30: The Defense of Kars-Bazar, under the Leadership of Djin Toros Kars-Bazar being a relatively small city, the alarm we raised spread like wildfire, and within 10 minutes, a procession of terrified people had congregated in the Armenian neighborhoods of the city. I and my associates Sahag Gheradjian and Sdepan Keklikian, after disseminating the decisions we had made and the orders we had to deliver to the appropriate individuals, went out into the twilit streets. The sun was setting. The governor, the police chief, and several other government officials were outside the government building, alongside Hadji Asadour Agha, Comrade Sdepan’s father. As soon as he saw us, the governor addressed us – “Efendis! What is this hullabaloo? The man responsible for this is that bastard Deli Djin Toros, who is already in prison and will be punished severely. The news he relayed to you is completely unfounded. Believe me, we’ve checked. We sent two riders to the countryside already. Nobody’s coming to attack you. They swore that they found no armed men. For that reason, I implore you, and at the same time I order you, in the name of the government, to desist from creating chaos and to re-establish order in the city. I have taken all precautions to make sure that no violence occurs.”
Armenian fighters from Hadjin; from left to right are: Dikran Geodelekian, Jin Toros Dardaghanian, Hagop Bezgirian, Hampartzoum Geodelekian (Source: Bibliothèque Orientale-USJ) This was sheer lies and disinformation. This duplicitous Turk was trying to lull us into a false sense of security. At this point, we
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realized that the inevitable would happen, and despite knowing he was lying to us with a straight face, we smiled, thanked him for his protection, and prayed to God to bless the Sultan for being so benevolent toward his subjects. We took our leave, and quickly returned to the safety of the Armenian neighborhoods. Upon our return, we saw that most of our orders had been implemented, and that representatives of the ARF and the Hunchak party were waiting for us to start our crucial meeting, during which the following issues were discussed – 1) The amount and type of weaponry available to us, as well as the amount and quality of ammunition. 2) The number of men willing to participate in the fighting. 3) The amount of food and water available to us. 4) The sections of the Armenian neighborhoods that were most susceptible to an attack. 5) The formation of ambulatory squads that would ensure the supply of ammunition to the fighters. 6) The formation of squads of women who would prepare and deliver food to the fighters. 7) The formation of a committee consisting of Armenian Aghas, who could enter into some kind of communication with the government. [This committee consisted of] Panos Efendi Gharamanian (Beoyuk/Böyük Panos), Kyudjuk/Güççük Panos, Arakel Efendi Chakalian, Asdour Agha Keklikian, Toros Doumanian, and Nazar Efendi Adjemian. 8) The formation of a military committee that would lead the fighting. This committee consisted of Sahag Kradjian (ARF member), Ashod Kasardjian (ARF member), Sdepan Keklikian (ARF member), Djin Toros Dardaghanian (Hunchak Party member), and Sinan [family name missing] (Hunchak Party member) [two more men were members of this military committee. We assume the author did not know their names. Presumably, they were members of the Hunchak Party; ed.]. These two committees were jointly responsible for the overall defense of the Armenian quarters. These events all took place on the fourth day of Easter, on April 2, 1909. In reality, the massacres of Adana had begun in earnest on the previous day, on April 1, 1909. By April 2, ambulatory groups of armed Turks had already penetrated into the Kars-Bazar area, and were waiting for their orders in several parts of the city. That day, nothing happened till about noon, neither in the Armenian neighborhoods nor in the wider city.
