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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/37343-8.txt b/37343-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..22c5f8a --- /dev/null +++ b/37343-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,6910 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Caught by the Turks, by Francis Yeats-Brown + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Caught by the Turks + +Author: Francis Yeats-Brown + +Release Date: September 7, 2011 [EBook #37343] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CAUGHT BY THE TURKS *** + + + + +Produced by Barbara Watson, Ross Cooling, Mark Akrigg and +the Online Distributed Proofreading Canada Team at +http://www.pgdpcanada.net ((This file was produced from +images generously made available by The Internet +Archive/Canadian Libraries)) + + + + + + + + + + CAUGHT BY THE TURKS + + BY + FRANCIS YEATS-BROWN + + + WITH PORTRAITS AND PLANS + + + LONDON + EDWARD ARNOLD + 1919 + [_All rights reserved_] + + + + + To + LADY PAUL + + + + + CONTENTS + + CHAPTER PAGE + I. CAPTURE 1 + II. A SHADOWLAND OF ARABESQUES 25 + III. THE TERRIBLE TURK 42 + IV. "OUT OF GREAT TRIBULATION" 56 + V. THE LONG DESCENT OF WASTED DAYS 75 + VI. THE PSYCHOLOGY OF PRISON 95 + VII. THE COMIC HOSPITAL IN CONSTANTINOPLE 102 + VIII. OUR FIRST ESCAPE 122 + IX. A CITY OF DISGUISES 140 + X. RECAPTURED 159 + XI. THE BLACK HOLE OF CONSTANTINOPLE 172 + XII. OUR SECOND ESCAPE 198 + + + + + LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS + + PAGE + + THE ARMENIAN PATRIARCHATE AT PSAMATTIA, CONSTANTINOPLE 137 + + THE AUTHOR AS A GERMAN GOVERNESS _facing p._ 154 + + THE AUTHOR AS A HUNGARIAN MECHANIC _facing p._ 170 + + THE SQUARE OF THE SERASKERAT, CONSTANTINOPLE 213 + + + + + CAUGHT BY THE TURKS + + + CHAPTER I + + CAPTURE + + +Half an hour before dawn on November the thirteenth, 1915. . . . + +We were on an aerodrome by the River Tigris, below Baghdad, about to +start out to cut the telegraph lines behind the Turkish position. + +My pilot ran his engine to free the cylinders from the cold of night, +while I stowed away in the body of the machine some necklaces of +gun-cotton, some wire cutters, a rifle, Verey lights, provisions, and +the specially prepared map--prepared for the eventuality of its falling +into the hands of the Turks--on which nothing was traced except our +intended route to the telegraph lines west and north of Baghdad. Some +primers, which are the explosive charges designed to detonate the +gun-cotton, I carefully stowed away in another part of the machine, and +with even more care--trepidation, indeed--I put into my pockets the +highly explosive pencils of fulminate of mercury, which detonate the +primers which detonate the gun-cotton. + +Then I climbed gingerly aboard, feeling rather highly charged with +explosives and excitement. + +For some time the pilot continued to run his engine and watch the +revolution meter. The warmer the engine became, the colder I got, for +the prelude to adventure is always a chilly business. Unlike the engine, +I did not warm to my work during those waiting moments. At last, +however, the pilot waved his hand to give the signal to stand clear, and +we slid away on the flight that was to be our last for many a day. The +exhaust gases of our engine lit the darkness behind me with a ring of +fire. I looked back as we taxied down the aerodrome, and saw the +mechanics melting away to their morning tea. Only one figure remained, a +young pilot in a black and yellow fur coat, who had left his warm bed to +wish us luck. For a moment I saw him standing there, framed in flame, +looking after us regretfully. Then I saw him no more, and later they +told me (but it was not true) that he had died at Ctesiphon. + +We rose over the tents of our camp at Aziziah, all silver and still in +the half-light, and headed for the Turkish outposts at El Kutunieh. +Their bivouac fires mounted straight to heaven. It was a calm and +cloudless dawn, ideal weather for the business we had been sent out to +do. + +At all costs, we had been told, the telegraphic communications west and +north of Baghdad must be cut that day. Von der Goltz and a German +battery of quick-firing guns were hasting down from Mosul to help their +stricken ally, and reinforcements of the best Anatolian troops, +magnificently equipped and organised by the Germans, were on their way +from Gallipoli, whence they came flushed with the confidence of success. + +Our attack on Ctesiphon was imminent. It was a matter of moments whether +the Turkish reinforcements would arrive in time. Delay and confusion in +the Turkish rear would have helped us greatly, and the moral and +material advantage of cutting communications between Nur-ed-Din, the +vacillating Commander-in-Chief defending Baghdad, and Von der Goltz, the +veteran of victories, was obvious and unquestionable. But could we do it +in an old Maurice Farman biplane? + +Desperate needs need desperate measures. The attempt to take Baghdad was +desperate--futile perhaps--and contrary to the advice of the great +soldier who led the attack in the glorious but unsuccessful action of +Ctesiphon. And so also, in a small way, ours was a desperate mission. +Our machine could carry neither oil nor petrol enough for the journey, +and special arrangements had to be made for carrying spare tins of +lubricant and fuel. With these we were to refill at our first halt. +While I was destroying the telegraph line, my pilot was to replenish the +tanks of his machine. According to the map this should have been +feasible, for the telegraph lines at the place we had selected for our +demolition ran through a blank desert, two miles from the nearest track. +That the map was wrong we did not know. + +All seemed quite hopeful therefore. We had got off "according to plan," +and the engine was running beautifully. + +It was stimulating to see the stir of El Kutunieh as we sailed over the +Turks at a thousand feet. They ran to take cover from the bombs which +had so often greeted them at sunrise; but for once we sailed placidly +on, having other fish to fry, and left them to the pleasures of +anticipation. Far behind us a few puffs from their ridiculous apology +for an anti-aircraft gun blossomed like sudden flowers and then melted +in the sunlight above the world. Below, in the desert, it was still +dark. Men were rubbing their eyes in El Kutunieh and cursing us. + +But for us day had dawned. As we rose, there rose behind us a round +cheerful sun, whose rays caught our trail and spangled it with light, +and danced in my eyes as I looked back through the propeller, and lit up +the celluloid floor of the nacelle as if to help me see my implements. +That dawn was jubilant with hope--I felt inclined to dance. And I sang +from sheer exhilaration--a sort of swan song (as I see it now) before +captivity. The desert seemed barren no longer. Transmuted by the sunrise +those "miles and miles of nothing at all" became a limitless expanse +where all the kingdoms of the world were spread out before our eyes. +Away to the east the Tigris wound like a snake among the sands; to +westward, a huddle of houses and date-palms with an occasional gleam +from the gold domes of Kazimain, lay the city of the Arabian Nights, +where Haroun al Raschid once reigned, and where now there is hope his +spirit may reign again. Baghdad nestled among its date-palms, with +little wisps of cloud still shrouding its sleep, all unconscious of the +great demonstration it was to give before noon to two forlorn and +captive airmen. To the north lay the Great Desert with a hint of violet +hills on the far horizon. To the south also lay the Great Desert, with +no feature on its yellow face save the scar of some irrigation cut made +in the twilight time of history. + +But the beauties of Nature were not for us: we were intent on the works +of man. There was unwonted traffic across the bridge over the great Arch +of Ctesiphon. The enemy river craft were early astir, and so were their +antediluvian Archies. These latter troubled us no more than was their +wont, but the activity at Qusaibah and Sulman Pak was disquieting. +Trains of carts were moving across the river from the right to the left +bank. Tugs, gravid with troops, were on their way from Baghdad. In +trenches and gun emplacements feverish work was in progress. Like ants +at a burrow, men were dragging overhead cover into place. Lines of +fatigue parties were marching hither and thither. New support trenches +were being dug. + +As always, when one saw these things, one longed for more eyes, better +eyes, an abler pencil, to record them for our staff. An observer has +great responsibilities at times: one cannot help remembering that a +missed obstruction, a forgotten emplacement may mean a terrible toll of +suffering. Our men would soon attack these trenches, relying largely on +our photographs and information. . . . When, a week later, there rose +above the battle the souls of all the brave men dead at Ctesiphon, +seeing then with clearer eyes than mine, I pray they forgave our +shortcomings and remembered we did our best. + +We could not circle over Ctesiphon, in spite of the interest we saw +there, until our duty was performed, and had to fly on, leaving it to +eastward. + +On the return journey, however, we promised ourselves as full an +investigation as our petrol supply allowed, and had we returned with our +report on what we had seen and done that day, things might have been +very different. But what's the use of might-have-beens? + +After an hour's flying we sighted the telegraph line that was our +objective, but when we approached it more closely a sad surprise awaited +us, for instead of the blank surface which the map portrayed, we found +that the line ran along a busy thoroughfare leading to Baghdad. Some ten +thousand camels, it seemed to my disappointed eyes, were swaying and +slouching towards the markets of the capital. We came low to observe the +traffic better, and the camels craned their long necks upwards, burbling +with surprise at this great new bird they had never seen. The ships of +the desert, it seemed to me, disliked the ship of the air as much as we +disapproved of them. + +Besides the camels, there were ammunition carts and armed soldiers along +the road, making a landing impossible. Our demolition would only take +three minutes under favourable conditions, but in three minutes even an +Arab soldier can be trusted to hit an aeroplane and two airmen at +point-blank range. + +So we flew westward down the road, looking for a landing ground. Baghdad +was behind us now. On our right lay a great lake, and ahead we got an +occasional glimpse of the Euphrates in the morning sun. At last--near a +mound, which we afterwards heard was Nimrod's tomb--we saw that the +telegraph line took a turn to northward, leaving the road by a mile or +more. Here we decided to land. Nimrod's tomb was to be the tomb of our +activities. + +While we were circling down I felt exactly as one feels at the start of +a race, watching for the starting gate to rise. It was a tense but +delightful moment. + +We made a perfect landing, and ran straight and evenly towards the +telegraph posts. I had already stripped myself of my coat and all +unnecessary gear, and wore sandshoes in case I had to climb a post to +get at the insulators. The detonators were in my pocket, the wire +clippers hung at my belt. I stooped down to take a necklace of +gun-cotton from the floor of the 'bus, and as I did so, I felt a slight +bump and a slight splintering of wood. + +We had stopped. + +I jumped out of the machine, still sure that all was well. And then---- + +Then I saw that our left wing tip had crashed into a telegraph post. +Even so the full extent of our disaster dawned slowly on me. I could not +believe that we had broken something vital. Yet the pilot was quite +sure. + +The leading edge of the plane was broken. Our flying days were finished. +It had been my pilot's misfortune, far more than his fault, that we had +crashed. The unexpected smoothness of the landing ground, and a rear +wind that no one could have foreseen, had brought about disaster. +Nothing could be done. I stood silent--while hope sank from its zenith, +to the nadir of disappointment. Nothing remained--except to do our job. + +With light feet but heart of lead, I ran across to another telegraph +post, leaving the pilot to ascertain whether by some miracle we might +not be able to get our machine to safety. But even as I left him I knew +that there was no hope; the only thing that remained was to destroy the +line and then take our chance with the Arabs. + +By the time I had fixed the explosive necklace round the post, a few +stray Arabs, who had been watching our descent, fired at us from +horseback. I set the fuse and lit it, then strolled back to the machine, +where the pilot confirmed my worst fears. The machine was unflyable. + +Presently there was a loud bang. The charge had done its work and the +post was neatly cut in two. + +Horsemen were now appearing from the four quarters of the desert. On +hearing the explosion the mounted men instantly wheeled about and +galloped off in the opposite direction, while those on foot took cover, +lying flat on their faces. To encourage the belief in our aggressive +force, the pilot stood on the seat of the 'bus and treated them to +several bursts of rapid fire. + +Meanwhile, I took another necklace of gun-cotton and returned to my +demolition. This second charge I affixed to the wires and insulators of +the fallen post, so as to render repair more difficult. While I was thus +engaged, I noticed that spurts of sand were kicking up all about me. The +fire had increased in accuracy and intensity. So accurate indeed had it +become that I guessed that the Arabs (who cannot hit a haystack) had +been reinforced by regulars. I lit the fuse and covered the hundred +yards back to the machine in my very best time (which is about fifteen +seconds) to get cover and companionship. A hot fire was being directed +on to the machine now, at ranges varying from fifty to five hundred +yards. It was not a pleasant situation, and I experienced a curious +mixed feeling of regret and relief: regret that there was nothing more +to do, relief that something at least had been accomplished to earn the +long repose before us. On the nature of this repose I had never +speculated, and even now the fate that awaited us seemed immaterial so +long as something happened quickly. One wanted to get it over. I was +very frightened, I suppose. + +Bang! + +The second charge had exploded, and the telegraph wires whipped back and +festooned themselves round our machine. The insulators were dust, no +doubt, and the damage would probably take some days to repair. So far so +good. Our job was done in so far as it lay in our power to do it. + +"Do you see that fellow in blue?" said the pilot to me, pointing to a +ferocious individual about a hundred yards away who was brandishing a +curved cutlass. "I think it must be an officer. We had better give +ourselves up to him when the time comes." + +I cordially agreed, but rather doubted that the time would ever come. It +speaks volumes for Arab marksmanship that they missed our machine about +as often as they hit it. + +I destroyed a few private papers, and then, as it was obviously useless +to return the fire of two hundred men with a single rifle, we started up +the engine again, more with the idea of doing something than with any +hope of getting away. + +The machine, it may be mentioned, was not to be destroyed in the event +of a breakdown such as this, because our army hoped to be in Baghdad +within a week, and it would have been impossible for the Turks to carry +it with them in the case of a retreat. + +The Arabs hesitated to advance, and still continued to pour in a hot +fire. Feeling the situation was becoming ridiculous, I got into the +aeroplane and determined to attempt flying it. Now I am not a pilot, and +know little of machines. The pilot had pronounced the aeroplane to be +unflyable, and very rightly did not accompany me. + +But I was pigheaded and determined "to have one more flip in the old +'bus." After disentangling the wires that had whipped round the king +posts, I got into the pilot's seat and taxied away down wind. Then I +turned, managing the operation with fair success, and skimmed back +towards the pilot with greatly increasing speed. But all my efforts did +not succeed in making the machine lift clear of the ground. Some Arabs +were now rushing towards the pilot, and a troop of mounted gendarmes +were galloping in my direction. I tried to swerve to avoid these men, +but could not make the machine answer to her controls. Then I pulled the +stick back frantically in a last effort to rise above them. She gave a +little hop, then floundered down in the middle of the cavalry. + +Somehow or other the 'bus was standing still, and I was on the ground +beside it. + +Mounted gendarmes surrounded me with rifles levelled, not at me, but at +the machine. I cocked my revolver and put it behind my back, hesitating. +Then an old gendarme spurred his horse up to me and held out his right +hand in the friendliest possible fashion. I grasped it in surprise, for +the grip he gave me was a grip I knew, proving that even here in the +desert men are sometimes brothers. Then, emptying out the cartridges +from my revolver in case of accidents, I handed it to him. Not very +heroic certainly--but then surrendering is a sorry business: the best +that can be said for it is that it is sometimes common sense. + +At that moment the gentleman in blue, whose appearance we had previously +discussed, suddenly appeared behind me and swinging up his scimitar with +both hands, struck me a violent blow where neck joins shoulder. This +blow deprived me of all feeling for a moment. On coming-to I discovered +that my aggressor was not dressed in blue at all; he wore no stitch of +raiment of any description, but whether he was painted with woad or only +tanned by the sun I had no opportunity of enquiring. Whether, again, the +kindly gendarme had turned the blow or whether the _ghazi_ had purposely +hit me with the flat of his weapon, I never discovered; but of this much +I am certain, that except for that kindly gendarme--to whom may Allah +bring blessings--this story would not have been written. + +I made my way to the pilot as soon as I was able to do so, and found him +bleeding profusely from a wound in the head, surrounded by a hundred +tearing, screaming Arabs. Every minute, the number of the Arabs was +increasing, and the gendarmes had the greatest difficulty in protecting +us. All round us excited horsemen circled, firing _feux de joie_ and +uttering hoarse cries of exultation. We were making slow progress +towards the police post about a mile distant, but at times, so fiercely +did the throng press round us, I doubted if we should ever come through. + +Once, yielding to popular clamour, the police stopped and parleyed with +some Arab chiefs who had arrived upon the scene. After a heated colloquy +of which we did not understand one word, in spite of our not unnatural +interest, the Turkish gendarmes shrugged their shoulders and appeared to +accede to the Arabs' demands. Several of the more ruffianly among them +seized the pilot and pulled his flying coat over his head. The memory of +that moment is the most unpleasant in my life, and I cannot, try as I +will, entirely dissociate myself from the horror of what I thought would +happen. Even now it often holds sleep at arm's length. Not the fact of +death, but the imagined manner of it, dismayed me. I bitterly regretted +having surrendered my revolver only to be thus tamely murdered. + +Meanwhile I had been also seized and borne down under a crowd of Arabs. +We fought for some time, and I had a glimpse of the pilot, who is a very +clever boxer, upholding British traditions with his fists. . . . + +Suddenly the scene changed from tragedy to farce. We were not going to +be murdered at all, but only robbed. And the pilot had given our _ghazi_ +friend a black eye--blacker than his skin. + +At length I got free, minus all my possessions except my wrist watch, +which they did not see, and saw that the pilot also had his head above +the scrimmage, still "bloody but unbowed." The worst was over. That had +been the climax of my capture. + +All that happened thereafter, until chances of escape occurred, was in a +_diminuendo_ of emotion. + +All I really longed for now was for something to smoke. My cigarette +case had gone. + +The gendarmes, who had stood aside through these proceedings, now +returned and hurried us towards the police post, while most of the +captors remained behind disputing about our loot. All this time the +machine had been absolutely neglected, but now I saw some Arabs stalking +cautiously up to it and discharging their firearms. Feeling the machine +would be damaged beyond repair if they continued firing at it, and so +rendered useless to us after our imminent capture of Baghdad, I tried to +explain to the gendarmes that it was quite unnecessary to waste good +lead on it, its potentiality for evil having vanished with our +surrender. The impression I conveyed, however, was that there was a +third officer in the machine, and a large party adjourned to +investigate. During this diversion I tried to jump on to a white mare, +whose owner had left her to go towards the machine, but received a +second nasty blow on the spine for my pains. Again the kindly gendarme +came to my rescue, seeing, I suppose, that I was looking pretty blue. He +addressed me as "Baba," and--may Allah give him increase!--gave me a +cigarette. + +At last we got to the police post, and, as we entered and passed through +a dark stable passage, the gendarme on my left side, noticing my wrist +watch, slyly detached it and pocketed it with a meaning smile. As the +price of police protection I did not grudge it. + +Big doors clanged behind us and our captivity proper had begun: what had +gone before had been more like a scrum at Rugger, with ourselves as the +ball. + +We examined our injuries and bruises, and I tried to dress the wounds on +the pilot's head, with little success, however, for our guardians could +provide nothing but the most brackish water, and disinfectants were +undreamed of. We discussed our future at some length, and agreed that +our best plan was to be recaptured in Baghdad on the taking of that +city. To this end we decided that it would be advisable to make the most +of our injuries, so that when the Turkish retreat took place we would +not be in a fit condition to accompany it. To feign sickness would not, +indeed, be difficult. I felt that every bone in my body was broken, and +my pilot was in an even worse condition. + +Meanwhile there was a great clamour and "confused noises without," which +seemed to refer insistently and unpleasantly to us. On asking what the +people were saying, we were informed that the Arabs wanted to take our +heads to the Turkish Commander-in-Chief at Suleiman Pak, whereas the +gendarmes pointed out that there would be far greater profit and +pleasure in taking us there alive. We cordially agreed, and did not join +the discussion, feeling it to be more academic than practical, as we +were quite safe in the police post. + +We had neither hats nor overcoats, but we each still retained our +jackets and breeches, though in a very torn condition. I was still in +possession of my sandshoes, probably because the Arabs did not think +them worth the taking. + +Considering things calmly, we felt that we were lucky. This bondage +would not last. We would surely fly again, perhaps soon. But for a week +or so we must accustom ourselves to new conditions. Everything was +strange about us, and it struck me at once how close a parallel there is +between the drama of Captivity and the drama of Life. In each case there +is a "curtain," and in each case a man enters into a new world whose +language and customs he does not know. Almost naked we came to our +bondage, dumb, bloody, disconcerted by the whole business. So, perhaps, +do infants feel at the world awaiting their ken: it is taken for +granted that they enjoy life, and so also our captors were convinced +that we should feel delighted at our situation. + +"We saved you from the Arabs," we understood them to say, "and now you +are safe until the war is over. You need do no more work." + +Such at any rate was my estimate of what they said, but being in an +unknown tongue, it was only necessary to nod in answer. + +Tea was brought to us, sweet, weak tea in little glasses, and we made +appreciative noises. Then the kindly gendarme--may he be rewarded in +both worlds--brought each of us some cigarettes, in return for which we +gave him our brightest smiles, having nothing else to give. + +But one could not smile for long in that little room, thinking of the +sun and air outside and the old 'bus lying wrecked in the desert. We +would have been flying back now; we would have reconnoitred the Turkish +lines; we would have been back by nine o'clock to breakfast, bath, and +glory. . . . + +"It's the thirteenth of the month," groaned the pilot, whose thoughts +were similar to mine. + +For a long time I sulked in silence, while the pilot, with better +manners or more vitality than I, engaged the gendarmes in light +conversation, conducted chiefly by gesture. About an hour later (a "day" +of the Creation, it seemed to me--and it was indeed a formative time, +when the mind, so long accustomed to range free, seeks to adjust its +processes to captivity and adapt itself to new conditions of time and +space) there occurred at last a diversion to interrupt my gloom. + +The Turkish District Governor arrived with two carriages to take us to +Baghdad. He spoke English and was agreeable in a mild sort of way, +except for his unfortunate habit of asking questions which we could not +answer. He told us that news of our descent and capture had been sent to +Baghdad by gallopers (not by telegram, I noted parenthetically) and that +the population was awaiting our arrival. I said that I hoped the +population would not be disappointed, and he assured us with a +significant smile that they certainly would not. + +"Whatever happens," he was kind enough to add, "I will be responsible +for your lives myself." + +His meaning became apparent a little later, when we approached the +suburbs of Baghdad and found an ugly crowd awaiting our arrival, armed +with sticks and stones. When we reached the city itself the streets were +lined as if for a royal procession. Shops had put up their shutters, the +markets were closed, the streets were thronged, and every window held +its quota of heads. The word had gone out that there was to be a +demonstration, and the hysteria which lurks in every city in a time of +crisis found its fullest scope. Our downfall was taken as an omen of +British defeat, and the inhabitants of Baghdad held high holiday at the +sight of captive British airmen. + +Elderly merchants wagged their white beards and cursed us as we passed; +children danced with rage, and threw mud; lines of Turkish women pulled +back their veils in scorn, and putting out their tongues at us cried +"La, la, la," in a curious note of derision; boys brandished knives; +babies shook their little fists. No hated Tarquins could have had a more +hostile demonstration. We were both spat upon. A man with a heavy cudgel +aimed a blow at my pilot which narrowly missed him, another with a long +dagger stabbed through the back of the carriage and was dragged away +with difficulty: I can still see his snarling face and _hashish_-haunted +eyes. Our escort could hardly force a way for our carriage through the +narrow streets. All this time we sat trying to look dignified and +smoking constant cigarettes. . . . State arrival of British prisoners in +Baghdad--what a scene it would have been for the cinematograph! + +Arrived at the river, a space was cleared round us, and we were embarked +with a great deal of fuss in a boat to take us across to the Governor's +palace. Before leaving, I said goodbye to the kindly gendarme who had +helped a brother in distress, and once more now, across the wasted years +of captivity and the turmoil of my life to-day, I grasp his hand in +gratitude. + +Our first interview in Baghdad was with a journalist. He was very polite +and anxious for our impressions, but I told him that the Arabs had given +us quite enough impressions for the day, and that words could not +adequately express what we felt at our arrival in Baghdad. We chiefly +wanted a wash. + +That afternoon we were taken to hospital, and to our surprise (for, +being new to the conditions of captivity, we were still susceptible to +surprise) we found that we were very well treated there. Two sentries, +however, stood at our open door day and night to watch our every +movement. When the Governor of Baghdad came to see us that evening +(thoughtfully bringing with him a bottle of whisky) I politely told him +(in French, a language he spoke fluently) that so much consideration had +been shown to us that I hoped he would not mind my asking whether we +could not have a little more privacy. The continual presence of the +sentries was a little irksome. He understood my point perfectly--much +too perfectly. Taking me to the window, he spoke smoothly, as follows: + +"I am so sorry the sentries disturb you, but I feel responsible for your +safety, and should you by any chance fall out of that window--it is not +so very far from the ground, you see--you might get into bad hands. I +assure you that Baghdad is full of wicked men." + +The Governor was too clever. There was no chance with him of securing +more favourable conditions for escape, so we turned to the discussion of +the whisky bottle. As in all else he did, he had an object, I soon +discovered, in bringing this forbidden fluid. His purpose, of course, +was to make us talk, and talk we did, under its generous and +unaccustomed influence, for it had been some time since we had seen +spirits in our own mess at Azizieh. I would much like to see the report +that the Turkish Intelligence Staff made of that wonderful conversation. +Several officers had dropped in--casually--to join in the talk, and we +told them we had lost our way; then our engine had stopped, and we +landed as near to some village as we could. We knew nothing of an attack +on Baghdad, we did not know General Townshend, but had certainly heard +of him. We had heard a rumour that he had defeated the Turks at Es-sinn +a month previously, and would like to know the truth of the matter. +Eventually the bottle was exhausted, and so were our imaginations. We +parted with the utmost cordiality and a firm intention of seeing as +little of each other as possible in the future. + +In the street below our window were some large earthenware jars, like +those in which the Forty Thieves had hidden aforetime in this very city, +and for about a day we considered the story of Aladdin, in regard to the +possibility of escape by getting into these jars; but just as we had +made our plans the jars were removed, being taken no doubt to the +support trenches, which were found by our troops excellently provided +with water. + +As the day grew near for our attack, we saw many thousand Arabs being +marched down to Ctesiphon. It was no conquering army this, no freemen +going to defend their native land, but miserable bands of slaves being +sent into subjection. Down to the river bank, where they were embarked +on lighters, they were followed by their weeping relatives. There was no +pretence at heroism. They would have escaped if they could, but the +Turks had taken care of that. They were tied together by fours, their +right hand being lashed to a wooden yoke, while their left was employed +in carrying a rifle. These unfortunate creatures were taken to a spot +near the trenches and were then transferred, still securely tied +together, to the worst dug and most-exposed part of the line. Machine +guns were then posted behind them to block all possible lines of +retreat. In addition to minor discomforts such as bearing the brunt of +our attack, the Arabs, so I was told, were frequently unprovided with +provisions and water, so it is small wonder that their demeanour did not +show the fire of battle. But _Kannonen-futter_ was required for +Ctesiphon, and down the river this pageant of dejected pacifists had to +go. + +After the attack had begun, shiploads of these same men returned +wounded, and arrived in our hospital in an indescribably pitiable +condition. There were no stretchers, and the wounded were left to shift +for themselves, relying on charity and the providence of Allah. The +blind led the blind, the halt helped the lame. + +Later, wounded Anatolian soldiers began also to arrive, and their plight +was no less wretched than that of the Arabs, though their behaviour was +incomparably better. One could not help admiring their stoicism in the +face of terrible and often unnecessary suffering. The utter lack of +system in dealing with casualties was hardly more remarkable than the +fortitude of the casualties themselves. When a proclamation was read to +the sufferers in our hospital, announcing the success of the Turkish +arms at Ctesiphon, the wounded seemed to forget their pain and the dying +acquired a new lease of life. I actually saw a man with a mortal wound +in the head, who a few minutes previously had been choking and literally +at his last gasp, rally all his forces to utter thanks to God, and then +die. + +Never for a moment had we thought that the attack on Ctesiphon could +fail. The odds, we knew, were heavily against us, but we firmly believed +that General Townshend would achieve the impossible. That he did not do +so was not his fault nor the fault of the gallant men he led. But this +is a record of my personal experiences only, and I will spare the reader +all the long reflections and alternations of anxiety and hope which held +our thoughts while the guns boomed down the Tigris and the fate of +Baghdad--and our fate--was poised in the balance. + +At six o'clock one morning we were suddenly awakened and told that we +must leave for Mosul immediately. By every possible means in our power +we delayed the start, thinking our troops might come at any moment. But +the Turkish sergeant who commanded our escort had definite orders that +we were to be out of the city by nine o'clock. We drove in a carriage +through mean streets, attracting no attention, for now the Baghdadis +realised their danger. Before leaving, our sergeant paid a visit to his +house, in order to collect his kit, leaving us at the door, guarded by +four soldiers. His sisters came down to see him off and (being of +progressive tendencies, I suppose) they were not veiled. It were crime +indeed to have hidden such lustrous eyes and skin so fair. + + + + + CHAPTER II + + A SHADOWLAND OF ARABESQUES + + +Some breath of reality, some call from the outer world of freedom came +to us from the presence of these girls. They seemed the first real +people I had seen in my captivity, femininity incarnate, human beings in +a shadow-land of arabesques. They were happy and healthy and somehow +outside the insanities of our world. For a moment they gazed at us in +awe, and for another moment in complete sympathy: then they retired with +little squeaks of laughter and busied themselves with their brother's +baggage. + +When our preparations were complete and we set off on our long journey, +they stood for a space at the casement window and waved us goodbye, +looking quite charming. I vowed that if Fate by a happy chance were to +lead us back to Baghdad with rôles reversed, so that they, not we, were +captives in the midst of foes, my first care would be to repay their +kindly, though unspoken, sympathy. They were too human for the +futilities of war, too amiable to have a hand in Armageddon. + +Only prisoners, I think, see the full absurdity of war. Only prisoners, +to begin with, fully realise the gift of life. And only prisoners see +war without its glamour, and realise completely the suffering behind +the lines: the maimed, the blind, the women who weep. Only by a few of +us in happy England has the full tragedy of war been realised. Mere +words will never record it, but prisoners know "the heartbreak in the +heart of things." To us who have been behind the scenes, far from the +shouting and the tumult and the captains and the kings, the wretchedness +of it all remains indelible. Nothing can make us forget the broken men +and women, whose woes will haunt our times. + +But I was on the threshold of my experiences then, and the maidens of +Baghdad soon passed from memory, I fear--vanishing like the mists of +morning that hung over the river-bank at the outset of our journey. + +We travelled in that marvellous conveyance, the _araba_. To generalise +from types is dangerous, but the _araba_ is certainly typical of Turkey. +Its discomfort is as amazing as its endurance. It is a rickety cart with +a mattress to sit on. A pole (frequently held together by string) to +which two ponies are harnessed (frequently again with string) supplies +the motive power, which is restrained by reins mended with string, or +encouraged by a whip made of string. The contrivance is surmounted by a +patchwork hood tied down with string. A few buckets and hay nets are +strung between its crazy wheels. Such is the _araba_. How it holds +together is a mystery as inscrutable as the East itself. If all the +vitality expended in Turkey on starting upon a journey and continuing +upon it were turned to other purposes, the land might flourish. But the +philosophy which makes the _araba_ possible makes other activities +impossible. + +A full two hours before the start, when the world is still blue with +cold, travellers are summoned to leave their rest. Then the drivers +begin to feed their ponies. When this is done they feed themselves. +Then, leisurely, they load the baggage. Finally, when all seems ready, +it occurs to somebody that it is impossible to leave before the cavalry +escort is in saddle. "Ahmed Effendi" is called for. Everyone shouts for +"Ahmed Effendi," who is sleeping soundly, like a sensible man. He wakes, +and, to create a diversion perhaps, accuses a driver of stealing his +chicken. The driver replies in suitable language. Meanwhile time passes. +The disc of the sun cuts the horizon line of the desert, disclosing us +all standing chill and cramped and bored and still unready. A pony has +lain down in his harness, in an access of boredom, no doubt. A goat has +stolen part of my scanty bread ration and is now browsing peacefully in +the middle distance. Far away a cur is barking at the jackals. Some of +our escort have retired to pray, others are still wrangling. Two or +three are engaged in kicking the bored pony. + +After recovering from the goat my half-loaf, which is so much better +than no bread in the desert, I watch with amazement the Turkish +treatment of the pony. A skewer is produced and rammed into the +unfortunate animal's left nostril. So barbarous does this seem that I am +on the point of protesting, when suddenly the animal struggles to its +feet, and stands shivering and wide-eyed and apparently well again. +After the wound has been sponged and the pony given a few dates, it +seems equal to fresh endeavour. The blood-letting has cleared its +brain--and no wonder, poor beast. + +At length all seems ready. We climb into the _araba_. But we are not off +yet. We sit for another hour while the drivers refresh themselves with a +second breakfast. A rhyme keeps running through my frozen brain: + + "Slow pass the hours--ah, passing slow-- + My doom is worse than anything + Conceived by Edgar Allan Poe." + +But I did not realise then how lucky we were to be travelling by +carriages at all. Nor did I realise what an honour it was to be +presented to the local governors through whose districts we passed. It +was only late in captivity, when merged in an undistinguished band of +prisoners, that I understood the pomp and circumstance of our early +days. Late in 1915 a prisoner was still a new sort of animal to the +Turks. They were curious about us, and to some extent the curiosity was +mutual. One kept comparing them with the descriptions in "Eöthen." + +Proceedings generally opened in a long low room. The local magnate sat +at a desk, on which were set a saucer containing an inky sponge, a dish +of sand, and some reed-pens. A scribe stood beside the _kaimakam_ and +handed him documents, which he scrutinised as if they were works of art, +holding them delicately in his left hand as a connoisseur might consider +his porcelain. Then with a reed-pen he would scratch the document, still +holding it in the palm of his hand, and after sprinkling it carefully +with sand would return it to the scribe. All this was incidental to his +conversation with us or with other members of the audience. There were +never less than ten people in any of the rooms in which we were +interviewed, and as they all made fragmentary remarks, one quoting a +text from the Koran, another a French _bon mot_, and a third introducing +some question of local politics, and as the governor asked us questions +and signed papers and kept up a running commentary with his friends, one +felt exactly like Alice at the Hatter's tea party. + +"A Turk does not listen to what you are saying," I have since been told, +"he merely watches your expression." That this is true of the uneducated +I have no doubt, and if correct about the educated Turk I daresay it is +not to his discredit. Demeanour in Oriental countries counts for much. + +But at Samarra our demeanour was sorely tried. We had been travelling +about three days in the desert, when we arrived at this desolate and +dishevelled spot. I longed to lie down and shut my eyes, and forget +about captivity for a bit, but no!--there came a summons to attend the +ghastly social function I had already learned to loathe. + +The Governor of that place was a _tout ŕ fait civilisé_ Young Turk, +sedentary, Semitic, and very disagreeable. + +"Is it true that you dropped bombs on the Mosque at Baghdad?" he asked. + +And-- + +"Do you know that the population of Baghdad nearly killed you?" + +And-- + +"Do you know that in another month the English will be driven into the +Persian Gulf?" . . . and so on. + +We denied these soft impeachments, and then his method became more +direct. + +"Some of your friends have been killed and captured," he said--"the +commandant of your flying corps, for instance." + +Seeing us incredulous, he accurately described the Major's appearance. + +"And there is someone else," the _kaimakam_ continued in slow tones that +iced my blood. "Someone who may be a friend of yours. A young pilot in a +fur coat." + +My heart stood still. + +"He was killed by an Arab," the _kaimakam_ added. . . . + +Here I will skip a page or two of mental history. The defeat of my +country, the death of my friend, the crumbling of my hopes: little +indeed was left. . . . . . + +Let five dots supply the ugly blank. There is sorrow and failure enough +in the world without speculating on tragedies that never happened. +Baghdad was taken later, my friend proved to be captured, not killed, +and I write this by Thames-side, not the Tigris. + +The inhabitants of Samarra are, I believe, the most ill-balanced people +in the world. This trait is well known to travellers, and we found it no +traveller's tale. On first arriving at Samarra, we halted in the +rest-house on the right bank of the river, and were enjoying our frugal +meal of bread and dates when a sergeant came to us from the Governor +with orders that we were to be instantly conveyed to his residence, +which is situated in the town across the river. We demurred, and our own +sergeant protested, but the Governor's emissary had definite orders, and +we were hurried down in the twilight. Here we found that there was no +boat to take us across. The Samarra sergeant shouted to a boatful of +Arabs, floating down the river, but they would not stop. Louder and +louder he shouted, till his voice cracked in a scream. Growing frantic +with rage, he fired his revolver at the Arabs. Of course he missed them, +but the bullets, ricochetting in the water, probably found a billet in +the town beyond. The Arab occupants merely laughed in their beards. We +also laughed. Then the sergeant declared that we would have to swim, and +we urged him in pantomime to show the way. + +Eventually he spied a horse-barge down river, with a naked boy playing +beside it. Reloading his revolver, a few shots in his direction +attracted the lad's attention. Then an old man came out of a hut by some +melon beds, to see who was firing at his son. + +Another shot or two and the old man and the boy were prevailed upon to +take us across. We had secured our transport at last, and the whole +transaction seemed (in Samarra) as simple as hailing a taxi. + +I bought a melon from the boy, and he snatched my money contemptuously. +To take things without violence is a sign of weakness in Samarra. I +noticed afterwards that all the boys and girls in this happy spot were +fighting each other or engaged in killing something. And their elders +keep something of the feckless violence of youth. I do not think that +there are any good Samarratans. + +After the interview with the Governor already mentioned, which ended by +a refusal on our part to speak with him further, we were sent to pass +the night in a filthy hovel, whose only furniture consisted of a bench +and a chair. Our sergeant was sitting on this chair when an officer +rushed in and jerked it from under him, leaving him on the floor. As a +conjuring trick it was neat, but as manners, deplorable. We were glad to +get away from the place. + +Very few incidents came to diversify the monotony of our desert travel. +One day, however, we met some Turkish cavalry going down to the siege of +Kut. They were a fine body of troops, a little under-mounted perhaps, +but thoroughly business-like. Their officers were most chivalrous +cavaliers. Here in the desert, where luxuries were not to be had for +money or for murder, they frequently gave us a handful of cigarettes, or +a parcel of raisins, or else halted their squadron and asked us to share +their meal. With these men one felt at ease. They were soldiers like +ourselves. They did not ask awkward questions, and were told no lies. I +remember especially one afternoon in the Marble Hills when we sat in a +ring drinking tea and smoking cigarettes, with the panorama of the +desert spread out before us, from the southward plains of Arabia to the +hills of the devil-worshippers, misty and mysterious, in the north. We +talked about horses all the time. A modern Isaiah delivered himself of +the following sentiment, in which I heartily concur: + +"Where there is no racing the people perish." + +The first-line Turk has many fine qualities, of which generosity and +gallantry are not the least. Something in Anglo-Saxon blood is in +sympathy with the adventure-loving, flower-loving Turk. But, alas! there +is another type of Ottoman, with the taint of Tamerlane. "When he is +good he is very very good, but when he is bad he is horrid." + +In the latter category I must regretfully place the sergeant who +commanded our escort. He came of decent stock (to judge by his charming +sisters, and his own appearance indeed) but his mind was all mud and +blood. He had been Hunified. Turkey would always be fighting, he said. +The English were almost defeated. The Armenians were almost +exterminated. But the Greeks remained to be dealt with, and the cursed +Arabs. Finally the Germans themselves. In an apotheosis of Prussianism +Turkey was to turn on her Allies and drive them out. Such was his creed. +But a glow of courage lit the dark places of his mind. He loved fighting +for the sheer fun of the thing. A few days beyond Samarra we were +attacked by some wandering Arabs, who swept down on us in a crescent. +Our guards panicked, but he stood his ground, and, seizing a rifle, +dispersed the enemy by some well-directed shots. Whether we were near +deliverance or death on that occasion I do not know, but that the panic +amongst our escort was not wholly unreasonable was evinced by the fact +that only a few hours earlier we had passed the headless trunk of a +gendarme, strapped upon a donkey. He had been decapitated as a warning +to the Samarratans that two can play at the game of savagery. + +The sight of the corpse had unnerved our guard, and as for myself, I did +not know whether to be glad or sorry when the Arabs attacked us. To be +taken by them meant either going back to the English or to the dust from +which we came. The alternative was too heroic to be agreeable. +Contrariwise, I was much disappointed when our sergeant finally drove +them off. That evening, as if to point the moral, we found the body of +another gendarme, also murdered, lying on a dung-heap outside the +rest-house. This was at Shergat, the former capital of the Assyrians, +and now a squalid village, where, however, the widows of Ashur were +still "loud in their wail." + +Here we dined with the fattest man I have ever seen. He was really a pig +personified, but as we both gobbled out of the same dish and ate the +same salt, I will not further enlarge on his appearance. + +In the upper reaches of the Tigris there are wild geese so tame that +they come waddling up to inspect the rare travellers through their land. +I thought it might be possible to catch one of these animals on foot. +Coquettishly enough they kept a certain distance. "We don't mind your +looking at us," they seemed to say, "but we _do_ object to being pawed +about." With the coming of the railway I am afraid a gun will destroy +their belief in human kind. + +The geese appeared to enjoy the smell of sulphuretted hydrogen, which +prevails in these regions. The whole country is rich in natural oils and +bitumen. One day it will make somebody's fortune, no doubt, and then the +geese will waddle away from perspiring prospectors. . . . + +Before we arrived at Mosul we stopped for a bath at the hot springs of +Hammam-Ali, where we met (in the water) a patriarch with a white beard, +who confidently assured us that he was a hundred years old and would +continue to live for another hundred, such were the beneficent +properties of the water. Before his days are numbered he may live to see +a Hydro at Hammam-Ali--poor old patriarch. He told us a lot about Jonah +(whose tomb is at Nineveh, just opposite Mosul, on the other side of the +river), and I am not sure that he did not claim acquaintance with that +patriarch. He was quite one of the family. + +Mosul, he told us, was a heaven on earth, a land flowing with milk and +honey, where we should ride all day on the best horses of Arabia, and +feast all night in gardens such as the blessed _houris_ might adorn. + +It was with a certain elation, therefore, that I saw the distant +prospect of Mosul next morning, set in its surrounding hills. A fair +city it seemed, white and cool, with orange groves down to the river and +many date-trees. But a closer acquaintance brought cruel disappointment, +as generally happens in the East. The blight of the Ottoman was +everywhere; there was dirt, decrepitude, and decay in every corner. +Children with eye-disease, and adults with leprosies more terrible than +Naaman's jostled each other in the mean streets. Whole quarters of the +city had given up the ghost, and become refuse heaps, where curs grouted +amongst offal. Mosul, like our escort-sergeant's mind, seemed a muddle +of mud and blood. + +With sinking hearts we drove to the barracks, and were shown into a +dark, gloomy office, where our names were taken. Thence we were led to a +still murkier and more mouldering room, inhabited--nay, infested--by +some ten Arabs. Through this we passed into a cell with windows boarded +up, which was, if possible even damper, darker, and more dismal than +anything we had yet seen. After the sunlight and great winds of the +desert we stood bewildered. Death seemed in the air. + +Then out of the gloom there rose two figures. They were British +officers, who had been captured about a month previously. So changed and +wasted were they that even after we had removed the boards from the +little window we could hardly recognise them. One of these officers was +so ill with dysentery that he could hardly move, the other had high +fever. + +Our arrival, with news from the outer world, bad though it was, +naturally cheered them considerably, for nothing could be worse than +their present plight. + +The ensuing days called for a great moral effort on our part. It was +absolutely imperative to laugh, otherwise our surroundings would have +closed in on us. . . . We cut up lids of cigarette boxes for playing +cards. We inked out a chessboard on a plank. We held a spiritualistic +séance with a soup-bowl, there being no table available to turn. We told +interminable stories. We composed monstrous limericks; and we sang in +rivalry with the Arab guard outside, who made day hideous with their +melody and murdered sleep by snoring. + +But when there is little to eat and nothing to do, time drags heavily. +Two cells with low ceilings that leaked were allotted to the four of us. +In these we lived and ate and slept, except for fortnightly excursions +to the baths. We were allowed no communication with the men, who lived +in a dungeon below. Their fate was a sealed book to us. We had nothing +to read. Under these conditions one begins to fear one's brain, +especially at night. It was then that it began to run like a mechanical +toy. Like a clockwork mouse, it scampered aimlessly amongst the dust of +memory, then suddenly became inert, with the works run down. I grew +terrified of thinking, especially of thinking about my friend in the fur +coat. + +The night hours are the worst in captivity. One lies on the floor, +waiting for sleep to come, but instead of blessed sleep, "beloved from +pole to pole," thoughts come crowding thick and fast on consciousness, +thoughts like clouds that lower over the quiescent body. Each second +then seems of inconceivable duration. But there is no escape from Time. + +During the day, however, things were more bearable, and occasional +gleams of humour enlivened the laggard moments. + +Among our guard there were several sentries who (I thought) might +conceivably help us to escape. One dark night, one of these men +whispered the one word "Jesus," and made the sign of the Cross, as I +passed him. After this introduction I naturally hoped that he might be +of use. He was a fine figure of a man, with a proud poise of head, and +aquiline nose, as if some Assyrian god had been his ancestor. I was +gazing at him in admiration the next day, and gauging his possibilities +through my single eye-glass, when a curious thing happened. + +Our eyes met. He seemed mesmerised by my monocle. For a long time we +stared at each other in silence, then, thinking the sergeant of the +guard would notice our behaviour, I discreetly dropped my eye-glass and +looked the other way. The sentry's mouth quivered as if I had made a +joke, but instead of smiling, he burst suddenly into a storm of tears. +The sergeant of the guard (a swart, sturdy little Turk) rushed out to +see what had happened. There was the big sentry, wailing, and actually +gnashing his white teeth. I stood awkwardly, looking as innocent as I +felt. The sergeant bristled like a terrier, pulled the sentry's poor +nose, and boxed his beautiful ears, while the victim continued to +blubber and look piteously in my direction. + +But I could not help him at all. I had not the slightest idea what was +the matter, nor do I know now. Hysteria, I suppose. + +Eventually that great solvent of perplexity, nicotine, came to relieve +the awkward situation. First the sergeant accepted a cigarette, then, +more diffidently, the sentry. Later I put in my eye-glass again, and +convinced them, I think, that its use did not involve the weaving of any +unholy spell. + +This eye-glass, by the way, survived all the fortunes of captivity. +Through it I surveyed the moon-lit plains beyond the Tigris when I +planned escape in Mosul, as shall be told in the next chapter. Later it +scanned the desert's dusty face for any hope of release. At +Afion-kara-hissar it helped me search for a pathway through our guards. +At Constantinople it was still my friend. Through it, a month before +escape, I looked at the slip of new moon that swung over San Sophia on +the last day of Ramazan, wondering where the next moon would find me. +And when the next moon came, I watched the sentries by its aid, on the +night of our first escape. And it was in my eye when I slipped down the +rope to freedom. + +But this chapter is getting "gaga." It has a happy ending, however. + +One evening when the + + ". . . little patch of blue, + That prisoners call the sky" + +had turned to sulky mauve, and the air was heavy with storm, and our +fellow-prisoners were depressed, and the Arab guard was bellowing songs +outside, and we were peeling potatoes for our dinner by the flicker of +lamp-light, and life seemed drab beyond description, there came great +news to us. Two other officers had arrived. + +Next moment they peered into our den, even as we had done. And they were +angry, amazed, unshaven, bronzed by the desert air, even as we had been. +There in the doorway, ruddy and fair and truculent like some Viking out +of time and place, stood the young pilot I had last seen at Aziziah. He +was alive, my friend in the fur coat. + +The desert had delivered up its dead! + + + + + CHAPTER III + + THE TERRIBLE TURK + + +One draws a long breath thinking of those days of Mosul. But bad as our +case was, it was as nothing compared with that of the men. + +Some two hundred of them lived in a cellar below our quarters, through +scenes of misery, and in an atmosphere of death which no one can +conceive who does not know the methods of the Turk. Even to me, as I +write in England, that Mosul prison begins to seem inconceivable. +Huddled together on the damp flag-stones of the cellar, our men died at +the rate of four or five a week. Although the majority were suffering +from dysentery they not only could not secure medical attention, but +were not even allowed out of their cells for any purpose whatever. Their +pitiable state can be better imagined than described. Many went mad +under our eyes. Deprived of food, light, exercise, and sometimes even +drinking water, the condition of our sick and starving men was literally +too terrible for words. + +It is useless, however, to pile horror on horror. Sixty per cent. of +these men are dead, and this fact speaks for itself. No re-statement +can strengthen, and no excuse can palliate, the case against the Turks. +Our men in this particular instance were killed by the cynical brutality +of Abdul Ghani Bey, the commandant of Mosul, and his acquiescent staff. + +There is an idea that "the Turks treated their own soldiers no better +than our prisoners"; but this is a fallacy--at any rate with regard to +hell-hounds such as Abdul Ghani Bey. He took an especial pleasure in +inflicting the torments of thirst, hunger, and dirt upon the miserable +beings under his care. Animals, in another country, would have been kept +cleaner and better fed. + +Never shall I forget the arrival in January 1915 of a party of English +prisoners from Baghdad. About two hundred and fifty men, who had been +captured on barges just before the siege of Kut, had been taken first to +Baghdad and thence by forced marches to Kirkuk, a mountain town on the +borders of the Turko-Persian frontier. Why they were ever sent to Kirkuk +I do not know, unless indeed it was thought that the sight of prisoners +suitably starved would re-assure the population regarding the qualities +of the redoubtable English soldier. After being exhibited to the +population of Kirkuk our men continued their journey, through the bitter +cold of the mountains, barefoot and in rags, arriving at last at Mosul +shortly after the New Year. Only eighty men then remained out of the +original two hundred and fifty, but although their numbers had dwindled +their courage had not diminished. + +First there marched into our barrack square some sixty of our soldiers +in column of route. They were erect and correct as if they were marching +to a king's parade. Surely so strange a column will never be seen again. +All were sick, and the most were sick to death. Some were barefoot, some +had marched two hundred miles in carpet slippers, some were in +shirt-sleeves, and all were in rags; one man only wore a great-coat, and +he possessed no stitch of clothing beneath it. But through all adversity +they held their heads high among the heathen, and carried themselves +with the courage of a day "that knows not death." Silently they filed +into the already crowded cellar, out of our sight, and many never issued +again into the light of the sun. + +After these sixty men had disappeared the stragglers began to stagger +in. One man, delirious, led a donkey on which the dead body of his +friend was tied face downwards. After unstrapping the corpse he fell in +a heap beside it. Dysentery cases wandered in and collapsed in groups on +the parade ground. An Indian soldier, who had contracted lockjaw, kept +making piteous signs to his mouth, and looking up to the verandah, where +we stood surrounded by guards. But no one came to relieve those +sufferers, dying by inches under our eyes. + +That night we managed, by bribing the guards, to have smuggled upstairs +to us at tea-time two non-commissioned officers from among the new +arrivals. Needless to say, we spent all our money (which was little +enough in all conscience) in providing as good a fare as possible, and +our famished guests devoured the honey and clotted cream we had to +offer. Then one of them suddenly fainted. When he had somewhat recovered +he had to be secretly conveyed below, and that was the end of the +party--the saddest at which I have ever assisted. The officer who +carried the sick man down spent several hours afterwards in removing +vermin from his own clothes, for lice leave the moribund, and this poor +boy died within a few days. + +Sometimes, when our pay was given us, or there occurred an opportunity +to bribe our guard, it was our heart-breaking duty to decide which of +the men we should attempt to save, by smuggling money to them out of the +slender funds at our disposal, and which of their number, from cruel +necessity, were too near their end to warrant an attempt to save. + +Something of the iron of Cromwell enters one's mind as one writes of +these things. If we forget our dead, the East will not forget our shame. +Sentiment must not interfere with justice. Abdul Ghani Bey, who shed our +prisoners' blood, must pay the penalty. He is the embodiment of a +certain type--perhaps not a very common type--of Turk, but common or +not, he is one of the men responsible for the terrible death-rate among +our soldiers. A short description of him, therefore, will not be out of +place. + +He was a small man, this tiny Tamerlane, with a limp, and a scowl, and +bandy legs. His sombre, wizened face seemed to light with pleasure at +scenes of cruelty and despair. He insulted the old, and struck the weak, +and delighted in the tears of women and the cries of children. This is +not hyperbole. I have seen him stump through a crowd of Armenian widows +and their offspring, and after striking some with his whip, he pushed +down a woman into the gutter who held a baby at her breast. I have seen +him pass down the ranks of Arab deserters, lashing one in the face, +kicking another, and knocking down a third. I have seen him wipe his +boots on the beard of an old Arab he had felled, and spur him in the +face. I hope he has already been hanged, because only the hangman's cord +could remove his atavistic cruelty. + +His subordinates went in deadly fear of him, and while it was extremely +difficult to help our men, it was practically impossible to help +ourselves at all in the matter of escape. Yet escape was doubly urgent +now, to bring news of our condition to the outer world. + +After much thought I decided that a certain wall-eyed interpreter who +came occasionally to buy us food was the most promising person to +approach. My friend and I laid our plans carefully. After a judicious +tip, and some hints as to our great importance in our own country, we +evinced a desire to have private lessons with him in Arabic, enlarging +at the same time upon the great career that a person like himself might +have had, had he been serving the English and not the Turks. Gradually +we led round to the subject of escape. At first we talked generalities +in whispers, and he was distinctly shy of doing anything of which the +dear commandant would not approve; but eventually, softly and +distinctly, and with a confidence that I did not feel, I made a +momentous proposal to him, nothing less than that he could help us to +escape. He winced as if my remark was hardly proper, and fixed me with a +single, thunder-struck eye. Then he quavered: + +"This is very sudden!" + +We could not help laughing. + +"This is no jesting matter," he said. "I will be killed if I am caught." + +"But you won't get caught. With the best horses in Arabia and a guide +like you. . . ." + +"Hush, hush! I must think it over." + +For several days he preserved a tantalising silence, alternately raising +our hopes by a wink from his wonderful eye, and then dashing them to the +ground by a blank stare. + +We lived in a torment of hope deferred. + +But time passed more easily now. The nights took on a new complexion, +flushed by the hope of freedom. From our little window I could see +across a courtyard to a patch of river. Beyond it, immense and magical +under the starlight, were the ruins of former civilisation--the mounds +of Nineveh, the tomb of Jonah, and the rolling downs that lead to the +mountains of Kurdistan. To those mountains my fancy went. If sleep did +not come, then there were enthralling adventures to be lived in those +mountains, adventures of the texture of dreams, yet tinged with a +certain prospective of reality. . . . We had bought revolvers, our +horses were ready, we had bribed our guard. We rode far and fast, with +our wall-eyed friend as guide. By evening we were in a great +forest. . . . + +But reality proved a poor attendant on romance. A sordid question of +money was our stumbling-block, and a high enterprise was crippled--not +for the first or last time--by want of cash. We had already given the +interpreter five pounds (which represented so much bread taken out of +our mouths), but now he stated that further funds were indispensable to +arrange preliminaries. This seemed reasonable, for arms and horses could +not be secured on credit in Mosul. Unfortunately, however, funds were +not available. We could not, in decency, borrow from other prisoners to +help us in our escape. At this juncture our guide, philosopher, and +friend lost--or embezzled--a five-pound note that had been entrusted to +him by another prisoner to buy us food. Whether he lost it carelessly or +criminally I am not prepared to state, but the fact remains he lost it. +Our fellow-prisoner very naturally complained to the Turks, as the +absence of this five pounds meant we could buy no food for a week. + +The Turks arrested the interpreter. He grew frightened, invented a story +about the complainant having asked him to help in an escape, then +recanted, vacillated, contradicted himself, and got himself bastinadoed +for his pains. + +The bastinado, I may as well here explain, is administered as follows: +the feet of the victim are bared, and his ankles are strapped to a pole. +The pole is now raised by two men to the height of their shoulders. A +third man takes a thick stick about the diameter of a man's wrist, and +strikes him on the soles of the feet. Between twenty and a hundred +strokes are administered, while the victim writhes until he faints. No +undue exertion is necessary on the part of the executioner, for even +after a gentle bastinado a man is not expected to be able to walk for +several days. + +The wall-eyed interpreter was brought limping to our cell about three +days after his punishment. He was brought by Turkish officers, who +wished to hear from our own lips a denial of his story that we had been +plotting an escape. + +It was a dramatic, and for me rather dreadful, moment. Indignantly and +vehemently we denied ever having asked his help. Only myself and +another, besides the interpreter, knew the truth. To the other officers +at Mosul (there were nine of us then, sharing two little cells) this +black business is only now for the first time made known. Their +indignation, therefore, was by no means counterfeit. + +"The man must be mad. No one ever dreamed of escaping," I stated, +looking fixedly into the interpreter's one eye, which, while it implored +me to tell the truth, seemed to hold a certain awe for a liar greater +than himself. + +"But----" he stammered, cowed by the circumstance that for once in his +life he was telling the truth. + +"But what?" we demanded angrily. "Let the villain speak out. His story +is monstrous." + +"Besides, we are so comfortable here," I added parenthetically. + +Eventually the wretched man was led gibbering to an underground dungeon. +What happened to him afterwards I do not know. I publish this story +after careful thought, because, if he was "playing the game" by us, why +did he talk to the Turks about escape? If, on the other hand, he was a +prison spy, then his punishment is not my affair. + +The treachery of the interpreter was an ill wind for everyone, for our +guards were sent away to the front (which is tantamount to a sentence of +death) and the vigilance of our new guards was greater than that of the +old. Intrigue was dead and our isolation complete. + +In these circumstances it may be imagined with what excitement I +received the news that the German Consul wanted to see me in the +commandant's office. It was the first time for a fortnight that I had +left my cell. + +I entered slowly, and after saluting the company present, first +generally, and then individually, I took a dignified seat after the +manner of the country. Ranged round the room were various notables of +Mosul--doctors, apothecaries, priests, and lawyers. On a dais slightly +above us sat the Consul and the commandant. For some time we kept +silence, as if to mark the importance of the occasion. Then a cigarette +was offered me by the commandant. I refused this offering, rising in my +chair and saluting him again. + +At last the German Consul spoke. + +He had been instructed by telegraph, he told me, to pay me the sum of +five hundred marks in gold. The money came from a friend of my father's. +I begged him to thank the generous donor, and a whole vista of +possibilities immediately rose to my mind. + +The money would be given me next day, the Consul continued, and a +_kavass_ of the Imperial Government would go with me into the _bazaar_ +to make any purchases I required. + +This conversation took place in French, a language of which the +commandant was quite ignorant, and I saw that here was an ideal +opportunity for bringing the plight of our prisoners to light. But the +Consul, I gathered, wanted to keep on friendly terms with the Turks. +Some of the things I told him, however, made him open his eyes, and may +have made his kultured flesh creep. + +"I will come again to-morrow," he said hurriedly--"you can tell me more +then." + +After this he spoke in Turkish at some length to the commandant, while +the latter interjected that wonderful word _yok_ at intervals. + +_Yok_, I must explain, signifies "No" in its every variation, and is +probably the most popular word in Turkish. It is crystallised +inhibition, the negation of all energy and enthusiasm, the motto of the +Ottoman Dilly and Dallys. Its only rival in the vocabulary is _yarin_, +which means "to-morrow." + +"Yok, yok, yok," said the commandant, and I gathered that he was +displeased. + +That night I made my plans, and when summoned to the office next day I +was armed with three documents. The first was a private letter of thanks +to Baron Mumm for his generous and kindly loan. The second was a +suggestion that the International Red Cross should immediately send out +a commission to look after our prisoners at Mosul. And the third was a +detailed list of articles required by our men, with appropriate +comments. Items such as this figured on the list: + +Soap, for two hundred men, as they had been unable to wash for months. + +Kerosene tins, to hold drinking-water, which was denied to our +prisoners. + +Blankets, as over 50 per cent. had no covering at all. + +These screeds startled the company greatly. The Consul stared and the +commandant glared, for the one hated fuss and the other hated me. I was +delightfully unpopular, but when an Ambassador telegraphs in Turkey, the +provinces lend a respectful ear. My voice, crying in the wilderness, +must needs be heard. + +Summoning an interpreter, the commandant demanded whether I had any +cause for complaint; whereupon the following curious three-cornered +conversation took place--so far as I could understand the Turkish part: + +"The men must be moved to better quarters," said I. "Until this is +arranged nothing can be done." + +"He says nothing can be done," echoed the interpreter. + +"Then of what does he complain?" asked the commandant. + +"The very beasts in my country are better cared for," I said. "Our men +are dying of hunger and cold." + +"He says the men are dying of cold," said the interpreter, shivering at +his temerity in mentioning the matter. + +"The weather is not my fault," grumbled the commandant, "perhaps it will +be better to-morrow. Yes, _yarin_." + +And so on. Talk was hopeless, but before leaving I gave the German +Consul to understand that he now shared with Abdul Ghani Bey the +responsibility for our treatment. To his credit, be it said, the +commandant was removed shortly after our departure. + +Two days after this interview we were moved from Mosul, where our +presence was becoming irksome no doubt. Before leaving I left all my +fortunate money, except five pounds, with the Consul, asking him to form +a fund (which I hoped would be supplemented later by the Red Cross) for +sick prisoners. Twelve months later this money was returned to me in +full, but I fancy that it had done its work in the meanwhile. + +On the day before our journey I went shopping with the Imperial _kavass_ +aforesaid, and it was a most pompous and pleasant excursion. Although I +wore sandshoes and tattered garments, what with my eyeglass, and the +gorgeous German individual, dressed like a Bond Street _commissionaire_, +who carried my parcels and did my bargaining, I think we made a great +impression upon the good burgesses of Mosul. + +We threaded our way among Kurds with seven pistols at their belts, and +Arabs hung with bandoliers, and astonishing Circassians with whiskers +and swords. Almost every male swaggered about heavily armed, but a blow +on their bristling midriff would have staggered any one of them. Their +bark, I should think, is worse than their bite. + +After a Turkish bath, where I graciously entertained the company with +coffee, we strolled round the transport square, where we chaffered +hotly for carriages to take us to Aleppo. + +The material results of the morning were: + +Some food and tobacco for the men staying behind. + +Rations for ourselves, consisting of an amorphous mass of dates, +cigarettes, conical loaves of sugar, candles, and a heap of unleavened +bread. + +Carriages for our conveyance to Aleppo. + +But the moral effect of our excursion was greater far. I sowed broadcast +the seeds of disaffection to Abdul Ghani Bey. To the tobacconist I said +that the English, Germans, Turks, and all the nations of the earth, +while differing in other matters, had agreed he was a worm to be crushed +under the heel of civilisation. To the grocer I repeated the story. To +the fruiterer I said his doom was nigh, and to the baker and candlestick +maker that his hour had come. + +Everyone agreed. _Conspuez le commandant_ was the general opinion. + +"In good old Abdul Hamid's days," they said, "such devil's spawn would +not have been allowed to live." + +It was a matter of minutes before rumours of his downfall were rife +throughout the city. + +Next day he came to see us off, bow-legs, whip, and scowl and all. He +stood stockily, watching us drive away, and then turned and spat. But +the taste of us was not to be thus easily dispelled. He will remember +us, I hope, to his dying day. May that day be soon! + + + + + CHAPTER IV + + "OUT OF GREAT TRIBULATION. . . ." + + +We had left a sad party of prisoners behind us, alas! but we had done +what little we could for them. Confined as we had been, their sufferings +had only added to our own. The best hope for them lay in the German +Consul. He could do more, if he wished, than we could have achieved for +all our wishes. Nothing could have been more hopeless than our position +at Mosul. But now at least there was the open road before us, and hope, +and health. + +The desert air is magnificent. The untamed winds seemed to blow through +every fibre of one's being, and clear away the cobwebs of captivity. The +swinging sun, the great spaces of sand, the continuous exercise, and the +lean diet of dates and bread, produce a feeling of perfect health. +Indeed, after a day or two I began to feel much too well to be a +prisoner. Under the desert stars one thought of the lights of London. +Perversely, instead of being grateful for the unfettered grandeur of +one's surroundings, one thought regretfully of the crowded hours one +spends among civilised peoples. And, oh, how tired I was of seeing +nothing but men! One of the worst features of captivity is that it is +generally a story without a heroine. + +After the second day of travel I was really seriously in need of a +heroine, for my friend had developed high fever. If only there had been +a ministering angel among our party! I did my best, but am not a nurse +by nature. My friend grew so weak that he could not stand; and I began +to doubt whether he would get to our journey's end. + +But although no heroine came to our help, a hero did. As he happens to +be a Turk, I will describe him shortly. Let us call him the Boy Scout, +for he did (not one, but many) good actions every day. Out of his valise +he produced a phial of brandy, tea, sugar, raisins, and some invaluable +medicines. All these he pressed us to accept. He even tried to make me +believe that he could spare a box of Bir-inji (first-class) cigarettes, +until I discovered he had no more for himself. At every halting place he +went to search for milk for my friend. Until we had been provided for, +he never attended to his own comforts. After eighty miles of travelling +everyone is tired, but although the Boy Scout must have been as tired as +any of us, for he rode instead of driving, and although he had no +official position with regard to us, no brother officer could have been +more helpful or more truly kind. From the moment of our meeting we had +been attracted by each other. At times, a look or an inflection of voice +will proclaim a kindred spirit in a perfect stranger. Something happens +above our consciousness; soul speaks to soul perhaps. So it was with the +Boy Scout. He was unknown to me when I first saw him, dark-eyed and +graceful, riding a white horse like a prince in a fairy book, and we +spoke no common language, but somehow we understood each other. + +He was a high official, I afterwards heard, travelling incognito, and +had been engaged on Intelligence work for his country in Afghanistan. +But, although an enemy in theory, he was a friend in fact. The war was +far. Here in the desert we met as brothers. A finer figure of a man I +have rarely seen, nor a truer gentleman. He was an ardent Young Turk, +and if other Young Turks were cast in such a mould, there would be a +place in the world for the race of Othman. But I have never seen another +like him. + +His manners were perfect, and although we discussed every subject under +the sun in snatches of French and broken bits of Persian, we always +managed to avoid awkward topics such as atrocities, reprisals, and the +like. He guessed, I think, that I often thought of escape, and said one +day: + +"I shall fully understand if you try to get away, but you will forgive +me, won't you, if I use my revolver?" + +I assured him I would. + +"Good!" he laughed, "because I am a dead shot!" + +One day we must meet again, and pick up the threads of talk. + +At Ress-el-Ain we separated for a time, and my friend was carried into +the train, where he lay down and took no further interest in the +proceedings. I also lay down, exhausted by anxiety. I was glad to be +quit of the desert. Under other conditions it might have been charming, +but its glamour is invisible to a captive's eyes. + +The train journey was not very interesting, except for the fact that our +guard commander (excited perhaps by the approach to civilisation, or +else because he was free from the restraining influence of our teetotal +Boy Scout) purchased a bottle of _'araq_ and imbibed it steadily on the +journey between Ress-el-Ain and Djerablisse. + +_'Araq_, the reader must know, is otherwise known as _mastic_ or +_douzico_, and is a colourless alcohol distilled from raisins and +flavoured with aniseed, which clouds on admixture with water, and tastes +like cough-mixture. It is an intoxicant without the saving grace of more +generous vintages. It inebriates but does not cheer. + +At Djerablisse, on the Euphrates, our guard commander supplemented the +fiery _'araq_ with some equally potent German ration rum. By the time we +got to Aleppo next day, he was reeking of this blend of alcohols. Not +all the perfumes of Arabia could have stifled its fumes, nor all the +waters of Damascus have quenched his thirst. He was besotted. + +Escape would have been possible then. We had become separated from the +rest of our party and were in charge of one old, sleepy, and rather +friendly soldier. There seemed to be some doubt in his mind as to where +we should pass the night, but we eventually arrived at a small and clean +Turkish hotel, where we were told, rather mysteriously, that we should +be among friends. + +I looked for friends, but as everyone was asleep, it being then two +o'clock in the morning, I decided to have a good night's rest before +making any plans. Our dainty bedroom was too tempting to be ignored. The +curtains were of Aleppo-work, in broad stripes of black and gold. The +rafters were striped in black and white. The walls were dead white, the +furniture dead black. Three pillows adorned our beds, of black, and of +crimson, and of brilliant blue, each with a white slip covering half +their length. The bed-covers were black, worked with gold dragons. It +was like a room one imagines in dreams, or sees at the Russian Ballet. + +After a blissful night, between sheets, and on a spring mattress, tea +was brought to us in bed, and immediately afterwards, as no guards +seemed to be about, I rose, greatly refreshed, and dressed in haste. My +idea was to order a carriage to drive us to the sea-coast at Mersina, +from which place I felt sure it would be possible to charter a boat to +Cyprus. + +But these hasty plans were dispelled by finding the Boy Scout waiting +for me in the passage. + +"Your guard commander was ill," he explained, "so I arranged that you +should be brought to this hotel, where you are my guests. And I want you +to lunch with me at one o'clock." + +My face fell, but of course there was no help for it. And the Boy +Scout's hospitality was princely indeed. + +After delicious hors-d'oeuvres (the _mézé_--as it is called in +Turkey--is a national dish) and soup, and savoury meats, we refreshed +our palates with bowls of curds and rice. Then we attacked the sweets, +which were melting morsels of honey and the lightest pastry. After +drinking the health of the invalid (who could not join us of course) in +Cyprian wine, we adjourned to the Boy Scout's room for coffee and +cigarettes. Here I found all his belongings spread out, including +several tins of English bully-beef and slabs of chocolate, which he said +was his share of the loot taken after our retirement at the Dardanelles. +He begged us to help ourselves to everything we wanted in the way of +food or clothing; and he was ready, literally, to give us his last +shirt. After having fitted us out, he telephoned to the hospital about +the patient, and made arrangements that he should be received that +afternoon. + +Some hours later, accordingly, I drove to the hospital with my friend, +accompanied by two policemen who had arrived from district headquarters, +no doubt at the Boy Scout's request. + +We were met at the entrance of the hospital by two odd little doctors. + +"What is the matter with him?" squeaked Humpty in French. + +"Fever," said I. + +"Fever, indeed!" answered Dumpty, "let's look at his chest." + +"And at his back," added Humpty suspiciously. + +My friend disrobed, shivering in the sharp air, and these two strange +physicians glared at him, standing two yards away, while the Turkish +soldier and I supported the patient. + +"He hasn't got it," they said suddenly in chorus. + +"Hasn't what?" + +"Typhus, of course. Carry him in. He will be well in a week." + +I doubted it, but the situation did not admit of argument. We carried +him in, through a crowd of miserable men in every stage of disease, all +clamouring for admittance. No one, I gathered, was allowed into that +hospital merely for the dull business of dying. They could do that as +well outside. Thankful for small mercies, therefore, I left my friend in +the clutches of Humpty and Dumpty, and even as they had predicted, he +was well within a week. + +There is something rather marvellous about a Turkish doctor's diagnosis. +Such trifles as the state of your temperature or tongue are not +considered. They trust in the Lord and give you an emetic. Although +unpleasant, their methods are often efficacious. + +It was now my turn to fall ill, and I did it with startling suddenness +and completeness. I was sitting at the window of the house in which we +were confined in Aleppo, feeling perfectly well, when I began to shiver +violently. In half an hour I was in a high fever. That night I was taken +to Humpty and Dumpty. Next morning I was unconscious. + +I will draw a veil over the next month of my life. Only two little +incidents are worth recording. + +The first occurred about a week after my admittance to hospital, when my +disease, whatever it was, had reached its crisis. A diet of emetics is +tedious, so also is the companionship of people suffering from _delirium +tremens_ when one wants to be quiet. An end, I felt, must be made of the +present situation. Creeping painfully out of my bed, I went down the +passage, holding against the wall for support. It was a dark, uneven +passage, with two patches of moonlight from two windows at the far end. +Near one of these pools of light I caught my foot in a stone, and +slipped and fell. I was too weak to get up again. I cooled my head on +the stones and wondered what would happen next. Then I began to think of +seas and rivers. All the delightful things I had ever done in water kept +flitting through my mind. I remembered crouching in the bow of my +father's cat-boat as we beat up a reach to Salem (Massachusetts) with +the spray in our faces. And I thought of the sparkling sapphire of the +Mediterranean and the cool translucencies of Cuckoo-weir. . . . No one +came to disturb my meditations. The moonlight shifted right across my +body, and slowly, slowly, I felt the wells of consciousness were filling +up again. I was, quite definitely, coming back to life. It was as if I +had really been once more in America and Italy and by the Thames, living +again in all memories connected with open waters, and as if their solace +had somehow touched me. Their coolness had cured me, and I was now +flying back through imperceptible ether to Aleppo. I was coming back to +that passage in a Turkish hospital. . . . + +Did I draw, I wonder, upon some banked reserve of vitality, or were my +impressions a common phase of illness? Anyway, when I came to, I was a +different man. The waters of the world had cured me. + +Later, during the journey to Afion-kara-hissar, I had a relapse. This +second incident of my illness was a spiritual experience. Having been +carried by my friend to the railway station, I collapsed on the +platform, while he was momentarily called away. So dazed and helpless +was I that I lay inconspicuously on some sacks, a bundle of skin and +bone that might not have been human at all. Some porters threw more +sacks on the pile and I was soon almost covered. But I lay quite still: +I was too tired to move or to cry out. As bodily weakness increased, so +there came to me a sense of mental power, over and beyond my own poor +endowments. I thrilled to this strange strength, which seemed to mount +to the very throne of Time, where past and future are one. Call it a +whimsy of delirium if you will, nevertheless, one of the scenes I saw in +the cinema of clairvoyance was a scene that actually happened some three +months later, at that same station where I lay. . . . I saw some hundred +men, prisoners from Kut and mostly Indians, gathered on the platform. +One of these men was sitting on this very heap of sacks; he was sitting +there rocking himself to and fro in great agony, for one of the guards +had struck him with a thick stick and broken his arm. But not only was +his arm broken, the spirit within him (which I also saw) was shattered +beyond repair. No hope in life remained: he had done that which is most +terrible to a Hindu, for he had eaten the flesh of cows and broken the +ordinances of caste. His companions had died in the desert without the +lustral sacrifice of water or of fire, and he would soon die also, a +body defiled, to be cast into outer darkness. For a time the terror and +the tragedy of that alien brain was mine; I shared its doom and lived +its death. Later I learnt that a party of men, coming out of the great +tribulation of the desert, had halted at this station, and a Hindu +soldier with a broken arm had died on those sacks. I record the incident +for what it is worth. + +Without my friend I should never have achieved this journey. My +gratitude is a private matter, though I state it here, with some mention +of my own dull illness, in order to picture in a small way the +sufferings of our men from Kut. When some were sick and others hale, the +death-rate was not so high, but with many parties, such as those whose +ghosts I believe I saw, there was no possibility of helping each other. +So starved and so utterly weary were they, that they had no energy +beyond their own existence. Many men must have died with no faith left +in man or God. + + * * * * * + +On arrival at Afion-kara-hissar, we were shown into a bare house. For a +day I rested blissfully on the floor, asking for nothing better than to +be allowed to lie still for ever and ever. But this was not to be. On +the second day of our stay we noticed signs of great excitement among +our guards. They nailed barbed wire round our windows, and they watched +us anxiously through skylights, and counted us continually, as if +uncertain whether two and two made four. + +Presently the meaning of their precautions was divulged. Some English +prisoners had escaped, and our captors were engaged in locking the +stable door after the steeds had gone. All the prisoners in +Afion-kara-hissar were marshalled in the street, and marched off to the +Armenian church, situated at the base of the big rock that dominates the +town. Hither we also marched, with our new companions, singing the +prisoners' anthem: + + "We _won't_ be bothered about + Wherever we go, we always shout + We won't be bothered about. . . . + We're bothered if we'll be bothered about!" + +greatly to the astonishment of the townsfolk, who connected the Armenian +church with massacres rather than melody. The leader of our band was a +wounded officer, in pyjamas and a bowler hat (this being the sum of his +possessions) who waved his crutch as a conductor's baton. (Alas! his +cheery voice is stilled, for he died in hospital a year later. R.I.P.) I +can still see him hobbling along--a tall figure in pink pyjamas, with +one leg swinging (bandaged to the size of a bolster) and his hat askew, +and his long chin stuck out defiantly--hymn-writer and hero +_manqué_--fit leader of lost causes and of our fantastic pageant to that +church. + +It was a gay and motley crew of prisoners of all nationalities and +conditions of life who entered its solemn and rather stuffy precincts. +We were all delighted to be "str[-a]fed" in a worthy cause. Three good men +had escaped, and more might follow later. + +To anyone in decent health the month we spent in the Armenian church +must have been an interesting experience. Even to me, it was not without +amusement. Imagine a plain, rather gloomy, church, built of oak and +sandstone, with a marble chancel in the east. Two rooms opened out on +either side of the altar, and there was a high gallery in the west. In +the body of the building the English camped. One of the small rooms was +taken by the French, the other we reserved for a chapel. The Russians +chiefly inhabited the space between the chancel and the altar, but the +overflow of nationalities mingled. Our soldier servants were put in the +gallery. When everyone was fitted in, there was no space to move, except +in the centre aisle. There was no place for exercise nor any +arrangements for washing or cooking. During our stay in the church two +men died of typhus, and it is extraordinary that the infection did not +spread, considering the lack of sanitation. During the first night of +the strafe, the Russians, accustomed to pogroms in their own country, +thought there was a likelihood of being massacred, and kept watch +through the small hours of the morning by clumping up and down the aisle +in their heavy boots. All night long--for I was sleepless too--I watched +these grave, bearded pessimists waiting for a death which did not come, +while the French and English slept the sleep of optimists. At last dawn +arrived, and lit the windows over the altar, and a few moments later the +sunlight crept into the northern transept. Then the Russians gave up +their vigil, dropped in their tracks, and at once began snoring in the +aisle, like great watch-dogs. + +The noise the two hundred of us made in sleeping was remarkable. +Probably our nerves were rather queer. The church was never silent +through the night. Some cried out continually in their slumbers, others +went through a pantomime of eating. Some moaned, others chuckled. One +sleeper gave a hideous laugh at intervals. One could hear it deep down +in his throat, and mark it gradually bubbling to his lips until he grew +vocal like some horrible hyena. But it is small wonder that the +prisoners in the church were restless. The marvel is that they slept at +all. Nearly all of us had lived through trying moments, and had felt the +hand of Providence, whose power makes one tremble. We knew the shivers +of retrospection. One officer, for instance, wounded in an attack on +Gallipoli, had been dragged as a supposed corpse to the Turkish trenches +and there built into the parapet. But he was none the worse now for his +amazing experiences, except that he suffered slightly from deafness, as +his neck had formed the base of a loophole. Then there was a man, left +as dead after an attack, who recovered consciousness but not the use of +his limbs, and lay helpless in the path of the Turkish retreat. For an +hour the passers-by prodded him with bayonets, so that he now has +twenty-seven wounds and a large gap in his body where there should be +solid flesh. From the very brink of the valley of the shadow this boy of +nineteen had returned to life. Again, there was a young Frenchman, who +lay four days and nights between the lines, dying of the twin tortures +of thirst and a stomach wound; but by a miracle he survived, and now at +night, sometimes, when will lost its grip on consciousness, he would +live those ninety-six hours again. Then there were the submarine crews, +out of the jaws of the worst death conceivable. One crew had lived for a +whole day struggling in a net at the bottom of the Dardanelles while the +air became foul and hope waned, and the submarine "sweated," and depth +charges exploded so close to them that on one occasion the shock knocked +a teapot off a table! Hemmed in and helpless, the clammy agony of that +suspense might well haunt their sleeping hours. + +But on the whole our psychology was normal. Only, at nights, if one lay +awake, did one realise the stress and stark horror through which the +sleepers had lived. Out of four hundred officers "missing" at the +Dardanelles, only some forty were surviving at Afion-kara-hissar. This +fact speaks for itself. + +By day we wandered about, so far as the congestion permitted, making +friends and exchanging experiences. To us, lately from Mesopotamia, the +then unknown story of Gallipoli stirred our blood as it will stir the +blood of later men. + +I ate and drank the anecdotes of Gallipoli as they were told me. I loved +the hearing of them, in the various dialects of the protagonists, from a +lordly lisp to a backwood burr. The brogue, the northern drawl, the +London twang, the elided g's or the uncertain h's, had each their +several and distinct fascination. There is joy in hearing one's own +tongue again after a time of strange speech and foreign faces. + + "Beyond our reason's sway, + Clay of the pit whence we were wrought + Yearns to its fellow-clay." + +The many voices of the many British were better than sweet music. + +But we had plenty of sweet music as well. The sailors amongst us were +the cheeriest crew imaginable. + +A résumé of our life at that time would be that we sang often about +nothing in particular, swore continually at life in general, smoked +heavily, gambled mildly, and drank _'araq_ when we could get it, and tea +when we couldn't. Not everyone, I hasten to add, did all these things. +As in everyday life, there were some who said that the constant +cigarette was evil, and that cards were a curse, and drink the devil. +But, again, as in everyday life, their example had no effect on cheerful +sinners. + + "Here's to the bold and gallant three + Who broke their bonds and sought the sea" + +sang one of the poets of our captivity, and all of us French, Russians, +and English, took up the chorus with a roar. The Turkish sentries +protested vainly, and some, ostentatiously loading their rifles, went up +to the Western gallery which overlooked the body of the church. As we +were being treated like Armenians, they could not understand why we did +not behave like Armenians and herd silently together, as sheep before a +storm. Instead, two hundred lusty voices proclaimed to anyone who cared +to listen that we were not downhearted. + +See us then at midnight, seated at a table under the high altar. About +fifty of us are celebrating somebody's birthday, and a demi-john of +_'araq_ graces the festive board. We have sung every song we know, and +many we don't. + + "Jolly good song and jolly well sung, + Jolly good fellows every one. . . . + Wow! Wow!" + +The chorus dies down, and the Master of the Ceremonies, still in pyjamas +and bowler hat, rises on his sound leg and standing (swaying slightly) +at the head of the table, raps on it with his crutch for silence. + +One officer wears a soup-bowl for a Hun helmet. Others are dressed as +parodies of Turks, and have been acting in a farce entitled "The +Escape." Two Irish friends of mine are singing "The Wearing of the +Green," while others are patriotically drowning their voices. A +submarine skipper, with a mane of yellow hair over his face, like a lion +in a picture-book, watches a diplomat dancing a horn-pipe. A little bald +flying man of gigantic strength and brain, is wrestling with a bearded +Hercules. Some sailors are singing an old sea-chanty. + +The rough deal table, littered with pipes and glasses, the tallow-dips +lighting the vaulted gloom, the bearded roysterers singing songs older +than Elizabeth's time, the simple fare of bread and meat, the simpler +jokes and horseplay, took one back through centuries to other men who +made the best of war. In Falstaff's time such scenes as these must have +passed in the taverns of Merrie England. Only here, there were no +wenches to serve us with sack. We had to mix our own _'araq_. + +"Silence, if you please," says he of the long jowl, using his crutch as +a chairman's hammer. "Silence for the prisoners' band." + +The band begins. It consists of penny whistles, banjos, castanets, +soup-bowls, knives and forks, and anything else within reach. The +_motif_ of the piece is our release. _Andante con coraggio_ we pass the +weary months ahead. Then the dawn of our liberation breaks. We smash +everything we possess, while the train to take us away steams into the +station. + +Sh! Shh! Shhh! Chk! Chk! Chk! Bang! Swish!! We take our seats amid a +perfect pandemonium. Then the train whistles--louder and louder--and we +move off--faster and faster and faster and _faster_, until no one can +make any more noise, and the dust of our stamping has risen like incense +to the roof, in a grand finale of freedom. + +Strange doings in a church, you say? But what would you? We had nowhere +else to go. There is a time for everything after all, and it is a poor +heart that never rejoices. I feel sure Solomon himself would have sung +with us, and proved most excellent company. + +On Sunday mornings Divine Service was always well attended. Perhaps by +contrast with my usual methods of passing the time, those Sabbath hours +are set as so many jewels in the tarnished shield of idleness. The +fadeless beauty of our Common Prayer brought hope and consolation to all +of us who were gathered together. We repeated the grand old words; we +sang "Fight the Good Fight" and "Onward, Christian Soldiers." We shared +then, however humbly, in the tears and triumph of our cause. We were not +of that white company that was to die for England, but we could share +the sorrow of the women who mourned, and of the old who stood so sadly +outside the fray. + +And as through a magic door, I passed from that barren room to a country +church where the litany for all prisoners and captives went up to +Heaven, mingled with the fragrance of English roses. + + + + + CHAPTER V + + THE LONG DESCENT OF WASTED DAYS + + +Afion-kara-hissar means "Black Opium Rock" in Turkish, but it is not as +interesting a place as it sounds. The only romantic visitors are the +storks, who use it as an aerodrome on their bi-annual migrations. They +blacken the sky when they come, in flights a thousand strong, swooping +and circling over the plain and alighting finally near the black rocks +that give the town its name. With one leg tucked up, and pensive beak +back-turned, they form arresting silhouettes against the sunset. And +curiously enough, the Turkish children know that they bring babies to +the home. + +We lived in four cottages, connected by a common garden. They were quite +new--so new that they had no windows or conveniences. We fitted frames +and panes, we erected bathrooms, installed kitchen ranges, made beds out +of planks and string, and tables out of packing-cases. We made +everything, in fact, except the actual houses. + +I daresay that at this time we were better treated than the officer +prisoners in Germany. Not so the men. We officers had plenty to eat, +though it cost a great deal, but the men were always half starved when +for any reason they could not supplement their ration from Ambassador's +money, or private remittances from home. Every month the American (and +later the Dutch) Embassy used to send a sum of money to our prisoners to +help them buy something more nourishing than the black bread and soup +provided by the Turks. When this relief did not arrive in time, or the +Turks delayed in distributing it, our men suffered the greatest +hardship. Treatment in Turkey was all a question of money. The officers +could, and did, cash cheques while in captivity, and were able to pay +for the necessities (and sometimes also the minor luxuries) of +existence, but the men were entirely dependent on what was given them. +Although some had bank balances, no one except an officer was allowed to +write a cheque. + +Here it is fitting to say a word in praise of those organisations who +sent out parcels to our prisoners. No words can express our gratitude to +them. To us officers, parcels were sometimes in the nature of a luxury, +though none the less welcome. But to the men, who starved in dungeons of +the interior, they came as a very present help in time of need. The +prisoners' parcels saved many lives, and I hope the kind people who +worked so hard at home against all sorts of difficulties and +disappointments realise how grateful we are, and what a great work they +did. Besides the material relief of provisions, the moral effect of a +parcel from home on the mind of a sick prisoner cannot be over +estimated. To open something packed by English hands was like a breath +of home to him. + +We were allowed no communication with the men, so it was very difficult +to help them. Whether the worst done to our prisoners in Germany equals +the worst in Turkey I do not know. To compare two horrors is profitless. +But I do know something of the sufferings of our men, and when I write +of my own petty amusements and comedies of captivity I do not for a +moment forget the tragedy of their lives. + +Light and shade, however, there must be in every picture, else it is not +a picture at all. And there must be colour in the canvas, however grim +the subject. + +The poppy fields, which give the town the first part of its name,[1] lay +right underneath our windows, across the station road. In June, when +they were white with blossom, and the farmers' wives came out to drain +the precious fluid from the buds, I used to gaze and gaze at the beauty +of the world, and long for freedom. To be cooped up in a little room +when the world was green and white, and the sky a flawless blue, and +summer rode across the open lands, was miserable. It was unbearable to +be growing old and immobile, like the hills on the horizon, when one +might be out among the poppy blossoms. Of what use to be alive, if one +did not share in the youth of the world? + +But we were closely guarded in our cottages and rarely allowed out, +except into the back garden--a bare space some hundred yards by thirty, +which was the scene of most of our small activities, from early morning +skipping to the mid-day display of our washing, and from the occasional +amateur theatricals of an evening to the rare but tense moments of an +attempted escape. + +A diary of my days might run as follows: + +_Monday._ Up at 6 a.m. Skipped 200 times. Two eggs for breakfast, tried +my new _pekmes_.