Turks Stoicism Never Overcome.

New York Times 100 years ago today, November 6, 1912:
Starving, Wounded, Helpless, They Yet Were Uncomplaining on Terrible Retreat.
BUT ARE PANIC-STRICKEN
And Their Value as Fighters Has Gone — Vivid Narrative by Ashmead-Bartlett.
By ELLIS ASHMEAD-BARTLETT.
Special Cable to The New York Times by Arrangement with The London Daily Telegraph.
    In the following vivid dispatch Ellis Ashmead-Bartlett, the special correspondent of The Daily Telegraph with the Turkish Army, continues his remarkable description of the Battle of Lule-Burgas and the subsequent retreat of the defeated Ottoman forces after the disasters of Oct. 29, 30, and 31. At the end of his dispatches, cabled yesterday to The New York Times, Mr. Ashmead-Bartlett brought his narrative of the battle down to the afternoon of Wednesday, Oct. 30, when the last desperate attempt of what was left of the Second Army Corps had been beaten back by the devastating fire of the Bulgarian artillery, musketry, and machine guns. He continues the story in the following dispatch:
    CONSTANZA, Nov. 5.— At about 5:30 P.M. on Oct. 30 Abdullah Pasha and his staff, seeing that the game was up, left the mound on which they had stood all day and returned to the village of Sakizoy.
    I took a final glance around the field of battle. Everywhere it was obvious that the grand army of Thrace had been beaten, and was to full retreat or else barely holding its ground.
    The artillery fire still continued, and the smoke of shells both to the north and the south seemed almost to envelop both its wings, leaving clear only a gap right in our rear.
    I rode over to the ground where the Second Corps had been fighting throughout the day. Dead and wounded littered the soil in every direction, and the survivors sat around with a hopeless, listless look on their faces, all fully realizing that the battle was lost.
    We soon had to return on account of the enemy's shells, which never ceased to play over the Turkish position until complete darkness at 6 o'clock put an end to the struggle.
    Both armies were too worn out to molest one another during the night.
    During the day my Turkish companion, Ismed, and myself had been too busy following the various phases of the stupendous combat to realize our own plight, but now that it had come to an end, reaction from the intense excitement speedily set in, and the pangs of hunger brought home to us a realization of our own position. During the entire day we had not had a morsel of food or anything to drink except dirty water, and now that darkness had set in we were without either food or shelter for the night.

The Correspondent's Plight.
    We were intensely weary, and with only one equally tired old horse between us. The General had told us in the morning that we could pass the night again with the staff, but on arriving once again to Sakizkoy we found only Abdullah's servant, who had been wounded in the head on the previous day, at the house which the staff had occupied. This man told us be had received orders to pack up Abdullah's baggage and to be ready to leave at any moment for a destination he did not know.
    This was the final straw, and Ismed and myself both felt on the verge of despair. Without horses it was impossible to retreat with the staff, and we both felt that, weakened as we were from want of food, it would be impossible for us to make our way on foot the fifty-odd miles to Tchorlu, the nearest point where we could hope to find food or horses.
    We asked the servant if he could obtain us any food, but he only replied: "There is none to be had. The only thing my master has had to eat all day has been toasted mealie cob. There is absolutely nothing left in the countryside."
    I sat down on a chair, and Ismed did likewise, both too apathetic to care what happened, and both too weary to move another yard. I remember an endless procession of wounded men passing through the village, some dragging themselves along, others carried on improvised stretchers, others supporting one another, others falling to the ground as soon as they saw a pile of hay on which to throw themselves.

Couldn't Aid the Wounded.
    I also recollect seeing some desperate cases brought up to a surgeon, who was gesticulating wildly and explaining, Ismed told me, that it was useless bringing them to him, as he had no bandages, no medicine, and no means of performing any operation. The stretcher bearers — hurdle bearers as it would be better to call them — took them to the nearest house and left them inside.
    Yet throughout all these horrid scenes I never heard even a groan or a reproach escape from the sufferers. Each seemed to realize that his number was up and accepted his hard lot with superb dignity and fortitude.
    Shortly afterward a dying officer was brought in and laid in Abdullah's house, as no accommodation could be found elsewhere.
    I sat debating in my mind what to do. At that moment I would have paid any price for a couple of good horses, for a biscuit, or for a bottle of whisky. I thought how ironical it seemed that I should be sitting there with £200 in gold strapped around my waist and yet be unable to buy even a cigarette.
    It is surprising how quickly one becomes apathetic to the sufferings of others when one is faced with necessity one's self, and even the lot of the wounded aroused but little interest.
    Among those of us who were unhurt it was now a question of sauve qui peut — each must try to save himself — and that feeling had taken possession of the whole army.
    I had almost made up my mind to pass the night in Sakizkoy, and in the morning surrender to the Bulgarians rather than make any further effort requiring physical exertion.

