I happened to mention to these men that I had seen the battle flags of the Forty-second Highlanders with “New Orleans” embroidered on them. “Ah yes, that was one of our minor victories,” one man remarked. I didn’t correct him. Most of them had never heard of the engagement, nor had they ever heard of the War of 1812. I didn’t dare ask them if they had ever heard of the American Revolution.
I hasten to say that although physically the English were not as impressive as I remembered them, they still retained their skill at seamanship. I have mentioned that I have always made it a point to anchor near a British vessel if possible. One night the wind blew up into half a gale and it began to snow heavily; the current was very strong and I went forward to make sure we were not dragging our anchor. I had only taken a few steps when I saw a Spanish collier coming down the straits toward us utterly out of control. I turned out the watch and by heaving on the anchor chains we managed to veer out of her way. It was only by great good luck that I happened to see the collier when I did, and I glanced over at the Britisher wondering when her officer of the deck would notice the collier and man the chains. To my astonishment, I saw her anchor watch had already been mustered forward and had cast off her chains even before ours had. The English may not know much about history, but in a tideway I would rather be anchored next to them than any other nationality. Both of us avoided the errant collier who then proceeded to smash into an anchored French vessel, sliding along her side with a series of grinding clashes. She smashed a gun, a whole line of ports, and sank a big motor sailing launch that was lying alongside, crushing it flat. Then she dropped astern disappearing in the darkness.
It seemed to me ridiculous that so many of my officers spent all their spare time at Novatni’s and Maxim’s when there was so much to be seen. At last when we received an invitation from the British high commissioner and his lady to attend an afternoon reception, I ordered several of them to accompany me, to their intense disgust. The affair was very pleasant though a bit formal and toward the end of the afternoon I noticed that they were looking very unhappy and restless. I asked them if they were enjoying the affair. One of them said in horror, “Captain, they gave us TEA to drink!” I remembered then that to many Americans tea is an effeminate drink suitable only for women. I recalled that when in Scotland during the war, even I thought it was amusing to have the rough British navies stop work every day at four o’clock to drink tea. I commiserated with my unfortunate officers but was secretly relieved that our hosts had not offered us anything stronger. Men who have had a few drinks are liable to say things which to them seem merely good-natured joshing but are only too likely to give offense to strangers.
As I took many trips up the Bosphorus in my gig with guests, I had the ship’s carpenter make and install a comfortable bench on the gig’s deck with lifelines on either side so we could sit in the open instead of in the cabin and enjoy the scenery. To have such a seat was contrary to Naval Regulations and would not have been permitted in the Big Fleet but we were a long way from the Big Fleet and mine was practically an independent command. Some of the happiest days of my life were spent on that bench watching the ancient ruins, wild hills, and lovely towns slip by. When I left the service, I took the bench with me and had it installed around a great tree by the swimming pool at The Hedges. I used to spend long hours sitting there dreaming that I was back in Constantinople with the pretty women and interesting people of that wonderful city.
At this time we received a very pleasant compliment from Doctor Black of Roberts College. He asked permission to address the Denebola’s crew during religious services on Sunday. He pointed out that we had saved thousands of lives in the last few months because, ever since we had arrived, we had been sending all our spare food to the various refugee camps in the vicinity. “Not only the fifty thousand Christians in Constantinople are grateful to you, but also the Turks,” he added. “I have talked to many of them who say your actions have given them a new slant on Christian nations they never had before.”
A few weeks later we were able to recommend ourselves to our Turkish hosts in an even more effective manner. The Contantinople Volunteer Fire Department was a standing joke. They wore fantastic costumes, carried an ornamental and useless hand pump on a long pole and at night illuminated their progress with paper lanterns. They used to dash down the streets falling over dogs, street merchants and each other yelling: “Van Gin Var!” (Fire, there is!) and “Haidee!” (Gangway!). Arriving at the scene of the fire they would start haggling with the property owner before attempting to put it out.
On February 27th the Denebola was moored off Orta-Keuy where there is a beautiful little mosque whose stone work looked like fine lace. Near the mosque was a big building crowded with refugees. At ten o’clock that morning this building suddenly burst into flames, apparently caused by the ignition of kerosene or gasoline. Our Fire and Rescue Party was called away and in five minutes a fifty-foot motor sailing launch left the ship with twenty-five men commanded by Lt. Allan Smith. This party was equipped with wrecking tools, buckets, extinguishers, and heaving lines. Ten minutes later a second sailing launch with thirty men commanded by Lt. Lars Peterson left the ship. This boat carried handy billies (hand pumps), lengths of fire hose, an extra long suction hose, spanners, reducers, nozzles, buckets, and axes. Immediately after the second boat I shoved off in my gig with an orderly and a signal man to see if I could be of any help.
The fire and rescue party.
I saw at once that the burning building and another directly behind it were crowded with refugees. We entered the burning building, climbed to the top floor, got the refugees out and then proceeded to save their property (bundles of clothes), by throwing them out the windows. One squad climbed to the roof to determine the possibility of starting a bucket-line prior to the arrival of the pumps. Owing to the height and the heat and extent of the flames, I decided this was not practicable. The axemen occupied themselves with clearing away wood that was not yet on fire.