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The Armenian neighborhood of the city of Adana after the 1909 destruction and massacres (Source: Michel Paboudjian collection, Paris) On the northern edge of the city, there was a hill, and beside the hill, there were the ruins of an old, impregnable, and large church, that had been built during the Armenian Kingdom of Cilicia, and had since been converted into a mosque. There was a road leading to this mosque, and in the afternoon, we began noticing that groups of men, some in twos, some in threes or fives, were arriving
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at the mosque and gathering in it. The committee we had formed to communicate with the government made contact with the authorities several times, and each time, they only received flowery promises and absolute guarantees of safety. When directly confronted with the information that people were gathering at the mosque, government officials claimed those were just believers gathering for the evening prayers. Some of the Turks in the city were good, peaceful people. They knew what their leaders were planning. Obviously, they couldn’t take a public stand against them, but nevertheless, in their homes, amongst their kin, they quietly criticized the government’s actions, while at the same time covertly doing their best prevent the attack, or at least to restrain the fanaticism of the crowd and limit the damage that would be done. These were honest, well-meaning people, and many of them had actually helped prevent bloodshed in the past. But this time, they were powerless to stop the course of events. They had been told by the government that if they gave shelter to Armenians in their own homes, they too would be attacked and robbed. Naturally, the government would never have had the gall to do this, had the Turkish leaders and officials in the city not approved of the pogrom. Throughout the day, Armenians and Turks in the city eyed each other nervously, but nothing out of ordinary happened. Now, let’s return to Djin Toros. After reaching the city and informing Comrade Gheradjian of what was being planned, he had gone straight to the government building and had provided a detailed report of what he had seen and heard. Instead of rewarding him for blowing the whistle, government officials arrested him and held him in the cell in the palace [probably the government building itself; ed.]. He had also been disarmed. The governor had already told us what had happened to Toros. But the governor had not taken into account Toros’ history. This was a man who, since childhood (he was about 30 years old), had been in fights and battles, had been wounded and had wounded, had been imprisoned and had escaped, had lived in the wild and had befriended wild animals. He was muscle-bound, agile, brave, and even a bit mad. He was now in a cell, with an armed guard standing right outside the door. Toros was like a cage beast, pacing up and down his cell. He had never been confined in a cell for long, and now that his compatriots needed him, he had no intention of whiling away his time in jail. As he was pacing the room, he noticed that the door had not been locked. Seeing his only hope, he opened the door and leapt onto the guard, knocking him out with one punch and grabbing his rifle and his ammunition. Before any of the other Turks could react, he was able to leave through a side door and escape, reaching the Armenian neighborhoods within minutes.
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34: It had taken him less than 10 minutes to make his getaway, and now he was among us again, and told us the story of his escape with his usual humor and gregariousness. With pride, he told us – “Brothers and sisters! Don’t be scared of the Saracens! Even if five or ten thousand of them attack, we will beat them back! I myself have fought dozens of them at a time, killing some and forcing the rest to run with their tails between their legs. Look at the weapons we have! The ammunition we have! Look at the brave young men we have, who are willing to fight! Victory will surely be ours!” He didn’t even rest. He kept going from position to position, encouraging the fighters and lightening the general mood. He also examined the Armenian positions, and gave advice on how to improve them. He was the hero of the day, and the savior of the Armenian population of Kars-Bazar. May he never be forgotten. The authorities actually sent a few officials to the Armenian neighborhoods, requesting that we turn Toros over to them. But the answer was always a categorical no. Finally, realizing they wouldn’t get what they had asked for, they tried to save face by asking Toros to return the weapon he had stolen from his guard. Toros replied that his own weapon had been taken, and that he would return the guard’s if his was returned to him. The officials returned to the government building empty-handed.
The Battle Begins: The First Skirmishes Night fell. Nothing out of ordinary had happened yet. It was as if the events of the day had been a brief spring storm that had now passed without leaving a trace. The streets of the city were deserted, and as the darkness thickened, a funereal silence descended on Kars-Bazar. This was the calm before the storm, a temporary quiet that was a harbinger of the chaos and violence that was about to engulf this beautiful city. It was midnight, and peace still reigned. We tensely waited, but the hours passed, and soon the sun began to rise. Above us was the clear, purple sky, the throne of the Great Maker. Did he know what was about to unfold in the kingdom of men? Was he waiting to become a silent spectator to the carnage and bloodshed that was about to occur? It felt like God and the devil, good and evil, each on one side of a battlefield, were waiting for the trumpets to blow. Suddenly, we heard a gunshot from the direction of the mosque. It was followed, again, by long minutes of tense silence. And then, suddenly, hundreds of bullets were fired in the direction of the Armenian Church [deleted section in the manuscript; ed.]. The shots
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came from the mosque, and the shooting kept intensifying. As they had been orders, our fighters held their fire for now. We had a limited supply of ammunition, but the Turks did have such concerns. Thus, we had to wait for them to leave their positions and approach us to engage them. Naturally, our unwillingness to return fire only enraged the enemy. We expected them to lose patience soon and to come out of their holes. Around noon, that’s exactly what they did. Several Turks left their positions near the mosque and cautiously began moving forward, but they were immediately hit by our bullets. The fighters who were holding the positions facing the mosque were Toros Ghevrakian (from Hadjin), Manoug Gharibian (from Hadjin), Hovhanness Balanian (from Hadjin), Giragos Yaghleyan (the commander of the squad, from Kars, the brother of Keor/KÜr Hakim), and Krikor Yamanunoghlu (from Kars).