[2] Read _Hilal_.[3] Looked out places on my hidden map. +Long argument about the use of cavalry in modern war. Walk in garden. +Mutton cutlets for lunch. Completed my new hammock. Argued about Free +Trade. Played badminton in garden. Read philosophy with ---- and ----. +_Sakuska_[4] party with ---- and ---- at 7.30. Watched Polly picking +opium. Dinner at 8. Soup, eggs, suet; very satisfactory. Bridge and bed. + +_Tuesday._ Up at 6.15. Skipped 250 times, and had a boxing lesson. +Painful. Two eggs for breakfast, but one bad. _Hilal_ did not arrive. +Argued about yesterday's cavalry news. Walk in garden. No meat for +lunch. Bitten by mosquitoes in my hammock. Argued about Protection. Ran +round the garden ten times. My wind is getting worse. _Sakuska_ party +at sevenish with ---- and ---- in my room. Polly was seen out walking +with a _posta_.[5] Dinner at 8. Mutton cutlets. Chess and bed. + +And so on, _ad infinitum_. + +I had at that time come to the conclusion that I could not reach the +coast from Afion-kara-hissar, so for some time I sought a mental rather +than a physical escape from my surroundings. Philosophy seemed an ideal +subject under the circumstances, and in the company of two friends of +like mind, I made some study of "Creative Evolution." Every afternoon we +used to forgather for tea, in a little room I had built, where our joint +contributions provided a well-selected pabulum of cakes and jam and +Bergson, so that the inner and the outer man were Platonically at one. +But to plunge from _le tremplin de la vie_ is not easy in captivity. +Lack of employment cripples imagination. The average mind works best +when it has practical things to do, and mine, such as it is, boggles at +abstractions more quickly than it tires of talk. + +When this occurred the best thing to do was to laugh. A friend and I +used to laugh for hours sometimes over weak and washy stories that would +hardly pass muster, even in the small hours of the morning. But they did +us good. Generally, however, the time between tea and dinner was spent +in learned and weighty discussions on appearance, reality, and the +problems of Being and Not-being. + +With my two friends + + ". . . the seed of Wisdom did I sow + And with my own Hand arboured it to grow, + But this was all the Harvest that I reaped-- + I came like Water and like Wind I go." + +Only unfortunately I did not go. I remained firmly at Afion-kara-hissar. +When philosophy failed me, the hours spent in planning escapes and +concocting cyphers were those which passed most easily. But the craft of +cyphers, interesting though it be, cannot be discussed in print. Like +the preparation of poisons, it must remain part of the unpublished +knowledge of the world, until the millennium. As regards escapes, some +of us thought a great deal, and did very little. There were, however, +some ingenious attempts made to get to Constantinople. One officer +conceived the idea of going there to be treated for hydrophobia, and, +after inflicting suitable wounds in the calf of his leg with a pair of +nail scissors, he asserted that a certain dog, well known in the camp, +had exhibited strange symptoms of insanity, amongst others, that of +suddenly biting him in the leg. This ruse would have succeeded but for +the fact that the Turks did not treat hydrophobia with any seriousness. +Kismet takes no account of the Pasteur system. Short of actually +snapping at someone, the officer could not have established a belief in +his infection. He found it simpler to feign another ailment. Two other +officers, however, of a still more picturesque turn of mind, declared +that they themselves were mad, and actually hung themselves as a proof +of insanity. They were found one morning by their astonished sentries +suspended from a rafter, and apparently in the last stages of +strangulation. Convinced that they were "afflicted of God," the Turks +sent them to hospital, and carefully watched for any symptoms of +suicidal mania. After various astonishing experiences, in their rôle of +madmen, amongst real madmen in a Turkish lunatic ward, they were +eventually exchanged. + +In sheer manual dexterity, our prisoners also showed great resource. The +soldiers who were employed on making a tunnel through the Taurus, to +take one example, succeeded in purloining various odds and ends from the +workshops where they laboured under German supervision, until they +eventually were able to build for themselves a complete collapsible +boat. This boat they actually tested at dead of night on a river near +their camp, before setting out to reach the coast. That success did not +crown their efforts was sheer bad luck. Luck, also, was against most of +the forty officers who concerted a simultaneous escape from Yuzgad, and +prepared for it in absolute secrecy, down to the smallest detail, for +months beforehand. Some of them even made their own boots. Only eight +out of the original party actually got out of the country, however. +Their story, surely one of the most remarkable ever written, has +recently been published. + +The two great difficulties in any attempt to escape were: firstly, that +the Turks, by spies or otherwise, studied the psychology of every +individual prisoner, setting special guards on the more enterprising +among them, and, secondly, that the distance of the camp from the coast, +and the number of brigands infesting every mile of that distance, was +such that it was extremely difficult to gain the sea, let alone embark +upon it. + +The spies made some very bad guesses about the intentions of the +prisoners. One harmless and elderly officer was seen greasing a pair of +marching boots, and this gave rise to the most sinister suspicions. +Where could the officer want to march to, except the coast? He was +immediately asked for his parole, and gave it. + +Exercise in any form was a sign of incipient madness in the eyes of the +Turks. Why, they argued, should anyone in his right mind skip five +hundred times, and then splash himself with ice-cold water? If he did +such things, he ought certainly to be placed under restraint. Boxing, +again, was a suspect symptom. A man who bled at the nose for pleasure +might commit any enormity. In order to circumvent suspicion it was +necessary to adopt the utmost caution. The method I myself employed is +described in a later chapter. One friend of mine, while training for a +trip to Blighty, habitually carried heavy lead plates hung round his +waist, to accustom himself to the weight of his pack. Such were the +internal difficulties. But outside the camp the problems were even more +puzzling. How to avoid the brigands--how to carry food enough for the +journey--how to elude our guards and get a few hours' start--what +clothes to wear and what pack to carry--how to find one's way--how to +get a boat once the coast was reached--here were well-nigh insoluble +questions, which provided, however, excellent topics for talk. + +I talked about these things for eighteen months. But I will ask the +reader to skip that dismal procession of moons, and come directly to the +day when I was asked by the Commandant to sign a paper stating that I +would not attempt to escape. I naturally refused, as also did another +officer to whom the same request was made. + +Our negotiations in this matter, while interesting to us at the time, +and involving the composition of several noble documents in French, led +to the sad result that we were both transferred, at an hour's notice, to +a little box of a house in the Armenian quarter. Once inside the house, +with the various belongings we had collected during a twelve-month of +captivity in Afion-kara-hissar, we two completely filled the only +habitable room. And although habitable in a sense, this room was already +occupied by undesirable tenants. + +I must here, rather diffidently, introduce the subject of vermin. But, +saving the public's presence, bugs are the very devil. Other insects are +nothing to them. Lice the gallant reader may have met at the front. +Fleas are a common experience. Centipedes and scorpions are well known +in India. But bugs are Beelzebub's especial pets, and Beelzebub is a +ruler in Turkey. It is quite impossible to write of my captivity there +without mentioning these small, flat creatures who live in beds. I +cannot disregard them: they have bitten into my very being. + +Imagine lying down, after a sordid day of dust and disagreeableness. One +thinks of home, or the sea. One tries to slide out to the gulfs of +sleep, where healing is. But rest does not come: there is a sense of +malaise. One's skin feels irritable and unclean. Presently there is an +itching at one's wrists, and at the back of one's neck. One squashes +something, and there is a smear of blood (one's own good blood) and one +realises that one's skin (one's own good skin) is being punctured by +these evil beasts. Almost instantly one squashes another. A horrible +odour arises. One lights the candle, and there, scuttling under the +pillow, are five or six more of these loathsome vermin. They not only +suck one's blood. They sap one's faith in life. + + "If one could dream that such a world began + In some slow devil's heart that hated man," + +indeed one would not be mistaken. In them the powers of Satan seem +incarnate. + +Having killed every bug in sight, one lies back and gasps. And then, out +of the corner of one's eye, creeping up the pillow, and hugely magnified +by proximity, another monstrous brute appears. It runs forward, +horribly avid, and eager, and brisk. All the cruelty of nature is in its +hideous head, all the activity of evil in its darting body. Presently +another and another appear. There is no end to them. You kill them on +the bed, and they appear on the walls. You search out and slaughter +every form of life within reach, but the bugs still drop on you from the +ceiling. No killing can assuage their appetite for a healthy body. +Reckless of danger, they batten on the young. Regardless of death, they +swarm to silky skin. Of two victims, they will always choose the one in +best condition. + +After being eaten by bugs for some time, one feels infected with their +contamination. It is almost impossible to rise superior to them. In one +night a man can live through the miseries of Job. + +It may be imagined therefore that our confinement in that little house +was not amusing. My companion in misfortune and myself lived in that box +for a week with the bugs, without once going out of the door. Now, to +stay in a room for a week may not seem a very trying punishment (I was +later to spend a month in solitary confinement); but when the punishment +is wholly undeserved, and when, moreover, one is wrongly suspected of +something one would like to do but has not done, and when one is bitten +all night, and when from confinement one sees other officers walking +about in comparative freedom, one naturally begins to fret. + +There were compensations, however. Firstly, a friendship grew between +my companion and myself which I hope will endure through life. Secondly, +as a prisoner, any sort of change is welcome. And, thirdly, we felt we +were doing something useful. The Commandant did not dare to force us to +sign parole. Neither could he keep us permanently in special restraint. +It is rarely that one gets the chance, as a prisoner, of putting the +enemy on the horns of such a dilemma. + +This Commandant, an ugly, drunken beast, who is now, I hope, expiating +the innumerable crimes he committed against our men, caused a search to +be made one day amongst the effects of all the prisoners at +Afion-kara-hissar. One of the most interesting things he found was a +diary kept by a senior British officer, with the following entry: + +"New Commandant arrived. His face looks as if it was meant to strike +matches on." + +No better description could possibly have been written. He was a vain +man, and it must have cut him to the quick to see himself as others saw +him. + +After a month of "special treatment" the Commandant learnt that Turkish +Army Headquarters, fearing reprisals, no doubt, would not support his +bluff in punishing us if we did not give parole. He had to climb down +completely. + +We were transferred to another house, in the Armenian quarter, already +occupied by some R.N.A.S. officers, who were all determined to escape +if opportunity arose. A very cheery house-party we made. + +The time was now the year of grace 1917, and our life was organised to +some extent. Once or twice a week we were allowed to play football, or +go for a walk. On Thursdays we used to troop down in a body to visit the +officers in the other houses, and on Monday mornings we were sometimes +able, with special permission, to attend the weekly fair of coke and +firewood held in the market-place. All this gave an interest to our +lives, and money, so long as one was prepared to write cheques, was not +a source of difficulty. The Turks, in fact, encouraged us to write +cheques, exchanging them for Turkish notes at nearly double their face +value (190 piastres for a pound was the best I myself received), because +they rightly thought that our signature was worth more than the +guarantees of the Turkish Government. I heard afterwards that our +cheques had a brisk circulation on the Constantinople Bourse. But one +was loth to write many. Five pounds is five pounds--and in Turkey it +represented only a packet of tea or a kilogram of sugar. . . . I saved +as much as I could for bribes when escaping. + +A microscopic, but not unamusing, social life was in full swing. There +were parties and politics, clubs and cliques. Each prisoner, according +to his temperament, took his choice between grave pursuits and gay. + +There were lecturers (really good ones) who discoursed on a wide range +of topics, from Mendelism to Mesopotamia. There were professors of +French, Italian, Greek, Russian, Turkish, Arabic, Hindustani, and I +daresay all the languages of Babel, ready to teach in return for +reciprocal instruction in English. Our library contained many luminous +volumes, kindly sent out by the Board of Trade. Law and Seamanship, +Semaphoring and Theology, Carpentry and the Integral Calculus, Gardening +and Genetics--such is a random selection of the subjects on which there +were experts available and eager to impart information. + +But, personally, my mind resisted the seductions of learning. I learned +only how to waste time. And sometimes, perhaps, I touched the hem of +Philosophy's garment, and stammered a few words to her. Otherwise I did +nothing except try to forget things . . . things seen. + +Yet one enjoyed oneself, occasionally. The football was great fun. So +also were some of the lighter sides of our indoor life. Poker used to +pass the time. So also, though more rarely, did reading. The plays which +a dramatist--soon to be eminent, I expect--presented to enthusiastic +audiences are delightful memories. His revues and topical verses were +worthy of a wider audience, and I am sure his work--unlike the most of +our labours--will not be wasted. + +But best of all, I think, was to sit in a circle on the floor round a +brazier on a winter's evening, and sip hot lemon _'araq_, and listen to +songs and stories. It was a relief to laugh, and forget the fate of +those we could not help. + + "Sweet life, if love were stronger, + Earth clear of years that wrong her . . ." + +sang a soft Irish voice, whose melody seemed to melt into the cold of +one's captivity. . . . Then there were the fancy dress balls held on New +Year's Eve in 1917 and 1918. So good were they that for the night one +completely forgot one's surroundings. A very attractive barmaid +dispensed refreshments behind a table. There were several debutantes, +and at least one chaperone. Pierrot was there, and Pierrette, and +Mephistopheles, and Bacchus, and a very realistic Pirate. If some +reveller in London had looked in on us at midnight he might easily have +fancied himself at an Albert Hall dance. He would certainly not have +guessed that all the clothes and furniture and food were home-made, and +that everyone in the room was a British officer. The self-confident +flapper, for instance, who could only have given him "the next missing +three" was a Major in the Flying Corps. And the girl at the bar, with +big brown eyes, who would have offered him _'araq_ so charmingly was +really a submarine officer of the Navy, and a well-known figure at "The +Goat." + +After functions such as these, the morning after the night before found +me wondering where it would all end. If the war lasted another ten +years, would I ever be fit to take a place in normal life? How long +could I keep sane in this topsy-turvy world? . . . + + * * * * * + +The weather in the winter of 1918 was absolutely arctic. For a month +there was a very hard frost, and during all this time, had it not been +for festivities such as the foregoing I should have stayed stupidly in +bed and hibernated until the spring. Intenser cold I have never felt. In +the room in which we dined the water froze in our glasses on several +occasions while we were eating our evening meal. Icy winds howled +through the house, and the paper windows we had improvised (to replace +unobtainable glass) had burst, through weight of snow. Also, the plaster +of the outer walls of our mansion had peeled off, so that cold blasts +penetrated through the walls. With few clothes and only one pair of +leaky boots it was impossible to keep warm and dry-shod. Fuel, of +course, was very scarce. In my bedroom some precious quarts of beer, +which I was preserving for Christmas, froze and cracked their bottles. I +invited a party to taste my blocks of amber ice, but they were better to +look at than to swallow. + +Under these climatic conditions washing was a labour that took one the +best part of the morning, and until I caught a chill I used to economize +time and fuel by rolling in the snow on the flat roof of my house. This +amused me, and surprised the neighbourhood, but it was a poor substitute +for a bath. That winter was a black, bleak time. + +During the hard frost it was impossible to escape, but we used +occasionally to reconnoitre the sentries outside our house after +lock-up. I have spent some amusing moments in this way, especially in +watching one sentry (generally on duty at midnight) who used to warm +himself by playing with a cat. With pussy on one arm and his rifle on +the other, he formed a delightfully casual figure. It would have been +quite easy to pass him, but the difficulties lay beyond. . . . + +I then thought, wrongly I dare say, that the only reasonable hope of +success lay in starting from Constantinople, and it was to this end that +my real schemes were shaping. But I thought it well to have two strings +to my bow, and besides, I considered no day well spent which did not +include some practical effort towards escape. + +A complex of causes contributed to this idea, which became almost an +obsession. First, I dare say, was boredom. Second, the feeling that one +was not earning one's pay or doing one's duty by remaining idly a +prisoner. And thirdly--or was it firstly?--the condition under which our +men were living and the crimes which had been committed against them +made it imperative that someone should get to England with our news. It +was high time, and past high time, that the civilised world should know +how our prisoners fared. + +I have already written the savage story of our life at Mosul, where the +men died from calculated cruelty. The history of the Kut prisoners is +even worse, for the crime was on a greater scale. + +That garrison, debilitated from the long siege and the climatic +conditions of Mesopotamia, were marched right across Asia Minor with +hardly any clothes, no money, and insufficient food. Their nameless +sufferings will never be known in full, for many died in the desert, +clubbed to death by their guards, stripped naked, and left by the +roadside. Others were abandoned in Arab villages, when in the last +stages of fever or dysentery. Others, more fortunate, were found dead by +their companions after the night's halt, when the huddled sleepers +turned out to face another day of misery. Hopeless indeed the outlook +must have seemed to some lad fresh from the fields of home. The brutal +sentries, the arid desert, the daily deaths, the daily quarrels, the +bitterness of the future, as bleak as the acres of sand that stretched +to their unknown destination, the dwindling company of friends, the grip +of thirst, the pangs of hunger, and the pains of death--such was the +outlook for many a lad who died between Baghdad and Aleppo. Ghosts of +such memories must not be lightly evoked amongst those alive to-day, +friends of the fallen, but always they will haunt the trails of the +northern Arabian desert. + +Through it all our men were heroes. To the last they showed their +captors of what stuff the Anglo-Saxon is made. The cowardly Kurds, who +were the worst of the various escorts provided between Baghdad and +Aleppo, never dared to insult our men unless they outnumbered them four +to one. Even then they generally waited until some sick man fell down +from exhaustion before clubbing him to death with their rifle-butts. + +In the middle of the desert, between Mosul and Aleppo, a friend of mine +found six half-demented British soldiers who had been propped up against +the wall of a mud hut and left there to die. There was no transport, no +medicines. Nothing could be done for them. They died long before the +relief parties organised at Aleppo could come to their rescue. + +At Aleppo the hospital treatment was extremely bad. + +All men who were fit to move (and many who were not) were sent on in +cattle trucks to various camps in the centre of Anatolia, and when at +length they reached these camps after vicissitudes which were only a +dreary repetition of earlier experiences, they came upon the plague of +typhus at its height, and naturally, in this weakened state, succumbed +by scores and hundreds. + +To see a body of our soldiers arriving at Afion-kara-hissar, pushed and +kicked and beaten by their escort, was terrible. + +Our men were literally skeletons alive, skeletons with skin stretched +across their bones, and a few rags on their backs. This is an exact +statement of things seen. They struggled up the road, hardly able to +carry the pitiful little bundles containing scraps of bread, a bit of +soap, a mug, all, in short, that they had been able to save from +systematic looting on the way. + +In silence, and unswerving, they passed up that road to the hospital, +and all who saw those companies of Englishmen so grim and gallant in +adversity must have felt proud their veins carried the same blood. + +Once in hospital our prisoners fared no better. There were no beds for +them, and hardly any blankets or medicines. They died in groups, lying +outside the hospital. + +It was a common sight to see sad parties of our men passing down this +same road, away from the hospital this time, and towards the cemetery. +Those weary processions, consisting of four or five emaciated men, with +a stretcher and a couple of shovels, used to pass underneath our windows +going to bury their comrade. They were a party of skeletons alive, +carrying a skeleton dead. + +[Footnote 1: Afion = opium.] + +[Footnote 2: _Pekmes_: a substitute for jam and sugar, made from +raisins.] + +[Footnote 3: The _Hilal_: a Moslem morning paper, published in French.] + +[Footnote 4: _Sakuska_: Russian for hors d'oeuvres--such as sardines, +frogs' legs, onions, bits of cheese, or indeed anything edible.] + +[Footnote 5: _Posta_: a Turkish sentry.] + + + + + CHAPTER VI + + THE PSYCHOLOGY OF PRISON + + +The contrast of tragedy and farce and the incidents, and the lack of +incident, which I have attempted to sketch in the foregoing chapter, had +a marked mental effect on all of us. But each felt the effects of +confinement differently. With me, I came to look on my life in Turkey as +something outside the actuality of existence. I did not feel "myself" at +all. I was disembodied, left with no link with the outer world, except +memory and anticipation. I was in a dark forest far from all avenues of +activity such as the sanity of society and the companionship of women. +My world seemed make-believe, and my interests counterfeit. + +I worked at a novel with a friend of mine, and for a time that seemed +something practical to do. But there was always the fear that it would +be taken from us by the Turks, and the possibility that we would never +publish it. + +Doubt and indecision lay heavy on me. I did not know how long captivity +would last. A criminal's sentence is fixed: not so a prisoner of war's. +He is dependent on matters beyond his control, and a will beyond his +narrow ambit. To reach that outside will, and to form a part of it +again, was my dominating wish. Through the glasses of captivity the +world was colourless and distorted. Only freedom could make me see it +again aright. And when freedom seemed remote, the world was very +colourless. + +The novel amused me by snatches. Learning languages amused me at times. +But these things were really the diversions of a child, who dreams +through all its lesson-time of another and a fairer world. + +But, unlike a child, I became absorbed in self. I analysed my moods, and +thought gloomily about my health. I mourned my youth, as my hair turned +grey. The sorrows of the spinster were mine and the griefs of the +middle-aged. The value of material things was magnified. The pleasures +of the palate, I confess, assumed an exaggerated importance. I found a +new joy in food, and sometimes I dreamed that I was eating. Also I +contracted the habit of smoking cigarettes in the middle of the night. +And I learnt that the effect of alcohol, when one is very depressed, is +like putting in the top clutch of the car of consciousness, so that one +runs forward smoothly on the road of life. In short, I enjoyed eating +and drinking and smoking in a way that I had never done before, and +never will again, I hope. But I know now why public-houses flourish. +After my own experience of deathly dullness, I heartily sympathise with +those who seek relief in alcohol and nicotine. They may be poison, but +in this imperfect world the deadliest poison of all is boredom. +Prohibition, as I saw it in Turkey, when tobacco was short, or food was +scarce, or alcohol was forbidden, did not impress me as being +beneficial. The fact is, we all need stimulant of one sort or another. +Normally our work, our home, or our hopes supply this need. Almost +everyone in the world is struggling (however carefully they may disguise +the fact) to be other than they are, and better (or worse) than they +are. We strive after superlatives and are rarely satisfied by them. But +in captivity, as in other circumstances of distress, this stay in life, +this hope of something different and wish for something _more_, is +suddenly removed. We are left without _stimuli_. Nothing seems to +matter. One's mental and material habits inevitably relax. A muddy idea +seems as good as a clear one--a sloppy suit of clothes serves as well as +a tidy one. Energy wanes. + +But why? The reason is that the average mind cannot live on +abstractions. It must grapple with something practical. One must sharpen +one's wits on the world, and it is just this that as a prisoner one +cannot do. One cannot "lay hold on life," because there is no life to +lay hold of, except an unnatural and artificial existence, where the +sympathy of women and the dignity of work are absent. That was the crux +of the matter. Sympathy and dignity were lacking in our life. We heard +of advances and retreats as from another sphere. We read of great +heroisms and great sorrows without being close to them. We had no part +in the quarrel. We were in a squalid by-way, living out a mean tragedy, +while the fate of all we loved was in the balance. Never again would we +go fighting. + +From the moment of our capture we had passed into a strange narrow life, +where the spirit of man, while retaining all its old memories and hopes, +could not express them in action. + +Captivity is a minor form of death, and I was dead, to all intents and +purposes. + +Often, lying a-bed in the early morning, I used to feel that my body was +completely gone, and that only a fanciful and feverish intelligence +remained. I remember especially one dawn in the spring of 1917, when I +watched two figures passing down the station road. Slouching towards the +station, and all unconscious of the beauty of the waking world, came a +soldier with his pack and rifle. He wore the grey Turkish uniform, his +beard was grey, his cheeks were also grey and sunken. Slowly, slowly he +dragged his heavy feet towards the train that would take him away to the +war. The train had been already signalled, I knew (for I kept notes of +the traffic in those days), and I found myself hoping anxiously that he +would not be late. The sooner he was killed the better. He was old and +ugly and ill. If only such as he could perish. . . . Then my thought +took wings of the morning. From the soldier, plodding onwards devotedly, +as so many men have gone to their deaths, my eye ranged across the +plains, lying dim and dark to eastward, to the horizon mountains of the +Suleiman Dagh, whose snow had already seen the messengers of morning +hasting from the lands below our world. And man seemed mean and minute +in the purposes of Nature. So ugly was he, such a blot on the landscape +with his trains and soldiers, that I wondered he continued to exist. +There was a life above our life in the dawn. The powers of the world +knew nothing of this soldier's hopes and fears. To them his endeavours +were a comedy. A huge mountain-back, with the gesture of some giant in +the playtime of long ago, seemed shrugging its shoulders at this +ridiculous straying atom of a moment's space. The train came in, and I +saw its smoke above the tree-tops of the station. It whistled shrilly, +and the soldier quickened his pace. No doubt he was late. Perhaps he +still survives, and is toiling even now towards some trench. Anyway he +passed from my ken, but I still stood at the window, looking towards the +mountains and the sky. + +Then there passed an archaic ox-cart, creaking down the road slowly, as +it has creaked down the ages, from the night of Time. It was drawn by a +white heifer, whose shoulders strained against the yoke, for it was a +heavy cart. But she went forward willingly, resignedly. Work was her +portion. She would live and die under the yoke. She licked her cool +muzzle, dusted flies with her neat tail, and looked forward with +wistful eyes that seemed to see beyond her working world, to some +ultimate haven for the quiet workers. Somewhere she would find rest at +last. To my feverish imagination that white heifer symbolised the pathos +of all the driven souls who go forward unquestioning to destiny. + +And the soldier with his pack was a type also of voiceless millions who +carry the burden of our civilisation. + +We stagger on, under the bludgeonings of chance, and but rarely lift our +eyes to the dawn, although a daily miracle is there. Someone conducts +the orient-rite, regardless of the lives of men, which come sweeping on, +on the tide of war, to end in foam and froth. Yet from this stir of hate +and heroism some purpose must surely rise. From the travail of the +trenches some meaning will be born. + +I saw things thus, through images and symbols. Across the vast inanity +of that waiting time, streaks of vision used to flash, like distant +summer lightning. Impermanent, but beautiful to me, they lit a fair +horizon. Else, all was dark. + +To call this time a death in life seems an overstatement, but if my +experiences in Turkey had any mental value at all, it was just this: to +teach me how to die. A curtain had come down on consciousness when I was +captured. Since then I only lived in the Before and After of captivity. +My old self was finished. I saw it in clear but disjunct pictures of +recollection: pig-sticking, sailing, dining, dancing, or on the road to +Messines one hard November night when feet froze in stirrups and horses +slipped and struck blue lights from the cobbles. And my new self awaited +the moment of freedom. It still stirred in the womb of war. + +Even so, in my belief, do the souls of our comrades lost consider their +lives on earth and look back on their time of trial with interest and +regret. Discarnate, they cannot achieve their desires, yet they long to +manifest again in the world of men. With level and unclouded eyes they +consider the incidents of mortality, and find in them a Purpose to +continue. There is work for them in the world through many lives, and +love, which will meet and re-meet its love. And so at last, drawn by +duty and affection, those who have woven their lives in the tapestry of +our time will one day take up the threads again. + + + + + CHAPTER VII + + THE COMIC HOSPITAL IN CONSTANTINOPLE + + +The one bulwark against morbidity was hope of an escape. Only by getting +away, or at any rate making an attempt, could I justify my continued +existence, when so many good men were dying in the world outside--and at +our own doors. + +Now certain spies, as I have told, were constantly on the look-out for +officers likely to give trouble to our custodians. The Commandant, I +knew, suspected me of wanting to escape, owing to my general eagerness +for exercise. I thought, therefore, that if I could induce him to +believe that I was ready to dream away my days at Afion-kara-hissar, I +should have established that confidence in my character which is the +basis of all success. I consequently purchased some two pounds of a +certain dark and viscous drug, wrapped in a cabbage leaf. With a sort of +theatrical secrecy (for even in Turkey Mrs. Grundy has her say), I +proceeded to prepare the stuff by boiling it for two hours in a copper +saucepan. I did this on a day when one of the Turkish staff came to the +house to distribute letters. Naturally the smell attracted notice. I +made flimsy excuses to account for it. + +After distilling the decoction, filtering, and then boiling it down to +the consistency of treacle, the first phase of my little plan was +ended. One of the Turkish staff, a certain Cypriote youth, had become +thoroughly interested in my proceedings. + +I showed him, under vows of secrecy which I knew he would not keep, the +stage property I had bought, consisting of two bamboo pipes, a lamp, a +terra-cotta bowl, some darning needles, and the "treacle" in a jampot. +Fortunately the most of these implements I had obtained second-hand from +a real opium-smoker, so that they did not look too new. Also I had read +de Quincey and Claude Farrčre. After discussing the subject at length, +the Cypriote suggested that we might smoke together one evening. I +agreed with alacrity. + +One night after lock-up, therefore, I slipped out of my house, with my +paraphernalia hidden under my overcoat. A specially bribed Turkish +sentry brought me to a silent, shuttered house in a side street. Here +the door was opened by an evil-looking harridan, who showed me upstairs +to a thickly carpeted room, strewn with cushions, on which my host was +lying. The blinds were drawn and only the glimmer of a little green lamp +lit the wreaths of whitish smoke which curled down from the low ceiling. +The fumes stang my palate and thrilled me with expectancy. I could +taste, rather than smell, that strange savour of opium which fascinates +its devotees. + +I lay down, in the semi-darkness, on a sofa beside my host. After some +general conversation, I showed him my pipes and needles, but he said +that for that evening I should only smoke the opium of his brewing. + +"It is a joy to have found a fellow-spirit," I sighed. "When one has +opium one wants nothing more." + +"How many pipes do you smoke a day?" he asked. + +"Fifty," I said boldly, adding, "when I am in practice." + +"That is nothing," said the Cypriote. "I smoke a hundred. Come, let us +begin. Time is empty, except for opium." + +"But who will prepare our pipes?" I asked. + +"We will do that ourselves," he answered. + +"I can't," I had to admit. "I--I am used to an attendant, who hands me +my pipes already cooked." + +"There is no one here," he said, "except an ugly old woman. But I will +show you myself. Half the pleasure is lost if another hand prepares the +precious fluid. See, you take a drop of opium--so--on the point of the +needle, and holding it over the flame of the lamp, you turn and turn it +gently until it swells and expands and glows with its hidden life. From +a black drop it changes to a glowing bubble of crimson. Then you cool it +again, moulding and pressing it back to a little pellet upon the glass +of the lampshade. Then again you cook it, and again you cool it. Only +experience can tell when it is ready to smoke. It is an art, like other +arts. I would rather cook opium than write a poem. It is even better +than money. Now you take your pipe and, heating the little hole through +which the opium is smoked, so that it will stick, you thrust your +needle--so--into the hole, and then withdraw it again, leaving the +pellet of perfect peace behind. And now, lying on your left side, with +your head well back amongst the cushions, you hold your pipe over the +flame and draw in a long and grateful breath. In and in you +breathe. . . ." + +I watched him take a deep draught of the drug, and then lie back among +the cushions with heavy-lidded eyes. For a full half-minute he remained +silent and dreaming, then expelled the thick white smoke with a sigh of +bliss. + +It was my turn now, and not without some dismay (although curiosity was +probably a stronger emotion) I accepted a pipe of his preparing. I +inhaled in and in--I choked a little--and then lay back with a +dreaminess that was not simulated, for it had made me feel giddy. + +"You prepare a most perfect pipe," I coughed through the acrid fumes. + +But I had realised immediately that I had not an opium temperament. In +all I smoked ten small pipes that first evening, without feeling any ill +effects beyond a heavy lassitude, which lasted all through the following +day. I was disappointed and disgusted by the experience. The beautiful +dreams are a myth. So also is the deadly fascination of the drug. I +loathed it more each time I tasted it. + +Yet those nights I lay on a sofa, _couché ŕ gauche_ as opium-smokers +say, weaving a tissue of deceit into the grey-white clouds encircling +us, will always remain one of the most curious memories of my life. The +couches, the needles and the pipes, the pin-point pupils and wicked +profile of my host, as he leaned over the green glimmer of the lamp +which burnt to the god to whom his heart was given, and the growth of +that god in him, as pipe followed pipe to stir his consciousness, and +the beatitude that lit his features, as he looked up from amidst the +cushions to that dream-world of subtle smoke, to be seen only with +narrowed eyes, where princes of the poppies reign: this had a glamour +against the drab setting of captivity which I will neither deny nor +excuse. I was doing something practical once more. Instead of reading +philosophy or playing chess, I was engaged in a human game, whose stake +was freedom. + +A measure of success attended my efforts, for I learnt from the +Cypriote, in the course of subsequent visits to his house, that if I +wished for a holiday to Constantinople it would not be difficult to +arrange. + +I think we were both playing a double game. + +We both tried to make the other talk, he with the idea of getting +information about the camp and I in the hope of picking up some hint as +to where to hide in Constantinople. But card-sharpers might as well have +tried to fleece each other by the three card trick. His knowledge of +Constantinople seemed to be _nil_, while the information he got out of +me would not have filled his opium pipe. After these excursions I used +sometimes to wonder whether I was not wasting my time and health. But +time is cheap in captivity, and as to health, I used to counteract the +opium by counter-orgies of exercises. In the early mornings I skipped +and bathed in secret, but in the daytime I tottered wanly about the +streets, and whenever I saw the Cypriote I told him that I craved for +_confiture_: this being our name for opium. + +In my condition it was an easy matter to be sent to the doctor. I told +him various astonishing stories about my health, chiefly culled from a +French medical work which I found in the waiting-room of his house. +Within a month I was transferred to Haidar Pasha Hospital, near +Constantinople. Had I been in brutal health, the operation to my nose +which was the ostensible reason of my departure would not have been +considered necessary. But I had been removed from the category of +suspects, and was now considered an amiable invalid. + + * * * * * + +The guard on my northward journey was more like a sick attendant than a +sentry. I showed him some opium pills, which I declared were delicious +to take. He evinced the greatest interest, and I was able to prevail on +him to swallow two or three as an experiment. Unfortunately, after he +had taken them, I discovered they contained nothing more exciting than +cascara. They did not send him to sleep at all. + +We arrived at Haidar Pasha without incident. Before being admitted, my +effects were searched, and stored away, but being by that time +accustomed to searches, I was able to hide, upon my person, a variety +of things that would be useful in an escape, notably a compass, and a +complete set of maps of Constantinople and its surroundings. + +Captain Sir Robert Paul, with whom I had discussed plans at +Afion-kara-hissar, was already installed in hospital, where he was being +treated for an aural complaint. His friendship was an inestimable +stand-by through the months that followed. Through scenes of farce and +tragedy he was always the same feckless and fearless spirit. In success, +as in adversity, he kept an equal mien. Without him, the most amusing +chapters in my life would not have happened, and if I write "_I_" in the +pages which follow, it is only because Robin, as I shall hereafter call +him, has not been consulted about this record of our days together. +Owing to circumstances beyond our control, the full responsibility for +this story must be mine. The seas divide us. I cannot ask his help, or +solicit his approval. + +The hospital at Haidar Pasha was the most delightfully casual place +imaginable. One wandered into one's ward in a Turkish nightshirt, and +wandered out again at will, the only limits to peregrination being the +boundaries of the hospital and one's own rather fantastic dress. Unless +one asked loudly and insistently for medicines or attendance, no one +dreamed of doing anything at all in the way of treatment. The only +attention the patients received was to be turned out of the hospital +when they were either dead or restored to health. Under the latter +category a crowd of invalids came every day, who were generally ejected +just before noon, clamouring loudly for their mid-day meal, and the +unexpended portion of their day's ration. Of deaths in hospital I +witnessed only one, although scores occurred during my stay. One evening +an Armenian officer was brought into my ward with severe wounds in the +head, due to a prematurely exploded bomb. He was laid flat on a bed, and +instantly proceeded to choke. No one came near him. It seemed obvious to +me that if he was propped up by pillows he would be able to breathe. But +no one propped him up. I suggested to the hospital orderly that this +should be done, and he said, "Yarin." And "yarin" the poor officer died +of lack of breath. How sick men survived is a mystery to me, because +they were never attended to, unless strong enough to scream. Screaming, +however, is a habit to which the Turkish patient is not averse. He does +not believe in the stoical repression of feeling. Strong and brave men +will bellow like bulls while their wounds are being dressed. Unless, +indeed, one makes a fuss, no one will believe one is being hurt. I have +seen mutton-fisted dressers tearing off bandages by main force, while +some unfortunate patient with a stoical tradition sweats with agony and +bites his lips in silence. + +But although the Turk cries out, he is by no means a coward under the +knife. His stern and simple faith seems to help him here. There is +something very fine about a good Moslem's readiness for death. No man +who knows the religion, or has lived intimately among its adherents, can +fail to give it reverence. Before God all men are equal, and when one +walks about in a nightshirt, one begins to realise this fundamental +truth. There was a great friendliness in that hospital, and a cordiality +that coloured the otherwise sordid surroundings. Poor jettison of the +war, broken with fighting, or rotten with disease, or shamming sick, we +forgathered in the corridors, or in the garden, with no thought for the +external advantages of rank and fortune. + +Matches at that time had practically disappeared from Turkey, and +whenever one issued from the ward with a cigarette between one's lips, +one was beset by invalids in search of a light. Who lit the original +vestal fire I do not know, but I am sure it was never extinguished in +that hospital. Patients smoked and talked all night. + +We took our part with pleasure in this picnic life. Robin, with +remarkable skill, had contrived to smuggle in various forbidden bottles, +which contributed greatly to our popularity. One drink especially, from +its innocuous appearance and stimulating properties, found great favour +amongst the patients. It was known as "Iran," and consisted of equal +parts of sour milk and brandy. A teetotaller might safely be seen with a +long glass of creamy-looking fluid, yet Omar Khayyám himself would not +have despised a jug of it. Imbibing this, we used to hold polyglot +pow-wows with the patients, in French, German, Arabic, Italian, and +Turkish. Sugar and tea from our parcels also did much to promote +cordiality. + +The recent explosion in Haidar Pasha station, which blew out all the +windows of our (adjacent) hospital, and the first British air raid of +1918 were frequent topics of discussion. With regard to these events we +invented a beautiful lie, namely, that the station explosions were the +result of bombardment by a new type of submarine we possessed, but that, +_per contra_, the first air raid, which did no damage, was not carried +out by British aircraft at all. We proved by assorted arguments in +various languages that the bombs on Constantinople had come from German +aeroplanes, the raid being a display of Hun frightfulness, to show what +would happen if Turkish allegiance wavered over the thorny question of +the disposal of the Black Sea fleet. Nothing was too improbable to be +true in Constantinople, and nothing indeed was too absurd to be +possible. Enver Pasha had made a monopoly in milk, and a corner in +velvet. The new Sultan was intriguing for the downfall of the Young +Turks. The funds of the Committee of Union and Progress had been sent to +Switzerland, where a Turkish pound purchased thirteen francs of Swiss +security, or half its face value. Fortunes were won and lost on the +meteoric fluctuations of paper money. A lunatic inmate of the hospital +(formerly a Smyrniote financier, driven to despair by the press gang) +told me that he could make a million on the bourse if they only set him +free for a few hours, and I daresay he was right. Anything might have +happened during those summer days. Secret presses were engaged in +printing broadsheets of revolution. The nearer the Germans got to Paris, +the more persistent were the stories of their defeat. The air was +electric with rumours. The story about German aeroplanes bombing +Constantinople, which we had started in jest, was retailed to us later, +in all earnestness, and with every detail to give it probability. +Anything to the discredit of their ally found currency in the Turkish +capital. + +An Ottoman cadet in my ward, for instance, used to impersonate a German +officer ordering his dinner in a Turkish restaurant. He managed somehow +to convey the swagger, and the stays, and the stiff neck. Clattering his +sword behind him, he used to seat himself stiffly at a table and call +haughtily for a waiter. Then, after glaring at the menu, he used to +order--a dish of haricot beans. "Des haricots," he used to snap, with +hand on sword-hilt in the exact and invariable Prussian manner. + +But to the last, the Germans were all-unconscious of what went on behind +their corseted backs. Only at the time of the armistice, when they were +pelted with rotten vegetables, did they realise that something was +amiss. + +To return to our hospital. Our day began with rice and broth at six in +the morning. At nine the visiting doctor made his rounds and the +patients who needed medicines clamoured for them. Unless one made a +fuss, however, one was left in perfect peace. At midday there was more +rice and broth, with occasional lumps of meat. The afternoon was devoted +to sleep, and the evenings to exercise in the garden, or intrigue. Rice +and broth concluded the day. This sounds dull, but after two years of +prison life, the hours seemed as crowded as a London season's. To begin +with, we did not attempt to subsist on hospital fare, but commissioned +various orderlies and friends to buy us food outside. Then there was the +never-failing interest of making plans. A certain person raised our +hopes to the zenith by telling us of the possibility of a boat calling +for us at night, at a landing place just below the British cemetery. The +idea was to embark in this boat, row across to a steamer, and there +enter large sealed boxes in which we would pass the Customs up the +Bosphorus, and then make Odessa. The plan was almost complete. The +shipping people had been "squared." It only remained for us to select +the spot from which to embark. With this object in view, we reconnoitred +the British cemetery which abutted on the hospital grounds. It was then +being used as an anti-aircraft station, and when, a few days later, the +first air raid came, we saw the exact positions of the Turkish machine +guns, spitting lead at our aircraft from among the Crimean graves. This +air raid, and the atmosphere of "frightfulness" caused thereby, rather +interfered with our escape plans. First of all we were forbidden to go +near the British cemetery, and later other small privileges were +curtailed which greatly "cramped our style." For some time we could not +get in touch with the person already alluded to. + +Meanwhile the arrival of our aeroplanes was a very stimulating sight. +Everyone in hospital turned out to see the show. + +Crump! crump! Woof!--said the bombs. + +Woo-woo-woom!--answered the Archies. + +Kk-kk-kk-kk! chattered the machine guns. + +"God is great," muttered the hospital staff. + +"Give me a gun!" cried one of the two British officers posing as +lunatics (I have already related how they had pretended to hang +themselves). "Give me a gun," he reiterated loudly--"this is all a plot +to kill me, and I must defend myself!" + +Calmly and confidently our machines sailed through the barrage, dropped +their bombs, turned to have a look at Constantinople, and then sailed +away. + +The British lunatic shook his fist at them, as he was led back gibbering +to his ward. The head doctor was much concerned as to his condition. + +"Every day," he told me--"some new madness takes that poor deluded +creature. Eighteen pounds were paid to him recently and he promptly tore +the notes in half and scattered them about the room. When he was asked +if he wanted anything from the Embassy he wrote for a ton of carbolic +soap, and half a ton of chocolate. On another occasion he jumped into +the hospital pond with his pipe in his mouth, declaring he was on fire. +I dare not send him to England without an escort, for he would do +himself some injury. As to the other British lunatic, he has not spoken +for five weeks. I do not know what is to be done." + +Neither did I, for I was not then aware of the patient's true condition, +and had no desire to "butt in." They had lived for several months among +the other madmen in hospital, and I thought it probable that they had +really lost their reason. + +The lunatics' ward was a terrifying place. My experience of it, although +limited to a few hours, was enough to last a lifetime. In order to +secure drugs for "doping" sentries I complained of severe insomnia one +day, and was sent to the mental specialist. While waiting for him, I +noticed that one of the British lunatics was regarding me with +unblinking furious eyes, while the other was praying--apparently for the +souls of the damned. The Greek financier was singing softly to himself, +and applauding himself. There is something very alarming about madness. +One feels suddenly and closely what a narrow margin divides us from a +world of terror. Their souls stand forlornly by their bodies, knocking +at the door of intelligence. + +When the mental specialist arrived, I was seized by grave alarm. What if +he should find me insane? . . . + +He held up a finger, tracing patterns in the air, and told me to watch +it closely. While I watched him, he watched me. + +"The moving finger writes," I thought, "and having writ . . ." + +"I can see your finger perfectly," I protested nervously. + +"Far from it," said the enthusiastic specialist. "You are not following +it with your eyes." + +"I am--indeed I am," said I, squinting at his fat forefinger. + +"I am told you cannot sleep," continued my interlocutor. "You seem to me +to be suffering from nervous exhaustion." + +"A little sleeping draught . . ." I suggested. + +"I ought to observe you for a few days," he answered. + +"Not here?" I quavered. + +"Yes, here." + +"But I do not like the--other lunatics," said I, in a small voice. + +Eventually, to my great delight, I was allowed to remain where I was, +and was given (as reward for the danger I had endured) several cachets +of bromide and a few tablets of trional. + +I returned in triumph to my ward, and Robin and I laid our heads +together. With the drugs we now possessed it would be possible to send +our sentries to sleep when we were moved from hospital, if the person +who was making plans for us to be taken on board a Black Sea steamer +failed to communicate in time. But the question now arose as to how much +of these drugs was suitable for the Turkish constitution. The object was +to administer a sleeping draught, not a fatal dose. If we were +transferred from Haidar Pasha we knew we should be sent for a time to +the garrison camp of Psamattia (a suburb of Constantinople on the +European side) and our intention was to inveigle our attendants into +having lunch during our journey there, and ply them with Pilsener beer, +suitably prepared, until they were somnolent and unsuspicious enough to +make it feasible to bolt. + +Neither the bromide nor the trional could be tasted in cocoa or coffee, +we discovered, so one evening, I regret to say, I carried out an +experiment on a wounded patient, who was otherwise quite fit, although +rather sleepless, by giving him a cachet of bromide and a tablet of +trional in a cup of cocoa. In about half an hour his eyelids began to +flicker, and he was soon sleeping like a lamb. Next morning he +complained of a slight headache. Should he chance to read these lines I +hope he will accept my apologies. _Ŕ la guerre comme ŕ la guerre._ + +So now we had the beginning of a second plan, in case the box business +_via_ the Black Sea failed. But, in the event of escaping during our +journey to Psamattia, we had no very clear idea of where to hide. That +there were Greek and Jewish quarters in Galata and in Pera we knew, and +also in the northern part of Stamboul, but the chances of detection in +any of these localities were great, especially as we had no disguises at +the time. There remained a possibility of hiding in the ruins of recent +fires, but it was difficult to see how we were to live there. On the +whole the Black Sea trip seemed to offer the most favourable +opportunities of success. But to carry it out, we had to wait, and wait, +and still to wait, until we heard from our agent again. And eventually +the time came when we could wait no longer. . . . + +A week or two is nothing in Turkey, but unfortunately we had attracted a +certain amount of undesirable attention in hospital by our popular +supper-parties and reputed wealth. There was also a Bulgarian nurse who +had an uncanny intuition about our intentions. She told the visiting +doctor that two other nurses were in the habit of bringing us brandy. +She also said we were both quite well and had never in fact been ill at +all. The latter statement was true, but the former I can only attribute +to pique, the brandy having come from other sources. However, this did +not affect the fact that we were politely but firmly told that we had +greatly benefited by our stay in hospital. This was equivalent to a +notice of dismissal. We would have to go. Thereupon we both instantly +pulled very long faces, and went to see the ear and nose specialist. He +was our one hope of being allowed to stay on. + +While waiting for an interview, I had an opportunity of seeing an +eminent army surgeon at work on the Turkish soldiers. Let me preface +this description by emphasising the fact that he _was_ eminent. He was +no rough bungler, but a clever practitioner, well known for his +professional and human sympathy. This is the scene I saw. + +The doctor sat on a high stool, by the window, with a round reflector +over his right eye. A glass table beside him was strewn with +instruments. A lower stool seated his victims. In his hand he held a +thing like a small glove-stretcher. Behind him two young assistants +stood, looking like choir boys who had been fighting, in their robes of +blood-stained white. The room was full of miserable shivering soldiers. + +A deaf old man takes the vacant seat in front of the doctor. The +glove-stretcher darts into his ear. A question is asked. The old man +gibbers in reply. Glove-stretcher darts into the other ear. Another +question. More gibbering. Both his ears are soundly boxed, and he is +sent away. The next is a goitre case, too unpleasant for description. +Suddenly the attendants come forward, and pull off all his clothes. The +doctor removes the reflector from his right eye, and stares for a moment +at the ghastly skinny shape with a sack hanging from its throat. Then he +dictates a prescription to one of the attendants, and seizes the next +soldier. Prescription and clothes are thrown at the naked man, who walks +out shivering, holding his apparel in his arms. Meanwhile another victim +is already trembling on the stool. This man trembles so violently that +he falls down in a faint. The attendants cuff him back to consciousness. +Painfully he gets up and tries to face the instrument again. But as the +glove-stretcher is being inserted into his nostril, he turns the colour +of weak tea and again silently collapses. The doctor does not give him a +second look. One of the attendants drags his limp body to a corner, +while another patient takes the seat in front of the doctor. After a few +more cases have been examined, the two attendants return to the +unconscious man in the corner, drag him back to the doctor and hold his +lolling head to the light, while the glove-stretcher does its work. Then +he is pulled away, like a dummy from an arena, to the door of the +consulting room, where (and here I confess I expected a scene) a woman +awaited him. But she seemed to consider it all in the day's work. +Perhaps poor Willie was subject to fainting fits. . . . + +I knew I would not faint, but I cannot say I took my turn on that seat +with a light heart. The surgeon was alarmingly sudden, and already the +room looked like a shambles. + + * * * * * + +To my relief, he used a new glove-stretcher. + +"Slightly deflected septum," he pronounced, and his diagnosis was later +confirmed in London. + +"I hurt my nose boxing," I explained conversationally, "and cannot now +breathe through it. I would like to stay----" + +"Can't stay here." he said instantly and incisively; "no time to deal +with your case." + +"But I can't breathe through my nose." + +"Breathe through your mouth," he suggested kindly, but a little coldly. + +Now, it is impossible to "wangle" a man who sits over you with a +reflecting mirror screwed into his right eye. I vanished with suitable +thanks. + +Robin had better luck with his ear. He could have stayed on in hospital +and would very likely have been invalided back to England eventually. +But he absolutely refused to exchange the comfortable security of a +bodily affliction for the vivider joys of escape. In spite of my advice +to stay in hospital, he decided, to my great delight, that we would try +our luck together. + +All hope of remaining in hospital was now at an end. + +That evening at sunset we were in the garden, looking across the blue +waters of the Marmora to the mosques and minarets of old Stamboul, +flushed with the loveliest tints of pink. + +It was the last evening but one of Ramazan. To-morrow the crescent of +the new moon would appear over the dome of San Sofia, as a sign to all +that the fast had ended, and the time of rejoicing come. Between that +moon and the next moon an unknown future lay before us. And whatever our +fate, it was sure to be something exciting. + + + + + CHAPTER VIII + + OUR FIRST ESCAPE + + +Our crossing from Haidar Pasha to the garrison camp at Psamattia was a +tame affair. Early in the day we had made up our minds that it would be +unwise to escape, as well as unkind to our indulgent sentries: unwise, +because we realised that if we bolted blindly from a restaurant, we +would probably be caught at the first lodging-house at which we tried to +gain admission; and unkind because, in common chivalry, we decided that +our sentries were too trustful to be drugged. + +Our day, therefore, was spent in seeing the sights of Pera, gossiping +over a cocktail bar, purchasing some illicit maps under cover of a large +quantity of German publications, and generally learning the lie of the +land. But it might be indiscreet even at this distance of time to +describe in too great detail the sources from which we obtained our +information. One name, however--like King Charles' head with Mr. +Dick--will keep coming into this book. I cannot keep it out, because it +is impossible to think of my escape and escapades without thinking of +the gallant lady who made them possible. + +Miss Whitaker, as she then was (she is now Lady Paul), knew something +about all the escapes which took place in Turkey, and a great deal about +a great many of them. Against every kind of difficulty from foes, and +constant discouragement from friends[6] she boldly championed the cause +of our prisoners through the dark days of 1916 and 1917. She visited the +sick in hospital, she carried plum puddings to our men working at San +Stefano, she was a never-failing source of sympathy and encouragement. +She sent messages for us, and wrote letters, and lent us money and +clothes. She was the good angel of the English at Constantinople, a +second--and more fortunate--Miss Cavell. + +And she was the _Deus ex machina_ of my escapes. Having said this, I +will say one thing more. I cannot here put down one-tenth of the daring +work that Lady Paul did for me and others. The reason may be obvious to +the reader; at any rate it is binding on me to say far less than I would +wish. + +On reaching the prisoners' camp at Psamattia, our first object was to +get in touch with her whom we had already heard of as the guardian +spirit of prisoners. With this object in view, we asked to be allowed to +attend Sunday service at the English church. Religious worship, we +pointed out, should not be interfered with, further than the necessities +of war demanded. After some demur the Commandant agreed, and accordingly +we went to church. Here it was[7] that we met our guardian angel for the +first time. She trembled visibly when we mentioned our plans for escape, +and I thought (little knowing her) that we had been rash to speak so +frankly. + +"I strongly advise delay," she whispered--"but I will meet you again at +the gardens in Stamboul in two days' time--four o'clock. I'll be reading +a----" + +"_Haidé, effendim, haidé, haidé_," said our sentry, and her last words +were lost. + +Further conversation was impossible, but the forty-eight hours which +followed were vivid with anticipation. + +How were we to manage to get to the gardens of the Seraglio? Would we +meet her? Could we talk to her? Would she have a plan? . . . + +On the day appointed, Robin and I complained of toothache, and asked to +be allowed to go into the city to see the dentist. We were at once +granted permission. + +From the dentist's to the Seraglio garden was only a step, but we were +four hours too early as yet to keep the rendezvous. However, a large +lunch, in which our sentries shared, smoothed the way for a little +shopping excursion into Pera. Here, amongst other things, we bought some +black hair dye, which completed our arrangements for escape. Other +paraphernalia, such as jack-knives, twenty fathoms of rope, maps, +compasses, sand-shoes, chocolate and "dope," we had already acquired. +Nothing now remained but to find a hiding place, when once we had +escaped. + +At about three o'clock we were sitting in a café, eating ices, with our +complacent sentries, who had every reason to be complacent for they had +been sumptuously fed, as well as liberally tipped. They were quite +willing to do anything in reason, and nothing could have been more +natural than a stroll in the Seraglio gardens. + +But just then Robin began to get "Spanish 'flu," which was raging in the +city. The symptoms were as sudden as they were unmistakable. Violent +shivering, giddiness, weakness--all the ills that flesh is heir to, +waylaid him at this vital juncture. He was completely incapable of +action. + +There was no help for it. I left him shaking and shivering in the café, +in charge of one of our two sentries, and, after a little persuasion +and some palaver (during the course of which another bank-note changed +hands) I induced the other sentry to accompany me for a stroll. Unless +we walked in the gardens, I assured him, we should both fall ill with +the deadly contagion of my friend. Nothing but fresh air and iced beer +could avert that fever. On the way, therefore, we stopped for a glass +and I managed to drop a small dose of potassium bromide into the +sentry's mug before it was given to him. + +A little before four the sentry and I were smoking cigarettes on a seat +in the Seraglio gardens quite close to the Stamboul entrance gate. + +It was a hot day, with thunder-clouds hanging low. Toilers of the city +passed us fanning themselves. Turkish officers had pushed back their +heavy fur fezzes, and civilians wore handkerchiefs behind theirs. German +ladies panted loudly, and even the _hanoums_ appeared to be a little +jaded: their small feet and great eyes, that so often twinkle in the +streets, had grown dull with the oppression of the day. Small wonder my +sentry nodded. + +Presently, with a walk that no one could mistake, a tall and slim figure +entered, dressed in white serge coat and skirt. I watched her, on the +opposite footpath, strolling down the shady avenue with an insouciant +grace. She held a novel and a little tasselled bag in her right hand. +She sat down some two hundred yards away, and began reading calmly and +coolly, apparently quite unconscious of the feverish world about her. + +With a hasty glance at my sentry, I rose and walked very slowly away. He +woke at once, and followed. I stopped to look at some flowers, yawned, +lit another cigarette and said to the sentry that it was too hot to +walk. I intended to sit for a little in the shade on the opposite side +of the road, and then we would go back to join our friend at the café. + +We meandered across the road, and I sank into a seat beside the guardian +angel. There was no room for the sentry, so he obligingly retired into +the shrubbery behind. + +Without taking her eyes from her novel, she began by saying I was not to +look at her, and that I was to speak very low, looking in the opposite +direction. + +She then asked where my companion was, and on hearing he had the 'flu, +she told me that she also had been attacked by it at the very moment +that we had spoken to her at church, and that it was only with +difficulty she had been able to keep the rendezvous to-day. I tried to +thank her for coming, but she kept strictly to business, and +concentrated our conversation to bare facts. Her news ranged from the +world at war, to plans for Robin and me, in vivid glimpses of +possibility. She covered continents in a phrase, and dealt with the +plans of two captives in terse but sympathetic comment. When she had +told me what she wanted to say, she opened her small bag and took out a +piece of paper, rolled up tight, which she flicked across to me without +a moment's hesitation. + +"You had better go now," she said. + +But my heart was brimming over with things unsaid. + +"I simply cannot thank----" I began to stammer. + +"Don't!" said she, to the novel on her knees. + +And so, with no salute to mark the great occasion, I left her. Neither +of us had seen the other's face. + +Here I must apologise for purposely clouding the narrative. The plans I +made are only public so far as they concern myself. + +On rejoining Robin, I found him palpitant and perturbed. The fever was +at its height and he ought to have been in bed. Yet it was urgently +necessary that evening, before returning, to make certain investigations +in the native quarter of the city. How to do this without attracting the +notice of the two sentries, perspiring but still perceptive, was a +matter of great concern to me. I thought of saying that I was going to +buy medicine for Robin, but in that case one of the sentries (probably +Robin's, for my own had grown very somnolent with beer and bromide) +would certainly accompany me. Then I bethought me of going to wash my +hands in a place behind the café and slipping out of a back door. But +there was no back door, and Robin's sentry had followed me to the +wash-place, and stood stolidly by the door until I came out. + +I sat down again, thinking and perspiring furiously,[8] and ordered +more beer. But this time I failed to manipulate the bromide. Robin's +sentry saw me with the packet in my hand and asked me what it was. + +"It is a medicine for reducing fat," said I, and of course after this I +had to keep the drugged beer for myself. But the sedative did no harm. +After sipping for some minutes I had a happy thought. + +There was a particular brand of cigarettes which were only obtainable at +a few shops in Constantinople. I asked the waiter if he had them. He had +not. + +"I must have a packet," I said, standing up--"there is a shop just down +the street where I can get them." + +And without taking my hat or stick (as a proof of the innocence of my +intentions) I strolled out of the café. + +The sentries did not follow. It was too hot. + +I rushed down the crowded thoroughfare as if all the hounds of heaven +were on my trail. I fled past policemen, dodged a tram, bolted up a +side-street, and arrived gasping at the doorway I sought. After a hasty +survey of the locality, so as to identify it again at need, I rushed +back to the restaurant, buying a box of Bafra-Madčne cigarettes on the +way. Robin was still shivering; the sentries were mopping their large +faces. All was well. Our work was done. + +Trying not to look triumphant, I got Robin into a cab, and we drove back +to Psamattia camp. + +During the next few days I thoroughly enjoyed myself. Not so Robin, who +was grappling with his fever. Later, however, when he was convalescent, +we used to go down to the seashore together to bathe. In the evening, we +used to sup off lobsters at a restaurant on the beach. In the water one +felt almost free once more, and in the restaurant, when one was not +gambling "double or quits" with the lobster-merchant as to whether we +should pay him two pounds for his lobster or nothing at all, we were +talking politics with other diners. Those days of Robin's convalescence +were delightful. The moon was near its full, which is the season when +lobsters ought to be eaten, and the climate was perfect, and our hopes +were high. + + * * * * * + +Psamattia is one of the most westerly suburbs of Stamboul. From it, a +maze of tortuous streets lead to the railway terminus of Sirkedji, and +the Galata bridge over the Golden Horn. On the eastern side of the +Golden Horn lie the European quarters of Galata and Pera. From our camp +at Psamattia to the house where we intended to hide was a distance of +five miles, and there were at least two police posts on the way. But +with our hair dyed black (we had already effected this transformation, +and it is astonishing how it changes one's appearance) and fezzes on our +heads, we trusted to pass unnoticed as Greeks. + +Our plan had a definite and limited objective. We wanted to escape by +night from Psamattia and hide in Constantinople. Once in hiding, we +trusted to going by boat to Russia, or else going with brigands to the +Mediterranean coast, where our patrols might pick us up. But the first +object was to get away from the camp. Until this was achieved it was +almost impossible to make definite arrangements. At first we had thought +that it would be an easy matter to give our sentries the slip when we +were out shopping. But when it came to the point, we felt scruples about +bolting from men we had bribed and wheedled so often. All's fair in love +and war, but yet if it could be avoided we did not want to abuse their +trust in us. + +There remained the alternative of escaping by night from the house where +we were interned. But when Robin had become fit enough to try (and of +course he was all agog to be off at the first possible moment) we found +the guards were more alert than we thought. + +Our situation was roughly this: We were housed in the Armenian +Patriarchate, next to the Psamattia Fire Brigade, and there were +sentries in every street to which access was possible, by craft or by +climbing. The window of our room, which was directly over the doorway +where the main guard lived, looked out on to a narrow street, across +which there was another house, inhabitated by Russian prisoners of war. +At first we thought it might be possible to pretend to go to the Russian +house, and, while casually crossing the street, to mingle with the +passers-by, and melt away unnoticed in the crowd. We tried this plan, +but it was no good. The guards on our doorway were alert, and followed +our every movement. . . . To slip out with the Armenian funerals which +used to go through our gateway was another project doomed to +failure. . . . To get into the Armenian church, on the night before a +burial, remove the occupant of a coffin and so pass out next morning in +the centre of the funeral procession, was an idea which excited us for a +time. But the melodrama we had planned could not be executed, because +the church was locked and guarded at night. . . . To climb out of the +back window of the Russian house also proved impossible, because a +sentry stood outside it always. . . . Every point was watched. Two +sentries armed with old Martini rifles (of archaic pattern but +unpleasantly big bore) were posted directly below our window. Two more +similarly equipped were opposite, at the door of the Russian house. One +man with a new rifle was behind the Russian house. Two more were behind +ours, and one was in a side street. There were also men on duty at the +entrance to the Fire Brigade. + +After considering all sorts of methods we decided on a plan whose chief +merit was its seeming impossibility. No one would have expected us to +try it. + +Our idea was to climb out of our window at night, and by crossing some +ten foot of wall-face, to gain the shelter of the roof of the next door +house. This roof was railed by a parapet, behind which we could crouch. +Along it we would creep, until we reached a cross-road down the street. +Here we would slip down a rope to the pavement, and although we would be +visible to at least five sentries during our descent, it seemed probable +that no particular sentry would consider himself responsible for the +cross-roads, which was beyond their beat. + +To climb out of a window set in a blank wall, about thirty feet above a +busy street where four sentries stood, did not seem a reasonable thing +to do. But the wall was not as impassable as it seemed. Two little +ledges of moulding ran along it, under our window-sill, so that we had a +narrow yet sufficient foothold and handhold until we reached the roof of +the adjoining house. And although we would be visible during our +precarious transit of the wall-face, we knew that people rarely look up +above their own height, and rarely look for things they don't expect. + +It was the night of the twenty-seventh of July, when a bright full moon +rode over the sea behind our house, that we decided to make the attempt. + +The first point was to get out of the window without being seen. . . . A +Colonel of the Russian Guards, a little man with a great heart, +volunteered to help us. Directly we extinguished the lights in our room, +he was to engage the sentries at the door of the opposite house, where +he lived, in an animated conversation, keeping them interested, even by +desperate measures if need be, until our first ten yards of climbing was +successfully accomplished. + +After a cordial good-bye, he left us. We took off our boots and slung +them round our necks, drank a stirrup cup to our success, roped +ourselves together, coiled the remainder of the rope round our waists, +stuffed our pockets and knapsacks with our escaping gear, and then blew +out our lamp, as if we were going to bed. Crouched under the window-sill +we waited. . . . The sentries below us were sitting on stools in the +street. The two men opposite were lolling against the doorpost, and the +moon, rising behind our house, while still leaving the street in shadow, +had just caught their faces, so that their every eyelash was visible. To +them came the little Colonel, and only the top of his cap reached the +moonlight. We heard his cheery voice. We saw both sentries looking down, +presumably helping themselves to his cigarettes. + +That waiting moment was very tense. An initial failure would have been +deplorable, yet many things made failure likely. At such times as these, +the confidence of one's companion counts for much, and I shall never +forget Robin's bearing. Anyone who has been in similar circumstances +will know what I mean. He went first out of the window. I followed an +instant later. . . . And once the first step was taken, once my feet +were on that two-inch ledge and my hands clung to the upper strip, the +complexion of things altered completely. Anxiety vanished, leaving +nothing but a thrill of pleasure. One was master of one's fate. + +At one moment we were in view of four sentries (two at our door and two +opposite), a Turkish officer who had come to take the air at our +doorway, and several passers-by in the street. But no one looked up. No +one saw the two men, only five yards away, who clambered slowly along +the string-course, like flies on a wall. + +After gaining the roof of the next house, we lay flat and breathless +behind the parapet, and thanked God we had succeeded in--not making +fools of ourselves, anyway. + +The parapet was lower than we thought, and in order to get the advantage +of its cover it was necessary to remain absolutely prone in the gutter +of the roof. In this position, from ten o'clock till half past eleven, +we wriggled and wriggled along the house-tops, past a dead cat and other +offensive objects, until at last we had covered the distance. Once, +during this stalk, my rope got hitched up on a nail, and I had to +wriggle back to free it. And once, having raised myself to take a look +round, one of the sentries on the Russian house ran out into the street +and started making a tremendous noise. I don't know what it was about, +but it alarmed me very much, and condemned us to marble immobility for a +time. + +At last, however, we reached the end of our wriggle. But here a new +difficulty confronted us. Directly overlooking the part of the roof from +which we contemplated our descent, and less than ten yards away, an +officer of the Psamattia Fire Brigade sat at an open window, looking +anxiously up and down the street, as if expecting someone to keep an +appointment. His window was on a level with us. So intently did he stare +that I thought he had seen us. But we lay dead-still behind the parapet, +and it became apparent, as time passed and he still stood disconsolate +by the window, that we were not the objects of his languishing +regard. . . . And meanwhile the moon--the kindly old moon that sees so +much--was creeping up the sky. Soon she would flood us with her +radiance. Even a love-sick officer of the Fire Brigade could not fail to +notice us across the narrow street, lit by the limelight of all the +universe. For an hour this annoying Romeo kept watch, while we discussed +the situation in tiny whispers, and cursed feminine unpunctuality. But +at last, just as we had determined to "let go the painter" and take our +chance, he began to yawn and stretch and look towards his bed, which we +could see at the further end of his room. "You are tired of waiting: she +isn't worth it!" I sent in thought-wave across the street. He seemed to +hesitate, then he yawned again, and just as our protecting belt of +shadow had narrowed to a yard, he gave up his hopes of Juliet, and +retired. + +That was our moment. + +[Illustration: THE ARMENIAN PATRIARCHATE AT PSAMATTIA, CONSTANTINOPLE.] + +We stood up, and made the rope fast to a convenient ring in the parapet. +Traffic in the street had ceased. The sentries were huddled in their +coats, for it was a chilly summer night. Up street, a dog was yapping, +and its voice seemed to stab the silence. Before stepping over the +parapet I took a last look at the world I left and thanked God. + +The waiting was over. In two seconds' time we should have gained +freedom, or a slug from some sentry's rifle. + +It took two seconds to slip down thirty feet of rope, and two seconds is +a long time when your liberty, if not your life, is at stake. I half +kicked down the sign-board of a shop in my descent, and Robin, who +followed, completed the disaster. In our haste, we had cut our hands +almost to the bone, and had made noise enough to wake the dead. + +Yet no one stirred. We were both in the street, and no one had moved. + +After two and a half years of captivity we were free men once more. The +slothful years had vanished in the twinkling of an eye. Can you realise +the miracle, liberty-loving reader, that passes in the mind of a man who +thus suddenly realises his freedom? . . . + +I don't know what Robin thought, for we said nothing. We lit cigarettes +and strolled away. But inside of me, the motors of the nervous system +raced. + +The only other danger, in our hour and a half's walk to our destination, +was being asked for passports by some policeman. In our character as +polyglot mechanics, whenever we passed anyone, I found it a great +relief to make some such remark as: + + Lieb Vaterland, magst ruhig sein, + Fest steht and treu die Wacht am Rhein. + +But Robin, who could not understand my German, paid little heed. + +Only once we did think we were likely to be recaught. At about one in +the morning, as we were passing the Fatih mosque, we heard a rattle on +the cobbles behind us. A carriage was being galloped in our direction. +It might well contain some of the Psamattia garrison. We doubled into +some ruins, and lay there, while the clatter grew louder and louder. + +A few wisps of cloud crossed the moon, that had reached her zenith. +Their silent shadows moved like ghosts across the desolation of the +city. A cat was abroad. She saw us, and halted, with paw uplifted and +blazing eyes. + +Then the carriage passed, empty, with a drunken driver. It rattled away +into the night, and we emerged, and took our way through the streets of +old Stamboul, under the chequered shade of vines. + +[Footnote 6: This applies in no way to the Americans, who did everything +possible for our men before they left Constantinople. Their assistance +was always of the most prompt and practical nature. It may be invidious +to mention names in this light account of adventure, but I cannot +refrain from giving myself the pleasure of saying how grateful I am to +Mr. Hoffman Phillips, of the American Embassy. His name, as also the +name of his chief, Mr. Morgenthau, is indissolubly connected with our +early prisoners. I wish to thank him from the bottom of my heart, and I +know many of all ranks who will join with me in this--far too +meagre--tribute to his activities and ability.] + +[Footnote 7: Let no one think the clergyman in charge aided or abetted +our secular efforts to escape. On the contrary, on a later occasion, +when Robin, as a poor and distressed prisoner hiding from the Turks, +endeavoured to find sanctuary for a few hours in the church, he was +expelled therefrom, so that our enemies should not complain that the +House of God was used for anything but worship.] + +[Footnote 8: During the afternoon I lost over seven pounds in weight.] + + + + + CHAPTER IX + + A CITY OF DISGUISES + + +We knocked softly at the door of the house that was to be our home, and +then waited, flattened in the shadow below it, quite prepared for the +worst. It was then four o'clock in the morning. It seemed too much to +hope that we would be welcome. + +But we were. The door opened cautiously about one inch, and two little +faces were seen, low down the crack. Behind them, someone held a light. + +Then the door was flung wide, and we saw on the stairs a whole family of +friendly people, male and female, old and young, all in night dress, and +all with arms outstretched in rapturous greeting. We might have been +Prodigal Sons returning, instead of two strangers whose presence would +be a source of continual danger. + +Hyppolité and Athéné, the twins, aged eight, who had first peeped at us, +now took us each by the hand, and led us upstairs. + +"The last escaped prisoner we had here was a forger," said Hyppolité to +us. + +"He was a friend of father's," added Athéné over her shoulder, "and he +escaped from prison about six weeks ago. He was afraid that the police +would find his tools, so he threw them all into our cistern. They are +there now." + +We reached the top floor, and were shown by the twins into an apartment +containing a double bed with a stuffy canopy of damask. + +"This is the family bedroom," they said. + +"And where are we to sleep?" I asked. + +"Here," said Thémistoclé, the proud owner of the house. "My sister and I +and the twins were using the bed until your arrival, but now we will +sleep in the passage." + +"The passage?" I echoed. "Haven't you any other beds, and were you all +four using this one?" + +"Yes, yes. The other rooms are full of lodgers. There are three officers +of the Turkish army here at present. But they won't disturb you, because +they are hiding too." + +"Mon Dieu!" said I, sitting on the bed--"but your sister can't sleep in +the passage, can she?" + +"Certainly, she's quite used to that sort of thing. It's safer also, in +case the police come." + +"I know all the police," said Athéné, "even when they are not in +uniform; I can recognise them by their boots." + +"And we are always on the look-out for them," added Hyppolité. "If the +police come to search the house you will have to get into the cistern." + +"Where the forger threw his tools," explained Athéné. + +Coffee and cigarettes were produced, and ointment for our lacerated +hands. We were made to feel quite at home. . . . The family stayed and +talked to us until dawn broke. They thoroughly appreciated the story of +the escape, and clapped their hands with glee at the idea of the Turks' +amazement when they discovered that we had vanished, leaving no trace +behind us. + +"They will never find the rope," said Thémistoclé, "because the +shopkeeper over whose shop it is will certainly cut it down and hide it, +for fear of being asked questions." + +"And now we must thank the Blessed Saints for your escape," said an old +lady who had not previously spoken. + +She went to a glass cupboard, opened it, and lit two candles. A scent of +rose-leaves and incense came from the shrine, which contained oranges +and ikons and Easter eggs and a large family Bible. + +For a moment or two we all stood silent. + +Then---- + +Just when I was expecting a prayer, the old lady blew out the candles +and shut up the cupboard and crossed herself. The thanksgiving was over, +and we dispersed with very cordial good-nights. I think Thémistoclé +wanted to kiss us, but we felt we had been through trials enough for the +time and refused to offer even one cheek. + +The family retired to the passage and settled down to rest with squeaks +and giggles, while Robin and I, after thanking God for all His mercies, +with very humble and grateful hearts, threw ourselves down on the bed, +too exhausted to undress, and slept the sleep of free men. + +Next instant, it seemed to me, although in reality two hours had +elapsed, we were awakened by the twins, who looked on us as their +especial charges, and thought us tremendous fun. + +"Time to get up," they said excitedly. "The house might be searched at +any minute." + +Instantly we were afoot. + +"Where are the police?" I asked. + +"There is a detective standing at the corner of our street," said +Hyppolité. + +"And they often come to see if all our lodgers are registered!" added +his sister. + +We bundled our maps, compasses, and other belongings into a towel, and +staggered downstairs, with fear and sleep battling for mastery in our +minds. + +But in the pantry, we found the seniors of the household quite +unconcerned. There was no imminent danger of a search. . . . On the +other hand, there was the immediate prospect of breakfast. + +A saucepan was actually being buttered (and butter was worth its weight +in gold) to make us an omelette. By now we had been thoroughly stirred +from sleep, and realised how hungry we were. I forget how many omelettes +we ate, or how much butter we used, but I think that that charming +breakfast cost a five-pound note, or thereabouts. + +When it was over, an engaging sense of drowsiness began to creep over me +again, but the twins were adamant. + +"You must practise getting into the cistern," said Hyppolité. + +"Like the forger did," chimed in Athéné--"and then you must arrange a +hiding-place for your things." + +The worst of it was, that their suggestions were so practical. Obviously +it was our duty to at once take all precautions. + +I consequently took off my clothes, and removing the lid of the cistern, +I was let down through a hole in the floor into the waters below. In my +descent I re-opened the wounds in my hands, and it was in no very +cheerful mood that I found myself in darkness, with water up to my +shoulders. I moved cautiously about, trying to imagine our feelings if +fate drove us to this chilly and conventional hiding-place while +detectives were conducting a search for us above. Then I barked my foot +on something hard, and stooping down through the water I picked up a +large block of pumicestone, which was doubtless the forger's engraving +die. Something scurried on an unseen ledge; a rat no doubt. I felt I had +seen enough of the cistern. Groping my way back to the lid, my fingers +touched a little thing that cracked under them, and instantly I felt a +stinging pain. Whether it was a beetle or a sleepy wasp I did not stop +to inquire. + +"Lemme get out," I bleated through the hole in the floor. . . . "Robin," +I said, when I was safe once more, "if ever we are driven down there, we +must take something to counteract the evil spirits." + + * * * * * + +All that morning we passed in the pantry, eating and dozing by snatches. + +Morning merged into afternoon, the afternoon lengthened into evening, +and no policeman came. We were safe. + +At nightfall, after sending Hyppolité as a scout up the stairs to see +that the other lodgers were not about, we ascended to our room again, +and settled down definitely. + +Our stay, we then thought, might last several weeks, so as to give us +leisure to weigh the reliability of the various routes and guides that +offered. There was no particular hurry. The longer we stayed, the more +likely the Turks would be to relax such measures as they had taken for +our recapture. + +But we had reckoned without our host: the host of vermin. They were +worse in this room than in any other place I have seen in Turkey, not +excepting the lowest dungeons of the military prison, where they breed +by the billion. Their voracity and vehemence made a prolonged stay +impossible. Except for the first sleep of two hours, when exhaustion had +made us insensible, we never thereafter had more than a single hour of +uninterrupted rest. + +Throughout the long and stifling nights of our stay, Robin and I lay in +the stately double bed, wondering wearily how any man or woman alive +could tolerate the creatures that crawled over its mahogany-posts and +swarmed over its flowered damask. Every three-quarters of an hour, one +or other of us used to light a candle, and add to the holocaust of +creatures we had already slain. + +"What hunting?" I used to ask sleepily. + +"A couple of brace this time, and a cub I chopped in covert," Robin +would say. + +"That makes twenty-two couple up to date--and the time is 12.35 a.m." + +Then at one o'clock it was Robin's turn to ask what sport I had had. + +"A sounder broke away under your pillow," I reported. "Six rideable boar +and six squeakers." + +Ugh! + +Those first days of our liberty were a trying time. To the external +irritation of insects were added the mental anxieties of our situation. +What, for instance, would happen to the twins if we were caught in that +house? And, again, was Thémistoclé faithful? Would he be tempted by the +reward offered for our recapture? At times we were not quite certain. He +used to talk very gloomily about the risks and the cost of life. + +"Everyone is starving," he used to say thoughtfully--"even the +policemen go hungry for bribes. A friend of mine, a policeman, said to +me the other day: 'For the love of Allah find somebody for me to arrest. +Among all the guilty and the innocent in this town, surely you can find +somebody that we could threaten to arrest? Then we would share the +proceeds.'" + +"What did you say to that?" I asked. + +"I said," he answered thoughtfully, "that I would do my best." + +"But what sort of man would you arrest?" I asked. + +"Any sort of man. A drunkard perhaps, if I saw one, or a rich man, if I +dared." + +"Rich men are apt to be dangerous," said I meaningly. + +"I know. But what can one do?" he asked, spreading out his hands. "One +must live!" + +"And let live," said I, thinking suddenly of the bugs, and wondering +what Thémistoclé thought of them. + +It was then that I noticed his method of combating the household pets. + +Previously I had observed that the ends of his pyjamas (we always talked +at night) were provided with strong tapes, which were tied close to his +ankles; but the object of this fastening only became apparent when I +noticed the excited throngs of insects on his elastic-sided boots. They +could not get higher. They were balked of their blood. If he ever felt +any discomfort, he merely tightened the tapes. + +After a careful study of Thémistoclé's psychology (which was so full of +outlooks new to me that I never achieved more than a glimpse into the +pages of his past) I came to the conclusion that he was implicitly to be +trusted. In his frail frame there burned a spirit of adventure and a +courage that might "step from star to star." His soul had been born to +live in a great man, only somehow it had made a mistake and taken a +tenement instead of a manor-house to live in. . . . + +I think sunset and sunrise were the pleasantest hours in our new abode. +It was possible then to draw back the blinds without any danger of being +seen, and enjoy the cool of the evening and the magnificent view which +our situation afforded. Our house, although it stood in a side street, +commanded a prospect of the upper end of the Golden Horn, as well as a +view of one of the most populous thoroughfares of the town. + +We used to sit and gaze at the twilit city, until the creeping darkness +overtook us. + +If circulation be a test of a city's vitality, then Constantinople was +certainly at a low ebb. The pedestrians seemed to get nowhere. They were +hanging about, waiting for something to happen. The whole town was +dead-tired, unspeakably bored of life as it had to be lived under the +Young Turks. Constantinople was getting cross. . . . Cross, like someone +who was tired of adulation from the wrong person. Some trick of sea and +sun give her this human quality of sex. Anyone who has lived for long +in her houses must feel her personality. She is the courtesan of +conquerors, but inherent in her is some witchcraft, by which she weakens +those who hold her, so that they die and are utterly exterminated, while +she remains with her fadeless and fatal beauty, an Eastern Lorelei +beside the Bosphorus. . . . She sapped the strength of the Roman Empire, +she overthrew the dominion of the Greeks, and now, after a period of +fretful wedlock, she was shaking herself free from the Turk. + +Something was going to happen soon. One felt it in the air. + +What happened to us, was that it became necessary to draw the blinds and +light our candle, and search for the pestilence that crept by night. +Presently our meal arrived, which was always a cheerful interlude, but +it was as short as it was sweet, for courses were few, with famine +prices prevailing. Afterwards we continued our hunting till dawn. + +At dawn, when the chill of morning had sent our sated enemies to sleep, +there was another truce from trouble. We used to draw back the blinds +again and sit at the window. + +I used to watch the pale sun on the horizon, fighting the mist-forms +that clung heavily to earth and sea, and I felt that in the +world-consciousness a similar contest swayed. The old ideas of +government were being caught by a light that was pale now, but soon to +grow luminous--a radiance that would dispel the night of war, and show +us a new world, intangible yet, but dimly sensed. + +In the dim alleys and side streets below, where balconies overhung, +shutting out the dawn, what a weight of woe there was! Famine and fire, +twin angels of destruction that lurked in every by-way of the city, were +waiting to take their toll. And the war went on for caged and free, +while some starved and others made fortunes, and some became generals +and others corpses. And the end of these things was vanity. _Vanitas +vanitatum._ + +The minaret of a mosque was directly opposite to me. Under sway of the +sanctuary and the hour, the voice of the _muezzin_ spoke to me in all +its sincerity and unity of purpose. God was everywhere, all-pervasive, +all-unseen, invisible only because He was so manifest. Evil of the night +and glory of the dawn made His picture, the world. With new eyes I saw +now this city grey with sin, and fresh with the promise of another day. + +From the house of that stern and simple faith that is the creed of +one-fifth of the world, there came a sense of kinship with all the +suffering under the sky. Reverence came to me also, and that brotherhood +which is the message of the Great Teachers since time began. These +thoughts were round me, a silent company, as I looked Mecca-wards, to +the place of prayer. Then the heralds of the dawn alighted on the +minaret, and their wings were amethyst and saffron. The night was over, +and the _muezzin's_ long, exultant call to worship died down with the +increasing light. + +Another day had begun. + + * * * * * + +Not many days and nights did we tarry in Thémistoclé's house. Robin +decided to try his luck by land. After various inquiries, he made +arrangements with a Greek boy to board a melon-boat bound for Rodosto. +His idea was to make that port, and thence work his way to Enos, where +he hoped to be picked up by our patrol-boats. After many adventures and +perils by land and sea, and a great deal of bad luck, he was caught at +the town of Malgara. So ended a very gallant attempt, which ought to be +set down in detail by him. + +I can only describe his appearance when he left. His disguise was a +matter of great difficulty, for he is so tall and so Saxon that he +always attracted notice in an Eastern crowd. An Arab ragamuffin seemed +the rôle best suited to him, and he accordingly exchanged his +comparatively respectable clothes for a greasy old coat and a pair of +repellent trousers. With a tattered fez well back on his head, and all +his visible skin blackened with burnt cork, he looked an unspeakable +scoundrel. But he was too villainous. He would have been immediately +arrested for his appearance alone. A touch of genius, however, completed +his make-up. . . . In his hands he carried a poor little bowl of curds +and half a cucumber, which completely altered his ferocious air by +adding the requisite touch of pathos. The edible emblems of innocence he +carried transformed him completely into a sort of male Miss Muffet. + +No detective could have found heart to inquire where he was going. He +was enough to make anyone cry. + +He left in a frightful hurry, for his boat was due to catch a certain +tide, but we drank a stirrup cup to his success, and parted with much +sadness on my side, not until the old lady before mentioned had lit a +candle before the ikon of Saint Nicholas. . . . + +I was very sorry to see him go, but I was quite convinced (wrongly, as +events proved) that the best chance of success lay in going to Russia. + +The little Colonel of the Russian Guards had told us before we escaped +that he was likely to be soon repatriated (for he was a person of +influence in the Caucasus), and I felt sure that I could arrange to go +as his servant, if no better scheme presented itself in the meanwhile. +But there were many possibilities in the "city of disguises." + +During my stay with Thémistoclé I had been learning history, as it is +never written, but as it is most strangely lived by a people on the +brink of dissolution and disaster. As an escaped prisoner I thought that +delay in Constantinople--somewhere clean, however--would not be time +wasted if one was in touch with the politics of the time. If the +Russian scheme failed, there were other openings, by earth and air and +water. + +But the first thing to do was to find a place where I could lay my head +without getting it bitten. + + * * * * * + +The good angel of prisoners came to my assistance at this critical +juncture in my affairs. + +"You must be disguised as a girl," said she--"I will buy you a wig at +once." + +"But what about my figure?" I asked, "and my feet . . .?" + +"Some clothes were left with me at the beginning of the war," she +answered, "which will fit you with the help of a tailor. And as to your +shoes, your own will pass muster, with new bows. No one has had any +proper shoes for ages here. But you will want--well, lots of other +things." + +And I certainly _did_ want a lot, before I looked at all presentable. +After very careful shaving, I began to splash about confidently at my +toilet table. There was Vesuvian black for the eyebrows, _bistre_ for +the eyelashes, _poudre violette_, rouge, carmine--more powder--more +rouge--at last I showed my satisfied face to Miss Whitaker, who gave a +cry of horror, and flatly refused to be seen in my company. + +There was nothing for it but to wash my face and start again. + +This time I succeeded in making myself presentable, although a blue +streak of whisker seemed always slightly visible through the powder. The +wig, however, helped matters greatly, and I arranged some ringlets on my +shaven cheeks. + +The dressing-up was quite exciting. Silk and lace and whalebone, +especially a lot of lace in front, was the basis on which I built. The +foundations took some time in laying, but when finished I found to my +delight that the coat and skirt belonging to Miss Whitaker's friend +fitted my figure perfectly. + +A few details, invisible to my eyes, were quickly corrected, and I think +that when I finally emerged, with large hat at a becoming angle, I did +credit to my instructress. + +Gloves I had always to wear, of course, and a veil was advisable, +chiefly to tone down my blinding beauty to the eyes of passers-by. Do +what I would, however, I could not hide a certain artificiality in my +appearance, which was most unfair to Miss Whitaker, considering that I +was her companion. But I behaved as well as I possibly could. + +[Illustration: The Author as a German Governess] + +I learned how to walk in a ladylike fashion, and how to powder my nose +in an engaging manner. My arms and legs had to be kept under various +restraints. A mincing gait was soon acquired, but I found sitting still +more awkward. My knees evinced an almost ineradicable tendency to cross +themselves or sprawl, while my gloved forearms, to the last, felt as +unwieldy as a baboon's. But everything I could I learned assiduously +and in dead earnest, down to managing my veil, and patting my curls +nicely in front of a looking-glass. It was so frightfully important not +to make a false step. + +My only excuse for going about with Miss Whitaker at all was the +complete success of the rôle for which she had so skilfully prepared me. +Never for a moment was there any suspicion of my identity. + +On one occasion, in the early days of my disguise, when we were +sight-seeing at Eyoub, some Turkish ladies stopped to talk to us. I +remained silent, of course, but I watched them narrowly and came to the +conclusion that they saw nothing amiss. My eyes, incidentally, were as +well painted as theirs. Now, if two charming and worldly-wise _hanoums_ +cannot detect a flaw in one's form or features, it is unlikely that any +mere male could be cleverer than they. + +The mere males, alas! were enthralled by my appearance. Once or twice an +embarrassing situation was narrowly averted. The road behind the Pera +Palace Hotel is dark, and we used to ascend it in fear and trembling. +But although we were followed sometimes, no one ever presumed to speak +to us. + +Miss Whitaker had found me by now a delightful roof, near the house in +which I took my meals, and this place was free from all life smaller +than a rat. Here I was able to make my plans in peace, with no fear of +treachery, for, so cleverly had Miss Whitaker arranged matters, no one +knew I was not a woman. + +As Mademoiselle Josephine, an eccentric German governess, who suffered +from consumption (and therefore spoke very low and huskily) I used to +pass my nights _ŕ belle étoile_, after well-spent days in the docks or +cafés, where my plans were maturing. The stars in their courses seemed +to be on my side. No longer, as when a fretful prisoner, did I think +their quiet shining was a reminder of man's minuteness in the schemes of +God. I felt now that man could make his destiny. And when that destiny +was shaped by hands such as those that helped me, the world was a +beautiful place. Good angels were here on earth, at "our own +clay-shuttered doors." . . . + +Two little girls, to whom I used to bring chocolates, used to come up in +the evening and kiss my hand, wishing me good-night. They thought I was +the most amusing governess they had ever met. Their mother, a kind old +lady who offered me cough mixtures, must have thought me rather odd, but +then she was prepared to make allowances for foreigners, especially in +war-time. To have a reason for wishing to be inconspicuous was nothing +unusual in those days, whether one was German, Jew, or Greek, or male or +female. + +Of various opportunities that came my way, the most practical and +attractive was that suggested by the Russian Colonel. His repatriation +to the Caucasus was now only a matter of days. He had not only got his +own passport, but also a passport for a servant. That servant was to be +myself. In order to discuss plans, we found the safest rendezvous was +the open-air café of the Petits Champs. This place was crowded with +"fashionable" people, and although both he and Miss Whitaker were +constantly shadowed by detectives there was nothing at all suspicious in +their being seen at tea-time in the company of an elegantly dressed +German lady. + +The German lady was obviously not as young as she tried to appear, but +then there was nothing unusual about that. She was also rather _gauche_ +in her movements, but this again was not out of keeping with the part. + +"In a fortnight's time we will be having tea at Tiflis," the Russian +Colonel used to say. "I will raise two regiments of cavalry and take +them to kill the Bolsheviks. You shall be my adjutant." + +"With the greatest pleasure in the world, _mon Colonel_. But please do +not speak so loud." + +"Ah, that _sacré_ detective. I had forgotten him. Soon we will not have +to think of such things." + +"Yes, but at the present moment your own particular shadow is trying to +listen to what you are saying," I remarked in low tones. + +At once the Colonel's voice assumed a softer note, and his green eyes +began to melt with tenderness. + +"_Mais Josephine, ma petite, écoutes donc, je t'adore. . . ._ There, +he's passed. Everything is ready. I have got you a Russian soldier's +uniform. You have only to put this on, and follow me on board when I +go." + +"And if someone asks me who I am?" + +"You are my Georgian servant. And you can only speak Georgian. Just say +this----" + +There followed a tongue-twisting sentence, which I tried to memorise. + +Meanwhile the band played, and people passed, and inquisitive eyes were +turned in our direction. + +"That's a spy who knows me," Miss Whitaker would say. "_Encore une +tasse, mademoiselle? Non?