An Introduction to "From Aintab Back to Sebastia"

This is the account of a perilous return to Sebastia in 1917 by a group of refugees who had miraculously survived the 1915 deportation. It is described by Hovagim Daghavarian, one of the deportees, about whom his grandniece, Debra Aghavni Dagavarian, wrote a loving memoir in ARARAT (v. XXN, no. 3, Summer 1983, p.33.)

A testimonial in Hovagim Daghavarian's honor in December 1969 by the Sebastiatzis of the metropolitan New York area -- joined by members of chapters allover the world -- voiced appreciation for his devoted service and talents. Their cause was the Pan-Sebastia Rehabilitation Union, the compatriotic organization of his birthplace. He served it in many capacities including Executive Secretary and Chairman of the Editorial Staff of the Pan­Sebastia magazine (Nor Sebastia) for over thirty years.

He died in 1976 at the age of 74. Two years before the events about which he writes in his diary, he lived through the expulsion fom Sebastia.

Florence Chakerian

"In January 1915, a plenipotentiary representative of the Ittihad, Ghani Beg, came to Sebastia from Constantinople and brought the provincial governor Muammer the secret warrant and orders for the deportation and massacres of the Armenians.

"The city of Sebastia had an Armenian population of 5800 families consisting of approximately 36,000 persons.

"The deportation of the Armenians began on Monday, June 22, and ended 011 Sunday, July 5; every day, another caravan left the city, making a total of' 14 carav·ans. The depariw'e of the flrstca:ra:Yc:w.~(.'I).iisti..uted a. particularly ­horrid and heartrending scene. Each ward had already been surrounded by regiments of gendarmes armed with bayonets. The police, cracking whips, shouted at residents of the ward, "Come outside quick, you infidel dogs!" Lamentations and supplications were of no use. The members of the various' households came outside with loads on their backs and got into oxcarts or onto donkeys which were quite a distance away. The police then locked the doors of the empty houses and affixed seals on them. While the caravan was started on its way, the crowd of Turks looked on in ecstasy The caravan, amidst weeping and lamentations, was taken out of town; it crossed the "Crooked Bridge" over the Alis River and, at nightfall, stopped at the foot of Mt. Kardashlar. That was only the beginning of the Calvary "

From "Yeghemabadoum" (Story of Genocide)

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From My Diary of the Armenocide

FROM AINTAB BACK TO SEBASTIA

By Hovagim H. Dagavarian (Chaderjian)

I.

Some of m¥ com~atriots, who survived the deportations and are famil1ar w1th what happened then, have been con­tinually insisting for several years that I put that Odyssean journey down in writing, whose reflection 55 years later even makes me shudder.

Despite the fact that I had considered the 55th anniversary of the Armenocide the most suitable opportu­nity to acquaint my compatrlots with that Od¥ssean journey, yet again I hesitated, considering 1t a breach of modesty.

Although what happened was exceptional in itself, bein~ one of a kind, the real reason for my hesitating to subm1t it to print for years on end was my supposition that some individuals, considering what they had seen or the suffering borne by them during the deportations as "exceptional," would wish to see it published in Nor Sebastia.

What I shall present in three successive installments 1S the severely abridged descri~tion of the adventure of my flight from Aintab to Sebast1a during the most intense days of World War I -- 1917 -- inasmuch as some of the participants are still alive.

First let me introduce them, i.e. the travelers, who, at the risk of facing certain death, echoed the call of their birth~lace and yielded to the irresistible lure of reuniting w1th their loved ones.

Mrs. Anase Andonian, with her three children: daughters Shushanig and Nuvart and son Hovhannes. The aforementioned Mrs. Anase is Barkev Chukasezian's father's sister. Unfortunately she and her son died years ago in France. Shushanig is married to the brother of the late violinist Haroutiun Sanossian and lives in France. Nuvart, in turn, is married to Asadour (Assa) Ayrasian, from the Asdvadzamayr [Mother of God] church section of Sebastia, and likewise lives in France.