A page from Ashod Kasardjian's handwritten memoir There were also two other squads on their two flanks, but at this juncture, the five young men mentioned above were the crux of the Armenian defenses. The first shot was fired by Toros, using his Greek-made rifle. He shot two rounds, in quick succession, and hit two Turks right away. He was a 24-year-old man of medium height, strong and muscle-glad, with ruddy cheeks, and a rather flat nose. He was born in Hadjin, and had been raised in Kars. We were nervous about him, because he was green and had no martial experience. We were even afraid that he would desert his position when the bullets started flying. But, to the surprise of all, from the moment the fighting began till it ended, he displayed nothing but
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equanimity and courage. He fought hard, and still found time to encourage and rally his comrades, and he would even take the time to visit the civilians who were hiding and lighten their mood with his jokes. This first engagement, and our success in repelling the first sign of an attack, greatly excited the people. The enemy, on the other hand, was infuriated. The intensity of the gunfire escalated, and the Turks immediately made another sally toward out positions. Once again, they were beaten back when our bullets hit a few of the attackers, and forced the others to retreat. For the rest of the day, the battle continued in the same fashion. During these engagements, one of our best fighters, Giragos Yaghleyan, during one his more courageous maneuvers, was hit in the thigh. He didn’t even drop his weapon – oblivious to the blood rushing down his leg, he simply took aim and returned fire, shooting an advancing Turk. It took some time for his comrades to rush to his side, bring the Turkish positions under a hail of fire, and exploiting their confusion, to transport the wounded Giragos to safety. [A deleted section in the manuscript; ed.]. It took him months to recuperate. It is important to note that during this time, while the great majority of the Armenian population of the city was safe under our protection, seven Armenian muleteers who were still at the city inn were killed. The sun began setting. We had had one wounded. As for them, we had seen 7-8 of them fall, but we did not know how many of them had died, and how many were only wounded. Throughout the night, the shooting continued, but it was intermittent. Some time before dawn, the enemy, taking advantage of the darkness, set fire to a pile of dry grass on the edge of the city. Their aim was threefold – first, to sow panic among the Armenians; second, to attract people to the site of the flames, and then to snipe at them from a distance; and third, to try and set fire to the Armenian section of the city. Many of the houses in that section of town had thatched roof and walls, and there were piles of grass and hay everywhere. Thankfully, we had anticipated this move, and had already razed the hovels around the pile of grass. And so, thankfully, the fire did not spread, and was soon out.
An Attempt to Negotiate with the Authorities With the rising sun, the shooting intensified again. We held a meeting, and discussed the following issues: 1) Given that we were completely surrounded, we had been cut off from the outside world. It was imperative to establish a line of communication, at least with Sis, so we could ascertain what was going on and what we were to do, and also to ask for reinforcements and supplies.
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2) We had to once again contact the authorities, and ascertain if they had had enough, and if they were willing to disperse the mob. 3) We had to figure out how long we could hold out if the fighting continued. We also had to think about what our overall strategy would be. 4) We had to figure out if there was the possibility of breaking through the siege and getting the people out of the city, perhaps to Sis or the impregnable mountains around Kars.
Sis, general view. The photo was taken from the Catholicosate building (Source: Bibliothèque Orientale - USJ, Beirut) The following decisions were made: 1) We immediately wrote a letter to our compatriots in Sis. Initially, the task of delivering the letter fell to Toros, but he refused – “I can’t. I would have to leave tonight and I would have to make my way to Sis through the mountain paths, which I’m not very familiar with. But I know someone who is, and he will be able to deliver the letter and bring us back a reply without incident.” What he said made sense, so Toros went to summon the man he had spoken of. Soon, the two of them were before us. The man was a short, skinny youth with a blond mustache and a handkerchief tied around his head. He wore a short white coat, a long undershirt, and traditional cloth shoes. His eyes were blue, almost yellow. He was about 30-35 years old. Despite his shifty eyes, he seemed likeable, and constantly smiled. His name was Panos, and he was the son of Boyadju Khcher from Shivilge. When I first saw Panos, I had my doubts about his ability to walk the 8-10 hours from Kars to Sis, especially given that the road wound its way through the mountains, and was quite perilous at certain spots. Secondly, we were besieged,