An Extraordinary Rescue.
    I was sitting there half asleep in semi-darkness when suddenly I heard my brother's voice calling me. I looked up, and there to my unutterable amazement I saw my brother on a horse, Sir Bryan Leighton on another, a young English photographer called Gordon mounted on a third, two or three servants and grooms, and a covered-in country cart loaded to the brim with tents and baggage.
    Had a celestial caravan suddenly tumbled from the skies I could not have been more surprised, and for a few moments I thought I had been dreaming. My brother told me afterward the only question I asked him was, "Have you brought any food and drinks?"
    To the infinite joy of Ismed and myself they had brought supplies for three days. Without waiting to ask any questions, Ismed and myself rushed to the wagon and devoured anything in sight.
    About 8 o'clock in the evening Ismed came and said "Abdullah has returned with his staff. They are once more in the house and do not intend to leave to-night, but all are starving. They have not so much as a loaf of bread between them."

Takes Food to Abdullah.
    I collected half our stores, had a hot kettle of cocoa made and carried them to Abdullah Pasha myself. It was, indeed, a pleasure at such a moment to be able to repay in some small measure his many acts of kindliness and hospitality toward Ismed and myself.
    The General was sitting on the floor of his little room surrounded by his staff and with many general officers, including Torgut Pasha.
    Abdullah Pasha looked worn out and cast down. The faces of all present reflected the deepest depression, almost amounting to despair, and if any further confirmation were needed as to the plight of the army, it was to be found in the appearance of the headquarters staff.
    The Commander in Chief rose when I entered and explained my mission. He thanked me profusely, saying that without my coming to his aid he would have been obliged to go without any supper. I wished him success and expressed the hope that the enemy, exhausted by their exertions, would be found to have retreated on the following day.
    Abdullah Pasha merely shook his head and replied; "I am afraid not. Our army has made tremendous sacrifices, especially in officers, of whom the majority have fallen, including some of the youngest and most promising."
    Then I withdrew. Ismed remained behind to talk with some of his friends on the staff, and a little later returned to my tent and asked if I could let Abdullah have a little brandy. We searched the wagon in vain. In the general confusion of the early morning departure it had been forgotten, and also the whisky, but fortunately Leigh-ton had half a bottle on him. We sent half of this by Ismed to Abdullah, who sent back word to say that it was the best drink he had ever tasted.
    Sir Bryan Leighton and my brother told me of the alarming state of the army they had passed on their way to the front. They calculated that they had passed at least 7,000 wounded men dragging themselves to the rear on foot and thousands of stragglers fleeing, many having thrown away their arms.
    They told me that regiments leaving Tchorlu for the front melted away to the size of companies before they had gone half a dozen miles, and even these fresh troops had been two days without food. They were amazed by what they had seen, having been told in Tchorlu that everywhere the army had been victorious and that the Bulgarians had been beaten back.

The Last Terrible Scenes.
    It now remains for me to describe the last tragic day in the break up of Abdullah Pasha's army, how troops who had faced every adverse condition and fought heroically throughout three days, finally gave way under the strain of starvation and exposure, and each man, only thinking of his own salvation, sought safety in flight.
    At 5 A.M. on Thursday, Oct. 31, I was aroused by Ismed shaking me. These were the words he whispered in my ear, not wishing to disturb other weary sleepers in the tent: "Come outside quickly; we can stay here no longer. Abdullah and his staff have left. The village has been evacuated. At any minute the Bulgarians may enter."
    I was astonished at the news, because it seemed so strange. No member of the staff had warned us when they left, but I suppose, in the general confusion of the sudden departure, we had been forgotten.
    I lost not a moment, but aroused the camp and set every one at work packing a wagon and harnessing the horses.
    Just as dawn was breaking the rattle of musketry from the hills outside the village from which I had watched the fight of the previous day showed that the Bulgarians were already advancing, and that the rear guard was engaged. Every one had cleared out of Sakizkoy during the night with the exception of the seriously wounded, who were unable to move. They were abandoned to the mercies of the villagers, or else to the care of the enemy.
    By 6 o'clock we were packed and on the march, and just as we cleared the village the enemy's guns roared.
    Then we found ourselves amid a crowd of stragglers and wounded, ox wagons, stray batteries of artillery, and all the manifold debris of a defeated army. All had one object in view, namely, to put as great a distance as possible between themselves and the enemy.
    We decided to take the road to a village called Ahmed Bey six miles behind Sakiskoy, where, we were told, we would find Abdullah Pasha and his staff, but on reaching Ahmed Bey we found the village evacuated and only filled with stragglers and wounded.