Mrs. Bubul, daughter of the Lertoghians, whose married name I don't remember -- with her two daughters, Rebecca and Araxie. Rebecca is the widow. of our compatriot Harou­tiun Bajakian, living in California, while Araxie lives

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abroad, to my knowledge.

Mrs. Mariam Kurkjian, with her son, whose name I've forgotten.

Mrs. Elbiz Ounanian; her brother's wife, Ovsanna (Hosanna), and her mother's sister's daughter,' Miss Anna Jizjizian.

Elbiz died a few years ago, while Ovsanna and Anna presently live in the environs of Marseilles, to my knowledge.

Altogether, 13 persons -- five women, five charming and beautiful young girls and three boys. Being the "oldest" of the boys at 16 years of age, I had the obliga­tions of looking after the other two and helping the mule­teer.

We were all at Hromgla (Rum. Kale) (1) where crossing the Euphrates River was absolutely forbidden for gavour muhajirs [infidel refugees]; nevertheless we somehow found the means to get to the other side and reached Aintab with the intention of returning to Sebastia. But why? . Who did these 13 travelers have in Sebastia? Let us mention that in order to make the picture complete.

Mrs. Anase's husband, Corporal Agojan Andonian, was a soldier who had been forcibly Islamized. In order to prove his "sincerity" toward the new religion, the Turks had forced him to marry again despite his wife and children being alive.

Mrs. Elbiz's husband, Mirijan Ounanian, and husband's brother, Armenag Ounanian, likewise were Islamized sol­diers.

Mrs. Bubul's two Islamized brothers, Haig and Antranig Lertoghian, worked at Ghani Beg's store.

Anna Jizjizian's brother, Sarkis, and Ovsanna's hus­band, Mgrdich, were Islamized soldiers.

I don't remember who Mrs. Mariam Kurkjian had.

This writer's father, Haroutiun Chaderjian, and sister's husband, Hovhannes Kapikian, had remained in Sebastia as soldiers.

Despite knowing that a group of compatriots had ~reviously attempted to reach Sebastia but had been caught ln the vicinity of Merkez and subjected to barbaric

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treatment and torture, we stuck to our decision and began to negotiate with a Turkish muleteer. Having agreed to pay five red gold pounds for each person, we assembled at midnight on the fixed day at the muleteer's house located in a Turkish section of the city.

Our muleteer, Balleh Dayi ("Uncle" Balleh), was a likable 80-year-old man who was unable to walk. Having traveled back and forth continually for 60 years from Aintab to Gurin, and even as far as Sebastia, he knew everybody in each village along the way, from the youngest child to the oldest resident, and was respected by all owing to his unassuming nature.

Balleh Dayi's assistant was his brother's son named Vakas, a tall, strong, rugged, 30-year-old army deserter who accompanied us, bearing a false identity card.

At Balleh Dayi's house, with the women and young girls all dressed in Turkish costumes, we listened for one hour straight to his final instructions, which were as follows:

"The women and young girls must not uncover their faces at any time along the way, always bearing in mind that they are namehram. (2)

"S~eaking Armenian is absolutely forbidden, even when there 1S nobody else in our midst, until you enter your homes in Sebastia.

"Invariably there will be many who will interrogate us along the way; none of you must say anything; I shall be the only one to respond to them.

"Depending on the variable day-to-day circumstances, you must literally do as I tell you, for_the sake of our collective safety."

Saying "May God be with us, my children," the elderly muleteer got up and, turning to his nephew, commanded:

"Haydeh (come on), my son, start loading the donkeys."

Along with Vakas, we immediately engaged in the task of loading the donkeys. Vakas and I didn't have donkeys; we were obliged to walk to Sebastia since he was to receive a certain compensation from his uncle for this dangerous journey. I, in turn, wasn't to pay anything, as Balleh Dayi's and Vakas's assistant and "overseer" of the two younger boys.

