by Lou Ureneck
The Greek captain greeted Jennings and the committee warmly when they boarded the ship. It was still dark. Jennings produced the Rhodes letter and explained his mission. He asked Theophanides if he would make his radio telegraph available to send a message to Athens asking for use of the merchant ships at Mytilene to evacuate Smyrna’s refugees. Immediately grasping the situation, Theophanides agreed to help—and he would have some suggestions of his own to help Jennings.
Theophanides was another stroke of good fortune for Jennings. He had found an officer who, like Powell, was independent minded, capable, and sympathetic to the refugees. It would be this unusual lineup of men—Powell at Smyrna, Theophanides at Mytilene, and Jennings moving between the two places—that would conjure one of the most unusual and dramatic naval evacuations in history.
Unknown to Jennings, but probably suspected by Theophanides, a Greek military coup was taking shape at that moment at Chios and Mytilene. Republican officers of the Greek army, humiliated by the Asia Minor defeat, were making arrangements to overthrow the Royalist government in Athens. Frangos, as a Royalist officer, was not part of the planning—in fact, he would soon be in jail with the island’s governor.
The prime minister of Greece, Nikolaos Triantafyllakos, was serving on a temporary basis in Athens at King Constantine’s request because of the resignation of the Royalist government following the Anatolian debacle. Triantafyllakos also held the position of minister of military affairs. So it was to him that the request for Greek merchant ships was sent. The prime minister and Theophanides, both Royalists and well placed in the small circle Greek high society, most certainly would have known each other—another stroke of luck.
Jennings composed a message with Theophanides’s help, and the captain directed his radio officer to send it in code to Athens. Marked “very urgent,” it read:
Military governor of Mytilene Bakas and American President of Refugee Relief Near East report that 150,000 refugees are prisoners on the Smyrna Quay. Stop. Turkish terms for their departure are seven days from today. American destroyers according to the order of High Commissioner and Admiral Bristol will give protection to the Greek steamers without flag entering Smyrna taking refugees on board. Stop. American Committee will also care for shelter. Member of American Committee now on board ship and awaits answer. Stop.
Jennings was taking serious liberties with Powell’s orders and Rhodes’s letter. He had even inserted Bristol’s name—a flashing light to anyone with political savvy in Greece or Turkey.
The Kilkis’s radio operator received a quick response. He took it down on a sheet of paper and handed it to the captain. (It was a message that would make a non-Greek smile.) It said it was too early in the morning to conduct government business. Jennings and Theophanides were not amused. They responded with a demand for an immediate meeting of the Greek cabinet. If an answer were not forthcoming, the message would be repeated out of code. In other words, Jennings and Theophanides were threatening the government with embarrassment for failing to respond to an evacuation plan offered by the Americans. (Radio telegraph messages in those days could be intercepted by anyone with a receiver.)
Athens responded that it would call a cabinet meeting as soon as possible. Jennings and Theophanides responded by upping the ante. They wanted Greek merchant ships in Piraeus as well as in Mytilene for the evacuation. (This probably was a Theophanides touch given his familiarity with the Greek merchant fleet about which Jennings would have known little or nothing. Theophanides, of course, would have been familiar with it.) Athens responded with a series of questions: Would the United States provide protection? Jennings attempted to finesse the answer to this questions by referring to the language of the letter signed by Rhodes, but the Greek text received at Athens was more categorical: Yes, there would be protection. Would Americans board the evacuation ships? The response: “American President of Committee Mytilene will embark on first ship.” This would be Jennings.
The messages continued to volley between the radio room of the Kilkis and Athens as the sun rose on the morning of September 23. Finally, Theophanides pressed Jennings to send an ultimatum: Acknowledge receipt of the demand and provide a favorable reply to the request for ships by 6 P.M. or the Kilkis would follow through on its threat to broadcast the American offer and the Greek rejection. Theophanides—aware of the discouragement of the army and possibly suspecting trouble in its ranks—may have been trying to hurry the negotiations. He soon would be in danger, and if the government in Athens was overthrown—or if he himself was removed from command as a consequence of the coup that was brewing—the opportunity to marshal the ships might be lost and so would the evacuation. He insisted on Jennings taking a hard line.
