Old castles used as prisons—The Castle of Europe—The Seven Towers and the “Well of Blood”—The Seraglio and the Bagnio—The Zaptie—Lack of prison discipline—Midhat Pasha and the Constitution—His disgrace and death—The Young Turk movement—Horrible massacres at Adana—The provincial prisons all bad—Fetters and other modes of torture—Little improvement under new sultan.

There are few notable buildings in Turkey constructed primarily as prisons. In fact there are few buildings of any sort constructed for that purpose. But every palace had, and one may almost say, still has its prison chambers; and every fortress has its dungeons, the tragedies of which are chiefly a matter of conjecture. Few were present at the tortures, and in a country where babbling is not always safe, witnesses were likely to be discreet.

In and around Constantinople, if walls had only tongues, strange and gruesome stories might be told. On the Asiatic side of the Bosporus still stand the ruins of a castle built by Bayezid I, known as “the Thunderbolt” when the Ottoman princes were the dread of Europe. Sigismund, King of Hungary, had been defeated, and Constantinople was the next object of attack, though not to fall for a half century. This castle was named “the Beautiful,” but so many prisoners died there of torture and ill-treatment that the name “Black Tower” took its place in common speech.

Directly opposite, on the European side of the Bosporus, is Rumili Hissar, or the Castle of Europe, which Muhammad II, “the Conqueror,” built in 1452 when he finally reached out to transform the headquarters of Eastern Christendom into the centre of Islam. The castle was built upon the site of the state prison of the Byzantine emperors, which was destroyed to make room for it. The three towers of the castle, and the walls thirty feet thick, still stand. In the Tower of Oblivion which now has as an incongruous neighbour, the Protestant institution, Robert College, is a fiendish reminder of days hardly yet gone. A smooth walled stone chute reaches from the interior of the tower down into the Bosporus. Into the mouth of this the hapless victim, bound and gagged perhaps, with weights attached to his feet, was placed. Down he shot and bubbles marked for a few seconds the grave beneath the waters.

The Conqueror built also the Yedi Kuleh, or the “Seven Towers,” at the edge of the old city. This imperial castle, like the Bastile or the Tower of London, was also a state prison, though its glory and its shame have both departed. The Janissaries who guarded this castle used to bring thither the sultans whom they had dethroned either to allow them to linger impotently or to cause them to lose their heads. A cavern where torture was inflicted and the rusty machines which tore muscles and cracked joints, may still be seen. The dungeons in which the prisoners lay are also shown. A small open court was the place of execution and to this day it is called the “place of heads” while a deep chasm into which the heads were thrown is the “well of blood.”

Several sultans, (the exact number is uncertain) and innumerable officers of high degree have suffered the extreme penalty here. It was here too that foreign ambassadors were always imprisoned in former days, when Turkey declared war against the states they represented. The last confined here was the French representative in 1798.

Another interesting survival of early days is the Seraglio, the old palace of the sultans, and its subsidiary buildings, scattered over a considerable area. In the court of the treasury is the Kafess, or cage, in which the imperial children were confined from the time of Muhammad III, lest they should aspire to the throne. Sometimes however the brothers and sons of the reigning sultan were confined, each in a separate pavilion on the grounds. A retinue of women, pages and eunuchs was assigned to each but the soldiers who guarded them were warned to be strict. The present sultan was confined by his brother Abdul Hamid within the grounds of the Yildiz Kiosk, where he had many liberties but was a prisoner nevertheless. Absolutism breeds distrust of all, no matter how closely connected by ties of blood.

An interesting prison was the old Bagnio, once the principal prison of Constantinople. The English economist, N. W. Senior, describes it as it was sixty years ago, in his “Journal.” It was simply an open court at one end of which was a two-story building. Each story was composed of one long room divided into stalls by wooden partitions, the whole, dark, unventilated and dirty beyond description. Some turbulent prisoners were chained in their stalls which they were not permitted to leave.

The chief interest lay in the court-yard, however, which was the common meeting place. No rules as to cleanliness or regularity of hours existed. No one was compelled to work and the great majority preferred to lounge in the sun. In the court were coffee and tobacco shops, while sellers of sweetmeats made their way through the crowds. Though capital punishment was nominally inflicted, it was never imposed unless there were eye witnesses of the crime, and seldom then. So of the eight hundred inmates of the Bagnio, six hundred were murderers, some of them professionals. Nearly all wore chains, some of which were heavy, and as several prisoners were attached to one chain occasionally conflicts arose as different members of the group exhibited divergent desires.