Paths Blocked with Fugitives.
    I therefore decided to make for Tchorlu, forty miles away, and to endeavor to reach it that night. The country from Sakizkoy to Tchorlu is the same broad, undulating plateau dotted with villages and traversed by innumerable bridle paths, nothing in the nature of a high road existing. Almost all these paths converge on Tchorlu, and every one of them was blocked with fugitives of the three beaten army corps. Behind us we could hear from the sound of guns bursting, of shells ever nearer our rear, and the incessant rattle of musketry that a desperate rear guard action was taking place, and the sound nerved us on to fresh exertions.
    Away to the east a pitched battle seemed to be raging, showing that Mahmud Mukhtar, with the Third Corps, was making desperate efforts to retire from the exposed position in which he had been placed by the breaking of the First, Second and Fourth Army Corps.
    I do not know to this hour if the retreat was ordered by Abdullah Pasha or if the troops voluntarily abandoned their positions and took to flight. Probably an orderly retreat was arranged, but speedily developed into a sauve qui peut.
    The scenes on the road baffle description from my pen. They recalled to mind a picture I had seen somewhere of the flight of the French Army, after Waterloo, or one of Napoleon's retreat from Russia.
    Not a vestige of order remained. Whole brigades and divisions of broken-up men made no efforts to preserve their places in the ranks. The strongest speedily got to the front and the weak, sick and wounded struggled painfully behind.

Even the Unwounded Fall.
    Thousands of wounded made pathetic efforts to keep up with their comrades, but each had to shift for himself as not even the unwounded were in a condition to lend a helping hand. Many of the unwounded were so weak that they fell by the roadside and made no further effort to save themselves.
    For three days all these men had been without a morsel of food, and many for an even longer period. Only soldiers possessing the wonderful constitutions of the Turks could have stood the strain.
    As our wagon lumbered along amid the ruts, at times threatening to collapse altogether, many a wounded man begged for a lift; holding up his hands imploringly. It was awful to have to refuse them, for once we had taken two inside the cart would not hold another person, and, as it was, the worn-out horses could hardly drag it along.
    At times we dismounted and gave exhausted officers a lift on our horses, for which they were profoundly thankful.
    We distributed the remains of our food to the starving, but among such a multitude our little store could only supply the wants of very few.
    When we came to a village some way from the battlefield we were obliged even to abandon our two wounded men to the care of some wagon drivers, as the horses began to show signs of breaking down.
    The further we receded from the battlefield the worse the scene became, because many of the wounded, having dragged themselves thus far, could go no further, and, crawling off the track, lay down to die by the roadside without a curse or a reproach at the Authors of all their miseries.
    Sometimes when a man had died his comrades would stop for a moment and dig a shallow grave, but the majority of the corpses were left just where they fell.
    Amid the fugitives were many country people fleeing from the tide of war, many great trains of ox wagons creaking painfully along, many stray batteries of artillery with horses so lean that they could hardly drag the guns and with the exhausted gunners asleep on the limbers.
    Amid these thousands of fugitives, remnants of three army corps, hardly an officer remained.

