little store. Thus quick thinking helped me to go free.

Trudging along, I found in a village many wandering scarred people. There were some women carrying water home from a fountain. I approached them rather cautiously. I begged them to show me place where I could get shelter for the night from the bitter cold. They all shook their shoulders; then in utter despair I lifted up my voice and shouted how cruel of everybody to deny me even a barn or a stall. Finally a man passing by, with a gun on his shoulder, said, “Brother, follow me.” This man was from the city of Van. He had migrated to this region twelve years ago. That night we discussed our experiences and the bleak situation existing all over Asia Minor.

The next day I reached Alexandrapol. On my way there, when I climbed up a hill to rest a while, looking round at the beautiful scenery, my eyes rested on mount Ararat. Oh! How wonderful, for a moment my beleaguered past was forgotten. I gasped in amazement. It’s snow covered lofty peaks inspired me with a mixture of awe and pleasure. Memories carried me back over 3000 years at least. I thought of the flood of Noah’s Ark, the flood that inundated the very hill I was standing on. I thought of the doves, messengers of peace and calm and quiet.

Now I amused to myself, poor old man Ararat, I do not envy you. You have watched over the cradle of mankind from time immemorial, have seen brothers rise and kill each other, have seen tribes come and go, have seen nations rise and fall, and many disappear from the face of the earth. You must have shed an awful lot of tears over them, enough for another destructive flood!!!

When I got to Alexandrapol, I looked up Mariam Kushigian and Anna Egoian, Sarkis Simonian and Garabed Der Minasian. They were hungry and starving, when I found them. I went to the market place; only those could buy who had special cards. Then I met a well-groomed man. After he got his bread and was on the way home, I asked him if he would sell that bread to me. I explained to him our circumstances. The man looked round and said, ”It is a dangerous thing to do, but it is alright I guess.” He refused the money, but I paid him anyway.

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I stayed in Alexandrapol for four days. The city was in turmoil. There prevailed no law and order. Some sort of anarchy was the order of the day. There were lots of killings taking place. Couple times I saw Antranig Pasha with his TurkishArmenian guards. He was trying hard to inject some sort of law and order, but now nobody paid him any attention.

The last day when I was going to leave, Mariam Kushigian opened up a bundle of papers for me to find out what they were about; to my delight they were her husbands birth certificate and citizen papers. Immediately I went to the consulate and by virtue of those papers, I secured a permit to go to Tiflis. At night, nine o’clock, the train was supposed to leave, while I was waiting at the station, suddenly I heard my name. “Krikor, Krikor from Harpoot,” and somebody pointed at me.

Two soldiers came over, “Are you Krikor from Harpoot.” “Yes, I am,” I said. They want you over at the police station. I objected to this of course, but to no avail.

After we got out of the train station, few boys from Harpoot accompanied me wondering what could be the reason. Mooradian spoke, “You are Krikor of Khoulou. I am the one they are looking for.” We reached the police station where we found Armenian guards who told us we were supposed to wait there until tomorrow, when the commissar was due to come. We begged of him to take us to his house while the evening was still young. As we were climbing up the steps, I heard a voice from inside, “Mr. Yeghoyan, why did you come?”

“These men,” I said, “were looking for Harpoot Krikor and they got hold of me.”

He said, “I asked them to please rush me back to the train station, but by the time I got there the train had already left.”

I boarded another train at nine o’clock. I found a couple of acquaintances there: Aghabob and Hovaness. We traveled together and soon enough we found ourselves in Kharakiles. The train made a stop to pick up some passengers. We continued our ride and arrived in Tiflis.

I made my way toward the pressroom of the newspaper, Armenia: after some inquiries I found Mr. Bedros Depoyan, who was working for the paper. He lives in Egypt now. The news spread round fast, and all the displaced Koulou people living in Tiflis came to welcome me. Even Tiflis was not exactly an ideal place to live in.

Once I was standing doing some window-shopping, when suddenly I felt somebody pulling my ears. I turned round; I saw it was Moorad passing by with his crew and General Sebou. I addressed him, saying, “Mr. Moorad what are we going to do?” “Now the only smart thing to do is take care of yourself and help the nation that way; do not stay here.” On his suggestions we hired some wagons with Koulou folks; in the meantime others joined us too, and on Moorad’s request, we had to take his niece and her husband with us.

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On the second day, we were over the Caucasus mountains; under the foot of the mountain stood a huge monument dividing east from west: Europe from Asia. So far the weather was ideal, but when we got down on the plain flat lands, the clouds covered the sky, out of nowhere, and it starting snowing. Then it turned into a blizzard. We dragged ourselves to a nearby hamlet, went into a house paying much more than fair price. In the morning we reached Vlade-Caucas. A railroad line ran through this small community as far as Baku, and Armavir, an Armenian city. This where we could breath some fresh air without fear.