_ I think we ought to be going." + +"We'll settle the final details to-morrow," I whispered. + +"Right! Remember to let your beard grow. I couldn't have a smooth-faced +orderly." + +"_Eh bien, mille mercis, Colonel_," said I, giving him my hand. + +He held it a moment, bowing, and looking inexpressible things. + +"_Ah, Josephine. . . ._" + +"_A demain, alors!_" + +And with a simper I left my gallant and dapper cavalier to pay the +bill. + + + + + CHAPTER X + + RECAPTURED + + +At five o'clock one morning Mlle. Josephine received a staggering note +from the Russian Colonel to say that he had had to leave at a moment's +notice for the Caucasus, under a Turkish guard, and that there was no +prospect at all of his taking his dear Josephine with him. + +Thus my plan had failed. It was not the Colonel's fault, but it was +annoying all the same. I had wasted both time and money, provisions and +opportunities, and now I had to begin all over again. + +I decided that I would not continue in my disguise as a girl. It was too +nerve-racking to begin with; and also, as a girl, I could not go down +myself to the docks and arrange matters at first hand. I felt I must do +something for myself. During the month that had elapsed Robin had been +recaptured, other officers had escaped, the whole course of the war was +changing, and here was I still _embusqué_ in Constantinople. + +Something must be done, and, as usual, my good angel did it for +me. . . . She bought me a small upturned moustache, spectacles, +hair-dye, a second-hand suit, a stained white waistcoat which I +ornamented with a large nickel gilt watch chain, a pair of old +elastic-sided boots (price Ł7), an ebony cane with a silver top, and a +bowler hat which I perched rakishly askew. I was a Hungarian mechanic, +out of a job. I had lost my place at the munition factory near San +Stefano. But I was not down-hearted. My nails were oily and my +antecedents doubtful, but I drank my beer and smoked my cigars and +looked on life brightly through my spectacles. + +I did not avoid the Boche--in fact, I frequently drank beer with him. +The non-Latin races are not inquisitive as a rule. They cared little +whether I was Swiss or Dutch or Hungarian, and I frequently claimed all +three nationalities. They did not even think it odd when, on one +occasion, I said that I had been born in Scandinavia and later that I +was a naturalised Hungarian, and later again (when a Jewish gentleman +with military boots joined us, whom I recognised to be a Government +informer, paid to pick up information) that I was really of Russian +parentage and that I had a passport to this effect (which I showed to +the company present) signed by Djevad Bey, the military commandant of +Constantinople, permitting me to proceed to Russia and ordering that +every facility should be given to me at the custom-house. + +This forged passport was a source of perplexity to me at the time, and +later it was to be the cause of great discomfort. I had bought it for +ten pounds from the gentleman whose pumicestone engraving die reposed +at the bottom of the cistern. It was an ornate affair, duly stamped, and +sealed, and signed with a Turkish flourish. But I could not bring myself +to believe that it would get me through the passport office, the +_douane_, and the medical station at the entrance to the Bosphorus. Some +hitch would certainly have occurred. + +However, it impressed the company in the café. People generally take one +at one's own valuation, and the few secret agents to whom I spoke +obviously considered that I was not a likely person to be blackmailed. +With the Greeks I was certainly popular. The seedy-smart polyglot youth +who was so liberal with his cigars (which were rather a rarity then) and +so fond of talking politics and drinking beer was a _persona grata_ in +the circles he frequented. We talked much of revolution. + +"We will crucify the Young Turks," said a Greek to me one day, "and then +eat them in little bits. We will----" His expressive hands suddenly +paused in mid-gesture, and his mouth dropped open, but only for an +instant. He had seen a detective enter. "We will continue to preserve +our dignity and remain calm whatever happens," he concluded neatly. + +But calm the Greeks certainly were not. + +In the cellar of a German hotel in Pera the Greek proprietor displayed +one night a collection of rusty swords and old revolvers which were the +nucleus of the New Age of brotherly love, when the streets were to run +with Turkish blood, and the Cross replace the Crescent in San Sophia. I +was privileged to be present at this conclave of desperadoes. After +swearing each other to eternal secrecy we sampled some of the contents +of our host's cellar, and talked very big about what we were going to +do. But our host, beyond dancing a hornpipe and declaring that he was +going to murder everybody in the hotel (after they had paid their +bills), propounded no very definite scheme. + +Out of this atmosphere of melodrama one emerged into the sombre, silent +streets and went rather furtively home, feeling that there was something +to be said for the Turks after all. But I need hardly say that no +influential Greeks had a share in these proceedings: they were always on +the side of moderation. One had been a fool to consort with fools. + +Behind the lattices of the harems it was said that Enver Pasha's day was +done. The new Sultan had thrown him out of the palace, neck and crop. +There was to be an inquiry into the means by which he had acquired huge +farms round Constantinople--farms which were supposed to be purchased +from the proceeds of a corner in milk that had killed many children. The +Custodians of the Harem (and in Turkey these tall flat-chested +individuals have positions of great power; the Chief of the White +Custodians, for instance, is one of the high dignitaries of the Empire, +and ranks with a Lord Chamberlain) had long been intriguing against the +Committee and especially against the German element with Enver at its +head. . . . The Sultan was high in popular favour, and a dramatic +suicide in the main street of Pera, which lifted a corner of the curtain +hiding the unrest behind the scenes at the Imperial Palace, became a +nine days' wonder, and gave rise to extraordinary rumours. A Turkish +officer in full uniform had been seen running for dear life down the +Grand Rue de Pera, pursued by policemen. The officer took refuge in the +Turkish club, but he was refused asylum there. The policemen crowded +into the entrance hall to arrest him, while the fugitive dashed upstairs +to the card-room. Finding, however, that he could not avoid arrest, he +threw himself out of the window, and was instantly killed on the +pavement below. For some time, the corpse, dressed in the uniform of the +Yildiz Guards, blocked the traffic of the city. + +A few days later a British air-raid gave the Constantinopolitans +something new to think about. It was a stifling night, and I was dozing +and listening to the mosquitoes that buzzed round me, when their drone +seemed to grow louder and louder. I lay quite still, thinking that +another raid would be too good to be true. But presently there was no +doubt about it. Invisible, but very audible, the British squadron was +sailing overhead. I jumped up and at that moment the Turks put up their +barrage. Bang! Boom! Whizz! Kk--kk--kk! All the little voices of +civilisation were speaking. + +Greeks crowded into the streets, and clapped their hands when the crash +and rumble of a bomb was heard in the Turkish quarter of Stamboul. + +"The Sultan is going to make peace," they told me. "He has refused to +gird on the Sword of Othman until the Committee of Union and Progress +give an account of their funds." + +"Hurrah for the English!" shouted others, quite undismayed by the +shrapnel and falling pieces of shell. + +Here are some chance remarks, actually heard during air raids. + +"Ah! Here is the revolution at last!" said a Turkish officer in a +chemist's shop in the Grand Rue de Pera, thinking the firing meant the +downfall of Enver Pasha and his gang. + +"Bread costs four shillings a two-pound loaf," said an Armenian in the +suburb of Chichli--"and as often as not there is a stone or half a mouse +thrown into the four shillings' worth, for luck. May this gang of +swindlers perish!" + +"Allah! send the English soon," wailed a Turkish widow in a hovel in +Stamboul, where she was living with her five starving children. "We are +being killed by inches now; it would be better to be killed quickly by +bombs. The English cannot be worse than Enver." + +This, indeed, was the general opinion in Constantinople. Few of the +population, outside the high officials, bore us any grudge. The thieving +of the Young Turks was on as vast a scale as their ambition. From needy +adventurers they had become the prosperous potentates of an Empire. No +country, surely, has ever been the prey of such desperate and determined +men. + +The air raids were one of the first causes of their weakening hold on +the people. The moral effect of these demonstrations was incalculable, +coming as it did at a time when the Sultan was supposed to be in favour +of peace. + +Peace, indeed, was the only faint hope of salvation that remained to the +very poor. Milk had almost disappeared from the open market, and for +some time past children had been exposed in the street, their mothers +being unable to support them any longer. + +Each night, when I passed the Petits Champs, I saw a row of starving +children, poor little living protests of humanity against the barbarisms +of war and the cruelty of profiteers, huddled on the pavement, mute, +uncomplaining, too weak to even ask for alms. + +And Bedri Bey, sometime Prefect of Police at Constantinople, when +appealed to, said: "_Bah! Les pauvres, qu'ils crčvent._" + + * * * * * + +Although politics were interesting enough, escape was my first +preoccupation. It was necessary to approach the harbour officials with +caution, and they, on their side, although ready enough to help with +suggestions, seemed inclined to shelve all the actual work on to a +person or persons unknown, who remained in the background. It was very +difficult to get at the principals. + +One of the chief agents of escape, however, I met one day in the Grand +Rue de Pera. He was a most remarkable man. Intrigue was the breath of +his nostrils, and although he had made thousands of pounds by helping +rich refugees out of the country, he was really more interested in +politics than pelf. He laid the groundwork of such knowledge as I +acquired of Constantinople. + +Incidentally, in the course of our conversation, a squad of Russian +officer prisoners passed, accompanied by two sentries whom I knew quite +well. So confident did I feel of not being recognised that I said a few +words to one of the Russians, while their escort glanced at me with +faces perfectly blank. They had not the vaguest idea who I was. + +To get away from Constantinople, the escape merchant told me, was a +matter of passing the custom house. Formerly this had been easy, but now +every ship was searched from stem to stern and from deck to keelson. +Also every skipper was a Mohammedan. All Christians had been recently +deprived of their positions. + +Still, Mohammedans are not an unbribable people, and something might +possibly be done for me. In fact, that very day he had learnt of a +certain Lazz shipmaster, who was going over to the Caucasus in his own +boat, and who would be prepared to take a few passengers for a +consideration. + +Later in the same day I heard that two other officers, who had escaped +about a week before (by bolting under a train in Haidar Pasha railway +station), were already in touch with this Lazz. I went to see them early +the following morning and we agreed to charter the boat between us, so +as to reduce expenses. + +My two friends were living in the house of one Theodore, a Greek waiter +at a restaurant in Sirkedji, who believed that they, as well as myself, +were Germans. + +The Lazz, who came to visit us, was absolutely astounded when we +proclaimed ourselves as British officers: he had been under the +impression that we were some sort of Turkish subject. However, all +passengers were grist to his mill, and British officers who talked +glibly of gold payments were not people to be neglected. After haggling +about terms, we made an appointment for the next day, and parted with +some cordiality. + +On the morrow, punctual to our appointments, the Lazz and I again +arrived at Theodore's house to confer further with my two friends. + +As it was a very hot afternoon, I took off my coat and my false +moustache, before plunging into the details of our departure. It was +evident that the Lazz was in a hurry to be off. His cargo was complete, +he said. He had only to take in petrol for his motor before leaving on +the following day. There remained the question of money, and after much +argument we settled to pay him five hundred pounds on arrival at the +port of Poti in the Caucasus, and one hundred pounds advance for fuel +immediately. He was to provide the disguises necessary for us to pass +the customs at the Bosphorus. We were each of us to don a black dress +and a black veil and to sit in a row in his cabin, refusing to move or +speak if interrogated. Muslim ladies, he assured us, had frequently +refused to undergo any scrutiny whatever at the customs, and provided +they were vouched for by some responsible person on board, the gallant +excisemen were ready to let them pass. As his very own wives, said the +Lazz, no harm could possibly come to us, provided of course we remained +sitting, and silent, throughout the inspection. + +This seemed a very satisfactory scheme, for obviously whatever risks we +ran, our friend the Lazz would run them too. + +By evening our pact was complete. We handed over a hundred pounds, and +the Lazz promised faithfully that he would have the boat ready and our +disguises prepared by nightfall on the following day, when we would sail +for Russia. + +Hardly had the money changed hands before I noticed a suspicious-looking +individual in the street below. Presently he was joined by another +detective, whom I recognised. + +Things looked ugly. + +We took the Lazz cautiously to the window. + +"Do you know anything about those men?" we asked. + +He turned deathly pale, but swore he had never seen them before. I do +not think he had. His fear was genuine. + +"Let me get out! Let me get out!" he said, making a bolt for the door. + +And he went. There was no use in trying to stop him. + +One of my friends and I now went downstairs, while the third member of +our party stayed behind to hide a few odds and ends of gear, in case the +house was searched. + +We waited downstairs, making light of our fears, and fighting a +premonition of disaster. + +Presently there was a loud tapping on the door. Even if it were the +police, I thought, our disguises would carry us through. Then I noticed +that my friend was in shirt-sleeves. I put on my spectacles and tried to +stick on my moustache again, but the gum from it had gone. + +The rapping at the door became louder and louder, and presently it was +opened by a flustered female. + +In trooped six detectives, including the man I had recognised, who was +apparently their leader. + +"There are some British officers hiding here," he said fiercely to the +woman; "show me where they are." + +While this scene was passing in the entrance-hall, we were behind the +door of the pantry. + +A detective came in and caught my friend. Meanwhile two others were +pommelling the unfortunate woman to make her say where we were. She kept +pleading that she knew nothing about any British officers. + +Another instant, and I should have been found. So I came out from behind +the pantry door, and crossed the entrance hall. + +In the doorway stood a burly policeman, who said "_Yok, yok_," when I +attempted to pass him. + +Had I had the requisite nerve I believe I could have bluffed this man. +Some phrase with _schweinhund_ in it would probably have got me past. +But I hesitated, and was lost. + +My hand flew to my breast pocket, where the forged passport lay, and my +false moustache. + +"Seize that man and search him," said the head detective, looking over +the banisters. Then he went upstairs, dragging the woman with him. + +My arms were instantly caught from behind, while a seedy-looking youth, +who was probably a pick-pocket in his spare time, ran his fingers over +my clothes. My wad of money, watch, compass, passport, moustache, +everything was put into a small canvas bag, and I was then taken to the +opposite corner of the room to that in which my friend sat, and told +not to move under pain of death. A levelled revolver emphasised the +injunction. + +[Illustration: The Author as a Hungarian Mechanic] + +Presently there were cries of women heard from the attic, then there was +a loud crash, and I knew that the third member of our party had fallen +through the trapdoor leading to the roof. + +That was the last of my freedom for the time. Thus suddenly my five +weeks' scheming was ended. + +Each of us was taken charge of by two policemen, who linked their arms +in ours. Presently the order to march was given, and a dismal +procession, consisting of two weeping women, a seedy-smart individual in +a bowler hat, two youths in slippers and shirt-sleeves, and a Greek +waiter, could be seen wending their way to the Central Gaol of +Stamboul. + + + + + CHAPTER XI + + THE BLACK HOLE OF CONSTANTINOPLE + + +Before leaving, we had protested strongly against the treatment of the +women in the house. + +"But they are Turkish subjects," said the detectives. + +"Anyway, they are women," we protested. + +But this had little effect. Theodore and his unfortunate family were +marched off behind us to the Central Gaol. I think, however, that our +protest was not quite in vain, for it gave the women courage. When I +last saw them, before being taken to the Chief of Police, they had dried +their tears. Eventually they were released, but not, alas! until they +had endured much suffering. + +The Chief of Police congratulated us on being safe once more in Turkish +hands. + +"Yes, we are comfortably back in prison," I said with a faint smile, +"and therefore there is surely no harm in giving us back the personal +trifles that the detectives took from us." + +"I cannot give you your papers," he said. "There is a forged passport +here, amongst other things." + +"Very well, do as you like about that," I said, shrugging my shoulders, +"but surely my empty pocket-book and my watch might be returned." + +To this he agreed, whereupon he handed me-- + +(_a_) My pocket-book, containing five pounds hidden in the lining. + +(_b_) My watch, and a compass, which he mistook for another timepiece. + +(_c_) My false moustache, which had been captured on my person. + +I was in an agony of anxiety about this moustache. Had the police +inquired at the only two hairdressers' where such things were made, they +would have found that Miss Whitaker had ordered it for me only ten days +before. But now it was safely in my possession again. I had the only +connecting link of evidence that might incriminate Miss Whitaker in my +trouser pocket, and was tearing it to shreds as I talked to the Chief of +Police. + +The interview passed on a note of felicitation, until the very end. +After praising the smart way his men had surrounded the house, and +receiving his congratulations on our escapes, just as if the whole thing +was a game, we said that there was one criticism we had to make on +police methods, and that was their treatment of women. + +"They are Turkish subjects," snapped the Chief of Police, suddenly +showing his teeth. + +"They are women," we retorted, "and they are innocent. If they are +maltreated----" + +"I know how to manage my affairs," he said with a gasp of annoyance. + +"Certainly. But if they are maltreated you will be responsible after the +war." + +To this he made no reply. + +We were removed without further ado, and after being photographed and +measured in the most approved fashion for criminals, we were taken up +long flights of stairs, and across a roof, to the quarters for prisoners +awaiting trial. Here we were allotted separate cells, where we were to +pass the next few days in strict isolation. + +To my amazement (for I knew something of Turkish prisons from a previous +experience, not here recorded) these cells were scrupulously clean. A +bed, a table, and a chair were in each apartment, all very firm and +foursquare, as if designed to withstand any access of fury or despair on +the prisoner's part. There was electric light in the ceiling, covered +with wire netting. Walls and woodwork were of a neutral colour. The +windows, which were barred, had a convenient arrangement for regulating +the ventilation. The heavy door, which admitted no sound, was provided +with a sliding hatch, which could be opened by the warders at will for +purposes of investigation. Everything was hideously efficient. + +Turkey is a country of surprises, but I was not prepared for this. I +would have preferred something more picturesque. One's mind, after the +testing climax of recapture, craves for new doses of excitement. + +The brain of a criminal, after he has been apprehended, must be a +turmoil of thought. He curses his stupidity, or his luck, or his +associates. He longs to explain and defend himself. Instead of this, he +is left in silence in a drab room, with no company but his thoughts. + +My own thoughts were most unpleasant. I had failed miserably and +innocent people were suffering as the result. + +After five weeks of effort I was farther than ever from escape. Worse +than all, Miss Whitaker was in danger. Never again shall I pass such +dismal hours. I see myself now, seated on that solid chair with head on +arms, bent over that efficient table. A prisoner's heart must soon turn +to stone. + +But although our surroundings were inhuman, one of our gaolers had a +generous heart. He opened the slot in my door merely to say he was sorry +about it all, and that the women were all right. It is little actions +such as these that so often light the darkest hours of life. The man was +a European Turk. + +It was urgently necessary to communicate with my fellow-prisoners, in +order to arrange to tell the same story. My friend next door solved the +problem by bawling up through his barred window at the top of his voice +that he would leave a note for me in the wash-place. + +"Right you are!" I howled in answer, and instantly the slot of my door +opened, and I had to explain that I was singing. + +Already, interest was beginning to creep back into one's life. I found +the note in the wash-place, read it secretly, thought over my answer, +and transcribed the message on to a cigarette paper. Having no writing +material, I used the end of a match dipped into an ink prepared from +tobacco juice and ash. By these simple means we established a regular +means of communication and before forty-eight hours of our strict +seclusion had elapsed we were all three in possession of a complete, +circumstantial, and fictitious account of our adventures prior to +capture. + +When not engaged on reminiscences, I was generally pacing my cell, or +trying to invent some new form of exercise to keep myself fit. But at +times energy failed and one felt inclined to gnash one's teeth at the +futility of it all. + +One day, when I was feeling inclined to gnash my teeth, the slot in my +door was furtively withdrawn, and, instead of a gaoler, a very comely +vision appeared at the observation hatch. A pair of laughing black eyes +were looking in on me. She wrinkled her nose, and laughed. I jumped up, +thinking I was dreaming, and hoping that the dream would continue. At +the same moment something dropped on to my floor. Then the trap door was +softly shut to. + +I found a tiny stump of lead pencil. That was proof of the reality of my +vision. + +Countless excuses to leave my cell, and voluminous correspondence with +the pencil's aid eventually enabled me to find out that she was an +Armenian girl, awaiting trial, who took a deep interest in us. At great +risk to herself, she had provided the three of us with writing +instruments. Except for a brief glimpse, and a mumbled word, I was never +able to thank her, however, owing to circumstances beyond our control. + +On the fourth day we were transferred to the Military Prison in the +Square of the Seraskerat. + +As usual in Turkey, our move was sudden and unexpected. That morning, on +complaining at mid-day that I had as yet received no food, I was told +that _inshallah_--if God pleased--it would arrive in due course. + +Instead of a belated breakfast, however, a _posse_ of policemen arrived, +and we started on our journeys again: my friends still in their +shirt-sleeves and slippers, and myself still in my bowler hat, although +I did not now wear it so rakishly. + +But we were fairly cheery. We had learnt (no matter how) that the +females of Theodore's family would soon be released, and that Theodore +himself, although still in duress, would not suffer any extreme fate. +Also, it was by now fairly obvious that Miss Whitaker would not be +apprehended, as sufficient evidence was not obtainable against her. She +had covered her tracks too well. All things considered, there was no +cause for depression. + +But waiting is hungry work. That afternoon still saw us, fretful and +unfed, waiting outside the office of Djevad Bey, the Military +Commandant of Constantinople. + +At last I was taken into an ornate room, where I had my first talk with +this redoubtable individual, who was popularly supposed to be the +hangman of the Young Turks. Anyone less like an executioner I have never +seen. He was plump, well-dressed, with humorous grey eyes. He wore long, +rather well-fitting boots, and smoked his cigarettes from a long amber +holder. He also had a long amber moustache, which was being trained +Kaiser-wise. + +I stood before him at attention. + +"About this forged passport," he began--"do gentlemen in your country +forge each other's signatures?" + +"It is not usual," I admitted. + +"Then you, as an English gentleman, surely did not counterfeit my +writing?" + +"Oh no! I wouldn't dream of doing such a thing." + +"Then how do you account for this passport being in your possession?" + +I remained silent. + +"Who forged it?" he insisted. + +"May I look?" said I. "Is that really your signature?" + +"It is indeed. With it you could easily have got out of the country." + +"What an idiot I was not to use it!" I said with quite unfeigned +annoyance. + +"You were!" he laughed--"they would have passed you straight through the +Customs on seeing this." + +I felt very faint at this moment, and staggered against the table. But I +recovered after an instant. I quite forget his next few remarks, but I +know that I committed myself to a story that I had bought the passport +from a man in a restaurant whom I could not now recognise. + +"But where have you been living all these weeks?" he asked. + +"I was living in the ruins near the Fatih mosque," I said glibly--"and I +used to lunch and dine at various cafés in the city, a different one +every day. It was in one of these places that I bought the passport." + +Djevad Bey considered this statement for a moment. There was a nasty +look in his eye when he spoke again. + +"I shall never rest until I know who it is who can forge my signature so +well," he said--"and until I know, I am afraid you will be very +uncomfortable, for by law you are in the position of a common +malefactor." + +"By law I am in the position of a prisoner of war," I answered--"and as +such, I am liable to a fortnight's simple imprisonment, for attempting +to escape. The Turkish Government signed this agreement only a few +months ago with the British representatives at Berne." + +"A man who forges another's name is not an officer, but a forger," he +said meaningly. + +"Say what you like, and do what you like," I answered--"I am in your +power. But one thing I ask, and that is, that if you punish me, you +should liberate the innocent Theodore and his family. True, we were +found in their house, but----" + +"I cannot believe what you say," said Djevad Bey thoughtfully. + +There was a pause. Then: + +"Come, as man to man, won't you tell me who forged that passport?" + +"You have just called me a liar," said I. "That ends the matter." + +And with an all-is-over-between-us air I left the room, feeling dizzy +and uncomfortable. + +It was then four o'clock in the afternoon, and I had not yet eaten. I +did not feel at all amused at the prospect of the Military Prison. + +I was taken downstairs into the darkness, on entering this inferno of +the damned of Enver Pasha. There were cries and shouts down there, and +men scrambling for food, and other men who looked like wild animals, +behind bars. A swarthy custodian took my name, and I then proceeded, +down a long corridor, until my escort reached an iron portal such as +Dante imagined long ago. + +_Lasciate ogni speranza voi ch'entrate. . . ._ The gates had clanged +behind me, and I was in a long, low room below ground level, airless, +ill-lit, filthy with tomato skins and bits of bread. Well-fed rats were +scurrying amongst the garbage, and badly-fed prisoners were pacing the +room forlornly, or twiddling their thumbs, or scratching themselves, or +gnawing crusts of bread. + +They gathered round me, clamouring for news and cigarettes. In less than +no time they had picked my pockets. They had no more morals than +monkeys. Poor devils! who could blame them, living as they did down +there, where no rumours are heard of the outside world, except the cries +of beaten men and the dull sound of wood on flesh? + +"What are you in for?" they asked me. + +"Forgery," said I, not to be outdone by any desperado present. + +One man, however, confessed to murder, having cut a small boy's throat a +few months before. With him I could not compete. But the most of us were +fraudulent contractors, spies, petty swindlers and the like. Our morals, +as I have said, were practically _nil_. Yet I noticed that a Jew lived +quite apart, and was shunned by everybody. By trade he was a brigand, +but this was no slur on his character as a criminal: the failing that +had led to ostracism was that he pilfered the other prisoners' tomatoes. +That was really beyond a joke. . . . + + * * * * * + +One of my newly found friends took me to a bed, consisting of two planks +on an iron frame, which he said I could have for my very, very own. He +also gave me a piece of bread and some water. On beginning to eat I at +once realised how hungry I was, and inquired how I should obtain further +nourishment. + +"Luxuries are very difficult to obtain," he said; "how much money have +you got?" + +"Twenty-five piastres,[9]" I answered. + +He pulled a long face. + +"That won't go far. But every evening at eight a boy comes round with +the scraps left over from the Officers' Restaurant. Otherwise you will +live on bread and tomatoes." + +"What about bedding?" I asked, to change the subject. + +"Bedding!" he said, looking at me as if I was a perfect idiot. "Do you +mean to say you have come here without any bedding?" + +I admitted I had, but felt too exhausted to explain. + + * * * * * + +One was utterly lost in that dungeon. Even when the war ended, would one +be found? I doubted it. Yet as I would naturally never reveal the +forger's name, it seemed unlikely that I would get out. . . . Then I +thought of my companions. I imagined them happily together, in some +place where one could see the sky. . . . As for me, I might languish +down here for ever. Obviously something should be done. + +But what? I rose (rather hastily, for on looking between the planks of +my bed, I noticed that the crack was entirely filled with battalions of +board beasts in line, waiting for a night attack), and began to pace +our narrow and nasty apartment. A group of prisoners were cooking some +pitiful mess by the window. Four others played poker with a very greasy +pack. One was twiddling his thumbs very fast, and I suddenly recollected +that he had been twiddling his thumbs very fast half an hour ago, when I +had first seen him. The lonely Jew was removing lice from the seams of +his coat, and throwing his quarry airily about the room. + +Then I noticed that besides ourselves, there were other prisoners even +more unfortunate. There had been so much to see in my new surroundings +that I had not noticed the people in chains. . . . One side of our room +opened out on to some half-dozen cubicles, each of which contained a +prisoner in chains. These cells had no light or ventilation. They +measured six feet in length by four in breadth. In solitude and +obscurity, fettered by wrist and ankle to shackles that weighed a +hundredweight, human beings lived there--and are still living for aught +I know--for months and even years, until death released them. These men +were ravenous and verminous, but they had by no means lost their hope +and faith. I shall never hear the hymn-- + + "Thy rule, O Christ, begin, + Break with Thine iron rod + The tyrannies of sin . . ." + +without remembering that an Armenian lad said those words to me, lying +in chains in one of these cells. With another prisoner, a Greek, who +had endured eleven months of this torture, I also had some speech. + +"Yes, the war will be over soon," he said. "My God, how good this +cigarette of yours tastes! I haven't touched tobacco for a month. But be +careful. The sentries must not see you speaking to me." + +"Yes, the chains were bad at first," he continued when the sentry's back +was turned, "but one gets used to anything in time. And I have had time +enough. It takes a lot to kill a healthy man. Before I came in here I +used to be strong and well. I used to ride two hours every day, on my +own horses. Now my horses have gone to feed the Turkish Army and I can +hardly drag my chains as far as the water-tap. But God is great. . . ." + +God is great! _Allahu akbar!_ + +I determined to get away from that dungeon at all costs, if for no other +reason than because I had to survive to write about it. + +I went to the big gate, and tried to bluff the sentry to let me go to +see the Commandant. But a clean face and a full stomach are practically +necessary to a _débonnaire_ appearance. When one is scrubby and starved +it is almost impossible to succeed in "wangling." I stared at the sentry +through my eyeglass, and I offered him my twenty-five piastres as if I +had plenty more _baksheesh_ to give to a good boy, but I utterly and +dismally failed to impress him. + +"_Yok, yok, yok_," he said, looking at me as one might look at an +orang-outang that has + + +-------------------------------+ + | DO NOT IRRITATE THIS ANIMAL | + +-------------------------------+ + +written over its cage. + +I gibbered in impotent rage, and then went and put my head under a tap. + +A little later, while I was drying my head with my handkerchief, I saw +some barbers come to the big gate. They stood there, clapping and +clacking their strops. Instantly, my fellow-prisoners rushed to the gate +as if they had heard the beating of the wings of some angel of +deliverance. This was apparently the occasion of their weekly shave, +when egress to the corridor was permitted, the barbers naturally not +wishing to go inside our loathsome room. + +Taking this tide in the affairs of men at the flood, I found it led on +to fortune. I was in the corridor with six other prisoners, and a barber +confronted me with a razor in his hand. He whetted his steel +expectantly, but I would have none of him, and seized a passing official +by the arm. + +He was a dog-collar gentleman. + +A dog-collar gentleman, I must explain, is Authority Incarnate. On his +swelling chest he wears a crescent tablet of brass, with the one word +_Quanun_ inscribed thereon. _Quanun_ means "law," and the wearer of this +badge is responsible for public decorum of every kind. If a Turkish +officer be seen drinking alcohol in uniform, or playing cards, or +flirting, or talking disrespectfully of the Germans, or indulging in any +other prohibited amusement, he is instantly arrested by the dog-collar +gentleman, and brought to prison. In his official capacity, the +dog-collar gentleman is one of the most important personages in Turkey: +policeman, pussfoot and prude in one. + +"There is some mistake," I said excitedly. "I am a British officer, and +have been put in a room with criminals." + +"You a British officer?" said the dog-collar man incredulously. + +"A captain of cavalry," said I, slipping him the twenty-five piastre +note. + +"_Pekke, Effendim_," he answered. "Very good, sir, I will see what can +be done." + +I had burnt my boats now. + +About ten minutes later, just as I was flatly refusing to either be +shaved or to return through the gate, a sergeant-major and a squad of +soldiers arrived and bore me off to the Prison Commandant. + +Here I caught sight of my two companions, and was able to fling them a +few words through the "Yok, yok" of the sentries. They also had been +separated, and put amongst criminals. Their lot had been no different to +mine. + +"A slight mistake has occurred," said the Prison Commandant to me, "but +now you shall have one of the best rooms in the prison. Only I am +afraid you will be alone there, until after your trial." + +Of course I did not believe him, but I was glad that I was to be alone. + +I was taken to a room on the upper floor, furnished with a bed and +blanket, and with a window opening on to a corridor, where people were +always passing. The Commandant had spoken the truth. It was quite a good +room, as prison apartments go, and the traffic of the corridor amused +me. + +At nine o'clock that night I was able to get a dish of haricot beans, my +first meal of the day. + +Then I settled down to a month of solitary confinement. + +I think I may claim to write of this torture, which exists not only in +Turkey but through the prisons of the civilised world, with some expert +knowledge. I use the word "torture" because it is nothing less. Solitary +confinement is a punishment as barbarous and as senseless as the +thumbscrew or the rack: more so indeed, for it is better to kill the +body than to maim the mind. The spirit of man is more than his poor +flesh; the war has reminded us of that. And if it has also reminded us +that our prison systems are archaic, so much the better for the world. + +At times, in gaol, a tide of pity rose in me for all life created that +is caged by man. + +Take a felon at one end of the scale, and a canary at the other. The +felon is imprisoned for twenty years. For twenty years, less some small +remission for good conduct, an abnormal brain lives in abnormal +surroundings, where hope dies, and ideals fail. He has sinned against +society, and therefore society murders his mind. Corporal and capital +punishment, I have come to believe, are saner than the cruelties, +immeasurable by "the world's coarse thumb and finger," suffered by the +mind of man in solitary confinement or the common gaol. The +sentimentalist who shudders at the cat and gallows forgets the worse, +slow, hidden horrors that pass unseen in the felon's brain. Perhaps the +sentimentalist does not realise them. Perhaps also the old lady who +keeps a canary does not realise the feelings of her pet. She may think +she is protecting it from the birds and beasts outside. But I feel now +that I know what the canary feels. . . . However, it is difficult to +argue about questions involving imagination. + +I lived on hope, chiefly, during the days that followed. With nothing to +read, no cutting instrument of any sort, no washing arrangements, and no +one to speak to, the time passed hideously. I used to gaze at my watch +sometimes, appalled at the slow passage of time. The second-hand had a +horrible fascination for me. It simply crawled round its dial and each +instant, between the jerks of the little hand, the precious moments of +my youth were passing, beyond recall. Madness lay that way. If I had +been a real criminal, I wondered, would I have repented? Unquestionably +the answer was, "No!" Solitary confinement would have made me a +permanent enemy of society. + +There were no smiles and soap in that Military Prison, no scissors, no +sanitation. There was nothing human or clean about it. Nothing but +destruction will rid it of its vermin, or scour it of its taint of +disease and death. + +Perhaps the lack of scissors was the amenity of life whose absence I +most deplored. Try to do without a cutting instrument for a month, and +you will realise why it was that some sort of cutting edge was the first +need of primitive man and remains a prime necessity to-day. + +However, as a matter of fact, I did not remain a whole month without a +cutting edge. Before a fortnight had elapsed I had bettered my position +in many ways. I had secured a knife (which I stole from the restaurant), +a wash-basin (sent from the Embassy), and pencil and paper from a +friendly clerk. With these writing instruments I used to correspond +voluminously with the other British prisoners, by various privy methods. + +I had a regular routine for my days now. Early mornings were devoted to +walking briskly up and down my room in various gaits--the sailor's roll, +for instance, and the Napoleonic stride, and the deportment of various +of my acquaintances. During this time I avoided thinking, but generally +imagined some incident in which I took a distinguished part. In the +forenoon I played games, such as throwing my soap to the ceiling and +catching it again, or juggling with cigarettes, both lighted and +unlighted. The afternoon generally passed in sleep, but the evening and +nights were bad. It was then that the second hand of my watch began to +exert its fascination. The electric light bulb, however, could +occasionally be tampered with, and on these occasions there was always +the hope that the sentries would get a shock in putting it right. Also I +found amusement in my watch chain, which I made into an absorbing +puzzle. + +But, curiously enough, I found it impossible to write anything, except +lengthy letters. + +A real prisoner in a well-constituted prison does not enjoy his days any +more than I did. On the other hand, he knows how long his sentence is +going to last, whereas in my case I was confined during Djevad Bey's +pleasure, or the duration of the war, and each day brought me nearer +nothing--except insanity. + +One evening, however, an Imperial Son-in-law entered my room, and lit my +life with a certain interest. His father, who was a Court official, had +betrothed him to a princess, and he had consequently assumed the title +of Damad, or Son-in-law. This youth had had a remarkable career. While +still a guileless lad, scarcely broke from the harem, he had used his +revolver so injudiciously that he had seriously damaged one of the +Imperial apartments, besides killing the elderly Colonel at whom he was +aiming. Enver Pasha had of course himself a weakness for this sort of +thing, but still, to save appearances, the Damad had to be punished. He +was therefore condemned to three months' confinement in the Military +Prison. Although nominally in residence there, he used, however, to +leave prison every Friday to attend the Sultan's Selamlik, and only +return on Monday night. Moreover, he not only thoroughly amused himself +during his protracted week-ends, he also squeezed every bit of pleasure +possible out of his prison days. Life was a lemon, which he sucked with +grace. He was free to wander where he wished in the prison, and to eat +and drink what he liked. The best of everything was good enough for the +Damad. Grapes came for him from the Sultan's garden, and a faithful +negro slave was always at his heels. + +The Damad had rather charming manners. He knocked politely before +entering my cell. + +"Excuse my interrupting," he said, "but----" + +"You are not interrupting me at all," I answered, getting up from my +bed. "I do wish you would stop and talk. Have a cigarette? I haven't +talked to anyone for a fortnight." + +"I am so sorry, but I daren't talk to you. That is a pleasure to come. I +wanted to borrow something, that's all. And, I say, will you allow me to +offer you one of my cigarettes--they're the Sultan's brand, you know. +Better take the box. Well, I saw you with an eyeglass through the window +in the passage. Will you lend it me to appear at the next Selamlik?" + +I was delighted, and said so. To my sorrow, the Damad instantly took his +departure. + +"Smuggle me in something to read," I said, as he left with profuse +apologies for his hurry. + +He nodded, and his long left eyelash flickered. + +Next day his little nigger boy, when the sentry's back was turned, +popped about twenty leaflets into my window. I seized them avidly, and +found that they were the astounding adventures of Nat Pinkerton in +French. Never have my eyes rested so gleefully on a printed page. I +consumed them cautiously, else I should have gorged myself with +excitement at a single sitting. Like an epicure, I made them last, by +always breaking off at the critical juncture of the great detective's +affairs. From that moment my life flowed in more agreeable channels. + +"Devouring time, blunt though the lion's paws." . . . I suddenly +understood Shakespeare's meaning afresh. Time had dulled the clawing of +regret. + +I had failed to escape, it is true, but there was always hope. Things +were getting better. The women had been released. Thémistoclé only +awaited a formal trial. My own condition had improved. I had been moved +from my solitary confinement, just when I had secured a Bible, and a +large tin of Keating's, wherewith to combat the devils of captivity. But +any change is better than none at all, I thought. The mortal hunger for +companionship is strong, and my new room, besides containing an officer, +also enjoyed an excellent and varied view. + +After a few days' experience of my new room-mate, however, who was a +Bulgarian Bolshevik, I began to pine for solitude again. A more +unmitigated Tishbite I have never seen, but fortunately he was smaller +than I. When I found him washing his feet in my basin one night, I smote +him, hip and thigh. + +That Bulgarian has coloured my whole view of the Balkans. The less said +about him, the better. + + * * * * * + +One day about thirty British officers arrived from the camp at Yuzgad, +whence they had escaped and been recaptured on the occasion when +Commander Cochrane and his gallant band of seven marched four hundred +and fifty miles to freedom. All the party who arrived in the Military +Prison were in uniform, and in excellent spirits. They were like a +breath of fresh air in that sordid place. On being put into three rooms, +these thirty brave men and true at once demanded beds to sleep on. In +due time the beds arrived, in the usual condition of beds in that place. +They might have been so many Stilton cheeses. Our thirty prisoners, +despite the protest of the guards, carried out their couches into the +passage, and lit two Primus stoves. Over these stoves they proceeded to +pass the component parts of each bed, so that its occupants were utterly +exterminated. + +Imagine the scene. A dismal corridor, a flaming stove, Turkish sentries +protesting with Hercules in khaki, cleansing the Augean stable. . . . +But protests were useless. The smell of burnt bugs mingled with the +other contaminations of the prison. Our officers had done in little what +civilisation will one day do at large throughout that land. + + * * * * * + +A British officer, going to the feeding place, looked into a window +which gave on to my room. But I was kept strictly apart from my fellows, +and the sentry consequently tried to drag the officer away. + +"Leave me alone, you son of Belial!" said he. "Isn't a window meant to +look through?" + +Windows in that prison were certainly not meant to look through. + +From my new eyrie I had a composite view of startling contrasts. Down +below, some soldiers were living in a verandah, behind wooden bars. +Anything more animal than their life it would be impossible to conceive. +Every afternoon at three o'clock a parade of handcuffed men were +marshalled two by two, and then pushed into these dens. Beyond them lay +the city of Stamboul with its clustered cupolas and nine-trellised +alley-ways. And beyond the city were the blue waters of the Marmora. + +Then there was the window in the passage through which the British +officer had observed me. This gave me a view of the rank and fashion of +the prison, so that I knew who was being tried, who received visitors, +and so on. + +And directly opposite me, in another face of the building, was yet +another window, with curtains drawn. That was the window of the Hall of +Justice. Directly under my perch, but rather too far to jump, were some +telegraph lines which might possibly have provided a means of escape. +Sentries used to watch me carefully, whenever I looked at these +telegraph lines. I was considered a dangerous, indeed a desperate +character, and my every movement was regarded with apprehension. Not +only was no one (except now the Bulgarian) allowed to speak to me, but I +was not even permitted to look at anything, or anyone, for long, without +being bidden to desist. Whatever I did, in fact, I was told not to do. + +Eventually I made a scene. + +The immediate cause of the row was that I had a glimpse of a sitting in +the Hall of Justice. I had often wondered what passed there, for at +times faint screams used to hint of the infamies that passed behind +those curtains. + +One day I saw. + +The Hall of Justice is a fine room, with a lordly sweep of view over the +city and the sea. Why anyone chose such a situation as a torture chamber +I do not know. But there it was. There was something dramatic about the +beautiful prospect and the bestial people who sat with their backs +turned to it, interrogating the Armenians. + + "Every prospect pleases and only man is vile." + +Very vile were the two Turkish officers, judges I suppose, who sat +smoking cigarettes, while an old Armenian woman and her son stood before +them to be tried. What passed I could not hear, but evidently her +answers were not satisfactory, for presently the policeman who stood +behind her kicked her violently, so that her head jerked back and her +arms flung forward, and she was sent tottering towards the judges' +table. Then the policeman took a stick as thick as a man's wrist, and +began to beat her over the head and shoulders. Her son meanwhile had +fallen on his knees and was crawling about the room, dragging his +chains, and supplicating first the judges and then the policeman. He was +imploring them, no doubt, to have pity on his mother's age and weakness. + +She fell down in a faint. The policeman kicked her in the face, and then +prodded her with a stick until she rose. + +I wish the people who are ready to "let the Turk manage his own country" +could have seen that savage pantomime. + +I tried to get out to stop it, but was driven back with bayonets. + + * * * * * + +Djevad Bey, the Military Commandant of Constantinople, with a +resplendent retinue, arrived one day to inspect us. With his long +cigarette-holder, and long shiny boots, he swaggered round, followed by +_ormulu_ staff officers and diligent clerks and pompous gentlemen in +dog-collars. Everywhere around him was dirt, disease, destitution, and +despair. But Djevad Bey in his shiny boots "cared for none of these +things." He was himself, with his medals and moustaches, and that was +enough. + +"What more do you want, _effendi_?" he asked me after I had made a few +casual complaints (for it was useless to take him seriously). "You have +one of the most beautiful views in Europe from the garden." + +"But I am not allowed into the garden." + +"Have a little patience, _mon cher_," said he. "It is rather crowded +with older prisoners now. But in a little time perhaps, when I have +discovered the name of that forger . . ." + +And with a condescending smile he passed on between ranks of sentries +standing stiffly at attention, to inspect another portion of his +miserable menagerie. + + * * * * * + +Ah, Djevad, _mon cher_, those days seem distant now! You and your +popinjays have passed. . . . + +[Footnote 9: Five shillings.] + + + + + CHAPTER XII + + OUR SECOND ESCAPE + + +The ghosts of the prisoners of the Tower, or of the Bastille, could they +revisit earth, would undoubtedly have found themselves more at home in +the Military Prison, Constantinople, than anywhere else in the world. +The dark ages were still a matter of actuality in the dark dungeons of +Constantinople in 1918. To be tried, for instance, was there considered +something very up-to-date. Most prisoners were not tried, until their +sentence was nearly over, when they were formally liberated. + +After a month of solitary confinement, and a week of confinement with +the Bulgarian, which was an even worse travail of the spirit, I received +the joyful news that the preliminaries for my court-martial were almost +complete. + +I attended this first sitting with the thrill of a debutante going to a +ball. I determined to make up arrears of talk. And I did. I began at the +beginning of my life, sketched my education, and came by easy stages to +my career as an officer in the Indian Cavalry. The clerk who recorded my +evidence wrote for two hours without pause or intermission, but it is +worthy of record that at the end of that time we had only reached the +point where an officer of the Psamattia fire brigade, hearing, as I +thought, a suspicious movement on the roof of the house across the +street, kept a stern and steadfast gaze in our direction, while we +crouched trembling under cover of the parapet. At this point the +proceedings were adjourned. + +But the Court had let fall a useful piece of information. Robin was back +in prison, but was being kept even more secret and secluded than I. + +However, love laughs at locksmiths, and it takes more than a Turkish +sentry to defeat a persevering prisoner. We sighted each other in +passages, we met in wash-places, we flipped notes to each other in bits +of bread, or sent them by a third party concealed in cigarettes. By such +means, I learnt Robin's remarkable story. . . . After being caught at +Malgara, ten days after his first escape, he was taken back to the +Central Gaol, where he was treated as a Turkish deserter and given +nothing but black bread to eat. He thereupon went on hunger strike for +three days, and alarmed the Turks by nearly dying in their hands. Later +he was allowed to purchase a liberal diet, including even wine and +cigars, which he declared were necessary to his health, but his +constitution being enfeebled by privation, he developed alarming +swellings over his face and scalp, which were probably due to some +noxious ingredient of the hair-dye he had used. In this condition he +was sent to hospital, and from hospital he escaped again. A Greek +patient was his accomplice. + +Giving this man ten pounds to buy a disguise with, he made an +appointment with him for nine o'clock outside the German Embassy (!) and +then set out on his adventures dressed in a white night-shirt. How he +eluded the sentries is a mystery to me, although I inspected the place +after the armistice. Patients were then saying (Turks, who are sometimes +sportsmen, among them): "Here is where a British officer escaped. Thus +and thus did he climb--past the sentries--along that buttress--down into +the street hard by the guard-house!". . . . He arrived punctually at +nine o'clock at the German Embassy, in his night-shirt. But the Greek +accomplice was not there. He was at that moment drinking and dicing with +Robin's money. For half an hour Robin waited for him by a tree in the +shadows of a side street leading to the sea. The few people who passed +him stared hard, and then moved nervously across to the other pavement. +They thought he was a madman. + +Robin, I think, felt he was a madman too. In his present situation and +dress, detection was only a matter of time. However, chance might be +kind and send him a disguise. Cold and disconsolate, he ascended the +main road that led to the top of the Grand Rue de Pera, and taking his +way through the traffic, dipped down into the ruins beyond. The saint +who protects prisoners must have guided that tall white figure, that +paddled across the busy town. . . . And more, once he was hiding in the +ruins, the saint must have sent along the small boy who passed close to +him in that lonely spot of cypresses and desolation. All-unknowing of +the fate that awaited him behind the angle of the wall, the small boy +strode sturdily along, thinking perhaps of the nice bran-bread and +synthetic coffee that awaited him for supper. Robin pounced out of the +shadow, and seized him by the scruff of the neck. . . . The victim +instantly began to blubber. + +"Give me all your clothes," said Robin. + +"Who are you?" sobbed the little boy. + +"Brigand," said Robin shortly. + +This answer had the desired effect. The youth dried his tears, and +divested himself of his apparel, which Robin immediately put on. The +boots were much too small to wear and were returned. Still, the brigand +was so satisfied with his clothes that he gave the small boy four pounds +with a magnanimous gesture. Then he set out to seek his fortune, wearing +a tiny fezz, and a coat whose sleeves reached half-way down his forearm. +For four days he dodged about the city, never more than a few hours at +one place, until, just when his strength and his funds were exhausted, +he found a house to give him shelter. From here he made a plan to +escape, but was recaught through treachery at the docks, and taken back +to the Military Prison. Only an Ali Baba could do justice to these +experiences. Alas! the best books of adventure are just those which are +never written. + +Anyway we were together again, two desperadoes in dungeon, "apart but +not afar." + +The Damad's little nigger boy often contributed to our schemes for +communication. This lad, who was in training for the position of keeper +of the harem, and consequently belonged to the species that rises to +eminence in Turkey, was a remarkable child. He did exactly what he liked +and no one dared interfere with the little Lord Chamberlain _in posse_. +He had an uncanny brain and uncanny strength, and I can quite understand +the reliance which Turkish Pashas are wont to repose in these servants. +I relied on him myself at times, and was never disappointed. + +The arrival of a neutral Red Cross delegate, at about this time, did +much to secure us better treatment. For over five weeks now I had not +breathed fresh air, but directly the Red Cross delegate arrived I was +allowed to go to the bath, escorted by two dog-collar gentlemen with +revolvers and two sentries with side arms. While glad to feel I was +employing so many of the Turkish Army while at my ablutions, I could not +but deplore their anxiety on my behalf. + +"No officer has ever succeeded in escaping from this wonderful gaol of +yours," I said to the Prison Commandant, who (in contrast to Djevad) was +quite a good fellow in his way "and I don't suppose anyone ever will. +Why therefore go to the trouble of guarding us so closely? It would be +a very graceful act on your part if you allowed us to go occasionally +into the garden." + +"Yarin, inshallah," murmured the Commandant, meaning, "To-morrow, please +God." + +And to-morrow, strange to say, actually arrived in about a week's time. + +Perhaps a bomb raid hastened matters, by stimulating the Commandant's +desire to do graceful acts before the war was over. + +One of the bombs of this raid dropped in the school playground just +outside the Seraskerat Square, and shattered all the windows in my +passage. Fortunately all the children were away, it being Friday. No one +was killed by that bomb, but a large handsome Turkish officer prisoner +standing beside me in the passage, when some panes of glass beside us +burst, threw himself on the floor and refused to rise again, declaring +he was killed. A full ten minutes he lay, with his moustaches in the +dust, surrounded by sentries. In the confusion that ensued Robin +cleverly slipped over to me and we had a very useful chat. + +The first and most vital thing to do, we decided, was to get into +Constantinople, in order to learn how the situation really stood, and +make our plans for escaping, so that in the event of our success we +should be in possession of knowledge useful to the Allies. + +Having settled this, we returned to our respective cells, where I +witnessed a scene that, by contrast with the behaviour of the nervous +Turkish officer, reminded me of the "patient deep disdain" that the +East will always feel for the marvels of our age of steel. Our machines +are things of a day, but the ancient needs remain. The bomb that had +dropped in the playground had wrecked a large tree that stood in its +centre, and hardly had its smoke cleared away before an elderly peasant +appeared with a donkey and started collecting twigs and splinters for +firewood. Slowly and stolidly, under that barrage-riven sky, the old man +continued gathering the aftermath of the raid, before the raid was +finished. Empires might crumble to the dust: he would cook his dinner +with the pieces. + +This bombing business "cleared the air" for us greatly, and another +little incident clinched matters. + +An officious sentry, who had received the usual orders about treating +Robin with especial severity, so far exceeded his instructions as to +slap Robin in the face when he was merely standing at the door of his +room. Robin instantly knocked him down with a hook on the point of the +jaw that would have sent a prizefighter to sleep, let alone a _posta_. +There was a click of rifles and a glitter of bayonets. Sergeants were +whistled for. Swords and spurs rang down the corridor. The Commandant +arrived. + +What seemed an awkward situation for Robin at first now turned greatly +to his advantage. He demanded an apology from the Minister of War, and +although he did not receive this, our treatment immediately improved. +The Turkish sentry was so clearly in the wrong that the Commandant felt +he should do something to placate us. + +One day, Robin and I were told that we would be allowed into +Constantinople to shop, provided we gave our parole not to escape while +in the town. + +This we immediately decided to do, and wrote a promise stating that +while we could give no permanent engagement about our behaviour while +guarded in prison, if we were allowed out into the town we bound +ourselves to return faithfully to our quarters at a fixed time. Next +day, accordingly, we dressed in the quaint apologies for clothes in our +possession, and sallied out, blinking in the sunlight of the square. + +Imagine our surprise when we found an escort of ten armed men, who were +to accompany us to see that we kept our word. Highly incensed, we +returned directly to the Commandant's office, followed by our retinue. +At first the Commandant did not understand the nature of the insult he +had offered to us, but eventually he agreed that a squad of soldiers was +unnecessary to enforce an Englishman's promise, and he promised to send +us out again on the following day, more suitably attended. + +This time there were only two dog-collar gentlemen to accompany us, and +although we were later joined by a third, who, I think, smelt beer and +beef in the offing, we considered that this number of attendants was not +unsuitable to our importance. (For a long time after escape, indeed, I +was always expecting to find a sentry at my elbow. They were very +convenient for carrying parcels, and during this excursion the minions +of the law actually carried back to prison our escaping gear, wrapped in +harmless-looking packages.) Rope, fezzes, and maps were the articles +chiefly required, and these we purchased without much difficulty in +restaurants where we were known. Robin and I were adepts at this sort of +thing by now. One of us had only to go over to our escort's table, and +standing over them, inquire whether they preferred black beer or yellow: +meanwhile the other would be "wangling" the waiter. Besides material +accessories we also required certain moral support. Was it worth while +to escape? Would the Bulgarians attack Constantinople? What was the +_morale_ of the Tchatchaldja garrison? . . . . All this and much more we +learnt from Miss Whitaker, whom we met (just by chance, do you think?) +at tea at the Petits Champs. + +We returned from our excursion highly satisfied with our prospects. That +evening we thanked the Commandant warmly for our delightful day, and +asked one favour more, namely that we should be allowed out regularly +into the garden, in order to get the exercise necessary to our health. +An hour's walk every day would greatly relieve the tension of captivity. +Surely, we said, the Commandant did not intend to keep us caged like +wild beasts, with a minimum of air and exercise? + +Permission was granted, with the proviso that we should not talk to +other prisoners. Of all black sheep we were the blackest ones. + +So we walked in the garden, and discussed plans of escape. We now had +fezzes, rope, and plenty of money. On the other hand, there were so many +sentries everywhere, and so many doors and barriers to get through, that +the thing seemed impossible at first. + +Bribery was not to be thought of. Any attempt in this direction would +have sent us through the portals of the damned again, to await the end +of the war in chains. + +Only in the garden was there the slightest chance of success. Our +chance, however, lay, as before, in the element of the unexpected. + +On the far side of the garden from the prison were some iron railings, +which overlooked a drop of from one hundred to two hundred feet, to a +street below. These railings were spaced at just about the width of a +man's head. We tested them at various points while apparently engaged in +looking at the view, and made a note of the gaps most suitable to +squeeze through. No one appeared to think it likely we would try to +escape over a precipice. The six sentries in the garden therefore, whose +sole duty it was to watch us, generally devoted their attention to +seeing we did not talk to the Greek clerks who came into the restaurant +to get their dinner of an evening. Beyond occasionally saying the magic +word "_Yok_," they allowed us to do much what we liked at the other side +of the garden, where our interests, they thought, could only be of an +innocent nature. + +At first our idea was to get through the railings and slide down a rope +into the street, but there were practical difficulties about this. +Thirty fathoms of rope are impossible to conceal on one's person. +Besides, we thought of a better plan. + +Having got through the railings, we would climb along outside them, past +the garden, and along the wall of a printing-house, where their support +still continued, until we reached the main square of the Seraskerat. +Here we would squeeze back through the railings (for the drop was still +too difficult to negotiate) and proceed as follows: We would stroll to +the centre of the square, light cigars, and then suddenly altering our +demeanour, hurry back to the staff garage where the military motor-cars +were kept. The sentry on guard would certainly think we were chauffeurs. + +With a guttural curse or two, we would start up a car, and drive +directly to the Bulgarian frontier, or Dedeagatch, as the situation +dictated. If anyone attempted to stop us on the way, we had only to say, +"_Kreuzhimmel donnerwetter_," and open out the throttle. The plan was +charming in its simplicity and _kolossal_ in conception. We already +imagined ourselves arriving with full details of the Constantinople +defences, in a big Mercédčs car. The plan was complete. We had only to +do it! + +Opportunity came one twilight evening, when we two were alone in the +garden, with the six sentries, all rather sleepy, and the Damad, who had +just returned from a hectic week-end up the Bosphorus. He was full of +stories and news which we did not want to hear. For a time he bored us +to tears talking of the war, but at last conversation flagged, and we +bade him a cordial good-night, making an appointment to see him again +next day, which we trusted we would not be in a position to keep. + +Then we edged to the far side of the garden, where the railings were. +The six sleepy sentries were watching the stream of people going into +the restaurant near the entrance gate. They paid no attention to us, and +looked--rather sadly, I thought--at the Greeks who were coming in to +have a square meal, a thing that they themselves could only dream of. + +Feeling that the moment was too good to be lost, and yet somehow too +good to be true, we stood by the railings, with our heads half through. + +"Come on," said Robin cheerily. + +I put my head through, and my flinching flesh followed a moment later. I +hung over the drop and looked and listened tensely for any stir in the +garden, expecting every moment to hear the clamour of sentries and the +drone of bullets. But all was quiet. One sentry lit another's cigarette. +A third was playing with a kitten. The others had their backs turned. + +We clambered along, and reached the printing-house. We were out of +sight of the sentries now, and the way seemed clear, across a patch of +ivy, to a gap which would give us entrance to the main square. Once we +had gained its comparative freedom, success, I felt, was certain. + +But my hope was short-lived. The railings on the wall of the +printing-house led past an open window, which we had not been able to +see from the garden. At this window three Turks were sitting. They were +officials of the printing-house no doubt, and were now engaged in +discussing short drinks and the prospect of the Bosphorus. Had we +interposed our bodies between them and the view, we would have been in a +very unpleasant position. With one finger they could have pushed us down +to the street a hundred feet below, or else detained us where we were, +to wait like wingless flies until soldiers came to drag us back. + +It was a horrid anti-climax, but we decided to go back. There was no +alternative. + +That return journey was quite hideous, for at any moment before we +reached our gap a sentry might have seen us. And even if they had missed +us at fifty yards (and we were a sitting shot against the sunset) we +would have looked absolutely foolish and been abjectly helpless. + +All went well, however. We squeezed back through the railings, and found +ourselves in the prison garden again. Our attempt had failed. I felt as +if someone had suddenly flattened me out with a rolling pin. But Robin +was quite undismayed. + +"Our luck is in," he said--"else we would have been spotted against +those railings just now. Look, it is a full moon, like the last time we +escaped. I bet we succeed to-night." + +"I won't take your money," I said, hugely heartened, however. + +Four of our sentries were smoking sadly, and looking into the +restaurant, as boys look into a cake-shop. The fifth was standing by the +gold-fish pond. The sixth leaned against the railings, about eighty +yards away from us, looking out towards Galata Bridge. + +After hurriedly dusting ourselves, we walked straight past him. He +turned and glanced at his watch, and then at us. + +"Just five minutes more," we urged--"we haven't had nearly enough +exercise yet." + +And we continued walking round the garden, breathlessly discussing +plans. + +The sentry nodded and sighed, then turned again to contemplate the +Golden Horn. + +Our one remaining chance was to walk straight out of the gate near the +restaurant, into the main square. In moments of intense stress one can +sometimes grasp the psychology of a situation in a flash. We saw into +the minds of the sentries, I believe. They were bored and unsuspecting. +A sort of prevision came to us that we would be mistaken for Greek +employees of the Ministry, and could stroll unquestioned through the +gate, if we acted instantly. + +It was getting dark now. We slipped into a patch of shadow, threw away +our hats, and taking out the fezzes which we always carried concealed +under our waistcoats, we put them on our heads. Then we strolled on. + +To understand our feelings, it must be remembered that no officer has +ever before succeeded in escaping from this ancient prison. The Turks +prided themselves on the fact. Recently, a political suspect had made a +desperate dash for liberty by the same entrance as we now approached, +but he had been caught before he reached the outer square. Good men had +tried--but fools rush in where angels fear to tread. And we _knew_, by +sheer faith, that we would not be stopped. + +We walked very slowly now, stopping sometimes to gesticulate, after the +manner of the Mediterranean peoples. What we said I have no idea, but I +think I spoke _staccato_ Italian, while Robin answered in Arabic +imprecations. Near the gate I remember saying to him passionately in +English: "For God's sake turn your trousers down," for to one's +sensitive mind such an oddity of dress was certain to spell detection. +This was idiotic, but my nerves were on edge. + +Mingling with the Greeks who were coming out of the restaurant, we came +at a very, very leisurely pace to the sentry-guarded gate. Everyone has +a pass of course, both to enter and to leave this gate, but season +ticket holders, so to speak, are rarely asked to produce their +credentials. + +[Illustration: THE SQUARE OF THE SERASKERAT, CONSTANTINOPLE] + +We came level with the sentries at the gate. One of them took a step +forward, as if to ask Robin a question. Then he looked at us again, and +changed his mind. I have a sort of idea that my white waistcoat and +ornamental watch chain saved the situation. No one with such belongings +could fail to be a personage of clerkly habit. + +In that instant, however, faith had almost faltered, and the temptation +to quicken one's pace had been almost irresistible. To bolt into the +comparative freedom of the main square was now quite feasible, but we +had to remember that once there, our difficulties were only half over. +Every gate was guarded: the same high railings as we had already +negotiated formed its perimeter, and there was a battalion of soldiers +in the square itself. Therefore until we were out of the Seraskerat, we +had to proceed with caution. + +Lethargically and nonchalantly we drew away from the restaurant. +Although time was now a factor of importance (for at any moment the +sentries in the garden might miss us), we dared not hurry our steps. + +"There are no cars about. Are we going into the garage?" I murmured +doubtfully to Robin. + +At that moment an individual came up behind us, who settled the question +out of hand. He was a Turkish officer. After passing us, he turned round +to stare. We returned his scrutiny with careful composure, but it was +quite obvious that he did not like the look of us. Yet our appearance +was none of his business: he hesitated a moment and then decided to do +exactly what one might do oneself if one saw a suspicious-looking +individual in a public place: he went and told a policeman. We saw him +hurrying to the main gate, where he called out the sergeant of the +guard. We, meanwhile, were slinking diagonally across the square, as if +bound for the side gate. To go to the garage now, as if approaching it +from the Ministry of War, was impossible, as we were being watched. We +whispered together, making new plans. + +It was almost past twilight, but the electric light over the main gate +showed us the Turkish officer in confabulation with the sergeant of the +guard. No doubt he was saying that our passports should be scrutinised +before we were allowed to pass. The sergeant saluted as the officer +left, and then stood in the circle of light, a burly and menacing +figure, peering into the gathering darkness. + +We had now reached the middle of the Seraskerat and saw that the side +gate was shut, and sentry-guarded. There was also a sentry in the +adjacent shed. The main gate was impossible of access. So also was the +garage. Our only chance lay in going forward. + +We went on, past the shed, until we reached some small trees by the side +of the outer railings. We tried to put our heads through, but owing to a +slight difference of spacing, we found this could not be done. We would +have to climb over them. + +A couple of people were crossing the square. The sergeant stood blinking +at the entrance. Else all was quiet. + +The railings were only some twelve foot high, so they did not form a +serious obstacle, but on their other side there was a drop of ten feet, +into a crowded street. That someone would raise an alarm seemed very +probable. + +From the top of the railings I looked back to the prison where I had +passed the last two months, and then forward to the street. + +Two little girls stood hand in hand, gaping up at me. A street hawker +glanced in my direction. Except for these, no passer-by appeared to +notice us. + +I dropped in a heap on the pavement. Next moment Robin landed beside me. + +We were free once more, this time not to be recaught. + + * * * * * + +The two little girls clapped their hands with glee when they saw us +drop. As to the street hawker, I daresay he thought we were robbers, and +as such, people not to be interfered with. The other passers-by merely +edged away from us. No one, in Constantinople, will involve himself in +any civil commotion if he can avoid it. Whether the disturbance be a +fire or theft, the procedure is the same. If your neighbour is being +robbed, you look the other way. If your house is being burnt, you bribe +the fire brigade not to come near it, for it they do, they will +assuredly loot everything that the flames do not consume. Hence the +sight of two wild men dropping into a crowded street stirred no civic +conscience. No one asked who we were. + +We crossed the tramway lines unmolested, and dived into a narrow street +leading down the hill. Then we ran and ran and ran. + +That our escape would be instantly reported we did not doubt. That +Galata Bridge would be watched and all our old haunts also seemed +certain. The care with which we had been guarded showed that the Turks +set a value on keeping us out of harm's way. At large in the city we +would be factors of unrest. + +Avoiding main streets, we toiled on and on, through dark by-ways where +the moonlight did not come, until we reached the old bridge across the +Golden Horn. Here we decided to separate for the time, so that if one of +us was caught by the toll-keepers, the other could still make good his +escape. + +But the toll-keepers took their tribute of a stamp without demur. They +knew nothing of British prisoners. + +Crossing, we turned right-handed, passing behind the American +Ambassador's yacht _Scorpion_, at her berth near the Turkish Admiralty, +and then went up into the European quarter. In Pera we knew a score of +houses, between us, that would be glad to give us lodging, and it only +remained to choose the most convenient. + + * * * * * + +It is late at night, some days before the Armistice. I am in the gardens +of the British Embassy, with a certain Colonel, an escaped prisoner of +war like myself, who is in close touch with the political situation. We +had come here, in disguise, to be out of the turmoil of the town. + +Outside, in the unquiet streets, men talk of revolution. Gangs of +soldiers are under arms for twenty-four hours at a stretch. Machine guns +are posted everywhere. The docks are an armed camp. Detectives and +informers, the prison and the press-gang are at their old work. All is +still dark in Constantinople; but we, fugitives at present, and meeting +by stealth, speak of the day so soon to come when the barren flagstaff +on the roof of the Embassy will carry the Union Jack. + +Below us, as we walk on the terrace, lies the Golden Horn, silver in the +starlight, and across its waters the city of Stamboul stands dim, +forlorn, and lovely. The slip of moon that rides over San Sofia seems +symbol of the waning of misery and intolerance. Soon that sickle will +disappear, and when the moon of the Moslems rises again and looks +through the garden where we talk, she will see all round it a happier +city. . . . Let us hope so, anyway. + + * * * * * + +Of the maze of plot and counterplot in the city, of the death-throes of +the old régime, and of our own small part in the history of that time, +this record of moods and misadventures is not the place to write. My +life as a prisoner was finished: my brief career as a minor diplomat, +keeping his finger on the feverish pulse of Turkish politics, had only +just begun, and the story of those crowded weeks would fill a volume. + +Up to the last moment, the Government, in the person of Taalat Pasha, +hoped to hold the real, if not the ostensible, reins of power. Until the +flight of the Union and Progress triumvirate, the average Turk affected +a certain lightheartedness about his country's losses. True, huge +territories were lost to the Ottoman revenue, but on the other hand they +had gained the Caucasus. So long as there was taxable territory, what +did it matter whence the tribute came? + +One night, when my newspaper work permitted, I visited a friend of +Taalat Pasha, without disclosing my identity. + +"Nobody but Taalat can possibly manage Turkey," he told me--"and the +English, if they come, will be well advised to deal with him." + +"It is not the English only," I suggested modestly, "but the whole +world-set-free, that is coming to Constantinople." + +"Then the world must deal with Taalat. His party has all the money, and +all the brains and energy as well." + +"Everything except imagination," I replied. + +But I did not myself imagine that only thirty-six hours later Taalat, +the fat telegraphist whom Fate caught in her toils, and Enver, with his +peacock-grace and peacock-wits, and Djemal, with cruelty stamped on him +like the brand of Cain, would pass disguised, and in darkness, and in +fear of death, through the city they had ruled as kings. + +Neither did I imagine that in another fortnight the streets of Pera +would be decked with banners, and the capital of the Turks a playground +for the peoples against whom they had lately been at war. Nor did I know +that I should soon be listening to the strains of "Rule Britannia," at +the Pera Palace Hotel, while an enthusiastic crowd showered confetti on +the bald head of the Colonel who had just arrived as the first British +representative. Nor did I know that I should telephone to the papers to +stop their press, while I motored down with the first interview from our +delegate. Nor, again, could I realise that the pomp of the Prussians +would be so suddenly replaced by pipes and walking-sticks and dogs. Nor +did I even dream that the fifty-sixty horse-power Mercédčs car in which +General Liman von Sanders was still racing through the streets would +soon be my property, bought and paid for in gold, complete with all +accessories, including even the chauffeur's diary, and that I should +garage it in a garden where a performing bear stood guard against any +attempt at theft by the disorderly and demoralised Germans. These things +are another story. + + + BILLING AND SONS, LTD., PRINTERS, GUILDFORD, ENGLAND + + + + + Telegrams: "Scholarly, London." 41 and 43 Maddox Street, + Telephone: 1883 Mayfair. Bond Street, London, W. 1. + _October, 1919._ + + Mr. Edward Arnold's + AUTUMN ANNOUNCEMENTS, 1919. + + JOHN REDMOND'S LAST YEARS. + By STEPHEN GWYNN. + + _With Portrait. 1 vol. Demy 8vo._ =16s. net.= + +The "History of John Redmond's Last Years," by Stephen Gwynn, is in the +first place an historical document of unusual importance. It is an +account of Irish political events at their most exciting period, written +by an active member of Mr. Redmond's party who was in the confidence of +his chief. The preliminary story of the struggle with the House of Lords +and the prolonged fight over Home Rule is described by a keen student of +parliamentary action. For the period which began with the war Mr. Gwynn +has had access to all Redmond's papers. He writes of Redmond's effort to +lead Ireland into the war from the standpoint of a soldier as well as a +member of parliament. The last chapter gives to the world, for the first +time, a full account of the Irish Convention which sat for eight months +behind closed doors, and in which Redmond's career reached its dramatic +catastrophe. + +The interlocking of varying chains of circumstance, the parliamentary +struggle, the rise of the rival volunteer forces, the raising of Irish +divisions, the rebellion and its sequel, and, finally, the effect of +bringing Irishmen together into conference--all this is vividly +pictured, with increasing detail as the book proceeds. In the opening, +two short chapters recall the earlier history of the Irish party and +Redmond's part in it. + +But the main interest centres in the character of Redmond himself. Mr. +Gwynn does not work to display his leader as a hero without faults and +incapable of mistakes. He shows the man as he knew him and worked under +him, traces his career through its triumphs to reverses, and through +gallant recovery to final defeat. A great man is made familiar to the +reader, in his wisdom, his magnanimity, and his love of country. The +tragic waste of great opportunities is portrayed in a story which has +the quality of drama in it. Beside the picture of John Redmond himself +there is sketched the gallant and sympathetic figure of his brother, +who, after thirty-five years of parliamentary service, died with the +foremost wave of his battalion at the battle of Messines. + + + A MEDLEY OF MEMORIES. + By the Rt. Rev. Sir DAVID HUNTER BLAIR, Bart. + + _With Illustrations. 1 vol. Demy 8vo._ =16s. net.= + +Sir David Hunter Blair, late Abbot of Fort Augustus, in the first part +of these fifty years' recollections, deals with his childhood and youth +in Scotland, and gives a picture full of varied interest of Scottish +country house life a generation or more ago. Very vivid, too, is the +account of early days at what was then the most famous private school in +England; and the chapter on Eton under Balston and Hornby gives +thumbnail sketches of a great many Etonians, school-contemporaries of +the writer's, and bearing names afterwards very well known for one +reason or another. Eton was followed by Magdalen; and undergraduate life +in the Oxford of 1872 is depicted with a light hand and many amusing +touches. There was foreign travel after the Oxford days; and two of the +most pleasantly descriptive chapters of the book deal with Rome in the +reign of Pius IX. and Leo XIII., both of which Pontiffs the author +served as Private Chamberlain. There is much also that is fresh and +interesting in the section treating of the lives and personalities of +some of the great English Catholic families of by-gone days. + +Sir David entered the Benedictine Order at the age of twenty-five; and +the latter half of the book is concerned with his life as co-founder, +and member of the community of, the great Highland Abbey of Fort +Augustus, of which he rose later to be the second abbot. The intimate +account given in these pages of the life of a modern monk will be new to +most readers, who will find it very interesting reading. The writer's +monastic experiences embrace not only his own beautiful home in the +Central Highlands, but Benedictine life and work in England, in Belgium, +Germany and Portugal, and in South America. One of the most novel and +attractive chapters in the book is that dealing with the work of the +Order in the vast territory of Brazil. + +The volume is illustrated with an excellent portrait, and with some +clever black-and-white drawings, the work of Mr. Richard Anson, one of +the author's religious brethren, and a member of the Benedictine +community at Caldey Abbey, in South Wales. + + + WITH THE PERSIAN EXPEDITION. + By Major M. H. DONOHOE, + Army Intelligence Corps. + Special Correspondent of the "Daily Chronicle." + + _With numerous Illustrations and Map. Demy 8vo._ =16s. net.