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That arrangement was partly a stroke of luck because, as it will become clear at the end, no immediate relative of mine had remained in Sebastia who could have paid the muleteer five red gold pounds for bringing me to Sebastia.

Working quickly and without so much as a whisper, we had loaded the 13 donkeys in short order -- 12 for the travelers and one, in turn, for Balleh Dayi.

Thus, at close to two o'clock in the morning, we quietly began our departure from the city.

It was the beginning of August 1917, the most intense period of the war, when the roads and surrounding areas were full of chetes (3) and Turkish military deserters.

II.

Proceeding across mountains and valleys the whole night, we rested in the morning at the edge of a grove where Turkish peasants, seeing us from afar, came rushing and, out of curiosity, began firing various and sundry questions at Balleh Dayi. He had barely managed to satisfy the peasants' curiosity when Mrs. Kurkjian's lO-year-old son suddenly shouted from amidst the thicket:

"Mama, there are pears here . . . there are lots of pear trees here .. "

These few Armenian words inescapably caught the Turks' attention. After all, hadn't Balleh Dayi told them a short while ago that we were all "Turks"? While the muleteer was endeavoring to furnish a ready explanation in order to dispel the Turks' doubts, I, stupefied and some­what bewildered, darted over to the disobedient boy with lightninq quickness and knockeq him to the ground with two harsh blows because I knew that he did that deliberatelr, incapable of imagining or partially fathoming the severlty of the consequence(s).

Having silenced the mischievous boy with threats, I returned with him to the caravan where, crying, he said that he had fallen on a rock in the grove.

Satisfied on the surface at least with the explanation furnished by the muleteer, they proceeded to sell us bread, cheese and fruit and then left for their nearby village.

Woe unto us if they had known we were Armenian!

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This was a totally unexpected but extremely dangerous incident.

ON THE WAY TO MERKEZ

It was the second night . . . We were about to pass through the accursed place called Merkez .. -. a town that was the center known to the deportees for acts of barbar­ism committed there . . . There was no other road but the one that passed in front of the bloodthirsty kaymakarn's (4) house.

After traveling through mountains and valleys the whole, day, we rested in the evening in the forest located a considerable distance from the town.

Our clever old muleteer had brought with him a considerable quantity of cloths and rags which he had instructed us to tie securely and plentifully on the don­keys' hooves.

In the deep stillness that prevailed at two o'clock In the morning, we passed in front of the kaymakam's house on a cobblestone street without the sound of the donkey's hooves and without uttering a whisper. However, we had barely gotten out of town when, hearing voices in the grove, we took a detour; becoming immersed in the river up to our waists, we pushed and pulled the donkeys, and then emerged from the river in a hurry, whereupon the voices ceased too.

At this point let me say, in passin9' that a few months earlier, a group of Armenian natlves of Sebastia had attempted to pass through Merkez at night with the intention of reaching Sebastia but they were arrested and subjected to acts of savagery. Some returned to Aintab l.",hi Ie 0th~rs di'3aI'pea:r:-~d _TflJ7.i r tents, ?"cc:iden-ts a.nd surprises occurred continually but I shall not describe all of them; rather I shall mention only a few of them because to write about all of them would require dozens of pages.

Depending on Balleh Dayi's ~lan, we would travel some­times at night, other times durlng the day, but always across mountains, rocky hills and through forests. Despite doing so, we were often forced to tie rags around the donkeys' hooves to prevent their noise, depending on the muleteer's presentiment and/or expectation based on experience.

It was on the fourth day when we came up against a major, a captain, soldiers and gendarmes in a forest.

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This being an unpleasant surprise for us, to say the least, we were all terrified but we controlled our fear, trusting in diplomatic and quick-witted Balleh Dayi.

The major began to interrogate the muleteer.

"Who are these individuals and where are you going?"