Jennings later wrote: “In this ultimatum, we showed them that the sympathy of the world would be with the Turks and no amount of explaining would ever justify the Greek government for not permitting the Americans to assist to evacuate their own nationals when the lives of thousands depended on the Greek government for furnishing the ships… . We assured them that if they would not give their ships, the American Relief Committee after using the few ships that had been chartered would wash their hands of the whole affair and put responsibility on the Greek nation and tell the reason to the world.”
This was more of Jennings’s creative bluster: he had no authority from the relief committee to threaten to withdraw its relief efforts in Smyrna. Jennings and Theophanides received a quick message that confirmed receipt of the ultimatum and promised an answer.
As they waited, Jennings sent a message to Powell in Smyrna: “12 ships and sufficient coal Mytilene with total carrying capacity of 18,000 persons each trip await favorable reply Athens to your generous offer before being released Stop Other ships also available Stop Expecting reply every moment Stop If favorable will send some of ships today and others tonight Stop Call me.”
Powell confirmed receipt of the message.
Before the 6 P.M. deadline was reached, the Kilkis’s telegraph came alive. It clicked out an answer: the Greek government was ordering Frangos to turn over the ships at Mytilene to Jennings, and Greek ships from Piraeus were on their way, also to be placed under Jennings’s command.
The bold gamble had worked. Incredibly, Jennings would soon find himself in command of a flotilla.
The Kilkis replied: “Mr. Jennings on behalf of American Relief Committee gratefully appreciates the Hellenic Government’s prompt cooperation in connection with the transport of the Smyrna Refugees.”*
Jennings then received a radio message from Frangos: “After communication with the General Staff I acknowledge you all the ships now in Piraeus harbor have been seized by the Government and have been ordered to Mytilene for the transport of the refugees from the Asia Minor coast. Stop. I acknowledge you also that the Commander of the Navy has ordered to be in communication with the American Admiral with reference regulation of the transportation.—Frangos, Brigadier General.”
Since Bristol was unaware of what was happening and his name was being invoked as the enabler of the evacuation, there soon would be hell to pay.
Jennings then radioed Powell: “Capt Panos Argyropulos is hereby appointed to be in charge of transportation and direction of ships assigned to the American Relief Committee Mytilene during the emergency connected with the evacuation of Smyrna and elsewhere due to the advance of Kemal army.” Arygyropoulos was the cashiered Greek naval officer Jennings had met on coming ashore at Mytilene with Aliotti two days earlier and was among the group on the Kilkis. He and Theophanides were probably well acquainted with each other. Jennings needed Arygyropoulos since Jennings barely new a ship’s stem from its stern.
Theophanides immediately summoned the merchant captains at Mytilene to the Kilkis. He told them to be ready to depart at midnight for an evacuation of Smyrna. There was grumbling, and a number of the merchant captains explained why they could not join the evacuation flotilla, but Theophanides was firm. He threatened military action against uncoop
erative captains. Ten ships were made ready for the first trip to Smyrna. One of the merchant captains spoke a little English, so Jennings picked the captain’s ship, Ismini, as the one on which he would travel. In the morning, it led the flotilla from Mytilene.
Powell soon received a radio message from Jennings, asking for an escort when the ships had entered the Gulf of Smyrna. Communication was roundabout: the Edsall radioed the Kilkis, which had already departed Mytilene or was about to depart, because of the rebellion, and the Kilkis in return relayed the messages to Jennings on the lead merchant ship.
Jennings to Powell: “15 ships are scheduled to arrive Pelican Spit 6:00 a.m. Stop. Meet with U.S. Destroyer. Stop. Confirm.”
Powell designated the Lawrence as the escort, and the Lawrence radioed the Kilkis: “Reference your message to Edsall for Mr. Jennings. Am approaching Long Island (in Gulf of Smyrna)/have vessels ready to follow me/will escort them anchorage south and east of railway pier.”