= + +Among the many "side-shows" of the Great War, few are so difficult for +the average reader to understand as the operations in Northern Persia, +an offshoot of the Bagdhad venture, which had for their object the +policing of the warlike tribes in an area almost unknown to Europeans, +and included the various attempts to reach and hold Baku, and so get +command of the Caspian and Caucasia. + +The story of these operations--carried out by little, half-forgotten +bodies of troops, mainly local levies who broke at the critical moment +and left their British officers and N.C.O.'s to carry on alone--is one +of the most amazing of the whole War, and comprises many episodes that +recall the most stirring events of the Empire's pioneering days. + +By happy chance, Major M. H. Donohoe, the famous War Correspondent, +whose work for the _Daily Chronicle_ in all the wars of the past twenty +years is well known, was in this part of the world as a Major on the +Intelligence Staff, work for which his knowledge of men and languages +off the beaten tract peculiarly fitted him. He has written the story of +these operations as he saw them, chiefly as a member of the Staff of the +Military Mission under General Byron, known officially as the "Baghdad +Party," and unofficially as the "Hush-Hush Brigade," which set forth +early in 1918 to join the Column under General Dunsterville. Though +there is little of fighting in the story, the book gives an admirable +picture of the Empire's work done faithfully under difficulties, and +glimpses of places and peoples that are almost unknown even to the most +venturesome traveller. Indeed, it is largely as a book about an unknown +land that this volume will attract, together with its little +pen-portraits of men and little pen-pictures of adventures, that Kipling +would love. + + + A PHYSICIAN IN FRANCE. + By Major-General Sir WILMOT HERRINGHAM, K.C.M.G., C.B., + Physician to St. Bartholomew's Hospital; Consulting Physician to the + Forces Overseas. + + _1 vol. Demy 8vo._ =15s. net.= + +How the war, as seen at close quarters, struck a man eminent in another +profession than that of arms is the distinguishing feature of this +volume of personal impressions. It is not, however, merely the outcome +of a few weeks' sojourn or "trip to the trenches," with one eye on an +expectant public, for the author has four times seen autumn fade into +winter on the flat countryside of Flanders, and, when the war ended, was +still at his post rendering invaluable services amidst unforgettable +scenes. The author's comments on the day-to-day happenings are +distinguished by a tone that is at once manly, reflective, and +good-humoured. Medical questions are naturally prominent, but are dealt +with largely in a manner that should interest the layman at the present +time. Sir Wilmot was with Lord Roberts when he died. A very pleasing +feature of the book is the constant revelation of the author's love of +nature and sport, and his happy way of introducing such topics, together +with descriptions of the country around him, makes a welcome contrast to +the stern events which form the staple material of the book. There are +some very amusing stories. + + + LONDON MEN IN PALESTINE. + By ROWLANDS COLDICOTT. + + _With maps. 1 vol. Demy 8vo._ =12s. 6d. net.= + +This book embraces so much more than the ordinary war story that we have +a peculiar difficulty in describing it in a few chosen words. + +The curtain lifts the day after the battle of Sheria, one of the minor +fights in General Allenby's first campaign--those movements of troops +which came only to a pause with the capture of Jerusalem. Gaza has just +been taken. You are introduced to one of the companies of a London +battalion serving in the East, of which company the author is commander. +The reading of a few lines, the passing of a few moments, causes you +(such is the power of right words) to be _attached_ to that company and +to move in imagination with it across the dazzling plain. When you have +tramped a few miles you begin to realise, perhaps for the first time, +the heat and torment of a day's march in Philistia. It is not long +before you feel that you, too, are adventuring with the toiling +soldiers; with them you wonder where the halting place will be, what +sort of bivouac you are likely to hit upon. By this time you will have +met the officers--Temple, Trobus, Jackson--and are coming to have a +nodding acquaintance with the men. Desire to compass the unknown, and +sympathetic interest in the experiences of a company of your own +country-men, Londoners footing it in a foreign land, now takes you +irresistibly into the very heart of the tale, and you become one with +the narrator. With him you wander among the ruins of Gaza, pass into +southern Palestine, and come to the foot-hills of Judea. With him you +slowly become conscious that the long series of marches is planned to +culminate in an assault upon Jerusalem. Now you are part of a dusty +column winding up into Judea by the Jerusalem road, looking hour by hour +upon those natural phenomena that suggested the parables. "London Men in +Palestine" brings all this home to you as if you were a passer-by. Next, +the massing of troops about the Holy City is described, and you are +given a distant view of the city itself. A chapter follows that +describes the coming of the rains. Then you spend a night in an old +rock-engendered fortress-village while troops pass through to the +attack, the storm still at its height. A chapter follows that tells of a +crowded day--too complex and full of incident here to be described. The +book closes with an exciting description of a fight on the Mount of +Olives. + + + MONS, ANZAC, AND KUT. + By an M.P. + + _1 vol. Demy 8vo._ =14s. net.= + +The writer of these remarkable memoirs, whose anonymity will not veil +his identity from his friends, is a man well known, not only in England, +but also abroad, and the pages are full of the writer's charm, and +gaiety of spirit, and "courage of a day that knows not death." Day by +day, in the thick of the most stirring events in history, he jotted down +his impressions at first hand, and although parts of the diary cannot +yet be published, enough is given to the world to form a graphic and +very human history. + +Our author was present at the most critical part of the Retreat from +Mons. He took part in the dramatic defence of Landrecies, and the stand +at Compiegne. Wounded, and a prisoner, he describes his experiences in a +German hospital and his subsequent recapture by the British during the +Marne advance. + +The scene then shifts to Gallipoli, where he was present at the immortal +first landing, surely one of the noblest pages of our history. He took +part in the fierce fighting at Suvla Bay, and, owing to his knowledge of +Turkish, he had amazing experiences during the Armistice arranged for +the burial of the dead. + +Later, the author was in Mesopotamia, where he accompanied the relieving +force in their heroic attempt to save Kut. On several occasions he was +sent out between the lines to conduct negociations between the Turks and +ourselves. + +"Mons, Anzac, and Kut" . . . A day and a day will pass, before the man +and the moment meet to give us another book like this. We congratulate +ourselves that the author survived to write it. + + + THE STRUGGLE IN THE AIR. + 1914-1918. + By Major CHARLES C. TURNER (late R.A.F.). +Assoc. Fellow R. Aer. Soc., Cantor Lectures on Aeronautics, 1909. Author +of "Aircraft of To-day," "The Romance of Aeronautics," and (with Gustav +Hamel) of "Flying: Some Practical Experiences," Editor of "Aeronautics," +etc., etc., etc. + + _With Illustrations. 1 vol. Demy 8vo._ =15s. net.= + +Major Turner served in the flying arm throughout the great conflict, +chiefly as an instructor of officers of the Royal Naval Air Service, and +then of the Royal Air Force in the principles of flight, aerial +navigation, and other subjects. He did much experimental work, made one +visit to the Front, and was mentioned in dispatches. The Armistice found +him in the position of Chief Instructor at No. 2 School of Aeronautics, +Oxford. + +The classification of this book explains its scope and arrangement. The +chapters are as follows: + +Capabilities of Aircraft; Theory in 1914; The flight to France and +Baptism of Fire; Early Surprises; Fighting in the Air, 1914-1915; 1916; +1917; 1918; Zeppelins and the Defence; Night Flying; The Zeppelin +Beaten; Aeroplane Raids on England; Bombing the Germans; Artillery +Observation; Reconnaissance and Photography; Observation Balloons; +Aircraft and Infantry; Sea Aircraft; Heroic Experimenters; Casualties in +the Third Arm; The Robinson Quality. + + + CAUGHT BY THE TURKS. + By FRANCIS YEATS-BROWN. + + _1 vol. Demy 8vo._ =10s. 6d. net.= + +This book contains a full measure of adventure and excitement. The +author, who is a Captain in the Indian Cavalry, was serving in the Air +Force in Mesopotamia in 1915, and was captured through an accident to +the aeroplane while engaged in a hazardous and successful attempt to cut +the Turkish telegraph lines north and west of Baghdad, just before the +Battle of Ctesiphon. Then came the horrors of the journey to +Constantinople, during which the "terrible Turk" showed himself in his +worst colours; but it was in Constantinople that the most thrilling +episodes of his captivity had their origin. The story of the Author's +first attempt to escape (which did not succeed) and of his subsequent +lucky dash for freedom, is one of intense interest, and is told in a +most vivid and dramatic way. + + + JOHN HUGH ALLEN + OF THE GALLANT COMPANY + + A Memoir by his Sister INA MONTGOMERY. + + _With Portrait. 1 vol. Demy 8vo._ =10s. 6d. net.= + +This book is the life-story of a young New Zealander who was killed in +action at the Dardanelles in June, 1915. It is told mainly in his own +letters and diaries--which have been supplemented, so far as was +needful, with the utmost tact and discretion by his sister--and falls +naturally into three principal stages. Allen spent four very strenuous +years, 1907-1911, at Cambridge, where he occupied a prominent position +among his contemporaries as an active member, and eventually President +of the Union. Though undergraduate politics are not usually taken very +seriously by the outside world, yet this side of Allen's Cambridge +career has an interest far transcending the merely personal one. +Possessed, as he was, of remarkable gifts, which he had cultivated by +assiduous practice as a speaker and writer, and passionately interested +in all that concerns the British Empire, and the present and future +relations between the United Kingdom and the Overseas Dominions, his +record may well stand as representative of the attitude of the _élite_ +of the New Zealand youth towards these vital matters in the period just +preceding the war. + +After Cambridge, he returned for a time to New Zealand, where he +resolved to make his permanent home, but came back to England in +December, 1913, to complete his legal studies and get called to the bar, +and was still in England when the war broke out. Consequently the second +stage is the story of seven months' experience as a lieutenant in the +13th Battalion of the Worcesters, and his letters of this period give an +attractive, and intensely graphic account of the making of the new army. +Finally, he was despatched, with a few other selected officers, to the +Dardanelles, arrived on May 25th at Cape Helles, and was attached to the +Essex regiment. The last stage, brief, glorious, and terrible, lasted +only twelve days but, brief as it was, he had time to draw an +enthralling picture of the unexampled horrors of this particular phase +of trench-warfare. The book is steeped, from beginning to end, in a +sober but fervent enthusiasm; and the cult of the Empire, in its noblest +form, has seldom been as finely exemplified as by the life and death of +John Allen. + + + NOËL ROSS AND HIS WORK. + Edited by HIS PARENTS. + + _1 vol. Demy 8vo._ =10s. 6d. net.= + +A series of charming sketches by a young New Zealander, who died in +December, 1917, on the threshold of a brilliant literary career. Noël +Ross was one of those daring Anzacs who made the landing on Gallipoli. +Wounded in the early days of the terrible fighting there, he was +discharged from the Army, came to London, rejoined there, and obtained a +commission in the Royal Field Artillery. Afterwards he became a valued +member of the Editorial Staff of _The Times_, on which his genius was at +once recognized and highly appreciated. Much of his work appeared in +_The Times_, and he was also a contributor to _Punch_. In collaboration +with his father, Captain Malcolm Ross, the New Zealand War +Correspondent, he was the author of "Light and Shade in War," of which +the _Daily Mail_ said: "It is full of Anzac virility, full of Anzac +buoyancy, and surcharged with that devil-may-care humour that has so +astounded us jaded peoples of an older world." + +His writings attracted the attention of such capable writers as Rudyard +Kipling, and Sir Ian Hamilton, who said he reminded him in many ways of +that gallant and brilliant young Englishman, Rupert Brooke. + + + WITH THE BRITISH INTERNED IN SWITZERLAND. + By Lieut.-Colonel H. P. PICOT, C.B.E., + +Late Military Attaché, 1914-16, and British Officer in Charge of the +Interned, 1916-18. + + _1 vol. Demy 8vo. Cloth._ =10s. 6d. net.= + +In this volume Colonel Picot tells us, in simple and lucid fashion, how +some thousands of our much tried and suffering countrymen were +transferred--to the eternal credit of Switzerland--from the harsh +conditions of captivity to a neutral soil, there to live in comparative +freedom amid friendly surroundings. He describes in some detail the +initiative taken by the Swiss Government on behalf of the Prisoners of +War in general, and the negociations which preceded the acceptance by +the Belligerent States of the principle of Internment, and then recounts +the measures taken by that Government for the hospitalization of some +30,000 Prisoners of War, and the organization of a Medical Service for +the treatment of the sick and wounded. + +Turning, then, more particularly to the group of British prisoners, he +deals with their discipline, their camp life, the steps taken for +spiritual welfare, and the organization of sports and recreations, and +an interesting chapter records the efforts made to afford them technical +training in view of their return to civil life. + +The book also comprises a resumé of the formation and development of the +Bread Bureau at Berne, which ultimately, in providing bread for 100,000 +British prisoners of war in Germany, doubtless saved countless lives; +and a description of the activities of the British Legation Red Cross +Organization, both of which institutions were founded by Lady Grant +Duff, wife of H.M.'s Minister at Berne. + +Colonel Picot throws many interesting sidelights on life in Switzerland +in war-time--diplomatic, social, and artistic--and his modest and +self-effacing narrative dwells generously on the devotion of all those +who, whether by appointment or chance, were associated with him in his +beneficent labours. + +It is hoped that this account of a special phase in the history of our +countrymen will prove of interest to that large public who have shown in +countless ways their sympathy with all that concerns the welfare of +Prisoners of War. + + + A CHILDHOOD IN BRITTANY EIGHTY YEARS AGO. + By ANNE DOUGLAS SEDGWICK, + Author of "Tante," "The Encounter," etc. + + _Demy 8vo. Cloth._ =10s. 6d. net.= + +With exquisite literary art which the reading public has recognised in +"Tante" and others of her novels, the author of this book tells of a +great lady's childhood in picturesque Brittany in the middle of the last +century. It covers that period of life around which the tenderest and +most vivid memories cluster; a childhood set in a district of France +rich in romance, and rich in old loyalties to manners and customs of a +gracious era that is irrevocably in the past. + +Charming vignettes of character, marvellous descriptions of houses, +costumes and scenery, short stories in silhouette of pathetic or +humorous characters--these are also in the book. + +And through it all the author is seen re-creating a background, which +has profoundly influenced one of the finest literary artists of the last +century. + + + GARDENS: THEIR FORM AND DESIGN. + By the Viscountess WOLSELEY. + + _With numerous Illustrations by_ Miss M. G. CAMPION. + + _1 vol. Medium 8vo._ =21s. net.= + +The present volume, which is beautifully got up and illustrated, deals +with form and line in the garden, a subject comparatively new in +England. + +Lady Wolseley's book suggests simple, inexpensive means--the outcome of +practical knowledge and experience--for achieving charming results in +gardens of all sizes. Her College of Gardening at Glynde has shown Lady +Wolseley how best to make clear to those who have never before thought +about garden design, some of the complex subjects embraced by it, such +as Water Gardens, Rock Gardens, Treillage, Paved Gardens, Surprise +Gardens, etc. The book contains many decorative and imaginative drawings +by Miss Mary G. Campion, as well as a large number of practical diagrams +and plans, which further illustrate the author's ideas and add to the +value of the book. + + + MEMORIES OF THE MONTHS. + SIXTH SERIES. + By the Rt. Hon. Sir HERBERT MAXWELL, Bt., + F.R.S., D.C.L., LL.D. + + _With photogravure frontispiece. Large Crown 8vo._ =10s. 6d. net.= + +It is some years since the fifth series of "Memories of the Months" was +issued, but the demand for Sir Herbert Maxwell's charming volumes +continues unabated. Every year rings new changes on the old order of +Nature, and the observant eye can always find fresh features on the face +of the Seasons. Sir Herbert Maxwell goes out to meet Nature on the moor +and loch, in garden and forest, and writes of what he sees and feels. It +is a volume of excellent gossip, the note-book of a well-informed and +high-spirited student of Nature, where the sportsman's ardour is +tempered always with the sympathy of the lover of wild things, and the +naturalist's interest is leavened with the humour of a cultivated man of +the world. This is what gives the work its abiding charm, and makes +these memories fill the place of old friends on the library bookshelf. + + + SINGLE-HANDED CRUISING. + By FRANCIS B. COOKE, + Author of "The Corinthian Yachtsman's Handbook," "Cruising Hints," Etc. + + _Illustrated._ =10s. 6d. net.= + +The contents of this volume being based upon the author's many years' +practical experience of single-handed sailing, are sure to be acceptable +to those who, either from choice or necessity, make a practice of +cruising alone. Of the four thousand or more yachts whose names appear +in Lloyd's Register, quite a considerable proportion are small craft +used for the most part for week-end cruising, and single-handed sailing +is a proposition that the owner of a week-ender cannot afford altogether +to ignore. To be dependent upon the assistance of friends, who may leave +one in the lurch at the eleventh hour, is a miserable business that can +only be avoided by having a yacht which one is capable of handling +alone. The ideal arrangement is to have a vessel of sufficient size to +accommodate one or two guests and yet not too large to be sailed +single-handed at a pinch. In this book Mr. Cooke gives some valuable +hints on the equipment and handling of such a craft, which, it may be +remarked, can, in the absence of paid hands, be maintained at +comparatively small cost. + + + MODERN ROADS. + By H. PERCY BOULNOIS, M. Inst. C.E., F.R. San. Inst., etc. + + _Demy 8vo._ =16s. net.= + +The author is well known as one of the leading authorities on +road-making, and he deals at length with Traffic, Water-bound Macadam +Roads, Surface Tarring, Bituminous Roads, Waves and Corrugations, +Slippery Roads, Paved Streets (Stone and Wood, etc.), Concrete Road +Construction, etc. + + + A THIN GHOST AND OTHERS. + By Dr. M. R. JAMES, + Provost of Eton College. + + _Crown 8vo. Cloth._ =4s. 6d. net.= + +The Provost of Eton needs no introduction as a past master of the art of +making our flesh creep, and those who have enjoyed his earlier books may +rest assured that his hand has lost none of its blood-curdling cunning. +Neither is it necessary to remind them that Dr. James's inexhaustible +stories of archćological erudition furnish him with a unique power of +giving his gruesome tales a picturesque setting, and heightening by +their literary and antiquarian charm the exquisite pleasure derived from +thrills of imaginary terror. This latter quality has never been more +happily displayed than in the stories contained in the present volume, +which we submit with great confidence to the judgment of all who +appreciate--and who does not?--a good old-fashioned hair-raising ghost +story. + + + New Editions. + + GHOST STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY. + By Dr. M. R. JAMES, + Provost of Eton College. + + _New Edition. Crown 8vo._ =5s. net.= + + + MORE GHOST STORIES. + By Dr. M. R. JAMES. + _New Edition. Crown 8vo._ =5s. net.= + + + THE PERFECT GENTLEMAN. + By Captain HARRY GRAHAM, + Author of "Ruthless Rhymes," etc. + + _New Edition. Crown 8vo. Cloth._ =3s. 6d. net.= + + + THE COMPLETE SPORTSMAN. + By Captain HARRY GRAHAM. + + _New Edition. Crown 8vo. Cloth._ =3s. 6d. net.= + + + _The Modern Educator's Library._ + General Editor: Professor A. A. COCK. + +The present age is seeing an unprecedented advance in educational theory +and practice; its whole outlook on the ideals and methods of teaching is +being widened. The aim of this new series is to present the considered +views of teachers of wide experience, and eminent ability, upon the +changes in method involved in this development, and upon the problems +which still remain to be solved, in the several branches of teaching +with which they are most intimately connected. It is hoped, therefore, +that these volumes will be instructive not only to teachers, but to all +who are interested in the progress of education. + +Each volume contains an index and a comprehensive bibliography of the +subject with which it deals. + + + EDUCATION: ITS DATA AND FIRST PRINCIPLES. + By T. PERCY NUNN, M.A., D.Sc., + +Professor of Education in the University of London; Author of "The Aims +and Achievements of Scientific Method," "The Teaching of Algebra," Etc. + + _Crown 8vo. Cloth._ =6s. net.= + +Dr. Nunn's volume really forms an introduction to the whole series, and +deals with the fundamental questions which lie at the root of +educational inquiry. The first is that of the aims of education. These, +he says, are always correlative to ideals of life, and, as ideals of +life are eternally at variance, their conflict will be reflected in +educational theories. The individualism of post-reformation Europe +gradually gave way to a reaction culminating in Hegel, which pictured +the state as the superentity of which the single life is but a fugitive +element. The logical result of this Hegelian ideal the world has just +seen, and educators of to-day have to decide whether to foster this +sinister tradition or to help humanity to escape from it to something +better. What we need is a doctrine which, while admitting the importance +of the social element in man, reasserts the importance of the +individual. + +This notion of individuality as the ideal of life is worked out at +length, and on the results of this investigation are based the +conclusions which are reached upon the practical problem of embodying +this ideal in teaching. Among other subjects, the author deals with +Routine and Ritual, Play, Nature and Nurture, Imitation, Instinct; and +there is a very illuminating last chapter on "The School and the +Individual." + + + MORAL AND RELIGIOUS EDUCATION. + By SOPHIE BRYANT, D.Sc., Litt.D. + +Late Head Mistress of the North London Collegiate School for Girls +Author of "Educational Ends," etc. + + _Crown 8vo. Cloth._ =6s. net.= + +In this book, Mrs. Bryant, whose writings on educational subjects are +widely known, takes the view that in order to produce the best result +over the widest area, the teaching of morality through the development +of religious faith, and its teaching by direct appeal to self-respect, +reason, sympathy and common sense, are both necessary. In religion, more +than in anything else, different individuals must follow different paths +to the goal. + +Upon this basis the book falls into four parts. The first deals with the +processes of spiritual self-realisation by means of interest in +knowledge and art, and of personal affections and social interest, which +all emerge in the development of conscience. The second part treats of +the moral ideal and how it is set forth by means of heroic romance and +history, and in the teaching of Aristotle, to build up the future +citizen. The third presents the religious ideal, its beginnings and the +background of ideas implied by it, together with suggestions for study +of the Bible and the lives of the Saints. In the fourth part the problem +of the reasoned presentment of religious truths is dealt with in detail. + +There is no doubt that this book makes a very considerable addition to +what has already been written on the subject of religious education. + + + THE TEACHING OF MODERN FOREIGN LANGUAGES IN SCHOOL AND UNIVERSITY. + By H. G. ATKINS, M.A., + +Professor of German in King's College, University of London, and +University Reader in German, + + AND + + H. L. HUTTON, M.A., + +Senior Modern Language Master at Merchant Taylors' School. + + _Crown 8vo. Cloth._ =6s. net.= + +The first part of this book deals with the School, the second with the +University. While each part is mainly written by one of the authors, +they have acted in collaboration and have treated the two subjects as +interdependent. They have referred only briefly to the main features of +the past history, and have chiefly tried to give a broad survey of the +present position of modern language teaching, and the desirable policy +for the future. + +As regards the School, conclusions are first reached as to the relative +amount of time to be devoted to modern languages in the curriculum, and +the various branches of the subject--its organisation and methods, the +place of grammar and the history of the language--are then discussed. A +chapter is devoted to the questions relating to the second foreign +language, and the study is linked up with the University course. + +In the second part Professor Atkins traces the different ends to which +the School course continued at the University may lead, with special +reference to the higher Civil Service Examinations and to the training +of Secondary School Teachers. + +The general plan of the book was worked out before the publication of +the report of the Government Committee appointed by the Prime Minister +to enquire into the position of Modern Languages in the educational +system of Great Britain. With the report, however, the authors' +conclusions were in the main found to agree, and the text of the book +has been brought up-to-date by references to the report which have been +made in footnotes as well as in places in the text. No further +modifications were thought to be necessary. + +The book will be found to give a comprehensive review of the whole field +of modern language teaching and some valuable help towards the solution +of its problems. + + + THE CHILD UNDER EIGHT. + By E. R. MURRAY, + +Vice-Principal of Maria Grey Training College; Author of "Froebel as a +Pioneer in Modern Psychology," etc., + + AND + + HENRIETTA BROWN SMITH, LL.A., + +Lecturer in Education, Goldsmith's College, University of London; Editor +of "Education by Life." + + _Crown 8vo. Cloth._ =6s. net.= + +The authors of this book deal with the young child at the outset of its +education, a stage the importance of which cannot be exaggerated. The +volume is written in two parts, the first dealing with the child in the +Nursery and Kindergarten, and the second with the child in the State +School. Much that is said is naturally applicable to either form of +School, and, where this is so, repetition has been avoided by means of +cross references. + +The authors find that the great weakness of English education in the +past has been want of a definite aim to put before the children, and the +want of a philosophy for the teacher. Without some understanding of the +meaning and purpose of life the teacher is at the mercy of every fad, +and is apt to exalt method above principle. This book is an attempt to +gather together certain recognised principles, and to show in the light +of actual experience how these may be applied to existing circumstances. +They put forward a strong plea for the recognition of the true value of +Play, the "spontaneous activity in all directions," and for courage and +faith on the part of the teacher to put this recognition into practice; +and they look forward to the time when the conditions of public +Elementary Schools, from the Nursery School up, will be such--in point +of numbers, space, situation and beauty of surroundings--that parents of +any class will gladly let their children attend them. + + * * * * * + +_Further volumes in this series are in preparation and will be published +shortly._ + + + FIRST PRINCIPLES OF MUSIC. + By F. J. READ, Mus. Doc. (Oxon.) + +Formerly Professor at the Royal College of Music. + + _Crown 8vo._ =1s. 6d.= + +This book is the result of the author's long experience as Professor of +Theory at the Royal College of Music, and is the clearest and most +concise treatise of the kind that has yet been written. + + "It is a useful little book, covering a wider field than any + other of the kind that we know."--_The Times._ + + "It is calculated to quicken interest in various subjects + outside the normal scope of an elementary musical grammar. The + illustrated chapter on orchestral instruments, for instance, is + a welcome and stimulating innovation."--_Daily Telegraph._ + + + LONDON: EDWARD ARNOLD, 41 & 43 MADDOX STREET, W. 1. + + + =Transcriber's Notes:= + hyphenation, spelling and grammar have been preserved as in the original + Page 21, Azizieh possibly should be Aziziah, but left as is + Page 58, no common languge ==> no common language + Page 81, smallest detail, for month ==> smallest detail, for months + Page 85, supected of something ==> suspected of something + Page 123, Mr. Morgenthan ==> Mr. Morgenthau + Announcements at end, page 3, Bagdhad venture ==> Baghdad venture + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Caught by the Turks, by Francis Yeats-Brown + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CAUGHT BY THE TURKS *** + +***** This file should be named 37343-8.txt or 37343-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/7/3/4/37343/ + +Produced by Barbara Watson, Ross Cooling, Mark Akrigg and +the Online Distributed Proofreading Canada Team at +http://www.pgdpcanada.net ((This file was produced from +images generously made available by The Internet +Archive/Canadian Libraries)) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Caught by the Turks + +Author: Francis Yeats-Brown + +Release Date: September 7, 2011 [EBook #37343] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CAUGHT BY THE TURKS *** + + + + +Produced by Barbara Watson, Ross Cooling, Mark Akrigg and +the Online Distributed Proofreading Canada Team at +http://www.pgdpcanada.net ((This file was produced from +images generously made available by The Internet +Archive/Canadian Libraries)) + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<br /><br /> +<h1>CAUGHT BY THE TURKS</h1> +<br /> +<h3>BY</h3> +<h2>FRANCIS YEATS-BROWN</h2> + +<br /><br /><br /> +<h3>WITH PORTRAITS AND PLANS</h3> + +<br /><br /><br /> +<h3>LONDON</h3> +<h2>EDWARD ARNOLD</h2> +<h3>1919</h3> +<h4>[<i>All rights reserved</i>]</h4> + + +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +<h4>To</h4> +<h3>LADY PAUL</h3> + + +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + +<table summary="CONTENTS" width="60%"> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">CHAPTER</td> +<td class="tdr">PAGE</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> I. <a href="#CHAPTER_I">CAPTURE</a></td> +<td class="tdr">1</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> II. <a href="#CHAPTER_II">A SHADOWLAND OF ARABESQUES</a></td> +<td class="tdr">25</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> III. <a href="#CHAPTER_III">THE TERRIBLE TURK</a></td> +<td class="tdr">42</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> IV. <a href="#CHAPTER_IV">"OUT OF GREAT TRIBULATION"</a></td> +<td class="tdr">56</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> V. <a href="#CHAPTER_V">THE LONG DESCENT OF WASTED DAYS</a></td> +<td class="tdr">75</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> VI. <a href="#CHAPTER_VI">THE PSYCHOLOGY OF PRISON</a></td> +<td class="tdr">95</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> VII. <a href="#CHAPTER_VII">THE COMIC HOSPITAL IN CONSTANTINOPLE</a></td> +<td class="tdr">102</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">VIII. <a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">OUR FIRST ESCAPE</a></td> +<td class="tdr">122</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> IX. <a href="#CHAPTER_IX">A CITY OF DISGUISES</a></td> +<td class="tdr">140</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> X. <a href="#CHAPTER_X">RECAPTURED</a></td> +<td class="tdr">159</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> XI. <a href="#CHAPTER_XI">THE BLACK HOLE OF CONSTANTINOPLE</a></td> +<td class="tdr">172</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> XII. <a href="#CHAPTER_XII">OUR SECOND ESCAPE</a></td> +<td class="tdr">198</td> +</tr> +</table> + + +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +<h2>LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS</h2> + +<table summary="ILLUSTRATIONS" width="80%"> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"></td> +<td class="tdr">PAGE</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><a href="#ARMENIAN_PATRIARCHATE">THE ARMENIAN PATRIARCHATE AT PSAMATTIA, CONSTANTINOPLE</a></td> +<td class="tdr">137</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><a href="#GERMAN_GOVERNESS">THE AUTHOR AS A GERMAN GOVERNESS</a></td> +<td class="tdr"><i>facing p.</i> 154</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><a href="#HUNGARIAN_MECHANIC">THE AUTHOR AS A HUNGARIAN MECHANIC</a></td> +<td class="tdr"><i>facing p.</i> 170</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><a href="#SERASKERAT_SQUARE">THE SQUARE OF THE SERASKERAT, CONSTANTINOPLE</a></td> +<td class="tdr">213</td> +</tr> +</table> + + +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span> +<h1>CAUGHT BY THE TURKS</h1> + + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I</h2> + +<h3>CAPTURE</h3> + + +<p>Half an hour before dawn on November the thirteenth, 1915. . . .</p> + +<p>We were on an aerodrome by the River Tigris, below Baghdad, about to +start out to cut the telegraph lines behind the Turkish position.</p> + +<p>My pilot ran his engine to free the cylinders from the cold of night, +while I stowed away in the body of the machine some necklaces of +gun-cotton, some wire cutters, a rifle, Verey lights, provisions, and +the specially prepared map—prepared for the eventuality of its falling +into the hands of the Turks—on which nothing was traced except our +intended route to the telegraph lines west and north of Baghdad. Some +primers, which are the explosive charges designed to detonate the +gun-cotton, I carefully stowed away in another part of the machine, and +with even more care—trepidation, indeed—I put into my pockets the +highly explosive pencils of fulminate of mercury, which detonate the +primers which detonate the gun-cotton.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span></p> + +<p>Then I climbed gingerly aboard, feeling rather highly charged with +explosives and excitement.</p> + +<p>For some time the pilot continued to run his engine and watch the +revolution meter. The warmer the engine became, the colder I got, for +the prelude to adventure is always a chilly business. Unlike the engine, +I did not warm to my work during those waiting moments. At last, +however, the pilot waved his hand to give the signal to stand clear, and +we slid away on the flight that was to be our last for many a day. The +exhaust gases of our engine lit the darkness behind me with a ring of +fire. I looked back as we taxied down the aerodrome, and saw the +mechanics melting away to their morning tea. Only one figure remained, a +young pilot in a black and yellow fur coat, who had left his warm bed to +wish us luck. For a moment I saw him standing there, framed in flame, +looking after us regretfully. Then I saw him no more, and later they +told me (but it was not true) that he had died at Ctesiphon.</p> + +<p>We rose over the tents of our camp at Aziziah, all silver and still in +the half-light, and headed for the Turkish outposts at El Kutunieh. +Their bivouac fires mounted straight to heaven. It was a calm and +cloudless dawn, ideal weather for the business we had been sent out to +do.</p> + +<p>At all costs, we had been told, the telegraphic communications west and +north of Baghdad must be cut that day. Von der Goltz and a German<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span> +battery of quick-firing guns were hasting down from Mosul to help their +stricken ally, and reinforcements of the best Anatolian troops, +magnificently equipped and organised by the Germans, were on their way +from Gallipoli, whence they came flushed with the confidence of success.</p> + +<p>Our attack on Ctesiphon was imminent. It was a matter of moments whether +the Turkish reinforcements would arrive in time. Delay and confusion in +the Turkish rear would have helped us greatly, and the moral and +material advantage of cutting communications between Nur-ed-Din, the +vacillating Commander-in-Chief defending Baghdad, and Von der Goltz, the +veteran of victories, was obvious and unquestionable. But could we do it +in an old Maurice Farman biplane?</p> + +<p>Desperate needs need desperate measures. The attempt to take Baghdad was +desperate—futile perhaps—and contrary to the advice of the great +soldier who led the attack in the glorious but unsuccessful action of +Ctesiphon. And so also, in a small way, ours was a desperate mission. +Our machine could carry neither oil nor petrol enough for the journey, +and special arrangements had to be made for carrying spare tins of +lubricant and fuel. With these we were to refill at our first halt. +While I was destroying the telegraph line, my pilot was to replenish the +tanks of his machine. According to the map this should have been +feasible, for the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span> telegraph lines at the place we had selected for our +demolition ran through a blank desert, two miles from the nearest track. +That the map was wrong we did not know.</p> + +<p>All seemed quite hopeful therefore. We had got off "according to plan," +and the engine was running beautifully.</p> + +<p>It was stimulating to see the stir of El Kutunieh as we sailed over the +Turks at a thousand feet. They ran to take cover from the bombs which +had so often greeted them at sunrise; but for once we sailed placidly +on, having other fish to fry, and left them to the pleasures of +anticipation. Far behind us a few puffs from their ridiculous apology +for an anti-aircraft gun blossomed like sudden flowers and then melted +in the sunlight above the world. Below, in the desert, it was still +dark. Men were rubbing their eyes in El Kutunieh and cursing us.</p> + +<p>But for us day had dawned. As we rose, there rose behind us a round +cheerful sun, whose rays caught our trail and spangled it with light, +and danced in my eyes as I looked back through the propeller, and lit up +the celluloid floor of the nacelle as if to help me see my implements. +That dawn was jubilant with hope—I felt inclined to dance. And I sang +from sheer exhilaration—a sort of swan song (as I see it now) before +captivity. The desert seemed barren no longer. Transmuted by the sunrise +those "miles and miles of nothing at all" became a limitless<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span> expanse +where all the kingdoms of the world were spread out before our eyes. +Away to the east the Tigris wound like a snake among the sands; to +westward, a huddle of houses and date-palms with an occasional gleam +from the gold domes of Kazimain, lay the city of the Arabian Nights, +where Haroun al Raschid once reigned, and where now there is hope his +spirit may reign again. Baghdad nestled among its date-palms, with +little wisps of cloud still shrouding its sleep, all unconscious of the +great demonstration it was to give before noon to two forlorn and +captive airmen. To the north lay the Great Desert with a hint of violet +hills on the far horizon. To the south also lay the Great Desert, with +no feature on its yellow face save the scar of some irrigation cut made +in the twilight time of history.</p> + +<p>But the beauties of Nature were not for us: we were intent on the works +of man. There was unwonted traffic across the bridge over the great Arch +of Ctesiphon. The enemy river craft were early astir, and so were their +antediluvian Archies. These latter troubled us no more than was their +wont, but the activity at Qusaibah and Sulman Pak was disquieting. +Trains of carts were moving across the river from the right to the left +bank. Tugs, gravid with troops, were on their way from Baghdad. In +trenches and gun emplacements feverish work was in progress. Like ants +at a burrow, men were dragging overhead cover into place. Lines of +fatigue parties were<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span> marching hither and thither. New support trenches +were being dug.</p> + +<p>As always, when one saw these things, one longed for more eyes, better +eyes, an abler pencil, to record them for our staff. An observer has +great responsibilities at times: one cannot help remembering that a +missed obstruction, a forgotten emplacement may mean a terrible toll of +suffering. Our men would soon attack these trenches, relying largely on +our photographs and information. . . . When, a week later, there rose +above the battle the souls of all the brave men dead at Ctesiphon, +seeing then with clearer eyes than mine, I pray they forgave our +shortcomings and remembered we did our best.</p> + +<p>We could not circle over Ctesiphon, in spite of the interest we saw +there, until our duty was performed, and had to fly on, leaving it to +eastward.</p> + +<p>On the return journey, however, we promised ourselves as full an +investigation as our petrol supply allowed, and had we returned with our +report on what we had seen and done that day, things might have been +very different. But what's the use of might-have-beens?</p> + +<p>After an hour's flying we sighted the telegraph line that was our +objective, but when we approached it more closely a sad surprise awaited +us, for instead of the blank surface which the map portrayed, we found +that the line ran along a busy thoroughfare leading to Baghdad. Some ten +thousand camels, it seemed to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span> my disappointed eyes, were swaying and +slouching towards the markets of the capital. We came low to observe the +traffic better, and the camels craned their long necks upwards, burbling +with surprise at this great new bird they had never seen. The ships of +the desert, it seemed to me, disliked the ship of the air as much as we +disapproved of them.</p> + +<p>Besides the camels, there were ammunition carts and armed soldiers along +the road, making a landing impossible. Our demolition would only take +three minutes under favourable conditions, but in three minutes even an +Arab soldier can be trusted to hit an aeroplane and two airmen at +point-blank range.</p> + +<p>So we flew westward down the road, looking for a landing ground. Baghdad +was behind us now. On our right lay a great lake, and ahead we got an +occasional glimpse of the Euphrates in the morning sun. At last—near a +mound, which we afterwards heard was Nimrod's tomb—we saw that the +telegraph line took a turn to northward, leaving the road by a mile or +more. Here we decided to land. Nimrod's tomb was to be the tomb of our +activities.</p> + +<p>While we were circling down I felt exactly as one feels at the start of +a race, watching for the starting gate to rise. It was a tense but +delightful moment.</p> + +<p>We made a perfect landing, and ran straight and evenly towards the +telegraph posts. I had already stripped myself of my coat and all +unnecessary gear, and wore sandshoes in case I had to climb a post to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span> +get at the insulators. The detonators were in my pocket, the wire +clippers hung at my belt. I stooped down to take a necklace of +gun-cotton from the floor of the 'bus, and as I did so, I felt a slight +bump and a slight splintering of wood.</p> + +<p>We had stopped.</p> + +<p>I jumped out of the machine, still sure that all was well. And then——</p> + +<p>Then I saw that our left wing tip had crashed into a telegraph post. +Even so the full extent of our disaster dawned slowly on me. I could not +believe that we had broken something vital. Yet the pilot was quite +sure.</p> + +<p>The leading edge of the plane was broken. Our flying days were finished. +It had been my pilot's misfortune, far more than his fault, that we had +crashed. The unexpected smoothness of the landing ground, and a rear +wind that no one could have foreseen, had brought about disaster. +Nothing could be done. I stood silent—while hope sank from its zenith, +to the nadir of disappointment. Nothing remained—except to do our job.</p> + +<p>With light feet but heart of lead, I ran across to another telegraph +post, leaving the pilot to ascertain whether by some miracle we might +not be able to get our machine to safety. But even as I left him I knew +that there was no hope; the only thing that remained was to destroy the +line and then take our chance with the Arabs.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span></p> + +<p>By the time I had fixed the explosive necklace round the post, a few +stray Arabs, who had been watching our descent, fired at us from +horseback. I set the fuse and lit it, then strolled back to the machine, +where the pilot confirmed my worst fears. The machine was unflyable.</p> + +<p>Presently there was a loud bang. The charge had done its work and the +post was neatly cut in two.</p> + +<p>Horsemen were now appearing from the four quarters of the desert. On +hearing the explosion the mounted men instantly wheeled about and +galloped off in the opposite direction, while those on foot took cover, +lying flat on their faces. To encourage the belief in our aggressive +force, the pilot stood on the seat of the 'bus and treated them to +several bursts of rapid fire.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, I took another necklace of gun-cotton and returned to my +demolition. This second charge I affixed to the wires and insulators of +the fallen post, so as to render repair more difficult. While I was thus +engaged, I noticed that spurts of sand were kicking up all about me. The +fire had increased in accuracy and intensity. So accurate indeed had it +become that I guessed that the Arabs (who cannot hit a haystack) had +been reinforced by regulars. I lit the fuse and covered the hundred +yards back to the machine in my very best time (which is about fifteen +seconds) to get cover and companionship. A hot fire was being directed +on to the machine now, at ranges varying<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span> from fifty to five hundred +yards. It was not a pleasant situation, and I experienced a curious +mixed feeling of regret and relief: regret that there was nothing more +to do, relief that something at least had been accomplished to earn the +long repose before us. On the nature of this repose I had never +speculated, and even now the fate that awaited us seemed immaterial so +long as something happened quickly. One wanted to get it over. I was +very frightened, I suppose.</p> + +<p>Bang!</p> + +<p>The second charge had exploded, and the telegraph wires whipped back and +festooned themselves round our machine. The insulators were dust, no +doubt, and the damage would probably take some days to repair. So far so +good. Our job was done in so far as it lay in our power to do it.</p> + +<p>"Do you see that fellow in blue?" said the pilot to me, pointing to a +ferocious individual about a hundred yards away who was brandishing a +curved cutlass. "I think it must be an officer. We had better give +ourselves up to him when the time comes."</p> + +<p>I cordially agreed, but rather doubted that the time would ever come. It +speaks volumes for Arab marksmanship that they missed our machine about +as often as they hit it.</p> + +<p>I destroyed a few private papers, and then, as it was obviously useless +to return the fire of two hundred men with a single rifle, we started up +the engine again,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span> more with the idea of doing something than with any +hope of getting away.</p> + +<p>The machine, it may be mentioned, was not to be destroyed in the event +of a breakdown such as this, because our army hoped to be in Baghdad +within a week, and it would have been impossible for the Turks to carry +it with them in the case of a retreat.</p> + +<p>The Arabs hesitated to advance, and still continued to pour in a hot +fire. Feeling the situation was becoming ridiculous, I got into the +aeroplane and determined to attempt flying it. Now I am not a pilot, and +know little of machines. The pilot had pronounced the aeroplane to be +unflyable, and very rightly did not accompany me.</p> + +<p>But I was pigheaded and determined "to have one more flip in the old +'bus." After disentangling the wires that had whipped round the king +posts, I got into the pilot's seat and taxied away down wind. Then I +turned, managing the operation with fair success, and skimmed back +towards the pilot with greatly increasing speed. But all my efforts did +not succeed in making the machine lift clear of the ground. Some Arabs +were now rushing towards the pilot, and a troop of mounted gendarmes +were galloping in my direction. I tried to swerve to avoid these men, +but could not make the machine answer to her controls. Then I pulled the +stick back frantically in a last effort to rise above them. She gave a +little hop, then floundered down in the middle of the cavalry.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span></p> + +<p>Somehow or other the 'bus was standing still, and I was on the ground +beside it.</p> + +<p>Mounted gendarmes surrounded me with rifles levelled, not at me, but at +the machine. I cocked my revolver and put it behind my back, hesitating. +Then an old gendarme spurred his horse up to me and held out his right +hand in the friendliest possible fashion. I grasped it in surprise, for +the grip he gave me was a grip I knew, proving that even here in the +desert men are sometimes brothers. Then, emptying out the cartridges +from my revolver in case of accidents, I handed it to him. Not very +heroic certainly—but then surrendering is a sorry business: the best +that can be said for it is that it is sometimes common sense.</p> + +<p>At that moment the gentleman in blue, whose appearance we had previously +discussed, suddenly appeared behind me and swinging up his scimitar with +both hands, struck me a violent blow where neck joins shoulder. This +blow deprived me of all feeling for a moment. On coming-to I discovered +that my aggressor was not dressed in blue at all; he wore no stitch of +raiment of any description, but whether he was painted with woad or only +tanned by the sun I had no opportunity of enquiring. Whether, again, the +kindly gendarme had turned the blow or whether the <i>ghazi</i> had purposely +hit me with the flat of his weapon, I never discovered; but of this much +I am certain, that except for that kindly gendarme—to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span> whom may Allah +bring blessings—this story would not have been written.</p> + +<p>I made my way to the pilot as soon as I was able to do so, and found him +bleeding profusely from a wound in the head, surrounded by a hundred +tearing, screaming Arabs. Every minute, the number of the Arabs was +increasing, and the gendarmes had the greatest difficulty in protecting +us. All round us excited horsemen circled, firing <i>feux de joie</i> and +uttering hoarse cries of exultation. We were making slow progress +towards the police post about a mile distant, but at times, so fiercely +did the throng press round us, I doubted if we should ever come through.</p> + +<p>Once, yielding to popular clamour, the police stopped and parleyed with +some Arab chiefs who had arrived upon the scene. After a heated colloquy +of which we did not understand one word, in spite of our not unnatural +interest, the Turkish gendarmes shrugged their shoulders and appeared to +accede to the Arabs' demands. Several of the more ruffianly among them +seized the pilot and pulled his flying coat over his head. The memory of +that moment is the most unpleasant in my life, and I cannot, try as I +will, entirely dissociate myself from the horror of what I thought would +happen. Even now it often holds sleep at arm's length. Not the fact of +death, but the imagined manner of it, dismayed me. I bitterly regretted +having surrendered my revolver only to be thus tamely murdered.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span></p> + +<p>Meanwhile I had been also seized and borne down under a crowd of Arabs. +We fought for some time, and I had a glimpse of the pilot, who is a very +clever boxer, upholding British traditions with his fists. . . .</p> + +<p>Suddenly the scene changed from tragedy to farce. We were not going to +be murdered at all, but only robbed. And the pilot had given our <i>ghazi</i> +friend a black eye—blacker than his skin.</p> + +<p>At length I got free, minus all my possessions except my wrist watch, +which they did not see, and saw that the pilot also had his head above +the scrimmage, still "bloody but unbowed." The worst was over. That had +been the climax of my capture.</p> + +<p>All that happened thereafter, until chances of escape occurred, was in a +<i>diminuendo</i> of emotion.</p> + +<p>All I really longed for now was for something to smoke. My cigarette +case had gone.</p> + +<p>The gendarmes, who had stood aside through these proceedings, now +returned and hurried us towards the police post, while most of the +captors remained behind disputing about our loot. All this time the +machine had been absolutely neglected, but now I saw some Arabs stalking +cautiously up to it and discharging their firearms. Feeling the machine +would be damaged beyond repair if they continued firing at it, and so +rendered useless to us after our imminent capture of Baghdad, I tried to +explain to the gendarmes that it was quite unnecessary to waste good +lead on it, its potentiality for evil having vanished with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span> our +surrender. The impression I conveyed, however, was that there was a +third officer in the machine, and a large party adjourned to +investigate. During this diversion I tried to jump on to a white mare, +whose owner had left her to go towards the machine, but received a +second nasty blow on the spine for my pains. Again the kindly gendarme +came to my rescue, seeing, I suppose, that I was looking pretty blue. He +addressed me as "Baba," and—may Allah give him increase!—gave me a +cigarette.</p> + +<p>At last we got to the police post, and, as we entered and passed through +a dark stable passage, the gendarme on my left side, noticing my wrist +watch, slyly detached it and pocketed it with a meaning smile. As the +price of police protection I did not grudge it.</p> + +<p>Big doors clanged behind us and our captivity proper had begun: what had +gone before had been more like a scrum at Rugger, with ourselves as the +ball.</p> + +<p>We examined our injuries and bruises, and I tried to dress the wounds on +the pilot's head, with little success, however, for our guardians could +provide nothing but the most brackish water, and disinfectants were +undreamed of. We discussed our future at some length, and agreed that +our best plan was to be recaptured in Baghdad on the taking of that +city. To this end we decided that it would be advisable to make the most +of our injuries, so that when the Turkish retreat took place we would +not be in a fit condition to accompany it. To feign sickness would not, +indeed,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span> be difficult. I felt that every bone in my body was broken, and +my pilot was in an even worse condition.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile there was a great clamour and "confused noises without," which +seemed to refer insistently and unpleasantly to us. On asking what the +people were saying, we were informed that the Arabs wanted to take our +heads to the Turkish Commander-in-Chief at Suleiman Pak, whereas the +gendarmes pointed out that there would be far greater profit and +pleasure in taking us there alive. We cordially agreed, and did not join +the discussion, feeling it to be more academic than practical, as we +were quite safe in the police post.</p> + +<p>We had neither hats nor overcoats, but we each still retained our +jackets and breeches, though in a very torn condition. I was still in +possession of my sandshoes, probably because the Arabs did not think +them worth the taking.</p> + +<p>Considering things calmly, we felt that we were lucky. This bondage +would not last. We would surely fly again, perhaps soon. But for a week +or so we must accustom ourselves to new conditions. Everything was +strange about us, and it struck me at once how close a parallel there is +between the drama of Captivity and the drama of Life. In each case there +is a "curtain," and in each case a man enters into a new world whose +language and customs he does not know. Almost naked we came to our +bondage, dumb, bloody, disconcerted by the whole business. So, perhaps, +do infants feel at the world awaiting their ken: it is taken<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span> for +granted that they enjoy life, and so also our captors were convinced +that we should feel delighted at our situation.</p> + +<p>"We saved you from the Arabs," we understood them to say, "and now you +are safe until the war is over. You need do no more work."</p> + +<p>Such at any rate was my estimate of what they said, but being in an +unknown tongue, it was only necessary to nod in answer.</p> + +<p>Tea was brought to us, sweet, weak tea in little glasses, and we made +appreciative noises. Then the kindly gendarme—may he be rewarded in +both worlds—brought each of us some cigarettes, in return for which we +gave him our brightest smiles, having nothing else to give.</p> + +<p>But one could not smile for long in that little room, thinking of the +sun and air outside and the old 'bus lying wrecked in the desert. We +would have been flying back now; we would have reconnoitred the Turkish +lines; we would have been back by nine o'clock to breakfast, bath, and +glory. . . .</p> + +<p>"It's the thirteenth of the month," groaned the pilot, whose thoughts +were similar to mine.</p> + +<p>For a long time I sulked in silence, while the pilot, with better +manners or more vitality than I, engaged the gendarmes in light +conversation, conducted chiefly by gesture. About an hour later (a "day" +of the Creation, it seemed to me—and it was indeed a formative time, +when the mind, so long accustomed to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span> range free, seeks to adjust its +processes to captivity and adapt itself to new conditions of time and +space) there occurred at last a diversion to interrupt my gloom.</p> + +<p>The Turkish District Governor arrived with two carriages to take us to +Baghdad. He spoke English and was agreeable in a mild sort of way, +except for his unfortunate habit of asking questions which we could not +answer. He told us that news of our descent and capture had been sent to +Baghdad by gallopers (not by telegram, I noted parenthetically) and that +the population was awaiting our arrival. I said that I hoped the +population would not be disappointed, and he assured us with a +significant smile that they certainly would not.</p> + +<p>"Whatever happens," he was kind enough to add, "I will be responsible +for your lives myself."</p> + +<p>His meaning became apparent a little later, when we approached the +suburbs of Baghdad and found an ugly crowd awaiting our arrival, armed +with sticks and stones. When we reached the city itself the streets were +lined as if for a royal procession. Shops had put up their shutters, the +markets were closed, the streets were thronged, and every window held +its quota of heads. The word had gone out that there was to be a +demonstration, and the hysteria which lurks in every city in a time of +crisis found its fullest scope. Our downfall was taken as an omen of +British defeat, and the inhabitants of Baghdad held high holiday at the +sight of captive British airmen.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span></p> + +<p>Elderly merchants wagged their white beards and cursed us as we passed; +children danced with rage, and threw mud; lines of Turkish women pulled +back their veils in scorn, and putting out their tongues at us cried +"La, la, la," in a curious note of derision; boys brandished knives; +babies shook their little fists. No hated Tarquins could have had a more +hostile demonstration. We were both spat upon. A man with a heavy cudgel +aimed a blow at my pilot which narrowly missed him, another with a long +dagger stabbed through the back of the carriage and was dragged away +with difficulty: I can still see his snarling face and <i>hashish</i>-haunted +eyes. Our escort could hardly force a way for our carriage through the +narrow streets. All this time we sat trying to look dignified and +smoking constant cigarettes. . . . State arrival of British prisoners in +Baghdad—what a scene it would have been for the cinematograph!</p> + +<p>Arrived at the river, a space was cleared round us, and we were embarked +with a great deal of fuss in a boat to take us across to the Governor's +palace. Before leaving, I said goodbye to the kindly gendarme who had +helped a brother in distress, and once more now, across the wasted years +of captivity and the turmoil of my life to-day, I grasp his hand in +gratitude.</p> + +<p>Our first interview in Baghdad was with a journalist. He was very polite +and anxious for our impressions, but I told him that the Arabs had given +us quite enough impressions for the day, and that words could<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span> not +adequately express what we felt at our arrival in Baghdad. We chiefly +wanted a wash.</p> + +<p>That afternoon we were taken to hospital, and to our surprise (for, +being new to the conditions of captivity, we were still susceptible to +surprise) we found that we were very well treated there. Two sentries, +however, stood at our open door day and night to watch our every +movement. When the Governor of Baghdad came to see us that evening +(thoughtfully bringing with him a bottle of whisky) I politely told him +(in French, a language he spoke fluently) that so much consideration had +been shown to us that I hoped he would not mind my asking whether we +could not have a little more privacy. The continual presence of the +sentries was a little irksome. He understood my point perfectly—much +too perfectly. Taking me to the window, he spoke smoothly, as follows:</p> + +<p>"I am so sorry the sentries disturb you, but I feel responsible for your +safety, and should you by any chance fall out of that window—it is not +so very far from the ground, you see—you might get into bad hands. I +assure you that Baghdad is full of wicked men."</p> + +<p>The Governor was too clever. There was no chance with him of securing +more favourable conditions for escape, so we turned to the discussion of +the whisky bottle. As in all else he did, he had an object, I soon +discovered, in bringing this forbidden fluid. His<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span> purpose, of course, +was to make us talk, and talk we did, under its generous and +unaccustomed influence, for it had been some time since we had seen +spirits in our own mess at Azizieh. I would much like to see the report +that the Turkish Intelligence Staff made of that wonderful conversation. +Several officers had dropped in—casually—to join in the talk, and we +told them we had lost our way; then our engine had stopped, and we +landed as near to some village as we could. We knew nothing of an attack +on Baghdad, we did not know General Townshend, but had certainly heard +of him. We had heard a rumour that he had defeated the Turks at Es-sinn +a month previously, and would like to know the truth of the matter. +Eventually the bottle was exhausted, and so were our imaginations. We +parted with the utmost cordiality and a firm intention of seeing as +little of each other as possible in the future.</p> + +<p>In the street below our window were some large earthenware jars, like +those in which the Forty Thieves had hidden aforetime in this very city, +and for about a day we considered the story of Aladdin, in regard to the +possibility of escape by getting into these jars; but just as we had +made our plans the jars were removed, being taken no doubt to the +support trenches, which were found by our troops excellently provided +with water.</p> + +<p>As the day grew near for our attack, we saw many thousand Arabs being +marched down to Ctesiphon.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span> It was no conquering army this, no freemen +going to defend their native land, but miserable bands of slaves being +sent into subjection. Down to the river bank, where they were embarked +on lighters, they were followed by their weeping relatives. There was no +pretence at heroism. They would have escaped if they could, but the +Turks had taken care of that. They were tied together by fours, their +right hand being lashed to a wooden yoke, while their left was employed +in carrying a rifle. These unfortunate creatures were taken to a spot +near the trenches and were then transferred, still securely tied +together, to the worst dug and most-exposed part of the line. Machine +guns were then posted behind them to block all possible lines of +retreat. In addition to minor discomforts such as bearing the brunt of +our attack, the Arabs, so I was told, were frequently unprovided with +provisions and water, so it is small wonder that their demeanour did not +show the fire of battle. But <i>Kannonen-futter</i> was required for +Ctesiphon, and down the river this pageant of dejected pacifists had to +go.</p> + +<p>After the attack had begun, shiploads of these same men returned +wounded, and arrived in our hospital in an indescribably pitiable +condition. There were no stretchers, and the wounded were left to shift +for themselves, relying on charity and the providence of Allah. The +blind led the blind, the halt helped the lame.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span></p> + +<p>Later, wounded Anatolian soldiers began also to arrive, and their plight +was no less wretched than that of the Arabs, though their behaviour was +incomparably better. One could not help admiring their stoicism in the +face of terrible and often unnecessary suffering. The utter lack of +system in dealing with casualties was hardly more remarkable than the +fortitude of the casualties themselves. When a proclamation was read to +the sufferers in our hospital, announcing the success of the Turkish +arms at Ctesiphon, the wounded seemed to forget their pain and the dying +acquired a new lease of life. I actually saw a man with a mortal wound +in the head, who a few minutes previously had been choking and literally +at his last gasp, rally all his forces to utter thanks to God, and then +die.</p> + +<p>Never for a moment had we thought that the attack on Ctesiphon could +fail. The odds, we knew, were heavily against us, but we firmly believed +that General Townshend would achieve the impossible. That he did not do +so was not his fault nor the fault of the gallant men he led. But this +is a record of my personal experiences only, and I will spare the reader +all the long reflections and alternations of anxiety and hope which held +our thoughts while the guns boomed down the Tigris and the fate of +Baghdad—and our fate—was poised in the balance.</p> + +<p>At six o'clock one morning we were suddenly awakened and told that we +must leave for Mosul immediately. By every possible means in our power<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span> +we delayed the start, thinking our troops might come at any moment. But +the Turkish sergeant who commanded our escort had definite orders that +we were to be out of the city by nine o'clock. We drove in a carriage +through mean streets, attracting no attention, for now the Baghdadis +realised their danger. Before leaving, our sergeant paid a visit to his +house, in order to collect his kit, leaving us at the door, guarded by +four soldiers. His sisters came down to see him off and (being of +progressive tendencies, I suppose) they were not veiled. It were crime +indeed to have hidden such lustrous eyes and skin so fair.</p> + + +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II</h2> + +<h3>A SHADOW-LAND OF ARABESQUES</h3> + + +<p>Some breath of reality, some call from the outer world of freedom came +to us from the presence of these girls. They seemed the first real +people I had seen in my captivity, femininity incarnate, human beings in +a shadow-land of arabesques. They were happy and healthy and somehow +outside the insanities of our world. For a moment they gazed at us in +awe, and for another moment in complete sympathy: then they retired with +little squeaks of laughter and busied themselves with their brother's +baggage.</p> + +<p>When our preparations were complete and we set off on our long journey, +they stood for a space at the casement window and waved us goodbye, +looking quite charming. I vowed that if Fate by a happy chance were to +lead us back to Baghdad with rôles reversed, so that they, not we, were +captives in the midst of foes, my first care would be to repay their +kindly, though unspoken, sympathy. They were too human for the +futilities of war, too amiable to have a hand in Armageddon.</p> + +<p>Only prisoners, I think, see the full absurdity of war. Only prisoners, +to begin with, fully realise the gift of life. And only prisoners see +war without its<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span> glamour, and realise completely the suffering behind +the lines: the maimed, the blind, the women who weep. Only by a few of +us in happy England has the full tragedy of war been realised. Mere +words will never record it, but prisoners know "the heartbreak in the +heart of things." To us who have been behind the scenes, far from the +shouting and the tumult and the captains and the kings, the wretchedness +of it all remains indelible. Nothing can make us forget the broken men +and women, whose woes will haunt our times.</p> + +<p>But I was on the threshold of my experiences then, and the maidens of +Baghdad soon passed from memory, I fear—vanishing like the mists of +morning that hung over the river-bank at the outset of our journey.</p> + +<p>We travelled in that marvellous conveyance, the <i>araba</i>. To generalise +from types is dangerous, but the <i>araba</i> is certainly typical of Turkey. +Its discomfort is as amazing as its endurance. It is a rickety cart with +a mattress to sit on. A pole (frequently held together by string) to +which two ponies are harnessed (frequently again with string) supplies +the motive power, which is restrained by reins mended with string, or +encouraged by a whip made of string. The contrivance is surmounted by a +patchwork hood tied down with string. A few buckets and hay nets are +strung between its crazy wheels. Such is the <i>araba</i>. How it holds +together is a mystery as inscrutable as the East itself. If all the +vitality<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span> expended in Turkey on starting upon a journey and continuing +upon it were turned to other purposes, the land might flourish. But the +philosophy which makes the <i>araba</i> possible makes other activities +impossible.</p> + +<p>A full two hours before the start, when the world is still blue with +cold, travellers are summoned to leave their rest. Then the drivers +begin to feed their ponies. When this is done they feed themselves. +Then, leisurely, they load the baggage. Finally, when all seems ready, +it occurs to somebody that it is impossible to leave before the cavalry +escort is in saddle. "Ahmed Effendi" is called for. Everyone shouts for +"Ahmed Effendi," who is sleeping soundly, like a sensible man. He wakes, +and, to create a diversion perhaps, accuses a driver of stealing his +chicken. The driver replies in suitable language. Meanwhile time passes. +The disc of the sun cuts the horizon line of the desert, disclosing us +all standing chill and cramped and bored and still unready. A pony has +lain down in his harness, in an access of boredom, no doubt. A goat has +stolen part of my scanty bread ration and is now browsing peacefully in +the middle distance. Far away a cur is barking at the jackals. Some of +our escort have retired to pray, others are still wrangling. Two or +three are engaged in kicking the bored pony.</p> + +<p>After recovering from the goat my half-loaf, which is so much better +than no bread in the desert, I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span> watch with amazement the Turkish +treatment of the pony. A skewer is produced and rammed into the +unfortunate animal's left nostril. So barbarous does this seem that I am +on the point of protesting, when suddenly the animal struggles to its +feet, and stands shivering and wide-eyed and apparently well again. +After the wound has been sponged and the pony given a few dates, it +seems equal to fresh endeavour. The blood-letting has cleared its +brain—and no wonder, poor beast.</p> + +<p>At length all seems ready. We climb into the <i>araba</i>. But we are not off +yet. We sit for another hour while the drivers refresh themselves with a +second breakfast. A rhyme keeps running through my frozen brain:</p> + +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Slow pass the hours—ah, passing slow—</span> +<span class="i0"> My doom is worse than anything</span> +<span class="i0"> Conceived by Edgar Allan Poe."</span> +</div></div> + +<p>But I did not realise then how lucky we were to be travelling by +carriages at all. Nor did I realise what an honour it was to be +presented to the local governors through whose districts we passed. It +was only late in captivity, when merged in an undistinguished band of +prisoners, that I understood the pomp and circumstance of our early +days. Late in 1915 a prisoner was still a new sort of animal to the +Turks. They were curious about us, and to some extent the curiosity was +mutual. One kept comparing them with the descriptions in "Eöthen."</p> + +<p>Proceedings generally opened in a long low room.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span> The local magnate sat +at a desk, on which were set a saucer containing an inky sponge, a dish +of sand, and some reed-pens. A scribe stood beside the <i>kaimakam</i> and +handed him documents, which he scrutinised as if they were works of art, +holding them delicately in his left hand as a connoisseur might consider +his porcelain. Then with a reed-pen he would scratch the document, still +holding it in the palm of his hand, and after sprinkling it carefully +with sand would return it to the scribe. All this was incidental to his +conversation with us or with other members of the audience. There were +never less than ten people in any of the rooms in which we were +interviewed, and as they all made fragmentary remarks, one quoting a +text from the Koran, another a French <i>bon mot</i>, and a third introducing +some question of local politics, and as the governor asked us questions +and signed papers and kept up a running commentary with his friends, one +felt exactly like Alice at the Hatter's tea party.</p> + +<p>"A Turk does not listen to what you are saying," I have since been told, +"he merely watches your expression." That this is true of the uneducated +I have no doubt, and if correct about the educated Turk I daresay it is +not to his discredit. Demeanour in Oriental countries counts for much.</p> + +<p>But at Samarra our demeanour was sorely tried. We had been travelling +about three days in the desert, when we arrived at this desolate and +dishevelled spot.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span> I longed to lie down and shut my eyes, and forget +about captivity for a bit, but no!—there came a summons to attend the +ghastly social function I had already learned to loathe.</p> + +<p>The Governor of that place was a <i>tout à fait civilisé</i> Young Turk, +sedentary, Semitic, and very disagreeable.</p> + +<p>"Is it true that you dropped bombs on the Mosque at Baghdad?" he asked.</p> + +<p>And—</p> + +<p>"Do you know that the population of Baghdad nearly killed you?"</p> + +<p>And—</p> + +<p>"Do you know that in another month the English will be driven into the +Persian Gulf?" . . . and so on.</p> + +<p>We denied these soft impeachments, and then his method became more +direct.</p> + +<p>"Some of your friends have been killed and captured," he said—"the +commandant of your flying corps, for instance."</p> + +<p>Seeing us incredulous, he accurately described the Major's appearance.</p> + +<p>"And there is someone else," the <i>kaimakam</i> continued in slow tones that +iced my blood. "Someone who may be a friend of yours. A young pilot in a +fur coat."</p> + +<p>My heart stood still.</p> + +<p>"He was killed by an Arab," the <i>kaimakam</i> added. . . .<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span></p> + +<p>Here I will skip a page or two of mental history. The defeat of my +country, the death of my friend, the crumbling of my hopes: little +indeed was left. . . . . .</p> + +<p>Let five dots supply the ugly blank. There is sorrow and failure enough +in the world without speculating on tragedies that never happened. +Baghdad was taken later, my friend proved to be captured, not killed, +and I write this by Thames-side, not the Tigris.</p> + +<p>The inhabitants of Samarra are, I believe, the most ill-balanced people +in the world. This trait is well known to travellers, and we found it no +traveller's tale. On first arriving at Samarra, we halted in the +rest-house on the right bank of the river, and were enjoying our frugal +meal of bread and dates when a sergeant came to us from the Governor +with orders that we were to be instantly conveyed to his residence, +which is situated in the town across the river. We demurred, and our own +sergeant protested, but the Governor's emissary had definite orders, and +we were hurried down in the twilight. Here we found that there was no +boat to take us across. The Samarra sergeant shouted to a boatful of +Arabs, floating down the river, but they would not stop. Louder and +louder he shouted, till his voice cracked in a scream. Growing frantic +with rage, he fired his revolver at the Arabs. Of course he missed them, +but the bullets, ricochetting in the water, probably found a billet in +the town beyond. The Arab occupants merely laughed in their<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span> beards. We +also laughed. Then the sergeant declared that we would have to swim, and +we urged him in pantomime to show the way.</p> + +<p>Eventually he spied a horse-barge down river, with a naked boy playing +beside it. Reloading his revolver, a few shots in his direction +attracted the lad's attention. Then an old man came out of a hut by some +melon beds, to see who was firing at his son.</p> + +<p>Another shot or two and the old man and the boy were prevailed upon to +take us across. We had secured our transport at last, and the whole +transaction seemed (in Samarra) as simple as hailing a taxi.</p> + +<p>I bought a melon from the boy, and he snatched my money contemptuously. +To take things without violence is a sign of weakness in Samarra. I +noticed afterwards that all the boys and girls in this happy spot were +fighting each other or engaged in killing something. And their elders +keep something of the feckless violence of youth. I do not think that +there are any good Samarratans.</p> + +<p>After the interview with the Governor already mentioned, which ended by +a refusal on our part to speak with him further, we were sent to pass +the night in a filthy hovel, whose only furniture consisted of a bench +and a chair. Our sergeant was sitting on this chair when an officer +rushed in and jerked it from under him, leaving him on the floor. As a +conjuring trick it was neat, but as manners, deplorable. We were glad to +get away from the place.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span></p> + +<p>Very few incidents came to diversify the monotony of our desert travel. +One day, however, we met some Turkish cavalry going down to the siege of +Kut. They were a fine body of troops, a little under-mounted perhaps, +but thoroughly business-like. Their officers were most chivalrous +cavaliers. Here in the desert, where luxuries were not to be had for +money or for murder, they frequently gave us a handful of cigarettes, or +a parcel of raisins, or else halted their squadron and asked us to share +their meal. With these men one felt at ease. They were soldiers like +ourselves. They did not ask awkward questions, and were told no lies. I +remember especially one afternoon in the Marble Hills when we sat in a +ring drinking tea and smoking cigarettes, with the panorama of the +desert spread out before us, from the southward plains of Arabia to the +hills of the devil-worshippers, misty and mysterious, in the north. We +talked about horses all the time. A modern Isaiah delivered himself of +the following sentiment, in which I heartily concur:</p> + +<p>"Where there is no racing the people perish."</p> + +<p>The first-line Turk has many fine qualities, of which generosity and +gallantry are not the least. Something in Anglo-Saxon blood is in +sympathy with the adventure-loving, flower-loving Turk. But, alas! there +is another type of Ottoman, with the taint of Tamerlane. "When he is +good he is very very good, but when he is bad he is horrid."</p> + +<p>In the latter category I must regretfully place the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span> sergeant who +commanded our escort. He came of decent stock (to judge by his charming +sisters, and his own appearance indeed) but his mind was all mud and +blood. He had been Hunified. Turkey would always be fighting, he said. +The English were almost defeated. The Armenians were almost +exterminated. But the Greeks remained to be dealt with, and the cursed +Arabs. Finally the Germans themselves. In an apotheosis of Prussianism +Turkey was to turn on her Allies and drive them out. Such was his creed. +But a glow of courage lit the dark places of his mind. He loved fighting +for the sheer fun of the thing. A few days beyond Samarra we were +attacked by some wandering Arabs, who swept down on us in a crescent. +Our guards panicked, but he stood his ground, and, seizing a rifle, +dispersed the enemy by some well-directed shots. Whether we were near +deliverance or death on that occasion I do not know, but that the panic +amongst our escort was not wholly unreasonable was evinced by the fact +that only a few hours earlier we had passed the headless trunk of a +gendarme, strapped upon a donkey. He had been decapitated as a warning +to the Samarratans that two can play at the game of savagery.</p> + +<p>The sight of the corpse had unnerved our guard, and as for myself, I did +not know whether to be glad or sorry when the Arabs attacked us. To be +taken by them meant either going back to the English or to the dust from +which we came. The alternative was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span> too heroic to be agreeable. +Contrariwise, I was much disappointed when our sergeant finally drove +them off. That evening, as if to point the moral, we found the body of +another gendarme, also murdered, lying on a dung-heap outside the +rest-house. This was at Shergat, the former capital of the Assyrians, +and now a squalid village, where, however, the widows of Ashur were +still "loud in their wail."</p> + +<p>Here we dined with the fattest man I have ever seen. He was really a pig +personified, but as we both gobbled out of the same dish and ate the +same salt, I will not further enlarge on his appearance.</p> + +<p>In the upper reaches of the Tigris there are wild geese so tame that +they come waddling up to inspect the rare travellers through their land. +I thought it might be possible to catch one of these animals on foot. +Coquettishly enough they kept a certain distance. "We don't mind your +looking at us," they seemed to say, "but we <i>do</i> object to being pawed +about." With the coming of the railway I am afraid a gun will destroy +their belief in human kind.</p> + +<p>The geese appeared to enjoy the smell of sulphuretted hydrogen, which +prevails in these regions. The whole country is rich in natural oils and +bitumen. One day it will make somebody's fortune, no doubt, and then the +geese will waddle away from perspiring prospectors. . . .</p> + +<p>Before we arrived at Mosul we stopped for a bath at the hot springs of +Hammam-Ali, where we met (in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span> the water) a patriarch with a white beard, +who confidently assured us that he was a hundred years old and would +continue to live for another hundred, such were the beneficent +properties of the water. Before his days are numbered he may live to see +a Hydro at Hammam-Ali—poor old patriarch. He told us a lot about Jonah +(whose tomb is at Nineveh, just opposite Mosul, on the other side of the +river), and I am not sure that he did not claim acquaintance with that +patriarch. He was quite one of the family.</p> + +<p>Mosul, he told us, was a heaven on earth, a land flowing with milk and +honey, where we should ride all day on the best horses of Arabia, and +feast all night in gardens such as the blessed <i>houris</i> might adorn.</p> + +<p>It was with a certain elation, therefore, that I saw the distant +prospect of Mosul next morning, set in its surrounding hills. A fair +city it seemed, white and cool, with orange groves down to the river and +many date-trees. But a closer acquaintance brought cruel disappointment, +as generally happens in the East. The blight of the Ottoman was +everywhere; there was dirt, decrepitude, and decay in every corner. +Children with eye-disease, and adults with leprosies more terrible than +Naaman's jostled each other in the mean streets. Whole quarters of the +city had given up the ghost, and become refuse heaps, where curs grouted +amongst offal. Mosul, like our escort-sergeant's mind, seemed a muddle +of mud and blood.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span></p> + +<p>With sinking hearts we drove to the barracks, and were shown into a +dark, gloomy office, where our names were taken. Thence we were led to a +still murkier and more mouldering room, inhabited—nay, infested—by +some ten Arabs. Through this we passed into a cell with windows boarded +up, which was, if possible even damper, darker, and more dismal than +anything we had yet seen. After the sunlight and great winds of the +desert we stood bewildered. Death seemed in the air.</p> + +<p>Then out of the gloom there rose two figures. They were British +officers, who had been captured about a month previously. So changed and +wasted were they that even after we had removed the boards from the +little window we could hardly recognise them. One of these officers was +so ill with dysentery that he could hardly move, the other had high +fever.</p> + +<p>Our arrival, with news from the outer world, bad though it was, +naturally cheered them considerably, for nothing could be worse than +their present plight.</p> + +<p>The ensuing days called for a great moral effort on our part. It was +absolutely imperative to laugh, otherwise our surroundings would have +closed in on us. . . . We cut up lids of cigarette boxes for playing +cards. We inked out a chessboard on a plank. We held a spiritualistic +séance with a soup-bowl, there being no table available to turn. We told +interminable stories. We composed monstrous limericks; and we sang in +rivalry with the Arab guard<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span> outside, who made day hideous with their +melody and murdered sleep by snoring.</p> + +<p>But when there is little to eat and nothing to do, time drags heavily. +Two cells with low ceilings that leaked were allotted to the four of us. +In these we lived and ate and slept, except for fortnightly excursions +to the baths. We were allowed no communication with the men, who lived +in a dungeon below. Their fate was a sealed book to us. We had nothing +to read. Under these conditions one begins to fear one's brain, +especially at night. It was then that it began to run like a mechanical +toy. Like a clockwork mouse, it scampered aimlessly amongst the dust of +memory, then suddenly became inert, with the works run down. I grew +terrified of thinking, especially of thinking about my friend in the fur +coat.</p> + +<p>The night hours are the worst in captivity. One lies on the floor, +waiting for sleep to come, but instead of blessed sleep, "beloved from +pole to pole," thoughts come crowding thick and fast on consciousness, +thoughts like clouds that lower over the quiescent body. Each second +then seems of inconceivable duration. But there is no escape from Time.</p> + +<p>During the day, however, things were more bearable, and occasional +gleams of humour enlivened the laggard moments.</p> + +<p>Among our guard there were several sentries who (I thought) might +conceivably help us to escape. One dark night, one of these men +whispered the one word<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span> "Jesus," and made the sign of the Cross, as I +passed him. After this introduction I naturally hoped that he might be +of use. He was a fine figure of a man, with a proud poise of head, and +aquiline nose, as if some Assyrian god had been his ancestor. I was +gazing at him in admiration the next day, and gauging his possibilities +through my single eye-glass, when a curious thing happened.</p> + +<p>Our eyes met. He seemed mesmerised by my monocle. For a long time we +stared at each other in silence, then, thinking the sergeant of the +guard would notice our behaviour, I discreetly dropped my eye-glass and +looked the other way. The sentry's mouth quivered as if I had made a +joke, but instead of smiling, he burst suddenly into a storm of tears. +The sergeant of the guard (a swart, sturdy little Turk) rushed out to +see what had happened. There was the big sentry, wailing, and actually +gnashing his white teeth. I stood awkwardly, looking as innocent as I +felt. The sergeant bristled like a terrier, pulled the sentry's poor +nose, and boxed his beautiful ears, while the victim continued to +blubber and look piteously in my direction.</p> + +<p>But I could not help him at all. I had not the slightest idea what was +the matter, nor do I know now. Hysteria, I suppose.</p> + +<p>Eventually that great solvent of perplexity, nicotine, came to relieve +the awkward situation. First the sergeant accepted a cigarette, then, +more diffidently,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span> the sentry. Later I put in my eye-glass again, and +convinced them, I think, that its use did not involve the weaving of any +unholy spell.</p> + +<p>This eye-glass, by the way, survived all the fortunes of captivity. +Through it I surveyed the moon-lit plains beyond the Tigris when I +planned escape in Mosul, as shall be told in the next chapter. Later it +scanned the desert's dusty face for any hope of release. At +Afion-kara-hissar it helped me search for a pathway through our guards. +At Constantinople it was still my friend. Through it, a month before +escape, I looked at the slip of new moon that swung over San Sophia on +the last day of Ramazan, wondering where the next moon would find me. +And when the next moon came, I watched the sentries by its aid, on the +night of our first escape. And it was in my eye when I slipped down the +rope to freedom.</p> + +<p>But this chapter is getting "gaga." It has a happy ending, however.</p> + +<p>One evening when the</p> + +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">". . . little patch of blue,</span> +<span class="i0"> That prisoners call the sky"</span> +</div></div> + +<p>had turned to sulky mauve, and the air was heavy with storm, and our +fellow-prisoners were depressed, and the Arab guard was bellowing songs +outside, and we were peeling potatoes for our dinner by the flicker of +lamp-light, and life seemed drab beyond description, there came great +news to us. Two other officers had arrived.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span></p> + +<p>Next moment they peered into our den, even as we had done. And they were +angry, amazed, unshaven, bronzed by the desert air, even as we had been. +There in the doorway, ruddy and fair and truculent like some Viking out +of time and place, stood the young pilot I had last seen at Aziziah. He +was alive, my friend in the fur coat.</p> + +<p>The desert had delivered up its dead!</p> + + +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III</h2> + +<h3>THE TERRIBLE TURK</h3> + + +<p>One draws a long breath thinking of those days of Mosul. But bad as our +case was, it was as nothing compared with that of the men.</p> + +<p>Some two hundred of them lived in a cellar below our quarters, through +scenes of misery, and in an atmosphere of death which no one can +conceive who does not know the methods of the Turk. Even to me, as I +write in England, that Mosul prison begins to seem inconceivable. +Huddled together on the damp flag-stones of the cellar, our men died at +the rate of four or five a week. Although the majority were suffering +from dysentery they not only could not secure medical attention, but +were not even allowed out of their cells for any purpose whatever. Their +pitiable state can be better imagined than described. Many went mad +under our eyes. Deprived of food, light, exercise, and sometimes even +drinking water, the condition of our sick and starving men was literally +too terrible for words.</p> + +<p>It is useless, however, to pile horror on horror. Sixty per cent. of +these men are dead, and this fact speaks<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span> for itself. No re-statement +can strengthen, and no excuse can palliate, the case against the Turks. +Our men in this particular instance were killed by the cynical brutality +of Abdul Ghani Bey, the commandant of Mosul, and his acquiescent staff.</p> + +<p>There is an idea that "the Turks treated their own soldiers no better +than our prisoners"; but this is a fallacy—at any rate with regard to +hell-hounds such as Abdul Ghani Bey. He took an especial pleasure in +inflicting the torments of thirst, hunger, and dirt upon the miserable +beings under his care. Animals, in another country, would have been kept +cleaner and better fed.</p> + +<p>Never shall I forget the arrival in January 1915 of a party of English +prisoners from Baghdad. About two hundred and fifty men, who had been +captured on barges just before the siege of Kut, had been taken first to +Baghdad and thence by forced marches to Kirkuk, a mountain town on the +borders of the Turko-Persian frontier. Why they were ever sent to Kirkuk +I do not know, unless indeed it was thought that the sight of prisoners +suitably starved would re-assure the population regarding the qualities +of the redoubtable English soldier. After being exhibited to the +population of Kirkuk our men continued their journey, through the bitter +cold of the mountains, barefoot and in rags, arriving at last at Mosul +shortly after the New Year. Only eighty men then remained out of the +original two hundred and fifty, but although<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span> their numbers had dwindled +their courage had not diminished.</p> + +<p>First there marched into our barrack square some sixty of our soldiers +in column of route. They were erect and correct as if they were marching +to a king's parade. Surely so strange a column will never be seen again. +All were sick, and the most were sick to death. Some were barefoot, some +had marched two hundred miles in carpet slippers, some were in +shirt-sleeves, and all were in rags; one man only wore a great-coat, and +he possessed no stitch of clothing beneath it. But through all adversity +they held their heads high among the heathen, and carried themselves +with the courage of a day "that knows not death." Silently they filed +into the already crowded cellar, out of our sight, and many never issued +again into the light of the sun.</p> + +<p>After these sixty men had disappeared the stragglers began to stagger +in. One man, delirious, led a donkey on which the dead body of his +friend was tied face downwards. After unstrapping the corpse he fell in +a heap beside it. Dysentery cases wandered in and collapsed in groups on +the parade ground. An Indian soldier, who had contracted lockjaw, kept +making piteous signs to his mouth, and looking up to the verandah, where +we stood surrounded by guards. But no one came to relieve those +sufferers, dying by inches under our eyes.</p> + +<p>That night we managed, by bribing the guards, to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span> have smuggled upstairs +to us at tea-time two non-commissioned officers from among the new +arrivals. Needless to say, we spent all our money (which was little +enough in all conscience) in providing as good a fare as possible, and +our famished guests devoured the honey and clotted cream we had to +offer. Then one of them suddenly fainted. When he had somewhat recovered +he had to be secretly conveyed below, and that was the end of the +party—the saddest at which I have ever assisted. The officer who +carried the sick man down spent several hours afterwards in removing +vermin from his own clothes, for lice leave the moribund, and this poor +boy died within a few days.</p> + +<p>Sometimes, when our pay was given us, or there occurred an opportunity +to bribe our guard, it was our heart-breaking duty to decide which of +the men we should attempt to save, by smuggling money to them out of the +slender funds at our disposal, and which of their number, from cruel +necessity, were too near their end to warrant an attempt to save.</p> + +<p>Something of the iron of Cromwell enters one's mind as one writes of +these things. If we forget our dead, the East will not forget our shame. +Sentiment must not interfere with justice. Abdul Ghani Bey, who shed our +prisoners' blood, must pay the penalty. He is the embodiment of a +certain type—perhaps not a very common type—of Turk, but common or +not, he is one of the men responsible for the terrible death-rate<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span> among +our soldiers. A short description of him, therefore, will not be out of +place.</p> + +<p>He was a small man, this tiny Tamerlane, with a limp, and a scowl, and +bandy legs. His sombre, wizened face seemed to light with pleasure at +scenes of cruelty and despair. He insulted the old, and struck the weak, +and delighted in the tears of women and the cries of children. This is +not hyperbole. I have seen him stump through a crowd of Armenian widows +and their offspring, and after striking some with his whip, he pushed +down a woman into the gutter who held a baby at her breast. I have seen +him pass down the ranks of Arab deserters, lashing one in the face, +kicking another, and knocking down a third. I have seen him wipe his +boots on the beard of an old Arab he had felled, and spur him in the +face. I hope he has already been hanged, because only the hangman's cord +could remove his atavistic cruelty.</p> + +<p>His subordinates went in deadly fear of him, and while it was extremely +difficult to help our men, it was practically impossible to help +ourselves at all in the matter of escape. Yet escape was doubly urgent +now, to bring news of our condition to the outer world.