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and he would have to make his way through the Turkish positions undetected. We were also convinced that Sis, too, was surrounded, so once he arrived at his destination, he would have to break through Turkish lines once again. I exchanged a glance with the others. They all seemed to read my mind, but they then indicated Toros with their eyes. What they meant was that Toros would know how to answer me. Toros, of course, was quite a percipient person, and noticing this silent exchange, without even waiting for me to ask my questions, interjected – “This bastard is worth ten Djin Toroses. Trust me, I’ve personally been on the end of his drubbings more than once!” Some others also confirmed Panos’s bona fides. So, without signing or using any names, I wrote the following message, dated April 3, 1909, then sewed it into the inside lining of Panos’s coat – “Kars has been surrounded for the past three days. We’ve been fighting the Turks day and night. We have neither the wherewithal nor the hope of lasting much longer. We need your urgent help. Any delays may result in our complete annihilation. The courier will provide additional information.” Panos’s coat was re-sewn perfectly, and he bade us farewell. His instructions were to head to the Catholicos when he made it to Sis. He was armed with a pistol and a dagger, and had a shepherd’s cane in his hand. He left us at night, and by day the next morning, he had already arrived in Sis and had fulfilled his mission. This man, Panos, was one of the many unsung heroes that should be celebrated as heroes of our nation’s history. 2) After lengthy and sometimes acrimonious discussions, we decided to write a letter to the governor, dated April 4, 1909, to remind him that the Armenians of Kars had been loyal subjects of the Empire for centuries, had never rebelled, were not breaking any laws, and had always had friendly relations with their Turkish and Kurdish neighbors. Thus, we humbly asked the government, invoking the benevolence of the Sultan and the Ottoman authorities, to use their God-given prerogative to put an end to the fratricide that Kars was witnessing. In return, the Sultan and the government would earn the eternal gratitude of the Armenians of Kars. As for the third and fourth points of discussion, we all agreed that it was impossible to fight for any extended period of time with the weapons and ammunition we had. Most of our rifles were antiquated muzzle-loaded muskets, while many others were doublebarreled hunting shotguns. These had been imported from Europe after the constitutional reforms, and were made of very thin and light metal. Often they heated up too quickly, or developed cracks in their barrels. Our best weapons were the Greek Gras rifles, but we only had six of these, and very little ammunition for them. Therefore, we neither had the ability to fight on for long, nor the firepower to break through the siege and head for the mountains. Our only choice was to try and find a way to negotiate with the
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government. If that failed, we would fight to the last bullet, and then die fighting with our daggers.
The GRAS rifles This meeting lasted six hours. It was already three o’clock in the afternoon. A delegation consisting of three elderly women was formed, and the letter addressed to the government was given to them. They were instructed it to deliver it to the governor, and then to beg him to put an end to the violence. The essential thing was for them to make it to the government building. They were given three white flags tied to long canes. All they had to do was go up the street from one edge of the Armenian area. The government building was at the end of the street. They had a direct path. Holding the white flags aloft, the ladies crossed our last line of defense. Our fighters had stopped firing. The ladies had walked about a hundred meters when a large group of armed Turks leapt out and surrounded them. We watched this scene unfold from the window of a nearby building, and we thought our initiative had failed. But as soon as we started talking about our next step, we noticed that the women had been led to the government building and were being allowed to enter. Half an hour later, the Turks also stopped shooting. However, during this lull in the fighting, the streets near the Armenian quarters filled with armed men. It became clear that these men, whom we had not seen hitherto, had been hiding in nearby buildings, waiting for the opportune moment to
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invade the Armenian neighborhoods and massacre, rape, and pillage gyavours/gavur.
The Intervention of Emin Efendi, a Magnanimous Officer At around six-thirty in the evening, we were told that a Turkish officer, accompanied by seven or eight of his men, wanted to speak to us. We had already formed a committee of five people who would negotiate with the government. So, these five met with the officer, while I and the others watched their meeting from a window on an upper floor of a nearby building. We could tell that the negotiations were being conducted courteously and in good faith.