Balleh Dayi, giving the name of an influential Turk who wa~ a native of Albistan and an Ittihad (5) leader, replied:

"They are his family, maid servants and azap (6), my pasha (7); they had gone on vacation to Aintab and now they are on their way home."

"Hey man, why are you traveling over the mountains when there's a direct route?"

"The hanim effendis (8) wish to enjoy the natural beauty. That's what they ordered of me and I, being a simple muleteer, am obliged to obey."

"Well, how do you explain the rags tied to the hooves of these donkeys? . . . This is the first time in my life that I'm seeing such a thing as this."

"The hanim effendis ordered it like tha.t too. They say that the noise made by the hooves is unbearable and it mars the silence of nature and their enjoyment."

"Allah, allah... what else am I going to see 1. "

The major examined Vakas's "identity card" and, satis­fied, said try the muleteer while pointing to me:

"This boy looks like a gavour."

Balleh Dayi didn't like the "gavour" qualification at all and calmly replied:

"Yes, he is Armenian and he's the,Agha's (9) clerk and accountant."

"Clerk? . . . Accountant? . . . Do you mean to tell me that this child knows how to read and write Turkish?"

"Yes, my pasha."

Going further, the major began to interrogate me directly.

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"Where are you from?"

"I'm from Sebastia."

"What school have you attended 1n Sebastia?"

"Idadiye mekteb." (IO)

Of course I was lying; the only school I had attended was Aramian (11). In order to fully satisfy his curios­ity, the major removed pencil and paper from his bag and, handing them to me, said:

"Write down what I've said."

"I had barely written five or six words when he added with admiration, 'that's enough, my child, that's enough," and turning to the soldiers and gendarmes, exclaimed out loud - ­

"Behold, here's an Armenian parchasu (12) who knows how to read and write our mother tongue better than many of you, and is a better vatandash (13) than you."

This encounter lasting over twenty minutes ended with the major turning to the hanim effendis and saying:

"I suggest that you proceed along the direct route. At least there you'll sometimes encounter gendarmes or soldiers who can defend you against the chetehs who are swarming everywhere."

That was tantamount to reading the Gospel to wolves. After all, our purpose was to avoid them all. . The chetehs or army deserters wouldn't find anybody to rob 1n the forest,

Saying ~ prayer of protection from the evil devil and breath1ng a deep sigh of relief, we continued on our way but, until they were out of si9ht, "we became like newborn infants," as they used to say 1n Sebastia.

ON THE WAY TO ALBISTAN

In the evenin9 we rested at the home, a few hours' distance from Alb1stan, of the elderly village chief who was the same age as the muleteer and was well acquainted with him. The village chief knew that we were Armenian but he showed us the same kindness and compassion as he did to Balleh Dayi.

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After a brief respite, whispers and suspicious conver­sation arose among the village chief, our muleteer and his acquaintances. Our veteran muleteer was sad .... After supper, in the chief's presence, he began to explain the reason for the whispers with a serious and concerned demeanor.

"The chetehs have crossed the pass leading to Albistan, a short distance from the village," said the muleteer as the village chief, nodding his head, confirmed what his friend was saying.

"That pass is the only route. there's no other road; I leave it up to you as to what we should do . . the decision is yours. There are only two options: either continue on our way, risk getting robbed and face all kinds of danger and unexpected situations, or return to Aintab, which can be almost as perilous."

continuing his train of thought, he added:

"I'm already up in years, you're young; I'm prepared to act according to your decision, regardless of what it is or what consequences it may bring."

At this point, we had already covered half the dis­tance -- seven days and nights -- traveling arduously, filled with fear and terror every minute of the way. Returning to Aintab was just as hazardous as proceeding to Sebastia . . . It was a matter of life and death, and the decision to be made by us was fateful.

We deliberated at length, questioned both the village chief and our muleteer, and in the end unanimously decided to continue on our way toward Sebastia.