Loss of Officers Enormous.
    At the commencement of the campaign the Turkish Army was no less than 2,000 short of its proper quota of officers. Its loss of officers in this great battle was enormous, and in consequence whole battalions were left like sheep without a shepherd. If ever officers are most necessary it is when troops get out of hand, as they did in this retreat, but without officers it is impossible even to attempt to restore some semblance of order. Among the flying horde on the road we were met by fresh bodies of troops coming from Tchorlu on their way to the front, and, ignorant of the great disaster, they too, would join in the flight, and speedily deserted their ranks and dispersed.
    At every village crowds of stragglers invaded the houses in search of food, digging up roots in the gardens and eagerly devouring raw cabbages and turnips and anything edible they found. Every stream of water was turned into a mud pool by the general rush of men, horses and oxen to be the first to obtain a drink.
    After we had marched several hours and had placed a considerable distance between ourselves and the enemyt we halted for half an hour to give the horses a rest, but with this exception never once stopped, except when obliged to do so by a block on the roads between 6 A.M. and 10 o'clock at night. On the high ground half way to Tchorlu had a good view of the countryside, which presented a most extraordinary sight. Along every road men, horses, guns, and ox wagons were pressing forward, all converging on to two roads which lead into Tchorlu. There must have been 45,000 stragglers scattered over the plain, all bent on reaching the town before nightfall. Many became so exhausted from want of food that they simply could not go any further, and lay down to sleep where they were. What became of them I do not know. I suppose a large number came in the next day. Others doubtless were captured by the enemy, and the majority of the wounded, left on the bare plateau and swept by an icy wind, must have perished in the night.

Fugitives' Terrible Stories.
    I have no time to relate here the varied tales of the great fight told to us by fugitives, of whole battalions cut to pieces by the enemy's fire, of men starving in the ranks or dying of exposure, of the thousands of Bulgarians slaughtered in the attacks, of the artillery captured, of guns abandoned, of the mistakes of Generals, and of the awful confusion and the lack of method which prevailed everywhere.
    Many fugitives had thrown away their kits and equipment to lighten their  burdens. A still larger number flung  away their boots, preferring to march  barefoot, but to their credit be it said, very few abandoned their rifles. One old worn-out soldier, with nothing left except his beloved Mauser, and so weak  that he could hardly stumble along, said, as we passed: "A Turkish soldier is not worth the price of a dog in these days."
    We were yet a long way from Tchorlu when night hid from our view these horrid scenes of human misery. If our progress was difficult before, it now became infinitely more so, and finally, as a crowning misfortune, a wheel came off our cart. The screw was lost, so we had to tie up the wheel and proceed with three, which still further delayed us.
    At the entrance to the town the disorder baffled description, for here all the roads along which the fugitives had passed converge on one another, and a narrow bridge and causeway has to be crossed. I shall never know how we managed to get through, as the dead completely blocked the wagons; but we managed somehow by passing under the bridge and fording the river, and finally, somewhere about 10 o'clock, we at length reached Tchorlu and a temporary home.
    The more I reflect on the amazing debacle of the Turkish Army in Thrace the more natural does it seem. It is the greatest military disaster any nation has suffered since Sedan. It has utterly destroyed the Turks' power to take the offensive again in the present war, and it is extremely doubtful if the Turks can hold the far-famed lines at Tchatalja, which are probably just as big a bluff as every thing else Turkish has proved to be.
    Once an army is started on the run it is extremely hard to stop it, and I am convinced that the Bulgarian artillery will shell the Turkish troops out of Tchatalja unless, indeed, at this eleventh hour some Osman arises whose force of character will pull the routed army together and force it to make one last stand for the fatherland.

Turks' Losses Over 40,000.
    I cannot state accurately the losses of the Turks at the battle of Sakizkoy.
    But those officers of the staff with whom I talked placed them between 40,000 and 50,000 men killed and wounded, apart from prisoners captured after I left the army at Tchorlu. Also I am unable to state the number of guns which have fallen into the hands of the enemy and the material, &c. But they must be enormous. The most serious factor of all is the utter destruction of the morale of the Turkish soldier from privation and want of food and lack, of all confidence in his leaders.
    When I left the front the troops looked as if they would never stop running until they reached Constantinople, and if this proves to be the case, there is no reason why the Bulgarians should not capture the capital in a week or ten days. If the routed army disbands and falls back on Constantinople, abandoning the lines at Tchatalja, the situation in the capital will be extremely serious, for it must be remembered that these thousands of undisciplined soldiers have been starving for weeks and are certain to start looting at once if they have an opportunity. There is absolutely no force in Constantinople capable of preserving order, only a few armed firemen and some old gendarmes, and if a disaster and an outbreak are to be averted it rests with the great powers to take immediate action.
    Unless the beaten army has rallied since I left the front, I doubt whether there is as much as a brigade holding together as an organized unit, and the loss of almost all the regimental officers will render any attempt at reorganization almost futile.