</p> + +<p>After much thought I decided that a certain wall-eyed interpreter who +came occasionally to buy us food was the most promising person to +approach. My friend and I laid our plans carefully. After a judicious +tip, and some hints as to our great importance in our own country, we +evinced a desire to have private<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span> lessons with him in Arabic, enlarging +at the same time upon the great career that a person like himself might +have had, had he been serving the English and not the Turks. Gradually +we led round to the subject of escape. At first we talked generalities +in whispers, and he was distinctly shy of doing anything of which the +dear commandant would not approve; but eventually, softly and +distinctly, and with a confidence that I did not feel, I made a +momentous proposal to him, nothing less than that he could help us to +escape. He winced as if my remark was hardly proper, and fixed me with a +single, thunder-struck eye. Then he quavered:</p> + +<p>"This is very sudden!"</p> + +<p>We could not help laughing.</p> + +<p>"This is no jesting matter," he said. "I will be killed if I am caught."</p> + +<p>"But you won't get caught. With the best horses in Arabia and a guide +like you. . . ."</p> + +<p>"Hush, hush! I must think it over."</p> + +<p>For several days he preserved a tantalising silence, alternately raising +our hopes by a wink from his wonderful eye, and then dashing them to the +ground by a blank stare.</p> + +<p>We lived in a torment of hope deferred.</p> + +<p>But time passed more easily now. The nights took on a new complexion, +flushed by the hope of freedom. From our little window I could see +across a courtyard to a patch of river. Beyond it, immense and magical<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span> +under the starlight, were the ruins of former civilisation—the mounds +of Nineveh, the tomb of Jonah, and the rolling downs that lead to the +mountains of Kurdistan. To those mountains my fancy went. If sleep did +not come, then there were enthralling adventures to be lived in those +mountains, adventures of the texture of dreams, yet tinged with a +certain prospective of reality. . . . We had bought revolvers, our +horses were ready, we had bribed our guard. We rode far and fast, with +our wall-eyed friend as guide. By evening we were in a great +forest. . . .</p> + +<p>But reality proved a poor attendant on romance. A sordid question of +money was our stumbling-block, and a high enterprise was crippled—not +for the first or last time—by want of cash. We had already given the +interpreter five pounds (which represented so much bread taken out of +our mouths), but now he stated that further funds were indispensable to +arrange preliminaries. This seemed reasonable, for arms and horses could +not be secured on credit in Mosul. Unfortunately, however, funds were +not available. We could not, in decency, borrow from other prisoners to +help us in our escape. At this juncture our guide, philosopher, and +friend lost—or embezzled—a five-pound note that had been entrusted to +him by another prisoner to buy us food. Whether he lost it carelessly or +criminally I am not prepared to state, but the fact remains he lost it. +Our fellow-prisoner very naturally<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span> complained to the Turks, as the +absence of this five pounds meant we could buy no food for a week.</p> + +<p>The Turks arrested the interpreter. He grew frightened, invented a story +about the complainant having asked him to help in an escape, then +recanted, vacillated, contradicted himself, and got himself bastinadoed +for his pains.</p> + +<p>The bastinado, I may as well here explain, is administered as follows: +the feet of the victim are bared, and his ankles are strapped to a pole. +The pole is now raised by two men to the height of their shoulders. A +third man takes a thick stick about the diameter of a man's wrist, and +strikes him on the soles of the feet. Between twenty and a hundred +strokes are administered, while the victim writhes until he faints. No +undue exertion is necessary on the part of the executioner, for even +after a gentle bastinado a man is not expected to be able to walk for +several days.</p> + +<p>The wall-eyed interpreter was brought limping to our cell about three +days after his punishment. He was brought by Turkish officers, who +wished to hear from our own lips a denial of his story that we had been +plotting an escape.</p> + +<p>It was a dramatic, and for me rather dreadful, moment. Indignantly and +vehemently we denied ever having asked his help. Only myself and +another, besides the interpreter, knew the truth. To the other officers +at Mosul (there were nine of us then, sharing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span> two little cells) this +black business is only now for the first time made known. Their +indignation, therefore, was by no means counterfeit.</p> + +<p>"The man must be mad. No one ever dreamed of escaping," I stated, +looking fixedly into the interpreter's one eye, which, while it implored +me to tell the truth, seemed to hold a certain awe for a liar greater +than himself.</p> + +<p>"But——" he stammered, cowed by the circumstance that for once in his +life he was telling the truth.</p> + +<p>"But what?" we demanded angrily. "Let the villain speak out. His story +is monstrous."</p> + +<p>"Besides, we are so comfortable here," I added parenthetically.</p> + +<p>Eventually the wretched man was led gibbering to an underground dungeon. +What happened to him afterwards I do not know. I publish this story +after careful thought, because, if he was "playing the game" by us, why +did he talk to the Turks about escape? If, on the other hand, he was a +prison spy, then his punishment is not my affair.</p> + +<p>The treachery of the interpreter was an ill wind for everyone, for our +guards were sent away to the front (which is tantamount to a sentence of +death) and the vigilance of our new guards was greater than that of the +old. Intrigue was dead and our isolation complete.</p> + +<p>In these circumstances it may be imagined with what excitement I +received the news that the German<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span> Consul wanted to see me in the +commandant's office. It was the first time for a fortnight that I had +left my cell.</p> + +<p>I entered slowly, and after saluting the company present, first +generally, and then individually, I took a dignified seat after the +manner of the country. Ranged round the room were various notables of +Mosul—doctors, apothecaries, priests, and lawyers. On a dais slightly +above us sat the Consul and the commandant. For some time we kept +silence, as if to mark the importance of the occasion. Then a cigarette +was offered me by the commandant. I refused this offering, rising in my +chair and saluting him again.</p> + +<p>At last the German Consul spoke.</p> + +<p>He had been instructed by telegraph, he told me, to pay me the sum of +five hundred marks in gold. The money came from a friend of my father's. +I begged him to thank the generous donor, and a whole vista of +possibilities immediately rose to my mind.</p> + +<p>The money would be given me next day, the Consul continued, and a +<i>kavass</i> of the Imperial Government would go with me into the <i>bazaar</i> +to make any purchases I required.</p> + +<p>This conversation took place in French, a language of which the +commandant was quite ignorant, and I saw that here was an ideal +opportunity for bringing the plight of our prisoners to light. But the +Consul, I gathered, wanted to keep on friendly terms with the Turks. +Some of the things I told him, however, made<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span> him open his eyes, and may +have made his kultured flesh creep.</p> + +<p>"I will come again to-morrow," he said hurriedly—"you can tell me more +then."</p> + +<p>After this he spoke in Turkish at some length to the commandant, while +the latter interjected that wonderful word <i>yok</i> at intervals.</p> + +<p><i>Yok</i>, I must explain, signifies "No" in its every variation, and is +probably the most popular word in Turkish. It is crystallised +inhibition, the negation of all energy and enthusiasm, the motto of the +Ottoman Dilly and Dallys. Its only rival in the vocabulary is <i>yarin</i>, +which means "to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"Yok, yok, yok," said the commandant, and I gathered that he was +displeased.</p> + +<p>That night I made my plans, and when summoned to the office next day I +was armed with three documents. The first was a private letter of thanks +to Baron Mumm for his generous and kindly loan. The second was a +suggestion that the International Red Cross should immediately send out +a commission to look after our prisoners at Mosul. And the third was a +detailed list of articles required by our men, with appropriate +comments. Items such as this figured on the list:</p> + +<p>Soap, for two hundred men, as they had been unable to wash for months.</p> + +<p>Kerosene tins, to hold drinking-water, which was denied to our +prisoners.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span></p> + +<p>Blankets, as over 50 per cent. had no covering at all.</p> + +<p>These screeds startled the company greatly. The Consul stared and the +commandant glared, for the one hated fuss and the other hated me. I was +delightfully unpopular, but when an Ambassador telegraphs in Turkey, the +provinces lend a respectful ear. My voice, crying in the wilderness, +must needs be heard.</p> + +<p>Summoning an interpreter, the commandant demanded whether I had any +cause for complaint; whereupon the following curious three-cornered +conversation took place—so far as I could understand the Turkish part:</p> + +<p>"The men must be moved to better quarters," said I. "Until this is +arranged nothing can be done."</p> + +<p>"He says nothing can be done," echoed the interpreter.</p> + +<p>"Then of what does he complain?" asked the commandant.</p> + +<p>"The very beasts in my country are better cared for," I said. "Our men +are dying of hunger and cold."</p> + +<p>"He says the men are dying of cold," said the interpreter, shivering at +his temerity in mentioning the matter.</p> + +<p>"The weather is not my fault," grumbled the commandant, "perhaps it will +be better to-morrow. Yes, <i>yarin</i>."</p> + +<p>And so on. Talk was hopeless, but before leaving<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span> I gave the German +Consul to understand that he now shared with Abdul Ghani Bey the +responsibility for our treatment. To his credit, be it said, the +commandant was removed shortly after our departure.</p> + +<p>Two days after this interview we were moved from Mosul, where our +presence was becoming irksome no doubt. Before leaving I left all my +fortunate money, except five pounds, with the Consul, asking him to form +a fund (which I hoped would be supplemented later by the Red Cross) for +sick prisoners. Twelve months later this money was returned to me in +full, but I fancy that it had done its work in the meanwhile.</p> + +<p>On the day before our journey I went shopping with the Imperial <i>kavass</i> +aforesaid, and it was a most pompous and pleasant excursion. Although I +wore sandshoes and tattered garments, what with my eyeglass, and the +gorgeous German individual, dressed like a Bond Street <i>commissionaire</i>, +who carried my parcels and did my bargaining, I think we made a great +impression upon the good burgesses of Mosul.</p> + +<p>We threaded our way among Kurds with seven pistols at their belts, and +Arabs hung with bandoliers, and astonishing Circassians with whiskers +and swords. Almost every male swaggered about heavily armed, but a blow +on their bristling midriff would have staggered any one of them. Their +bark, I should think, is worse than their bite.</p> + +<p>After a Turkish bath, where I graciously entertained the company with +coffee, we strolled round the transport<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span> square, where we chaffered +hotly for carriages to take us to Aleppo.</p> + +<p>The material results of the morning were:</p> + +<p>Some food and tobacco for the men staying behind.</p> + +<p>Rations for ourselves, consisting of an amorphous mass of dates, +cigarettes, conical loaves of sugar, candles, and a heap of unleavened +bread.</p> + +<p>Carriages for our conveyance to Aleppo.</p> + +<p>But the moral effect of our excursion was greater far. I sowed broadcast +the seeds of disaffection to Abdul Ghani Bey. To the tobacconist I said +that the English, Germans, Turks, and all the nations of the earth, +while differing in other matters, had agreed he was a worm to be crushed +under the heel of civilisation. To the grocer I repeated the story. To +the fruiterer I said his doom was nigh, and to the baker and candlestick +maker that his hour had come.</p> + +<p>Everyone agreed. <i>Conspuez le commandant</i> was the general opinion.</p> + +<p>"In good old Abdul Hamid's days," they said, "such devil's spawn would +not have been allowed to live."</p> + +<p>It was a matter of minutes before rumours of his downfall were rife +throughout the city.</p> + +<p>Next day he came to see us off, bow-legs, whip, and scowl and all. He +stood stockily, watching us drive away, and then turned and spat. But +the taste of us was not to be thus easily dispelled. He will remember +us, I hope, to his dying day. May that day be soon!</p> + + +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV</h2> + +<h3>"OUT OF GREAT TRIBULATION. . . ."</h3> + + +<p>We had left a sad party of prisoners behind us, alas! but we had done +what little we could for them. Confined as we had been, their sufferings +had only added to our own. The best hope for them lay in the German +Consul. He could do more, if he wished, than we could have achieved for +all our wishes. Nothing could have been more hopeless than our position +at Mosul. But now at least there was the open road before us, and hope, +and health.</p> + +<p>The desert air is magnificent. The untamed winds seemed to blow through +every fibre of one's being, and clear away the cobwebs of captivity. The +swinging sun, the great spaces of sand, the continuous exercise, and the +lean diet of dates and bread, produce a feeling of perfect health. +Indeed, after a day or two I began to feel much too well to be a +prisoner. Under the desert stars one thought of the lights of London. +Perversely, instead of being grateful for the unfettered grandeur of +one's surroundings, one thought regretfully of the crowded hours one +spends among civilised peoples. And, oh, how tired I was of seeing +nothing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span> but men! One of the worst features of captivity is that it is +generally a story without a heroine.</p> + +<p>After the second day of travel I was really seriously in need of a +heroine, for my friend had developed high fever. If only there had been +a ministering angel among our party! I did my best, but am not a nurse +by nature. My friend grew so weak that he could not stand; and I began +to doubt whether he would get to our journey's end.</p> + +<p>But although no heroine came to our help, a hero did. As he happens to +be a Turk, I will describe him shortly. Let us call him the Boy Scout, +for he did (not one, but many) good actions every day. Out of his valise +he produced a phial of brandy, tea, sugar, raisins, and some invaluable +medicines. All these he pressed us to accept. He even tried to make me +believe that he could spare a box of Bir-inji (first-class) cigarettes, +until I discovered he had no more for himself. At every halting place he +went to search for milk for my friend. Until we had been provided for, +he never attended to his own comforts. After eighty miles of travelling +everyone is tired, but although the Boy Scout must have been as tired as +any of us, for he rode instead of driving, and although he had no +official position with regard to us, no brother officer could have been +more helpful or more truly kind. From the moment of our meeting we had +been attracted by each other. At times, a look or an inflection of voice +will proclaim a kindred spirit in a perfect stranger.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span> Something happens +above our consciousness; soul speaks to soul perhaps. So it was with the +Boy Scout. He was unknown to me when I first saw him, dark-eyed and +graceful, riding a white horse like a prince in a fairy book, and we +spoke no common language, but somehow we understood each other.</p> + +<p>He was a high official, I afterwards heard, travelling incognito, and +had been engaged on Intelligence work for his country in Afghanistan. +But, although an enemy in theory, he was a friend in fact. The war was +far. Here in the desert we met as brothers. A finer figure of a man I +have rarely seen, nor a truer gentleman. He was an ardent Young Turk, +and if other Young Turks were cast in such a mould, there would be a +place in the world for the race of Othman. But I have never seen another +like him.</p> + +<p>His manners were perfect, and although we discussed every subject under +the sun in snatches of French and broken bits of Persian, we always +managed to avoid awkward topics such as atrocities, reprisals, and the +like. He guessed, I think, that I often thought of escape, and said one +day:</p> + +<p>"I shall fully understand if you try to get away, but you will forgive +me, won't you, if I use my revolver?"</p> + +<p>I assured him I would.</p> + +<p>"Good!" he laughed, "because I am a dead shot!"</p> + +<p>One day we must meet again, and pick up the threads of talk.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span></p> + +<p>At Ress-el-Ain we separated for a time, and my friend was carried into +the train, where he lay down and took no further interest in the +proceedings. I also lay down, exhausted by anxiety. I was glad to be +quit of the desert. Under other conditions it might have been charming, +but its glamour is invisible to a captive's eyes.</p> + +<p>The train journey was not very interesting, except for the fact that our +guard commander (excited perhaps by the approach to civilisation, or +else because he was free from the restraining influence of our teetotal +Boy Scout) purchased a bottle of <i>'araq</i> and imbibed it steadily on the +journey between Ress-el-Ain and Djerablisse.</p> + +<p><i>'Araq</i>, the reader must know, is otherwise known as <i>mastic</i> or +<i>douzico</i>, and is a colourless alcohol distilled from raisins and +flavoured with aniseed, which clouds on admixture with water, and tastes +like cough-mixture. It is an intoxicant without the saving grace of more +generous vintages. It inebriates but does not cheer.</p> + +<p>At Djerablisse, on the Euphrates, our guard commander supplemented the +fiery <i>'araq</i> with some equally potent German ration rum. By the time we +got to Aleppo next day, he was reeking of this blend of alcohols. Not +all the perfumes of Arabia could have stifled its fumes, nor all the +waters of Damascus have quenched his thirst. He was besotted.</p> + +<p>Escape would have been possible then. We had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span> become separated from the +rest of our party and were in charge of one old, sleepy, and rather +friendly soldier. There seemed to be some doubt in his mind as to where +we should pass the night, but we eventually arrived at a small and clean +Turkish hotel, where we were told, rather mysteriously, that we should +be among friends.</p> + +<p>I looked for friends, but as everyone was asleep, it being then two +o'clock in the morning, I decided to have a good night's rest before +making any plans. Our dainty bedroom was too tempting to be ignored. The +curtains were of Aleppo-work, in broad stripes of black and gold. The +rafters were striped in black and white. The walls were dead white, the +furniture dead black. Three pillows adorned our beds, of black, and of +crimson, and of brilliant blue, each with a white slip covering half +their length. The bed-covers were black, worked with gold dragons. It +was like a room one imagines in dreams, or sees at the Russian Ballet.</p> + +<p>After a blissful night, between sheets, and on a spring mattress, tea +was brought to us in bed, and immediately afterwards, as no guards +seemed to be about, I rose, greatly refreshed, and dressed in haste. My +idea was to order a carriage to drive us to the sea-coast at Mersina, +from which place I felt sure it would be possible to charter a boat to +Cyprus.</p> + +<p>But these hasty plans were dispelled by finding the Boy Scout waiting +for me in the passage.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Your guard commander was ill," he explained, "so I arranged that you +should be brought to this hotel, where you are my guests. And I want you +to lunch with me at one o'clock."</p> + +<p>My face fell, but of course there was no help for it. And the Boy +Scout's hospitality was princely indeed.</p> + +<p>After delicious hors-d'oeuvres (the <i>mézé</i>—as it is called in +Turkey—is a national dish) and soup, and savoury meats, we refreshed +our palates with bowls of curds and rice. Then we attacked the sweets, +which were melting morsels of honey and the lightest pastry. After +drinking the health of the invalid (who could not join us of course) in +Cyprian wine, we adjourned to the Boy Scout's room for coffee and +cigarettes. Here I found all his belongings spread out, including +several tins of English bully-beef and slabs of chocolate, which he said +was his share of the loot taken after our retirement at the Dardanelles. +He begged us to help ourselves to everything we wanted in the way of +food or clothing; and he was ready, literally, to give us his last +shirt. After having fitted us out, he telephoned to the hospital about +the patient, and made arrangements that he should be received that +afternoon.</p> + +<p>Some hours later, accordingly, I drove to the hospital with my friend, +accompanied by two policemen who had arrived from district headquarters, +no doubt at the Boy Scout's request.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span></p> + +<p>We were met at the entrance of the hospital by two odd little doctors.</p> + +<p>"What is the matter with him?" squeaked Humpty in French.</p> + +<p>"Fever," said I.</p> + +<p>"Fever, indeed!" answered Dumpty, "let's look at his chest."</p> + +<p>"And at his back," added Humpty suspiciously.</p> + +<p>My friend disrobed, shivering in the sharp air, and these two strange +physicians glared at him, standing two yards away, while the Turkish +soldier and I supported the patient.</p> + +<p>"He hasn't got it," they said suddenly in chorus.</p> + +<p>"Hasn't what?"</p> + +<p>"Typhus, of course. Carry him in. He will be well in a week."</p> + +<p>I doubted it, but the situation did not admit of argument. We carried +him in, through a crowd of miserable men in every stage of disease, all +clamouring for admittance. No one, I gathered, was allowed into that +hospital merely for the dull business of dying. They could do that as +well outside. Thankful for small mercies, therefore, I left my friend in +the clutches of Humpty and Dumpty, and even as they had predicted, he +was well within a week.</p> + +<p>There is something rather marvellous about a Turkish doctor's diagnosis. +Such trifles as the state of your temperature or tongue are not +considered. They trust in the Lord and give you an emetic.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span> Although +unpleasant, their methods are often efficacious.</p> + +<p>It was now my turn to fall ill, and I did it with startling suddenness +and completeness. I was sitting at the window of the house in which we +were confined in Aleppo, feeling perfectly well, when I began to shiver +violently. In half an hour I was in a high fever. That night I was taken +to Humpty and Dumpty. Next morning I was unconscious.</p> + +<p>I will draw a veil over the next month of my life. Only two little +incidents are worth recording.</p> + +<p>The first occurred about a week after my admittance to hospital, when my +disease, whatever it was, had reached its crisis. A diet of emetics is +tedious, so also is the companionship of people suffering from <i>delirium +tremens</i> when one wants to be quiet. An end, I felt, must be made of the +present situation. Creeping painfully out of my bed, I went down the +passage, holding against the wall for support. It was a dark, uneven +passage, with two patches of moonlight from two windows at the far end. +Near one of these pools of light I caught my foot in a stone, and +slipped and fell. I was too weak to get up again. I cooled my head on +the stones and wondered what would happen next. Then I began to think of +seas and rivers. All the delightful things I had ever done in water kept +flitting through my mind. I remembered crouching in the bow of my +father's cat-boat as we beat up a reach to Salem (Massachusetts) with +the spray in our<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span> faces. And I thought of the sparkling sapphire of the +Mediterranean and the cool translucencies of Cuckoo-weir. . . . No one +came to disturb my meditations. The moonlight shifted right across my +body, and slowly, slowly, I felt the wells of consciousness were filling +up again. I was, quite definitely, coming back to life. It was as if I +had really been once more in America and Italy and by the Thames, living +again in all memories connected with open waters, and as if their solace +had somehow touched me. Their coolness had cured me, and I was now +flying back through imperceptible ether to Aleppo. I was coming back to +that passage in a Turkish hospital. . . .</p> + +<p>Did I draw, I wonder, upon some banked reserve of vitality, or were my +impressions a common phase of illness? Anyway, when I came to, I was a +different man. The waters of the world had cured me.</p> + +<p>Later, during the journey to Afion-kara-hissar, I had a relapse. This +second incident of my illness was a spiritual experience. Having been +carried by my friend to the railway station, I collapsed on the +platform, while he was momentarily called away. So dazed and helpless +was I that I lay inconspicuously on some sacks, a bundle of skin and +bone that might not have been human at all. Some porters threw more +sacks on the pile and I was soon almost covered. But I lay quite still: +I was too tired to move or to cry out. As bodily weakness increased, so +there came to me a sense of mental power, over and beyond my own<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span> poor +endowments. I thrilled to this strange strength, which seemed to mount +to the very throne of Time, where past and future are one. Call it a +whimsy of delirium if you will, nevertheless, one of the scenes I saw in +the cinema of clairvoyance was a scene that actually happened some three +months later, at that same station where I lay. . . . I saw some hundred +men, prisoners from Kut and mostly Indians, gathered on the platform. +One of these men was sitting on this very heap of sacks; he was sitting +there rocking himself to and fro in great agony, for one of the guards +had struck him with a thick stick and broken his arm. But not only was +his arm broken, the spirit within him (which I also saw) was shattered +beyond repair. No hope in life remained: he had done that which is most +terrible to a Hindu, for he had eaten the flesh of cows and broken the +ordinances of caste. His companions had died in the desert without the +lustral sacrifice of water or of fire, and he would soon die also, a +body defiled, to be cast into outer darkness. For a time the terror and +the tragedy of that alien brain was mine; I shared its doom and lived +its death. Later I learnt that a party of men, coming out of the great +tribulation of the desert, had halted at this station, and a Hindu +soldier with a broken arm had died on those sacks. I record the incident +for what it is worth.</p> + +<p>Without my friend I should never have achieved this journey. My +gratitude is a private matter, though I state it here, with some mention +of my own<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span> dull illness, in order to picture in a small way the +sufferings of our men from Kut. When some were sick and others hale, the +death-rate was not so high, but with many parties, such as those whose +ghosts I believe I saw, there was no possibility of helping each other. +So starved and so utterly weary were they, that they had no energy +beyond their own existence. Many men must have died with no faith left +in man or God.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>On arrival at Afion-kara-hissar, we were shown into a bare house. For a +day I rested blissfully on the floor, asking for nothing better than to +be allowed to lie still for ever and ever. But this was not to be. On +the second day of our stay we noticed signs of great excitement among +our guards. They nailed barbed wire round our windows, and they watched +us anxiously through skylights, and counted us continually, as if +uncertain whether two and two made four.</p> + +<p>Presently the meaning of their precautions was divulged. Some English +prisoners had escaped, and our captors were engaged in locking the +stable door after the steeds had gone. All the prisoners in +Afion-kara-hissar were marshalled in the street, and marched off to the +Armenian church, situated at the base of the big rock that dominates the +town. Hither we also marched, with our new companions, singing the +prisoners' anthem:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span></p> + +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"We <i>won't</i> be bothered about</span> +<span class="i0"> Wherever we go, we always shout</span> +<span class="i0"> We won't be bothered about. . . .</span> +<span class="i0"> We're bothered if we'll be bothered about!"</span> +</div></div> + +<p>greatly to the astonishment of the townsfolk, who connected the Armenian +church with massacres rather than melody. The leader of our band was a +wounded officer, in pyjamas and a bowler hat (this being the sum of his +possessions) who waved his crutch as a conductor's baton. (Alas! his +cheery voice is stilled, for he died in hospital a year later. R.I.P.) I +can still see him hobbling along—a tall figure in pink pyjamas, with +one leg swinging (bandaged to the size of a bolster) and his hat askew, +and his long chin stuck out defiantly—hymn-writer and hero +<i>manqué</i>—fit leader of lost causes and of our fantastic pageant to that +church.</p> + +<p>It was a gay and motley crew of prisoners of all nationalities and +conditions of life who entered its solemn and rather stuffy precincts. +We were all delighted to be "strāfed" in a worthy cause. Three good men +had escaped, and more might follow later.</p> + +<p>To anyone in decent health the month we spent in the Armenian church +must have been an interesting experience. Even to me, it was not without +amusement. Imagine a plain, rather gloomy, church, built of oak and +sandstone, with a marble chancel in the east. Two rooms opened out on +either side of the altar, and there was a high gallery in the west. In +the body<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span> of the building the English camped. One of the small rooms was +taken by the French, the other we reserved for a chapel. The Russians +chiefly inhabited the space between the chancel and the altar, but the +overflow of nationalities mingled. Our soldier servants were put in the +gallery. When everyone was fitted in, there was no space to move, except +in the centre aisle. There was no place for exercise nor any +arrangements for washing or cooking. During our stay in the church two +men died of typhus, and it is extraordinary that the infection did not +spread, considering the lack of sanitation. During the first night of +the strafe, the Russians, accustomed to pogroms in their own country, +thought there was a likelihood of being massacred, and kept watch +through the small hours of the morning by clumping up and down the aisle +in their heavy boots. All night long—for I was sleepless too—I watched +these grave, bearded pessimists waiting for a death which did not come, +while the French and English slept the sleep of optimists. At last dawn +arrived, and lit the windows over the altar, and a few moments later the +sunlight crept into the northern transept. Then the Russians gave up +their vigil, dropped in their tracks, and at once began snoring in the +aisle, like great watch-dogs.</p> + +<p>The noise the two hundred of us made in sleeping was remarkable. +Probably our nerves were rather queer. The church was never silent +through the night.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span> Some cried out continually in their slumbers, others +went through a pantomime of eating. Some moaned, others chuckled. One +sleeper gave a hideous laugh at intervals. One could hear it deep down +in his throat, and mark it gradually bubbling to his lips until he grew +vocal like some horrible hyena. But it is small wonder that the +prisoners in the church were restless. The marvel is that they slept at +all. Nearly all of us had lived through trying moments, and had felt the +hand of Providence, whose power makes one tremble. We knew the shivers +of retrospection. One officer, for instance, wounded in an attack on +Gallipoli, had been dragged as a supposed corpse to the Turkish trenches +and there built into the parapet. But he was none the worse now for his +amazing experiences, except that he suffered slightly from deafness, as +his neck had formed the base of a loophole. Then there was a man, left +as dead after an attack, who recovered consciousness but not the use of +his limbs, and lay helpless in the path of the Turkish retreat. For an +hour the passers-by prodded him with bayonets, so that he now has +twenty-seven wounds and a large gap in his body where there should be +solid flesh. From the very brink of the valley of the shadow this boy of +nineteen had returned to life. Again, there was a young Frenchman, who +lay four days and nights between the lines, dying of the twin tortures +of thirst and a stomach wound; but by a miracle he survived, and now at +night, sometimes, when will lost its grip<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span> on consciousness, he would +live those ninety-six hours again. Then there were the submarine crews, +out of the jaws of the worst death conceivable. One crew had lived for a +whole day struggling in a net at the bottom of the Dardanelles while the +air became foul and hope waned, and the submarine "sweated," and depth +charges exploded so close to them that on one occasion the shock knocked +a teapot off a table! Hemmed in and helpless, the clammy agony of that +suspense might well haunt their sleeping hours.</p> + +<p>But on the whole our psychology was normal. Only, at nights, if one lay +awake, did one realise the stress and stark horror through which the +sleepers had lived. Out of four hundred officers "missing" at the +Dardanelles, only some forty were surviving at Afion-kara-hissar. This +fact speaks for itself.</p> + +<p>By day we wandered about, so far as the congestion permitted, making +friends and exchanging experiences. To us, lately from Mesopotamia, the +then unknown story of Gallipoli stirred our blood as it will stir the +blood of later men.</p> + +<p>I ate and drank the anecdotes of Gallipoli as they were told me. I loved +the hearing of them, in the various dialects of the protagonists, from a +lordly lisp to a backwood burr. The brogue, the northern drawl, the +London twang, the elided g's or the uncertain h's, had each their +several and distinct fascination. There is joy in hearing one's own +tongue again after a time of strange speech and foreign faces.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span></p> + +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Beyond our reason's sway,</span> +<span class="i0"> Clay of the pit whence we were wrought</span> +<span class="i0"> Yearns to its fellow-clay."</span> +</div></div> + +<p>The many voices of the many British were better than sweet music.</p> + +<p>But we had plenty of sweet music as well. The sailors amongst us were +the cheeriest crew imaginable.</p> + +<p>A résumé of our life at that time would be that we sang often about +nothing in particular, swore continually at life in general, smoked +heavily, gambled mildly, and drank <i>'araq</i> when we could get it, and tea +when we couldn't. Not everyone, I hasten to add, did all these things. +As in everyday life, there were some who said that the constant +cigarette was evil, and that cards were a curse, and drink the devil. +But, again, as in everyday life, their example had no effect on cheerful +sinners.</p> + +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Here's to the bold and gallant three</span> +<span class="i0"> Who broke their bonds and sought the sea"</span> +</div></div> + +<p>sang one of the poets of our captivity, and all of us French, Russians, +and English, took up the chorus with a roar. The Turkish sentries +protested vainly, and some, ostentatiously loading their rifles, went up +to the Western gallery which overlooked the body of the church. As we +were being treated like Armenians, they could not understand why we did +not behave like Armenians and herd silently together, as sheep before a +storm. Instead, two hundred lusty voices<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span> proclaimed to anyone who cared +to listen that we were not downhearted.</p> + +<p>See us then at midnight, seated at a table under the high altar. About +fifty of us are celebrating somebody's birthday, and a demi-john of +<i>'araq</i> graces the festive board. We have sung every song we know, and +many we don't.</p> + +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Jolly good song and jolly well sung,</span> +<span class="i0"> Jolly good fellows every one. . . .</span> +<span class="i4">Wow! Wow!"</span> +</div></div> + +<p>The chorus dies down, and the Master of the Ceremonies, still in pyjamas +and bowler hat, rises on his sound leg and standing (swaying slightly) +at the head of the table, raps on it with his crutch for silence.</p> + +<p>One officer wears a soup-bowl for a Hun helmet. Others are dressed as +parodies of Turks, and have been acting in a farce entitled "The +Escape." Two Irish friends of mine are singing "The Wearing of the +Green," while others are patriotically drowning their voices. A +submarine skipper, with a mane of yellow hair over his face, like a lion +in a picture-book, watches a diplomat dancing a horn-pipe. A little bald +flying man of gigantic strength and brain, is wrestling with a bearded +Hercules. Some sailors are singing an old sea-chanty.</p> + +<p>The rough deal table, littered with pipes and glasses, the tallow-dips +lighting the vaulted gloom, the bearded roysterers singing songs older +than Elizabeth's time, the simple fare of bread and meat, the simpler +jokes<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span> and horseplay, took one back through centuries to other men who +made the best of war. In Falstaff's time such scenes as these must have +passed in the taverns of Merrie England. Only here, there were no +wenches to serve us with sack. We had to mix our own <i>'araq</i>.</p> + +<p>"Silence, if you please," says he of the long jowl, using his crutch as +a chairman's hammer. "Silence for the prisoners' band."</p> + +<p>The band begins. It consists of penny whistles, banjos, castanets, +soup-bowls, knives and forks, and anything else within reach. The +<i>motif</i> of the piece is our release. <i>Andante con coraggio</i> we pass the +weary months ahead. Then the dawn of our liberation breaks. We smash +everything we possess, while the train to take us away steams into the +station.</p> + +<p>Sh! Shh! Shhh! Chk! Chk! Chk! Bang! Swish!! We take our seats amid a +perfect pandemonium. Then the train whistles—louder and louder—and we +move off—faster and faster and faster and <i>faster</i>, until no one can +make any more noise, and the dust of our stamping has risen like incense +to the roof, in a grand finale of freedom.</p> + +<p>Strange doings in a church, you say? But what would you? We had nowhere +else to go. There is a time for everything after all, and it is a poor +heart that never rejoices. I feel sure Solomon himself would have sung +with us, and proved most excellent company.</p> + +<p>On Sunday mornings Divine Service was always well<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span> attended. Perhaps by +contrast with my usual methods of passing the time, those Sabbath hours +are set as so many jewels in the tarnished shield of idleness. The +fadeless beauty of our Common Prayer brought hope and consolation to all +of us who were gathered together. We repeated the grand old words; we +sang "Fight the Good Fight" and "Onward, Christian Soldiers." We shared +then, however humbly, in the tears and triumph of our cause. We were not +of that white company that was to die for England, but we could share +the sorrow of the women who mourned, and of the old who stood so sadly +outside the fray.</p> + +<p>And as through a magic door, I passed from that barren room to a country +church where the litany for all prisoners and captives went up to +Heaven, mingled with the fragrance of English roses.</p> + + +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V</h2> + +<h3>THE LONG DESCENT OF WASTED DAYS</h3> + + +<p>Afion-kara-hissar means "Black Opium Rock" in Turkish, but it is not as +interesting a place as it sounds. The only romantic visitors are the +storks, who use it as an aerodrome on their bi-annual migrations. They +blacken the sky when they come, in flights a thousand strong, swooping +and circling over the plain and alighting finally near the black rocks +that give the town its name. With one leg tucked up, and pensive beak +back-turned, they form arresting silhouettes against the sunset. And +curiously enough, the Turkish children know that they bring babies to +the home.</p> + +<p>We lived in four cottages, connected by a common garden. They were quite +new—so new that they had no windows or conveniences. We fitted frames +and panes, we erected bathrooms, installed kitchen ranges, made beds out +of planks and string, and tables out of packing-cases. We made +everything, in fact, except the actual houses.</p> + +<p>I daresay that at this time we were better treated than the officer +prisoners in Germany. Not so the men. We officers had plenty to eat, +though it cost<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span> a great deal, but the men were always half starved when +for any reason they could not supplement their ration from Ambassador's +money, or private remittances from home. Every month the American (and +later the Dutch) Embassy used to send a sum of money to our prisoners to +help them buy something more nourishing than the black bread and soup +provided by the Turks. When this relief did not arrive in time, or the +Turks delayed in distributing it, our men suffered the greatest +hardship. Treatment in Turkey was all a question of money. The officers +could, and did, cash cheques while in captivity, and were able to pay +for the necessities (and sometimes also the minor luxuries) of +existence, but the men were entirely dependent on what was given them. +Although some had bank balances, no one except an officer was allowed to +write a cheque.</p> + +<p>Here it is fitting to say a word in praise of those organisations who +sent out parcels to our prisoners. No words can express our gratitude to +them. To us officers, parcels were sometimes in the nature of a luxury, +though none the less welcome. But to the men, who starved in dungeons of +the interior, they came as a very present help in time of need. The +prisoners' parcels saved many lives, and I hope the kind people who +worked so hard at home against all sorts of difficulties and +disappointments realise how grateful we are, and what a great work they +did. Besides the material relief of provisions, the moral<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span> effect of a +parcel from home on the mind of a sick prisoner cannot be over +estimated. To open something packed by English hands was like a breath +of home to him.</p> + +<p>We were allowed no communication with the men, so it was very difficult +to help them. Whether the worst done to our prisoners in Germany equals +the worst in Turkey I do not know. To compare two horrors is profitless. +But I do know something of the sufferings of our men, and when I write +of my own petty amusements and comedies of captivity I do not for a +moment forget the tragedy of their lives.</p> + +<p>Light and shade, however, there must be in every picture, else it is not +a picture at all. And there must be colour in the canvas, however grim +the subject.</p> + +<p>The poppy fields, which give the town the first part of its name,<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> lay +right underneath our windows, across the station road. In June, when +they were white with blossom, and the farmers' wives came out to drain +the precious fluid from the buds, I used to gaze and gaze at the beauty +of the world, and long for freedom. To be cooped up in a little room +when the world was green and white, and the sky a flawless blue, and +summer rode across the open lands, was miserable. It was unbearable to +be growing old and immobile, like the hills on the horizon, when one +might be out among the poppy blossoms. Of what use to be alive, if one +did not share in the youth of the world?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span></p> + +<p>But we were closely guarded in our cottages and rarely allowed out, +except into the back garden—a bare space some hundred yards by thirty, +which was the scene of most of our small activities, from early morning +skipping to the mid-day display of our washing, and from the occasional +amateur theatricals of an evening to the rare but tense moments of an +attempted escape.</p> + +<p>A diary of my days might run as follows:</p> + +<p><i>Monday.</i> Up at 6 a.m. Skipped 200 times. Two eggs for breakfast, tried +my new <i>pekmes</i>.<a name="FNanchor_2_2" id="FNanchor_2_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> Read <i>Hilal</i>.<a name="FNanchor_3_3" id="FNanchor_3_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> Looked out places on my hidden map. +Long argument about the use of cavalry in modern war. Walk in garden. +Mutton cutlets for lunch. Completed my new hammock. Argued about Free +Trade. Played badminton in garden. Read philosophy with —— and ——. +<i>Sakuska</i><a name="FNanchor_4_4" id="FNanchor_4_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a> party with —— and —— at 7.30. Watched Polly picking +opium. Dinner at 8. Soup, eggs, suet; very satisfactory. Bridge and bed.</p> + +<p><i>Tuesday.</i> Up at 6.15. Skipped 250 times, and had a boxing lesson. +Painful. Two eggs for breakfast, but one bad. <i>Hilal</i> did not arrive. +Argued about yesterday's cavalry news. Walk in garden. No meat for +lunch. Bitten by mosquitoes in my hammock. Argued about Protection. Ran +round the garden ten times. My wind is getting worse.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span> <i>Sakuska</i> party +at sevenish with —— and —— in my room. Polly was seen out walking +with a <i>posta</i>.<a name="FNanchor_5_5" id="FNanchor_5_5"></a><a href="#Footnote_5_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a> Dinner at 8. Mutton cutlets. Chess and bed.</p> + +<p>And so on, <i>ad infinitum</i>.</p> + +<p>I had at that time come to the conclusion that I could not reach the +coast from Afion-kara-hissar, so for some time I sought a mental rather +than a physical escape from my surroundings. Philosophy seemed an ideal +subject under the circumstances, and in the company of two friends of +like mind, I made some study of "Creative Evolution." Every afternoon we +used to forgather for tea, in a little room I had built, where our joint +contributions provided a well-selected pabulum of cakes and jam and +Bergson, so that the inner and the outer man were Platonically at one. +But to plunge from <i>le tremplin de la vie</i> is not easy in captivity. +Lack of employment cripples imagination. The average mind works best +when it has practical things to do, and mine, such as it is, boggles at +abstractions more quickly than it tires of talk.</p> + +<p>When this occurred the best thing to do was to laugh. A friend and I +used to laugh for hours sometimes over weak and washy stories that would +hardly pass muster, even in the small hours of the morning. But they did +us good. Generally, however, the time between tea and dinner was spent +in learned and weighty discussions on appearance, reality, and the +problems of Being and Not-being.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span></p> + +<p>With my two friends</p> + +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">". . . the seed of Wisdom did I sow</span> +<span class="i0"> And with my own Hand arboured it to grow,</span> +<span class="i0"> But this was all the Harvest that I reaped—</span> +<span class="i0"> I came like Water and like Wind I go."</span> +</div></div> + +<p>Only unfortunately I did not go. I remained firmly at Afion-kara-hissar. +When philosophy failed me, the hours spent in planning escapes and +concocting cyphers were those which passed most easily. But the craft of +cyphers, interesting though it be, cannot be discussed in print. Like +the preparation of poisons, it must remain part of the unpublished +knowledge of the world, until the millennium. As regards escapes, some +of us thought a great deal, and did very little. There were, however, +some ingenious attempts made to get to Constantinople. One officer +conceived the idea of going there to be treated for hydrophobia, and, +after inflicting suitable wounds in the calf of his leg with a pair of +nail scissors, he asserted that a certain dog, well known in the camp, +had exhibited strange symptoms of insanity, amongst others, that of +suddenly biting him in the leg. This ruse would have succeeded but for +the fact that the Turks did not treat hydrophobia with any seriousness. +Kismet takes no account of the Pasteur system. Short of actually +snapping at someone, the officer could not have established a belief in +his infection. He found it simpler to feign another ailment. Two other +officers, however, of a still more picturesque turn of mind,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span> declared +that they themselves were mad, and actually hung themselves as a proof +of insanity. They were found one morning by their astonished sentries +suspended from a rafter, and apparently in the last stages of +strangulation. Convinced that they were "afflicted of God," the Turks +sent them to hospital, and carefully watched for any symptoms of +suicidal mania. After various astonishing experiences, in their rôle of +madmen, amongst real madmen in a Turkish lunatic ward, they were +eventually exchanged.</p> + +<p>In sheer manual dexterity, our prisoners also showed great resource. The +soldiers who were employed on making a tunnel through the Taurus, to +take one example, succeeded in purloining various odds and ends from the +workshops where they laboured under German supervision, until they +eventually were able to build for themselves a complete collapsible +boat. This boat they actually tested at dead of night on a river near +their camp, before setting out to reach the coast. That success did not +crown their efforts was sheer bad luck. Luck, also, was against most of +the forty officers who concerted a simultaneous escape from Yuzgad, and +prepared for it in absolute secrecy, down to the smallest detail, for +months beforehand. Some of them even made their own boots. Only eight +out of the original party actually got out of the country, however. +Their story, surely one of the most remarkable ever written, has +recently been published.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span></p> + +<p>The two great difficulties in any attempt to escape were: firstly, that +the Turks, by spies or otherwise, studied the psychology of every +individual prisoner, setting special guards on the more enterprising +among them, and, secondly, that the distance of the camp from the coast, +and the number of brigands infesting every mile of that distance, was +such that it was extremely difficult to gain the sea, let alone embark +upon it.</p> + +<p>The spies made some very bad guesses about the intentions of the +prisoners. One harmless and elderly officer was seen greasing a pair of +marching boots, and this gave rise to the most sinister suspicions. +Where could the officer want to march to, except the coast? He was +immediately asked for his parole, and gave it.</p> + +<p>Exercise in any form was a sign of incipient madness in the eyes of the +Turks. Why, they argued, should anyone in his right mind skip five +hundred times, and then splash himself with ice-cold water? If he did +such things, he ought certainly to be placed under restraint. Boxing, +again, was a suspect symptom. A man who bled at the nose for pleasure +might commit any enormity. In order to circumvent suspicion it was +necessary to adopt the utmost caution. The method I myself employed is +described in a later chapter. One friend of mine, while training for a +trip to Blighty, habitually carried heavy lead plates hung round his +waist, to accustom himself to the weight of his pack. Such were the +internal difficulties. But outside the camp the problems were even more<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span> +puzzling. How to avoid the brigands—how to carry food enough for the +journey—how to elude our guards and get a few hours' start—what +clothes to wear and what pack to carry—how to find one's way—how to +get a boat once the coast was reached—here were well-nigh insoluble +questions, which provided, however, excellent topics for talk.</p> + +<p>I talked about these things for eighteen months. But I will ask the +reader to skip that dismal procession of moons, and come directly to the +day when I was asked by the Commandant to sign a paper stating that I +would not attempt to escape. I naturally refused, as also did another +officer to whom the same request was made.</p> + +<p>Our negotiations in this matter, while interesting to us at the time, +and involving the composition of several noble documents in French, led +to the sad result that we were both transferred, at an hour's notice, to +a little box of a house in the Armenian quarter. Once inside the house, +with the various belongings we had collected during a twelve-month of +captivity in Afion-kara-hissar, we two completely filled the only +habitable room. And although habitable in a sense, this room was already +occupied by undesirable tenants.</p> + +<p>I must here, rather diffidently, introduce the subject of vermin. But, +saving the public's presence, bugs are the very devil. Other insects are +nothing to them. Lice the gallant reader may have met at the front. +Fleas are a common experience. Centipedes and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span> scorpions are well known +in India. But bugs are Beelzebub's especial pets, and Beelzebub is a +ruler in Turkey. It is quite impossible to write of my captivity there +without mentioning these small, flat creatures who live in beds. I +cannot disregard them: they have bitten into my very being.</p> + +<p>Imagine lying down, after a sordid day of dust and disagreeableness. One +thinks of home, or the sea. One tries to slide out to the gulfs of +sleep, where healing is. But rest does not come: there is a sense of +malaise. One's skin feels irritable and unclean. Presently there is an +itching at one's wrists, and at the back of one's neck. One squashes +something, and there is a smear of blood (one's own good blood) and one +realises that one's skin (one's own good skin) is being punctured by +these evil beasts. Almost instantly one squashes another. A horrible +odour arises. One lights the candle, and there, scuttling under the +pillow, are five or six more of these loathsome vermin. They not only +suck one's blood. They sap one's faith in life.</p> + +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"If one could dream that such a world began</span> +<span class="i0"> In some slow devil's heart that hated man,"</span> +</div></div> + +<p>indeed one would not be mistaken. In them the powers of Satan seem +incarnate.</p> + +<p>Having killed every bug in sight, one lies back and gasps. And then, out +of the corner of one's eye, creeping up the pillow, and hugely magnified +by proximity, another monstrous brute appears. It runs<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span> forward, +horribly avid, and eager, and brisk. All the cruelty of nature is in its +hideous head, all the activity of evil in its darting body. Presently +another and another appear. There is no end to them. You kill them on +the bed, and they appear on the walls. You search out and slaughter +every form of life within reach, but the bugs still drop on you from the +ceiling. No killing can assuage their appetite for a healthy body. +Reckless of danger, they batten on the young. Regardless of death, they +swarm to silky skin. Of two victims, they will always choose the one in +best condition.</p> + +<p>After being eaten by bugs for some time, one feels infected with their +contamination. It is almost impossible to rise superior to them. In one +night a man can live through the miseries of Job.</p> + +<p>It may be imagined therefore that our confinement in that little house +was not amusing. My companion in misfortune and myself lived in that box +for a week with the bugs, without once going out of the door. Now, to +stay in a room for a week may not seem a very trying punishment (I was +later to spend a month in solitary confinement); but when the punishment +is wholly undeserved, and when, moreover, one is wrongly suspected of +something one would like to do but has not done, and when one is bitten +all night, and when from confinement one sees other officers walking +about in comparative freedom, one naturally begins to fret.</p> + +<p>There were compensations, however. Firstly, a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span> friendship grew between +my companion and myself which I hope will endure through life. Secondly, +as a prisoner, any sort of change is welcome. And, thirdly, we felt we +were doing something useful. The Commandant did not dare to force us to +sign parole. Neither could he keep us permanently in special restraint. +It is rarely that one gets the chance, as a prisoner, of putting the +enemy on the horns of such a dilemma.</p> + +<p>This Commandant, an ugly, drunken beast, who is now, I hope, expiating +the innumerable crimes he committed against our men, caused a search to +be made one day amongst the effects of all the prisoners at +Afion-kara-hissar. One of the most interesting things he found was a +diary kept by a senior British officer, with the following entry:</p> + +<p>"New Commandant arrived. His face looks as if it was meant to strike +matches on."</p> + +<p>No better description could possibly have been written. He was a vain +man, and it must have cut him to the quick to see himself as others saw +him.</p> + +<p>After a month of "special treatment" the Commandant learnt that Turkish +Army Headquarters, fearing reprisals, no doubt, would not support his +bluff in punishing us if we did not give parole. He had to climb down +completely.</p> + +<p>We were transferred to another house, in the Armenian quarter, already +occupied by some R.N.A.S. officers, who were all determined to escape +if<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span> opportunity arose. A very cheery house-party we made.</p> + +<p>The time was now the year of grace 1917, and our life was organised to +some extent. Once or twice a week we were allowed to play football, or +go for a walk. On Thursdays we used to troop down in a body to visit the +officers in the other houses, and on Monday mornings we were sometimes +able, with special permission, to attend the weekly fair of coke and +firewood held in the market-place. All this gave an interest to our +lives, and money, so long as one was prepared to write cheques, was not +a source of difficulty. The Turks, in fact, encouraged us to write +cheques, exchanging them for Turkish notes at nearly double their face +value (190 piastres for a pound was the best I myself received), because +they rightly thought that our signature was worth more than the +guarantees of the Turkish Government. I heard afterwards that our +cheques had a brisk circulation on the Constantinople Bourse. But one +was loth to write many. Five pounds is five pounds—and in Turkey it +represented only a packet of tea or a kilogram of sugar. . . . I saved +as much as I could for bribes when escaping.</p> + +<p>A microscopic, but not unamusing, social life was in full swing. There +were parties and politics, clubs and cliques. Each prisoner, according +to his temperament, took his choice between grave pursuits and gay.</p> + +<p>There were lecturers (really good ones) who discoursed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span> on a wide range +of topics, from Mendelism to Mesopotamia. There were professors of +French, Italian, Greek, Russian, Turkish, Arabic, Hindustani, and I +daresay all the languages of Babel, ready to teach in return for +reciprocal instruction in English. Our library contained many luminous +volumes, kindly sent out by the Board of Trade. Law and Seamanship, +Semaphoring and Theology, Carpentry and the Integral Calculus, Gardening +and Genetics—such is a random selection of the subjects on which there +were experts available and eager to impart information.</p> + +<p>But, personally, my mind resisted the seductions of learning. I learned +only how to waste time. And sometimes, perhaps, I touched the hem of +Philosophy's garment, and stammered a few words to her. Otherwise I did +nothing except try to forget things . . . things seen.</p> + +<p>Yet one enjoyed oneself, occasionally. The football was great fun. So +also were some of the lighter sides of our indoor life. Poker used to +pass the time. So also, though more rarely, did reading. The plays which +a dramatist—soon to be eminent, I expect—presented to enthusiastic +audiences are delightful memories. His revues and topical verses were +worthy of a wider audience, and I am sure his work—unlike the most of +our labours—will not be wasted.</p> + +<p>But best of all, I think, was to sit in a circle on the floor round a +brazier on a winter's evening, and sip<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span> hot lemon <i>'araq</i>, and listen to +songs and stories. It was a relief to laugh, and forget the fate of +those we could not help.</p> + +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Sweet life, if love were stronger,</span> +<span class="i0"> Earth clear of years that wrong her . . ."</span> +</div></div> + +<p>sang a soft Irish voice, whose melody seemed to melt into the cold of +one's captivity. . . . Then there were the fancy dress balls held on New +Year's Eve in 1917 and 1918. So good were they that for the night one +completely forgot one's surroundings. A very attractive barmaid +dispensed refreshments behind a table. There were several debutantes, +and at least one chaperone. Pierrot was there, and Pierrette, and +Mephistopheles, and Bacchus, and a very realistic Pirate. If some +reveller in London had looked in on us at midnight he might easily have +fancied himself at an Albert Hall dance. He would certainly not have +guessed that all the clothes and furniture and food were home-made, and +that everyone in the room was a British officer. The self-confident +flapper, for instance, who could only have given him "the next missing +three" was a Major in the Flying Corps. And the girl at the bar, with +big brown eyes, who would have offered him <i>'araq</i> so charmingly was +really a submarine officer of the Navy, and a well-known figure at "The +Goat."</p> + +<p>After functions such as these, the morning after the night before found +me wondering where it would all end. If the war lasted another ten +years, would I ever be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span> fit to take a place in normal life? How long +could I keep sane in this topsy-turvy world? . . .</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The weather in the winter of 1918 was absolutely arctic. For a month +there was a very hard frost, and during all this time, had it not been +for festivities such as the foregoing I should have stayed stupidly in +bed and hibernated until the spring. Intenser cold I have never felt. In +the room in which we dined the water froze in our glasses on several +occasions while we were eating our evening meal. Icy winds howled +through the house, and the paper windows we had improvised (to replace +unobtainable glass) had burst, through weight of snow. Also, the plaster +of the outer walls of our mansion had peeled off, so that cold blasts +penetrated through the walls. With few clothes and only one pair of +leaky boots it was impossible to keep warm and dry-shod. Fuel, of +course, was very scarce. In my bedroom some precious quarts of beer, +which I was preserving for Christmas, froze and cracked their bottles. I +invited a party to taste my blocks of amber ice, but they were better to +look at than to swallow.</p> + +<p>Under these climatic conditions washing was a labour that took one the +best part of the morning, and until I caught a chill I used to economize +time and fuel by rolling in the snow on the flat roof of my house. This +amused me, and surprised the neighbourhood, but it was a poor substitute +for a bath. That winter was a black, bleak time.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span></p> + +<p>During the hard frost it was impossible to escape, but we used +occasionally to reconnoitre the sentries outside our house after +lock-up. I have spent some amusing moments in this way, especially in +watching one sentry (generally on duty at midnight) who used to warm +himself by playing with a cat. With pussy on one arm and his rifle on +the other, he formed a delightfully casual figure. It would have been +quite easy to pass him, but the difficulties lay beyond. . . .</p> + +<p>I then thought, wrongly I dare say, that the only reasonable hope of +success lay in starting from Constantinople, and it was to this end that +my real schemes were shaping. But I thought it well to have two strings +to my bow, and besides, I considered no day well spent which did not +include some practical effort towards escape.</p> + +<p>A complex of causes contributed to this idea, which became almost an +obsession. First, I dare say, was boredom. Second, the feeling that one +was not earning one's pay or doing one's duty by remaining idly a +prisoner. And thirdly—or was it firstly?—the condition under which our +men were living and the crimes which had been committed against them +made it imperative that someone should get to England with our news. It +was high time, and past high time, that the civilised world should know +how our prisoners fared.</p> + +<p>I have already written the savage story of our life at Mosul, where the +men died from calculated cruelty.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span> The history of the Kut prisoners is +even worse, for the crime was on a greater scale.</p> + +<p>That garrison, debilitated from the long siege and the climatic +conditions of Mesopotamia, were marched right across Asia Minor with +hardly any clothes, no money, and insufficient food. Their nameless +sufferings will never be known in full, for many died in the desert, +clubbed to death by their guards, stripped naked, and left by the +roadside. Others were abandoned in Arab villages, when in the last +stages of fever or dysentery. Others, more fortunate, were found dead by +their companions after the night's halt, when the huddled sleepers +turned out to face another day of misery. Hopeless indeed the outlook +must have seemed to some lad fresh from the fields of home. The brutal +sentries, the arid desert, the daily deaths, the daily quarrels, the +bitterness of the future, as bleak as the acres of sand that stretched +to their unknown destination, the dwindling company of friends, the grip +of thirst, the pangs of hunger, and the pains of death—such was the +outlook for many a lad who died between Baghdad and Aleppo. Ghosts of +such memories must not be lightly evoked amongst those alive to-day, +friends of the fallen, but always they will haunt the trails of the +northern Arabian desert.</p> + +<p>Through it all our men were heroes. To the last they showed their +captors of what stuff the Anglo-Saxon is made. The cowardly Kurds, who +were the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span> worst of the various escorts provided between Baghdad and +Aleppo, never dared to insult our men unless they outnumbered them four +to one. Even then they generally waited until some sick man fell down +from exhaustion before clubbing him to death with their rifle-butts.</p> + +<p>In the middle of the desert, between Mosul and Aleppo, a friend of mine +found six half-demented British soldiers who had been propped up against +the wall of a mud hut and left there to die. There was no transport, no +medicines. Nothing could be done for them. They died long before the +relief parties organised at Aleppo could come to their rescue.</p> + +<p>At Aleppo the hospital treatment was extremely bad.</p> + +<p>All men who were fit to move (and many who were not) were sent on in +cattle trucks to various camps in the centre of Anatolia, and when at +length they reached these camps after vicissitudes which were only a +dreary repetition of earlier experiences, they came upon the plague of +typhus at its height, and naturally, in this weakened state, succumbed +by scores and hundreds.</p> + +<p>To see a body of our soldiers arriving at Afion-kara-hissar, pushed and +kicked and beaten by their escort, was terrible.</p> + +<p>Our men were literally skeletons alive, skeletons with skin stretched +across their bones, and a few rags on their backs. This is an exact +statement of things seen. They struggled up the road, hardly able to +carry the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span> pitiful little bundles containing scraps of bread, a bit of +soap, a mug, all, in short, that they had been able to save from +systematic looting on the way.</p> + +<p>In silence, and unswerving, they passed up that road to the hospital, +and all who saw those companies of Englishmen so grim and gallant in +adversity must have felt proud their veins carried the same blood.</p> + +<p>Once in hospital our prisoners fared no better. There were no beds for +them, and hardly any blankets or medicines. They died in groups, lying +outside the hospital.</p> + +<p>It was a common sight to see sad parties of our men passing down this +same road, away from the hospital this time, and towards the cemetery. +Those weary processions, consisting of four or five emaciated men, with +a stretcher and a couple of shovels, used to pass underneath our windows +going to bury their comrade. They were a party of skeletons alive, +carrying a skeleton dead.</p> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> Afion = opium.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_2_2" id="Footnote_2_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> <i>Pekmes</i>: a substitute for jam and sugar, made from +raisins.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_3_3" id="Footnote_3_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_3"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> The <i>Hilal</i>: a Moslem morning paper, published in French.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_4_4" id="Footnote_4_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_4"><span class="label">[4]</span></a> <i>Sakuska</i>: Russian for hors d'oeuvres—such as sardines, +frogs' legs, onions, bits of cheese, or indeed anything edible.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_5_5" id="Footnote_5_5"></a><a href="#FNanchor_5_5"><span class="label">[5]</span></a> <i>Posta</i>: a Turkish sentry.</p></div> + + +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI</h2> + +<h3>THE PSYCHOLOGY OF PRISON</h3> + + +<p>The contrast of tragedy and farce and the incidents, and the lack of +incident, which I have attempted to sketch in the foregoing chapter, had +a marked mental effect on all of us. But each felt the effects of +confinement differently. With me, I came to look on my life in Turkey as +something outside the actuality of existence. I did not feel "myself" at +all. I was disembodied, left with no link with the outer world, except +memory and anticipation. I was in a dark forest far from all avenues of +activity such as the sanity of society and the companionship of women. +My world seemed make-believe, and my interests counterfeit.</p> + +<p>I worked at a novel with a friend of mine, and for a time that seemed +something practical to do. But there was always the fear that it would +be taken from us by the Turks, and the possibility that we would never +publish it.</p> + +<p>Doubt and indecision lay heavy on me. I did not know how long captivity +would last. A criminal's sentence is fixed: not so a prisoner of war's. +He is dependent on matters beyond his control, and a will beyond his +narrow ambit. To reach that outside<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span> will, and to form a part of it +again, was my dominating wish. Through the glasses of captivity the +world was colourless and distorted. Only freedom could make me see it +again aright. And when freedom seemed remote, the world was very +colourless.</p> + +<p>The novel amused me by snatches. Learning languages amused me at times. +But these things were really the diversions of a child, who dreams +through all its lesson-time of another and a fairer world.</p> + +<p>But, unlike a child, I became absorbed in self. I analysed my moods, and +thought gloomily about my health. I mourned my youth, as my hair turned +grey. The sorrows of the spinster were mine and the griefs of the +middle-aged. The value of material things was magnified. The pleasures +of the palate, I confess, assumed an exaggerated importance. I found a +new joy in food, and sometimes I dreamed that I was eating. Also I +contracted the habit of smoking cigarettes in the middle of the night. +And I learnt that the effect of alcohol, when one is very depressed, is +like putting in the top clutch of the car of consciousness, so that one +runs forward smoothly on the road of life. In short, I enjoyed eating +and drinking and smoking in a way that I had never done before, and +never will again, I hope. But I know now why public-houses flourish. +After my own experience of deathly dullness, I heartily sympathise with +those who seek relief in alcohol and nicotine. They<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span> may be poison, but +in this imperfect world the deadliest poison of all is boredom. +Prohibition, as I saw it in Turkey, when tobacco was short, or food was +scarce, or alcohol was forbidden, did not impress me as being +beneficial. The fact is, we all need stimulant of one sort or another. +Normally our work, our home, or our hopes supply this need. Almost +everyone in the world is struggling (however carefully they may disguise +the fact) to be other than they are, and better (or worse) than they +are. We strive after superlatives and are rarely satisfied by them. But +in captivity, as in other circumstances of distress, this stay in life, +this hope of something different and wish for something <i>more</i>, is +suddenly removed. We are left without <i>stimuli</i>. Nothing seems to +matter. One's mental and material habits inevitably relax. A muddy idea +seems as good as a clear one—a sloppy suit of clothes serves as well as +a tidy one. Energy wanes.</p> + +<p>But why? The reason is that the average mind cannot live on +abstractions. It must grapple with something practical. One must sharpen +one's wits on the world, and it is just this that as a prisoner one +cannot do. One cannot "lay hold on life," because there is no life to +lay hold of, except an unnatural and artificial existence, where the +sympathy of women and the dignity of work are absent. That was the crux +of the matter. Sympathy and dignity were lacking in our life. We heard +of advances and retreats as from another sphere. We read of great +heroisms and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span> great sorrows without being close to them. We had no part +in the quarrel. We were in a squalid by-way, living out a mean tragedy, +while the fate of all we loved was in the balance. Never again would we +go fighting.</p> + +<p>From the moment of our capture we had passed into a strange narrow life, +where the spirit of man, while retaining all its old memories and hopes, +could not express them in action.</p> + +<p>Captivity is a minor form of death, and I was dead, to all intents and +purposes.</p> + +<p>Often, lying a-bed in the early morning, I used to feel that my body was +completely gone, and that only a fanciful and feverish intelligence +remained. I remember especially one dawn in the spring of 1917, when I +watched two figures passing down the station road. Slouching towards the +station, and all unconscious of the beauty of the waking world, came a +soldier with his pack and rifle. He wore the grey Turkish uniform, his +beard was grey, his cheeks were also grey and sunken. Slowly, slowly he +dragged his heavy feet towards the train that would take him away to the +war. The train had been already signalled, I knew (for I kept notes of +the traffic in those days), and I found myself hoping anxiously that he +would not be late. The sooner he was killed the better. He was old and +ugly and ill. If only such as he could perish. . . . Then my thought +took wings of the morning. From the soldier, plodding onwards devotedly, +as so many<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span> men have gone to their deaths, my eye ranged across the +plains, lying dim and dark to eastward, to the horizon mountains of the +Suleiman Dagh, whose snow had already seen the messengers of morning +hasting from the lands below our world. And man seemed mean and minute +in the purposes of Nature. So ugly was he, such a blot on the landscape +with his trains and soldiers, that I wondered he continued to exist. +There was a life above our life in the dawn. The powers of the world +knew nothing of this soldier's hopes and fears. To them his endeavours +were a comedy. A huge mountain-back, with the gesture of some giant in +the playtime of long ago, seemed shrugging its shoulders at this +ridiculous straying atom of a moment's space. The train came in, and I +saw its smoke above the tree-tops of the station. It whistled shrilly, +and the soldier quickened his pace. No doubt he was late. Perhaps he +still survives, and is toiling even now towards some trench. Anyway he +passed from my ken, but I still stood at the window, looking towards the +mountains and the sky.</p> + +<p>Then there passed an archaic ox-cart, creaking down the road slowly, as +it has creaked down the ages, from the night of Time. It was drawn by a +white heifer, whose shoulders strained against the yoke, for it was a +heavy cart. But she went forward willingly, resignedly. Work was her +portion. She would live and die under the yoke. She licked her cool +muzzle,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span> dusted flies with her neat tail, and looked forward with +wistful eyes that seemed to see beyond her working world, to some +ultimate haven for the quiet workers. Somewhere she would find rest at +last. To my feverish imagination that white heifer symbolised the pathos +of all the driven souls who go forward unquestioning to destiny.</p> + +<p>And the soldier with his pack was a type also of voiceless millions who +carry the burden of our civilisation.</p> + +<p>We stagger on, under the bludgeonings of chance, and but rarely lift our +eyes to the dawn, although a daily miracle is there. Someone conducts +the orient-rite, regardless of the lives of men, which come sweeping on, +on the tide of war, to end in foam and froth. Yet from this stir of hate +and heroism some purpose must surely rise. From the travail of the +trenches some meaning will be born.</p> + +<p>I saw things thus, through images and symbols. Across the vast inanity +of that waiting time, streaks of vision used to flash, like distant +summer lightning. Impermanent, but beautiful to me, they lit a fair +horizon. Else, all was dark.</p> + +<p>To call this time a death in life seems an overstatement, but if my +experiences in Turkey had any mental value at all, it was just this: to +teach me how to die. A curtain had come down on consciousness when I was +captured. Since then I only lived in the Before and After of captivity. +My old self was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span> finished. I saw it in clear but disjunct pictures of +recollection: pig-sticking, sailing, dining, dancing, or on the road to +Messines one hard November night when feet froze in stirrups and horses +slipped and struck blue lights from the cobbles. And my new self awaited +the moment of freedom. It still stirred in the womb of war.</p> + +<p>Even so, in my belief, do the souls of our comrades lost consider their +lives on earth and look back on their time of trial with interest and +regret. Discarnate, they cannot achieve their desires, yet they long to +manifest again in the world of men. With level and unclouded eyes they +consider the incidents of mortality, and find in them a Purpose to +continue. There is work for them in the world through many lives, and +love, which will meet and re-meet its love. And so at last, drawn by +duty and affection, those who have woven their lives in the tapestry of +our time will one day take up the threads again.</p> + + +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII</h2> + +<h3>THE COMIC HOSPITAL IN CONSTANTINOPLE</h3> + + +<p>The one bulwark against morbidity was hope of an escape. Only by getting +away, or at any rate making an attempt, could I justify my continued +existence, when so many good men were dying in the world outside—and at +our own doors.</p> + +<p>Now certain spies, as I have told, were constantly on the look-out for +officers likely to give trouble to our custodians. The Commandant, I +knew, suspected me of wanting to escape, owing to my general eagerness +for exercise. I thought, therefore, that if I could induce him to +believe that I was ready to dream away my days at Afion-kara-hissar, I +should have established that confidence in my character which is the +basis of all success. I consequently purchased some two pounds of a +certain dark and viscous drug, wrapped in a cabbage leaf. With a sort of +theatrical secrecy (for even in Turkey Mrs. Grundy has her say), I +proceeded to prepare the stuff by boiling it for two hours in a copper +saucepan. I did this on a day when one of the Turkish staff came to the +house to distribute letters. Naturally the smell attracted notice. I +made flimsy excuses to account for it.</p> + +<p>After distilling the decoction, filtering, and then boiling it down to +the consistency of treacle, the first<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span> phase of my little plan was +ended. One of the Turkish staff, a certain Cypriote youth, had become +thoroughly interested in my proceedings.</p> + +<p>I showed him, under vows of secrecy which I knew he would not keep, the +stage property I had bought, consisting of two bamboo pipes, a lamp, a +terra-cotta bowl, some darning needles, and the "treacle" in a jampot. +Fortunately the most of these implements I had obtained second-hand from +a real opium-smoker, so that they did not look too new. Also I had read +de Quincey and Claude Farrère. After discussing the subject at length, +the Cypriote suggested that we might smoke together one evening. I +agreed with alacrity.</p> + +<p>One night after lock-up, therefore, I slipped out of my house, with my +paraphernalia hidden under my overcoat. A specially bribed Turkish +sentry brought me to a silent, shuttered house in a side street. Here +the door was opened by an evil-looking harridan, who showed me upstairs +to a thickly carpeted room, strewn with cushions, on which my host was +lying. The blinds were drawn and only the glimmer of a little green lamp +lit the wreaths of whitish smoke which curled down from the low ceiling. +The fumes stang my palate and thrilled me with expectancy. I could +taste, rather than smell, that strange savour of opium which fascinates +its devotees.</p> + +<p>I lay down, in the semi-darkness, on a sofa beside my host. After some +general conversation, I showed him my pipes and needles, but he said +that for that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span> evening I should only smoke the opium of his brewing.</p> + +<p>"It is a joy to have found a fellow-spirit," I sighed. "When one has +opium one wants nothing more."</p> + +<p>"How many pipes do you smoke a day?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Fifty," I said boldly, adding, "when I am in practice."</p> + +<p>"That is nothing," said the Cypriote. "I smoke a hundred. Come, let us +begin. Time is empty, except for opium."</p> + +<p>"But who will prepare our pipes?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"We will do that ourselves," he answered.</p> + +<p>"I can't," I had to admit. "I—I am used to an attendant, who hands me +my pipes already cooked."</p> + +<p>"There is no one here," he said, "except an ugly old woman. But I will +show you myself. Half the pleasure is lost if another hand prepares the +precious fluid. See, you take a drop of opium—so—on the point of the +needle, and holding it over the flame of the lamp, you turn and turn it +gently until it swells and expands and glows with its hidden life. From +a black drop it changes to a glowing bubble of crimson. Then you cool it +again, moulding and pressing it back to a little pellet upon the glass +of the lampshade. Then again you cook it, and again you cool it. Only +experience can tell when it is ready to smoke. It is an art, like other +arts. I would rather cook opium than write a poem. It is even better +than money. Now you take your pipe and, heating the little hole through +which the opium is smoked, so that it will stick, you<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span> thrust your +needle—so—into the hole, and then withdraw it again, leaving the +pellet of perfect peace behind. And now, lying on your left side, with +your head well back amongst the cushions, you hold your pipe over the +flame and draw in a long and grateful breath. In and in you +breathe. . . ."</p> + +<p>I watched him take a deep draught of the drug, and then lie back among +the cushions with heavy-lidded eyes. For a full half-minute he remained +silent and dreaming, then expelled the thick white smoke with a sigh of +bliss.</p> + +<p>It was my turn now, and not without some dismay (although curiosity was +probably a stronger emotion) I accepted a pipe of his preparing. I +inhaled in and in—I choked a little—and then lay back with a +dreaminess that was not simulated, for it had made me feel giddy.</p> + +<p>"You prepare a most perfect pipe," I coughed through the acrid fumes.</p> + +<p>But I had realised immediately that I had not an opium temperament. In +all I smoked ten small pipes that first evening, without feeling any ill +effects beyond a heavy lassitude, which lasted all through the following +day. I was disappointed and disgusted by the experience. The beautiful +dreams are a myth. So also is the deadly fascination of the drug. I +loathed it more each time I tasted it.</p> + +<p>Yet those nights I lay on a sofa, <i>couché à gauche</i> as opium-smokers +say, weaving a tissue of deceit into the grey-white clouds encircling +us, will always<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span> remain one of the most curious memories of my life. The +couches, the needles and the pipes, the pin-point pupils and wicked +profile of my host, as he leaned over the green glimmer of the lamp +which burnt to the god to whom his heart was given, and the growth of +that god in him, as pipe followed pipe to stir his consciousness, and +the beatitude that lit his features, as he looked up from amidst the +cushions to that dream-world of subtle smoke, to be seen only with +narrowed eyes, where princes of the poppies reign: this had a glamour +against the drab setting of captivity which I will neither deny nor +excuse. I was doing something practical once more. Instead of reading +philosophy or playing chess, I was engaged in a human game, whose stake +was freedom.</p> + +<p>A measure of success attended my efforts, for I learnt from the +Cypriote, in the course of subsequent visits to his house, that if I +wished for a holiday to Constantinople it would not be difficult to +arrange.</p> + +<p>I think we were both playing a double game.</p> + +<p>We both tried to make the other talk, he with the idea of getting +information about the camp and I in the hope of picking up some hint as +to where to hide in Constantinople. But card-sharpers might as well have +tried to fleece each other by the three card trick. His knowledge of +Constantinople seemed to be <i>nil</i>, while the information he got out of +me would not have filled his opium pipe. After these excursions I used +sometimes to wonder whether I was not wasting my time and health. But +time is cheap in captivity, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span> as to health, I used to counteract the +opium by counter-orgies of exercises. In the early mornings I skipped +and bathed in secret, but in the daytime I tottered wanly about the +streets, and whenever I saw the Cypriote I told him that I craved for +<i>confiture</i>: this being our name for opium.</p> + +<p>In my condition it was an easy matter to be sent to the doctor. I told +him various astonishing stories about my health, chiefly culled from a +French medical work which I found in the waiting-room of his house. +Within a month I was transferred to Haidar Pasha Hospital, near +Constantinople. Had I been in brutal health, the operation to my nose +which was the ostensible reason of my departure would not have been +considered necessary. But I had been removed from the category of +suspects, and was now considered an amiable invalid.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The guard on my northward journey was more like a sick attendant than a +sentry. I showed him some opium pills, which I declared were delicious +to take. He evinced the greatest interest, and I was able to prevail on +him to swallow two or three as an experiment. Unfortunately, after he +had taken them, I discovered they contained nothing more exciting than +cascara. They did not send him to sleep at all.</p> + +<p>We arrived at Haidar Pasha without incident. Before being admitted, my +effects were searched, and stored away, but being by that time +accustomed to searches, I was able to hide, upon my person, a variety<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span> +of things that would be useful in an escape, notably a compass, and a +complete set of maps of Constantinople and its surroundings.</p> + +<p>Captain Sir Robert Paul, with whom I had discussed plans at +Afion-kara-hissar, was already installed in hospital, where he was being +treated for an aural complaint. His friendship was an inestimable +stand-by through the months that followed. Through scenes of farce and +tragedy he was always the same feckless and fearless spirit. In success, +as in adversity, he kept an equal mien. Without him, the most amusing +chapters in my life would not have happened, and if I write "<i>I</i>" in the +pages which follow, it is only because Robin, as I shall hereafter call +him, has not been consulted about this record of our days together. +Owing to circumstances beyond our control, the full responsibility for +this story must be mine. The seas divide us. I cannot ask his help, or +solicit his approval.</p> + +<p>The hospital at Haidar Pasha was the most delightfully casual place +imaginable. One wandered into one's ward in a Turkish nightshirt, and +wandered out again at will, the only limits to peregrination being the +boundaries of the hospital and one's own rather fantastic dress. Unless +one asked loudly and insistently for medicines or attendance, no one +dreamed of doing anything at all in the way of treatment. The only +attention the patients received was to be turned out of the hospital +when they were either dead or restored to health. Under the latter +category a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span> crowd of invalids came every day, who were generally ejected +just before noon, clamouring loudly for their mid-day meal, and the +unexpended portion of their day's ration. Of deaths in hospital I +witnessed only one, although scores occurred during my stay. One evening +an Armenian officer was brought into my ward with severe wounds in the +head, due to a prematurely exploded bomb. He was laid flat on a bed, and +instantly proceeded to choke. No one came near him. It seemed obvious to +me that if he was propped up by pillows he would be able to breathe. But +no one propped him up. I suggested to the hospital orderly that this +should be done, and he said, "Yarin." And "yarin" the poor officer died +of lack of breath. How sick men survived is a mystery to me, because +they were never attended to, unless strong enough to scream. Screaming, +however, is a habit to which the Turkish patient is not averse. He does +not believe in the stoical repression of feeling. Strong and brave men +will bellow like bulls while their wounds are being dressed. Unless, +indeed, one makes a fuss, no one will believe one is being hurt. I have +seen mutton-fisted dressers tearing off bandages by main force, while +some unfortunate patient with a stoical tradition sweats with agony and +bites his lips in silence.</p> + +<p>But although the Turk cries out, he is by no means a coward under the +knife. His stern and simple faith seems to help him here. There is +something very fine about a good Moslem's readiness for death. No man<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span> +who knows the religion, or has lived intimately among its adherents, can +fail to give it reverence. Before God all men are equal, and when one +walks about in a nightshirt, one begins to realise this fundamental +truth. There was a great friendliness in that hospital, and a cordiality +that coloured the otherwise sordid surroundings. Poor jettison of the +war, broken with fighting, or rotten with disease, or shamming sick, we +forgathered in the corridors, or in the garden, with no thought for the +external advantages of rank and fortune.</p> + +<p>Matches at that time had practically disappeared from Turkey, and +whenever one issued from the ward with a cigarette between one's lips, +one was beset by invalids in search of a light. Who lit the original +vestal fire I do not know, but I am sure it was never extinguished in +that hospital. Patients smoked and talked all night.</p> + +<p>We took our part with pleasure in this picnic life. Robin, with +remarkable skill, had contrived to smuggle in various forbidden bottles, +which contributed greatly to our popularity. One drink especially, from +its innocuous appearance and stimulating properties, found great favour +amongst the patients. It was known as "Iran," and consisted of equal +parts of sour milk and brandy. A teetotaller might safely be seen with a +long glass of creamy-looking fluid, yet Omar Khayyám himself would not +have despised a jug of it. Imbibing this, we used to hold polyglot<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span> +pow-wows with the patients, in French, German, Arabic, Italian, and +Turkish. Sugar and tea from our parcels also did much to promote +cordiality.</p> + +<p>The recent explosion in Haidar Pasha station, which blew out all the +windows of our (adjacent) hospital, and the first British air raid of +1918 were frequent topics of discussion. With regard to these events we +invented a beautiful lie, namely, that the station explosions were the +result of bombardment by a new type of submarine we possessed, but that, +<i>per contra</i>, the first air raid, which did no damage, was not carried +out by British aircraft at all. We proved by assorted arguments in +various languages that the bombs on Constantinople had come from German +aeroplanes, the raid being a display of Hun frightfulness, to show what +would happen if Turkish allegiance wavered over the thorny question of +the disposal of the Black Sea fleet. Nothing was too improbable to be +true in Constantinople, and nothing indeed was too absurd to be +possible. Enver Pasha had made a monopoly in milk, and a corner in +velvet. The new Sultan was intriguing for the downfall of the Young +Turks. The funds of the Committee of Union and Progress had been sent to +Switzerland, where a Turkish pound purchased thirteen francs of Swiss +security, or half its face value. Fortunes were won and lost on the +meteoric fluctuations of paper money. A lunatic inmate of the hospital +(formerly a Smyrniote financier, driven to despair by the press gang) +told me that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span> he could make a million on the bourse if they only set him +free for a few hours, and I daresay he was right. Anything might have +happened during those summer days. Secret presses were engaged in +printing broadsheets of revolution. The nearer the Germans got to Paris, +the more persistent were the stories of their defeat. The air was +electric with rumours. The story about German aeroplanes bombing +Constantinople, which we had started in jest, was retailed to us later, +in all earnestness, and with every detail to give it probability. +Anything to the discredit of their ally found currency in the Turkish +capital.</p> + +<p>An Ottoman cadet in my ward, for instance, used to impersonate a German +officer ordering his dinner in a Turkish restaurant. He managed somehow +to convey the swagger, and the stays, and the stiff neck. Clattering his +sword behind him, he used to seat himself stiffly at a table and call +haughtily for a waiter. Then, after glaring at the menu, he used to +order—a dish of haricot beans. "Des haricots," he used to snap, with +hand on sword-hilt in the exact and invariable Prussian manner.</p> + +<p>But to the last, the Germans were all-unconscious of what went on behind +their corseted backs. Only at the time of the armistice, when they were +pelted with rotten vegetables, did they realise that something was +amiss.</p> + +<p>To return to our hospital. Our day began with rice and broth at six in +the morning. At nine the visiting<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span> doctor made his rounds and the +patients who needed medicines clamoured for them. Unless one made a +fuss, however, one was left in perfect peace. At midday there was more +rice and broth, with occasional lumps of meat. The afternoon was devoted +to sleep, and the evenings to exercise in the garden, or intrigue. Rice +and broth concluded the day. This sounds dull, but after two years of +prison life, the hours seemed as crowded as a London season's. To begin +with, we did not attempt to subsist on hospital fare, but commissioned +various orderlies and friends to buy us food outside. Then there was the +never-failing interest of making plans. A certain person raised our +hopes to the zenith by telling us of the possibility of a boat calling +for us at night, at a landing place just below the British cemetery. The +idea was to embark in this boat, row across to a steamer, and there +enter large sealed boxes in which we would pass the Customs up the +Bosphorus, and then make Odessa. The plan was almost complete. The +shipping people had been "squared." It only remained for us to select +the spot from which to embark. With this object in view, we reconnoitred +the British cemetery which abutted on the hospital grounds. It was then +being used as an anti-aircraft station, and when, a few days later, the +first air raid came, we saw the exact positions of the Turkish machine +guns, spitting lead at our aircraft from among the Crimean graves. This +air raid, and the atmosphere of "frightfulness" caused thereby,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span> rather +interfered with our escape plans. First of all we were forbidden to go +near the British cemetery, and later other small privileges were +curtailed which greatly "cramped our style." For some time we could not +get in touch with the person already alluded to.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile the arrival of our aeroplanes was a very stimulating sight. +Everyone in hospital turned out to see the show.</p> + +<p>Crump! crump! Woof!—said the bombs.</p> + +<p>Woo-woo-woom!—answered the Archies.</p> + +<p>Kk-kk-kk-kk! chattered the machine guns.</p> + +<p>"God is great," muttered the hospital staff.