After hearing our decisiori, Balleh Dayi left the room with the vi.llage chief. "

None of us was able to sleep at all during the night, our worry about what things might happen tomorrow being expressed through ill-boding suppositions. Nor did we see any more of the village chief and the muleteer . . . Both of them had disappeared.

Balleh Dayi returned at dawn; his mood was totally changed but he gave no explanation for his absence the whole night.

"Haydeh my children, get ready. God is with us," said the old man, impressing us all with his paternal sol­icitousness.

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We set out on the road leading to the pass, accompan­ied by the village chief.

Around midday, just having entered the pass; we saw armed chetehs and army deserters up on the hei9hts on both sides, who were following our steps and signallng each other not to disturb us.

It was only after we had safely crossed the long pass and the village chief had returned home that Balleh Dayi began to explain his absence the entire previous night and the secret of our traversing the pass unharmed.

Having learned from reliable sources that the chetehs and deserters were from the village where we had spent the night and the nearby villages, the muleteer, together with the hospitable village chief, had visited those villages, found the chetehs' associates and, through them, the chief brigand. They had asked him to allow free passage to the eksik-eteks (14) and choluk-chojuks (15) of dead soldiers, and finally gave him a bribe of five red gold pounds. The chief brigand had agreed, remembering that our muleteer was one of his father's acquaintances.

Who we were was as variable as the weather, depending on the circumstances of the day. Three days ago we had been the family of a wealthy Ittihad leader of Albistan, whereas now were the "widows" and "orphans" of dead Tur­kish soldiers. Therein lay the secret of Balleh Dayi's flexibility.

In any event, that was an oppressive, turbulent and extremely dangerous day for us all.

III.

Traveling on the- outskirts of Albistan, we headed for Gurin. We had left the woods by now and proceeded along the direct route, sometimes encountering travelers and soldiers who practically didn't show any interest in us at all.

Walking slowly through an even field, we were approaching "HaleJ;> Kopru" (Aleppo Bridge) when we heard the sound of gunflre from afar. We paused for a bit, terri- fied. When the noise 9f the rifles stopped, we began to advance cautiously.

A little later, when we reached the bridge, we wit­nessed a barbaric disgustin9 crime. Chetehs had attacked a peasant who was transportlng sacks of flour by cart,

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drawn by two buffaloes; they not only killed the peasant but also the buffaloes, and then, grabbing the sacks uf flour, disappeared into the forest.

A dreadful scene . . . the blood of both the man and the animals was still warm

Fortunately nobody saw us there.

Tremblin~, we hastened our steps and departed from that indescr1b~ble scene.

GURIN

We arrived in Gurin at night on the tenth day and rested in the spacious home of a close acquaintance of our muleteer, located on the edge of the city.

Balleh Dayi had decided that we would rest here for a day on the condition that we not even go out in the yard, let alone the street, so as not to attract the neighbors' attention. Having rested sUfficiently and feeling invig­orated, we departed at night from Gur1n.

A day later, we had already entered those roads which we had traversed 27 months earlier, leaving our loved ones scattered here and there without a grave. All of us were broken-hearted and, with tear-filled eyes, we couldn't help but look around us, recallin~ the inhuman acts of savagery and crimes beyond human 1magination which had been committed by barbarians along those accursed roads.

The muleteer, in turn, aware of our recent past, would always show us compassion by trying to change our mood.

ON THE WAY TO THE KHAN IN TEJIR

Dangerous incidents occurred too between Gurin and Tejir but our savior, Balleh Dayi, was always pre~ared for all sorts of unexpected situations. Like a ~uard1an angel, he watched over us and, through his d1plomacy, he anticipated those appearances which could have put an immediate end to our lives.

We had left the forests by now and were proceeding in the daytime along the roads. Near Tejir we came across two gendarmes. Interrogation had become a daily occur­rence for us. Despite their initial suspicious and harsh attitude, the answers to the two questions directed at Balleh Dayi completely transformed their behavior - ­

"Who are these people?"