But how true it is: no rest for the weary! This time we had to cope with Bolsheviks and Mensheviks fighting. We spent three weeks here. Those coming after us encountered a lot more trouble. In the Caucasus mountains, the guerrillas took advantage of the situation, closed the passes and demanded large amounts of money. Nevertheless many managed to flee. In Armavir there were 75 thousand refugees. The city was full beyond capacity but there was plenty of bread to eat. Here I heard some people got some sort of passport from authorities to go to Russia and also heard in /samara Kuibyshev there is an American mission. I thought it would serve our best interest to go to Kuibyshev.

We included Marian Kushigian and her daughter (now Julia Boyajian from Fresno) and Anna Eghoian (Kolligian) and Sarkis Kimonian. Marian Kushigian and her daughter and I posed as one family and secured passports. Now there remained one thing – to get this endorsed by proper authorities in charge, so that we could get on board the train.

Contemporary government was now Bolshevik and all the officials were young men at this point; I found out that Torkom was trying to get that sort of permit too, for nine persons. Lucky enough one of those was an old acquaintance of mine, and he told me how to go about it. I followed Torkom stealthily every time he commanded; got his group’s papers endorsed; I slipped them in front of mine. I succeeded couple times, but in another office I was refused. I asked my friend what to do now; he said to me there was a man who knew some English. He felt so great and important to realize he was better educated than his colleagues.

While he was in a good mood, I presented him with my papers, for official seal.

He did so. I said goodbye and in a hurry I ran out. Now there remained a rail ticket, which was denied. Now I was forced to employ different ways and means.

One morning twenty-five people and I went round the back way and got in one of the freight cars. The train was bound for Samara, Kuibyshev, but made a stop at a small town. We heard there was fighting going on, and another train coming in our direction was full of the wounded. All the exits were blocked. We managed to get off and went to a barbershop and asked the barber if he could give us any information, how to go to Siberia. He said, “Go back in that same train; it will take you to the last station which is called Khuzlar. Get off in that town and hire some wagons and proceed toward Caspian Sea, which is two days journey.

That place which you will arrive is a port city. You get onboard the ship there, and from there to Astrakhan; from there you go right straight to Samara, Kuibyshev. That sounded like a good plan I thought. So back I went and joined my group.

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We got on the train to Khuzlar, unfortunately we got in trouble here. They looked for tickets, which we did not possess. We showed them other papers to no avail.

So we had to pay our fare in cash. We objected to it saying we were immigrants and we always used these papers. The conductor threatened us; he would collect it as soon as we reached the city. That was no problem. We did not have the money anyway, but if they took our papers away we would find ourselves in a bad fix. So when we got to the station, I got off and got lost in the crowd, so did the others. We saw railroad officials climbing on board to collect fares. Seeing they were all refugees, women and children, they left. In tow days we arrived in Caspian Sea. The fish in those waters is very famous all over the world. Some of the fish is dried and is very tasty.

In the afternoon a large ship dropped anchor in the harbor. We got into a little boat and boarded that ship. That night we slept well; she sailed on until morning.

In the morning they got all the people on deck, approximately two thousand people, plus the crew, and began looking for tickets. They all held theirs. We did not. Twenty-five of us stayed in the far corner of the ship, fearfully waiting for the outcome. When they came over to us, we explained we were refugees; we did not have money. They got angry. I took out my passport, which I obtained in Armavir from the Bolshevik government. The skipper of the ship examined it, but he could not make out whether there was a stamp from the ship company. He got nasty, but they figured, I guess, that they could not throw us in the water or send us back. At this juncture, there was some excitement among the passengers. Then it dawned on me that it was the River Volga that caused the stir. We let down a pail and got some water. It was sweet water.

It was spring, the snow was melting and feeding and swelling the River Volga.

Our liner, with her cargo of over 2000 people, was sailing up the river toward Astrakhan, a big city. This city was lying in ruins, caused by Bolshevik and Menshevik encounters. At present it was peaceful and we had a good time. We bought some food and incidentals and went back to the ship.

Our streamliner sailed up the river for five days and five nights. When one day we were sailing along everybody got panicked. The waves and waters became dangerous. Before long the inevitable happened; we got submerged in mud, and would not move. Toward morning a craft came tour rescue and moved out our vessel; eventually we got into Kuibyshev harbor. We jumped out anyway we could, piled up our meager belongings and waited for dawn. Dawn came, so did confusion and dilemma. We got caught again between two fighting factions, namely Bolshevik and Menshevik. We had two young boys from Baku; they served us as interpreters.

Kuibyshev became battle ground for few hours, bullets rained all round, but in the afternoon there was truce. After some inquiries, we found an Armenian church and a priest. The priest furnished us with some information about an establishment which was housing people, and had a good night’s sleep, but in the morning it was same old story: fighting and killing and getting killed.

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The Mensheviks stormed the prison and set the prisoners free, but bullets and bombs ignited the oil tanks, causing a wide spread conflagration that engulfed a large part of the city and lasted for few hours.

We spent here three weeks. We found the American Missionary and through his assistance we got hold of few wagons and made our way to Vladivostok; after Kuibyshev was taken by Mensheviks the Czech troops left for Siberia. We too, including refugees from all parts of the world, got into wagons and like an endless caravan; we were meandering our way toward Siberia and into the largest city Irkutsk.