General view from the village of Bahçe, after the 1909 destruction and massacres (Source: Mekhitarist Order, San Lazzaro, Venice) Barely ten minutes into the negotiations, a courier was sent upstairs in a rush, and informed us that the officer wanted to speak to me. Until then, we had been watching the talks from 50-60 meters away, so I had not gotten a good look at the officer. Now, when I was summoned, I had a feeling I was acquainted with him, and when I took another look at him from a distance, I through I recognized his profile and his silhouette. When I finally made my way to him, I realized that indeed, I knew him. Upon seeing me, he greeted me with an honest smile and said, without formality – “I’m very glad to find you here. Your father, and a highranking Turkish official acquainted with him, asked me to find you dead or alive, and to save you if I could. I’m glad you’re alive and
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unhurt. Now, I need to take you back to them. You must come back to the government building with me.” “I am truly grateful for your considerate treatment of me, and for the honor you do to my family,” I replied, appreciating his friendly gesture, “I assure you that your benevolence will not be forgotten, and will be recorded in my family’s annals in bold letters. But, Mr. Officer, I cannot accompany you to the government building…” I had barely finished, when he interrupted, asking me angrily to explain myself. “I was about to explain, Mr. Officer, and I’ll explain concisely, since we have no time to waste,” and I continued – “Bey Efendi, I ask for your forgiveness for my effrontery in refusing your kind offer, but I do so because I cannot abandon the scores of people here. You, too, are acquainted with many of them. You have lived among them for many years. You have had longlasting friendships with many of them. Bey Efendi, for the past three days, those people have been living in a ring of fire, expecting the angel of death to take them away at any moment. They not rebels, nor are they rising up against the government. They are simple folk, trying to earn their daily bread, and they are loyal subjects of the Empire. It would be unspeakably dishonorable for me to abandon these women, children, and elderly, to abandon them to their deaths, just to save my own skin. I think, Bey Efendi, that even you would not forgive me such a disgraceful act. You sir, are a highranking military office, who understands honor, and who has proven his goodness and his virtue countless times in the past. So I ask you, sir, to do everything in your power to save these poor people who are teetering on the brink of death. If you do so, not only will the Armenian people be forever grateful to you, but God himself will smile upon you and bless you.” The officer was greatly moved by my speech. “Ashod, my son,” he replied, “you are well-aware that I have nothing against Armenians, and that I am ready to do all I can to save them. That’s why I am here… I am not here to rescue you alone. I must take you to the governor with me, and there we will speak with the governor, and find a way to put an end to this senseless bloodshed. Allow me to elaborate – I have already spoken extensively to the governor, in favor of stopping the fighting. Shevket has also spoken to him (more on the officer and Shevket later). But we’re up against the odds. Now, since the governor’s father and yours are old friends, I think your presence will be crucial in tipping the balance and persuading him to change his current course.”
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42: With the Governor and Emin Efendi Before I could even reply, the other Armenians at the talks all expressed the opinion that this was a reasonable course of affairs, and told me that I must go. Naturally, I could not refuse. It was a sacred duty that now fell into my lap, and I was ready to take on the burden, even if it cost me my life. So, I acceded, and left the Armenian positions. The officer linked arms with me, and ordered one of his men to take my other arm. The rest of the troops either preceded or followed us. So, I was perfectly protected. If anyone had taken a shot at me, in all likelihood, they would have killed the officer or one of his men.
The Hasanbeyli village and its houses in ruin. The houses were demolished during the 1909 massacres (Source: Mekhitarist Order, San Lazzaro, Venice) We had barely advanced 50 meters, when, just like the ladies who had delivered our letter, we were surrounded by armed men and the mob. It was almost impossible to advance. We barely crossed five meters in five minutes, despite the officer’s repeated orders to clear a path. Nobody was paying much attention to him, and the officer was reluctant to press his point, since the bloodlust of the mob, at any moment, could turn against him, and they could easily set upon us all and tear us to pieces. [A deleted section in the manuscript; ed.] It should have been a ten-minute journey, but it took us an hour and a quarter. The mob was being led by Mehmed from Darende, with whom, only a few days earlier, I’d had a serious
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dispute regarding financial matters. The dispute had turned violent. It is strange how easily a man’s position can change from one extreme to the other. Only a few days earlier, he had been lying to me, trying to squirm out of paying his debts to me, swearing upon God and everything he held dear and sacred that he was telling the truth. Now, at the head of a bloodthirsty mob, a single word from him could damn not only me, but also the thousands of Armenians who were besieged. Riding a horse of good stock, he was making the rounds, galloping up and down the street, barking out orders from his saddle. At some point, I turned his way, and out of sheer coincidence, faithfully, our eyes met. I was convinced that this accident of chance was about to put an end not only to my life, but also to my mission to save my compatriots. [A deleted section in the manuscript; ed.] But then, something unbelievable happened. For some reason, when our eyes met, his disposition changed, and smiling, he rode over and said – “Please, go ahead. I will help you, and I will make sure you get to your destination.” He whipped his horse and advanced on the mob, which dispersed. We made our way to the entrance of the building. Now, it almost seemed like we were walking through two rows of soldiers saluting us. Finally, we arrived at the door. This area was relatively deserted, and only a few policemen stood on guard. The only other person was an elderly, wizened man, sitting cross-legged against the wall adjacent to the door. He was Tatarlu Zade Mousa Agha, one of the most prominent Turks of Kars-Bazar. It was clear that his conscience was troubled. When he saw our small group, he said – “These unbelievers have no conscience. May God punish them.” I will mention this Agha again in my account, and describe at length his kindness to the Armenian people. I entered with my escort, and we went upstairs to the governor’s office on the second floor. As custom dictated, we spoke to his guard outside his door, and asked for a half-hour audience with the governor. Our request was immediately granted, and we were led inside. After the formal greeting, the governor spoke to the officer – “Emin Efendi, it comes as no surprise that you went to parley with the gyavours. What does this committee-man [meaning party member; ed.] want from us? How long will they continue to disturb the peace and kill the innocent?”