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Smiling, Balleh Dayi replied, "They are the family and servants of Osman effendi of Derende."

"Where are you coming from and where are you going?"

"They had gone to Gurin, Derende and Albistan for vacation and now they are returning to Sebastia."

We had neither heard nor known about Osman effendi. It was only after arriving in Sebastia that we learned that supposedly he was a wealthy merchant and one of the influential leaders of the Ittihad party.

Fooled once a9ain, the stupid gendarmes not only became friendly wlth us but with utmost tact and polite­ness as well, brought "Osman effendi's family" safe and sound as far as the khan in Tejir, with one leading the caravan and the other serving as rear guard. Here, in turn, they gave the hanji (innkeeper) strict orders to see to it that the hanim effendis were made totally comforta­ble.

They parted company with us in the morning and we, in turn, started off ~n the road to Mt. Kardashlar (16).

On the 15th and final day, without incident, we reached the top of Mt. Kardashlar toward evening. Full of grief and sorrow, we saw our birthplace, our ancestral homes, from which we had been forcibly exiled two years earlier. All of us, quite depressed, were unable to stop the outpouring of tears. It was at that moment that Balleh Dayi said, directing his words at me:

"Haydeh my child, it's time for you to perform your obligation." ,According to our plan, I was to separate from the caravan here and rush to town to inform the men of the caravan's arrival. It wasn't possible to let them know in writing the date of our arrival becau~~ all let ­ters were subject to censorship.

"May God be with you, my child . . . make the slgn of the cross in front of your face and get going . . . if you encounter travelers, proceed at a normal pace; otherwise, advance by running . . . The caravan will stop at such­and-such inn." (I don't remember the name of the inn.)

Walkin9 at times, running at others, I descended from the mountaln, crossed the Crooked Bridge and ran into my sister's husband, Hovhannes Kapikian, near the Kepsheli police station. Unaware of my being alive, he was stupe­fied at the sight of me; tongue tied, he couldn't utter a single word until we reached the ~pring called Yaldizli

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(gilt edged). Finally his first words were

"AIDan! . Turkje sayle." (Mercy . . . Speak Turkish. )

I went first to the Lertoghians. I succeeded through much difficulty in seeing Antranig in private in his store. Even from my appearance he wasn't able to guess the purpose of my vlsit. Finally, once we were alone in the back room, I gave him the good news.

Then I went to the relatives of Andonian and Kurkjian.

Finally, once it had gotten dark, I rushed to Ghanli Bakhcha (17), where the home of my close relatives, Miri ­jan and Armenag Ounanian, was situated.

I knocked on the door dozens of times but in vain. I had no choice but to go to the neighbor's house. In response to my knock, an elderly woman opened the door

. Barely havin9 exchanged a few words in Turkish, I knew she was Armenlan. I told her I was looking for my uncles Mirijan and Armenag and that I had come from Aintab

Hearing this, her face lit up with a smile and she said, "Wait a minute." within a couple of minutes, the interrogation began from behind the Ounanians' closed door.

"Who are you?"

"I'm Hovagim Chaderjian."

"What are the names of your father, mother, sister, brothers, grandfather and grandmother, and where are you coming from?"

I gave all their names and said that I had come from Aintab. The door opened . . . and there was Uncle Armenag (my mother's aunt's son) who was kept inside the house on account of being an army deserter.

He kissed me and said. "Your uncle, Mirijan, took a jug to fetch water from Serayi Gate. Go there quickly ... I can't go out."

I raced there, arriving just at the moment when my uncle Mirijan was busy filling the jug.

"Mustafa Dayi," I said.

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He turned around and, seeing me, the jU9 instanta­neously fell from his hand and broke into pleces.

All the men rushed to the inn where our caravan had stopped. After taking care of business with Balleh Dayi and thanking him profusely, they took their families home around midnight.

For 15 straight days, every minute full of unexpected dangers, we endured endless difficulties and the Damoclean sword was always dangling over our heads but, in the end, we had accomplished our purpose -- we had returned to our birthplace .