East Siberia is a beautiful land. It is very rich in gold deposits and silver and copper and lead and iron, etc. West are corn-growing plains, and is populated very densely.

There is Trans-Siberian railway, which stretches 5,700 miles from Atlantic to Pacific, from Leningrad to Vladivostok.

Two big rivers flow through this part of the country, by the name of Lena and Amur. One comes from Baikal Lake and the other from the mountains of Mongolia. We lived in the city of Irkutsk for a few months. We had some good luck here. Some of us who were holding passports were cared for by the company, until the roads and bridges were fixed.

We boarded the train again. When the train made its usual stops for 10 to 15 minutes, we could get out to do our shopping and get back in the train. Those railroad cars were like houses. The only discomfort we suffered was our tea, which kept spilling over us. It took us six months to travel this way through Siberia.

They used to tell us, Russia sent her convicts here, or political prisoners to perish. But for us, Siberia (these parts at least) proved to be a haven of comfort and plenty. We came to a station, where they piled up the butter in blocks: about two feel long and one foot wide in diameter, right in the sun. In another station, it was the same with honey. You got to help yourself to everything. They would not consider going back and forth for small sales. There were plenty of fruits and vegetables.

Finally we crossed the Manchurian border; here we met Japanese uniformed men. Our happiness knew no bounds. All the tortures, trials and tribulations were all but forgotten in the city of Harbin. We started singing and making merry, when concluded we heard a thunder of applause. Soldiers of all nations (international) English, French, Italian, Russian, Japanese, all joined in the applause and asked for an encore.

In Harbin, Manchuria we got in touch with some Armenians, wealthy ones. They helped us. After one day, we visited Vladivostok, very important Russian port on Â

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the Pacific Ocean. The first wagon rolling in was the one with the Armenians. At this instant we noticed one gentleman and two nurses. The nurses came over; they asked us, “Are you Armenians?” in Armenian. We answered, “Yes.” Right away they asked us if there were any tradesmen amongst us. I said I was a carpenter. The man said, “Good.” He left the nurses here and brought me to a town to meet the General. On our way, I asked him how come he knew such good Armenian. He said he was a missionary in Van. He learned it there and his name was Yarrow. I became very interested in the man. I asked him this time if he ever went to Harpoot. “Yes, but only for conventions.” In that case I suppose you must know Rev. Yeghoyan. “Oh, yes,” he said, he was a powerful minister. I continued saying, I was his brother, that I was in America one time, and doing carpentering there. “Do you speak English?” “Yes, a little,” I said.

“Oh, you are just the man we are looking for!” At last I met the General; Yarrow introduced me to him giving all the details of my life and adding that I had been in U.S.A. After this formal conversation, I was appointed as supervisor over all the refugees, and master carpenter with a salary of 400 rubles, also board and lodging.

After working here for six months, I changed my mind. In those days there was an appeal to those who would like to sign up to go to the Palestine front as French subjects. I went, got enlisted as regular fighting man. Now we numbered about forty of us. We boarded a ship in Vladivostok to go to Yokohama, in north Japan, in five days. I regretted this rash decision. I could not bear the thought of traveling in the ship where bugs, lice and other pests might drive me crazy; further more, we had to do another 40 days of voyaging for Palestine. When we got to Yokohama, we picked three boys from the group to go and meet Mrs. Apcar. I was one of them. Mrs. Apcar, among other virtues, was a philanthropist. She was always ready to lend a helping hand to those in need, and solved many of their problems. We met her.

We parted in a happy frame of mind. The following morning she paid us a visit, accompanied with a young man, who tried in vein to obtain a passport for that region. After they left us, a thought occurred to me. Immediately I went to see her again. “I always wanted to go back to the United States, and I am a half citizen of U.S.A.,” I said to her. “I believe I will be able to obtain a visa.” So I gave my papers to that young man. Many of the Armenians threatened to betray me, but it proved to be talk only.

My acquaintance with Mrs. Apcar broadened. This wonderful woman used woman used to work miracles, helping poor strangers in difficult situations, especially when women and children were involved. She was a woman of faith and prayer and woman of positive action. She wrote letters to contemporary kings, queens and governments, about the plight and persecutions, and the ruthless murders: the genocide of her race, and the prevailing poverty of the remnants in all parts of Turkey, pleading with a deaf, blind world. She spent all her worldly possessions on the poor.

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Mrs. Apcar passed away. The sad news caused me untold grief. She had two daughters and one son. Oldest daughter was married to Samuel Galoutian.

Mike was good man too. I worked with him for seven months. I learned a lot from him. He did good all round, like his mother.

During all these events, my sole purpose was to get a visa to come to America, but it was not that easy in those days. But as I look back, I am happy to say by virtue of the help of my relatives in America and my half citizenship, became the greatest factor to get a visa and re-enter the United States. In 1919, May 18th, I hailed the Golden Gate Bridge and landed in San Francisco; from thence to Fresno, in my nephew Toros Hampoyan’s home, to start a fresh golden era of reunion with my children, regretfully minus my beloved wife, who died in Beirut.

Lo: here terminates five years of odyssey of adverse circumstances, and of occasional despair. Thanks to God.

The End

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