An Illusion Shattered.
    As long as I remained at Constantinople and was unable to see with my own eyes the true state of affairs, I was, perforce, obliged to accept the Turkish tales of their readiness for war, of their perfect organization and of their immense superiority in numbers, until I came to share some of their confidence, judging by the deeds of the Turkish soldiers in the past that the Ottoman Army must prove itself victorious, in the end, even though it suffered some reverses at the commencement of the campaign. But from the very moment I arrived among the troops the great bubble burst and my great illusion was shattered. I found that the military authorities in Constantinople had deliberately deceived the outside world and had embarked on a gigantic system of frigid and calculated lying to keep the truth from coming out, hoping against hope that the bravery and determination of the Turkish soldier would pull them through at the eleventh hour. All reports of Turkish successes were deliberately invented. All so-called crossings of the Bulgarian and Servian frontiers existed only in the imagination of the authors of these fairy tales, for not a single Turkish soldier crossed the hostile frontier in the present campaign except as prisoners of war.
    The responsibility for the disasters cannot be laid on the Turkish soldier. He has in innumerable instances proved himself as brave as ever he was, and only his stubborn determination and unparalleled hardiness prolonged the battle at Sakiskoy throughout three days.
    The responsibility rests solely on the administrative classes and high officials, who, eaten up with pride and self-confidence, and regarding all the Balkan States with the utmost of contempt, believed the Turkish Army to be invincible.
    The army was caught utterly unprepared for war, and military Authorities remained firm in their belief that the mere numbers set forth on paper and published broadcast in the press would win the day against an army smaller in numbers, but which had been carefully organizing and preparing for war for twenty-five years.
    It is impossible for me to describe severely enough the utter state of chaos, of mess and muddle, and make-believe which exists throughout all branches of the army. Had the Turkish soldier been supplied with even one biscuit a day he might have held his ground against an invader. I am convinced he has been defeated more by sheer starvation than by any other single factor. Looking back on last week's tragedy, it is almost impossible to understand how the wretched private soldier existed three days without a scrap of food and without any shelter, and yet covered himself with glory. Most splendid human material has been sacrificed on the altar of stupidity, conceit, self-satisfaction, and the grossest ineptitude.
    The Turkish Army has no general staff capable of running a country circus. The army has no generals who seem even to have grasped the most elementary principles of modern warfare. The army has no commissariat train of any sort, and yet four army corps were dispatched on a vast offensive movement with a whole line of railway behind them within fifty miles of the capital. The authorities could not feed a brigade, and, realizing this fact, they, with true Oriental apathy, made no effort to feed four army corps, but left them to starve, trusting to Allah to produce manna and quails from the skies and water from the rocks.
    The greatest battle of modern times was entered on under these conditions with an utterly callous disregard of consequences. The victims were marched to slaughter without the smallest preparation having been made to succor the wounded. No field dressing station existed; no field hospital was established, and the few surgeons up at the front lacked every necessity and were obliged to see thousands of wounded pass to their doom, who might otherwise have been saved, without being able to lift a finger to help them. Thus every soldier knew when he faced the leaden storm that if he were hit his chances of surviving were infinitesimal.
    The artillery was sent into action with only a few hours' supply of shells, and not a reserve within fifty miles, with the result that on the second day of the battle the Turkish soldier had to fight practically unsupported by this arm. Whole battalions and brigades of ignorant peasants from Anatolia were sent to Constantinople, dressed up in khaki, handed a rifle, some hundred rounds of ammunition, kits which they hardly knew how to fit to their backs, then were counted at the railway station with glee by the authorities, and officially described as "our invincible infantry." Thousands of these men had never had a Mauser rifle in their hands before, and had to be shown how to use it. Under an enemy's fire, entire battalions, unused to this new arm, and never having been trained to shoot, would lose all their ammunition in a short hour and only hit the ground fifty yards in front of them, inflicting absolutely no damage on the enemy. I never saw a single Turkish machine gun in action, and if they exist I do not know what became of them.
    Under these conditions the result of the battle was a foregone conclusion.
    The Bulgarian artillery played a matchless rôle in action, overwhelmed the Turkish defense, and crushed every offensive movement by the rapidity and deadly accuracy of its fire. The number of guns which the Bulgarians were able to bring into action astounded the Turks, and the way in which they replenished their ammunition supply was a masterpiece of organisation, and the fire of their machine guns, of which they possessed great numbers, was also extremely deadly and played a very important part in their victory. The heroic courage of the Bulgarians excited the admiration of their opponents. A new military power has arisen in Elastern Europe which even the great powers will not be able to disregard, threaten, or attempt to coerce.