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A page from Ashod Kasardjian's handwritten memoir “I went to speak to them, to clarify what the eminent Armenians who wrote you the letter proposed to do. I did this according to your orders, sir. Their answer was that their letter was clear enough, and that there was nothing more to say. I repeated that the benevolent Sultan and the honorable Ottoman government have always been forgiving toward their subjects, and that they were ready to forgive the Armenians’ trespasses again, but only if they were willing to hand over all rebels among them, and any weapons they held. They swore to me that there were no outsiders among them, that none of them were rebels, just simple residents of the city. All of them have been living here for many years, and have proven their loyalty to the authorities throughout their lives. They have constantly prayed for the health of the Sultan and the prosperity of the Ottoman Empire. As for my second demand, they said they were willing to hand over their weapons as soon as safety is restored. They have sent Ashod Efendi here with me, to provide you with further proof of the veracity of their statements. He is authorized to speak for all of the Armenians, and to make agreements on their behalf. So, Bey, I propose that you now question Ashod Efendi, who can clarify any murky details, and answer all of your questions.” The governor listened quietly. When Emin Efendi finished, the governor raised his head and looked at me. I thought this was a sign that it was my turn to speak and further substantiate was the officer had said. So, without waiting any longer, I began – “Governor, every single thing Sergeant Major Emin Efendi said is absolutely true, and there is no question of doubting these facts. But, Governor, allow me to speak freely, if only because your
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father and my father have shared a sincere friendship for long years. You are the governor of this area, and you have complete authority over what happens in the city. I am certain that not a single man has the effrontery to disobey your direct orders, and that as soon as you order an end to this violence, these armed men will return home. A single word from you will put an end to the terrible fratricide we’re seeing in the streets. So, based on that, I implore you to issue an order to the Turks to stand down. With that simple act, you will earn the gratitude, praise, and blessings of every single Armenian in the city.�
Sahag Kasardjian (Ashod's father) (Source: Vahe Yacoubian collection)
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I fell silent. I tried to gauge how effective my words had been. A thousand thoughts and premonitions crowded my mind, I was not very optimistic – I only had a faint glimmer of hope. Instead of answering me directly, he asked me why I had come to Kars. The malicious intent behind this question was clear – he wanted to insinuate that I had only come to the city to foment rebellion against the government, and that the fact that he had not already thrown me into a cell was only due to the relationship our fathers shared. After all, as a “committee-man,” I could face courtmartial, and would be sentenced either to death or to life in prison. I answered him without obfuscation – “Governor, you are well aware of the business that my family runs, and you also know that we have accounts in many cities, and that I am responsible for those accounts. I am in the city to meet with several merchants we do business with.” The officer had been listening quietly, but here, he intervened– “Governor, let me add that before I came to Kars, your father asked me to do everything I can to help Ashod Efendi.” This timely intervention greatly helped my cause, and seemed to have an effect on the governor. For some reason, he seemed very reluctant to muddle the friendship of two elderly men in faraway Sis. “Understood,” he said, and turned to me, “your friend Shevket Efendi is downstairs, working the telegram on the first floor. Emin Efendi will lead you to him, and you will be his guest.” I could clearly see the satisfaction on Emin Efendi’s face. After once again saluting the governor in the customary Turkish way, we left his office and headed downstairs. We remained silent on the stairs, both buried in our thoughts. I was not as sanguine as the officer seemed. I was convinced that I had failed in my mission, and that my entreaties had had no effect on the governor. Just to put an end to the awkward silence, I whispered into the officer’s ear that I was convinced I had failed. “Ashod, don’t give up hope,” he replied, “sure, you may not have convinced him yet, but we’ll keep trying. Eventually, we will be successful. At least, we will prevent the worst from happening. I still have some tricks up my sleeve.” He did not elaborate. We were already at the door of the telegram room, and we went in. It was quite large, and aside from the telegram machine and apparatus on a desk, I saw two beds and a chair, but nothing else. Clearly, one of the beds was for Emin Efendi, and the other was for the officer responsible for the telegram.
