Evening Republican, Volume 19, Number 89, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 15 April 1915 — THE DARDANELLES [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

THE DARDANELLES

THE Dardanelles, known in classic times as the Hellespont, is the golden key to the door of Asia. The strait, which connects the Sea of Marmora with the Aegean sea, is approximately for-ty-five miles long and varies in width from four miles to a mile and a quarter at Dardanelles, its narrowest point. It was just at this part of the ■trait that, according to the ancient verses ascribed to Musaens, the servant of the. muses, a legendary poet supposed to have lived about the fifth century, the enamored Leander, residing in Abydos, the Asiatic town, wooed and won the beautiful Hero, one of the priestesses of Venus, at Sestos, exactly opposite on the European side. Gallipoli, the ancient seaport, a vilayet of Edlrneh, Turkey, on the pen insula of Gallopoll. is, next.to the city of Dardanelles, the most important town on the strait. It was known in classical times as Calllpolls, and in the middle ages, it is said, was a large commercial center and valued highly aa constituting the “Key to the Hellespont." The town of Dardanelles Is situated on a flat point opposite the European fort of Tchanak Kalesi, which guards the entrance to the strait from the Aegean sea. Two famous forts known as castles defend the Dardanelles, the one in Asia, Tchanak Kalesi, or Earthenware Castle of Asia, on the site of the ancient city of Abydos, and its mate opposite known as Khilldl Bahar, “the lock of the sea,” which Is built on the sides of a steep projecting cliff. Its castle, however, Is of less Importance than Its neighbor. The Turks have a romantic story of their own regarding Abydos, now known as Dardanelles. It seems that a firm resistance was offered to the Ottomans who besieged It under the command of Orchan, the son of Sultan Othman. The city at last was forced to yield, owing to the treachery of the governor’s daughter, who had fallen in love with a handsome young Turk. Her treachery alone occasioned the fall of the town, which to this day has remained one of the most prized strongholds of the Turks. In the town the sight of a foreigner and the sound of the English tongue Is a matter of much comment, even in the best of times. Just after the so-called bombardment of the Dardanelles reported to have taken place by an Italian warship during the war over Tripoli, the writer had the unique experience of being one of the eleven foolhardy passengers on the first Austrian Lloyd steamer from the port of Piraeus, Greece, willing to take the risk of attempting to pass through the Dardanelles. A Hazardous Journey. At the Aegean end of the strait, after a long wait and much uncertainty as to whether the steamer would be permitted to make the hazardous Journey through the Dardanelles, known to be thickly sown with mines, a little grimy Turkish tug took the long tin* of shipping in tow, which had for some time been awaiting a convoy to proceed on its Journey to Constantinople, or the ports on the Black sea, a Journey interrupted by the false reports of an Italian bombardment, which very fortunately, as it happened, had not actually taken place. The passengers were filled with trepidation and fear as they anxiously watched the little snorting tug laboriously twist and turn In an amazingly Intricate and tortuous course, first close to shore, and then by a sharp ttirn, making apparently for the opposite side of the famous channel. It was a wonderful sight to see the little craft ahead, each of the others following as closely as they could the stern of the preceding vessel, Imitating most faithfully the anticrof the small Turkish convoy, lest It he blown up by minaing but one of the labyrinthian twists and turns, and to look back and see the five ships behind, as diligently playing the same game of follow the leader, while on each side of the narrow waterway an almost continuous line of fortifications, hidden breastworks, bristling batteries and until near at band, cleverly concealed armaments, proved how thorough were the preparations tor war. On arriving at the little wooden dock at the port of Dardanelles in one of the huge Turkish flatboats which come oat from the shore to take off passengers and freight from the steamer, the tourist’s passport Is demanded, even before he is permitted to alight on the dock, if being dragged up bodily by two villainous looking bandits who stand on the dock, seconded by two equally ferocious appearing gentlemen in the swaying and bobbing boat some six or seven feet

too gentle pokes and shoves, may be designated by any such mild appellation. Meet Bcowllng Looks. Once upon the dock the tourist is conscious that it is a long, long way to the steamer, which lies some distance out from the shore, as the confused babble of tongues greets the ear and the scowling looks cast upon the visitor make him well aware that he ha* left civilization and safety behind him in bis characteristic American desire to “take in the whole show,” as it is usually described. It is almost with a sense of relief that an individual is seen approaching He bows obsequiously and glibly announces: “I splk Eengleesh; I guide.” At once his services are gladly secured, but unfortunately it Is soon evident his knowledge of the English language is limited to the few phrases with whieh he introduced himself, and his French, the traveler finds, is as execrable as his own.

However, when one is In Turkey, and In Asiatic Turkey at that, it Is the part of wisdom to take things as they come' Without making any unnecessary commotion. The glances cast upon the “giours” are usually far from friendly or reassuring, and the visitor to Dardanelles becomes soon convinced of the foolishness of his action in insisting upon going ashore in the face of the just warning from the captain and officers of the steamer, who frankly advised him to remain on board, as it was pleasanter and safer to view Dardanelles from the deck of the steamer. But once ashore It Is Impossible to leave for even if the voyager was able to request to be taken back to the steamer it would not he wise to do so. Consequently the best thing to do is to appear to enjoy the sights of Dardanelles immensely, and show as great appreciation as possible for the marvelously hideous earthenware manufactured in Tchanak Kalesi and sold In the dark, little Turkish show of the town. As every visitor to Turkey well knows, the sultan’s subjects manufacture almost nothing, for which no regret is felt when the awful specimens made at Dardanelles are seen. Like a Greek Town. The better part of Dardanelles has much the appearance of a small Greek town. The hotels, shops and open-air cases all have signs printed In Greek, and the principal street Is known as “The Street of the Greek Church.” Ox teams are often encountered, lumbering slowly along, and there are numerous mangy curs of the same fierce mongrel type which formerly infested Constantinople. They are half starved nnfl snap menacingly at strangers, so & promenade in Dardanelles is rather too exciting for comfort. The streets are filled with children, some of whom look like miniature men and women, tiny puppets In baggy green silk trousers or In full-flounced, gorgeously colored silk dresses, the sons and daughters of the well-to-do Turkish officials, hut the tor greater number are forlorn little creatures, ragged and dirty, who look not only neglected but half famished. A warning blast from the steamer tells the voyager it is time to return. A hasty return is made to the dock, but the official with the traveler’s precious passport is nowhere to be seen. At last, after what seems an endless delay, the gentleman Is found, and when, after a diligent search through innumerable papers, be finally discovers the missing document the em fling gentleman is gladly given a generous gratuity for all his trouble by the anxious traveler: who gives one long sigh of relief when once more safely aboard the steamer.