Germany -- Foreign relations -- Turkey; Turkey -- Foreign relations -- Germany; World War, 1914-1918 -- Turkey
When the victims had travelled a few hours from their starting place,
the Kurds would sweep down from their mountain homes. Rushing up to the
young girls, they would lift their veils and carry the pretty ones off
to the hills. They would steal such children as pleased their fancy and
mercilessly rob all the rest of the throng. If the exiles had started
with any money or food, their assailants would appropriate it, thus
leaving them a hopeless prey to starvation. They would steal their
clothing, and sometimes even leave both men and women in a state of
complete nudity. All the time that they were committing these
depradations the Kurds would freely massacre, and the screams of women
and old men would add to the general horror. Such as escaped these
attacks in the open would find new terrors awaiting them in the Moslem
villages. Here the Turkish roughs would fall upon the women, leaving
them sometimes dead from their experiences or sometimes ravingly insane.
After spending a night in a hideous encampment of this kind, the exiles,
or such as had survived, would start again the next morning. The
ferocity of the gendarmes apparently increased as the journey
lengthened, for they seemed almost to resent the fact that part of their
charges continued to live. Frequently any one who dropped on the road
was bayoneted on the spot. The Armenians began to die by hundreds from
hunger and thirst. Even when they came to rivers, the gendarmes, merely
to torment them, would sometimes not let them drink. The hot sun of the
desert burned their scantily clothed bodies, and their bare feet,
treading the hot sand of the desert, became so sore that thousands fell
and died or were killed where they lay. Thus, in a few days, what had
been a procession of normal human beings became a stumbling horde of
dust-covered skeletons, ravenously looking for scraps of food, eating
any offal that came their way, crazed by the hideous sights that filled
every hour of their existence, sick with all the diseases that accompany
such hardships and privations, but still prodded on and on by the whips
and clubs and bayonets of their executioners.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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