On several occasions, we were arrested in Sebastia and they threatened to send us back to Aintab. Each time, however, the execution of that threat was postponed for reasons unintelligible to us.

Since making that Odyssean journey, I have often asked myself whether, after having miraculously survived the Armenocide, my undertaking such risks that were tantamount to a second deportation was simply a matter of good sense, courage or, rather, the spirit of adventure. I still haven't come up with a logical answer.

The others, meanwhile, embraced their loved ones but I remained an orphan because, six months to a year before my arrival in Sebastia, my father had been killed, along with 3000 Armenian soldiers in the Ameliye Tabur (labor battal ­ion) .

If only thousands of kind-hearted, broad-minded and unprejudiced individuals like Balleh Dayi had existed among the Turks! Then our fate would probably have been quite different!

Bless his memory! .

End

Translated by Aris G. Sevag August 27, 1994

Part I appeared in Nor Sebastia, Vol. 37, No. 122, Decem­ber 1972 - January 1973, pp. 20-21; Part II, ibid., Vol. 37, No. 123, February - March 1973, pp. 15-17; Part III, ibid., Vol. 37, No. 124, April - May 1973, pp. 17-19.

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He turned around and, seeing me, ~he ju~ instanta­neously fell from his hand and broke lnto pleces.

All the men rushed to the inn where our caravan had stopped. After taking care of business with Balleh Dayi and thanking him profusely, they took their families home around midnight.

For 15 straight days, every minute full of unexpected dangers, we endured endless difficulties and the Damoclean sword was always dangling over our heads but, in the end, we had accomplished our purpose -- we had returned to our birthplace .

On several occasions, we were arrested in Sebastia and they threatened to send us back to Aintab. Each time, however, the execution of that threat was postponed for reasons unintelligible to us.

Since making that Odyssean journey, I have often asked myself whether, after having miraculously survived the Armenocide, my undertaking such risks that were tantamount to a second deportation was simply a matter of good sense, courage or, rather, the spirit of adventure. I still haven't come up with a logical answer.

The others, meanwhile, embraced their loved ones but I remained an orphan because, six months to a year before my arrival in Sebastia, my father had been killed, along with 3000 Armenian soldiers in the Ameliye Tabur (labor battal­ion) .

If only thousands of kind-hearted, broad-minded and unprejudiced individuals like Balleh Dayi had existed among the Turks! been quite different!

Then our fate would probably have

Bless his memory!

End

Translated by Aris G. Sevag August 27, 1994

Part I appeared in Nor Sebastia, Vol. 37, No. 122, Decem­ber 1972 - January 1973, pp. 20-21; Part II, ibid., Vol. 37, No. 123, February - March 1973, pp. 15-17; Part III, ibid., Vol. 37, No. 124, April - May 1973, pp. 17-19.

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Translator's Notes

(1) For more information on Hromgla, see The Cilician Kingdom of Armenia, edited by T.S.R. Boase, St. Martin's Press, New York, 1978, pp. 13, 17, 21, 166-7.

(2) Namehram is either a variation of the Turkish namahrem, meaning "canonically stranger" or na-mihriban, meaning "infidel."

(3) Cheteh is a Turkish word meaning "band (of raiders, brigands)~ irregulars."

(4) Kaymakam is the Turkish word meaning "district governor."

(5) Ittihad (Tk. Ittihat) is the short form of Ittihad ve Terakki Jemieti, or Committee of Union and Pr09ress (CUP) -- the ruling party of Young Turks which came lnto power in the Ottoman Empire with the overthrow of Sultan Abdul Hamid II in 1908 and, with the exception of the period from July 1912 to January 1913 when a CUP faction called the "New Party" seized control, ruled through World War I until the surrender of the Ottoman armies in October 1918.

(6) Azap is the Turkish word, now obsolete, for "bachelor."