Our men on the ground experienced considerable difficulty in keeping the women refugees from running back into the burning building in an effort to get the clothes, their sole earthly possession. They did not realize that our men were rescuing their bundles and as none of them spoke English and we did not know any Russian, we could not communicate with them. I am glad to say that all their clothing was saved.
Upon the arrival of our second boat, the handy billies were landed, a line of fire hose run out and in a few minutes we had a strong stream playing on the flames. Shortly afterwards the Constantinople Volunteer Firemen arrived but were unable to produce a stream of water larger than that from an ordinary garden hose and this could not reach the fire.
Immediately to the east of the burning building and separated from it only by a four foot stone wall was a large white wooden house. I had no idea what it was or to whom it belonged but in anticipation of a possible shift of wind I directed the bucket men to leave the fire itself and drench those portions of the house that were nearest to the blaze. It was fortunate I did so for within minutes burning embers and large fiery sections of wood were falling on it and this building would certainly have gone up too.
There was great confusion in the neighborhood, for the refugees were rushing around, upsetting people, weeping and getting in the way. At first it appeared that no one had been hurt, but I came across a sixteen year old girl who was lying in the street and in danger of being trampled. We got her up and under the cover of a portico in spite of a Turkish soldier who threatened us with his bayonet and attempted to force us back into the street. For awhile I thought I would have to call on some of our armed Shore Patrol to handle him but fortunately a Turkish officer who could speak French came up and very courteously complied with my request that we be permitted to remain. Our hospital corpsman had started to give her first aid when we discovered that one of her eyes had been torn from the socket. As soon as we saw the shocking
nature of her injury I sent the orderly to the ship for a medical officer and he shortly returned with Lt. John Cloyd who applied dressings.
Meanwhile Miss Allen of the Near East Relief joined us. As I have made a number of slighting comments about the American woman in Constantinople, I would like to say that Miss Allen was one of the finest people I have ever met. Her knowledge of Turkish and her attractive personality were invaluable in dealing with the Turkish police who were greatly annoyed at our bothering with these infidel refugees. We had considerable difficulty in getting a car to take the injured girl to a hospital. One woman who had driven up to watch the fire said that her chauffeur had disappeared. Lieutenant Smith then offered to drive the car but the woman pretended she didn’t understand him. Eventually Miss Allen got a car. In lifting the injured girl she became deathly sick and vomited all over Miss Allen who continued to support her and did not flinch in the slightest. She accompanied the girl to the hospital.
By now the fire was under control and we could safely leave it in the hands of the regular fire department. I had the men fall in and marched back to the boats. En route we passed through the gardens of the large white house that had so nearly burned also. As we went through a gentleman wearing a fez and with a monocle in his eye came up and said in French: “Their Imperial Highnesses wish to express their appreciation of the protection of their property by the American officers and men.” I thanked him and after he left I asked a Turkish newspaper man who the gentleman was. He told me that the big white house was a palace and was occupied by two Turkish princesses, Vaima Sultane and Zekie Sultane. “That man is their Highnesses’ chargé d’affaires,” he added. I thought little of the matter at the time.
A few days later I received a letter from Admiral Bristol, our high commissioner, enclosing a note from the Princesses. Here is a translation:
Her Imperial Highness Zekie Sultane presents her compliments to Admiral Bristol and wishes to inform him how grateful she is for the valuable assistance rendered by the Denebola on the 27th instant when a fire broke out next door to her Palace at Orta-Keuy. She is of the opinion that had it not been for the assistance of the Denebola’s crew her Palace would certainly have been destroyed.
Later I was presented to Her Highness, who personally thanked me for our help.
I received a letter of commendation from Admiral Bristol that was put on my record. As a result of this episode, I was asked to dine with Talat Bey, an important Turkish official. The Turkish titles are first “effendi” (which really means “gentleman”); then “bey” which includes ranks as far up as General and Admiral, then “pasha” and finally “prince”, “caliph” and “sultan”. We talked in a curious mixture of Turkish, Greek, French, and German. He made no bones about his hatred for western Europeans and showed me his piano which had been smashed by them. “And the men who did it were not private soldiers but officers,” he assured me. He said he was never going to have it repaired but intended to keep it as a monument to Christian perfidy. Then, more to the point, he went on to say “Because of your thoughtfulness in saving the Royal Palace I will see that your American businessmen will be given a lot of concessions not extended to the Europeans. I hope that you will believe that we Turks are not ‘terrible’ or ‘unspeakable’ but very like other people.” I assured him that I thoroughly agreed with him.
Talat Bey was as good as his word, and I later received a number of calls from grateful American businessmen who found that their relations with the Turks had enormously improved. As American trade with the Middle East was growing in importance, the United States taxpayer got a return on the cost of sending our Destroyer Squadron to the Middle East. Personally, I received an unexpected dividend. The vicious letters concerning my love life which Polly had been receiving suddenly stopped. Obviously someone had put a flea in the ear of these self-appointed censors and told them to mind their own business; I suspect the businessmen were involved. Upholding America’s high moral code is one thing but it can’t be allowed to interfere with profits.