Another visitor about the same time saw the picturesque side. He mentions the robbers, chiefs from Smyrna, stalking about the enclosure, the voluble Greeks and Armenians, the secretive Jews, and an Irishman or two, mingling with the stolid Turks. Inmates were sipping coffee, smoking, playing cards, disputing, fighting, while a furtive pickpocket made his rounds. In a corner a fever patient was stretched out oblivious to his surroundings, though the clamour sometimes was deafening. He goes on to say:

“Yet physically the wretches were not ill-treated; they need not ever work unless they like. The court is small and so is the two-storied stable where they sleep upon the earth; but then these are men who perhaps never got between sheets nor lay on a bed in their lives. They may talk what they like, and when they like. They have a Mosque, a Greek chapel and a Roman Catholic chapel. They can have coffee and tobacco, and if they work they are supposed to be paid for it. There is no treadmill, no crank, there are no solitary cells.”

The same observer describes the Zaptie or House of Detention as it then existed, and though the building as it exists to-day is improved, conditions are not essentially different. Then there were two communicating courts, where pickpockets, ordinary thieves, participants in affrays, and even murderers were confined. At night they were locked in rooms. One of these sleeping rooms, eleven by seventeen feet, was occupied at night by twelve men. In such places prisoners were kept an indefinite time awaiting trial, and perhaps then discharged without trial and without explanation.

A large number of Turkish prisoners have been confined either for conspiracy against the government, or for daring to exhibit a certain amount of independence. An officer apparently high in favour to-day might be degraded on the next without warning. An interesting case of this kind is the case of Midhat Pasha, one of the best known men in Turkey thirty or forty years ago.

He was one of the little group of Turks who adopted European ideas after the Crimean war. He was a friend of England as opposed to Russia and the influence of the latter state was thrown against him. He was one of the ministers by whom the sultan, Abdul Aziz, was dethroned. This prince soon afterward died, possibly by suicide, though ugly rumours were heard. When Murad, the incompetent, was also deposed Midhat had a hand in the affair. On the accession of Abdul Hamid he was again made Grand Vizier, and secured the promulgation of the famous Turkish constitution of 1876, against the will of the sultan.

When Abdul Hamid felt himself firm in his seat in 1877, he banished Midhat, but recalled him the next year, and made him governor-general, first of Syria and then of Smyrna. The constitution was practically abrogated by this time. Then without warning he was arrested in May, 1881, charged with being concerned in the murder of Abdul Aziz. He with others was quickly tried by a special court, was found guilty and condemned to death.

The sentence was changed to imprisonment for life, and the place of confinement was fixed at TaÏf, in Arabia, a small place south of Mecca. There he and his companions who had received similar sentence, including a former Sheikh-ul-Islam, Hassan HaÏroullah, were at first allowed the freedom of the castle. Their servants bought and cooked their food, and though the rude accommodations were somewhat trying to the old men, conditions were endurable.

A change in treatment was foreshadowed by a change in gaolers. The privilege of buying food was taken away, and they were expected to eat the coarse fare of the common soldier. They were forbidden to communicate with one another. For a time the faithful servant was refused access to Midhat’s person, though this order was afterward revoked. Poison was discovered in the milk, and in a pot of food. The servant was offered large sums to poison him, but the faithful attendant only redoubled his vigilance. Finally when hardship, separation from family and friends, and dread of the future, seemed unable to destroy his life more primitive measures were taken. After enduring two years of such treatment he was strangled one morning while still in bed, together with two of his friends. Such was the dread inspired by the sultan, that no one dared to inquire or to make public his fate. A letter from his friend, the Sheikh-ul-Islam, to the family of Midhat was, however, published a few years ago and then the whole truth became known.

The case of Midhat was not exceptional, except for his prominence in European circles. The same fate has overtaken many others. Fishermen in the Bosporus, every now and then, pulled up a sack in which a body was sewn, and those who reasoned might remember that it had been announced that a one time favourite at the Court had set out on a journey to London or Paris, though somehow he had mysteriously failed to arrive.

But though Midhat Pasha and others who struggled to introduce Western institutions into the borders of the East died their work lived. One by one, those suspected of having advanced ideas were degraded. A man might be Grand Vizier for a month or a week, or even for a day, and then without warning, be dismissed in disgrace. The suspicious sultan trusted no one. He set brother to watch brother, father to spy upon son, and then believed none of them, though he always guarded himself lest they might be telling the truth.