Powell, lacking barges to carry the refugees to the ships, had arranged (through Roger Griswold, expert at bribes) to bring the ships alongside the railroad pier. By early Sunday morning, thirty thousand refugees already had gathered outside its enclosure. The Lawrence met the Greek merchant ships with Jennings aboard the lead ship, the Ismini, at 2 P.M. Sunday, September 24. The ships proceeded in a line into the harbor. The Lawrence led the way, flying the American flag, and the Greek ships followed. “From quite a way out,” Jennings later remembered, “I could see from my station on the bridge the smoking ruins of what had once been the business part of the town. It was the most desolate fearsome sight I ever saw. And at the water’s edge stretching for miles, was what looked like a lifeless black border.” As Jennings’s ship drew closer, he saw that the black border was actually the crowd of black-clad women along the Quay, “suffering, waiting, hoping, praying as they had be[en] doing every moment for days—waiting, hoping praying for ships, ships, ships.”
The ships moved closer. “As we approached, and the shore spread out before us, it seemed as if every face on that Quay was turned toward us, and every arm out-stretched to bring us in. I thought the whole shore was moving out to grasp us.”
The refugees on the Quay, seeing the line of ships, knew immediately that help had arrived and that they might now survive. A great cheer went up from the crowd, and the many tens of thousands of people along the Quay reached toward the ships, tearful and exultant. Jennings would remember it as a cry of “transcendent joy.” Among those watching were Theodora and her two sisters and the Hatcherian family. Their prayers had been answered.
The rescue was about to commence, but their suffering was not over.
CHAPTER 30
The Evacuation Begins
The Greek merchant ships tied up at the railroad pier four at a time. The seven that had arrived on the first trip were the Ismini, Matheos, Atromitos, Thraki, Byzantion, Zakinthos, and Peneos. The railroad pier was a big industrial space with cranes, train tracks, and storage sheds just past and around the bend of the Point at the very terminus of the harbor. In the morning, Turkish soldiers had herded 30,000 of the 250,000 refugees that still remained in the city toward the Point to board the ships. They filled the streets around the Point, to the north and south, and nearly all were women and children. They carried their sacks, straw baskets, carpets, blankets, and, sometimes, odd possessions—a wooden saddle, a piece of a loom, a roll of chicken wire. Many of the very young and very old were close to death. They had been without food for days.
The pier was made of rough wood planks and projected several hundred yards into the harbor, then broke at an angle to the right, forming a crooked digit that pointed toward the lower end of Cordelio. The ships docked at the crooked digit, two on either side. A seven-foot-tall iron-picket fence enclosed the rail yard behind the pier. There were three widely spaced gates in the iron fence, and refugees passed through each gate, inspected by Turkish soldiers. The three additional makeshift fences had been set up inside the main iron fence, and these interior fences channeled the refugees through the rail yard and toward the base of the pier, which led to the pier’s crooked digit and the ships. The passages between the makeshift fences narrowed in some places with timbers to thin the line and allow closer inspection by the soldiers. All men of military age were pulled out of line, including foreign nationals without papers. The Turkish soldiers placed the men who were pulled out into wire pens on the pier, and when the pens were full, soldiers marched the men away. About 10 percent of the refugees were men of military age—husbands, brothers, and fathers of the women they were with.
A double line of Turkish soldiers loitered between the first and second gates, and from time to time some of them moved among the refugees, mostly to rob them of whatever money they had left or rummage their bundles for valuables. The third gate, distant from the two closer to the Point, admitted fewer refugees and was less well guarded.
