Rensselaer Republican, Volume 12, Number 27, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 19 March 1880 — The Famine in Persia. [ARTICLE]

The Famine in Persia.

The Boston Journal of a recent date publishes the following letter, written to the Rev. A. H. Plumb, of that city, from his sister, Mrs. D. P. Cochran, missionary for thirty years in Persia: Oroomiah, January 2. We have a terrible famine upon us. Nothing like it has been known by the oldest inhabitant Christian villages are suffering far less than the Mohammedan, which is noted by all. Hundreds of those who may escape with their lives will find themselves utterly destitute in the spring. Dr. Cochran [her son] is appointed by our station to attend to the work for the poor. He is having meetings and talks with committees of the best of our people for devising ways and means for helping the suflerers through local committees in the villages. But many of our people are sorely distressed themselves. The Nestorians are doing nobly, helping those worse off than themselves, so far as they have the means, but they are a poor race. Nothing is done by the Government. One of our men who helps Dr. Cochran in the daily distribution of bread to the hungry (between 100 and 200 throng our door) just told me that some of the starving go daily to the slaughter houses, carrying a dish to catch the blood of the slain beasts, which they drink greedily! Many have sold the last piece of* household stuff, and are now pulling down the timbers of their houses to sell for bread to keep their families alive. Several houses in some of my villages have been pulled down entirely. Others have cut down their orchards and dug up their vineyards to sell for fuel. It is wonderful how every commodity is sold for a mere song. Seeing the poverty of a fellow creature and the sore need of money for food, instead of exciting pity, awakens only evil feelings, and men seize carpet, bed, beast or fuel, and give a mere trifle in return. Thus it happens that what would keep a family for a long time suffices for only a few days. To-day a horse-load of wheat sells for sixteen dollars! A year ago it sold for a little over three dollars. A family in one of my villages sent word by a neighbor to-day that they were actually dying of starvation. Doctor sent them fourteen sheets of native bread. Not that this family is the only one; there are probably two scores in my villages alone in a similar state. Again and again they have brought their children and given them to me. 1 have given, and we all have, till we must stop. The pale, starving creatures which sat in my kitchen at Seir drove me almost wild, and I was thankful to hide myself here for a few days. Many of the natives lock their doors when they cook a meal and when they eat it—the only way they can have it for themselves. One of our mission was so distressed by the call for “Bread! bread!” that he rose from his table, gave his meal to the poor at the door, and retired to his inner room sick at heart. Barefooted multitudes tread the frozen streets, having parted with all but a few rags, which offer an apology for clothing. Parente are selling their children for slaves; many men have fled, no one knows whither, to avoid seeing the death of those dear to them. Would that I could take you out among the haggard crowd that will come tomorrow, which comes daily to receive a little. Oh! those sunken eyes! those bony fingers! Trembling, fainting women and children trodden under foot by the stronger ones as they rush forward to receive the precious piece of bread! If I could take you to some of the houses in my villages where whole families are groveling on the ground floor, some apparently near death—all in the deepest dejection, praying for death, merciful death! Men in this city have poisoned the last food they could procure for their dear ones, and all have gone together. One man with a family <rf eight a few days ago .put arsenic into the flour which was to make thejr last little cake, and they all died togethtr.

January 7.—Famine increasing, with rising prices. A little over one bushel at wheat, or flour ground, not bolted, now sells for twenty dollars. In the other famine it never went above eight dollars. It is fearful to live here now!