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Ashod Kasardjian during the last years of his life, photographed in Beirut (Source: Vahe Yacoubian collection) The latter was leaning over his machine, and was in the process of sending a message – I don’t know to whom, but presumably the message related to the events in the city. Emin Efendi spoke first – “Shevfek Efendi, my son, forgive me for interrupting you. This is your friend Ashod Efendi, and he will be our guest. I hope you will are glad to see him.” Shevfek Efendi was taken aback. At first, he seemed lost and confused, but then, he seemed to wake up from his reflections and to
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be raking up his brain. Finally, he registered my presence and came toward me with his arms open. We embraced, and he finally answered Emin Efendi – “Of course, sir, I am very glad to see Ashod Efendi. And thank you for all your efforts to save all these poor people,” and he nodded in the direction of the Armenian neighborhoods.
A Turkish Squad Deployed from Sis Comes to Our Rescue
The fortress of Sis/Kozan (Source: photograph by Father Gabriel Bretocq, Archives départementales de l’Eure, Fonds Gabriel Bretocq) The officer left, and with him left the dozen or so soldiers he had brought from Sis. These soldiers were to be stationed across the city and continue to monitor the situation. As soon as the officer had left the Armenian quarters, a Turk ran into the government building, and reached the telegraph room, where, after catching his breath, he informed me and Shevket Efendi that the house of Cherkez Nouri, where about 50 Armenians who had taken shelter, was in danger of being overrun by the mob, and that the Armenians were urgently requesting their transfer to the government building. Faced with this unexpected development, Shevket Efendi and I exchanged a terrified glance. We were surrounded by misery and chaos, by fighting and by death. The
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governor was already sound-asleep in his quarters, and we could do nothing without his orders. If any government officials disobeyed him or issued orders without his approval, they would pay for their courage with their lives. The officer was already gone, in order to oversee the efforts of the military in the area, which were his responsibility. The telegraph operator, although a kind-hearted man who had a soft spot for Armenians, hadn't slept for three days, but more importantly, he was not a military officer, and thus could not issue orders, despite his instincts. As for me, although I was not in bonds, I was still an Armenian, and thus a hostage, and couldn't even express my opinions without permission. And so, Shevket Efendi and I remained where we were, unwilling to break the oppressive silence that had descended on the room. It was the Turk who had brought the news who finally woke us from our torpor "Efendis, there is no time to ruminate over this. Every minute we waste pushes those poor people closer to their graves. You've got to decide what to do quickly. It's time for action, not for thought." This person, who finally spurred us to activity, was an uneducated, humble peasant, and even more uncannily, he was a Turk. I have no idea who this kind, middle-aged man was - all I knew was that he was one of the servants of the above-mentioned Tatarlu Zade Mousa Agha. Like all of his servants, Mousa Agha had ordered him to come to the aid of any Armenian who needed it, even at the cost of his own life, if necessary. These servants were utterly loyal to their master, and obeyed him unflinchingly. As a consequence, they would often be found in areas where Armenians were threatened. Every word this man said was like an arrow stabbing into our hearts, and shaking the foundations of our beings. He once again spoke "I can't just stand here, I must go back. It's up to you now to save those Armenians. But remember - time is not on your side. The longer you dawdle, the worse things will get." When Shevket Efendi finally spoke, it was to outline a plan he had been formulating in his mind for the previous few minutes. He addressed the messenger – “Moustafa, Kolağası [lieutenant colonel; ed.] Emin Efendi is probably somewhere near the abandoned houses to the left of the Armenian quarters of the city. Go find him, inform him of what’s going on, and tell him that I request of him to please go to Nouri’s home, and to accompany those Armenians to the government building. I’m sure Emin Efendi will oblige, but he doesn’t have the men to provide the Armenians a safe passage. Thus, you and Mousa Agha’s other men must help him accomplish his task.” The messenger left. Shevket Efendi turned to me and spoke – “You stay put here. I will go see the governor and let him know what’s going on.” He returned ten minutes later, with a smile on his face –
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“My friend, all is well. The governor was very magnanimous. He even gave me the authority to make all arrangement regarding this manner.” There was nothing left for us to do. We had to sit and wait for the results of the actions that had been taken. Then, the telegraph machine came to life. Shevket Efendi was engaged in a telegraphed conversation that lasted about three minutes, after which he once again turned to me, and with a smile, said – “What I predicted is now coming true!” His conversation had been with Sis [and he had informed the telegraph worker there that I was safe; ed.]. The man responsible for the telegraph machine in Sis, who was in the Armenian monastery (because the entire Armenian population of Sis had taken shelter in the monastery and its environs) had run to the people and had communicated the news to them all, after which he had been rewarded handsomely by my father. Shevket Efendi added – “The Armenians in Sis were unaware that Kars, too, was surrounded, and that we’re in a serious bind. The government has strictly forbidden the circulation of news about our city in other parts of the Empire. Now that they’ve been informed, they will immediately go to the provincial authorities there, and to other prominent Turks. As you know, the Turks in Sis aren’t like the ones here – they share a sincere friendship with the area’s Armenians. They have worked with the Armenians many times to overcome political impasses and other crises, and they’ve succeeded in preventing many tragedies.”
