The Red Rugs of Tarsus: A Woman's Record of the Armenian Massacre of 1909Gibbons, Helen Davenport
History
The Red Rugs of Tarsus: A Woman's Record of the Armenian Massacre of 1909
Gibbons, Helen Davenport
Adana (Turkey) -- History; Armenian massacres, 1909 -- Turkey -- Adana
Week-end visits here are really not had at all. There is no hotel in
this town. Characteristically, Daddy Christie has the office force at
the station pilot foreigners coming to Tarsus straight to St. Paul's
College, no matter what orders they gave. A variety of folks wash up on
our beach. A dignified professor with a little group of Oxford men
bound for the interior to prove on the ground that there are villages
back in the Taurus where ancient Greek persists unadulterated to this
day, came back a few weeks later, faces beaming with the grin research
scholars wear when they have it on the other authorities. Another group
of men said they were travelers. Americans of the Far West they
certainly were. We couldn't make out much else at first. Their leader
sat next to me at lunch, and was so extraordinarily reticent, when, in
trying to make conversation, I asked him about his family, that I
commented upon it afterwards to Herbert and Dr. Christie. Later we
learned that they were Mormon missionaries. Dear Dr. Deissmann, with
others from the University of Berlin, spent two days with us on their
journey in the footsteps of Saint Paul. He is gathering material for a
book that will make a stir in the world. He spoke before the boys, in
excellent English--what linguists Germans are!--and the college
orchestra responded with _Die Wacht am Rhein._ It was a _noble_ effort,
and the Herr Professor was good enough to beam and applaud.
Week-ends would indeed be dull were it not for visits exchanged up and
down the railway by missionaries in Mersina, Tarsus and Adana. A new
person at any of the three stations is very soon invited to make
week-end visits. Early in the autumn, Miss X arrived at Adana. When she
made her first visit to Tarsus, Herbert and I invited her to have coffee
in our study one Saturday evening. Kind of cosy, sitting in front of our
fire, and she loosened up and told us that there was just one thing that
troubled her in Adana. That was the Swiss teacher of French at the
Girls' Boarding School, who said she was much relieved to find that the
new-comer understood a little French, "Because, my dear, it is important
for me to safeguard my English. You see I cannot risk catching your
American accent."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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