"
The formerly arid floor of the desert was carpeted with a soft green, with
myriads of little flowers, all small, but delicately fashioned. There
were poppies, dwarf daisies, expanses of buttercups, forget-me-nots, and
diminutive red flowers whose name I did not know. It started raining
again, and we only just succeeded in winning our way through to Baghdad
before the road became impassable.
VI
BAGHDAD SKETCHES
Although never in Baghdad for long at a time, I generally had occasion to
spend four or five days there every other month. The life in any city is
complex and interesting, but here it was especially so. We were among a
totally foreign people, but the ever-felt intangible barrier of color was
not present. For many of the opportunities to mingle with the natives I
was indebted to Oscar Heizer, the American consul. Mr. Heizer has been
twenty-five years in the Levant, the greater part of which time he has
spent in the neighborhood of Constantinople. The outbreak of the war found
him stationed at one of the principal ports of the Black Sea. There he
witnessed part of the terrible Armenian massacres, when vast herds of the
wretched people were driven inland to perish of starvation by the
roadsides. Quiet and unassuming, but ever ready to act with speed and
decision, he was a universal favorite with native and foreigner alike.
With him I used to ferry across the river for tea with the Asadulla Khan,
the Persian consul.
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