Paris received the larger number of those who fled from the clutches of Abdul the Damned. In the life of the French capital, some gave themselves up to the manifold dissipations which that city offers for her visitors. Others loosely organised, worked and watched for that better day, when the Turk should no longer be a byword among civilised peoples. A newspaper edited by Ahmed Riza was published and thousands of copies were smuggled into the dominions. Hundreds of thousands of pamphlets somehow passed the Turkish frontiers and found readers, though their possession if discovered meant imprisonment and degradation, but the “Young Turks” were undismayed.

Into the harems the new ideas crept. One read to the others during the long days, and the forbidden books passed from hand to hand, and from house to house. Women high in rank, the daughters of court officials, carried messages. Where a man seemed approachable on that side, some member of his harem was converted, or else some woman was placed in his way, even sold to him, perhaps. Dozens of women sold into the harems of prominent men went as apostles of the new faith. Women deliberately sacrificed their reputations, since free association with men, unless supposedly lovers, would have aroused suspicion.

The army became infected, the officers first. During 1907, the third army corps in Macedonia became thoroughly permeated. Of course the cruel autocrat knew something of all this, for his spies were everywhere, but he misjudged the extent. He had seen dissatisfaction and unrest before, and he had crushed them by sudden blows. Perhaps he was tired, and less acute than he had been twenty years before. At any rate he waited too long before taking vigorous action.

Early in 1908 he ordered the higher officers of the army to quiet the unrest. A beloved officer raised the standard of revolt in Macedonia, and the soldiers refused to fire upon the rebels. The Committee of Union and Progress, as the “Young Turk” movement was called, assumed charge of the revolt and demanded the restoration of the constitution, which the sultan refused. Agents were sent to enforce his commands, but they were forced to flee for their lives, and officers not in sympathy with the movement were threatened. Thoroughly alarmed by the defection of the army, the cowardly sultan pretended to yield and on July 24, 1908, the constitution was restored.

Too much perhaps was expected of the Parliament. The fanatical Moslem leaders spread rumours of every sort, and the sultan’s agents were everywhere active, distilling doubt and suspicion into the soldiers and populace. In April, 1909, the garrison at Constantinople rose, dispersed the Parliament, and the wily sultan seemed again in control. The army in Macedonia was still loyal to the new ideas, and was promptly mobilised. Within ten days Constantinople was again in control of the Young Turks.

Abdul Hamid was evidently not to be trusted. The die was cast. His deposition was voted by the reassembled Parliament, and his brother who had long been a prisoner was placed on the throne, though the Young Turks, warned by their mishap, kept an effective veto on reaction in the form of the army.

But the wily Abdul not only plotted to gain back his authority in Europe, but his agents fanned the flames of religious and racial hatred in Asia Minor. The Armenians were once a great nation, and though they have long been ground beneath the heel of the oppressor, they still cherish the idea that another great Christian nation will arise in Asia. They saw hope in the new rÉgime and began to speak more freely, to exhibit pictures of their old kings, and to buy arms.

The fierce Turks, Kurds, Arabs and Circassians looked upon the presumption of the “Christian dogs” with rage. Meanwhile agents of the Mohammedan League were everywhere stirring passion to fever heat, and on Tuesday, April 13, 1909, the conflict began in Adana, though not until the next day was the fighting general. For three days the contest raged, when soldiers appeared and a semblance of order was restored. Similar scenes had taken place in Osmanieh, Hamedieh, while at Tarsus the Armenians stood like sheep to be slain.

On Sunday, April 25th, the slaughter again broke out at Adana. This time it was a massacre pure and simple, for the few Armenians who owned weapons had either fled, or else were almost without ammunition. Men, women, children were indiscriminately killed, houses were robbed and burned, until hardly a Christian home was left standing. Over the whole country fire and sword made a waste of what had been the home of a prosperous population. How many were killed can only be estimated. Some say thirty thousand. No estimate is less than half that number.

An investigation was set on foot by Parliament after the instigator of the massacre had been sent with eight of his wives to live a prisoner at Salonica. The commission reported that it had hanged fifteen persons—fifteen persons for slaying fifteen thousand.

Though much reduced during later years, the Turkish empire still stretches over three continents and the islands of the sea. Though penal conditions around Constantinople are bad, where diverse races and religions, far away from central control, must live together, trouble constantly exists. The Turk has always been weak in administration, and it is in these provincial prisons that the chief horrors are seen.

For administrative purposes Turkey is divided into vilayets, which are subdivided into sanjaks or livas, and these into kazas. Each division has its prison. That of the last named corresponds roughly to the county gaol of the United States. In it accused persons awaiting trial and prisoners sentenced to short terms are confined. Graver crimes are punished by confinement in the prison of the sanjak or the vilayet. For special crimes and for certain kinds of political offences prisoners may be sent to Rhodes, Sinope, Tripoli and other similar points where old castles are usually the prisons.

