In Rodosto While Bulgars Attacked.

New York Times 100 years ago today, November 12, 1912:
Ashmead-Bartlett Describes the Panic in Turkish Port — People Feared Massacre.
HE WAS IN A TIGHT FIX
But, with Mr. Donohoe, Got Away on a French Steamer — Expects Early Fall of the Town.
By ELLIS ASHMEAD-BARTLETT.
Special Cable to The New York Times.
By Arrangement with The London Dally Telegraph.
    CONSTANTINOPLE, Nov. 11.— I left Constantinople on Saturday for Rodosto to ascertain the movements of the enemy and to attempt to discover what progress he was making in his forward movement to Tchatalja.
    I found that prosperous seaport in a wild state of uncertainty and excitement, as the Bulgarians were reported to be only six kilometers away on the Muradli Road.
    On Thursday last, this report having come into the town, the religious dignitaries of all the various flocks which are found in these Levantine towns went out to arrange terms of surrender with the invaders, but on arriving at the spot where the enemy were reported they found it vacated, and returned to Rodosto with their mission unaccompllshed.
    However, on Friday the Turkish warship Masudia, accompanied by a torpedo boat, arrived off the town, and the military element, gaining confidence from the presence of these vessels, decided to defend Rodosto against the invader.
    Trenches were accordingly dug on commanding sites, every available man, including the gendarmes, was armed with any old obsolete weapon which could be found, and the enemy were awaited, not with confidence, but in the blind belief that something would happen favorable to the Turks.
    On Sunday morning Mr. Donohoe (correspondent of The London Daily Chronicle) and myself motored along the Muradli Road, and, passing through the Turkish outposts, made a reconnaissance on our own account, but we had not gone far when we almost ran into Bulgarian cavalry patrols, who, fortunately, surprised by the appearance of a motor car in these parts, did not advance.
    This gave us time to turn the car around and return to Rodosto.
    Mr. Donohoe and myself, together with Lionel James, the only war correspondents in Rodosto, then had lunch with the British Consul and his wife. We had hardly sat down when the guns of the Masudia opened fire with a terrific roar. This caused an indescribable panic among the Greek and Armenian population, who thought that this was the precursor of a general attack and a massacre. The majority fled to the shelter of the Consulates, which were immediately swamped with gesticulating head-lost men and weeping women and children.
    We did our best to stop the panic by pointing out that there was no danger and that the Masudia was firing at an enemy who was a long way off and not at the town, but our efforts had little effect, for every time the Masudia fired a broadside from her four-inch and eight-inch guns the houses were shaken to their foundations, and a wild babel of sounds from thousands of terrified Levantines broke out afresh.
    Soon the rattle of rifle fire brought fresh terror of a more intimate kind to the unhappy citizens of Rodosto. We hastened to the highest roof to watch the attack. The Turkish troops that defended the town were ranged in a long, thin line right around the town and could offer no long resistance to the invincible invader.
    The fighting lasted throughout the entire afternoon, the enemy steadily approaching until his bullets were whistling over the houses, causing the entire population to take to the cellars.
    Every one was scared lest the Bulgarians should bring up artillery and bombard the houses, but on Sunday afternoon, either because they were not in strength or because they had no artillery, the Bulgarians did not press home the attack, and when night fell they were encircling the doomed port with an ever-thickening ring of bayonets, while the feeble, dispirited Turkish garrison were still in possession of the almost undefendable outer works.
    The position of Mr. Donohoe and myself now became serious, as all means of escape from the doomed city were now cut off, and we looked to be as good as prisoners of war, which would mean a return home via Sofia and not via Constantinople.
    We therefore held a consultation to decide on some means of escape before the enemy took the town.
    We tried sailing vessels, but all had left. No steamers remained, and all the roads were held by the enemy, and of horses we had none. Our fate and further utility toward our respective papers seemed black indeed, when suddenly the Mampra, a small steamer flying the French flag, came into port and anchored a long way out to avoid the enemy's fire. She was immediately invaded by thousands of refugees, hundreds of whom had to be refused admission.
    Thanks to the French agent, we managed to get on board after a free fight at the gangway, and reached Constantinople safely this morning.
    When we left, Rodosto was still holding out, but if the enemy bring up reinforcements it must fall.