The Armenian neighborhood of the city of Adana after the 1909 destruction and massacres (Source: Michel Paboudjian collection, Paris)
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Right around that time, we heard some indistinct noises from the environs of the government building. We initially didn’t know what was happening, but we soon distinguished the sound of many people coming our way, including women and children. My friend joyfully smiled to me – “Here are our friends who arrive from Cherkez Nouri’s home!” “May Emin Efendi live long! May Mousa Agha’s family be blessed!” I cried out, “and you, my dear friend Shevket Efendi, may you live forever!” The governor had heard the commotion, and, standing at the top of the stairs, had stationed guards at the doors leading to the second floor, and had ordered for the new refugees to be settled somewhere. Meanwhile, the poor people were loudly praising the magnanimity of the Sultan, blessing the governor, and extolling the virtues of Emin Efendi. I needed some rest, so I lay down on the bed with the intention of taking a short nap. Soon, my friend Shevket tried to softly rouse me, but despite his efforts, I was startled and jumped up in the bed. He immediately told me that nothing terrible had happened, and that on the contrary, he had good news to relay to me – “Five minutes ago, I was told that the sons of some of the most prominent Turks had volunteered to march to Kars and save the city. They have already left, and I think they will be here by dawn.” And in fact, at dawn on April 5, 1909, 32 well-armed, young men, riding sturdy horses, came to a halt outside the government building. Their commander and his bodyguard came into the building, while the rest of the men dismounted, and exhibiting excellent military discipline, lined up in a single row. The scene was moving, and had something of the providential about it. The telegraph officer and I now came face-to-face with the commander of this cavalry brigade [Hyusni Bey; ed.] in the courtyard of the building. This man was a native of Istanbul, and had retired from the army with the rank of sergeant major. He was handsome, with an athletic build, and was educated enough to be considered an intellectual. He was also polite and modest, and although a fervent Turkish nationalist, he meant no harm to others. He believed Islam to be the only true religion, and dutifully prayed five times a day, but he was a zealous opponent of polygamy, of murder, of looting, and of all other forms of vice and excess. However, he believed that the Turks, in the Ottoman Empire, would always rule over the minorities, and that the members of these minorities had to expect to be treated as second-class citizens. Here is the list of some of the Turks from Sis who came to the rescue of the Armenian population of Kars-Bazar: 1- Retired Major Hyusni Efendi, commander of the brigade.
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2- Mouharram Zade Riza Efendi, second-in-command of the brigade. 3- Yegen Zade Khalil. 4- Khalil Agha Zade Keamil. 5- Havadje Zade Shakir. 6- Yarem Zade. Major Hyusni Efendi had, for about four or five years up to these events, been an officer of the reserve army in Sis (there were no regular army troops stationed in Sis at the time, only three or four reserve officers who were instructed to draft and train soldiers if the need ever arose).
Sahag Kasardjian (Ashod’s father) in Sis, 1908 (Source: Vahe Yacoubian collection) As soon as he saw me, Hyusni Efendi greeted me – “Ashod Efendi, you’re here too? How are you?” We exchanged niceties. When I finally asked him how he was faring, he replied with some generalities, but then added – “Some of your friends are among the riders outside, feel free to go and speak to them. I must go upstairs and speak to the governor. I’ll find you afterwards.” We separated. He went up the stairs, and I stepped outside to find the riders from Sis. When I saw them, I was deeply moved – they were all friends of mine, with whom I’d shared bread and wine. My father was close friends with most of their fathers, and he and they had often helped each other, both morally and financially. They all greeted my joyfully, and we embraced each other as sons of the same family.
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