</p> + +<p>"Give me a gun!" cried one of the two British officers posing as +lunatics (I have already related how they had pretended to hang +themselves). "Give me a gun," he reiterated loudly—"this is all a plot +to kill me, and I must defend myself!"</p> + +<p>Calmly and confidently our machines sailed through the barrage, dropped +their bombs, turned to have a look at Constantinople, and then sailed +away.</p> + +<p>The British lunatic shook his fist at them, as he was led back gibbering +to his ward. The head doctor was much concerned as to his condition.</p> + +<p>"Every day," he told me—"some new madness takes that poor deluded +creature. Eighteen pounds were paid to him recently and he promptly tore +the notes in half and scattered them about the room. When he was asked +if he wanted anything from the Embassy he wrote for a ton of carbolic +soap, and half<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span> a ton of chocolate. On another occasion he jumped into +the hospital pond with his pipe in his mouth, declaring he was on fire. +I dare not send him to England without an escort, for he would do +himself some injury. As to the other British lunatic, he has not spoken +for five weeks. I do not know what is to be done."</p> + +<p>Neither did I, for I was not then aware of the patient's true condition, +and had no desire to "butt in." They had lived for several months among +the other madmen in hospital, and I thought it probable that they had +really lost their reason.</p> + +<p>The lunatics' ward was a terrifying place. My experience of it, although +limited to a few hours, was enough to last a lifetime. In order to +secure drugs for "doping" sentries I complained of severe insomnia one +day, and was sent to the mental specialist. While waiting for him, I +noticed that one of the British lunatics was regarding me with +unblinking furious eyes, while the other was praying—apparently for the +souls of the damned. The Greek financier was singing softly to himself, +and applauding himself. There is something very alarming about madness. +One feels suddenly and closely what a narrow margin divides us from a +world of terror. Their souls stand forlornly by their bodies, knocking +at the door of intelligence.</p> + +<p>When the mental specialist arrived, I was seized by grave alarm. What if +he should find me insane? . . .</p> + +<p>He held up a finger, tracing patterns in the air, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span> told me to watch +it closely. While I watched him, he watched me.</p> + +<p>"The moving finger writes," I thought, "and having writ . . ."</p> + +<p>"I can see your finger perfectly," I protested nervously.</p> + +<p>"Far from it," said the enthusiastic specialist. "You are not following +it with your eyes."</p> + +<p>"I am—indeed I am," said I, squinting at his fat forefinger.</p> + +<p>"I am told you cannot sleep," continued my interlocutor. "You seem to me +to be suffering from nervous exhaustion."</p> + +<p>"A little sleeping draught . . ." I suggested.</p> + +<p>"I ought to observe you for a few days," he answered.</p> + +<p>"Not here?" I quavered.</p> + +<p>"Yes, here."</p> + +<p>"But I do not like the—other lunatics," said I, in a small voice.</p> + +<p>Eventually, to my great delight, I was allowed to remain where I was, +and was given (as reward for the danger I had endured) several cachets +of bromide and a few tablets of trional.</p> + +<p>I returned in triumph to my ward, and Robin and I laid our heads +together. With the drugs we now possessed it would be possible to send +our sentries to sleep when we were moved from hospital, if the person +who was making plans for us to be taken on<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span> board a Black Sea steamer +failed to communicate in time. But the question now arose as to how much +of these drugs was suitable for the Turkish constitution. The object was +to administer a sleeping draught, not a fatal dose. If we were +transferred from Haidar Pasha we knew we should be sent for a time to +the garrison camp of Psamattia (a suburb of Constantinople on the +European side) and our intention was to inveigle our attendants into +having lunch during our journey there, and ply them with Pilsener beer, +suitably prepared, until they were somnolent and unsuspicious enough to +make it feasible to bolt.</p> + +<p>Neither the bromide nor the trional could be tasted in cocoa or coffee, +we discovered, so one evening, I regret to say, I carried out an +experiment on a wounded patient, who was otherwise quite fit, although +rather sleepless, by giving him a cachet of bromide and a tablet of +trional in a cup of cocoa. In about half an hour his eyelids began to +flicker, and he was soon sleeping like a lamb. Next morning he +complained of a slight headache. Should he chance to read these lines I +hope he will accept my apologies. <i>À la guerre comme à la guerre.</i></p> + +<p>So now we had the beginning of a second plan, in case the box business +<i>via</i> the Black Sea failed. But, in the event of escaping during our +journey to Psamattia, we had no very clear idea of where to hide. That +there were Greek and Jewish quarters in Galata and in Pera we knew, and +also in the northern part<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span> of Stamboul, but the chances of detection in +any of these localities were great, especially as we had no disguises at +the time. There remained a possibility of hiding in the ruins of recent +fires, but it was difficult to see how we were to live there. On the +whole the Black Sea trip seemed to offer the most favourable +opportunities of success. But to carry it out, we had to wait, and wait, +and still to wait, until we heard from our agent again. And eventually +the time came when we could wait no longer. . . .</p> + +<p>A week or two is nothing in Turkey, but unfortunately we had attracted a +certain amount of undesirable attention in hospital by our popular +supper-parties and reputed wealth. There was also a Bulgarian nurse who +had an uncanny intuition about our intentions. She told the visiting +doctor that two other nurses were in the habit of bringing us brandy. +She also said we were both quite well and had never in fact been ill at +all. The latter statement was true, but the former I can only attribute +to pique, the brandy having come from other sources. However, this did +not affect the fact that we were politely but firmly told that we had +greatly benefited by our stay in hospital. This was equivalent to a +notice of dismissal. We would have to go. Thereupon we both instantly +pulled very long faces, and went to see the ear and nose specialist. He +was our one hope of being allowed to stay on.</p> + +<p>While waiting for an interview, I had an opportunity of seeing an +eminent army surgeon at work on the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span> Turkish soldiers. Let me preface +this description by emphasising the fact that he <i>was</i> eminent. He was +no rough bungler, but a clever practitioner, well known for his +professional and human sympathy. This is the scene I saw.</p> + +<p>The doctor sat on a high stool, by the window, with a round reflector +over his right eye. A glass table beside him was strewn with +instruments. A lower stool seated his victims. In his hand he held a +thing like a small glove-stretcher. Behind him two young assistants +stood, looking like choir boys who had been fighting, in their robes of +blood-stained white. The room was full of miserable shivering soldiers.</p> + +<p>A deaf old man takes the vacant seat in front of the doctor. The +glove-stretcher darts into his ear. A question is asked. The old man +gibbers in reply. Glove-stretcher darts into the other ear. Another +question. More gibbering. Both his ears are soundly boxed, and he is +sent away. The next is a goitre case, too unpleasant for description. +Suddenly the attendants come forward, and pull off all his clothes. The +doctor removes the reflector from his right eye, and stares for a moment +at the ghastly skinny shape with a sack hanging from its throat. Then he +dictates a prescription to one of the attendants, and seizes the next +soldier. Prescription and clothes are thrown at the naked man, who walks +out shivering, holding his apparel in his arms. Meanwhile another victim +is already trembling on the stool. This man trembles so<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span> violently that +he falls down in a faint. The attendants cuff him back to consciousness. +Painfully he gets up and tries to face the instrument again. But as the +glove-stretcher is being inserted into his nostril, he turns the colour +of weak tea and again silently collapses. The doctor does not give him a +second look. One of the attendants drags his limp body to a corner, +while another patient takes the seat in front of the doctor. After a few +more cases have been examined, the two attendants return to the +unconscious man in the corner, drag him back to the doctor and hold his +lolling head to the light, while the glove-stretcher does its work. Then +he is pulled away, like a dummy from an arena, to the door of the +consulting room, where (and here I confess I expected a scene) a woman +awaited him. But she seemed to consider it all in the day's work. +Perhaps poor Willie was subject to fainting fits. . . .</p> + +<p>I knew I would not faint, but I cannot say I took my turn on that seat +with a light heart. The surgeon was alarmingly sudden, and already the +room looked like a shambles.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>To my relief, he used a new glove-stretcher.</p> + +<p>"Slightly deflected septum," he pronounced, and his diagnosis was later +confirmed in London.</p> + +<p>"I hurt my nose boxing," I explained conversationally, "and cannot now +breathe through it. I would like to stay——"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Can't stay here." he said instantly and incisively; "no time to deal +with your case."</p> + +<p>"But I can't breathe through my nose."</p> + +<p>"Breathe through your mouth," he suggested kindly, but a little coldly.</p> + +<p>Now, it is impossible to "wangle" a man who sits over you with a +reflecting mirror screwed into his right eye. I vanished with suitable +thanks.</p> + +<p>Robin had better luck with his ear. He could have stayed on in hospital +and would very likely have been invalided back to England eventually. +But he absolutely refused to exchange the comfortable security of a +bodily affliction for the vivider joys of escape. In spite of my advice +to stay in hospital, he decided, to my great delight, that we would try +our luck together.</p> + +<p>All hope of remaining in hospital was now at an end.</p> + +<p>That evening at sunset we were in the garden, looking across the blue +waters of the Marmora to the mosques and minarets of old Stamboul, +flushed with the loveliest tints of pink.</p> + +<p>It was the last evening but one of Ramazan. To-morrow the crescent of +the new moon would appear over the dome of San Sofia, as a sign to all +that the fast had ended, and the time of rejoicing come. Between that +moon and the next moon an unknown future lay before us. And whatever our +fate, it was sure to be something exciting.</p> + + +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII</h2> + +<h3>OUR FIRST ESCAPE</h3> + + +<p>Our crossing from Haidar Pasha to the garrison camp at Psamattia was a +tame affair. Early in the day we had made up our minds that it would be +unwise to escape, as well as unkind to our indulgent sentries: unwise, +because we realised that if we bolted blindly from a restaurant, we +would probably be caught at the first lodging-house at which we tried to +gain admission; and unkind because, in common chivalry, we decided that +our sentries were too trustful to be drugged.</p> + +<p>Our day, therefore, was spent in seeing the sights of Pera, gossiping +over a cocktail bar, purchasing some illicit maps under cover of a large +quantity of German publications, and generally learning the lie of the +land. But it might be indiscreet even at this distance of time to +describe in too great detail the sources from which we obtained our +information. One name, however—like King Charles' head with Mr. +Dick—will keep coming into this book. I cannot keep it out, because it +is impossible to think of my escape and escapades without thinking of +the gallant lady who made them possible.</p> + +<p>Miss Whitaker, as she then was (she is now Lady<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span> Paul), knew something +about all the escapes which took place in Turkey, and a great deal about +a great many of them. Against every kind of difficulty from foes, and +constant discouragement from friends<a name="FNanchor_6_6" id="FNanchor_6_6"></a><a href="#Footnote_6_6" class="fnanchor">[6]</a> she boldly championed the cause +of our prisoners through the dark days of 1916 and 1917. She visited the +sick in hospital, she carried plum puddings to our men working at San +Stefano, she was a never-failing source of sympathy and encouragement. +She sent messages for us, and wrote letters, and lent us money and +clothes. She was the good angel of the English at Constantinople, a +second—and more fortunate—Miss Cavell.</p> + +<p>And she was the <i>Deus ex machina</i> of my escapes. Having said this, I +will say one thing more. I cannot here put down one-tenth of the daring +work that Lady Paul did for me and others. The reason may be obvious to +the reader; at any rate it is binding on me to say far less than I would +wish.</p> + +<p>On reaching the prisoners' camp at Psamattia, our first object was to +get in touch with her whom we had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span> already heard of as the guardian +spirit of prisoners. With this object in view, we asked to be allowed to +attend Sunday service at the English church. Religious worship, we +pointed out, should not be interfered with, further than the necessities +of war demanded. After some demur the Commandant agreed, and accordingly +we went to church. Here it was<a name="FNanchor_7_7" id="FNanchor_7_7"></a><a href="#Footnote_7_7" class="fnanchor">[7]</a> that we met our guardian angel for the +first time. She trembled visibly when we mentioned our plans for escape, +and I thought (little knowing her) that we had been rash to speak so +frankly.</p> + +<p>"I strongly advise delay," she whispered—"but I will meet you again at +the gardens in Stamboul in two days' time—four o'clock. I'll be reading +a——"</p> + +<p>"<i>Haidé, effendim, haidé, haidé</i>," said our sentry, and her last words +were lost.</p> + +<p>Further conversation was impossible, but the forty-eight hours which +followed were vivid with anticipation.</p> + +<p>How were we to manage to get to the gardens of the Seraglio? Would we +meet her? Could we talk to her? Would she have a plan? . . .</p> + +<p>On the day appointed, Robin and I complained of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span> toothache, and asked to +be allowed to go into the city to see the dentist. We were at once +granted permission.</p> + +<p>From the dentist's to the Seraglio garden was only a step, but we were +four hours too early as yet to keep the rendezvous. However, a large +lunch, in which our sentries shared, smoothed the way for a little +shopping excursion into Pera. Here, amongst other things, we bought some +black hair dye, which completed our arrangements for escape. Other +paraphernalia, such as jack-knives, twenty fathoms of rope, maps, +compasses, sand-shoes, chocolate and "dope," we had already acquired. +Nothing now remained but to find a hiding place, when once we had +escaped.</p> + +<p>At about three o'clock we were sitting in a café, eating ices, with our +complacent sentries, who had every reason to be complacent for they had +been sumptuously fed, as well as liberally tipped. They were quite +willing to do anything in reason, and nothing could have been more +natural than a stroll in the Seraglio gardens.</p> + +<p>But just then Robin began to get "Spanish 'flu," which was raging in the +city. The symptoms were as sudden as they were unmistakable. Violent +shivering, giddiness, weakness—all the ills that flesh is heir to, +waylaid him at this vital juncture. He was completely incapable of +action.</p> + +<p>There was no help for it. I left him shaking and shivering in the café, +in charge of one of our two sentries,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span> and, after a little persuasion +and some palaver (during the course of which another bank-note changed +hands) I induced the other sentry to accompany me for a stroll. Unless +we walked in the gardens, I assured him, we should both fall ill with +the deadly contagion of my friend. Nothing but fresh air and iced beer +could avert that fever. On the way, therefore, we stopped for a glass +and I managed to drop a small dose of potassium bromide into the +sentry's mug before it was given to him.</p> + +<p>A little before four the sentry and I were smoking cigarettes on a seat +in the Seraglio gardens quite close to the Stamboul entrance gate.</p> + +<p>It was a hot day, with thunder-clouds hanging low. Toilers of the city +passed us fanning themselves. Turkish officers had pushed back their +heavy fur fezzes, and civilians wore handkerchiefs behind theirs. German +ladies panted loudly, and even the <i>hanoums</i> appeared to be a little +jaded: their small feet and great eyes, that so often twinkle in the +streets, had grown dull with the oppression of the day. Small wonder my +sentry nodded.</p> + +<p>Presently, with a walk that no one could mistake, a tall and slim figure +entered, dressed in white serge coat and skirt. I watched her, on the +opposite footpath, strolling down the shady avenue with an insouciant +grace. She held a novel and a little tasselled bag in her right hand. +She sat down some two hundred yards away, and began reading calmly and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span> +coolly, apparently quite unconscious of the feverish world about her.</p> + +<p>With a hasty glance at my sentry, I rose and walked very slowly away. He +woke at once, and followed. I stopped to look at some flowers, yawned, +lit another cigarette and said to the sentry that it was too hot to +walk. I intended to sit for a little in the shade on the opposite side +of the road, and then we would go back to join our friend at the café.</p> + +<p>We meandered across the road, and I sank into a seat beside the guardian +angel. There was no room for the sentry, so he obligingly retired into +the shrubbery behind.</p> + +<p>Without taking her eyes from her novel, she began by saying I was not to +look at her, and that I was to speak very low, looking in the opposite +direction.</p> + +<p>She then asked where my companion was, and on hearing he had the 'flu, +she told me that she also had been attacked by it at the very moment +that we had spoken to her at church, and that it was only with +difficulty she had been able to keep the rendezvous to-day. I tried to +thank her for coming, but she kept strictly to business, and +concentrated our conversation to bare facts. Her news ranged from the +world at war, to plans for Robin and me, in vivid glimpses of +possibility. She covered continents in a phrase, and dealt with the +plans of two captives in terse but sympathetic comment. When she had +told me what she wanted to say, she opened her small bag<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span> and took out a +piece of paper, rolled up tight, which she flicked across to me without +a moment's hesitation.</p> + +<p>"You had better go now," she said.</p> + +<p>But my heart was brimming over with things unsaid.</p> + +<p>"I simply cannot thank——" I began to stammer.</p> + +<p>"Don't!" said she, to the novel on her knees.</p> + +<p>And so, with no salute to mark the great occasion, I left her. Neither +of us had seen the other's face.</p> + +<p>Here I must apologise for purposely clouding the narrative. The plans I +made are only public so far as they concern myself.</p> + +<p>On rejoining Robin, I found him palpitant and perturbed. The fever was +at its height and he ought to have been in bed. Yet it was urgently +necessary that evening, before returning, to make certain investigations +in the native quarter of the city. How to do this without attracting the +notice of the two sentries, perspiring but still perceptive, was a +matter of great concern to me. I thought of saying that I was going to +buy medicine for Robin, but in that case one of the sentries (probably +Robin's, for my own had grown very somnolent with beer and bromide) +would certainly accompany me. Then I bethought me of going to wash my +hands in a place behind the café and slipping out of a back door. But +there was no back door, and Robin's sentry had followed me to the +wash-place, and stood stolidly by the door until I came out.</p> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span> +<p>I sat down again, thinking and perspiring furiously,<a name="FNanchor_8_8" id="FNanchor_8_8"></a><a href="#Footnote_8_8" class="fnanchor">[8]</a> and ordered +more beer. But this time I failed to manipulate the bromide. Robin's +sentry saw me with the packet in my hand and asked me what it was.</p> + +<p>"It is a medicine for reducing fat," said I, and of course after this I +had to keep the drugged beer for myself. But the sedative did no harm. +After sipping for some minutes I had a happy thought.</p> + +<p>There was a particular brand of cigarettes which were only obtainable at +a few shops in Constantinople. I asked the waiter if he had them. He had +not.</p> + +<p>"I must have a packet," I said, standing up—"there is a shop just down +the street where I can get them."</p> + +<p>And without taking my hat or stick (as a proof of the innocence of my +intentions) I strolled out of the café.</p> + +<p>The sentries did not follow. It was too hot.</p> + +<p>I rushed down the crowded thoroughfare as if all the hounds of heaven +were on my trail. I fled past policemen, dodged a tram, bolted up a +side-street, and arrived gasping at the doorway I sought. After a hasty +survey of the locality, so as to identify it again at need, I rushed +back to the restaurant, buying a box of Bafra-Madène cigarettes on the +way. Robin was still shivering; the sentries were mopping their large +faces. All was well. Our work was done.</p> + +<p>Trying not to look triumphant, I got Robin into a cab, and we drove back +to Psamattia camp.</p> + +<p>During the next few days I thoroughly enjoyed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span> myself. Not so Robin, who +was grappling with his fever. Later, however, when he was convalescent, +we used to go down to the seashore together to bathe. In the evening, we +used to sup off lobsters at a restaurant on the beach. In the water one +felt almost free once more, and in the restaurant, when one was not +gambling "double or quits" with the lobster-merchant as to whether we +should pay him two pounds for his lobster or nothing at all, we were +talking politics with other diners. Those days of Robin's convalescence +were delightful. The moon was near its full, which is the season when +lobsters ought to be eaten, and the climate was perfect, and our hopes +were high.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Psamattia is one of the most westerly suburbs of Stamboul. From it, a +maze of tortuous streets lead to the railway terminus of Sirkedji, and +the Galata bridge over the Golden Horn. On the eastern side of the +Golden Horn lie the European quarters of Galata and Pera. From our camp +at Psamattia to the house where we intended to hide was a distance of +five miles, and there were at least two police posts on the way. But +with our hair dyed black (we had already effected this transformation, +and it is astonishing how it changes one's appearance) and fezzes on our +heads, we trusted to pass unnoticed as Greeks.</p> + +<p>Our plan had a definite and limited objective. We wanted to escape by +night from Psamattia and hide<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span> in Constantinople. Once in hiding, we +trusted to going by boat to Russia, or else going with brigands to the +Mediterranean coast, where our patrols might pick us up. But the first +object was to get away from the camp. Until this was achieved it was +almost impossible to make definite arrangements. At first we had thought +that it would be an easy matter to give our sentries the slip when we +were out shopping. But when it came to the point, we felt scruples about +bolting from men we had bribed and wheedled so often. All's fair in love +and war, but yet if it could be avoided we did not want to abuse their +trust in us.</p> + +<p>There remained the alternative of escaping by night from the house where +we were interned. But when Robin had become fit enough to try (and of +course he was all agog to be off at the first possible moment) we found +the guards were more alert than we thought.</p> + +<p>Our situation was roughly this: We were housed in the Armenian +Patriarchate, next to the Psamattia Fire Brigade, and there were +sentries in every street to which access was possible, by craft or by +climbing. The window of our room, which was directly over the doorway +where the main guard lived, looked out on to a narrow street, across +which there was another house, inhabitated by Russian prisoners of war. +At first we thought it might be possible to pretend to go to the Russian +house, and, while casually crossing the street, to mingle with the +passers-by, and melt away unnoticed in the crowd. We tried this plan, +but it was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span> no good. The guards on our doorway were alert, and followed +our every movement. . . . To slip out with the Armenian funerals which +used to go through our gateway was another project doomed to +failure. . . . To get into the Armenian church, on the night before a +burial, remove the occupant of a coffin and so pass out next morning in +the centre of the funeral procession, was an idea which excited us for a +time. But the melodrama we had planned could not be executed, because +the church was locked and guarded at night. . . . To climb out of the +back window of the Russian house also proved impossible, because a +sentry stood outside it always. . . . Every point was watched. Two +sentries armed with old Martini rifles (of archaic pattern but +unpleasantly big bore) were posted directly below our window. Two more +similarly equipped were opposite, at the door of the Russian house. One +man with a new rifle was behind the Russian house. Two more were behind +ours, and one was in a side street. There were also men on duty at the +entrance to the Fire Brigade.</p> + +<p>After considering all sorts of methods we decided on a plan whose chief +merit was its seeming impossibility. No one would have expected us to +try it.</p> + +<p>Our idea was to climb out of our window at night, and by crossing some +ten foot of wall-face, to gain the shelter of the roof of the next door +house. This roof was railed by a parapet, behind which we could crouch. +Along it we would creep, until we reached a cross-road<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span> down the street. +Here we would slip down a rope to the pavement, and although we would be +visible to at least five sentries during our descent, it seemed probable +that no particular sentry would consider himself responsible for the +cross-roads, which was beyond their beat.</p> + +<p>To climb out of a window set in a blank wall, about thirty feet above a +busy street where four sentries stood, did not seem a reasonable thing +to do. But the wall was not as impassable as it seemed. Two little +ledges of moulding ran along it, under our window-sill, so that we had a +narrow yet sufficient foothold and handhold until we reached the roof of +the adjoining house. And although we would be visible during our +precarious transit of the wall-face, we knew that people rarely look up +above their own height, and rarely look for things they don't expect.</p> + +<p>It was the night of the twenty-seventh of July, when a bright full moon +rode over the sea behind our house, that we decided to make the attempt.</p> + +<p>The first point was to get out of the window without being seen. . . . A +Colonel of the Russian Guards, a little man with a great heart, +volunteered to help us. Directly we extinguished the lights in our room, +he was to engage the sentries at the door of the opposite house, where +he lived, in an animated conversation, keeping them interested, even by +desperate measures if need be, until our first ten yards of climbing was +successfully accomplished.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span></p> + +<p>After a cordial good-bye, he left us. We took off our boots and slung +them round our necks, drank a stirrup cup to our success, roped +ourselves together, coiled the remainder of the rope round our waists, +stuffed our pockets and knapsacks with our escaping gear, and then blew +out our lamp, as if we were going to bed. Crouched under the window-sill +we waited. . . . The sentries below us were sitting on stools in the +street. The two men opposite were lolling against the doorpost, and the +moon, rising behind our house, while still leaving the street in shadow, +had just caught their faces, so that their every eyelash was visible. To +them came the little Colonel, and only the top of his cap reached the +moonlight. We heard his cheery voice. We saw both sentries looking down, +presumably helping themselves to his cigarettes.</p> + +<p>That waiting moment was very tense. An initial failure would have been +deplorable, yet many things made failure likely. At such times as these, +the confidence of one's companion counts for much, and I shall never +forget Robin's bearing. Anyone who has been in similar circumstances +will know what I mean. He went first out of the window. I followed an +instant later. . . . And once the first step was taken, once my feet +were on that two-inch ledge and my hands clung to the upper strip, the +complexion of things altered completely. Anxiety vanished, leaving +nothing but a thrill of pleasure. One was master of one's fate.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span></p> + +<p>At one moment we were in view of four sentries (two at our door and two +opposite), a Turkish officer who had come to take the air at our +doorway, and several passers-by in the street. But no one looked up. No +one saw the two men, only five yards away, who clambered slowly along +the string-course, like flies on a wall.</p> + +<p>After gaining the roof of the next house, we lay flat and breathless +behind the parapet, and thanked God we had succeeded in—not making +fools of ourselves, anyway.</p> + +<p>The parapet was lower than we thought, and in order to get the advantage +of its cover it was necessary to remain absolutely prone in the gutter +of the roof. In this position, from ten o'clock till half past eleven, +we wriggled and wriggled along the house-tops, past a dead cat and other +offensive objects, until at last we had covered the distance. Once, +during this stalk, my rope got hitched up on a nail, and I had to +wriggle back to free it. And once, having raised myself to take a look +round, one of the sentries on the Russian house ran out into the street +and started making a tremendous noise. I don't know what it was about, +but it alarmed me very much, and condemned us to marble immobility for a +time.</p> + +<p>At last, however, we reached the end of our wriggle. But here a new +difficulty confronted us. Directly overlooking the part of the roof from +which we contemplated our descent, and less than ten yards away,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span> an +officer of the Psamattia Fire Brigade sat at an open window, looking +anxiously up and down the street, as if expecting someone to keep an +appointment. His window was on a level with us. So intently did he stare +that I thought he had seen us. But we lay dead-still behind the parapet, +and it became apparent, as time passed and he still stood disconsolate +by the window, that we were not the objects of his languishing +regard. . . . And meanwhile the moon—the kindly old moon that sees so +much—was creeping up the sky. Soon she would flood us with her +radiance. Even a love-sick officer of the Fire Brigade could not fail to +notice us across the narrow street, lit by the limelight of all the +universe. For an hour this annoying Romeo kept watch, while we discussed +the situation in tiny whispers, and cursed feminine unpunctuality. But +at last, just as we had determined to "let go the painter" and take our +chance, he began to yawn and stretch and look towards his bed, which we +could see at the further end of his room. "You are tired of waiting: she +isn't worth it!" I sent in thought-wave across the street. He seemed to +hesitate, then he yawned again, and just as our protecting belt of +shadow had narrowed to a yard, he gave up his hopes of Juliet, and +retired.</p> + +<p>That was our moment.</p> + +<a name="ARMENIAN_PATRIARCHATE" id="ARMENIAN_PATRIARCHATE"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 609px;"> +<img src="images/137.jpg" width="609" height="468" alt="" title="" /> +</div> +<h3>THE ARMENIAN PATRIARCHATE AT PSAMATTIA, CONSTANTINOPLE.</h3> + +<p>We stood up, and made the rope fast to a convenient ring in the parapet. +Traffic in the street had ceased. The sentries were huddled in their +coats, for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span> it was a chilly summer night. Up street, a dog was yapping, +and its voice seemed to stab the silence. Before stepping over the +parapet I took a last look at the world I left and thanked God.</p> + +<p>The waiting was over. In two seconds' time we should have gained +freedom, or a slug from some sentry's rifle.</p> + +<p>It took two seconds to slip down thirty feet of rope, and two seconds is +a long time when your liberty, if not your life, is at stake. I half +kicked down the sign-board of a shop in my descent, and Robin, who +followed, completed the disaster. In our haste, we had cut our hands +almost to the bone, and had made noise enough to wake the dead.</p> + +<p>Yet no one stirred. We were both in the street, and no one had moved.</p> + +<p>After two and a half years of captivity we were free men once more. The +slothful years had vanished in the twinkling of an eye. Can you realise +the miracle, liberty-loving reader, that passes in the mind of a man who +thus suddenly realises his freedom? . . .</p> + +<p>I don't know what Robin thought, for we said nothing. We lit cigarettes +and strolled away. But inside of me, the motors of the nervous system +raced.</p> + +<p>The only other danger, in our hour and a half's walk to our destination, +was being asked for passports by some policeman. In our character as +polyglot<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span> mechanics, whenever we passed anyone, I found it a great +relief to make some such remark as:</p> + +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Lieb Vaterland, magst ruhig sein,</span> +<span class="i0">Fest steht and treu die Wacht am Rhein.</span> +</div></div> + +<p>But Robin, who could not understand my German, paid little heed.</p> + +<p>Only once we did think we were likely to be re-caught. At about one in +the morning, as we were passing the Fatih mosque, we heard a rattle on +the cobbles behind us. A carriage was being galloped in our direction. +It might well contain some of the Psamattia garrison. We doubled into +some ruins, and lay there, while the clatter grew louder and louder.</p> + +<p>A few wisps of cloud crossed the moon, that had reached her zenith. +Their silent shadows moved like ghosts across the desolation of the +city. A cat was abroad. She saw us, and halted, with paw uplifted and +blazing eyes.</p> + +<p>Then the carriage passed, empty, with a drunken driver. It rattled away +into the night, and we emerged, and took our way through the streets of +old Stamboul, under the chequered shade of vines.</p> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_6_6" id="Footnote_6_6"></a><a href="#FNanchor_6_6"><span class="label">[6]</span></a> This applies in no way to the Americans, who did everything +possible for our men before they left Constantinople. Their assistance +was always of the most prompt and practical nature. It may be invidious +to mention names in this light account of adventure, but I cannot +refrain from giving myself the pleasure of saying how grateful I am to +Mr. Hoffman Phillips, of the American Embassy. His name, as also the +name of his chief, Mr. Morgenthau, is indissolubly connected with our +early prisoners. I wish to thank him from the bottom of my heart, and I +know many of all ranks who will join with me in this—far too +meagre—tribute to his activities and ability.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_7_7" id="Footnote_7_7"></a><a href="#FNanchor_7_7"><span class="label">[7]</span></a> Let no one think the clergyman in charge aided or abetted +our secular efforts to escape. On the contrary, on a later occasion, +when Robin, as a poor and distressed prisoner hiding from the Turks, +endeavoured to find sanctuary for a few hours in the church, he was +expelled therefrom, so that our enemies should not complain that the +House of God was used for anything but worship.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_8_8" id="Footnote_8_8"></a><a href="#FNanchor_8_8"><span class="label">[8]</span></a> During the afternoon I lost over seven pounds in weight.</p></div> + + +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX</h2> + +<h3>A CITY OF DISGUISES</h3> + + +<p>We knocked softly at the door of the house that was to be our home, and +then waited, flattened in the shadow below it, quite prepared for the +worst. It was then four o'clock in the morning. It seemed too much to +hope that we would be welcome.</p> + +<p>But we were. The door opened cautiously about one inch, and two little +faces were seen, low down the crack. Behind them, someone held a light.</p> + +<p>Then the door was flung wide, and we saw on the stairs a whole family of +friendly people, male and female, old and young, all in night dress, and +all with arms outstretched in rapturous greeting. We might have been +Prodigal Sons returning, instead of two strangers whose presence would +be a source of continual danger.</p> + +<p>Hyppolité and Athéné, the twins, aged eight, who had first peeped at us, +now took us each by the hand, and led us upstairs.</p> + +<p>"The last escaped prisoner we had here was a forger," said Hyppolité to +us.</p> + +<p>"He was a friend of father's," added Athéné over her shoulder, "and he +escaped from prison about six<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span> weeks ago. He was afraid that the police +would find his tools, so he threw them all into our cistern. They are +there now."</p> + +<p>We reached the top floor, and were shown by the twins into an apartment +containing a double bed with a stuffy canopy of damask.</p> + +<p>"This is the family bedroom," they said.</p> + +<p>"And where are we to sleep?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"Here," said Thémistoclé, the proud owner of the house. "My sister and I +and the twins were using the bed until your arrival, but now we will +sleep in the passage."</p> + +<p>"The passage?" I echoed. "Haven't you any other beds, and were you all +four using this one?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes. The other rooms are full of lodgers. There are three officers +of the Turkish army here at present. But they won't disturb you, because +they are hiding too."</p> + +<p>"Mon Dieu!" said I, sitting on the bed—"but your sister can't sleep in +the passage, can she?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly, she's quite used to that sort of thing. It's safer also, in +case the police come."</p> + +<p>"I know all the police," said Athéné, "even when they are not in +uniform; I can recognise them by their boots."</p> + +<p>"And we are always on the look-out for them," added Hyppolité. "If the +police come to search the house you will have to get into the cistern."</p> + +<p>"Where the forger threw his tools," explained Athéné.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span></p> + +<p>Coffee and cigarettes were produced, and ointment for our lacerated +hands. We were made to feel quite at home. . . . The family stayed and +talked to us until dawn broke. They thoroughly appreciated the story of +the escape, and clapped their hands with glee at the idea of the Turks' +amazement when they discovered that we had vanished, leaving no trace +behind us.</p> + +<p>"They will never find the rope," said Thémistoclé, "because the +shopkeeper over whose shop it is will certainly cut it down and hide it, +for fear of being asked questions."</p> + +<p>"And now we must thank the Blessed Saints for your escape," said an old +lady who had not previously spoken.</p> + +<p>She went to a glass cupboard, opened it, and lit two candles. A scent of +rose-leaves and incense came from the shrine, which contained oranges +and ikons and Easter eggs and a large family Bible.</p> + +<p>For a moment or two we all stood silent.</p> + +<p>Then——</p> + +<p>Just when I was expecting a prayer, the old lady blew out the candles +and shut up the cupboard and crossed herself. The thanksgiving was over, +and we dispersed with very cordial good-nights. I think Thémistoclé +wanted to kiss us, but we felt we had been through trials enough for the +time and refused to offer even one cheek.</p> + +<p>The family retired to the passage and settled down<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span> to rest with squeaks +and giggles, while Robin and I, after thanking God for all His mercies, +with very humble and grateful hearts, threw ourselves down on the bed, +too exhausted to undress, and slept the sleep of free men.</p> + +<p>Next instant, it seemed to me, although in reality two hours had +elapsed, we were awakened by the twins, who looked on us as their +especial charges, and thought us tremendous fun.</p> + +<p>"Time to get up," they said excitedly. "The house might be searched at +any minute."</p> + +<p>Instantly we were afoot.</p> + +<p>"Where are the police?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"There is a detective standing at the corner of our street," said +Hyppolité.</p> + +<p>"And they often come to see if all our lodgers are registered!" added +his sister.</p> + +<p>We bundled our maps, compasses, and other belongings into a towel, and +staggered downstairs, with fear and sleep battling for mastery in our +minds.</p> + +<p>But in the pantry, we found the seniors of the household quite +unconcerned. There was no imminent danger of a search. . . . On the +other hand, there was the immediate prospect of breakfast.</p> + +<p>A saucepan was actually being buttered (and butter was worth its weight +in gold) to make us an omelette. By now we had been thoroughly stirred +from sleep, and realised how hungry we were. I forget how many omelettes +we ate, or how much butter we used, but<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span> I think that that charming +breakfast cost a five-pound note, or thereabouts.</p> + +<p>When it was over, an engaging sense of drowsiness began to creep over me +again, but the twins were adamant.</p> + +<p>"You must practise getting into the cistern," said Hyppolité.</p> + +<p>"Like the forger did," chimed in Athéné—"and then you must arrange a +hiding-place for your things."</p> + +<p>The worst of it was, that their suggestions were so practical. Obviously +it was our duty to at once take all precautions.</p> + +<p>I consequently took off my clothes, and removing the lid of the cistern, +I was let down through a hole in the floor into the waters below. In my +descent I re-opened the wounds in my hands, and it was in no very +cheerful mood that I found myself in darkness, with water up to my +shoulders. I moved cautiously about, trying to imagine our feelings if +fate drove us to this chilly and conventional hiding-place while +detectives were conducting a search for us above. Then I barked my foot +on something hard, and stooping down through the water I picked up a +large block of pumicestone, which was doubtless the forger's engraving +die. Something scurried on an unseen ledge; a rat no doubt. I felt I had +seen enough of the cistern. Groping my way back to the lid, my fingers +touched a little thing that cracked under them, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span> instantly I felt a +stinging pain. Whether it was a beetle or a sleepy wasp I did not stop +to inquire.</p> + +<p>"Lemme get out," I bleated through the hole in the floor. . . . "Robin," +I said, when I was safe once more, "if ever we are driven down there, we +must take something to counteract the evil spirits."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>All that morning we passed in the pantry, eating and dozing by snatches.</p> + +<p>Morning merged into afternoon, the afternoon lengthened into evening, +and no policeman came. We were safe.</p> + +<p>At nightfall, after sending Hyppolité as a scout up the stairs to see +that the other lodgers were not about, we ascended to our room again, +and settled down definitely.</p> + +<p>Our stay, we then thought, might last several weeks, so as to give us +leisure to weigh the reliability of the various routes and guides that +offered. There was no particular hurry. The longer we stayed, the more +likely the Turks would be to relax such measures as they had taken for +our recapture.</p> + +<p>But we had reckoned without our host: the host of vermin. They were +worse in this room than in any other place I have seen in Turkey, not +excepting the lowest dungeons of the military prison, where they breed +by the billion. Their voracity and vehemence made a prolonged stay +impossible. Except for the first sleep of two hours, when exhaustion had +made<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span> us insensible, we never thereafter had more than a single hour of +uninterrupted rest.</p> + +<p>Throughout the long and stifling nights of our stay, Robin and I lay in +the stately double bed, wondering wearily how any man or woman alive +could tolerate the creatures that crawled over its mahogany-posts and +swarmed over its flowered damask. Every three-quarters of an hour, one +or other of us used to light a candle, and add to the holocaust of +creatures we had already slain.</p> + +<p>"What hunting?" I used to ask sleepily.</p> + +<p>"A couple of brace this time, and a cub I chopped in covert," Robin +would say.</p> + +<p>"That makes twenty-two couple up to date—and the time is 12.35 a.m."</p> + +<p>Then at one o'clock it was Robin's turn to ask what sport I had had.</p> + +<p>"A sounder broke away under your pillow," I reported. "Six rideable boar +and six squeakers."</p> + +<p>Ugh!</p> + +<p>Those first days of our liberty were a trying time. To the external +irritation of insects were added the mental anxieties of our situation. +What, for instance, would happen to the twins if we were caught in that +house? And, again, was Thémistoclé faithful? Would he be tempted by the +reward offered for our recapture? At times we were not quite certain. He +used to talk very gloomily about the risks and the cost of life.</p> + +<p>"Everyone is starving," he used to say thoughtfully—"even<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span> the +policemen go hungry for bribes. A friend of mine, a policeman, said to +me the other day: 'For the love of Allah find somebody for me to arrest. +Among all the guilty and the innocent in this town, surely you can find +somebody that we could threaten to arrest? Then we would share the +proceeds.'"</p> + +<p>"What did you say to that?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"I said," he answered thoughtfully, "that I would do my best."</p> + +<p>"But what sort of man would you arrest?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"Any sort of man. A drunkard perhaps, if I saw one, or a rich man, if I +dared."</p> + +<p>"Rich men are apt to be dangerous," said I meaningly.</p> + +<p>"I know. But what can one do?" he asked, spreading out his hands. "One +must live!"</p> + +<p>"And let live," said I, thinking suddenly of the bugs, and wondering +what Thémistoclé thought of them.</p> + +<p>It was then that I noticed his method of combating the household pets.</p> + +<p>Previously I had observed that the ends of his pyjamas (we always talked +at night) were provided with strong tapes, which were tied close to his +ankles; but the object of this fastening only became apparent when I +noticed the excited throngs of insects on his elastic-sided boots. They +could not get higher. They were balked of their blood. If he ever felt +any discomfort, he merely tightened the tapes.</p> + +<p>After a careful study of Thémistoclé's psychology<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span> (which was so full of +outlooks new to me that I never achieved more than a glimpse into the +pages of his past) I came to the conclusion that he was implicitly to be +trusted. In his frail frame there burned a spirit of adventure and a +courage that might "step from star to star." His soul had been born to +live in a great man, only somehow it had made a mistake and taken a +tenement instead of a manor-house to live in. . . .</p> + +<p>I think sunset and sunrise were the pleasantest hours in our new abode. +It was possible then to draw back the blinds without any danger of being +seen, and enjoy the cool of the evening and the magnificent view which +our situation afforded. Our house, although it stood in a side street, +commanded a prospect of the upper end of the Golden Horn, as well as a +view of one of the most populous thoroughfares of the town.</p> + +<p>We used to sit and gaze at the twilit city, until the creeping darkness +overtook us.</p> + +<p>If circulation be a test of a city's vitality, then Constantinople was +certainly at a low ebb. The pedestrians seemed to get nowhere. They were +hanging about, waiting for something to happen. The whole town was +dead-tired, unspeakably bored of life as it had to be lived under the +Young Turks. Constantinople was getting cross. . . . Cross, like someone +who was tired of adulation from the wrong person. Some trick of sea and +sun give her this human quality<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span> of sex. Anyone who has lived for long +in her houses must feel her personality. She is the courtesan of +conquerors, but inherent in her is some witchcraft, by which she weakens +those who hold her, so that they die and are utterly exterminated, while +she remains with her fadeless and fatal beauty, an Eastern Lorelei +beside the Bosphorus. . . . She sapped the strength of the Roman Empire, +she overthrew the dominion of the Greeks, and now, after a period of +fretful wedlock, she was shaking herself free from the Turk.</p> + +<p>Something was going to happen soon. One felt it in the air.</p> + +<p>What happened to us, was that it became necessary to draw the blinds and +light our candle, and search for the pestilence that crept by night. +Presently our meal arrived, which was always a cheerful interlude, but +it was as short as it was sweet, for courses were few, with famine +prices prevailing. Afterwards we continued our hunting till dawn.</p> + +<p>At dawn, when the chill of morning had sent our sated enemies to sleep, +there was another truce from trouble. We used to draw back the blinds +again and sit at the window.</p> + +<p>I used to watch the pale sun on the horizon, fighting the mist-forms +that clung heavily to earth and sea, and I felt that in the +world-consciousness a similar contest swayed. The old ideas of +government were being caught by a light that was pale now, but soon to +grow luminous—a radiance that would dispel the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span> night of war, and show +us a new world, intangible yet, but dimly sensed.</p> + +<p>In the dim alleys and side streets below, where balconies overhung, +shutting out the dawn, what a weight of woe there was! Famine and fire, +twin angels of destruction that lurked in every by-way of the city, were +waiting to take their toll. And the war went on for caged and free, +while some starved and others made fortunes, and some became generals +and others corpses. And the end of these things was vanity. <i>Vanitas +vanitatum.</i></p> + +<p>The minaret of a mosque was directly opposite to me. Under sway of the +sanctuary and the hour, the voice of the <i>muezzin</i> spoke to me in all +its sincerity and unity of purpose. God was everywhere, all-pervasive, +all-unseen, invisible only because He was so manifest. Evil of the night +and glory of the dawn made His picture, the world. With new eyes I saw +now this city grey with sin, and fresh with the promise of another day.</p> + +<p>From the house of that stern and simple faith that is the creed of +one-fifth of the world, there came a sense of kinship with all the +suffering under the sky. Reverence came to me also, and that brotherhood +which is the message of the Great Teachers since time began. These +thoughts were round me, a silent company, as I looked Mecca-wards, to +the place of prayer. Then the heralds of the dawn alighted on the +minaret, and their wings were amethyst and saffron.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span> The night was over, +and the <i>muezzin's</i> long, exultant call to worship died down with the +increasing light.</p> + +<p>Another day had begun.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Not many days and nights did we tarry in Thémistoclé's house. Robin +decided to try his luck by land. After various inquiries, he made +arrangements with a Greek boy to board a melon-boat bound for Rodosto. +His idea was to make that port, and thence work his way to Enos, where +he hoped to be picked up by our patrol-boats. After many adventures and +perils by land and sea, and a great deal of bad luck, he was caught at +the town of Malgara. So ended a very gallant attempt, which ought to be +set down in detail by him.</p> + +<p>I can only describe his appearance when he left. His disguise was a +matter of great difficulty, for he is so tall and so Saxon that he +always attracted notice in an Eastern crowd. An Arab ragamuffin seemed +the rôle best suited to him, and he accordingly exchanged his +comparatively respectable clothes for a greasy old coat and a pair of +repellent trousers. With a tattered fez well back on his head, and all +his visible skin blackened with burnt cork, he looked an unspeakable +scoundrel. But he was too villainous. He would have been immediately +arrested for his appearance alone. A touch of genius, however, completed +his make-up. . . . In his hands he carried a poor little<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span> bowl of curds +and half a cucumber, which completely altered his ferocious air by +adding the requisite touch of pathos. The edible emblems of innocence he +carried transformed him completely into a sort of male Miss Muffet.</p> + +<p>No detective could have found heart to inquire where he was going. He +was enough to make anyone cry.</p> + +<p>He left in a frightful hurry, for his boat was due to catch a certain +tide, but we drank a stirrup cup to his success, and parted with much +sadness on my side, not until the old lady before mentioned had lit a +candle before the ikon of Saint Nicholas. . . .</p> + +<p>I was very sorry to see him go, but I was quite convinced (wrongly, as +events proved) that the best chance of success lay in going to Russia.</p> + +<p>The little Colonel of the Russian Guards had told us before we escaped +that he was likely to be soon repatriated (for he was a person of +influence in the Caucasus), and I felt sure that I could arrange to go +as his servant, if no better scheme presented itself in the meanwhile. +But there were many possibilities in the "city of disguises."</p> + +<p>During my stay with Thémistoclé I had been learning history, as it is +never written, but as it is most strangely lived by a people on the +brink of dissolution and disaster. As an escaped prisoner I thought that +delay in Constantinople—somewhere clean, however—would not be time +wasted if one was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span> in touch with the politics of the time. If the +Russian scheme failed, there were other openings, by earth and air and +water.</p> + +<p>But the first thing to do was to find a place where I could lay my head +without getting it bitten.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The good angel of prisoners came to my assistance at this critical +juncture in my affairs.</p> + +<p>"You must be disguised as a girl," said she—"I will buy you a wig at +once."</p> + +<p>"But what about my figure?" I asked, "and my feet . . .?"</p> + +<p>"Some clothes were left with me at the beginning of the war," she +answered, "which will fit you with the help of a tailor. And as to your +shoes, your own will pass muster, with new bows. No one has had any +proper shoes for ages here. But you will want—well, lots of other +things."</p> + +<p>And I certainly <i>did</i> want a lot, before I looked at all presentable. +After very careful shaving, I began to splash about confidently at my +toilet table. There was Vesuvian black for the eyebrows, <i>bistre</i> for +the eyelashes, <i>poudre violette</i>, rouge, carmine—more powder—more +rouge—at last I showed my satisfied face to Miss Whitaker, who gave a +cry of horror, and flatly refused to be seen in my company.</p> + +<p>There was nothing for it but to wash my face and start again.</p> + +<p>This time I succeeded in making myself presentable,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span> although a blue +streak of whisker seemed always slightly visible through the powder. The +wig, however, helped matters greatly, and I arranged some ringlets on my +shaven cheeks.</p> + +<p>The dressing-up was quite exciting. Silk and lace and whalebone, +especially a lot of lace in front, was the basis on which I built. The +foundations took some time in laying, but when finished I found to my +delight that the coat and skirt belonging to Miss Whitaker's friend +fitted my figure perfectly.</p> + +<p>A few details, invisible to my eyes, were quickly corrected, and I think +that when I finally emerged, with large hat at a becoming angle, I did +credit to my instructress.</p> + +<p>Gloves I had always to wear, of course, and a veil was advisable, +chiefly to tone down my blinding beauty to the eyes of passers-by. Do +what I would, however, I could not hide a certain artificiality in my +appearance, which was most unfair to Miss Whitaker, considering that I +was her companion. But I behaved as well as I possibly could.</p> + +<a name="GERMAN_GOVERNESS" id="GERMAN_GOVERNESS"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 195px;"> +<img src="images/154.jpg" width="195" height="300" alt="" title="" /> +</div> +<h3><span class="smcap">The Author as a German Governess</span></h3> + +<p>I learned how to walk in a ladylike fashion, and how to powder my nose +in an engaging manner. My arms and legs had to be kept under various +restraints. A mincing gait was soon acquired, but I found sitting still +more awkward. My knees evinced an almost ineradicable tendency to cross +themselves or sprawl, while my gloved forearms, to the last, felt as +unwieldy as a baboon's. But everything I could I learned<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span> assiduously +and in dead earnest, down to managing my veil, and patting my curls +nicely in front of a looking-glass. It was so frightfully important not +to make a false step.</p> + +<p>My only excuse for going about with Miss Whitaker at all was the +complete success of the rôle for which she had so skilfully prepared me. +Never for a moment was there any suspicion of my identity.</p> + +<p>On one occasion, in the early days of my disguise, when we were +sight-seeing at Eyoub, some Turkish ladies stopped to talk to us. I +remained silent, of course, but I watched them narrowly and came to the +conclusion that they saw nothing amiss. My eyes, incidentally, were as +well painted as theirs. Now, if two charming and worldly-wise <i>hanoums</i> +cannot detect a flaw in one's form or features, it is unlikely that any +mere male could be cleverer than they.</p> + +<p>The mere males, alas! were enthralled by my appearance. Once or twice an +embarrassing situation was narrowly averted. The road behind the Pera +Palace Hotel is dark, and we used to ascend it in fear and trembling. +But although we were followed sometimes, no one ever presumed to speak +to us.</p> + +<p>Miss Whitaker had found me by now a delightful roof, near the house in +which I took my meals, and this place was free from all life smaller +than a rat. Here I was able to make my plans in peace, with no fear of +treachery, for, so cleverly had Miss Whitaker arranged matters, no one +knew I was not a woman.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span></p> + +<p>As Mademoiselle Josephine, an eccentric German governess, who suffered +from consumption (and therefore spoke very low and huskily) I used to +pass my nights <i>à belle étoile</i>, after well-spent days in the docks or +cafés, where my plans were maturing. The stars in their courses seemed +to be on my side. No longer, as when a fretful prisoner, did I think +their quiet shining was a reminder of man's minuteness in the schemes of +God. I felt now that man could make his destiny. And when that destiny +was shaped by hands such as those that helped me, the world was a +beautiful place. Good angels were here on earth, at "our own +clay-shuttered doors." . . .</p> + +<p>Two little girls, to whom I used to bring chocolates, used to come up in +the evening and kiss my hand, wishing me good-night. They thought I was +the most amusing governess they had ever met. Their mother, a kind old +lady who offered me cough mixtures, must have thought me rather odd, but +then she was prepared to make allowances for foreigners, especially in +war-time. To have a reason for wishing to be inconspicuous was nothing +unusual in those days, whether one was German, Jew, or Greek, or male or +female.</p> + +<p>Of various opportunities that came my way, the most practical and +attractive was that suggested by the Russian Colonel. His repatriation +to the Caucasus was now only a matter of days. He had not only got his +own passport, but also a passport for a servant. That servant was to be +myself. In order to discuss<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span> plans, we found the safest rendezvous was +the open-air café of the Petits Champs. This place was crowded with +"fashionable" people, and although both he and Miss Whitaker were +constantly shadowed by detectives there was nothing at all suspicious in +their being seen at tea-time in the company of an elegantly dressed +German lady.</p> + +<p>The German lady was obviously not as young as she tried to appear, but +then there was nothing unusual about that. She was also rather <i>gauche</i> +in her movements, but this again was not out of keeping with the part.</p> + +<p>"In a fortnight's time we will be having tea at Tiflis," the Russian +Colonel used to say. "I will raise two regiments of cavalry and take +them to kill the Bolsheviks. You shall be my adjutant."</p> + +<p>"With the greatest pleasure in the world, <i>mon Colonel</i>. But please do +not speak so loud."</p> + +<p>"Ah, that <i>sacré</i> detective. I had forgotten him. Soon we will not have +to think of such things."</p> + +<p>"Yes, but at the present moment your own particular shadow is trying to +listen to what you are saying," I remarked in low tones.</p> + +<p>At once the Colonel's voice assumed a softer note, and his green eyes +began to melt with tenderness.</p> + +<p>"<i>Mais Josephine, ma petite, écoutes donc, je t'adore. . . .</i> There, +he's passed. Everything is ready. I have got you a Russian soldier's +uniform. You have only to put this on, and follow me on board when I +go."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span></p> + +<p>"And if someone asks me who I am?"</p> + +<p>"You are my Georgian servant. And you can only speak Georgian. Just say +this——"</p> + +<p>There followed a tongue-twisting sentence, which I tried to memorise.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile the band played, and people passed, and inquisitive eyes were +turned in our direction.</p> + +<p>"That's a spy who knows me," Miss Whitaker would say. "<i>Encore une +tasse, mademoiselle? Non?</i> I think we ought to be going."</p> + +<p>"We'll settle the final details to-morrow," I whispered.</p> + +<p>"Right! Remember to let your beard grow. I couldn't have a smooth-faced +orderly."</p> + +<p>"<i>Eh bien, mille mercis, Colonel</i>," said I, giving him my hand.</p> + +<p>He held it a moment, bowing, and looking inexpressible things.</p> + +<p>"<i>Ah, Josephine. . . .</i>"</p> + +<p>"<i>A demain, alors!</i>"</p> + +<p>And with a simper I left my gallant and dapper cavalier to pay the +bill.</p> + + +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X</h2> + +<h3>RECAPTURED</h3> + + +<p>At five o'clock one morning Mlle. Josephine received a staggering note +from the Russian Colonel to say that he had had to leave at a moment's +notice for the Caucasus, under a Turkish guard, and that there was no +prospect at all of his taking his dear Josephine with him.</p> + +<p>Thus my plan had failed. It was not the Colonel's fault, but it was +annoying all the same. I had wasted both time and money, provisions and +opportunities, and now I had to begin all over again.</p> + +<p>I decided that I would not continue in my disguise as a girl. It was too +nerve-racking to begin with; and also, as a girl, I could not go down +myself to the docks and arrange matters at first hand. I felt I must do +something for myself. During the month that had elapsed Robin had been +recaptured, other officers had escaped, the whole course of the war was +changing, and here was I still <i>embusqué</i> in Constantinople.</p> + +<p>Something must be done, and, as usual, my good angel did it for +me. . . . She bought me a small upturned moustache, spectacles, +hair-dye, a second-hand suit, a stained white waistcoat which I +ornamented with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span> a large nickel gilt watch chain, a pair of old +elastic-sided boots (price £7), an ebony cane with a silver top, and a +bowler hat which I perched rakishly askew. I was a Hungarian mechanic, +out of a job. I had lost my place at the munition factory near San +Stefano. But I was not down-hearted. My nails were oily and my +antecedents doubtful, but I drank my beer and smoked my cigars and +looked on life brightly through my spectacles.</p> + +<p>I did not avoid the Boche—in fact, I frequently drank beer with him. +The non-Latin races are not inquisitive as a rule. They cared little +whether I was Swiss or Dutch or Hungarian, and I frequently claimed all +three nationalities. They did not even think it odd when, on one +occasion, I said that I had been born in Scandinavia and later that I +was a naturalised Hungarian, and later again (when a Jewish gentleman +with military boots joined us, whom I recognised to be a Government +informer, paid to pick up information) that I was really of Russian +parentage and that I had a passport to this effect (which I showed to +the company present) signed by Djevad Bey, the military commandant of +Constantinople, permitting me to proceed to Russia and ordering that +every facility should be given to me at the custom-house.</p> + +<p>This forged passport was a source of perplexity to me at the time, and +later it was to be the cause of great discomfort. I had bought it for +ten pounds from the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span> gentleman whose pumicestone engraving die reposed +at the bottom of the cistern. It was an ornate affair, duly stamped, and +sealed, and signed with a Turkish flourish. But I could not bring myself +to believe that it would get me through the passport office, the +<i>douane</i>, and the medical station at the entrance to the Bosphorus. Some +hitch would certainly have occurred.</p> + +<p>However, it impressed the company in the café. People generally take one +at one's own valuation, and the few secret agents to whom I spoke +obviously considered that I was not a likely person to be blackmailed. +With the Greeks I was certainly popular. The seedy-smart polyglot youth +who was so liberal with his cigars (which were rather a rarity then) and +so fond of talking politics and drinking beer was a <i>persona grata</i> in +the circles he frequented. We talked much of revolution.</p> + +<p>"We will crucify the Young Turks," said a Greek to me one day, "and then +eat them in little bits. We will——" His expressive hands suddenly +paused in mid-gesture, and his mouth dropped open, but only for an +instant. He had seen a detective enter. "We will continue to preserve +our dignity and remain calm whatever happens," he concluded neatly.</p> + +<p>But calm the Greeks certainly were not.</p> + +<p>In the cellar of a German hotel in Pera the Greek proprietor displayed +one night a collection of rusty swords and old revolvers which were the +nucleus of the New Age of brotherly love, when the streets were to run<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span> +with Turkish blood, and the Cross replace the Crescent in San Sophia. I +was privileged to be present at this conclave of desperadoes. After +swearing each other to eternal secrecy we sampled some of the contents +of our host's cellar, and talked very big about what we were going to +do. But our host, beyond dancing a hornpipe and declaring that he was +going to murder everybody in the hotel (after they had paid their +bills), propounded no very definite scheme.</p> + +<p>Out of this atmosphere of melodrama one emerged into the sombre, silent +streets and went rather furtively home, feeling that there was something +to be said for the Turks after all. But I need hardly say that no +influential Greeks had a share in these proceedings: they were always on +the side of moderation. One had been a fool to consort with fools.</p> + +<p>Behind the lattices of the harems it was said that Enver Pasha's day was +done. The new Sultan had thrown him out of the palace, neck and crop. +There was to be an inquiry into the means by which he had acquired huge +farms round Constantinople—farms which were supposed to be purchased +from the proceeds of a corner in milk that had killed many children. The +Custodians of the Harem (and in Turkey these tall flat-chested +individuals have positions of great power; the Chief of the White +Custodians, for instance, is one of the high dignitaries of the Empire, +and ranks with a Lord Chamberlain) had long been intriguing against the +Committee and especially against the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span> German element with Enver at its +head. . . . The Sultan was high in popular favour, and a dramatic +suicide in the main street of Pera, which lifted a corner of the curtain +hiding the unrest behind the scenes at the Imperial Palace, became a +nine days' wonder, and gave rise to extraordinary rumours. A Turkish +officer in full uniform had been seen running for dear life down the +Grand Rue de Pera, pursued by policemen. The officer took refuge in the +Turkish club, but he was refused asylum there. The policemen crowded +into the entrance hall to arrest him, while the fugitive dashed upstairs +to the card-room. Finding, however, that he could not avoid arrest, he +threw himself out of the window, and was instantly killed on the +pavement below. For some time, the corpse, dressed in the uniform of the +Yildiz Guards, blocked the traffic of the city.</p> + +<p>A few days later a British air-raid gave the Constantinopolitans +something new to think about. It was a stifling night, and I was dozing +and listening to the mosquitoes that buzzed round me, when their drone +seemed to grow louder and louder. I lay quite still, thinking that +another raid would be too good to be true. But presently there was no +doubt about it. Invisible, but very audible, the British squadron was +sailing overhead. I jumped up and at that moment the Turks put up their +barrage. Bang! Boom! Whizz! Kk—kk—kk! All the little voices of +civilisation were speaking.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span></p> + +<p>Greeks crowded into the streets, and clapped their hands when the crash +and rumble of a bomb was heard in the Turkish quarter of Stamboul.</p> + +<p>"The Sultan is going to make peace," they told me. "He has refused to +gird on the Sword of Othman until the Committee of Union and Progress +give an account of their funds."</p> + +<p>"Hurrah for the English!" shouted others, quite undismayed by the +shrapnel and falling pieces of shell.</p> + +<p>Here are some chance remarks, actually heard during air raids.</p> + +<p>"Ah! Here is the revolution at last!" said a Turkish officer in a +chemist's shop in the Grand Rue de Pera, thinking the firing meant the +downfall of Enver Pasha and his gang.</p> + +<p>"Bread costs four shillings a two-pound loaf," said an Armenian in the +suburb of Chichli—"and as often as not there is a stone or half a mouse +thrown into the four shillings' worth, for luck. May this gang of +swindlers perish!"</p> + +<p>"Allah! send the English soon," wailed a Turkish widow in a hovel in +Stamboul, where she was living with her five starving children. "We are +being killed by inches now; it would be better to be killed quickly by +bombs. The English cannot be worse than Enver."</p> + +<p>This, indeed, was the general opinion in Constantinople. Few of the +population, outside the high officials, bore us any grudge. The thieving +of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span> Young Turks was on as vast a scale as their ambition. From needy +adventurers they had become the prosperous potentates of an Empire. No +country, surely, has ever been the prey of such desperate and determined +men.</p> + +<p>The air raids were one of the first causes of their weakening hold on +the people. The moral effect of these demonstrations was incalculable, +coming as it did at a time when the Sultan was supposed to be in favour +of peace.</p> + +<p>Peace, indeed, was the only faint hope of salvation that remained to the +very poor. Milk had almost disappeared from the open market, and for +some time past children had been exposed in the street, their mothers +being unable to support them any longer.</p> + +<p>Each night, when I passed the Petits Champs, I saw a row of starving +children, poor little living protests of humanity against the barbarisms +of war and the cruelty of profiteers, huddled on the pavement, mute, +uncomplaining, too weak to even ask for alms.</p> + +<p>And Bedri Bey, sometime Prefect of Police at Constantinople, when +appealed to, said: "<i>Bah! Les pauvres, qu'ils crèvent.</i>"</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Although politics were interesting enough, escape was my first +preoccupation. It was necessary to approach the harbour officials with +caution, and they, on their side, although ready enough to help with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span> +suggestions, seemed inclined to shelve all the actual work on to a +person or persons unknown, who remained in the background. It was very +difficult to get at the principals.</p> + +<p>One of the chief agents of escape, however, I met one day in the Grand +Rue de Pera. He was a most remarkable man. Intrigue was the breath of +his nostrils, and although he had made thousands of pounds by helping +rich refugees out of the country, he was really more interested in +politics than pelf. He laid the groundwork of such knowledge as I +acquired of Constantinople.</p> + +<p>Incidentally, in the course of our conversation, a squad of Russian +officer prisoners passed, accompanied by two sentries whom I knew quite +well. So confident did I feel of not being recognised that I said a few +words to one of the Russians, while their escort glanced at me with +faces perfectly blank. They had not the vaguest idea who I was.</p> + +<p>To get away from Constantinople, the escape merchant told me, was a +matter of passing the custom house. Formerly this had been easy, but now +every ship was searched from stem to stern and from deck to keelson. +Also every skipper was a Mohammedan. All Christians had been recently +deprived of their positions.</p> + +<p>Still, Mohammedans are not an unbribable people, and something might +possibly be done for me. In fact, that very day he had learnt of a +certain Lazz<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span> shipmaster, who was going over to the Caucasus in his own +boat, and who would be prepared to take a few passengers for a +consideration.</p> + +<p>Later in the same day I heard that two other officers, who had escaped +about a week before (by bolting under a train in Haidar Pasha railway +station), were already in touch with this Lazz. I went to see them early +the following morning and we agreed to charter the boat between us, so +as to reduce expenses.</p> + +<p>My two friends were living in the house of one Theodore, a Greek waiter +at a restaurant in Sirkedji, who believed that they, as well as myself, +were Germans.</p> + +<p>The Lazz, who came to visit us, was absolutely astounded when we +proclaimed ourselves as British officers: he had been under the +impression that we were some sort of Turkish subject. However, all +passengers were grist to his mill, and British officers who talked +glibly of gold payments were not people to be neglected. After haggling +about terms, we made an appointment for the next day, and parted with +some cordiality.</p> + +<p>On the morrow, punctual to our appointments, the Lazz and I again +arrived at Theodore's house to confer further with my two friends.</p> + +<p>As it was a very hot afternoon, I took off my coat and my false +moustache, before plunging into the details of our departure. It was +evident that the Lazz<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span> was in a hurry to be off. His cargo was complete, +he said. He had only to take in petrol for his motor before leaving on +the following day. There remained the question of money, and after much +argument we settled to pay him five hundred pounds on arrival at the +port of Poti in the Caucasus, and one hundred pounds advance for fuel +immediately. He was to provide the disguises necessary for us to pass +the customs at the Bosphorus. We were each of us to don a black dress +and a black veil and to sit in a row in his cabin, refusing to move or +speak if interrogated. Muslim ladies, he assured us, had frequently +refused to undergo any scrutiny whatever at the customs, and provided +they were vouched for by some responsible person on board, the gallant +excisemen were ready to let them pass. As his very own wives, said the +Lazz, no harm could possibly come to us, provided of course we remained +sitting, and silent, throughout the inspection.</p> + +<p>This seemed a very satisfactory scheme, for obviously whatever risks we +ran, our friend the Lazz would run them too.</p> + +<p>By evening our pact was complete. We handed over a hundred pounds, and +the Lazz promised faithfully that he would have the boat ready and our +disguises prepared by nightfall on the following day, when we would sail +for Russia.</p> + +<p>Hardly had the money changed hands before I noticed a suspicious-looking +individual in the street<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span> below. Presently he was joined by another +detective, whom I recognised.</p> + +<p>Things looked ugly.</p> + +<p>We took the Lazz cautiously to the window.</p> + +<p>"Do you know anything about those men?" we asked.</p> + +<p>He turned deathly pale, but swore he had never seen them before. I do +not think he had. His fear was genuine.</p> + +<p>"Let me get out! Let me get out!" he said, making a bolt for the door.</p> + +<p>And he went. There was no use in trying to stop him.</p> + +<p>One of my friends and I now went downstairs, while the third member of +our party stayed behind to hide a few odds and ends of gear, in case the +house was searched.</p> + +<p>We waited downstairs, making light of our fears, and fighting a +premonition of disaster.</p> + +<p>Presently there was a loud tapping on the door. Even if it were the +police, I thought, our disguises would carry us through. Then I noticed +that my friend was in shirt-sleeves. I put on my spectacles and tried to +stick on my moustache again, but the gum from it had gone.</p> + +<p>The rapping at the door became louder and louder, and presently it was +opened by a flustered female.</p> + +<p>In trooped six detectives, including the man I had recognised, who was +apparently their leader.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span></p> + +<p>"There are some British officers hiding here," he said fiercely to the +woman; "show me where they are."</p> + +<p>While this scene was passing in the entrance-hall, we were behind the +door of the pantry.</p> + +<p>A detective came in and caught my friend. Meanwhile two others were +pommelling the unfortunate woman to make her say where we were. She kept +pleading that she knew nothing about any British officers.</p> + +<p>Another instant, and I should have been found. So I came out from behind +the pantry door, and crossed the entrance hall.</p> + +<p>In the doorway stood a burly policeman, who said "<i>Yok, yok</i>," when I +attempted to pass him.</p> + +<p>Had I had the requisite nerve I believe I could have bluffed this man. +Some phrase with <i>schweinhund</i> in it would probably have got me past. +But I hesitated, and was lost.</p> + +<p>My hand flew to my breast pocket, where the forged passport lay, and my +false moustache.</p> + +<p>"Seize that man and search him," said the head detective, looking over +the banisters. Then he went upstairs, dragging the woman with him.</p> + +<p>My arms were instantly caught from behind, while a seedy-looking youth, +who was probably a pick-pocket in his spare time, ran his fingers over +my clothes. My wad of money, watch, compass, passport, moustache, +everything was put into a small canvas bag, and I was then taken to the +opposite corner of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span> room to that in which my friend sat, and told +not to move under pain of death. A levelled revolver emphasised the +injunction.</p> + +<a name="HUNGARIAN_MECHANIC" id="HUNGARIAN_MECHANIC"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 178px;"> +<img src="images/170.jpg" width="178" height="290" alt="" title="" /> +</div> +<h3><span class="smcap">The Author as a Hungarian Mechanic</span></h3> + +<p>Presently there were cries of women heard from the attic, then there was +a loud crash, and I knew that the third member of our party had fallen +through the trapdoor leading to the roof.</p> + +<p>That was the last of my freedom for the time. Thus suddenly my five +weeks' scheming was ended.</p> + +<p>Each of us was taken charge of by two policemen, who linked their arms +in ours. Presently the order to march was given, and a dismal +procession, consisting of two weeping women, a seedy-smart individual in +a bowler hat, two youths in slippers and shirt-sleeves, and a Greek +waiter, could be seen wending their way to the Central Gaol of +Stamboul.</p> + + +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI</h2> + +<h3>THE BLACK HOLE OF CONSTANTINOPLE</h3> + + +<p>Before leaving, we had protested strongly against the treatment of the +women in the house.</p> + +<p>"But they are Turkish subjects," said the detectives.</p> + +<p>"Anyway, they are women," we protested.</p> + +<p>But this had little effect. Theodore and his unfortunate family were +marched off behind us to the Central Gaol. I think, however, that our +protest was not quite in vain, for it gave the women courage. When I +last saw them, before being taken to the Chief of Police, they had dried +their tears. Eventually they were released, but not, alas! until they +had endured much suffering.</p> + +<p>The Chief of Police congratulated us on being safe once more in Turkish +hands.</p> + +<p>"Yes, we are comfortably back in prison," I said with a faint smile, +"and therefore there is surely no harm in giving us back the personal +trifles that the detectives took from us."</p> + +<p>"I cannot give you your papers," he said. "There is a forged passport +here, amongst other things."</p> + +<p>"Very well, do as you like about that," I said, shrugging my shoulders, +"but surely my empty pocket-book and my watch might be returned."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span></p> + +<p>To this he agreed, whereupon he handed me—</p> + +<p>(<i>a</i>) My pocket-book, containing five pounds hidden in the lining.</p> + +<p>(<i>b</i>) My watch, and a compass, which he mistook for another timepiece.</p> + +<p>(<i>c</i>) My false moustache, which had been captured on my person.</p> + +<p>I was in an agony of anxiety about this moustache. Had the police +inquired at the only two hairdressers' where such things were made, they +would have found that Miss Whitaker had ordered it for me only ten days +before. But now it was safely in my possession again. I had the only +connecting link of evidence that might incriminate Miss Whitaker in my +trouser pocket, and was tearing it to shreds as I talked to the Chief of +Police.</p> + +<p>The interview passed on a note of felicitation, until the very end. +After praising the smart way his men had surrounded the house, and +receiving his congratulations on our escapes, just as if the whole thing +was a game, we said that there was one criticism we had to make on +police methods, and that was their treatment of women.</p> + +<p>"They are Turkish subjects," snapped the Chief of Police, suddenly +showing his teeth.</p> + +<p>"They are women," we retorted, "and they are innocent. If they are +maltreated——"</p> + +<p>"I know how to manage my affairs," he said with a gasp of annoyance.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Certainly. But if they are maltreated you will be responsible after the +war."</p> + +<p>To this he made no reply.</p> + +<p>We were removed without further ado, and after being photographed and +measured in the most approved fashion for criminals, we were taken up +long flights of stairs, and across a roof, to the quarters for prisoners +awaiting trial. Here we were allotted separate cells, where we were to +pass the next few days in strict isolation.</p> + +<p>To my amazement (for I knew something of Turkish prisons from a previous +experience, not here recorded) these cells were scrupulously clean. A +bed, a table, and a chair were in each apartment, all very firm and +foursquare, as if designed to withstand any access of fury or despair on +the prisoner's part. There was electric light in the ceiling, covered +with wire netting. Walls and woodwork were of a neutral colour. The +windows, which were barred, had a convenient arrangement for regulating +the ventilation. The heavy door, which admitted no sound, was provided +with a sliding hatch, which could be opened by the warders at will for +purposes of investigation. Everything was hideously efficient.</p> + +<p>Turkey is a country of surprises, but I was not prepared for this. I +would have preferred something more picturesque. One's mind, after the +testing climax of recapture, craves for new doses of excitement.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span></p> + +<p>The brain of a criminal, after he has been apprehended, must be a +turmoil of thought. He curses his stupidity, or his luck, or his +associates. He longs to explain and defend himself. Instead of this, he +is left in silence in a drab room, with no company but his thoughts.</p> + +<p>My own thoughts were most unpleasant. I had failed miserably and +innocent people were suffering as the result.</p> + +<p>After five weeks of effort I was farther than ever from escape. Worse +than all, Miss Whitaker was in danger. Never again shall I pass such +dismal hours. I see myself now, seated on that solid chair with head on +arms, bent over that efficient table. A prisoner's heart must soon turn +to stone.</p> + +<p>But although our surroundings were inhuman, one of our gaolers had a +generous heart. He opened the slot in my door merely to say he was sorry +about it all, and that the women were all right. It is little actions +such as these that so often light the darkest hours of life. The man was +a European Turk.</p> + +<p>It was urgently necessary to communicate with my fellow-prisoners, in +order to arrange to tell the same story. My friend next door solved the +problem by bawling up through his barred window at the top of his voice +that he would leave a note for me in the wash-place.</p> + +<p>"Right you are!" I howled in answer, and instantly the slot of my door +opened, and I had to explain that I was singing.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span></p> + +<p>Already, interest was beginning to creep back into one's life. I found +the note in the wash-place, read it secretly, thought over my answer, +and transcribed the message on to a cigarette paper. Having no writing +material, I used the end of a match dipped into an ink prepared from +tobacco juice and ash. By these simple means we established a regular +means of communication and before forty-eight hours of our strict +seclusion had elapsed we were all three in possession of a complete, +circumstantial, and fictitious account of our adventures prior to +capture.</p> + +<p>When not engaged on reminiscences, I was generally pacing my cell, or +trying to invent some new form of exercise to keep myself fit. But at +times energy failed and one felt inclined to gnash one's teeth at the +futility of it all.</p> + +<p>One day, when I was feeling inclined to gnash my teeth, the slot in my +door was furtively withdrawn, and, instead of a gaoler, a very comely +vision appeared at the observation hatch. A pair of laughing black eyes +were looking in on me. She wrinkled her nose, and laughed. I jumped up, +thinking I was dreaming, and hoping that the dream would continue. At +the same moment something dropped on to my floor. Then the trap door was +softly shut to.</p> + +<p>I found a tiny stump of lead pencil. That was proof of the reality of my +vision.</p> + +<p>Countless excuses to leave my cell, and voluminous correspondence with +the pencil's aid eventually<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span> enabled me to find out that she was an +Armenian girl, awaiting trial, who took a deep interest in us. At great +risk to herself, she had provided the three of us with writing +instruments. Except for a brief glimpse, and a mumbled word, I was never +able to thank her, however, owing to circumstances beyond our control.</p> + +<p>On the fourth day we were transferred to the Military Prison in the +Square of the Seraskerat.</p> + +<p>As usual in Turkey, our move was sudden and unexpected. That morning, on +complaining at mid-day that I had as yet received no food, I was told +that <i>inshallah</i>—if God pleased—it would arrive in due course.</p> + +<p>Instead of a belated breakfast, however, a <i>posse</i> of policemen arrived, +and we started on our journeys again: my friends still in their +shirt-sleeves and slippers, and myself still in my bowler hat, although +I did not now wear it so rakishly.</p> + +<p>But we were fairly cheery. We had learnt (no matter how) that the +females of Theodore's family would soon be released, and that Theodore +himself, although still in duress, would not suffer any extreme fate. +Also, it was by now fairly obvious that Miss Whitaker would not be +apprehended, as sufficient evidence was not obtainable against her. She +had covered her tracks too well. All things considered, there was no +cause for depression.</p> + +<p>But waiting is hungry work. That afternoon still saw us, fretful and +unfed, waiting outside the office<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span> of Djevad Bey, the Military +Commandant of Constantinople.</p> + +<p>At last I was taken into an ornate room, where I had my first talk with +this redoubtable individual, who was popularly supposed to be the +hangman of the Young Turks. Anyone less like an executioner I have never +seen. He was plump, well-dressed, with humorous grey eyes. He wore long, +rather well-fitting boots, and smoked his cigarettes from a long amber +holder. He also had a long amber moustache, which was being trained +Kaiser-wise.</p> + +<p>I stood before him at attention.</p> + +<p>"About this forged passport," he began—"do gentlemen in your country +forge each other's signatures?"</p> + +<p>"It is not usual," I admitted.</p> + +<p>"Then you, as an English gentleman, surely did not counterfeit my +writing?"</p> + +<p>"Oh no! I wouldn't dream of doing such a thing."</p> + +<p>"Then how do you account for this passport being in your possession?"</p> + +<p>I remained silent.</p> + +<p>"Who forged it?" he insisted.</p> + +<p>"May I look?" said I. "Is that really your signature?"</p> + +<p>"It is indeed. With it you could easily have got out of the country."</p> + +<p>"What an idiot I was not to use it!" I said with quite unfeigned +annoyance.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You were!" he laughed—"they would have passed you straight through the +Customs on seeing this."</p> + +<p>I felt very faint at this moment, and staggered against the table. But I +recovered after an instant. I quite forget his next few remarks, but I +know that I committed myself to a story that I had bought the passport +from a man in a restaurant whom I could not now recognise.</p> + +<p>"But where have you been living all these weeks?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"I was living in the ruins near the Fatih mosque," I said glibly—"and I +used to lunch and dine at various cafés in the city, a different one +every day. It was in one of these places that I bought the passport."</p> + +<p>Djevad Bey considered this statement for a moment. There was a nasty +look in his eye when he spoke again.</p> + +<p>"I shall never rest until I know who it is who can forge my signature so +well," he said—"and until I know, I am afraid you will be very +uncomfortable, for by law you are in the position of a common +malefactor."</p> + +<p>"By law I am in the position of a prisoner of war," I answered—"and as +such, I am liable to a fortnight's simple imprisonment, for attempting +to escape. The Turkish Government signed this agreement only a few +months ago with the British representatives at Berne."</p> + +<p>"A man who forges another's name is not an officer, but a forger," he +said meaningly.</p> + +<p>"Say what you like, and do what you like," I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span> answered—"I am in your +power. But one thing I ask, and that is, that if you punish me, you +should liberate the innocent Theodore and his family. True, we were +found in their house, but——"</p> + +<p>"I cannot believe what you say," said Djevad Bey thoughtfully.</p> + +<p>There was a pause. Then:</p> + +<p>"Come, as man to man, won't you tell me who forged that passport?"</p> + +<p>"You have just called me a liar," said I. "That ends the matter."</p> + +<p>And with an all-is-over-between-us air I left the room, feeling dizzy +and uncomfortable.</p> + +<p>It was then four o'clock in the afternoon, and I had not yet eaten. I +did not feel at all amused at the prospect of the Military Prison.</p> + +<p>I was taken downstairs into the darkness, on entering this inferno of +the damned of Enver Pasha. There were cries and shouts down there, and +men scrambling for food, and other men who looked like wild animals, +behind bars. A swarthy custodian took my name, and I then proceeded, +down a long corridor, until my escort reached an iron portal such as +Dante imagined long ago.</p> + +<p><i>Lasciate ogni speranza voi ch'entrate. . . .</i> The gates had clanged +behind me, and I was in a long, low room below ground level, airless, +ill-lit, filthy with tomato skins and bits of bread. Well-fed rats were +scurrying amongst the garbage, and badly-fed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span> prisoners were pacing the +room forlornly, or twiddling their thumbs, or scratching themselves, or +gnawing crusts of bread.</p> + +<p>They gathered round me, clamouring for news and cigarettes. In less than +no time they had picked my pockets. They had no more morals than +monkeys. Poor devils! who could blame them, living as they did down +there, where no rumours are heard of the outside world, except the cries +of beaten men and the dull sound of wood on flesh?</p> + +<p>"What are you in for?" they asked me.</p> + +<p>"Forgery," said I, not to be outdone by any desperado present.</p> + +<p>One man, however, confessed to murder, having cut a small boy's throat a +few months before. With him I could not compete. But the most of us were +fraudulent contractors, spies, petty swindlers and the like. Our morals, +as I have said, were practically <i>nil</i>. Yet I noticed that a Jew lived +quite apart, and was shunned by everybody. By trade he was a brigand, +but this was no slur on his character as a criminal: the failing that +had led to ostracism was that he pilfered the other prisoners' tomatoes. +That was really beyond a joke. . . .</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>One of my newly found friends took me to a bed, consisting of two planks +on an iron frame, which he said I could have for my very, very own. He +also gave me a piece of bread and some water. On beginning<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span> to eat I at +once realised how hungry I was, and inquired how I should obtain further +nourishment.</p> + +<p>"Luxuries are very difficult to obtain," he said; "how much money have +you got?"</p> + +<p>"Twenty-five piastres,<a name="FNanchor_9_9" id="FNanchor_9_9"></a><a href="#Footnote_9_9" class="fnanchor">[9]</a>" I answered.</p> + +<p>He pulled a long face.</p> + +<p>"That won't go far. But every evening at eight a boy comes round with +the scraps left over from the Officers' Restaurant. Otherwise you will +live on bread and tomatoes."</p> + +<p>"What about bedding?" I asked, to change the subject.</p> + +<p>"Bedding!" he said, looking at me as if I was a perfect idiot. "Do you +mean to say you have come here without any bedding?"</p> + +<p>I admitted I had, but felt too exhausted to explain.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>One was utterly lost in that dungeon. Even when the war ended, would one +be found? I doubted it. Yet as I would naturally never reveal the +forger's name, it seemed unlikely that I would get out. . . . Then I +thought of my companions. I imagined them happily together, in some +place where one could see the sky. . . . As for me, I might languish +down here for ever. Obviously something should be done.</p> + +<p>But what? I rose (rather hastily, for on looking between the planks of +my bed, I noticed that the crack was entirely filled with battalions of +board beasts in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span> line, waiting for a night attack), and began to pace +our narrow and nasty apartment. A group of prisoners were cooking some +pitiful mess by the window. Four others played poker with a very greasy +pack. One was twiddling his thumbs very fast, and I suddenly recollected +that he had been twiddling his thumbs very fast half an hour ago, when I +had first seen him. The lonely Jew was removing lice from the seams of +his coat, and throwing his quarry airily about the room.</p> + +<p>Then I noticed that besides ourselves, there were other prisoners even +more unfortunate. There had been so much to see in my new surroundings +that I had not noticed the people in chains. . . . One side of our room +opened out on to some half-dozen cubicles, each of which contained a +prisoner in chains. These cells had no light or ventilation. They +measured six feet in length by four in breadth. In solitude and +obscurity, fettered by wrist and ankle to shackles that weighed a +hundredweight, human beings lived there—and are still living for aught +I know—for months and even years, until death released them. These men +were ravenous and verminous, but they had by no means lost their hope +and faith. I shall never hear the hymn—</p> + +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Thy rule, O Christ, begin,</span> +<span class="i0"> Break with Thine iron rod</span> +<span class="i0"> The tyrannies of sin . . ."</span> +</div></div> + +<p>without remembering that an Armenian lad said those words to me, lying +in chains in one of these cells.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span> With another prisoner, a Greek, who +had endured eleven months of this torture, I also had some speech.</p> + +<p>"Yes, the war will be over soon," he said. "My God, how good this +cigarette of yours tastes! I haven't touched tobacco for a month. But be +careful. The sentries must not see you speaking to me."