(7) Pasha is a title formerly borne by officials of high rank in Turkish dominions~ (obs.) general

(8) Hanim formerly was the term for "lady~ Mrs., Miss." Effendi (Tk. efendi), while formerly used for "Mr" ~ figuratively, "gentleman" or (obs.) patron, master, here is under::;tood as "mistress."

(9) Agha (Tk. aga) is a title of honor, usually implying respect for age.

(10) Idadiye mekteb is Turkish for "secondary school."

(11) Aramian was the name of one of seven primary schools in Sebastia, located in the city's Soorp Kevork (St. George) section. Its construction began in 1890, and its first school year was 1893-4. It had a girls' division as well, called Hripsimiants. The school gave its first graduates in 1904, the delay due to the events of 1895 and the desire to raise the educational level. Eventually, a secondary school was also established. In the fall of 1909, the great Armenian poet Daniel Varoujan became a teacher of Armenian literature, French and comparative

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constitution at this school, symbolizing its stature as one of the best Armenian schools in the provinces. At one point, the school had 160 boy and 70 girl pupils. Many of Aramian's secondary-level graduates attended the medical, law and military colleges of Constantinople and some even entered European colleges and universities. With the advent of the Armenocide, the Aramian School was taken over by the Turkish militar¥ authorities and used as a hospital. After the Armistlce of 1918, Miss Mary Graffam, who had been director of the Armenian Girls School of Sivas, and who heroically joined her students in their exile as far as Malatia, took back the school building and converted it into an orphanage under the auspices of the American Near East Relief. It lasted until 1922 when the orphans were transferred to Greece in consideration of the danger posed by the Kemalist movement.

(12) Parchasu is a Turkish slang word meaning "specimen" ,or "survivor."

(13) Vatandash is Turkish for "fellow-countryman; compatriot; citizen; national."

(14) Eksik-etek means "a woman" or "female" in Turkish (humor) (obs.)

(15) Choluk-chojuk means in Turkish (familiar) "little folks; children; swarm of children; (small fry) (fig.) one's family, household (people)."

(16) Kardashlar (Tk. kardeshler) means "brothers; sisters; (fig.) brethren; fellows, companions." Mt. Kardashlar is the name of the mountain immediately south of Sebastia. The valleys at its foothills were one of several places where some 5,000 Armenians from the city of Sebastia and another 5,000 from the ~urrounding towns and vi~lages were slAughtered in July-August.f 1915, a~_well as Armenlan sol­diers a year later.

(17) Ghanli Bakhcha is the name of the central part of Sebastia which contained many khans or inns.

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Additional Notes

Yeghernabadoum. (Story of Genocide), by Garabed Kapikian ~Boston:

Hairenik Press, 1924.) Abridged by Arakel Badrig (Yerevan) and translated by Aris Sevag (New York: Pan-Sebastia Rehabilitation Union, Inc., 1978.) Made possible from a gift by Oscar Isbirian in memory of his wife, Lucintak, a witness in her youth.

Hovagim Daghavarian was a member of the Daghavarian-Chadef'j-ian family (the family name means tent-maker -- chedir, in Turkish, and daghavar, in Armenian) whose most illustrious son was Dr. Nazareth Daghavarian (1862-1915), a physician, educated at the Sorbonne and Pasteur Institute, Paris; scientist, historian, writer,.. member of the Armenian National Assembly and one of the founders of the Armenian General Benevolent Union. An extensive genealogical study, edited by Hovagim Daghavarian, of this family was published in Beirut in 1959.

The Crooked Bridge over the Alis River was built in the-llth century. Variant spellings for Alis - Halys (Armenian), Kizil Irmak (Turkish.)

Amalie Tabouri were labor-battalions; disarmed Armenian soldiers from the Ottoman Army who were assigned inhumane work. In the Sivas vilayet about 10,000 died, or were methodically killed in successive groups., after June 1916.

Sebastia is the Armenian name for the city of Sivas (Turkish.)

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