Powell assigned sixty sailors to the rail yard and pier, twenty specifically to keep violence by the Turkish soldiers to a minimum. The sailors’ only authority was their American uniforms and willingness to forcefully step between a soldier and his victim—they were not permitted to draw weapons for the protection of the refugees. The sailors were not shy about coming between a refugee and a soldier who was intent on extracting a last bit of punishment. Powell stood on the pier coordinating the flow of people, signaling to the Turkish soldiers to open and close the gates into the rail yard. He had to work fast. The Turkish deadline gave him only seven days from this morning to remove the refugees from the city. He wasn’t entirely sure how many people were in the concentration camps and backstreets—there were likely tens of thousands more—but he operated on the assumption that those who failed to pass over the pier in the next seven days would be marched into the interior.
The loading was brutal and often chaotic. People were desperate not to be left behind, and they pushed and shoved one another and leaned into the fences and gates. Women were knocked down, children torn from their arms. Sometimes guards would hold back a woman to check her bundle but her family would be pushed through, causing her to be separated from her relatives. She would scream and attempt to push through a closed barrier as her family moved farther forward and disappeared into the tattered and dirty parade moving toward the ships, fully lost to her. The worst cases were when the women were separated from their children.
The Turks used leather straps, canes, rifle butts, and bayonets to control the crowd, and in a few cases Turkish guards shot male refugees who tried to force their way toward the ships or escape from the guards. “Robbing at the gates and in the yard was rather the rule than the exception,” Powell noted in his diary. Posting sailors on the pier didn’t stop the robberies—with scores of Turkish soldiers on and near the pier and thousands of refugees as targets, there simply were too many incidents for the sailors to intercede in all of them. Powell appealed to the Turkish officers to halt the brazen robberies by bringing their soldiers under control; and the request—officer to officer—slowed the worst of it for a short time near the ships, but the robberies continued among the long lines of people stretching into the streets and soon it was rampant again everywhere. Unable to get the officers present to act decisively to stop the thefts, he called on Noureddin and reported it to him. “It did not seem to interest him to any great degree,” Powell wrote. Often guards at the gates demanded payment as a matter of course before letting people pass. If a refugee failed to produce money, the soldier sent her back to the street.
“Two sides of the Turk’s nature,” Powell wrote, “were evident every day of the evacuation: one in his treatment of refugees, both women and old men, was the robber and more or less of a brute, the other was a soldier doing his duty with a very humane side to him. I have seen them pick up a hat and an old man, or assist a cripple or elderly woman.”
The first gate, closest to the Quay, was the main choke point. The crowd compressed as it squeezed through, leading to shoving, pu
shing, and pulling. There was the always-present fear of being left behind—of being the last person to reach a ship only to be told there would be no passage out. Women lost shoes, and their clothing was torn as they tried to get through. An old woman had become lost, and in her confusion she was unaware that she was naked from the waist down. She ran about calling for her family. Another woman was separated from her child when it was allowed to pass through the gate, but the gate was suddenly closed, preventing her entrance to the rail yard. She tried to force her way through and was beaten back by the soldiers. Wild, she climbed the picket fence, which was taller than a man. A soldier cornered her inside the fence and pinned her against the bars with the butt of his gun. She fought back, crazed to gain her child back, and broke away from the soldier, who ultimately let her run to it.
The Greek ships were built to carry cargo, not people, and the refugees were lowered into the deep vertical cargo holds with ropes, and when the holds were full, refugees were spread tightly on the decks, beginning at the aft end of the ship and working forward toward the bow for maximum stowage. Usually, the refugees’ bundles were thrown into the hold first. At one point, a woman became hysterical when her bundle was taken from her and thrown into the depths of the ship. Sailors could not restrain her, and she jumped into the hold to retrieve it. Thirty feet down, she landed on other bundles, which cushioned her fall, and she unwrapped her bundle—it contained her child. The American sailors turned to the work with energy—cheerful even, in this unusual assignment—and carried bundles and rugs and stretchers to the ships. Some carried crippled refugees on their backs; others had a baby in each arm. Many of the bundles—big squares of cloth filled with household utensils and goods and tied at the corners—taxed the strength of the young sailors. The sailors marveled at the strength of some of the old kerchiefed and barefoot women who had carried these bundles for days over miles of rough roads and had kept possession of them through the fire.