</p> + +<p>"Yes, the chains were bad at first," he continued when the sentry's back +was turned, "but one gets used to anything in time. And I have had time +enough. It takes a lot to kill a healthy man. Before I came in here I +used to be strong and well. I used to ride two hours every day, on my +own horses. Now my horses have gone to feed the Turkish Army and I can +hardly drag my chains as far as the water-tap. But God is great. . . ."</p> + +<p>God is great! <i>Allahu akbar!</i></p> + +<p>I determined to get away from that dungeon at all costs, if for no other +reason than because I had to survive to write about it.</p> + +<p>I went to the big gate, and tried to bluff the sentry to let me go to +see the Commandant. But a clean face and a full stomach are practically +necessary to a <i>débonnaire</i> appearance. When one is scrubby and starved +it is almost impossible to succeed in "wangling." I stared at the sentry +through my eyeglass, and I offered him my twenty-five piastres as if I +had plenty more <i>baksheesh</i> to give to a good boy, but I utterly and +dismally failed to impress him.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span></p> + +<p>"<i>Yok, yok, yok</i>," he said, looking at me as one might look at an +orang-outang that has</p> + +<div class="bbox">DO NOT IRRITATE THIS ANIMAL</div> + +<p>written over its cage.</p> + +<p>I gibbered in impotent rage, and then went and put my head under a tap.</p> + +<p>A little later, while I was drying my head with my handkerchief, I saw +some barbers come to the big gate. They stood there, clapping and +clacking their strops. Instantly, my fellow-prisoners rushed to the gate +as if they had heard the beating of the wings of some angel of +deliverance. This was apparently the occasion of their weekly shave, +when egress to the corridor was permitted, the barbers naturally not +wishing to go inside our loathsome room.</p> + +<p>Taking this tide in the affairs of men at the flood, I found it led on +to fortune. I was in the corridor with six other prisoners, and a barber +confronted me with a razor in his hand. He whetted his steel +expectantly, but I would have none of him, and seized a passing official +by the arm.</p> + +<p>He was a dog-collar gentleman.</p> + +<p>A dog-collar gentleman, I must explain, is Authority Incarnate. On his +swelling chest he wears a crescent tablet of brass, with the one word +<i>Quanun</i> inscribed thereon. <i>Quanun</i> means "law," and the wearer of this +badge is responsible for public decorum of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span> every kind. If a Turkish +officer be seen drinking alcohol in uniform, or playing cards, or +flirting, or talking disrespectfully of the Germans, or indulging in any +other prohibited amusement, he is instantly arrested by the dog-collar +gentleman, and brought to prison. In his official capacity, the +dog-collar gentleman is one of the most important personages in Turkey: +policeman, pussfoot and prude in one.</p> + +<p>"There is some mistake," I said excitedly. "I am a British officer, and +have been put in a room with criminals."</p> + +<p>"You a British officer?" said the dog-collar man incredulously.</p> + +<p>"A captain of cavalry," said I, slipping him the twenty-five piastre +note.</p> + +<p>"<i>Pekke, Effendim</i>," he answered. "Very good, sir, I will see what can +be done."</p> + +<p>I had burnt my boats now.</p> + +<p>About ten minutes later, just as I was flatly refusing to either be +shaved or to return through the gate, a sergeant-major and a squad of +soldiers arrived and bore me off to the Prison Commandant.</p> + +<p>Here I caught sight of my two companions, and was able to fling them a +few words through the "Yok, yok" of the sentries. They also had been +separated, and put amongst criminals. Their lot had been no different to +mine.</p> + +<p>"A slight mistake has occurred," said the Prison Commandant to me, "but +now you shall have one of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span> the best rooms in the prison. Only I am +afraid you will be alone there, until after your trial."</p> + +<p>Of course I did not believe him, but I was glad that I was to be alone.</p> + +<p>I was taken to a room on the upper floor, furnished with a bed and +blanket, and with a window opening on to a corridor, where people were +always passing. The Commandant had spoken the truth. It was quite a good +room, as prison apartments go, and the traffic of the corridor amused +me.</p> + +<p>At nine o'clock that night I was able to get a dish of haricot beans, my +first meal of the day.</p> + +<p>Then I settled down to a month of solitary confinement.</p> + +<p>I think I may claim to write of this torture, which exists not only in +Turkey but through the prisons of the civilised world, with some expert +knowledge. I use the word "torture" because it is nothing less. Solitary +confinement is a punishment as barbarous and as senseless as the +thumbscrew or the rack: more so indeed, for it is better to kill the +body than to maim the mind. The spirit of man is more than his poor +flesh; the war has reminded us of that. And if it has also reminded us +that our prison systems are archaic, so much the better for the world.</p> + +<p>At times, in gaol, a tide of pity rose in me for all life created that +is caged by man.</p> + +<p>Take a felon at one end of the scale, and a canary at the other. The +felon is imprisoned for twenty years.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span> For twenty years, less some small +remission for good conduct, an abnormal brain lives in abnormal +surroundings, where hope dies, and ideals fail. He has sinned against +society, and therefore society murders his mind. Corporal and capital +punishment, I have come to believe, are saner than the cruelties, +immeasurable by "the world's coarse thumb and finger," suffered by the +mind of man in solitary confinement or the common gaol. The +sentimentalist who shudders at the cat and gallows forgets the worse, +slow, hidden horrors that pass unseen in the felon's brain. Perhaps the +sentimentalist does not realise them. Perhaps also the old lady who +keeps a canary does not realise the feelings of her pet. She may think +she is protecting it from the birds and beasts outside. But I feel now +that I know what the canary feels. . . . However, it is difficult to +argue about questions involving imagination.</p> + +<p>I lived on hope, chiefly, during the days that followed. With nothing to +read, no cutting instrument of any sort, no washing arrangements, and no +one to speak to, the time passed hideously. I used to gaze at my watch +sometimes, appalled at the slow passage of time. The second-hand had a +horrible fascination for me. It simply crawled round its dial and each +instant, between the jerks of the little hand, the precious moments of +my youth were passing, beyond recall. Madness lay that way. If I had +been a real criminal, I wondered, would I have repented?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span> Unquestionably +the answer was, "No!" Solitary confinement would have made me a +permanent enemy of society.</p> + +<p>There were no smiles and soap in that Military Prison, no scissors, no +sanitation. There was nothing human or clean about it. Nothing but +destruction will rid it of its vermin, or scour it of its taint of +disease and death.</p> + +<p>Perhaps the lack of scissors was the amenity of life whose absence I +most deplored. Try to do without a cutting instrument for a month, and +you will realise why it was that some sort of cutting edge was the first +need of primitive man and remains a prime necessity to-day.</p> + +<p>However, as a matter of fact, I did not remain a whole month without a +cutting edge. Before a fortnight had elapsed I had bettered my position +in many ways. I had secured a knife (which I stole from the restaurant), +a wash-basin (sent from the Embassy), and pencil and paper from a +friendly clerk. With these writing instruments I used to correspond +voluminously with the other British prisoners, by various privy methods.</p> + +<p>I had a regular routine for my days now. Early mornings were devoted to +walking briskly up and down my room in various gaits—the sailor's roll, +for instance, and the Napoleonic stride, and the deportment of various +of my acquaintances. During this time I avoided thinking, but generally +imagined some incident in which I took a distinguished part. In the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span> +forenoon I played games, such as throwing my soap to the ceiling and +catching it again, or juggling with cigarettes, both lighted and +unlighted. The afternoon generally passed in sleep, but the evening and +nights were bad. It was then that the second hand of my watch began to +exert its fascination. The electric light bulb, however, could +occasionally be tampered with, and on these occasions there was always +the hope that the sentries would get a shock in putting it right. Also I +found amusement in my watch chain, which I made into an absorbing +puzzle.</p> + +<p>But, curiously enough, I found it impossible to write anything, except +lengthy letters.</p> + +<p>A real prisoner in a well-constituted prison does not enjoy his days any +more than I did. On the other hand, he knows how long his sentence is +going to last, whereas in my case I was confined during Djevad Bey's +pleasure, or the duration of the war, and each day brought me nearer +nothing—except insanity.</p> + +<p>One evening, however, an Imperial Son-in-law entered my room, and lit my +life with a certain interest. His father, who was a Court official, had +betrothed him to a princess, and he had consequently assumed the title +of Damad, or Son-in-law. This youth had had a remarkable career. While +still a guileless lad, scarcely broke from the harem, he had used his +revolver so injudiciously that he had seriously damaged one of the +Imperial apartments, besides killing the elderly Colonel at whom he was +aiming.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span> Enver Pasha had of course himself a weakness for this sort of +thing, but still, to save appearances, the Damad had to be punished. He +was therefore condemned to three months' confinement in the Military +Prison. Although nominally in residence there, he used, however, to +leave prison every Friday to attend the Sultan's Selamlik, and only +return on Monday night. Moreover, he not only thoroughly amused himself +during his protracted week-ends, he also squeezed every bit of pleasure +possible out of his prison days. Life was a lemon, which he sucked with +grace. He was free to wander where he wished in the prison, and to eat +and drink what he liked. The best of everything was good enough for the +Damad. Grapes came for him from the Sultan's garden, and a faithful +negro slave was always at his heels.</p> + +<p>The Damad had rather charming manners. He knocked politely before +entering my cell.</p> + +<p>"Excuse my interrupting," he said, "but——"</p> + +<p>"You are not interrupting me at all," I answered, getting up from my +bed. "I do wish you would stop and talk. Have a cigarette? I haven't +talked to anyone for a fortnight."</p> + +<p>"I am so sorry, but I daren't talk to you. That is a pleasure to come. I +wanted to borrow something, that's all. And, I say, will you allow me to +offer you one of my cigarettes—they're the Sultan's brand, you know. +Better take the box. Well, I saw you with an eyeglass through the window +in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span> passage. Will you lend it me to appear at the next Selamlik?"</p> + +<p>I was delighted, and said so. To my sorrow, the Damad instantly took his +departure.</p> + +<p>"Smuggle me in something to read," I said, as he left with profuse +apologies for his hurry.</p> + +<p>He nodded, and his long left eyelash flickered.</p> + +<p>Next day his little nigger boy, when the sentry's back was turned, +popped about twenty leaflets into my window. I seized them avidly, and +found that they were the astounding adventures of Nat Pinkerton in +French. Never have my eyes rested so gleefully on a printed page. I +consumed them cautiously, else I should have gorged myself with +excitement at a single sitting. Like an epicure, I made them last, by +always breaking off at the critical juncture of the great detective's +affairs. From that moment my life flowed in more agreeable channels.</p> + +<p>"Devouring time, blunt though the lion's paws." . . . I suddenly +understood Shakespeare's meaning afresh. Time had dulled the clawing of +regret.</p> + +<p>I had failed to escape, it is true, but there was always hope. Things +were getting better. The women had been released. Thémistoclé only +awaited a formal trial. My own condition had improved. I had been moved +from my solitary confinement, just when I had secured a Bible, and a +large tin of Keating's, wherewith to combat the devils of captivity. But +any change is better than none at all, I thought. The<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span> mortal hunger for +companionship is strong, and my new room, besides containing an officer, +also enjoyed an excellent and varied view.</p> + +<p>After a few days' experience of my new room-mate, however, who was a +Bulgarian Bolshevik, I began to pine for solitude again. A more +unmitigated Tishbite I have never seen, but fortunately he was smaller +than I. When I found him washing his feet in my basin one night, I smote +him, hip and thigh.</p> + +<p>That Bulgarian has coloured my whole view of the Balkans. The less said +about him, the better.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>One day about thirty British officers arrived from the camp at Yuzgad, +whence they had escaped and been recaptured on the occasion when +Commander Cochrane and his gallant band of seven marched four hundred +and fifty miles to freedom. All the party who arrived in the Military +Prison were in uniform, and in excellent spirits. They were like a +breath of fresh air in that sordid place. On being put into three rooms, +these thirty brave men and true at once demanded beds to sleep on. In +due time the beds arrived, in the usual condition of beds in that place. +They might have been so many Stilton cheeses. Our thirty prisoners, +despite the protest of the guards, carried out their couches into the +passage, and lit two Primus stoves. Over these stoves they proceeded to +pass the component parts of each bed, so that its occupants were utterly +exterminated.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span></p> + +<p>Imagine the scene. A dismal corridor, a flaming stove, Turkish sentries +protesting with Hercules in khaki, cleansing the Augean stable. . . . +But protests were useless. The smell of burnt bugs mingled with the +other contaminations of the prison. Our officers had done in little what +civilisation will one day do at large throughout that land.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>A British officer, going to the feeding place, looked into a window +which gave on to my room. But I was kept strictly apart from my fellows, +and the sentry consequently tried to drag the officer away.</p> + +<p>"Leave me alone, you son of Belial!" said he. "Isn't a window meant to +look through?"</p> + +<p>Windows in that prison were certainly not meant to look through.</p> + +<p>From my new eyrie I had a composite view of startling contrasts. Down +below, some soldiers were living in a verandah, behind wooden bars. +Anything more animal than their life it would be impossible to conceive. +Every afternoon at three o'clock a parade of handcuffed men were +marshalled two by two, and then pushed into these dens. Beyond them lay +the city of Stamboul with its clustered cupolas and nine-trellised +alley-ways. And beyond the city were the blue waters of the Marmora.</p> + +<p>Then there was the window in the passage through which the British +officer had observed me. This gave<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span> me a view of the rank and fashion of +the prison, so that I knew who was being tried, who received visitors, +and so on.</p> + +<p>And directly opposite me, in another face of the building, was yet +another window, with curtains drawn. That was the window of the Hall of +Justice. Directly under my perch, but rather too far to jump, were some +telegraph lines which might possibly have provided a means of escape. +Sentries used to watch me carefully, whenever I looked at these +telegraph lines. I was considered a dangerous, indeed a desperate +character, and my every movement was regarded with apprehension. Not +only was no one (except now the Bulgarian) allowed to speak to me, but I +was not even permitted to look at anything, or anyone, for long, without +being bidden to desist. Whatever I did, in fact, I was told not to do.</p> + +<p>Eventually I made a scene.</p> + +<p>The immediate cause of the row was that I had a glimpse of a sitting in +the Hall of Justice. I had often wondered what passed there, for at +times faint screams used to hint of the infamies that passed behind +those curtains.</p> + +<p>One day I saw.</p> + +<p>The Hall of Justice is a fine room, with a lordly sweep of view over the +city and the sea. Why anyone chose such a situation as a torture chamber +I do not know. But there it was. There was something dramatic about the +beautiful prospect and the bestial<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span> people who sat with their backs +turned to it, interrogating the Armenians.</p> + +<div class="poem2"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Every prospect pleases and only man is vile."</span> +</div></div> + +<p>Very vile were the two Turkish officers, judges I suppose, who sat +smoking cigarettes, while an old Armenian woman and her son stood before +them to be tried. What passed I could not hear, but evidently her +answers were not satisfactory, for presently the policeman who stood +behind her kicked her violently, so that her head jerked back and her +arms flung forward, and she was sent tottering towards the judges' +table. Then the policeman took a stick as thick as a man's wrist, and +began to beat her over the head and shoulders. Her son meanwhile had +fallen on his knees and was crawling about the room, dragging his +chains, and supplicating first the judges and then the policeman. He was +imploring them, no doubt, to have pity on his mother's age and weakness.</p> + +<p>She fell down in a faint. The policeman kicked her in the face, and then +prodded her with a stick until she rose.</p> + +<p>I wish the people who are ready to "let the Turk manage his own country" +could have seen that savage pantomime.</p> + +<p>I tried to get out to stop it, but was driven back with bayonets.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Djevad Bey, the Military Commandant of Constantinople, with a +resplendent retinue, arrived one day<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span> to inspect us. With his long +cigarette-holder, and long shiny boots, he swaggered round, followed by +<i>ormulu</i> staff officers and diligent clerks and pompous gentlemen in +dog-collars. Everywhere around him was dirt, disease, destitution, and +despair. But Djevad Bey in his shiny boots "cared for none of these +things." He was himself, with his medals and moustaches, and that was +enough.</p> + +<p>"What more do you want, <i>effendi</i>?" he asked me after I had made a few +casual complaints (for it was useless to take him seriously). "You have +one of the most beautiful views in Europe from the garden."</p> + +<p>"But I am not allowed into the garden."</p> + +<p>"Have a little patience, <i>mon cher</i>," said he. "It is rather crowded +with older prisoners now. But in a little time perhaps, when I have +discovered the name of that forger . . ."</p> + +<p>And with a condescending smile he passed on between ranks of sentries +standing stiffly at attention, to inspect another portion of his +miserable menagerie.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Ah, Djevad, <i>mon cher</i>, those days seem distant now! You and your +popinjays have passed. . . .</p> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_9_9" id="Footnote_9_9"></a><a href="#FNanchor_9_9"><span class="label">[9]</span></a> Five shillings.</p></div> + + +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII</h2> + +<h3>OUR SECOND ESCAPE</h3> + + +<p>The ghosts of the prisoners of the Tower, or of the Bastille, could they +revisit earth, would undoubtedly have found themselves more at home in +the Military Prison, Constantinople, than anywhere else in the world. +The dark ages were still a matter of actuality in the dark dungeons of +Constantinople in 1918. To be tried, for instance, was there considered +something very up-to-date. Most prisoners were not tried, until their +sentence was nearly over, when they were formally liberated.</p> + +<p>After a month of solitary confinement, and a week of confinement with +the Bulgarian, which was an even worse travail of the spirit, I received +the joyful news that the preliminaries for my court-martial were almost +complete.</p> + +<p>I attended this first sitting with the thrill of a debutante going to a +ball. I determined to make up arrears of talk. And I did. I began at the +beginning of my life, sketched my education, and came by easy stages to +my career as an officer in the Indian Cavalry. The clerk who recorded my +evidence wrote for two<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span> hours without pause or intermission, but it is +worthy of record that at the end of that time we had only reached the +point where an officer of the Psamattia fire brigade, hearing, as I +thought, a suspicious movement on the roof of the house across the +street, kept a stern and steadfast gaze in our direction, while we +crouched trembling under cover of the parapet. At this point the +proceedings were adjourned.</p> + +<p>But the Court had let fall a useful piece of information. Robin was back +in prison, but was being kept even more secret and secluded than I.</p> + +<p>However, love laughs at locksmiths, and it takes more than a Turkish +sentry to defeat a persevering prisoner. We sighted each other in +passages, we met in wash-places, we flipped notes to each other in bits +of bread, or sent them by a third party concealed in cigarettes. By such +means, I learnt Robin's remarkable story. . . . After being caught at +Malgara, ten days after his first escape, he was taken back to the +Central Gaol, where he was treated as a Turkish deserter and given +nothing but black bread to eat. He thereupon went on hunger strike for +three days, and alarmed the Turks by nearly dying in their hands. Later +he was allowed to purchase a liberal diet, including even wine and +cigars, which he declared were necessary to his health, but his +constitution being enfeebled by privation, he developed alarming +swellings over his face and scalp, which were probably due to some +noxious ingredient of the hair-dye he had used. In this condition<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span> he +was sent to hospital, and from hospital he escaped again. A Greek +patient was his accomplice.</p> + +<p>Giving this man ten pounds to buy a disguise with, he made an +appointment with him for nine o'clock outside the German Embassy (!) and +then set out on his adventures dressed in a white night-shirt. How he +eluded the sentries is a mystery to me, although I inspected the place +after the armistice. Patients were then saying (Turks, who are sometimes +sportsmen, among them): "Here is where a British officer escaped. Thus +and thus did he climb—past the sentries—along that buttress—down into +the street hard by the guard-house!". . . . He arrived punctually at +nine o'clock at the German Embassy, in his night-shirt. But the Greek +accomplice was not there. He was at that moment drinking and dicing with +Robin's money. For half an hour Robin waited for him by a tree in the +shadows of a side street leading to the sea. The few people who passed +him stared hard, and then moved nervously across to the other pavement. +They thought he was a madman.</p> + +<p>Robin, I think, felt he was a madman too. In his present situation and +dress, detection was only a matter of time. However, chance might be +kind and send him a disguise. Cold and disconsolate, he ascended the +main road that led to the top of the Grand Rue de Pera, and taking his +way through the traffic, dipped down into the ruins beyond. The saint +who protects prisoners must have guided that tall white<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span> figure, that +paddled across the busy town. . . . And more, once he was hiding in the +ruins, the saint must have sent along the small boy who passed close to +him in that lonely spot of cypresses and desolation. All-unknowing of +the fate that awaited him behind the angle of the wall, the small boy +strode sturdily along, thinking perhaps of the nice bran-bread and +synthetic coffee that awaited him for supper. Robin pounced out of the +shadow, and seized him by the scruff of the neck. . . . The victim +instantly began to blubber.</p> + +<p>"Give me all your clothes," said Robin.</p> + +<p>"Who are you?" sobbed the little boy.</p> + +<p>"Brigand," said Robin shortly.</p> + +<p>This answer had the desired effect. The youth dried his tears, and +divested himself of his apparel, which Robin immediately put on. The +boots were much too small to wear and were returned. Still, the brigand +was so satisfied with his clothes that he gave the small boy four pounds +with a magnanimous gesture. Then he set out to seek his fortune, wearing +a tiny fezz, and a coat whose sleeves reached half-way down his forearm. +For four days he dodged about the city, never more than a few hours at +one place, until, just when his strength and his funds were exhausted, +he found a house to give him shelter. From here he made a plan to +escape, but was recaught through treachery at the docks, and taken back +to the Military Prison. Only an Ali Baba could do justice to these +experiences. Alas! the best books<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span> of adventure are just those which are +never written.</p> + +<p>Anyway we were together again, two desperadoes in dungeon, "apart but +not afar."</p> + +<p>The Damad's little nigger boy often contributed to our schemes for +communication. This lad, who was in training for the position of keeper +of the harem, and consequently belonged to the species that rises to +eminence in Turkey, was a remarkable child. He did exactly what he liked +and no one dared interfere with the little Lord Chamberlain <i>in posse</i>. +He had an uncanny brain and uncanny strength, and I can quite understand +the reliance which Turkish Pashas are wont to repose in these servants. +I relied on him myself at times, and was never disappointed.</p> + +<p>The arrival of a neutral Red Cross delegate, at about this time, did +much to secure us better treatment. For over five weeks now I had not +breathed fresh air, but directly the Red Cross delegate arrived I was +allowed to go to the bath, escorted by two dog-collar gentlemen with +revolvers and two sentries with side arms. While glad to feel I was +employing so many of the Turkish Army while at my ablutions, I could not +but deplore their anxiety on my behalf.</p> + +<p>"No officer has ever succeeded in escaping from this wonderful gaol of +yours," I said to the Prison Commandant, who (in contrast to Djevad) was +quite a good fellow in his way "and I don't suppose anyone ever will. +Why therefore go to the trouble of guarding us so<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span> closely? It would be +a very graceful act on your part if you allowed us to go occasionally +into the garden."</p> + +<p>"Yarin, inshallah," murmured the Commandant, meaning, "To-morrow, please +God."</p> + +<p>And to-morrow, strange to say, actually arrived in about a week's time.</p> + +<p>Perhaps a bomb raid hastened matters, by stimulating the Commandant's +desire to do graceful acts before the war was over.</p> + +<p>One of the bombs of this raid dropped in the school playground just +outside the Seraskerat Square, and shattered all the windows in my +passage. Fortunately all the children were away, it being Friday. No one +was killed by that bomb, but a large handsome Turkish officer prisoner +standing beside me in the passage, when some panes of glass beside us +burst, threw himself on the floor and refused to rise again, declaring +he was killed. A full ten minutes he lay, with his moustaches in the +dust, surrounded by sentries. In the confusion that ensued Robin +cleverly slipped over to me and we had a very useful chat.</p> + +<p>The first and most vital thing to do, we decided, was to get into +Constantinople, in order to learn how the situation really stood, and +make our plans for escaping, so that in the event of our success we +should be in possession of knowledge useful to the Allies.</p> + +<p>Having settled this, we returned to our respective cells, where I +witnessed a scene that, by contrast with the behaviour of the nervous +Turkish officer, reminded<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span> me of the "patient deep disdain" that the +East will always feel for the marvels of our age of steel. Our machines +are things of a day, but the ancient needs remain. The bomb that had +dropped in the playground had wrecked a large tree that stood in its +centre, and hardly had its smoke cleared away before an elderly peasant +appeared with a donkey and started collecting twigs and splinters for +firewood. Slowly and stolidly, under that barrage-riven sky, the old man +continued gathering the aftermath of the raid, before the raid was +finished. Empires might crumble to the dust: he would cook his dinner +with the pieces.</p> + +<p>This bombing business "cleared the air" for us greatly, and another +little incident clinched matters.</p> + +<p>An officious sentry, who had received the usual orders about treating +Robin with especial severity, so far exceeded his instructions as to +slap Robin in the face when he was merely standing at the door of his +room. Robin instantly knocked him down with a hook on the point of the +jaw that would have sent a prizefighter to sleep, let alone a <i>posta</i>. +There was a click of rifles and a glitter of bayonets. Sergeants were +whistled for. Swords and spurs rang down the corridor. The Commandant +arrived.</p> + +<p>What seemed an awkward situation for Robin at first now turned greatly +to his advantage. He demanded an apology from the Minister of War, and +although he did not receive this, our treatment immediately improved. +The Turkish sentry was so<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span> clearly in the wrong that the Commandant felt +he should do something to placate us.</p> + +<p>One day, Robin and I were told that we would be allowed into +Constantinople to shop, provided we gave our parole not to escape while +in the town.</p> + +<p>This we immediately decided to do, and wrote a promise stating that +while we could give no permanent engagement about our behaviour while +guarded in prison, if we were allowed out into the town we bound +ourselves to return faithfully to our quarters at a fixed time. Next +day, accordingly, we dressed in the quaint apologies for clothes in our +possession, and sallied out, blinking in the sunlight of the square.</p> + +<p>Imagine our surprise when we found an escort of ten armed men, who were +to accompany us to see that we kept our word. Highly incensed, we +returned directly to the Commandant's office, followed by our retinue. +At first the Commandant did not understand the nature of the insult he +had offered to us, but eventually he agreed that a squad of soldiers was +unnecessary to enforce an Englishman's promise, and he promised to send +us out again on the following day, more suitably attended.</p> + +<p>This time there were only two dog-collar gentlemen to accompany us, and +although we were later joined by a third, who, I think, smelt beer and +beef in the offing, we considered that this number of attendants was not +unsuitable to our importance. (For a long time after escape, indeed, I +was always expecting to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span> find a sentry at my elbow. They were very +convenient for carrying parcels, and during this excursion the minions +of the law actually carried back to prison our escaping gear, wrapped in +harmless-looking packages.) Rope, fezzes, and maps were the articles +chiefly required, and these we purchased without much difficulty in +restaurants where we were known. Robin and I were adepts at this sort of +thing by now. One of us had only to go over to our escort's table, and +standing over them, inquire whether they preferred black beer or yellow: +meanwhile the other would be "wangling" the waiter. Besides material +accessories we also required certain moral support. Was it worth while +to escape? Would the Bulgarians attack Constantinople? What was the +<i>morale</i> of the Tchatchaldja garrison? . . . . All this and much more we +learnt from Miss Whitaker, whom we met (just by chance, do you think?) +at tea at the Petits Champs.</p> + +<p>We returned from our excursion highly satisfied with our prospects. That +evening we thanked the Commandant warmly for our delightful day, and +asked one favour more, namely that we should be allowed out regularly +into the garden, in order to get the exercise necessary to our health. +An hour's walk every day would greatly relieve the tension of captivity. +Surely, we said, the Commandant did not intend to keep us caged like +wild beasts, with a minimum of air and exercise?</p> + +<p>Permission was granted, with the proviso that we<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span> should not talk to +other prisoners. Of all black sheep we were the blackest ones.</p> + +<p>So we walked in the garden, and discussed plans of escape. We now had +fezzes, rope, and plenty of money. On the other hand, there were so many +sentries everywhere, and so many doors and barriers to get through, that +the thing seemed impossible at first.</p> + +<p>Bribery was not to be thought of. Any attempt in this direction would +have sent us through the portals of the damned again, to await the end +of the war in chains.</p> + +<p>Only in the garden was there the slightest chance of success. Our +chance, however, lay, as before, in the element of the unexpected.</p> + +<p>On the far side of the garden from the prison were some iron railings, +which overlooked a drop of from one hundred to two hundred feet, to a +street below. These railings were spaced at just about the width of a +man's head. We tested them at various points while apparently engaged in +looking at the view, and made a note of the gaps most suitable to +squeeze through. No one appeared to think it likely we would try to +escape over a precipice. The six sentries in the garden therefore, whose +sole duty it was to watch us, generally devoted their attention to +seeing we did not talk to the Greek clerks who came into the restaurant +to get their dinner of an evening. Beyond occasionally saying the magic +word "<i>Yok</i>," they allowed us to do much what we liked at the other side +of the garden,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span> where our interests, they thought, could only be of an +innocent nature.</p> + +<p>At first our idea was to get through the railings and slide down a rope +into the street, but there were practical difficulties about this. +Thirty fathoms of rope are impossible to conceal on one's person. +Besides, we thought of a better plan.</p> + +<p>Having got through the railings, we would climb along outside them, past +the garden, and along the wall of a printing-house, where their support +still continued, until we reached the main square of the Seraskerat. +Here we would squeeze back through the railings (for the drop was still +too difficult to negotiate) and proceed as follows: We would stroll to +the centre of the square, light cigars, and then suddenly altering our +demeanour, hurry back to the staff garage where the military motor-cars +were kept. The sentry on guard would certainly think we were chauffeurs.</p> + +<p>With a guttural curse or two, we would start up a car, and drive +directly to the Bulgarian frontier, or Dedeagatch, as the situation +dictated. If anyone attempted to stop us on the way, we had only to say, +"<i>Kreuzhimmel donnerwetter</i>," and open out the throttle. The plan was +charming in its simplicity and <i>kolossal</i> in conception. We already +imagined ourselves arriving with full details of the Constantinople +defences, in a big Mercédès car. The plan was complete. We had only to +do it!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span></p> + +<p>Opportunity came one twilight evening, when we two were alone in the +garden, with the six sentries, all rather sleepy, and the Damad, who had +just returned from a hectic week-end up the Bosphorus. He was full of +stories and news which we did not want to hear. For a time he bored us +to tears talking of the war, but at last conversation flagged, and we +bade him a cordial good-night, making an appointment to see him again +next day, which we trusted we would not be in a position to keep.</p> + +<p>Then we edged to the far side of the garden, where the railings were. +The six sleepy sentries were watching the stream of people going into +the restaurant near the entrance gate. They paid no attention to us, and +looked—rather sadly, I thought—at the Greeks who were coming in to +have a square meal, a thing that they themselves could only dream of.</p> + +<p>Feeling that the moment was too good to be lost, and yet somehow too +good to be true, we stood by the railings, with our heads half through.</p> + +<p>"Come on," said Robin cheerily.</p> + +<p>I put my head through, and my flinching flesh followed a moment later. I +hung over the drop and looked and listened tensely for any stir in the +garden, expecting every moment to hear the clamour of sentries and the +drone of bullets. But all was quiet. One sentry lit another's cigarette. +A third was playing with a kitten. The others had their backs turned.</p> + +<p>We clambered along, and reached the printing-house.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span> We were out of +sight of the sentries now, and the way seemed clear, across a patch of +ivy, to a gap which would give us entrance to the main square. Once we +had gained its comparative freedom, success, I felt, was certain.</p> + +<p>But my hope was short-lived. The railings on the wall of the +printing-house led past an open window, which we had not been able to +see from the garden. At this window three Turks were sitting. They were +officials of the printing-house no doubt, and were now engaged in +discussing short drinks and the prospect of the Bosphorus. Had we +interposed our bodies between them and the view, we would have been in a +very unpleasant position. With one finger they could have pushed us down +to the street a hundred feet below, or else detained us where we were, +to wait like wingless flies until soldiers came to drag us back.</p> + +<p>It was a horrid anti-climax, but we decided to go back. There was no +alternative.</p> + +<p>That return journey was quite hideous, for at any moment before we +reached our gap a sentry might have seen us. And even if they had missed +us at fifty yards (and we were a sitting shot against the sunset) we +would have looked absolutely foolish and been abjectly helpless.</p> + +<p>All went well, however. We squeezed back through the railings, and found +ourselves in the prison garden again. Our attempt had failed. I felt as +if someone<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span> had suddenly flattened me out with a rolling pin. But Robin +was quite undismayed.</p> + +<p>"Our luck is in," he said—"else we would have been spotted against +those railings just now. Look, it is a full moon, like the last time we +escaped. I bet we succeed to-night."</p> + +<p>"I won't take your money," I said, hugely heartened, however.</p> + +<p>Four of our sentries were smoking sadly, and looking into the +restaurant, as boys look into a cake-shop. The fifth was standing by the +gold-fish pond. The sixth leaned against the railings, about eighty +yards away from us, looking out towards Galata Bridge.</p> + +<p>After hurriedly dusting ourselves, we walked straight past him. He +turned and glanced at his watch, and then at us.</p> + +<p>"Just five minutes more," we urged—"we haven't had nearly enough +exercise yet."</p> + +<p>And we continued walking round the garden, breathlessly discussing +plans.</p> + +<p>The sentry nodded and sighed, then turned again to contemplate the +Golden Horn.</p> + +<p>Our one remaining chance was to walk straight out of the gate near the +restaurant, into the main square. In moments of intense stress one can +sometimes grasp the psychology of a situation in a flash. We saw into +the minds of the sentries, I believe. They were bored and unsuspecting. +A sort of prevision came to us that we would be mistaken for Greek +employees of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span> Ministry, and could stroll unquestioned through the +gate, if we acted instantly.</p> + +<p>It was getting dark now. We slipped into a patch of shadow, threw away +our hats, and taking out the fezzes which we always carried concealed +under our waistcoats, we put them on our heads. Then we strolled on.</p> + +<p>To understand our feelings, it must be remembered that no officer has +ever before succeeded in escaping from this ancient prison. The Turks +prided themselves on the fact. Recently, a political suspect had made a +desperate dash for liberty by the same entrance as we now approached, +but he had been caught before he reached the outer square. Good men had +tried—but fools rush in where angels fear to tread. And we <i>knew</i>, by +sheer faith, that we would not be stopped.</p> + +<p>We walked very slowly now, stopping sometimes to gesticulate, after the +manner of the Mediterranean peoples. What we said I have no idea, but I +think I spoke <i>staccato</i> Italian, while Robin answered in Arabic +imprecations. Near the gate I remember saying to him passionately in +English: "For God's sake turn your trousers down," for to one's +sensitive mind such an oddity of dress was certain to spell detection. +This was idiotic, but my nerves were on edge.</p> + +<p>Mingling with the Greeks who were coming out of the restaurant, we came +at a very, very leisurely pace to the sentry-guarded gate. Everyone has +a pass of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span> course, both to enter and to leave this gate, but season +ticket holders, so to speak, are rarely asked to produce their +credentials.</p> + +<a name="SERASKERAT_SQUARE" id="SERASKERAT_SQUARE"></a> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/213.jpg" width="400" height="430" alt="" title="" /> +</div> +<h3>THE SQUARE OF THE SERASKERAT, CONSTANTINOPLE</h3> + +<p>We came level with the sentries at the gate. One of them took a step +forward, as if to ask Robin a question. Then he looked at us again, and +changed his mind. I have a sort of idea that my white waistcoat and +ornamental watch chain saved the situation. No one with such belongings +could fail to be a personage of clerkly habit.</p> + +<p>In that instant, however, faith had almost faltered, and the temptation +to quicken one's pace had been almost irresistible. To bolt into the +comparative freedom of the main square was now quite feasible, but we +had to remember that once there, our difficulties were only half over. +Every gate was guarded: the same high railings as we had already +negotiated formed its perimeter, and there was a battalion of soldiers +in the square itself. Therefore until we were out of the Seraskerat, we +had to proceed with caution.</p> + +<p>Lethargically and nonchalantly we drew away from the restaurant. +Although time was now a factor of importance (for at any moment the +sentries in the garden might miss us), we dared not hurry our steps.</p> + +<p>"There are no cars about. Are we going into the garage?" I murmured +doubtfully to Robin.</p> + +<p>At that moment an individual came up behind us, who settled the question +out of hand. He was a Turkish officer. After passing us, he turned round +to stare.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span> We returned his scrutiny with careful composure, but it was +quite obvious that he did not like the look of us. Yet our appearance +was none of his business: he hesitated a moment and then decided to do +exactly what one might do oneself if one saw a suspicious-looking +individual in a public place: he went and told a policeman. We saw him +hurrying to the main gate, where he called out the sergeant of the +guard. We, meanwhile, were slinking diagonally across the square, as if +bound for the side gate. To go to the garage now, as if approaching it +from the Ministry of War, was impossible, as we were being watched. We +whispered together, making new plans.</p> + +<p>It was almost past twilight, but the electric light over the main gate +showed us the Turkish officer in confabulation with the sergeant of the +guard. No doubt he was saying that our passports should be scrutinised +before we were allowed to pass. The sergeant saluted as the officer +left, and then stood in the circle of light, a burly and menacing +figure, peering into the gathering darkness.</p> + +<p>We had now reached the middle of the Seraskerat and saw that the side +gate was shut, and sentry-guarded. There was also a sentry in the +adjacent shed. The main gate was impossible of access. So also was the +garage. Our only chance lay in going forward.</p> + +<p>We went on, past the shed, until we reached some small trees by the side +of the outer railings. We tried to put our heads through, but owing to a +slight<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span> difference of spacing, we found this could not be done. We would +have to climb over them.</p> + +<p>A couple of people were crossing the square. The sergeant stood blinking +at the entrance. Else all was quiet.</p> + +<p>The railings were only some twelve foot high, so they did not form a +serious obstacle, but on their other side there was a drop of ten feet, +into a crowded street. That someone would raise an alarm seemed very +probable.</p> + +<p>From the top of the railings I looked back to the prison where I had +passed the last two months, and then forward to the street.</p> + +<p>Two little girls stood hand in hand, gaping up at me. A street hawker +glanced in my direction. Except for these, no passer-by appeared to +notice us.</p> + +<p>I dropped in a heap on the pavement. Next moment Robin landed beside me.</p> + +<p>We were free once more, this time not to be recaught.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The two little girls clapped their hands with glee when they saw us +drop. As to the street hawker, I daresay he thought we were robbers, and +as such, people not to be interfered with. The other passers-by merely +edged away from us. No one, in Constantinople, will involve himself in +any civil commotion if he can avoid it. Whether the disturbance be a +fire or theft, the procedure is the same. If your neighbour is being +robbed, you look the other way. If your house is being burnt, you bribe +the fire brigade not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span> to come near it, for it they do, they will +assuredly loot everything that the flames do not consume. Hence the +sight of two wild men dropping into a crowded street stirred no civic +conscience. No one asked who we were.</p> + +<p>We crossed the tramway lines unmolested, and dived into a narrow street +leading down the hill. Then we ran and ran and ran.</p> + +<p>That our escape would be instantly reported we did not doubt. That +Galata Bridge would be watched and all our old haunts also seemed +certain. The care with which we had been guarded showed that the Turks +set a value on keeping us out of harm's way. At large in the city we +would be factors of unrest.</p> + +<p>Avoiding main streets, we toiled on and on, through dark by-ways where +the moonlight did not come, until we reached the old bridge across the +Golden Horn. Here we decided to separate for the time, so that if one of +us was caught by the toll-keepers, the other could still make good his +escape.</p> + +<p>But the toll-keepers took their tribute of a stamp without demur. They +knew nothing of British prisoners.</p> + +<p>Crossing, we turned right-handed, passing behind the American +Ambassador's yacht <i>Scorpion</i>, at her berth near the Turkish Admiralty, +and then went up into the European quarter. In Pera we knew a score of +houses, between us, that would be glad to give us lodging, and it only +remained to choose the most convenient.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span></p><hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>It is late at night, some days before the Armistice. I am in the gardens +of the British Embassy, with a certain Colonel, an escaped prisoner of +war like myself, who is in close touch with the political situation. We +had come here, in disguise, to be out of the turmoil of the town.</p> + +<p>Outside, in the unquiet streets, men talk of revolution. Gangs of +soldiers are under arms for twenty-four hours at a stretch. Machine guns +are posted everywhere. The docks are an armed camp. Detectives and +informers, the prison and the press-gang are at their old work. All is +still dark in Constantinople; but we, fugitives at present, and meeting +by stealth, speak of the day so soon to come when the barren flagstaff +on the roof of the Embassy will carry the Union Jack.</p> + +<p>Below us, as we walk on the terrace, lies the Golden Horn, silver in the +starlight, and across its waters the city of Stamboul stands dim, +forlorn, and lovely. The slip of moon that rides over San Sofia seems +symbol of the waning of misery and intolerance. Soon that sickle will +disappear, and when the moon of the Moslems rises again and looks +through the garden where we talk, she will see all round it a happier +city. . . . Let us hope so, anyway.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Of the maze of plot and counterplot in the city, of the death-throes of +the old régime, and of our own small part in the history of that time, +this record of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span> moods and misadventures is not the place to write. My +life as a prisoner was finished: my brief career as a minor diplomat, +keeping his finger on the feverish pulse of Turkish politics, had only +just begun, and the story of those crowded weeks would fill a volume.</p> + +<p>Up to the last moment, the Government, in the person of Taalat Pasha, +hoped to hold the real, if not the ostensible, reins of power. Until the +flight of the Union and Progress triumvirate, the average Turk affected +a certain lightheartedness about his country's losses. True, huge +territories were lost to the Ottoman revenue, but on the other hand they +had gained the Caucasus. So long as there was taxable territory, what +did it matter whence the tribute came?</p> + +<p>One night, when my newspaper work permitted, I visited a friend of +Taalat Pasha, without disclosing my identity.</p> + +<p>"Nobody but Taalat can possibly manage Turkey," he told me—"and the +English, if they come, will be well advised to deal with him."</p> + +<p>"It is not the English only," I suggested modestly, "but the whole +world-set-free, that is coming to Constantinople."</p> + +<p>"Then the world must deal with Taalat. His party has all the money, and +all the brains and energy as well."</p> + +<p>"Everything except imagination," I replied.</p> + +<p>But I did not myself imagine that only thirty-six hours later Taalat, +the fat telegraphist whom Fate<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span> caught in her toils, and Enver, with his +peacock-grace and peacock-wits, and Djemal, with cruelty stamped on him +like the brand of Cain, would pass disguised, and in darkness, and in +fear of death, through the city they had ruled as kings.</p> + +<p>Neither did I imagine that in another fortnight the streets of Pera +would be decked with banners, and the capital of the Turks a playground +for the peoples against whom they had lately been at war. Nor did I know +that I should soon be listening to the strains of "Rule Britannia," at +the Pera Palace Hotel, while an enthusiastic crowd showered confetti on +the bald head of the Colonel who had just arrived as the first British +representative. Nor did I know that I should telephone to the papers to +stop their press, while I motored down with the first interview from our +delegate. Nor, again, could I realise that the pomp of the Prussians +would be so suddenly replaced by pipes and walking-sticks and dogs. Nor +did I even dream that the fifty-sixty horse-power Mercédès car in which +General Liman von Sanders was still racing through the streets would +soon be my property, bought and paid for in gold, complete with all +accessories, including even the chauffeur's diary, and that I should +garage it in a garden where a performing bear stood guard against any +attempt at theft by the disorderly and demoralised Germans. These things +are another story.</p> + +<h5>BILLING AND SONS, LTD., PRINTERS, GUILDFORD, ENGLAND</h5> + + +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[1]</a></span> +<p>Telegrams: "Scholarly, London." 41 and 43 Maddox Street,<br /> +Telephone: 1883 Mayfair. Bond Street, London, W. 1.<br /> + <i>October, 1919.</i></p> + +<h1>Mr. Edward Arnold's</h1> + +<h1>AUTUMN ANNOUNCEMENTS, 1919.</h1> + + +<h2>JOHN REDMOND'S LAST YEARS.</h2> + +<h3>By STEPHEN GWYNN.</h3> + +<h4><i>With Portrait. 1 vol. Demy 8vo.</i> <b>16s. net.</b></h4> + +<p>The "History of John Redmond's Last Years," by Stephen Gwynn, is in the +first place an historical document of unusual importance. It is an +account of Irish political events at their most exciting period, written +by an active member of Mr. Redmond's party who was in the confidence of +his chief. The preliminary story of the struggle with the House of Lords +and the prolonged fight over Home Rule is described by a keen student of +parliamentary action. For the period which began with the war Mr. Gwynn +has had access to all Redmond's papers. He writes of Redmond's effort to +lead Ireland into the war from the standpoint of a soldier as well as a +member of parliament. The last chapter gives to the world, for the first +time, a full account of the Irish Convention which sat for eight months +behind closed doors, and in which Redmond's career reached its dramatic +catastrophe.</p> + +<p>The interlocking of varying chains of circumstance, the parliamentary +struggle, the rise of the rival volunteer forces, the raising of Irish +divisions, the rebellion and its sequel, and, finally, the effect of +bringing Irishmen together into conference—all this is vividly +pictured, with increasing detail as the book proceeds. In the opening, +two short chapters recall the earlier history of the Irish party and +Redmond's part in it.</p> + +<p>But the main interest centres in the character of Redmond himself. Mr. +Gwynn does not work to display his leader as a hero without faults and +incapable of mistakes. He shows the man as he knew him and worked under +him, traces his career through its triumphs to reverses, and through +gallant recovery to final defeat. A great man is made familiar to the +reader, in his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[2]</a></span> wisdom, his magnanimity, and his love of country. The +tragic waste of great opportunities is portrayed in a story which has +the quality of drama in it. Beside the picture of John Redmond himself +there is sketched the gallant and sympathetic figure of his brother, +who, after thirty-five years of parliamentary service, died with the +foremost wave of his battalion at the battle of Messines.</p> + + +<br /><br /> +<h2>A MEDLEY OF MEMORIES.</h2> + +<h3>By the <span class="smcap">Rt. Rev. Sir</span> DAVID HUNTER BLAIR, <span class="smcap">Bart.</span></h3> + +<h4><i>With Illustrations. 1 vol. Demy 8vo.</i> <b>16s. net.</b></h4> + +<p>Sir David Hunter Blair, late Abbot of Fort Augustus, in the first part +of these fifty years' recollections, deals with his childhood and youth +in Scotland, and gives a picture full of varied interest of Scottish +country house life a generation or more ago. Very vivid, too, is the +account of early days at what was then the most famous private school in +England; and the chapter on Eton under Balston and Hornby gives +thumbnail sketches of a great many Etonians, school-contemporaries of +the writer's, and bearing names afterwards very well known for one +reason or another. Eton was followed by Magdalen; and undergraduate life +in the Oxford of 1872 is depicted with a light hand and many amusing +touches. There was foreign travel after the Oxford days; and two of the +most pleasantly descriptive chapters of the book deal with Rome in the +reign of Pius IX. and Leo XIII., both of which Pontiffs the author +served as Private Chamberlain. There is much also that is fresh and +interesting in the section treating of the lives and personalities of +some of the great English Catholic families of by-gone days.</p> + +<p>Sir David entered the Benedictine Order at the age of twenty-five; and +the latter half of the book is concerned with his life as co-founder, +and member of the community of, the great Highland Abbey of Fort +Augustus, of which he rose later to be the second abbot. The intimate +account given in these pages of the life of a modern monk will be new to +most readers, who will find it very interesting reading. The writer's +monastic experiences embrace not only his own beautiful home in the +Central Highlands, but Benedictine life and work in England, in Belgium, +Germany and Portugal, and in South America. One of the most novel and +attractive chapters in the book is that dealing with the work of the +Order in the vast territory of Brazil.</p> + +<p>The volume is illustrated with an excellent portrait, and with some +clever black-and-white drawings, the work of Mr. Richard Anson, one of +the author's religious brethren, and a member of the Benedictine +community at Caldey Abbey, in South Wales.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[3]</a></span></p> + + +<br /><br /> +<h2>WITH THE PERSIAN EXPEDITION.</h2> + +<h3>By <span class="smcap">Major</span> M. H. DONOHOE,</h3> + +<h4><span class="smcap">Army Intelligence Corps.</span><br /> +<span class="smcap">Special Correspondent of the "Daily Chronicle."</span></h4> + +<h4><i>With numerous Illustrations and Map. Demy 8vo.</i> <b>16s. net.</b></h4> + +<p>Among the many "side-shows" of the Great War, few are so difficult for +the average reader to understand as the operations in Northern Persia, +an offshoot of the Bagdhad venture, which had for their object the +policing of the warlike tribes in an area almost unknown to Europeans, +and included the various attempts to reach and hold Baku, and so get +command of the Caspian and Caucasia.</p> + +<p>The story of these operations—carried out by little, half-forgotten +bodies of troops, mainly local levies who broke at the critical moment +and left their British officers and N.C.O.'s to carry on alone—is one +of the most amazing of the whole War, and comprises many episodes that +recall the most stirring events of the Empire's pioneering days.</p> + +<p>By happy chance, Major M. H. Donohoe, the famous War Correspondent, +whose work for the <i>Daily Chronicle</i> in all the wars of the past twenty +years is well known, was in this part of the world as a Major on the +Intelligence Staff, work for which his knowledge of men and languages +off the beaten tract peculiarly fitted him. He has written the story of +these operations as he saw them, chiefly as a member of the Staff of the +Military Mission under General Byron, known officially as the "Baghdad +Party," and unofficially as the "Hush-Hush Brigade," which set forth +early in 1918 to join the Column under General Dunsterville. Though +there is little of fighting in the story, the book gives an admirable +picture of the Empire's work done faithfully under difficulties, and +glimpses of places and peoples that are almost unknown even to the most +venturesome traveller. Indeed, it is largely as a book about an unknown +land that this volume will attract, together with its little +pen-portraits of men and little pen-pictures of adventures, that Kipling +would love.</p> + + +<br /><br /> +<h2>A PHYSICIAN IN FRANCE.</h2> + +<h3>By <span class="smcap">Major-General Sir</span> WILMOT HERRINGHAM, K.C.M.G., C.B.,</h3> + +<h4><span class="smcap">Physician to St. Bartholomew's Hospital; Consulting Physician to the +Forces Overseas.</span></h4> + +<h4><i>1 vol. Demy 8vo.</i> <b>15s. net.</b></h4> + +<p>How the war, as seen at close quarters, struck a man eminent in another +profession than that of arms is the distinguishing feature of this +volume of personal impressions. It is not, however,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[4]</a></span> merely the outcome +of a few weeks' sojourn or "trip to the trenches," with one eye on an +expectant public, for the author has four times seen autumn fade into +winter on the flat countryside of Flanders, and, when the war ended, was +still at his post rendering invaluable services amidst unforgettable +scenes. The author's comments on the day-to-day happenings are +distinguished by a tone that is at once manly, reflective, and +good-humoured. Medical questions are naturally prominent, but are dealt +with largely in a manner that should interest the layman at the present +time. Sir Wilmot was with Lord Roberts when he died. A very pleasing +feature of the book is the constant revelation of the author's love of +nature and sport, and his happy way of introducing such topics, together +with descriptions of the country around him, makes a welcome contrast to +the stern events which form the staple material of the book. There are +some very amusing stories.</p> + + +<br /><br /> +<h2>LONDON MEN IN PALESTINE.</h2> + +<h3>By ROWLANDS COLDICOTT.</h3> + +<h4><i>With maps. 1 vol. Demy 8vo.</i> <b>12s. 6d. net.</b></h4> + +<p>This book embraces so much more than the ordinary war story that we have +a peculiar difficulty in describing it in a few chosen words.</p> + +<p>The curtain lifts the day after the battle of Sheria, one of the minor +fights in General Allenby's first campaign—those movements of troops +which came only to a pause with the capture of Jerusalem. Gaza has just +been taken. You are introduced to one of the companies of a London +battalion serving in the East, of which company the author is commander. +The reading of a few lines, the passing of a few moments, causes you +(such is the power of right words) to be <i>attached</i> to that company and +to move in imagination with it across the dazzling plain. When you have +tramped a few miles you begin to realise, perhaps for the first time, +the heat and torment of a day's march in Philistia. It is not long +before you feel that you, too, are adventuring with the toiling +soldiers; with them you wonder where the halting place will be, what +sort of bivouac you are likely to hit upon. By this time you will have +met the officers—Temple, Trobus, Jackson—and are coming to have a +nodding acquaintance with the men. Desire to compass the unknown, and +sympathetic interest in the experiences of a company of your own +country-men, Londoners footing it in a foreign land, now takes you +irresistibly into the very heart of the tale, and you become one with +the narrator. With him you wander among the ruins of Gaza, pass into +southern Palestine, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[5]</a></span> come to the foot-hills of Judea. With him you +slowly become conscious that the long series of marches is planned to +culminate in an assault upon Jerusalem. Now you are part of a dusty +column winding up into Judea by the Jerusalem road, looking hour by hour +upon those natural phenomena that suggested the parables. "London Men in +Palestine" brings all this home to you as if you were a passer-by. Next, +the massing of troops about the Holy City is described, and you are +given a distant view of the city itself. A chapter follows that +describes the coming of the rains. Then you spend a night in an old +rock-engendered fortress-village while troops pass through to the +attack, the storm still at its height. A chapter follows that tells of a +crowded day—too complex and full of incident here to be described. The +book closes with an exciting description of a fight on the Mount of +Olives.</p> + + +<br /><br /> +<h2>MONS, ANZAC, AND KUT.</h2> + +<h3>By an M.P.</h3> + +<h4><i>1 vol. Demy 8vo.</i> <b>14s. net.</b></h4> + +<p>The writer of these remarkable memoirs, whose anonymity will not veil +his identity from his friends, is a man well known, not only in England, +but also abroad, and the pages are full of the writer's charm, and +gaiety of spirit, and "courage of a day that knows not death." Day by +day, in the thick of the most stirring events in history, he jotted down +his impressions at first hand, and although parts of the diary cannot +yet be published, enough is given to the world to form a graphic and +very human history.</p> + +<p>Our author was present at the most critical part of the Retreat from +Mons. He took part in the dramatic defence of Landrecies, and the stand +at Compiegne. Wounded, and a prisoner, he describes his experiences in a +German hospital and his subsequent recapture by the British during the +Marne advance.</p> + +<p>The scene then shifts to Gallipoli, where he was present at the immortal +first landing, surely one of the noblest pages of our history. He took +part in the fierce fighting at Suvla Bay, and, owing to his knowledge of +Turkish, he had amazing experiences during the Armistice arranged for +the burial of the dead.</p> + +<p>Later, the author was in Mesopotamia, where he accompanied the relieving +force in their heroic attempt to save Kut. On several occasions he was +sent out between the lines to conduct negociations between the Turks and +ourselves.</p> + +<p>"Mons, Anzac, and Kut" . . . A day and a day will pass, before the man +and the moment meet to give us another book like this. We congratulate +ourselves that the author survived to write it.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[6]</a></span></p> + + +<br /><br /> +<h2>THE STRUGGLE IN THE AIR.</h2> +<h3>1914-1918.</h3> + +<h3>By <span class="smcap">Major</span> CHARLES C. TURNER (late R.A.F.).</h3> + +<h4><span class="smcap">Assoc. Fellow R. Aer. Soc., Cantor Lectures on Aeronautics, 1909. Author +of "Aircraft of To-day," "The Romance of Aeronautics," and (with Gustav +Hamel) of "Flying: Some Practical Experiences," Editor of "Aeronautics," +etc., etc., etc.</span></h4> + +<h4><i>With Illustrations. 1 vol. Demy 8vo.</i> <b>15s. net.</b></h4> + +<p>Major Turner served in the flying arm throughout the great conflict, +chiefly as an instructor of officers of the Royal Naval Air Service, and +then of the Royal Air Force in the principles of flight, aerial +navigation, and other subjects. He did much experimental work, made one +visit to the Front, and was mentioned in dispatches. The Armistice found +him in the position of Chief Instructor at No. 2 School of Aeronautics, +Oxford.</p> + +<p>The classification of this book explains its scope and arrangement. The +chapters are as follows:</p> + +<p>Capabilities of Aircraft; Theory in 1914; The flight to France and +Baptism of Fire; Early Surprises; Fighting in the Air, 1914-1915; 1916; +1917; 1918; Zeppelins and the Defence; Night Flying; The Zeppelin +Beaten; Aeroplane Raids on England; Bombing the Germans; Artillery +Observation; Reconnaissance and Photography; Observation Balloons; +Aircraft and Infantry; Sea Aircraft; Heroic Experimenters; Casualties in +the Third Arm; The Robinson Quality.</p> + + +<br /><br /> +<h2>CAUGHT BY THE TURKS.</h2> + +<h3>By FRANCIS YEATS-BROWN.</h3> + +<h4><i>1 vol. Demy 8vo.</i> <b>10s. 6d. net.</b></h4> + +<p>This book contains a full measure of adventure and excitement. The +author, who is a Captain in the Indian Cavalry, was serving in the Air +Force in Mesopotamia in 1915, and was captured through an accident to +the aeroplane while engaged in a hazardous and successful attempt to cut +the Turkish telegraph lines north and west of Baghdad, just before the +Battle of Ctesiphon. Then came the horrors of the journey to +Constantinople, during which the "terrible Turk" showed himself in his +worst colours; but it was in Constantinople that the most thrilling +episodes of his captivity had their origin. The story of the Author's +first attempt to escape (which did not succeed) and of his subsequent +lucky dash for freedom, is one of intense interest, and is told in a +most vivid and dramatic way.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[7]</a></span></p> + + +<br /><br /> +<h2>JOHN HUGH ALLEN</h2> +<h3>OF THE GALLANT COMPANY</h3> + +<h3>A Memoir by his Sister INA MONTGOMERY.</h3> + +<h4><i>With Portrait. 1 vol. Demy 8vo.</i> <b>10s. 6d. net.</b></h4> + +<p>This book is the life-story of a young New Zealander who was killed in +action at the Dardanelles in June, 1915. It is told mainly in his own +letters and diaries—which have been supplemented, so far as was +needful, with the utmost tact and discretion by his sister—and falls +naturally into three principal stages. Allen spent four very strenuous +years, 1907-1911, at Cambridge, where he occupied a prominent position +among his contemporaries as an active member, and eventually President +of the Union. Though undergraduate politics are not usually taken very +seriously by the outside world, yet this side of Allen's Cambridge +career has an interest far transcending the merely personal one. +Possessed, as he was, of remarkable gifts, which he had cultivated by +assiduous practice as a speaker and writer, and passionately interested +in all that concerns the British Empire, and the present and future +relations between the United Kingdom and the Overseas Dominions, his +record may well stand as representative of the attitude of the <i>élite</i> +of the New Zealand youth towards these vital matters in the period just +preceding the war.</p> + +<p>After Cambridge, he returned for a time to New Zealand, where he +resolved to make his permanent home, but came back to England in +December, 1913, to complete his legal studies and get called to the bar, +and was still in England when the war broke out. Consequently the second +stage is the story of seven months' experience as a lieutenant in the +13th Battalion of the Worcesters, and his letters of this period give an +attractive, and intensely graphic account of the making of the new army. +Finally, he was despatched, with a few other selected officers, to the +Dardanelles, arrived on May 25th at Cape Helles, and was attached to the +Essex regiment. The last stage, brief, glorious, and terrible, lasted +only twelve days but, brief as it was, he had time to draw an +enthralling picture of the unexampled horrors of this particular phase +of trench-warfare. The book is steeped, from beginning to end, in a +sober but fervent enthusiasm; and the cult of the Empire, in its noblest +form, has seldom been as finely exemplified as by the life and death of +John Allen.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[8]</a></span></p> + + +<br /><br /> +<h2>NOËL ROSS AND HIS WORK.</h2> + +<h3>Edited by HIS PARENTS.</h3> + +<h4><i>1 vol. Demy 8vo.</i> <b>10s. 6d. net.</b></h4> + +<p>A series of charming sketches by a young New Zealander, who died in +December, 1917, on the threshold of a brilliant literary career. Noël +Ross was one of those daring Anzacs who made the landing on Gallipoli. +Wounded in the early days of the terrible fighting there, he was +discharged from the Army, came to London, rejoined there, and obtained a +commission in the Royal Field Artillery. Afterwards he became a valued +member of the Editorial Staff of <i>The Times</i>, on which his genius was at +once recognized and highly appreciated. Much of his work appeared in +<i>The Times</i>, and he was also a contributor to <i>Punch</i>. In collaboration +with his father, Captain Malcolm Ross, the New Zealand War +Correspondent, he was the author of "Light and Shade in War," of which +the <i>Daily Mail</i> said: "It is full of Anzac virility, full of Anzac +buoyancy, and surcharged with that devil-may-care humour that has so +astounded us jaded peoples of an older world."</p> + +<p>His writings attracted the attention of such capable writers as Rudyard +Kipling, and Sir Ian Hamilton, who said he reminded him in many ways of +that gallant and brilliant young Englishman, Rupert Brooke.</p> + + +<br /><br /> +<h2>WITH THE BRITISH INTERNED IN SWITZERLAND.</h2> + +<h3>By <span class="smcap">Lieut.-Colonel</span> H. P. PICOT, C.B.E.,</h3> + +<h4><span class="smcap">Late Military Attaché, 1914-16, and British Officer in Charge of the +Interned, 1916-18.</span></h4> + +<h4><i>1 vol. Demy 8vo. Cloth.</i> <b>10s. 6d. net.</b></h4> + +<p>In this volume Colonel Picot tells us, in simple and lucid fashion, how +some thousands of our much tried and suffering countrymen were +transferred—to the eternal credit of Switzerland—from the harsh +conditions of captivity to a neutral soil, there to live in comparative +freedom amid friendly surroundings. He describes in some detail the +initiative taken by the Swiss Government on behalf of the Prisoners of +War in general, and the negociations which preceded the acceptance by +the Belligerent States of the principle of Internment, and then recounts +the measures taken by that Government for the hospitalization of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[9]</a></span> some +30,000 Prisoners of War, and the organization of a Medical Service for +the treatment of the sick and wounded.</p> + +<p>Turning, then, more particularly to the group of British prisoners, he +deals with their discipline, their camp life, the steps taken for +spiritual welfare, and the organization of sports and recreations, and +an interesting chapter records the efforts made to afford them technical +training in view of their return to civil life.</p> + +<p>The book also comprises a resumé of the formation and development of the +Bread Bureau at Berne, which ultimately, in providing bread for 100,000 +British prisoners of war in Germany, doubtless saved countless lives; +and a description of the activities of the British Legation Red Cross +Organization, both of which institutions were founded by Lady Grant +Duff, wife of H.M.'s Minister at Berne.</p> + +<p>Colonel Picot throws many interesting sidelights on life in Switzerland +in war-time—diplomatic, social, and artistic—and his modest and +self-effacing narrative dwells generously on the devotion of all those +who, whether by appointment or chance, were associated with him in his +beneficent labours.</p> + +<p>It is hoped that this account of a special phase in the history of our +countrymen will prove of interest to that large public who have shown in +countless ways their sympathy with all that concerns the welfare of +Prisoners of War.</p> + + +<br /><br /> +<h2>A CHILDHOOD IN BRITTANY EIGHTY YEARS AGO.</h2> + +<h3>By ANNE DOUGLAS SEDGWICK,</h3> + +<h4><span class="smcap">Author of "Tante," "The Encounter," etc.</span></h4> + +<h4><i>Demy 8vo. Cloth.</i> <b>10s. 6d. net.</b></h4> + +<p>With exquisite literary art which the reading public has recognised in +"Tante" and others of her novels, the author of this book tells of a +great lady's childhood in picturesque Brittany in the middle of the last +century. It covers that period of life around which the tenderest and +most vivid memories cluster; a childhood set in a district of France +rich in romance, and rich in old loyalties to manners and customs of a +gracious era that is irrevocably in the past.</p> + +<p>Charming vignettes of character, marvellous descriptions of houses, +costumes and scenery, short stories in silhouette of pathetic or +humorous characters—these are also in the book.</p> + +<p>And through it all the author is seen re-creating a background, which +has profoundly influenced one of the finest literary artists of the last +century.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[10]</a></span></p> + + +<br /><br /> +<h2>GARDENS: THEIR FORM AND DESIGN.</h2> + +<h3>By the <span class="smcap">Viscountess</span> WOLSELEY.</h3> + +<h4><i>With numerous Illustrations by</i> <span class="smcap">Miss M. G. CAMPION</span>.</h4> + +<h4><i>1 vol. Medium 8vo.</i> <b>21s. net.</b></h4> + +<p>The present volume, which is beautifully got up and illustrated, deals +with form and line in the garden, a subject comparatively new in +England.</p> + +<p>Lady Wolseley's book suggests simple, inexpensive means—the outcome of +practical knowledge and experience—for achieving charming results in +gardens of all sizes. Her College of Gardening at Glynde has shown Lady +Wolseley how best to make clear to those who have never before thought +about garden design, some of the complex subjects embraced by it, such +as Water Gardens, Rock Gardens, Treillage, Paved Gardens, Surprise +Gardens, etc. The book contains many decorative and imaginative drawings +by Miss Mary G. Campion, as well as a large number of practical diagrams +and plans, which further illustrate the author's ideas and add to the +value of the book.</p> + + +<br /><br /> +<h2>MEMORIES OF THE MONTHS.</h2> + +<h4>SIXTH SERIES.</h4> + +<h3>By the <span class="smcap">Rt. Hon. Sir</span> HERBERT MAXWELL, <span class="smcap">Bt.</span>, +F.R.S., D.C.L., LL.D.</h3> + +<h4><i>With photogravure frontispiece. Large Crown 8vo.</i> <b>10s. 6d. net.</b></h4> + +<p>It is some years since the fifth series of "Memories of the Months" was +issued, but the demand for Sir Herbert Maxwell's charming volumes +continues unabated. Every year rings new changes on the old order of +Nature, and the observant eye can always find fresh features on the face +of the Seasons. Sir Herbert Maxwell goes out to meet Nature on the moor +and loch, in garden and forest, and writes of what he sees and feels. It +is a volume of excellent gossip, the note-book of a well-informed and +high-spirited student of Nature, where the sportsman's ardour is +tempered always with the sympathy of the lover of wild things, and the +naturalist's interest is leavened with the humour of a cultivated man of +the world. This is what gives the work its abiding charm, and makes +these memories fill the place of old friends on the library bookshelf.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[11]</a></span></p> + + +<br /><br /> +<h2>SINGLE-HANDED CRUISING.</h2> + +<h3>By FRANCIS B. COOKE,</h3> + +<h4><span class="smcap">Author of "The Corinthian Yachtsman's Handbook," "Cruising Hints," Etc.</span></h4> + +<h4><i>Illustrated.</i> <b>10s. 6d. net.</b></h4> + +<p>The contents of this volume being based upon the author's many years' +practical experience of single-handed sailing, are sure to be acceptable +to those who, either from choice or necessity, make a practice of +cruising alone. Of the four thousand or more yachts whose names appear +in Lloyd's Register, quite a considerable proportion are small craft +used for the most part for week-end cruising, and single-handed sailing +is a proposition that the owner of a week-ender cannot afford altogether +to ignore. To be dependent upon the assistance of friends, who may leave +one in the lurch at the eleventh hour, is a miserable business that can +only be avoided by having a yacht which one is capable of handling +alone. The ideal arrangement is to have a vessel of sufficient size to +accommodate one or two guests and yet not too large to be sailed +single-handed at a pinch. In this book Mr. Cooke gives some valuable +hints on the equipment and handling of such a craft, which, it may be +remarked, can, in the absence of paid hands, be maintained at +comparatively small cost.</p> + + +<br /><br /> +<h2>MODERN ROADS.</h2> + +<h3>By H. PERCY BOULNOIS, M. Inst. C.E., F.R. San. Inst., etc.</h3> + +<h4><i>Demy 8vo.</i> <b>16s. net.</b></h4> + +<p>The author is well known as one of the leading authorities on +road-making, and he deals at length with Traffic, Water-bound Macadam +Roads, Surface Tarring, Bituminous Roads, Waves and Corrugations, +Slippery Roads, Paved Streets (Stone and Wood, etc.), Concrete Road +Construction, etc.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[12]</a></span></p> + + +<br /><br /> +<h2>A THIN GHOST AND OTHERS.</h2> + +<h3>By <span class="smcap">Dr.</span> M. R. JAMES,</h3> + +<h4><span class="smcap">Provost of Eton College.</span></h4> + +<h4><i>Crown 8vo. Cloth.</i> <b>4s. 6d. net.</b></h4> + +<p>The Provost of Eton needs no introduction as a past master of the art of +making our flesh creep, and those who have enjoyed his earlier books may +rest assured that his hand has lost none of its blood-curdling cunning. +Neither is it necessary to remind them that Dr. James's inexhaustible +stories of archæological erudition furnish him with a unique power of +giving his gruesome tales a picturesque setting, and heightening by +their literary and antiquarian charm the exquisite pleasure derived from +thrills of imaginary terror. This latter quality has never been more +happily displayed than in the stories contained in the present volume, +which we submit with great confidence to the judgment of all who +appreciate—and who does not?—a good old-fashioned hair-raising ghost +story.</p> + + +<br /> +<h3>New Editions.</h3> +<hr style='width: 5%;' /> + +<h2>GHOST STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY.</h2> + +<h3>By <span class="smcap">Dr.</span> M. R. JAMES,</h3> + +<h4><span class="smcap">Provost of Eton College.</span></h4> + +<h4><i>New Edition. Crown 8vo.</i> <b>5s. net.</b></h4> + +<br /> +<h2>MORE GHOST STORIES.</h2> + +<h3>By <span class="smcap">Dr.</span> M. R. JAMES.</h3> + +<h4><i>New Edition. Crown 8vo.</i> <b>5s. net.</b></h4> + +<br /> +<h2>THE PERFECT GENTLEMAN.</h2> + +<h3>By <span class="smcap">Captain</span> HARRY GRAHAM,</h3> + +<h4><span class="smcap">Author of "Ruthless Rhymes," etc.</span></h4> + +<h4><i>New Edition. Crown 8vo. Cloth.</i> <b>3s. 6d. net.</b></h4> + +<br /> +<h2>THE COMPLETE SPORTSMAN.</h2> + +<h3>By <span class="smcap">Captain</span> HARRY GRAHAM.</h3> + +<h4><i>New Edition. Crown 8vo. Cloth.</i> <b>3s. 6d. net.</b></h4> + + +<br /><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[13]</a></span> +<h3><i>The Modern Educator's Library.</i></h3> + +<h4>General Editor: Professor A. A. COCK.</h4> + + +<p>The present age is seeing an unprecedented advance in educational theory +and practice; its whole outlook on the ideals and methods of teaching is +being widened. The aim of this new series is to present the considered +views of teachers of wide experience, and eminent ability, upon the +changes in method involved in this development, and upon the problems +which still remain to be solved, in the several branches of teaching +with which they are most intimately connected. It is hoped, therefore, +that these volumes will be instructive not only to teachers, but to all +who are interested in the progress of education.</p> + +<p>Each volume contains an index and a comprehensive bibliography of the +subject with which it deals.</p> + + +<br /><br /> +<h2>EDUCATION: ITS DATA AND FIRST PRINCIPLES.</h2> + +<h3>By T. PERCY NUNN, M.A., D.Sc.,</h3> + +<h4><span class="smcap">Professor of Education in the University of London; Author of "The Aims +and Achievements of Scientific Method," "The Teaching of Algebra," Etc.</span></h4> + +<h4><i>Crown 8vo. Cloth.</i> <b>6s. net.</b></h4> + +<p>Dr. Nunn's volume really forms an introduction to the whole series, and +deals with the fundamental questions which lie at the root of +educational inquiry. The first is that of the aims of education. These, +he says, are always correlative to ideals of life, and, as ideals of +life are eternally at variance, their conflict will be reflected in +educational theories. The individualism of post-reformation Europe +gradually gave way to a reaction culminating in Hegel, which pictured +the state as the superentity of which the single life is but a fugitive +element. The logical result of this Hegelian ideal the world has just +seen, and educators of to-day have to decide whether to foster this +sinister tradition or to help humanity to escape from it to something +better. What we need is a doctrine which, while admitting the importance +of the social element in man, reasserts the importance of the +individual.</p> + +<p>This notion of individuality as the ideal of life is worked out at +length, and on the results of this investigation are based the +conclusions which are reached upon the practical problem of embodying +this ideal in teaching. Among other subjects, the author deals with +Routine and Ritual, Play, Nature and Nurture, Imitation, Instinct; and +there is a very illuminating last chapter on "The School and the +Individual."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[14]</a></span></p> + + +<br /><br /> +<h2>MORAL AND RELIGIOUS EDUCATION.</h2> + +<h3>By SOPHIE BRYANT, D.Sc., Litt.D.</h3> + +<h4><span class="smcap">Late Head Mistress of the North London Collegiate School for Girls +Author of "Educational Ends," etc.</span></h4> + +<h4><i>Crown 8vo. Cloth.</i> <b>6s. net.</b></h4> + +<p>In this book, Mrs. Bryant, whose writings on educational subjects are +widely known, takes the view that in order to produce the best result +over the widest area, the teaching of morality through the development +of religious faith, and its teaching by direct appeal to self-respect, +reason, sympathy and common sense, are both necessary. In religion, more +than in anything else, different individuals must follow different paths +to the goal.</p> + +<p>Upon this basis the book falls into four parts. The first deals with the +processes of spiritual self-realisation by means of interest in +knowledge and art, and of personal affections and social interest, which +all emerge in the development of conscience. The second part treats of +the moral ideal and how it is set forth by means of heroic romance and +history, and in the teaching of Aristotle, to build up the future +citizen. The third presents the religious ideal, its beginnings and the +background of ideas implied by it, together with suggestions for study +of the Bible and the lives of the Saints. In the fourth part the problem +of the reasoned presentment of religious truths is dealt with in detail.</p> + +<p>There is no doubt that this book makes a very considerable addition to +what has already been written on the subject of religious education.</p> + + +<br /><br /> +<h2>THE TEACHING OF MODERN FOREIGN LANGUAGES IN SCHOOL AND UNIVERSITY.</h2> + +<h3>By H. G. ATKINS, M.A.,</h3> + +<h4><span class="smcap">Professor of German in King's College, University of London, and +University Reader in German,</span></h4> + +<h4>AND</h4> + +<h3>H. L. HUTTON, M.A.,</h3> + +<h4><span class="smcap">Senior Modern Language Master at Merchant Taylors' School.</span></h4> + +<h4><i>Crown 8vo. Cloth.</i> <b>6s. net.</b></h4> + +<p>The first part of this book deals with the School, the second with the +University. While each part is mainly written by one of the authors, +they have acted in collaboration and have treated<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[15]</a></span> the two subjects as +interdependent. They have referred only briefly to the main features of +the past history, and have chiefly tried to give a broad survey of the +present position of modern language teaching, and the desirable policy +for the future.</p> + +<p>As regards the School, conclusions are first reached as to the relative +amount of time to be devoted to modern languages in the curriculum, and +the various branches of the subject—its organisation and methods, the +place of grammar and the history of the language—are then discussed. A +chapter is devoted to the questions relating to the second foreign +language, and the study is linked up with the University course.</p> + +<p>In the second part Professor Atkins traces the different ends to which +the School course continued at the University may lead, with special +reference to the higher Civil Service Examinations and to the training +of Secondary School Teachers.</p> + +<p>The general plan of the book was worked out before the publication of +the report of the Government Committee appointed by the Prime Minister +to enquire into the position of Modern Languages in the educational +system of Great Britain. With the report, however, the authors' +conclusions were in the main found to agree, and the text of the book +has been brought up-to-date by references to the report which have been +made in footnotes as well as in places in the text. No further +modifications were thought to be necessary.</p> + +<p>The book will be found to give a comprehensive review of the whole field +of modern language teaching and some valuable help towards the solution +of its problems.</p> + + +<br /><br /> +<h2>THE CHILD UNDER EIGHT.</h2> + +<h3>By E. R. MURRAY,</h3> + +<h4><span class="smcap">Vice-Principal of Maria Grey Training College; Author of "Froebel as a +Pioneer in Modern Psychology," etc.,</span></h4> + +<h4>AND</h4> + +<h3>HENRIETTA BROWN SMITH, LL.A.,</h3> + +<h4><span class="smcap">Lecturer in Education, Goldsmith's College, University of London; Editor +of "Education by Life."</span></h4> + +<h4><i>Crown 8vo. Cloth.</i> <b>6s. net.</b></h4> + +<p>The authors of this book deal with the young child at the outset of its +education, a stage the importance of which cannot be exaggerated. The +volume is written in two parts, the first dealing with the child in the +Nursery and Kindergarten, and the second with the child in the State +School. Much that is said is naturally applicable to either form of +School, and, where this is so, repetition has been avoided by means of +cross references.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[16]</a></span></p> + +<p>The authors find that the great weakness of English education in the +past has been want of a definite aim to put before the children, and the +want of a philosophy for the teacher. Without some understanding of the +meaning and purpose of life the teacher is at the mercy of every fad, +and is apt to exalt method above principle. This book is an attempt to +gather together certain recognised principles, and to show in the light +of actual experience how these may be applied to existing circumstances. +They put forward a strong plea for the recognition of the true value of +Play, the "spontaneous activity in all directions," and for courage and +faith on the part of the teacher to put this recognition into practice; +and they look forward to the time when the conditions of public +Elementary Schools, from the Nursery School up, will be such—in point +of numbers, space, situation and beauty of surroundings—that parents of +any class will gladly let their children attend them.</p> + +<hr style='width: 5%;' /> + +<h4><i>Further volumes in this series are in preparation and will be published +shortly.</i></h4> + + +<br /><br /> +<h2>FIRST PRINCIPLES OF MUSIC.</h2> + +<h3>By F. J. READ, <span class="smcap">Mus. Doc.</span> (<span class="smcap">Oxon.</span>)</h3> + +<h4><span class="smcap">Formerly Professor at the Royal College of Music.</span></h4> + +<h4><i>Crown 8vo.</i> <b>1s. 6d.</b></h4> + +<p>This book is the result of the author's long experience as Professor of +Theory at the Royal College of Music, and is the clearest and most +concise treatise of the kind that has yet been written.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"It is a useful little book, covering a wider field than any +other of the kind that we know."—<i>The Times.</i></p> + +<p>"It is calculated to quicken interest in various subjects +outside the normal scope of an elementary musical grammar. The +illustrated chapter on orchestral instruments, for instance, is +a welcome and stimulating innovation."—<i>Daily Telegraph.</i></p></div> + + +<br /><br /> +<h3>LONDON: EDWARD ARNOLD, 41 & 43 MADDOX STREET, W. 1.