As a result of the fire, I became fairly well known in Constantinople and received a number of invitations. One was to a reception given by a delightful Russian couple named Mr. and Mrs. Henie. Mrs. Henie had been a countess before being forced to flee Russia. They had a beautiful apartment with a balcony overlooking the Golden Horn. As I entered I noticed a large photograph of a charming young lady dressed “à 1’Anglais” in a smart tailored suit with a rolled up umbrella under her arm. She was the younger sister of my hostess. I did not realize it at the time but I was looking at a picture of my future wife. I met her thirteen years later in Switzerland after Polly’s death. We were married the following year.
To anyone not personally involved, the different mores, beliefs and customs of the various peoples in Constantinople would have made a fascinating study. However, as I was responsible for the well-being of several thousand men, plus my country’s prestige in the area, this confusion of attitudes presented a constant threat. There were a number of lepers on the streets who wore white veils over their faces.
No one thought anything of it and did not seem to fear infection. On the other hand, the Turks were shocked at the sight of drunken men. Of course, their religion does not permit them to indulge in alcohol in any manner and they regarded drunks not only with revulsion but also alarm, never being sure what a man under the influence might do.
I remember especially an affair at Petit Champs that nearly developed into a free fight. There was dancing and among the couples was a Jamaican Negro and a white girl. Near our table — I was there with a French girl — was a young American naval officer with an American woman. This woman kept protesting in a loud voice, “A white woman dancing with a nigger! I never saw anything so disgusting in my life. It’s an outrage! Why doesn’t somebody do something about it?” My companion and I were discussing a ballet which had taken place earlier in the evening and I tried to ignore my fellow countrywoman but her escort, poor kid, finally was goaded by her into the role of knight errant. Before I could say anything, he had walked over to the Jamaican and ordered him off the floor.
To be a successful knight errant you should have the build for it. The young officer was decidedly weedy while the Jamaican was over six feet and built like a bull; he could have broken the American in two and showed every indication of being willing to do so. I got up at once but before I could interfere, several other young American officers had gone to their comrade’s help, simply because he was their comrade I am sure. Instantly an English Army officer, followed by several tommies, moved up to back the Jamaican who was shouting, “You come here from America a thousand miles away and think you can tell us what to do!”
As I came up, the English lieutenant said to me, “I am the British officer of this district and I will handle this affair.” As he was fifteen years my junior in age and four grades my junior in rank I found it hard to control my temper. I merely reminded him that the United States was a sovereign power and he had no authority whatever over an American citizen. Still it was ridiculous to make an international incident over the conduct of a silly young woman and a stupid young man who had seen fit to interfere in a matter which was absolutely none of their business. So instead I turned to the American officer and said, “We cannot lay down rules of conduct for these people.”
“Why, Captain,” said the young officer with a strong Southern accent. “There are American women in this place. They should not be exposed to a sight like this.”
“If they don’t like it let them go somewhere else,” I brutally retorted. Then seeing he was about to make some reply I added, “You are not under my command but if you don’t drop this dispute I will report you to Admiral Bristol.”
He hesitated for a moment and then turned and left. His friends were inclined to linger on so I said, “I think I’ll report him anyhow. What is his name?” They hastily said, “We don’t know” and vanished. As
the Jamaican had disappeared, I said to the Englishman, “I realize that officer had no right to interfere but you must realize that in most parts of America we strongly disapprove of a black man dancing with a white woman.” Much to my surprise, he answered, “So do we but he is a British subject and I was bound to defend him.”
Curiously, not a person in the café understood my reason for butting in. The Jamaican thought I was acting as his champion. I was told later that, while I was wigging the young American officer, he was making deep bows behind my back and saying, “Thank you, Captain, thank you!” The Turkish gentleman in the café thought I was defending the Rights of Man and congratulated me on taking a strong stand against racial intolerance. As I left one Turk said to me approvingly, “You were perfectly right, Captain. What would happen if a black man should get up in a New York night club and say, ‘I will not allow two white people to dance together?’ ” I assured him quite truthfully, I trembled to think of what would happen. The young American officers thought I was an old fool to interfere in an affair that was none of my business and then side with an Englishman against my own countrymen; they concluded I was some sort of an Anglo-maniac. The Englishmen thought I had officiously broken up what promised to be a most entertaining fracas and was afraid they’d hurt the American officers. It never occurred to anyone that I was merely trying to prevent what could easily have been an ugly international incident.
I have described this incident in some detail because I think it is a good example of how different ethnic groups can react to the same situation and how each of them can be quite convinced that they are in the right and there is no other possible point of view except their own. It also illustrates how often a group feels perfectly justified in forcing their own standards on others. I have heard a great deal about “hands across the sea” and “all men are brothers”, etc. It seems to me far more important to realize that an American Southerner, a Jamaican Negro, an Englishman, and a Turk have very different attitudes, and it is crucial to realize in international affairs that what is perfectly permissible to one group may be exceedingly offensive to another.
The Old Navy Page 33
