The Arvada enterprise., 1912-11-28

Constantinople.-It has been at
times difficult to think of this as
doomed city, a description which every
journalist in the world must by now
have applied to Constantinople. Here
one can live through the exciting days
as though the war was the remotest OF
horrors. One must go out and seek if
cne would touch the fringe Of its river,
to see "the red laugh Of war"
In Pera is peace. The restaurants,
cafes and music halls suffer scarcely
at all. One would think they are do
ing better business than ever.
The war which has advanced to the
last of the capitals defenses does not
cast shadow. Downhill in Galata,
the money changer chats and does his
business as though the sick man"
had been promised a long lease of life
once more. Every merchant, from the
rich vender of the antique down to the
seller of Halvas, the favorte sweet
meat-who also knits socks-eVery-
body seems bent on business. His on
ly thought is his next customer.
nt DUOlll VI CdIilOll might Dt any
other noise in the world for all anyone
seems to care; but if one goes out to
find the forWard-thrown shadow of the
war it can be discovered soon enough
Leave Pera and Galata behind, throw
a small coin to one of the crowd of
toll gatherers who guard either side of
the gates across the Golden Horn and
you enter the war zone.
Across the bridge streams a train of
rough wagons drawn by oxen with
painful slowness. One by one these
carts, with those who accompany
them, are taken aboard ship to be sent
tC Asia until the vessel is packed to
its utmost capacity; then in hopeless
calm the foremost of those left sit
down-people and animals - where
they stood to wait. 1t may mean to
them cold night without food or
shelter.
Endlessly this caravan Of misery,
bound no one knows where, stretches
over the bridge, through the narrow,
twisting, rank smelling streets OF
Stamboul, past the gates, beyond the
Walls VI lht NliNs Ilolil lh' iiNl iS'ii
it pours strangely onward, hopelessly
looking not back, expecting only tn
dawn of nothing.
In this pouring tide of war every
crazy wagon bears the wreck Of d
homestead, the poor, miserable salvage
from a peasant home. Everythins
which would not pack and pack quick
;,,,, 1nF NO nd
In the panic of those refugees who
fled before the rumor of approaching
war there was not always time tC
gather the whole family together
Mothers and fathers had no idea where
their children were. There were child
rem hanging on despairingly to the
wagons of other families, their faith
ers and mothers miles away in the i'm
nenetrable confusion. They have ne
story to tell, these refugees. They
fled likely at night from their homes
They mutter that they have been liv
ing without food, tramping over roads
now hard, now deep in mud. Many
have been stricken down by swift an.
merciful, one thinks, disease.
Now and then some poor wretch vii
rush from cart trying to find tho
nearest water. After a short, errinl
struggle, the victim will fall down ans
writhe for time and then lie still.
The war has claimed another victim
BY the city walls, mostly at Adrian
ople, the gate Of the historic entry
which, five centuries ago, saw tn,
Turk come in conquest to take posses
sion, these outcasts of war camp by
the hundreds and the city Turk comes
to look and curse the work Of the
Christian.