There is no common form of prison. Generally they are old ugly buildings, though in a few larger towns new and elegant structures have taken their place. In only one particular are they alike—they are all dirty, and are generally damp and unhealthful, because of slovenly attention and overcrowding. The prisons are usually in charge of the zaptiehs, though special officers, chosen for the purpose control others. Where these gardiens have charge, matters are usually less bad than in the general run.

Prisoners are expected to feed themselves. With the exception of alcoholic beverages, friends or relatives may send any articles of food, or the prisoner may buy them from his own means. Even alcohol is smuggled in by the connivance of the guards who are always willing to accept a bribe. Tobacco of course is considered a necessity. To the very poor coarse bread is usually furnished, but the allowance for this purpose is often embezzled by the officials, and then the poor must live upon the charity of their fellow prisoners.

The indiscriminate congregate system is still in vogue as in the days of the Bagnio. A dozen, a score, or more, are assigned to one room where they live and sleep. Sanitary arrangements are usually primitive, if not outrageously bad, and the atmosphere is trying to a sensitive nose. There is no prison costume. A prisoner wears what he likes, eats what he likes, and spends his time as he likes, within the limits of the prison. There is no pretence of reform. The prisoners live idle, useless lives. Though, according to law, a prisoner may work if he desires, in fact, work is not encouraged because of the disputes likely to arise over the sale of his product, and hardly one per cent. is occupied.

Yet strange as it may appear at first glance, a great number are perfectly content. Leisure, food, tobacco are theirs and they wish little more. When two-thirds of the sentence has been served, it is the custom to release the tractable prisoners. Many Turks however prefer life in prison to life outside, and refuse to leave. It is a home where they are free from care, exempt from taxes, and from military service. They avoid thus all duties of citizenship and live like parasites upon their relatives or upon any property to which they have a claim.

Theoretically all forms of physical punishment are forbidden, though in every ancient prison the old fetters are preserved, rusted and stiff to be sure, but still painful. Where differences of race and religion between prisoner and keeper appear they are undoubtedly often used to make harder the lot of the “infidel” or of the suspected conspirator. While all charges of ill usage and torture made by Armenian, Jew, or Greek can not be sustained, there is a foundation of truth.

Some of the handcuffs are of iron, while others are simply heavy blocks of wood with two grooves for the wrists. When the heavy blocks are nailed together, the arms are held in a most uncomfortable position, and the obstructed circulation may cause intense pain. The Reverend G. Thoumaian, an Armenian clergyman, tells of wearing these handcuffs for fifteen hours on the journey from Marsovan to Chorum, and for five days thereafter.

He and his companion also wore iron collars, connected by chains, for twenty-five days while in prison at Chorum. Fetters are also worn, connected by chains, and where the guards are especially brutal or the prisoners are hated for any reason the latter may be chained to the wall by neck and feet, sometimes so closely that the irons cut into the flesh.

As is the case in Spain the convict warder flourishes in Turkey. To him is sometimes confided the other forms of torture. A prisoner from whom a confession is desired may be taken to a lonely cell where the lash is plied until blood collects in a huge blister under the skin. This is punctured and intense pain results as the raw surface comes in contact with the air. Worse tales than this are told—of prisoners hanged by the feet from a beam during the beating, of naked prisoners thrust into cold cells and drenched with icy water, and even of the application of hot irons.

Finally Mr. Thoumaian declares that to his own personal knowledge a severe torture was applied to an acquaintance of his, a young graduate of Anatolia College. The young man’s head was shaved, and on the bare skin in a sensitive spot was placed a nutshell filled with vermin. As they began to struggle and tore deeper and deeper into the sensitive nerves, the torture was exquisite. Sometimes prisoners to whom this test is applied lose all control of themselves and confess to participation in any plot no matter how incredible, caring only for the removal of the horrible pain.

These accounts all deal with the last years of Abdul Hamid’s reign, when the demand for “free Armenia” was strong, when Macedonia was restless, and when the loyalty of large part of the army was suspected. Prisoners charged with ordinary crimes lived much the same lives as the inmates of the Bagnio sixty years before, except perhaps that they were better fed in the later years. Since the accession of the new sultan, vigilance has been relaxed so far as politics are concerned. Whether the leopard has really changed his spots, and the Turk has become humane is a question that only the future can settle.