</h3> + + +<br /><br /> +<b>Transcriber's Notes:</b><br /> +hyphenation, spelling and grammar have been preserved as in the original<br /> +Page 21, Azizieh possibly should be Aziziah, but left as is<br /> +Page 58, no common languge ==> no common language<br /> +Page 81, smallest detail, for month ==> smallest detail, for months<br /> +Page 85, supected of something ==> suspected of something<br /> +Page 123, Mr. Morgenthan ==> Mr. Morgenthau<br /> +Announcements at end, page 3, Bagdhad venture ==> Baghdad venture + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Caught by the Turks, by Francis Yeats-Brown + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CAUGHT BY THE TURKS *** + +***** This file should be named 37343-h.htm or 37343-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/7/3/4/37343/ + +Produced by Barbara Watson, Ross Cooling, Mark Akrigg and +the Online Distributed Proofreading Canada Team at +http://www.pgdpcanada.net ((This file was produced from +images generously made available by The Internet +Archive/Canadian Libraries)) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Caught by the Turks + +Author: Francis Yeats-Brown + +Release Date: September 7, 2011 [EBook #37343] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CAUGHT BY THE TURKS *** + + + + +Produced by Barbara Watson, Ross Cooling, Mark Akrigg and +the Online Distributed Proofreading Canada Team at +http://www.pgdpcanada.net ((This file was produced from +images generously made available by The Internet +Archive/Canadian Libraries)) + + + + + + + + + + CAUGHT BY THE TURKS + + BY + FRANCIS YEATS-BROWN + + + WITH PORTRAITS AND PLANS + + + LONDON + EDWARD ARNOLD + 1919 + [_All rights reserved_] + + + + + To + LADY PAUL + + + + + CONTENTS + + CHAPTER PAGE + I. CAPTURE 1 + II. A SHADOWLAND OF ARABESQUES 25 + III. THE TERRIBLE TURK 42 + IV. "OUT OF GREAT TRIBULATION" 56 + V. THE LONG DESCENT OF WASTED DAYS 75 + VI. THE PSYCHOLOGY OF PRISON 95 + VII. THE COMIC HOSPITAL IN CONSTANTINOPLE 102 + VIII. OUR FIRST ESCAPE 122 + IX. A CITY OF DISGUISES 140 + X. RECAPTURED 159 + XI. THE BLACK HOLE OF CONSTANTINOPLE 172 + XII. OUR SECOND ESCAPE 198 + + + + + LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS + + PAGE + + THE ARMENIAN PATRIARCHATE AT PSAMATTIA, CONSTANTINOPLE 137 + + THE AUTHOR AS A GERMAN GOVERNESS _facing p._ 154 + + THE AUTHOR AS A HUNGARIAN MECHANIC _facing p._ 170 + + THE SQUARE OF THE SERASKERAT, CONSTANTINOPLE 213 + + + + + CAUGHT BY THE TURKS + + + CHAPTER I + + CAPTURE + + +Half an hour before dawn on November the thirteenth, 1915. . . . + +We were on an aerodrome by the River Tigris, below Baghdad, about to +start out to cut the telegraph lines behind the Turkish position. + +My pilot ran his engine to free the cylinders from the cold of night, +while I stowed away in the body of the machine some necklaces of +gun-cotton, some wire cutters, a rifle, Verey lights, provisions, and +the specially prepared map--prepared for the eventuality of its falling +into the hands of the Turks--on which nothing was traced except our +intended route to the telegraph lines west and north of Baghdad. Some +primers, which are the explosive charges designed to detonate the +gun-cotton, I carefully stowed away in another part of the machine, and +with even more care--trepidation, indeed--I put into my pockets the +highly explosive pencils of fulminate of mercury, which detonate the +primers which detonate the gun-cotton. + +Then I climbed gingerly aboard, feeling rather highly charged with +explosives and excitement. + +For some time the pilot continued to run his engine and watch the +revolution meter. The warmer the engine became, the colder I got, for +the prelude to adventure is always a chilly business. Unlike the engine, +I did not warm to my work during those waiting moments. At last, +however, the pilot waved his hand to give the signal to stand clear, and +we slid away on the flight that was to be our last for many a day. The +exhaust gases of our engine lit the darkness behind me with a ring of +fire. I looked back as we taxied down the aerodrome, and saw the +mechanics melting away to their morning tea. Only one figure remained, a +young pilot in a black and yellow fur coat, who had left his warm bed to +wish us luck. For a moment I saw him standing there, framed in flame, +looking after us regretfully. Then I saw him no more, and later they +told me (but it was not true) that he had died at Ctesiphon. + +We rose over the tents of our camp at Aziziah, all silver and still in +the half-light, and headed for the Turkish outposts at El Kutunieh. +Their bivouac fires mounted straight to heaven. It was a calm and +cloudless dawn, ideal weather for the business we had been sent out to +do. + +At all costs, we had been told, the telegraphic communications west and +north of Baghdad must be cut that day. Von der Goltz and a German +battery of quick-firing guns were hasting down from Mosul to help their +stricken ally, and reinforcements of the best Anatolian troops, +magnificently equipped and organised by the Germans, were on their way +from Gallipoli, whence they came flushed with the confidence of success. + +Our attack on Ctesiphon was imminent. It was a matter of moments whether +the Turkish reinforcements would arrive in time. Delay and confusion in +the Turkish rear would have helped us greatly, and the moral and +material advantage of cutting communications between Nur-ed-Din, the +vacillating Commander-in-Chief defending Baghdad, and Von der Goltz, the +veteran of victories, was obvious and unquestionable. But could we do it +in an old Maurice Farman biplane? + +Desperate needs need desperate measures. The attempt to take Baghdad was +desperate--futile perhaps--and contrary to the advice of the great +soldier who led the attack in the glorious but unsuccessful action of +Ctesiphon. And so also, in a small way, ours was a desperate mission. +Our machine could carry neither oil nor petrol enough for the journey, +and special arrangements had to be made for carrying spare tins of +lubricant and fuel. With these we were to refill at our first halt. +While I was destroying the telegraph line, my pilot was to replenish the +tanks of his machine. According to the map this should have been +feasible, for the telegraph lines at the place we had selected for our +demolition ran through a blank desert, two miles from the nearest track. +That the map was wrong we did not know. + +All seemed quite hopeful therefore. We had got off "according to plan," +and the engine was running beautifully. + +It was stimulating to see the stir of El Kutunieh as we sailed over the +Turks at a thousand feet. They ran to take cover from the bombs which +had so often greeted them at sunrise; but for once we sailed placidly +on, having other fish to fry, and left them to the pleasures of +anticipation. Far behind us a few puffs from their ridiculous apology +for an anti-aircraft gun blossomed like sudden flowers and then melted +in the sunlight above the world. Below, in the desert, it was still +dark. Men were rubbing their eyes in El Kutunieh and cursing us. + +But for us day had dawned. As we rose, there rose behind us a round +cheerful sun, whose rays caught our trail and spangled it with light, +and danced in my eyes as I looked back through the propeller, and lit up +the celluloid floor of the nacelle as if to help me see my implements. +That dawn was jubilant with hope--I felt inclined to dance. And I sang +from sheer exhilaration--a sort of swan song (as I see it now) before +captivity. The desert seemed barren no longer. Transmuted by the sunrise +those "miles and miles of nothing at all" became a limitless expanse +where all the kingdoms of the world were spread out before our eyes. +Away to the east the Tigris wound like a snake among the sands; to +westward, a huddle of houses and date-palms with an occasional gleam +from the gold domes of Kazimain, lay the city of the Arabian Nights, +where Haroun al Raschid once reigned, and where now there is hope his +spirit may reign again. Baghdad nestled among its date-palms, with +little wisps of cloud still shrouding its sleep, all unconscious of the +great demonstration it was to give before noon to two forlorn and +captive airmen. To the north lay the Great Desert with a hint of violet +hills on the far horizon. To the south also lay the Great Desert, with +no feature on its yellow face save the scar of some irrigation cut made +in the twilight time of history. + +But the beauties of Nature were not for us: we were intent on the works +of man. There was unwonted traffic across the bridge over the great Arch +of Ctesiphon. The enemy river craft were early astir, and so were their +antediluvian Archies. These latter troubled us no more than was their +wont, but the activity at Qusaibah and Sulman Pak was disquieting. +Trains of carts were moving across the river from the right to the left +bank. Tugs, gravid with troops, were on their way from Baghdad. In +trenches and gun emplacements feverish work was in progress. Like ants +at a burrow, men were dragging overhead cover into place. Lines of +fatigue parties were marching hither and thither. New support trenches +were being dug. + +As always, when one saw these things, one longed for more eyes, better +eyes, an abler pencil, to record them for our staff. An observer has +great responsibilities at times: one cannot help remembering that a +missed obstruction, a forgotten emplacement may mean a terrible toll of +suffering. Our men would soon attack these trenches, relying largely on +our photographs and information. . . . When, a week later, there rose +above the battle the souls of all the brave men dead at Ctesiphon, +seeing then with clearer eyes than mine, I pray they forgave our +shortcomings and remembered we did our best. + +We could not circle over Ctesiphon, in spite of the interest we saw +there, until our duty was performed, and had to fly on, leaving it to +eastward. + +On the return journey, however, we promised ourselves as full an +investigation as our petrol supply allowed, and had we returned with our +report on what we had seen and done that day, things might have been +very different. But what's the use of might-have-beens? + +After an hour's flying we sighted the telegraph line that was our +objective, but when we approached it more closely a sad surprise awaited +us, for instead of the blank surface which the map portrayed, we found +that the line ran along a busy thoroughfare leading to Baghdad. Some ten +thousand camels, it seemed to my disappointed eyes, were swaying and +slouching towards the markets of the capital. We came low to observe the +traffic better, and the camels craned their long necks upwards, burbling +with surprise at this great new bird they had never seen. The ships of +the desert, it seemed to me, disliked the ship of the air as much as we +disapproved of them. + +Besides the camels, there were ammunition carts and armed soldiers along +the road, making a landing impossible. Our demolition would only take +three minutes under favourable conditions, but in three minutes even an +Arab soldier can be trusted to hit an aeroplane and two airmen at +point-blank range. + +So we flew westward down the road, looking for a landing ground. Baghdad +was behind us now. On our right lay a great lake, and ahead we got an +occasional glimpse of the Euphrates in the morning sun. At last--near a +mound, which we afterwards heard was Nimrod's tomb--we saw that the +telegraph line took a turn to northward, leaving the road by a mile or +more. Here we decided to land. Nimrod's tomb was to be the tomb of our +activities. + +While we were circling down I felt exactly as one feels at the start of +a race, watching for the starting gate to rise. It was a tense but +delightful moment. + +We made a perfect landing, and ran straight and evenly towards the +telegraph posts. I had already stripped myself of my coat and all +unnecessary gear, and wore sandshoes in case I had to climb a post to +get at the insulators. The detonators were in my pocket, the wire +clippers hung at my belt. I stooped down to take a necklace of +gun-cotton from the floor of the 'bus, and as I did so, I felt a slight +bump and a slight splintering of wood. + +We had stopped. + +I jumped out of the machine, still sure that all was well. And then---- + +Then I saw that our left wing tip had crashed into a telegraph post. +Even so the full extent of our disaster dawned slowly on me. I could not +believe that we had broken something vital. Yet the pilot was quite +sure. + +The leading edge of the plane was broken. Our flying days were finished. +It had been my pilot's misfortune, far more than his fault, that we had +crashed. The unexpected smoothness of the landing ground, and a rear +wind that no one could have foreseen, had brought about disaster. +Nothing could be done. I stood silent--while hope sank from its zenith, +to the nadir of disappointment. Nothing remained--except to do our job. + +With light feet but heart of lead, I ran across to another telegraph +post, leaving the pilot to ascertain whether by some miracle we might +not be able to get our machine to safety. But even as I left him I knew +that there was no hope; the only thing that remained was to destroy the +line and then take our chance with the Arabs. + +By the time I had fixed the explosive necklace round the post, a few +stray Arabs, who had been watching our descent, fired at us from +horseback. I set the fuse and lit it, then strolled back to the machine, +where the pilot confirmed my worst fears. The machine was unflyable. + +Presently there was a loud bang. The charge had done its work and the +post was neatly cut in two. + +Horsemen were now appearing from the four quarters of the desert. On +hearing the explosion the mounted men instantly wheeled about and +galloped off in the opposite direction, while those on foot took cover, +lying flat on their faces. To encourage the belief in our aggressive +force, the pilot stood on the seat of the 'bus and treated them to +several bursts of rapid fire. + +Meanwhile, I took another necklace of gun-cotton and returned to my +demolition. This second charge I affixed to the wires and insulators of +the fallen post, so as to render repair more difficult. While I was thus +engaged, I noticed that spurts of sand were kicking up all about me. The +fire had increased in accuracy and intensity. So accurate indeed had it +become that I guessed that the Arabs (who cannot hit a haystack) had +been reinforced by regulars. I lit the fuse and covered the hundred +yards back to the machine in my very best time (which is about fifteen +seconds) to get cover and companionship. A hot fire was being directed +on to the machine now, at ranges varying from fifty to five hundred +yards. It was not a pleasant situation, and I experienced a curious +mixed feeling of regret and relief: regret that there was nothing more +to do, relief that something at least had been accomplished to earn the +long repose before us. On the nature of this repose I had never +speculated, and even now the fate that awaited us seemed immaterial so +long as something happened quickly. One wanted to get it over. I was +very frightened, I suppose. + +Bang! + +The second charge had exploded, and the telegraph wires whipped back and +festooned themselves round our machine. The insulators were dust, no +doubt, and the damage would probably take some days to repair. So far so +good. Our job was done in so far as it lay in our power to do it. + +"Do you see that fellow in blue?" said the pilot to me, pointing to a +ferocious individual about a hundred yards away who was brandishing a +curved cutlass. "I think it must be an officer. We had better give +ourselves up to him when the time comes." + +I cordially agreed, but rather doubted that the time would ever come. It +speaks volumes for Arab marksmanship that they missed our machine about +as often as they hit it. + +I destroyed a few private papers, and then, as it was obviously useless +to return the fire of two hundred men with a single rifle, we started up +the engine again, more with the idea of doing something than with any +hope of getting away. + +The machine, it may be mentioned, was not to be destroyed in the event +of a breakdown such as this, because our army hoped to be in Baghdad +within a week, and it would have been impossible for the Turks to carry +it with them in the case of a retreat. + +The Arabs hesitated to advance, and still continued to pour in a hot +fire. Feeling the situation was becoming ridiculous, I got into the +aeroplane and determined to attempt flying it. Now I am not a pilot, and +know little of machines. The pilot had pronounced the aeroplane to be +unflyable, and very rightly did not accompany me. + +But I was pigheaded and determined "to have one more flip in the old +'bus." After disentangling the wires that had whipped round the king +posts, I got into the pilot's seat and taxied away down wind. Then I +turned, managing the operation with fair success, and skimmed back +towards the pilot with greatly increasing speed. But all my efforts did +not succeed in making the machine lift clear of the ground. Some Arabs +were now rushing towards the pilot, and a troop of mounted gendarmes +were galloping in my direction. I tried to swerve to avoid these men, +but could not make the machine answer to her controls. Then I pulled the +stick back frantically in a last effort to rise above them. She gave a +little hop, then floundered down in the middle of the cavalry. + +Somehow or other the 'bus was standing still, and I was on the ground +beside it. + +Mounted gendarmes surrounded me with rifles levelled, not at me, but at +the machine. I cocked my revolver and put it behind my back, hesitating. +Then an old gendarme spurred his horse up to me and held out his right +hand in the friendliest possible fashion. I grasped it in surprise, for +the grip he gave me was a grip I knew, proving that even here in the +desert men are sometimes brothers. Then, emptying out the cartridges +from my revolver in case of accidents, I handed it to him. Not very +heroic certainly--but then surrendering is a sorry business: the best +that can be said for it is that it is sometimes common sense. + +At that moment the gentleman in blue, whose appearance we had previously +discussed, suddenly appeared behind me and swinging up his scimitar with +both hands, struck me a violent blow where neck joins shoulder. This +blow deprived me of all feeling for a moment. On coming-to I discovered +that my aggressor was not dressed in blue at all; he wore no stitch of +raiment of any description, but whether he was painted with woad or only +tanned by the sun I had no opportunity of enquiring. Whether, again, the +kindly gendarme had turned the blow or whether the _ghazi_ had purposely +hit me with the flat of his weapon, I never discovered; but of this much +I am certain, that except for that kindly gendarme--to whom may Allah +bring blessings--this story would not have been written. + +I made my way to the pilot as soon as I was able to do so, and found him +bleeding profusely from a wound in the head, surrounded by a hundred +tearing, screaming Arabs. Every minute, the number of the Arabs was +increasing, and the gendarmes had the greatest difficulty in protecting +us. All round us excited horsemen circled, firing _feux de joie_ and +uttering hoarse cries of exultation. We were making slow progress +towards the police post about a mile distant, but at times, so fiercely +did the throng press round us, I doubted if we should ever come through. + +Once, yielding to popular clamour, the police stopped and parleyed with +some Arab chiefs who had arrived upon the scene. After a heated colloquy +of which we did not understand one word, in spite of our not unnatural +interest, the Turkish gendarmes shrugged their shoulders and appeared to +accede to the Arabs' demands. Several of the more ruffianly among them +seized the pilot and pulled his flying coat over his head. The memory of +that moment is the most unpleasant in my life, and I cannot, try as I +will, entirely dissociate myself from the horror of what I thought would +happen. Even now it often holds sleep at arm's length. Not the fact of +death, but the imagined manner of it, dismayed me. I bitterly regretted +having surrendered my revolver only to be thus tamely murdered. + +Meanwhile I had been also seized and borne down under a crowd of Arabs. +We fought for some time, and I had a glimpse of the pilot, who is a very +clever boxer, upholding British traditions with his fists. . . . + +Suddenly the scene changed from tragedy to farce. We were not going to +be murdered at all, but only robbed. And the pilot had given our _ghazi_ +friend a black eye--blacker than his skin. + +At length I got free, minus all my possessions except my wrist watch, +which they did not see, and saw that the pilot also had his head above +the scrimmage, still "bloody but unbowed." The worst was over. That had +been the climax of my capture. + +All that happened thereafter, until chances of escape occurred, was in a +_diminuendo_ of emotion. + +All I really longed for now was for something to smoke. My cigarette +case had gone. + +The gendarmes, who had stood aside through these proceedings, now +returned and hurried us towards the police post, while most of the +captors remained behind disputing about our loot. All this time the +machine had been absolutely neglected, but now I saw some Arabs stalking +cautiously up to it and discharging their firearms. Feeling the machine +would be damaged beyond repair if they continued firing at it, and so +rendered useless to us after our imminent capture of Baghdad, I tried to +explain to the gendarmes that it was quite unnecessary to waste good +lead on it, its potentiality for evil having vanished with our +surrender. The impression I conveyed, however, was that there was a +third officer in the machine, and a large party adjourned to +investigate. During this diversion I tried to jump on to a white mare, +whose owner had left her to go towards the machine, but received a +second nasty blow on the spine for my pains. Again the kindly gendarme +came to my rescue, seeing, I suppose, that I was looking pretty blue. He +addressed me as "Baba," and--may Allah give him increase!--gave me a +cigarette. + +At last we got to the police post, and, as we entered and passed through +a dark stable passage, the gendarme on my left side, noticing my wrist +watch, slyly detached it and pocketed it with a meaning smile. As the +price of police protection I did not grudge it. + +Big doors clanged behind us and our captivity proper had begun: what had +gone before had been more like a scrum at Rugger, with ourselves as the +ball. + +We examined our injuries and bruises, and I tried to dress the wounds on +the pilot's head, with little success, however, for our guardians could +provide nothing but the most brackish water, and disinfectants were +undreamed of. We discussed our future at some length, and agreed that +our best plan was to be recaptured in Baghdad on the taking of that +city. To this end we decided that it would be advisable to make the most +of our injuries, so that when the Turkish retreat took place we would +not be in a fit condition to accompany it. To feign sickness would not, +indeed, be difficult. I felt that every bone in my body was broken, and +my pilot was in an even worse condition. + +Meanwhile there was a great clamour and "confused noises without," which +seemed to refer insistently and unpleasantly to us. On asking what the +people were saying, we were informed that the Arabs wanted to take our +heads to the Turkish Commander-in-Chief at Suleiman Pak, whereas the +gendarmes pointed out that there would be far greater profit and +pleasure in taking us there alive. We cordially agreed, and did not join +the discussion, feeling it to be more academic than practical, as we +were quite safe in the police post. + +We had neither hats nor overcoats, but we each still retained our +jackets and breeches, though in a very torn condition. I was still in +possession of my sandshoes, probably because the Arabs did not think +them worth the taking. + +Considering things calmly, we felt that we were lucky. This bondage +would not last. We would surely fly again, perhaps soon. But for a week +or so we must accustom ourselves to new conditions. Everything was +strange about us, and it struck me at once how close a parallel there is +between the drama of Captivity and the drama of Life. In each case there +is a "curtain," and in each case a man enters into a new world whose +language and customs he does not know. Almost naked we came to our +bondage, dumb, bloody, disconcerted by the whole business. So, perhaps, +do infants feel at the world awaiting their ken: it is taken for +granted that they enjoy life, and so also our captors were convinced +that we should feel delighted at our situation. + +"We saved you from the Arabs," we understood them to say, "and now you +are safe until the war is over. You need do no more work." + +Such at any rate was my estimate of what they said, but being in an +unknown tongue, it was only necessary to nod in answer. + +Tea was brought to us, sweet, weak tea in little glasses, and we made +appreciative noises. Then the kindly gendarme--may he be rewarded in +both worlds--brought each of us some cigarettes, in return for which we +gave him our brightest smiles, having nothing else to give. + +But one could not smile for long in that little room, thinking of the +sun and air outside and the old 'bus lying wrecked in the desert. We +would have been flying back now; we would have reconnoitred the Turkish +lines; we would have been back by nine o'clock to breakfast, bath, and +glory. . . . + +"It's the thirteenth of the month," groaned the pilot, whose thoughts +were similar to mine. + +For a long time I sulked in silence, while the pilot, with better +manners or more vitality than I, engaged the gendarmes in light +conversation, conducted chiefly by gesture. About an hour later (a "day" +of the Creation, it seemed to me--and it was indeed a formative time, +when the mind, so long accustomed to range free, seeks to adjust its +processes to captivity and adapt itself to new conditions of time and +space) there occurred at last a diversion to interrupt my gloom. + +The Turkish District Governor arrived with two carriages to take us to +Baghdad. He spoke English and was agreeable in a mild sort of way, +except for his unfortunate habit of asking questions which we could not +answer. He told us that news of our descent and capture had been sent to +Baghdad by gallopers (not by telegram, I noted parenthetically) and that +the population was awaiting our arrival. I said that I hoped the +population would not be disappointed, and he assured us with a +significant smile that they certainly would not. + +"Whatever happens," he was kind enough to add, "I will be responsible +for your lives myself." + +His meaning became apparent a little later, when we approached the +suburbs of Baghdad and found an ugly crowd awaiting our arrival, armed +with sticks and stones. When we reached the city itself the streets were +lined as if for a royal procession. Shops had put up their shutters, the +markets were closed, the streets were thronged, and every window held +its quota of heads. The word had gone out that there was to be a +demonstration, and the hysteria which lurks in every city in a time of +crisis found its fullest scope. Our downfall was taken as an omen of +British defeat, and the inhabitants of Baghdad held high holiday at the +sight of captive British airmen. + +Elderly merchants wagged their white beards and cursed us as we passed; +children danced with rage, and threw mud; lines of Turkish women pulled +back their veils in scorn, and putting out their tongues at us cried +"La, la, la," in a curious note of derision; boys brandished knives; +babies shook their little fists. No hated Tarquins could have had a more +hostile demonstration. We were both spat upon. A man with a heavy cudgel +aimed a blow at my pilot which narrowly missed him, another with a long +dagger stabbed through the back of the carriage and was dragged away +with difficulty: I can still see his snarling face and _hashish_-haunted +eyes. Our escort could hardly force a way for our carriage through the +narrow streets. All this time we sat trying to look dignified and +smoking constant cigarettes. . . . State arrival of British prisoners in +Baghdad--what a scene it would have been for the cinematograph! + +Arrived at the river, a space was cleared round us, and we were embarked +with a great deal of fuss in a boat to take us across to the Governor's +palace. Before leaving, I said goodbye to the kindly gendarme who had +helped a brother in distress, and once more now, across the wasted years +of captivity and the turmoil of my life to-day, I grasp his hand in +gratitude. + +Our first interview in Baghdad was with a journalist. He was very polite +and anxious for our impressions, but I told him that the Arabs had given +us quite enough impressions for the day, and that words could not +adequately express what we felt at our arrival in Baghdad. We chiefly +wanted a wash. + +That afternoon we were taken to hospital, and to our surprise (for, +being new to the conditions of captivity, we were still susceptible to +surprise) we found that we were very well treated there. Two sentries, +however, stood at our open door day and night to watch our every +movement. When the Governor of Baghdad came to see us that evening +(thoughtfully bringing with him a bottle of whisky) I politely told him +(in French, a language he spoke fluently) that so much consideration had +been shown to us that I hoped he would not mind my asking whether we +could not have a little more privacy. The continual presence of the +sentries was a little irksome. He understood my point perfectly--much +too perfectly. Taking me to the window, he spoke smoothly, as follows: + +"I am so sorry the sentries disturb you, but I feel responsible for your +safety, and should you by any chance fall out of that window--it is not +so very far from the ground, you see--you might get into bad hands. I +assure you that Baghdad is full of wicked men." + +The Governor was too clever. There was no chance with him of securing +more favourable conditions for escape, so we turned to the discussion of +the whisky bottle. As in all else he did, he had an object, I soon +discovered, in bringing this forbidden fluid. His purpose, of course, +was to make us talk, and talk we did, under its generous and +unaccustomed influence, for it had been some time since we had seen +spirits in our own mess at Azizieh. I would much like to see the report +that the Turkish Intelligence Staff made of that wonderful conversation. +Several officers had dropped in--casually--to join in the talk, and we +told them we had lost our way; then our engine had stopped, and we +landed as near to some village as we could. We knew nothing of an attack +on Baghdad, we did not know General Townshend, but had certainly heard +of him. We had heard a rumour that he had defeated the Turks at Es-sinn +a month previously, and would like to know the truth of the matter. +Eventually the bottle was exhausted, and so were our imaginations. We +parted with the utmost cordiality and a firm intention of seeing as +little of each other as possible in the future. + +In the street below our window were some large earthenware jars, like +those in which the Forty Thieves had hidden aforetime in this very city, +and for about a day we considered the story of Aladdin, in regard to the +possibility of escape by getting into these jars; but just as we had +made our plans the jars were removed, being taken no doubt to the +support trenches, which were found by our troops excellently provided +with water. + +As the day grew near for our attack, we saw many thousand Arabs being +marched down to Ctesiphon. It was no conquering army this, no freemen +going to defend their native land, but miserable bands of slaves being +sent into subjection. Down to the river bank, where they were embarked +on lighters, they were followed by their weeping relatives. There was no +pretence at heroism. They would have escaped if they could, but the +Turks had taken care of that. They were tied together by fours, their +right hand being lashed to a wooden yoke, while their left was employed +in carrying a rifle. These unfortunate creatures were taken to a spot +near the trenches and were then transferred, still securely tied +together, to the worst dug and most-exposed part of the line. Machine +guns were then posted behind them to block all possible lines of +retreat. In addition to minor discomforts such as bearing the brunt of +our attack, the Arabs, so I was told, were frequently unprovided with +provisions and water, so it is small wonder that their demeanour did not +show the fire of battle. But _Kannonen-futter_ was required for +Ctesiphon, and down the river this pageant of dejected pacifists had to +go. + +After the attack had begun, shiploads of these same men returned +wounded, and arrived in our hospital in an indescribably pitiable +condition. There were no stretchers, and the wounded were left to shift +for themselves, relying on charity and the providence of Allah. The +blind led the blind, the halt helped the lame. + +Later, wounded Anatolian soldiers began also to arrive, and their plight +was no less wretched than that of the Arabs, though their behaviour was +incomparably better. One could not help admiring their stoicism in the +face of terrible and often unnecessary suffering. The utter lack of +system in dealing with casualties was hardly more remarkable than the +fortitude of the casualties themselves. When a proclamation was read to +the sufferers in our hospital, announcing the success of the Turkish +arms at Ctesiphon, the wounded seemed to forget their pain and the dying +acquired a new lease of life. I actually saw a man with a mortal wound +in the head, who a few minutes previously had been choking and literally +at his last gasp, rally all his forces to utter thanks to God, and then +die. + +Never for a moment had we thought that the attack on Ctesiphon could +fail. The odds, we knew, were heavily against us, but we firmly believed +that General Townshend would achieve the impossible. That he did not do +so was not his fault nor the fault of the gallant men he led. But this +is a record of my personal experiences only, and I will spare the reader +all the long reflections and alternations of anxiety and hope which held +our thoughts while the guns boomed down the Tigris and the fate of +Baghdad--and our fate--was poised in the balance. + +At six o'clock one morning we were suddenly awakened and told that we +must leave for Mosul immediately. By every possible means in our power +we delayed the start, thinking our troops might come at any moment. But +the Turkish sergeant who commanded our escort had definite orders that +we were to be out of the city by nine o'clock. We drove in a carriage +through mean streets, attracting no attention, for now the Baghdadis +realised their danger. Before leaving, our sergeant paid a visit to his +house, in order to collect his kit, leaving us at the door, guarded by +four soldiers. His sisters came down to see him off and (being of +progressive tendencies, I suppose) they were not veiled. It were crime +indeed to have hidden such lustrous eyes and skin so fair. + + + + + CHAPTER II + + A SHADOWLAND OF ARABESQUES + + +Some breath of reality, some call from the outer world of freedom came +to us from the presence of these girls. They seemed the first real +people I had seen in my captivity, femininity incarnate, human beings in +a shadow-land of arabesques. They were happy and healthy and somehow +outside the insanities of our world. For a moment they gazed at us in +awe, and for another moment in complete sympathy: then they retired with +little squeaks of laughter and busied themselves with their brother's +baggage. + +When our preparations were complete and we set off on our long journey, +they stood for a space at the casement window and waved us goodbye, +looking quite charming. I vowed that if Fate by a happy chance were to +lead us back to Baghdad with roles reversed, so that they, not we, were +captives in the midst of foes, my first care would be to repay their +kindly, though unspoken, sympathy. They were too human for the +futilities of war, too amiable to have a hand in Armageddon. + +Only prisoners, I think, see the full absurdity of war. Only prisoners, +to begin with, fully realise the gift of life. And only prisoners see +war without its glamour, and realise completely the suffering behind +the lines: the maimed, the blind, the women who weep. Only by a few of +us in happy England has the full tragedy of war been realised. Mere +words will never record it, but prisoners know "the heartbreak in the +heart of things." To us who have been behind the scenes, far from the +shouting and the tumult and the captains and the kings, the wretchedness +of it all remains indelible. Nothing can make us forget the broken men +and women, whose woes will haunt our times. + +But I was on the threshold of my experiences then, and the maidens of +Baghdad soon passed from memory, I fear--vanishing like the mists of +morning that hung over the river-bank at the outset of our journey. + +We travelled in that marvellous conveyance, the _araba_. To generalise +from types is dangerous, but the _araba_ is certainly typical of Turkey. +Its discomfort is as amazing as its endurance. It is a rickety cart with +a mattress to sit on. A pole (frequently held together by string) to +which two ponies are harnessed (frequently again with string) supplies +the motive power, which is restrained by reins mended with string, or +encouraged by a whip made of string. The contrivance is surmounted by a +patchwork hood tied down with string. A few buckets and hay nets are +strung between its crazy wheels. Such is the _araba_. How it holds +together is a mystery as inscrutable as the East itself. If all the +vitality expended in Turkey on starting upon a journey and continuing +upon it were turned to other purposes, the land might flourish. But the +philosophy which makes the _araba_ possible makes other activities +impossible. + +A full two hours before the start, when the world is still blue with +cold, travellers are summoned to leave their rest. Then the drivers +begin to feed their ponies. When this is done they feed themselves. +Then, leisurely, they load the baggage. Finally, when all seems ready, +it occurs to somebody that it is impossible to leave before the cavalry +escort is in saddle. "Ahmed Effendi" is called for. Everyone shouts for +"Ahmed Effendi," who is sleeping soundly, like a sensible man. He wakes, +and, to create a diversion perhaps, accuses a driver of stealing his +chicken. The driver replies in suitable language. Meanwhile time passes. +The disc of the sun cuts the horizon line of the desert, disclosing us +all standing chill and cramped and bored and still unready. A pony has +lain down in his harness, in an access of boredom, no doubt. A goat has +stolen part of my scanty bread ration and is now browsing peacefully in +the middle distance. Far away a cur is barking at the jackals. Some of +our escort have retired to pray, others are still wrangling. Two or +three are engaged in kicking the bored pony. + +After recovering from the goat my half-loaf, which is so much better +than no bread in the desert, I watch with amazement the Turkish +treatment of the pony. A skewer is produced and rammed into the +unfortunate animal's left nostril. So barbarous does this seem that I am +on the point of protesting, when suddenly the animal struggles to its +feet, and stands shivering and wide-eyed and apparently well again. +After the wound has been sponged and the pony given a few dates, it +seems equal to fresh endeavour. The blood-letting has cleared its +brain--and no wonder, poor beast. + +At length all seems ready. We climb into the _araba_. But we are not off +yet. We sit for another hour while the drivers refresh themselves with a +second breakfast. A rhyme keeps running through my frozen brain: + + "Slow pass the hours--ah, passing slow-- + My doom is worse than anything + Conceived by Edgar Allan Poe." + +But I did not realise then how lucky we were to be travelling by +carriages at all. Nor did I realise what an honour it was to be +presented to the local governors through whose districts we passed. It +was only late in captivity, when merged in an undistinguished band of +prisoners, that I understood the pomp and circumstance of our early +days. Late in 1915 a prisoner was still a new sort of animal to the +Turks. They were curious about us, and to some extent the curiosity was +mutual. One kept comparing them with the descriptions in "Eoethen." + +Proceedings generally opened in a long low room. The local magnate sat +at a desk, on which were set a saucer containing an inky sponge, a dish +of sand, and some reed-pens. A scribe stood beside the _kaimakam_ and +handed him documents, which he scrutinised as if they were works of art, +holding them delicately in his left hand as a connoisseur might consider +his porcelain. Then with a reed-pen he would scratch the document, still +holding it in the palm of his hand, and after sprinkling it carefully +with sand would return it to the scribe. All this was incidental to his +conversation with us or with other members of the audience. There were +never less than ten people in any of the rooms in which we were +interviewed, and as they all made fragmentary remarks, one quoting a +text from the Koran, another a French _bon mot_, and a third introducing +some question of local politics, and as the governor asked us questions +and signed papers and kept up a running commentary with his friends, one +felt exactly like Alice at the Hatter's tea party. + +"A Turk does not listen to what you are saying," I have since been told, +"he merely watches your expression." That this is true of the uneducated +I have no doubt, and if correct about the educated Turk I daresay it is +not to his discredit. Demeanour in Oriental countries counts for much. + +But at Samarra our demeanour was sorely tried. We had been travelling +about three days in the desert, when we arrived at this desolate and +dishevelled spot. I longed to lie down and shut my eyes, and forget +about captivity for a bit, but no!--there came a summons to attend the +ghastly social function I had already learned to loathe. + +The Governor of that place was a _tout a fait civilise_ Young Turk, +sedentary, Semitic, and very disagreeable. + +"Is it true that you dropped bombs on the Mosque at Baghdad?" he asked. + +And-- + +"Do you know that the population of Baghdad nearly killed you?" + +And-- + +"Do you know that in another month the English will be driven into the +Persian Gulf?" . . . and so on. + +We denied these soft impeachments, and then his method became more +direct. + +"Some of your friends have been killed and captured," he said--"the +commandant of your flying corps, for instance." + +Seeing us incredulous, he accurately described the Major's appearance. + +"And there is someone else," the _kaimakam_ continued in slow tones that +iced my blood. "Someone who may be a friend of yours. A young pilot in a +fur coat." + +My heart stood still. + +"He was killed by an Arab," the _kaimakam_ added. . . . + +Here I will skip a page or two of mental history. The defeat of my +country, the death of my friend, the crumbling of my hopes: little +indeed was left. . . . . . + +Let five dots supply the ugly blank. There is sorrow and failure enough +in the world without speculating on tragedies that never happened. +Baghdad was taken later, my friend proved to be captured, not killed, +and I write this by Thames-side, not the Tigris. + +The inhabitants of Samarra are, I believe, the most ill-balanced people +in the world. This trait is well known to travellers, and we found it no +traveller's tale. On first arriving at Samarra, we halted in the +rest-house on the right bank of the river, and were enjoying our frugal +meal of bread and dates when a sergeant came to us from the Governor +with orders that we were to be instantly conveyed to his residence, +which is situated in the town across the river. We demurred, and our own +sergeant protested, but the Governor's emissary had definite orders, and +we were hurried down in the twilight. Here we found that there was no +boat to take us across. The Samarra sergeant shouted to a boatful of +Arabs, floating down the river, but they would not stop. Louder and +louder he shouted, till his voice cracked in a scream. Growing frantic +with rage, he fired his revolver at the Arabs. Of course he missed them, +but the bullets, ricochetting in the water, probably found a billet in +the town beyond. The Arab occupants merely laughed in their beards. We +also laughed. Then the sergeant declared that we would have to swim, and +we urged him in pantomime to show the way. + +Eventually he spied a horse-barge down river, with a naked boy playing +beside it. Reloading his revolver, a few shots in his direction +attracted the lad's attention. Then an old man came out of a hut by some +melon beds, to see who was firing at his son. + +Another shot or two and the old man and the boy were prevailed upon to +take us across. We had secured our transport at last, and the whole +transaction seemed (in Samarra) as simple as hailing a taxi. + +I bought a melon from the boy, and he snatched my money contemptuously. +To take things without violence is a sign of weakness in Samarra. I +noticed afterwards that all the boys and girls in this happy spot were +fighting each other or engaged in killing something. And their elders +keep something of the feckless violence of youth. I do not think that +there are any good Samarratans. + +After the interview with the Governor already mentioned, which ended by +a refusal on our part to speak with him further, we were sent to pass +the night in a filthy hovel, whose only furniture consisted of a bench +and a chair. Our sergeant was sitting on this chair when an officer +rushed in and jerked it from under him, leaving him on the floor. As a +conjuring trick it was neat, but as manners, deplorable. We were glad to +get away from the place. + +Very few incidents came to diversify the monotony of our desert travel. +One day, however, we met some Turkish cavalry going down to the siege of +Kut. They were a fine body of troops, a little under-mounted perhaps, +but thoroughly business-like. Their officers were most chivalrous +cavaliers. Here in the desert, where luxuries were not to be had for +money or for murder, they frequently gave us a handful of cigarettes, or +a parcel of raisins, or else halted their squadron and asked us to share +their meal. With these men one felt at ease. They were soldiers like +ourselves. They did not ask awkward questions, and were told no lies. I +remember especially one afternoon in the Marble Hills when we sat in a +ring drinking tea and smoking cigarettes, with the panorama of the +desert spread out before us, from the southward plains of Arabia to the +hills of the devil-worshippers, misty and mysterious, in the north. We +talked about horses all the time. A modern Isaiah delivered himself of +the following sentiment, in which I heartily concur: + +"Where there is no racing the people perish." + +The first-line Turk has many fine qualities, of which generosity and +gallantry are not the least. Something in Anglo-Saxon blood is in +sympathy with the adventure-loving, flower-loving Turk. But, alas! there +is another type of Ottoman, with the taint of Tamerlane. "When he is +good he is very very good, but when he is bad he is horrid." + +In the latter category I must regretfully place the sergeant who +commanded our escort. He came of decent stock (to judge by his charming +sisters, and his own appearance indeed) but his mind was all mud and +blood. He had been Hunified. Turkey would always be fighting, he said. +The English were almost defeated. The Armenians were almost +exterminated. But the Greeks remained to be dealt with, and the cursed +Arabs. Finally the Germans themselves. In an apotheosis of Prussianism +Turkey was to turn on her Allies and drive them out. Such was his creed. +But a glow of courage lit the dark places of his mind. He loved fighting +for the sheer fun of the thing. A few days beyond Samarra we were +attacked by some wandering Arabs, who swept down on us in a crescent. +Our guards panicked, but he stood his ground, and, seizing a rifle, +dispersed the enemy by some well-directed shots. Whether we were near +deliverance or death on that occasion I do not know, but that the panic +amongst our escort was not wholly unreasonable was evinced by the fact +that only a few hours earlier we had passed the headless trunk of a +gendarme, strapped upon a donkey. He had been decapitated as a warning +to the Samarratans that two can play at the game of savagery. + +The sight of the corpse had unnerved our guard, and as for myself, I did +not know whether to be glad or sorry when the Arabs attacked us. To be +taken by them meant either going back to the English or to the dust from +which we came. The alternative was too heroic to be agreeable. +Contrariwise, I was much disappointed when our sergeant finally drove +them off. That evening, as if to point the moral, we found the body of +another gendarme, also murdered, lying on a dung-heap outside the +rest-house. This was at Shergat, the former capital of the Assyrians, +and now a squalid village, where, however, the widows of Ashur were +still "loud in their wail." + +Here we dined with the fattest man I have ever seen. He was really a pig +personified, but as we both gobbled out of the same dish and ate the +same salt, I will not further enlarge on his appearance. + +In the upper reaches of the Tigris there are wild geese so tame that +they come waddling up to inspect the rare travellers through their land. +I thought it might be possible to catch one of these animals on foot. +Coquettishly enough they kept a certain distance. "We don't mind your +looking at us," they seemed to say, "but we _do_ object to being pawed +about." With the coming of the railway I am afraid a gun will destroy +their belief in human kind. + +The geese appeared to enjoy the smell of sulphuretted hydrogen, which +prevails in these regions. The whole country is rich in natural oils and +bitumen. One day it will make somebody's fortune, no doubt, and then the +geese will waddle away from perspiring prospectors. . . . + +Before we arrived at Mosul we stopped for a bath at the hot springs of +Hammam-Ali, where we met (in the water) a patriarch with a white beard, +who confidently assured us that he was a hundred years old and would +continue to live for another hundred, such were the beneficent +properties of the water. Before his days are numbered he may live to see +a Hydro at Hammam-Ali--poor old patriarch. He told us a lot about Jonah +(whose tomb is at Nineveh, just opposite Mosul, on the other side of the +river), and I am not sure that he did not claim acquaintance with that +patriarch. He was quite one of the family. + +Mosul, he told us, was a heaven on earth, a land flowing with milk and +honey, where we should ride all day on the best horses of Arabia, and +feast all night in gardens such as the blessed _houris_ might adorn. + +It was with a certain elation, therefore, that I saw the distant +prospect of Mosul next morning, set in its surrounding hills. A fair +city it seemed, white and cool, with orange groves down to the river and +many date-trees. But a closer acquaintance brought cruel disappointment, +as generally happens in the East. The blight of the Ottoman was +everywhere; there was dirt, decrepitude, and decay in every corner. +Children with eye-disease, and adults with leprosies more terrible than +Naaman's jostled each other in the mean streets. Whole quarters of the +city had given up the ghost, and become refuse heaps, where curs grouted +amongst offal. Mosul, like our escort-sergeant's mind, seemed a muddle +of mud and blood. + +With sinking hearts we drove to the barracks, and were shown into a +dark, gloomy office, where our names were taken. Thence we were led to a +still murkier and more mouldering room, inhabited--nay, infested--by +some ten Arabs. Through this we passed into a cell with windows boarded +up, which was, if possible even damper, darker, and more dismal than +anything we had yet seen. After the sunlight and great winds of the +desert we stood bewildered. Death seemed in the air. + +Then out of the gloom there rose two figures. They were British +officers, who had been captured about a month previously. So changed and +wasted were they that even after we had removed the boards from the +little window we could hardly recognise them. One of these officers was +so ill with dysentery that he could hardly move, the other had high +fever. + +Our arrival, with news from the outer world, bad though it was, +naturally cheered them considerably, for nothing could be worse than +their present plight. + +The ensuing days called for a great moral effort on our part. It was +absolutely imperative to laugh, otherwise our surroundings would have +closed in on us. . . . We cut up lids of cigarette boxes for playing +cards. We inked out a chessboard on a plank. We held a spiritualistic +seance with a soup-bowl, there being no table available to turn. We told +interminable stories. We composed monstrous limericks; and we sang in +rivalry with the Arab guard outside, who made day hideous with their +melody and murdered sleep by snoring. + +But when there is little to eat and nothing to do, time drags heavily. +Two cells with low ceilings that leaked were allotted to the four of us. +In these we lived and ate and slept, except for fortnightly excursions +to the baths. We were allowed no communication with the men, who lived +in a dungeon below. Their fate was a sealed book to us. We had nothing +to read. Under these conditions one begins to fear one's brain, +especially at night. It was then that it began to run like a mechanical +toy. Like a clockwork mouse, it scampered aimlessly amongst the dust of +memory, then suddenly became inert, with the works run down. I grew +terrified of thinking, especially of thinking about my friend in the fur +coat. + +The night hours are the worst in captivity. One lies on the floor, +waiting for sleep to come, but instead of blessed sleep, "beloved from +pole to pole," thoughts come crowding thick and fast on consciousness, +thoughts like clouds that lower over the quiescent body. Each second +then seems of inconceivable duration. But there is no escape from Time. + +During the day, however, things were more bearable, and occasional +gleams of humour enlivened the laggard moments. + +Among our guard there were several sentries who (I thought) might +conceivably help us to escape. One dark night, one of these men +whispered the one word "Jesus," and made the sign of the Cross, as I +passed him. After this introduction I naturally hoped that he might be +of use. He was a fine figure of a man, with a proud poise of head, and +aquiline nose, as if some Assyrian god had been his ancestor. I was +gazing at him in admiration the next day, and gauging his possibilities +through my single eye-glass, when a curious thing happened. + +Our eyes met. He seemed mesmerised by my monocle. For a long time we +stared at each other in silence, then, thinking the sergeant of the +guard would notice our behaviour, I discreetly dropped my eye-glass and +looked the other way. The sentry's mouth quivered as if I had made a +joke, but instead of smiling, he burst suddenly into a storm of tears. +The sergeant of the guard (a swart, sturdy little Turk) rushed out to +see what had happened. There was the big sentry, wailing, and actually +gnashing his white teeth. I stood awkwardly, looking as innocent as I +felt. The sergeant bristled like a terrier, pulled the sentry's poor +nose, and boxed his beautiful ears, while the victim continued to +blubber and look piteously in my direction. + +But I could not help him at all. I had not the slightest idea what was +the matter, nor do I know now. Hysteria, I suppose. + +Eventually that great solvent of perplexity, nicotine, came to relieve +the awkward situation. First the sergeant accepted a cigarette, then, +more diffidently, the sentry. Later I put in my eye-glass again, and +convinced them, I think, that its use did not involve the weaving of any +unholy spell. + +This eye-glass, by the way, survived all the fortunes of captivity. +Through it I surveyed the moon-lit plains beyond the Tigris when I +planned escape in Mosul, as shall be told in the next chapter. Later it +scanned the desert's dusty face for any hope of release. At +Afion-kara-hissar it helped me search for a pathway through our guards. +At Constantinople it was still my friend. Through it, a month before +escape, I looked at the slip of new moon that swung over San Sophia on +the last day of Ramazan, wondering where the next moon would find me. +And when the next moon came, I watched the sentries by its aid, on the +night of our first escape. And it was in my eye when I slipped down the +rope to freedom. + +But this chapter is getting "gaga." It has a happy ending, however. + +One evening when the + + ". . . little patch of blue, + That prisoners call the sky" + +had turned to sulky mauve, and the air was heavy with storm, and our +fellow-prisoners were depressed, and the Arab guard was bellowing songs +outside, and we were peeling potatoes for our dinner by the flicker of +lamp-light, and life seemed drab beyond description, there came great +news to us. Two other officers had arrived. + +Next moment they peered into our den, even as we had done. And they were +angry, amazed, unshaven, bronzed by the desert air, even as we had been. +There in the doorway, ruddy and fair and truculent like some Viking out +of time and place, stood the young pilot I had last seen at Aziziah. He +was alive, my friend in the fur coat. + +The desert had delivered up its dead! + + + + + CHAPTER III + + THE TERRIBLE TURK + + +One draws a long breath thinking of those days of Mosul. But bad as our +case was, it was as nothing compared with that of the men. + +Some two hundred of them lived in a cellar below our quarters, through +scenes of misery, and in an atmosphere of death which no one can +conceive who does not know the methods of the Turk. Even to me, as I +write in England, that Mosul prison begins to seem inconceivable. +Huddled together on the damp flag-stones of the cellar, our men died at +the rate of four or five a week. Although the majority were suffering +from dysentery they not only could not secure medical attention, but +were not even allowed out of their cells for any purpose whatever. Their +pitiable state can be better imagined than described. Many went mad +under our eyes. Deprived of food, light, exercise, and sometimes even +drinking water, the condition of our sick and starving men was literally +too terrible for words. + +It is useless, however, to pile horror on horror. Sixty per cent. of +these men are dead, and this fact speaks for itself. No re-statement +can strengthen, and no excuse can palliate, the case against the Turks. +Our men in this particular instance were killed by the cynical brutality +of Abdul Ghani Bey, the commandant of Mosul, and his acquiescent staff. + +There is an idea that "the Turks treated their own soldiers no better +than our prisoners"; but this is a fallacy--at any rate with regard to +hell-hounds such as Abdul Ghani Bey. He took an especial pleasure in +inflicting the torments of thirst, hunger, and dirt upon the miserable +beings under his care. Animals, in another country, would have been kept +cleaner and better fed. + +Never shall I forget the arrival in January 1915 of a party of English +prisoners from Baghdad. About two hundred and fifty men, who had been +captured on barges just before the siege of Kut, had been taken first to +Baghdad and thence by forced marches to Kirkuk, a mountain town on the +borders of the Turko-Persian frontier. Why they were ever sent to Kirkuk +I do not know, unless indeed it was thought that the sight of prisoners +suitably starved would re-assure the population regarding the qualities +of the redoubtable English soldier. After being exhibited to the +population of Kirkuk our men continued their journey, through the bitter +cold of the mountains, barefoot and in rags, arriving at last at Mosul +shortly after the New Year. Only eighty men then remained out of the +original two hundred and fifty, but although their numbers had dwindled +their courage had not diminished. + +First there marched into our barrack square some sixty of our soldiers +in column of route. They were erect and correct as if they were marching +to a king's parade. Surely so strange a column will never be seen again. +All were sick, and the most were sick to death. Some were barefoot, some +had marched two hundred miles in carpet slippers, some were in +shirt-sleeves, and all were in rags; one man only wore a great-coat, and +he possessed no stitch of clothing beneath it. But through all adversity +they held their heads high among the heathen, and carried themselves +with the courage of a day "that knows not death." Silently they filed +into the already crowded cellar, out of our sight, and many never issued +again into the light of the sun. + +After these sixty men had disappeared the stragglers began to stagger +in. One man, delirious, led a donkey on which the dead body of his +friend was tied face downwards. After unstrapping the corpse he fell in +a heap beside it. Dysentery cases wandered in and collapsed in groups on +the parade ground. An Indian soldier, who had contracted lockjaw, kept +making piteous signs to his mouth, and looking up to the verandah, where +we stood surrounded by guards. But no one came to relieve those +sufferers, dying by inches under our eyes. + +That night we managed, by bribing the guards, to have smuggled upstairs +to us at tea-time two non-commissioned officers from among the new +arrivals. Needless to say, we spent all our money (which was little +enough in all conscience) in providing as good a fare as possible, and +our famished guests devoured the honey and clotted cream we had to +offer. Then one of them suddenly fainted. When he had somewhat recovered +he had to be secretly conveyed below, and that was the end of the +party--the saddest at which I have ever assisted. The officer who +carried the sick man down spent several hours afterwards in removing +vermin from his own clothes, for lice leave the moribund, and this poor +boy died within a few days. + +Sometimes, when our pay was given us, or there occurred an opportunity +to bribe our guard, it was our heart-breaking duty to decide which of +the men we should attempt to save, by smuggling money to them out of the +slender funds at our disposal, and which of their number, from cruel +necessity, were too near their end to warrant an attempt to save. + +Something of the iron of Cromwell enters one's mind as one writes of +these things. If we forget our dead, the East will not forget our shame. +Sentiment must not interfere with justice. Abdul Ghani Bey, who shed our +prisoners' blood, must pay the penalty. He is the embodiment of a +certain type--perhaps not a very common type--of Turk, but common or +not, he is one of the men responsible for the terrible death-rate among +our soldiers. A short description of him, therefore, will not be out of +place. + +He was a small man, this tiny Tamerlane, with a limp, and a scowl, and +bandy legs. His sombre, wizened face seemed to light with pleasure at +scenes of cruelty and despair. He insulted the old, and struck the weak, +and delighted in the tears of women and the cries of children. This is +not hyperbole. I have seen him stump through a crowd of Armenian widows +and their offspring, and after striking some with his whip, he pushed +down a woman into the gutter who held a baby at her breast. I have seen +him pass down the ranks of Arab deserters, lashing one in the face, +kicking another, and knocking down a third. I have seen him wipe his +boots on the beard of an old Arab he had felled, and spur him in the +face. I hope he has already been hanged, because only the hangman's cord +could remove his atavistic cruelty. + +His subordinates went in deadly fear of him, and while it was extremely +difficult to help our men, it was practically impossible to help +ourselves at all in the matter of escape. Yet escape was doubly urgent +now, to bring news of our condition to the outer world. + +After much thought I decided that a certain wall-eyed interpreter who +came occasionally to buy us food was the most promising person to +approach. My friend and I laid our plans carefully. After a judicious +tip, and some hints as to our great importance in our own country, we +evinced a desire to have private lessons with him in Arabic, enlarging +at the same time upon the great career that a person like himself might +have had, had he been serving the English and not the Turks. Gradually +we led round to the subject of escape. At first we talked generalities +in whispers, and he was distinctly shy of doing anything of which the +dear commandant would not approve; but eventually, softly and +distinctly, and with a confidence that I did not feel, I made a +momentous proposal to him, nothing less than that he could help us to +escape. He winced as if my remark was hardly proper, and fixed me with a +single, thunder-struck eye. Then he quavered: + +"This is very sudden!" + +We could not help laughing. + +"This is no jesting matter," he said. "I will be killed if I am caught." + +"But you won't get caught. With the best horses in Arabia and a guide +like you. . . ." + +"Hush, hush! I must think it over." + +For several days he preserved a tantalising silence, alternately raising +our hopes by a wink from his wonderful eye, and then dashing them to the +ground by a blank stare. + +We lived in a torment of hope deferred. + +But time passed more easily now. The nights took on a new complexion, +flushed by the hope of freedom. From our little window I could see +across a courtyard to a patch of river. Beyond it, immense and magical +under the starlight, were the ruins of former civilisation--the mounds +of Nineveh, the tomb of Jonah, and the rolling downs that lead to the +mountains of Kurdistan. To those mountains my fancy went. If sleep did +not come, then there were enthralling adventures to be lived in those +mountains, adventures of the texture of dreams, yet tinged with a +certain prospective of reality. . . . We had bought revolvers, our +horses were ready, we had bribed our guard. We rode far and fast, with +our wall-eyed friend as guide. By evening we were in a great +forest. . . . + +But reality proved a poor attendant on romance. A sordid question of +money was our stumbling-block, and a high enterprise was crippled--not +for the first or last time--by want of cash. We had already given the +interpreter five pounds (which represented so much bread taken out of +our mouths), but now he stated that further funds were indispensable to +arrange preliminaries. This seemed reasonable, for arms and horses could +not be secured on credit in Mosul. Unfortunately, however, funds were +not available. We could not, in decency, borrow from other prisoners to +help us in our escape. At this juncture our guide, philosopher, and +friend lost--or embezzled--a five-pound note that had been entrusted to +him by another prisoner to buy us food. Whether he lost it carelessly or +criminally I am not prepared to state, but the fact remains he lost it. +Our fellow-prisoner very naturally complained to the Turks, as the +absence of this five pounds meant we could buy no food for a week. + +The Turks arrested the interpreter. He grew frightened, invented a story +about the complainant having asked him to help in an escape, then +recanted, vacillated, contradicted himself, and got himself bastinadoed +for his pains. + +The bastinado, I may as well here explain, is administered as follows: +the feet of the victim are bared, and his ankles are strapped to a pole. +The pole is now raised by two men to the height of their shoulders. A +third man takes a thick stick about the diameter of a man's wrist, and +strikes him on the soles of the feet. Between twenty and a hundred +strokes are administered, while the victim writhes until he faints. No +undue exertion is necessary on the part of the executioner, for even +after a gentle bastinado a man is not expected to be able to walk for +several days. + +The wall-eyed interpreter was brought limping to our cell about three +days after his punishment. He was brought by Turkish officers, who +wished to hear from our own lips a denial of his story that we had been +plotting an escape. + +It was a dramatic, and for me rather dreadful, moment. Indignantly and +vehemently we denied ever having asked his help. Only myself and +another, besides the interpreter, knew the truth. To the other officers +at Mosul (there were nine of us then, sharing two little cells) this +black business is only now for the first time made known. Their +indignation, therefore, was by no means counterfeit. + +"The man must be mad. No one ever dreamed of escaping," I stated, +looking fixedly into the interpreter's one eye, which, while it implored +me to tell the truth, seemed to hold a certain awe for a liar greater +than himself. + +"But----" he stammered, cowed by the circumstance that for once in his +life he was telling the truth. + +"But what?" we demanded angrily. "Let the villain speak out. His story +is monstrous." + +"Besides, we are so comfortable here," I added parenthetically. + +Eventually the wretched man was led gibbering to an underground dungeon. +What happened to him afterwards I do not know. I publish this story +after careful thought, because, if he was "playing the game" by us, why +did he talk to the Turks about escape? If, on the other hand, he was a +prison spy, then his punishment is not my affair. + +The treachery of the interpreter was an ill wind for everyone, for our +guards were sent away to the front (which is tantamount to a sentence of +death) and the vigilance of our new guards was greater than that of the +old. Intrigue was dead and our isolation complete. + +In these circumstances it may be imagined with what excitement I +received the news that the German Consul wanted to see me in the +commandant's office. It was the first time for a fortnight that I had +left my cell. + +I entered slowly, and after saluting the company present, first +generally, and then individually, I took a dignified seat after the +manner of the country. Ranged round the room were various notables of +Mosul--doctors, apothecaries, priests, and lawyers. On a dais slightly +above us sat the Consul and the commandant. For some time we kept +silence, as if to mark the importance of the occasion. Then a cigarette +was offered me by the commandant. I refused this offering, rising in my +chair and saluting him again. + +At last the German Consul spoke. + +He had been instructed by telegraph, he told me, to pay me the sum of +five hundred marks in gold. The money came from a friend of my father's. +I begged him to thank the generous donor, and a whole vista of +possibilities immediately rose to my mind. + +The money would be given me next day, the Consul continued, and a +_kavass_ of the Imperial Government would go with me into the _bazaar_ +to make any purchases I required. + +This conversation took place in French, a language of which the +commandant was quite ignorant, and I saw that here was an ideal +opportunity for bringing the plight of our prisoners to light. But the +Consul, I gathered, wanted to keep on friendly terms with the Turks. +Some of the things I told him, however, made him open his eyes, and may +have made his kultured flesh creep. + +"I will come again to-morrow," he said hurriedly--"you can tell me more +then." + +After this he spoke in Turkish at some length to the commandant, while +the latter interjected that wonderful word _yok_ at intervals. + +_Yok_, I must explain, signifies "No" in its every variation, and is +probably the most popular word in Turkish. It is crystallised +inhibition, the negation of all energy and enthusiasm, the motto of the +Ottoman Dilly and Dallys. Its only rival in the vocabulary is _yarin_, +which means "to-morrow." + +"Yok, yok, yok," said the commandant, and I gathered that he was +displeased. + +That night I made my plans, and when summoned to the office next day I +was armed with three documents. The first was a private letter of thanks +to Baron Mumm for his generous and kindly loan. The second was a +suggestion that the International Red Cross should immediately send out +a commission to look after our prisoners at Mosul. And the third was a +detailed list of articles required by our men, with appropriate +comments. Items such as this figured on the list: + +Soap, for two hundred men, as they had been unable to wash for months. + +Kerosene tins, to hold drinking-water, which was denied to our +prisoners. + +Blankets, as over 50 per cent. had no covering at all. + +These screeds startled the company greatly. The Consul stared and the +commandant glared, for the one hated fuss and the other hated me. I was +delightfully unpopular, but when an Ambassador telegraphs in Turkey, the +provinces lend a respectful ear. My voice, crying in the wilderness, +must needs be heard. + +Summoning an interpreter, the commandant demanded whether I had any +cause for complaint; whereupon the following curious three-cornered +conversation took place--so far as I could understand the Turkish part: + +"The men must be moved to better quarters," said I. "Until this is +arranged nothing can be done." + +"He says nothing can be done," echoed the interpreter. + +"Then of what does he complain?" asked the commandant. + +"The very beasts in my country are better cared for," I said. "Our men +are dying of hunger and cold." + +"He says the men are dying of cold," said the interpreter, shivering at +his temerity in mentioning the matter. + +"The weather is not my fault," grumbled the commandant, "perhaps it will +be better to-morrow. Yes, _yarin_." + +And so on. Talk was hopeless, but before leaving I gave the German +Consul to understand that he now shared with Abdul Ghani Bey the +responsibility for our treatment. To his credit, be it said, the +commandant was removed shortly after our departure. + +Two days after this interview we were moved from Mosul, where our +presence was becoming irksome no doubt. Before leaving I left all my +fortunate money, except five pounds, with the Consul, asking him to form +a fund (which I hoped would be supplemented later by the Red Cross) for +sick prisoners. Twelve months later this money was returned to me in +full, but I fancy that it had done its work in the meanwhile. + +On the day before our journey I went shopping with the Imperial _kavass_ +aforesaid, and it was a most pompous and pleasant excursion. Although I +wore sandshoes and tattered garments, what with my eyeglass, and the +gorgeous German individual, dressed like a Bond Street _commissionaire_, +who carried my parcels and did my bargaining, I think we made a great +impression upon the good burgesses of Mosul. + +We threaded our way among Kurds with seven pistols at their belts, and +Arabs hung with bandoliers, and astonishing Circassians with whiskers +and swords. Almost every male swaggered about heavily armed, but a blow +on their bristling midriff would have staggered any one of them. Their +bark, I should think, is worse than their bite. + +After a Turkish bath, where I graciously entertained the company with +coffee, we strolled round the transport square, where we chaffered +hotly for carriages to take us to Aleppo. + +The material results of the morning were: + +Some food and tobacco for the men staying behind. + +Rations for ourselves, consisting of an amorphous mass of dates, +cigarettes, conical loaves of sugar, candles, and a heap of unleavened +bread. + +Carriages for our conveyance to Aleppo. + +But the moral effect of our excursion was greater far. I sowed broadcast +the seeds of disaffection to Abdul Ghani Bey. To the tobacconist I said +that the English, Germans, Turks, and all the nations of the earth, +while differing in other matters, had agreed he was a worm to be crushed +under the heel of civilisation. To the grocer I repeated the story. To +the fruiterer I said his doom was nigh, and to the baker and candlestick +maker that his hour had come. + +Everyone agreed. _Conspuez le commandant_ was the general opinion. + +"In good old Abdul Hamid's days," they said, "such devil's spawn would +not have been allowed to live." + +It was a matter of minutes before rumours of his downfall were rife +throughout the city. + +Next day he came to see us off, bow-legs, whip, and scowl and all. He +stood stockily, watching us drive away, and then turned and spat. But +the taste of us was not to be thus easily dispelled. He will remember +us, I hope, to his dying day. May that day be soon! + + + + + CHAPTER IV + + "OUT OF GREAT TRIBULATION. . . ." + + +We had left a sad party of prisoners behind us, alas! but we had done +what little we could for them. Confined as we had been, their sufferings +had only added to our own. The best hope for them lay in the German +Consul. He could do more, if he wished, than we could have achieved for +all our wishes. Nothing could have been more hopeless than our position +at Mosul. But now at least there was the open road before us, and hope, +and health. + +The desert air is magnificent. The untamed winds seemed to blow through +every fibre of one's being, and clear away the cobwebs of captivity. The +swinging sun, the great spaces of sand, the continuous exercise, and the +lean diet of dates and bread, produce a feeling of perfect health. +Indeed, after a day or two I began to feel much too well to be a +prisoner. Under the desert stars one thought of the lights of London. +Perversely, instead of being grateful for the unfettered grandeur of +one's surroundings, one thought regretfully of the crowded hours one +spends among civilised peoples. And, oh, how tired I was of seeing +nothing but men! One of the worst features of captivity is that it is +generally a story without a heroine. + +After the second day of travel I was really seriously in need of a +heroine, for my friend had developed high fever. If only there had been +a ministering angel among our party! I did my best, but am not a nurse +by nature. My friend grew so weak that he could not stand; and I began +to doubt whether he would get to our journey's end. + +But although no heroine came to our help, a hero did. As he happens to +be a Turk, I will describe him shortly. Let us call him the Boy Scout, +for he did (not one, but many) good actions every day. Out of his valise +he produced a phial of brandy, tea, sugar, raisins, and some invaluable +medicines. All these he pressed us to accept. He even tried to make me +believe that he could spare a box of Bir-inji (first-class) cigarettes, +until I discovered he had no more for himself. At every halting place he +went to search for milk for my friend. Until we had been provided for, +he never attended to his own comforts. After eighty miles of travelling +everyone is tired, but although the Boy Scout must have been as tired as +any of us, for he rode instead of driving, and although he had no +official position with regard to us, no brother officer could have been +more helpful or more truly kind. From the moment of our meeting we had +been attracted by each other. At times, a look or an inflection of voice +will proclaim a kindred spirit in a perfect stranger. Something happens +above our consciousness; soul speaks to soul perhaps. So it was with the +Boy Scout. He was unknown to me when I first saw him, dark-eyed and +graceful, riding a white horse like a prince in a fairy book, and we +spoke no common language, but somehow we understood each other. + +He was a high official, I afterwards heard, travelling incognito, and +had been engaged on Intelligence work for his country in Afghanistan. +But, although an enemy in theory, he was a friend in fact. The war was +far. Here in the desert we met as brothers. A finer figure of a man I +have rarely seen, nor a truer gentleman. He was an ardent Young Turk, +and if other Young Turks were cast in such a mould, there would be a +place in the world for the race of Othman. But I have never seen another +like him. + +His manners were perfect, and although we discussed every subject under +the sun in snatches of French and broken bits of Persian, we always +managed to avoid awkward topics such as atrocities, reprisals, and the +like. He guessed, I think, that I often thought of escape, and said one +day: + +"I shall fully understand if you try to get away, but you will forgive +me, won't you, if I use my revolver?" + +I assured him I would. + +"Good!" he laughed, "because I am a dead shot!" + +One day we must meet again, and pick up the threads of talk. + +At Ress-el-Ain we separated for a time, and my friend was carried into +the train, where he lay down and took no further interest in the +proceedings. I also lay down, exhausted by anxiety. I was glad to be +quit of the desert. Under other conditions it might have been charming, +but its glamour is invisible to a captive's eyes. + +The train journey was not very interesting, except for the fact that our +guard commander (excited perhaps by the approach to civilisation, or +else because he was free from the restraining influence of our teetotal +Boy Scout) purchased a bottle of _'araq_ and imbibed it steadily on the +journey between Ress-el-Ain and Djerablisse. + +_'Araq_, the reader must know, is otherwise known as _mastic_ or +_douzico_, and is a colourless alcohol distilled from raisins and +flavoured with aniseed, which clouds on admixture with water, and tastes +like cough-mixture. It is an intoxicant without the saving grace of more +generous vintages. It inebriates but does not cheer. + +At Djerablisse, on the Euphrates, our guard commander supplemented the +fiery _'araq_ with some equally potent German ration rum. By the time we +got to Aleppo next day, he was reeking of this blend of alcohols. Not +all the perfumes of Arabia could have stifled its fumes, nor all the +waters of Damascus have quenched his thirst. He was besotted. + +Escape would have been possible then. We had become separated from the +rest of our party and were in charge of one old, sleepy, and rather +friendly soldier. There seemed to be some doubt in his mind as to where +we should pass the night, but we eventually arrived at a small and clean +Turkish hotel, where we were told, rather mysteriously, that we should +be among friends. + +I looked for friends, but as everyone was asleep, it being then two +o'clock in the morning, I decided to have a good night's rest before +making any plans. Our dainty bedroom was too tempting to be ignored. The +curtains were of Aleppo-work, in broad stripes of black and gold. The +rafters were striped in black and white. The walls were dead white, the +furniture dead black. Three pillows adorned our beds, of black, and of +crimson, and of brilliant blue, each with a white slip covering half +their length. The bed-covers were black, worked with gold dragons. It +was like a room one imagines in dreams, or sees at the Russian Ballet. + +After a blissful night, between sheets, and on a spring mattress, tea +was brought to us in bed, and immediately afterwards, as no guards +seemed to be about, I rose, greatly refreshed, and dressed in haste. My +idea was to order a carriage to drive us to the sea-coast at Mersina, +from which place I felt sure it would be possible to charter a boat to +Cyprus. + +But these hasty plans were dispelled by finding the Boy Scout waiting +for me in the passage. + +"Your guard commander was ill," he explained, "so I arranged that you +should be brought to this hotel, where you are my guests. And I want you +to lunch with me at one o'clock." + +My face fell, but of course there was no help for it. And the Boy +Scout's hospitality was princely indeed. + +After delicious hors-d'oeuvres (the _meze_--as it is called in +Turkey--is a national dish) and soup, and savoury meats, we refreshed +our palates with bowls of curds and rice. Then we attacked the sweets, +which were melting morsels of honey and the lightest pastry. After +drinking the health of the invalid (who could not join us of course) in +Cyprian wine, we adjourned to the Boy Scout's room for coffee and +cigarettes. Here I found all his belongings spread out, including +several tins of English bully-beef and slabs of chocolate, which he said +was his share of the loot taken after our retirement at the Dardanelles. +He begged us to help ourselves to everything we wanted in the way of +food or clothing; and he was ready, literally, to give us his last +shirt. After having fitted us out, he telephoned to the hospital about +the patient, and made arrangements that he should be received that +afternoon. + +Some hours later, accordingly, I drove to the hospital with my friend, +accompanied by two policemen who had arrived from district headquarters, +no doubt at the Boy Scout's request. + +We were met at the entrance of the hospital by two odd little doctors. + +"What is the matter with him?" squeaked Humpty in French. + +"Fever," said I. + +"Fever, indeed!" answered Dumpty, "let's look at his chest." + +"And at his back," added Humpty suspiciously. + +My friend disrobed, shivering in the sharp air, and these two strange +physicians glared at him, standing two yards away, while the Turkish +soldier and I supported the patient. + +"He hasn't got it," they said suddenly in chorus. + +"Hasn't what?" + +"Typhus, of course. Carry him in. He will be well in a week." + +I doubted it, but the situation did not admit of argument. We carried +him in, through a crowd of miserable men in every stage of disease, all +clamouring for admittance. No one, I gathered, was allowed into that +hospital merely for the dull business of dying. They could do that as +well outside. Thankful for small mercies, therefore, I left my friend in +the clutches of Humpty and Dumpty, and even as they had predicted, he +was well within a week. + +There is something rather marvellous about a Turkish doctor's diagnosis. +Such trifles as the state of your temperature or tongue are not +considered. They trust in the Lord and give you an emetic. Although +unpleasant, their methods are often efficacious. + +It was now my turn to fall ill, and I did it with startling suddenness +and completeness. I was sitting at the window of the house in which we +were confined in Aleppo, feeling perfectly well, when I began to shiver +violently. In half an hour I was in a high fever. That night I was taken +to Humpty and Dumpty. Next morning I was unconscious. + +I will draw a veil over the next month of my life. Only two little +incidents are worth recording. + +The first occurred about a week after my admittance to hospital, when my +disease, whatever it was, had reached its crisis. A diet of emetics is +tedious, so also is the companionship of people suffering from _delirium +tremens_ when one wants to be quiet. An end, I felt, must be made of the +present situation. Creeping painfully out of my bed, I went down the +passage, holding against the wall for support. It was a dark, uneven +passage, with two patches of moonlight from two windows at the far end. +Near one of these pools of light I caught my foot in a stone, and +slipped and fell. I was too weak to get up again. I cooled my head on +the stones and wondered what would happen next. Then I began to think of +seas and rivers. All the delightful things I had ever done in water kept +flitting through my mind. I remembered crouching in the bow of my +father's cat-boat as we beat up a reach to Salem (Massachusetts) with +the spray in our faces. And I thought of the sparkling sapphire of the +Mediterranean and the cool translucencies of Cuckoo-weir. . . . No one +came to disturb my meditations. The moonlight shifted right across my +body, and slowly, slowly, I felt the wells of consciousness were filling +up again. I was, quite definitely, coming back to life. It was as if I +had really been once more in America and Italy and by the Thames, living +again in all memories connected with open waters, and as if their solace +had somehow touched me. Their coolness had cured me, and I was now +flying back through imperceptible ether to Aleppo. I was coming back to +that passage in a Turkish hospital. . . . + +Did I draw, I wonder, upon some banked reserve of vitality, or were my +impressions a common phase of illness? Anyway, when I came to, I was a +different man. The waters of the world had cured me. + +Later, during the journey to Afion-kara-hissar, I had a relapse. This +second incident of my illness was a spiritual experience. Having been +carried by my friend to the railway station, I collapsed on the +platform, while he was momentarily called away. So dazed and helpless +was I that I lay inconspicuously on some sacks, a bundle of skin and +bone that might not have been human at all. Some porters threw more +sacks on the pile and I was soon almost covered. But I lay quite still: +I was too tired to move or to cry out. As bodily weakness increased, so +there came to me a sense of mental power, over and beyond my own poor +endowments. I thrilled to this strange strength, which seemed to mount +to the very throne of Time, where past and future are one. Call it a +whimsy of delirium if you will, nevertheless, one of the scenes I saw in +the cinema of clairvoyance was a scene that actually happened some three +months later, at that same station where I lay. . . . I saw some hundred +men, prisoners from Kut and mostly Indians, gathered on the platform. +One of these men was sitting on this very heap of sacks; he was sitting +there rocking himself to and fro in great agony, for one of the guards +had struck him with a thick stick and broken his arm. But not only was +his arm broken, the spirit within him (which I also saw) was shattered +beyond repair. No hope in life remained: he had done that which is most +terrible to a Hindu, for he had eaten the flesh of cows and broken the +ordinances of caste. His companions had died in the desert without the +lustral sacrifice of water or of fire, and he would soon die also, a +body defiled, to be cast into outer darkness. For a time the terror and +the tragedy of that alien brain was mine; I shared its doom and lived +its death. Later I learnt that a party of men, coming out of the great +tribulation of the desert, had halted at this station, and a Hindu +soldier with a broken arm had died on those sacks. I record the incident +for what it is worth. + +Without my friend I should never have achieved this journey. My +gratitude is a private matter, though I state it here, with some mention +of my own dull illness, in order to picture in a small way the +sufferings of our men from Kut. When some were sick and others hale, the +death-rate was not so high, but with many parties, such as those whose +ghosts I believe I saw, there was no possibility of helping each other. +So starved and so utterly weary were they, that they had no energy +beyond their own existence. Many men must have died with no faith left +in man or God. + + * * * * * + +On arrival at Afion-kara-hissar, we were shown into a bare house. For a +day I rested blissfully on the floor, asking for nothing better than to +be allowed to lie still for ever and ever. But this was not to be. On +the second day of our stay we noticed signs of great excitement among +our guards. They nailed barbed wire round our windows, and they watched +us anxiously through skylights, and counted us continually, as if +uncertain whether two and two made four. + +Presently the meaning of their precautions was divulged. Some English +prisoners had escaped, and our captors were engaged in locking the +stable door after the steeds had gone. All the prisoners in +Afion-kara-hissar were marshalled in the street, and marched off to the +Armenian church, situated at the base of the big rock that dominates the +town. Hither we also marched, with our new companions, singing the +prisoners' anthem: + + "We _won't_ be bothered about + Wherever we go, we always shout + We won't be bothered about. . . . + We're bothered if we'll be bothered about!" + +greatly to the astonishment of the townsfolk, who connected the Armenian +church with massacres rather than melody. The leader of our band was a +wounded officer, in pyjamas and a bowler hat (this being the sum of his +possessions) who waved his crutch as a conductor's baton. (Alas! his +cheery voice is stilled, for he died in hospital a year later. R.I.P.) I +can still see him hobbling along--a tall figure in pink pyjamas, with +one leg swinging (bandaged to the size of a bolster) and his hat askew, +and his long chin stuck out defiantly--hymn-writer and hero +_manque_--fit leader of lost causes and of our fantastic pageant to that +church. + +It was a gay and motley crew of prisoners of all nationalities and +conditions of life who entered its solemn and rather stuffy precincts. +We were all delighted to be "str[-a]fed" in a worthy cause. Three good men +had escaped, and more might follow later. + +To anyone in decent health the month we spent in the Armenian church +must have been an interesting experience. Even to me, it was not without +amusement. Imagine a plain, rather gloomy, church, built of oak and +sandstone, with a marble chancel in the east. Two rooms opened out on +either side of the altar, and there was a high gallery in the west. In +the body of the building the English camped. One of the small rooms was +taken by the French, the other we reserved for a chapel. The Russians +chiefly inhabited the space between the chancel and the altar, but the +overflow of nationalities mingled. Our soldier servants were put in the +gallery. When everyone was fitted in, there was no space to move, except +in the centre aisle. There was no place for exercise nor any +arrangements for washing or cooking. During our stay in the church two +men died of typhus, and it is extraordinary that the infection did not +spread, considering the lack of sanitation. During the first night of +the strafe, the Russians, accustomed to pogroms in their own country, +thought there was a likelihood of being massacred, and kept watch +through the small hours of the morning by clumping up and down the aisle +in their heavy boots. All night long--for I was sleepless too--I watched +these grave, bearded pessimists waiting for a death which did not come, +while the French and English slept the sleep of optimists. At last dawn +arrived, and lit the windows over the altar, and a few moments later the +sunlight crept into the northern transept. Then the Russians gave up +their vigil, dropped in their tracks, and at once began snoring in the +aisle, like great watch-dogs. + +The noise the two hundred of us made in sleeping was remarkable. +Probably our nerves were rather queer. The church was never silent +through the night. Some cried out continually in their slumbers, others +went through a pantomime of eating. Some moaned, others chuckled. One +sleeper gave a hideous laugh at intervals. One could hear it deep down +in his throat, and mark it gradually bubbling to his lips until he grew +vocal like some horrible hyena. But it is small wonder that the +prisoners in the church were restless. The marvel is that they slept at +all. Nearly all of us had lived through trying moments, and had felt the +hand of Providence, whose power makes one tremble. We knew the shivers +of retrospection. One officer, for instance, wounded in an attack on +Gallipoli, had been dragged as a supposed corpse to the Turkish trenches +and there built into the parapet. But he was none the worse now for his +amazing experiences, except that he suffered slightly from deafness, as +his neck had formed the base of a loophole. Then there was a man, left +as dead after an attack, who recovered consciousness but not the use of +his limbs, and lay helpless in the path of the Turkish retreat. For an +hour the passers-by prodded him with bayonets, so that he now has +twenty-seven wounds and a large gap in his body where there should be +solid flesh. From the very brink of the valley of the shadow this boy of +nineteen had returned to life. Again, there was a young Frenchman, who +lay four days and nights between the lines, dying of the twin tortures +of thirst and a stomach wound; but by a miracle he survived, and now at +night, sometimes, when will lost its grip on consciousness, he would +live those ninety-six hours again. Then there were the submarine crews, +out of the jaws of the worst death conceivable. One crew had lived for a +whole day struggling in a net at the bottom of the Dardanelles while the +air became foul and hope waned, and the submarine "sweated," and depth +charges exploded so close to them that on one occasion the shock knocked +a teapot off a table! Hemmed in and helpless, the clammy agony of that +suspense might well haunt their sleeping hours. + +But on the whole our psychology was normal. Only, at nights, if one lay +awake, did one realise the stress and stark horror through which the +sleepers had lived. Out of four hundred officers "missing" at the +Dardanelles, only some forty were surviving at Afion-kara-hissar. This +fact speaks for itself. + +By day we wandered about, so far as the congestion permitted, making +friends and exchanging experiences. To us, lately from Mesopotamia, the +then unknown story of Gallipoli stirred our blood as it will stir the +blood of later men. + +I ate and drank the anecdotes of Gallipoli as they were told me. I loved +the hearing of them, in the various dialects of the protagonists, from a +lordly lisp to a backwood burr. The brogue, the northern drawl, the +London twang, the elided g's or the uncertain h's, had each their +several and distinct fascination. There is joy in hearing one's own +tongue again after a time of strange speech and foreign faces. + + "Beyond our reason's sway, + Clay of the pit whence we were wrought + Yearns to its fellow-clay." + +The many voices of the many British were better than sweet music. + +But we had plenty of sweet music as well. The sailors amongst us were +the cheeriest crew imaginable. + +A resume of our life at that time would be that we sang often about +nothing in particular, swore continually at life in general, smoked +heavily, gambled mildly, and drank _'araq_ when we could get it, and tea +when we couldn't. Not everyone, I hasten to add, did all these things. +As in everyday life, there were some who said that the constant +cigarette was evil, and that cards were a curse, and drink the devil. +But, again, as in everyday life, their example had no effect on cheerful +sinners. + + "Here's to the bold and gallant three + Who broke their bonds and sought the sea" + +sang one of the poets of our captivity, and all of us French, Russians, +and English, took up the chorus with a roar. The Turkish sentries +protested vainly, and some, ostentatiously loading their rifles, went up +to the Western gallery which overlooked the body of the church. As we +were being treated like Armenians, they could not understand why we did +not behave like Armenians and herd silently together, as sheep before a +storm. Instead, two hundred lusty voices proclaimed to anyone who cared +to listen that we were not downhearted. + +See us then at midnight, seated at a table under the high altar. About +fifty of us are celebrating somebody's birthday, and a demi-john of +_'araq_ graces the festive board. We have sung every song we know, and +many we don't. + + "Jolly good song and jolly well sung, + Jolly good fellows every one. . . . + Wow! Wow!" + +The chorus dies down, and the Master of the Ceremonies, still in pyjamas +and bowler hat, rises on his sound leg and standing (swaying slightly) +at the head of the table, raps on it with his crutch for silence. + +One officer wears a soup-bowl for a Hun helmet. Others are dressed as +parodies of Turks, and have been acting in a farce entitled "The +Escape." Two Irish friends of mine are singing "The Wearing of the +Green," while others are patriotically drowning their voices. A +submarine skipper, with a mane of yellow hair over his face, like a lion +in a picture-book, watches a diplomat dancing a horn-pipe. A little bald +flying man of gigantic strength and brain, is wrestling with a bearded +Hercules. Some sailors are singing an old sea-chanty. + +The rough deal table, littered with pipes and glasses, the tallow-dips +lighting the vaulted gloom, the bearded roysterers singing songs older +than Elizabeth's time, the simple fare of bread and meat, the simpler +jokes and horseplay, took one back through centuries to other men who +made the best of war. In Falstaff's time such scenes as these must have +passed in the taverns of Merrie England. Only here, there were no +wenches to serve us with sack. We had to mix our own _'araq_. + +"Silence, if you please," says he of the long jowl, using his crutch as +a chairman's hammer. "Silence for the prisoners' band." + +The band begins. It consists of penny whistles, banjos, castanets, +soup-bowls, knives and forks, and anything else within reach. The +_motif_ of the piece is our release. _Andante con coraggio_ we pass the +weary months ahead. Then the dawn of our liberation breaks. We smash +everything we possess, while the train to take us away steams into the +station. + +Sh! Shh! Shhh! Chk! Chk! Chk! Bang! Swish!! We take our seats amid a +perfect pandemonium. Then the train whistles--louder and louder--and we +move off--faster and faster and faster and _faster_, until no one can +make any more noise, and the dust of our stamping has risen like incense +to the roof, in a grand finale of freedom. + +Strange doings in a church, you say? But what would you? We had nowhere +else to go. There is a time for everything after all, and it is a poor +heart that never rejoices. I feel sure Solomon himself would have sung +with us, and proved most excellent company. + +On Sunday mornings Divine Service was always well attended. Perhaps by +contrast with my usual methods of passing the time, those Sabbath hours +are set as so many jewels in the tarnished shield of idleness. The +fadeless beauty of our Common Prayer brought hope and consolation to all +of us who were gathered together. We repeated the grand old words; we +sang "Fight the Good Fight" and "Onward, Christian Soldiers." We shared +then, however humbly, in the tears and triumph of our cause. We were not +of that white company that was to die for England, but we could share +the sorrow of the women who mourned, and of the old who stood so sadly +outside the fray. + +And as through a magic door, I passed from that barren room to a country +church where the litany for all prisoners and captives went up to +Heaven, mingled with the fragrance of English roses. + + + + + CHAPTER V + + THE LONG DESCENT OF WASTED DAYS + + +Afion-kara-hissar means "Black Opium Rock" in Turkish, but it is not as +interesting a place as it sounds. The only romantic visitors are the +storks, who use it as an aerodrome on their bi-annual migrations. They +blacken the sky when they come, in flights a thousand strong, swooping +and circling over the plain and alighting finally near the black rocks +that give the town its name. With one leg tucked up, and pensive beak +back-turned, they form arresting silhouettes against the sunset. And +curiously enough, the Turkish children know that they bring babies to +the home. + +We lived in four cottages, connected by a common garden. They were quite +new--so new that they had no windows or conveniences. We fitted frames +and panes, we erected bathrooms, installed kitchen ranges, made beds out +of planks and string, and tables out of packing-cases. We made +everything, in fact, except the actual houses. + +I daresay that at this time we were better treated than the officer +prisoners in Germany. Not so the men. We officers had plenty to eat, +though it cost a great deal, but the men were always half starved when +for any reason they could not supplement their ration from Ambassador's +money, or private remittances from home. Every month the American (and +later the Dutch) Embassy used to send a sum of money to our prisoners to +help them buy something more nourishing than the black bread and soup +provided by the Turks. When this relief did not arrive in time, or the +Turks delayed in distributing it, our men suffered the greatest +hardship. Treatment in Turkey was all a question of money. The officers +could, and did, cash cheques while in captivity, and were able to pay +for the necessities (and sometimes also the minor luxuries) of +existence, but the men were entirely dependent on what was given them. +Although some had bank balances, no one except an officer was allowed to +write a cheque. + +Here it is fitting to say a word in praise of those organisations who +sent out parcels to our prisoners. No words can express our gratitude to +them. To us officers, parcels were sometimes in the nature of a luxury, +though none the less welcome. But to the men, who starved in dungeons of +the interior, they came as a very present help in time of need. The +prisoners' parcels saved many lives, and I hope the kind people who +worked so hard at home against all sorts of difficulties and +disappointments realise how grateful we are, and what a great work they +did. Besides the material relief of provisions, the moral effect of a +parcel from home on the mind of a sick prisoner cannot be over +estimated. To open something packed by English hands was like a breath +of home to him. + +We were allowed no communication with the men, so it was very difficult +to help them. Whether the worst done to our prisoners in Germany equals +the worst in Turkey I do not know. To compare two horrors is profitless. +But I do know something of the sufferings of our men, and when I write +of my own petty amusements and comedies of captivity I do not for a +moment forget the tragedy of their lives. + +Light and shade, however, there must be in every picture, else it is not +a picture at all. And there must be colour in the canvas, however grim +the subject. + +The poppy fields, which give the town the first part of its name,[1] lay +right underneath our windows, across the station road. In June, when +they were white with blossom, and the farmers' wives came out to drain +the precious fluid from the buds, I used to gaze and gaze at the beauty +of the world, and long for freedom. To be cooped up in a little room +when the world was green and white, and the sky a flawless blue, and +summer rode across the open lands, was miserable. It was unbearable to +be growing old and immobile, like the hills on the horizon, when one +might be out among the poppy blossoms. Of what use to be alive, if one +did not share in the youth of the world? + +But we were closely guarded in our cottages and rarely allowed out, +except into the back garden--a bare space some hundred yards by thirty, +which was the scene of most of our small activities, from early morning +skipping to the mid-day display of our washing, and from the occasional +amateur theatricals of an evening to the rare but tense moments of an +attempted escape. + +A diary of my days might run as follows: + +_Monday._ Up at 6 a.m. Skipped 200 times. Two eggs for breakfast, tried +my new _pekmes_.[2] Read _Hilal_.[3] Looked out places on my hidden map. +Long argument about the use of cavalry in modern war. Walk in garden. +Mutton cutlets for lunch. Completed my new hammock. Argued about Free +Trade. Played badminton in garden. Read philosophy with ---- and ----. +_Sakuska_[4] party with ---- and ---- at 7.30. Watched Polly picking +opium. Dinner at 8. Soup, eggs, suet; very satisfactory. Bridge and bed. + +_Tuesday._ Up at 6.15. Skipped 250 times, and had a boxing lesson. +Painful. Two eggs for breakfast, but one bad. _Hilal_ did not arrive. +Argued about yesterday's cavalry news. Walk in garden. No meat for +lunch. Bitten by mosquitoes in my hammock. Argued about Protection. Ran +round the garden ten times. My wind is getting worse. _Sakuska_ party +at sevenish with ---- and ---- in my room. Polly was seen out walking +with a _posta_.[5] Dinner at 8. Mutton cutlets. Chess and bed. + +And so on, _ad infinitum_. + +I had at that time come to the conclusion that I could not reach the +coast from Afion-kara-hissar, so for some time I sought a mental rather +than a physical escape from my surroundings. Philosophy seemed an ideal +subject under the circumstances, and in the company of two friends of +like mind, I made some study of "Creative Evolution." Every afternoon we +used to forgather for tea, in a little room I had built, where our joint +contributions provided a well-selected pabulum of cakes and jam and +Bergson, so that the inner and the outer man were Platonically at one. +But to plunge from _le tremplin de la vie_ is not easy in captivity. +Lack of employment cripples imagination. The average mind works best +when it has practical things to do, and mine, such as it is, boggles at +abstractions more quickly than it tires of talk. + +When this occurred the best thing to do was to laugh. A friend and I +used to laugh for hours sometimes over weak and washy stories that would +hardly pass muster, even in the small hours of the morning. But they did +us good. Generally, however, the time between tea and dinner was spent +in learned and weighty discussions on appearance, reality, and the +problems of Being and Not-being. + +With my two friends + + ". . . the seed of Wisdom did I sow + And with my own Hand arboured it to grow, + But this was all the Harvest that I reaped-- + I came like Water and like Wind I go." + +Only unfortunately I did not go. I remained firmly at Afion-kara-hissar. +When philosophy failed me, the hours spent in planning escapes and +concocting cyphers were those which passed most easily. But the craft of +cyphers, interesting though it be, cannot be discussed in print. Like +the preparation of poisons, it must remain part of the unpublished +knowledge of the world, until the millennium. As regards escapes, some +of us thought a great deal, and did very little. There were, however, +some ingenious attempts made to get to Constantinople. One officer +conceived the idea of going there to be treated for hydrophobia, and, +after inflicting suitable wounds in the calf of his leg with a pair of +nail scissors, he asserted that a certain dog, well known in the camp, +had exhibited strange symptoms of insanity, amongst others, that of +suddenly biting him in the leg. This ruse would have succeeded but for +the fact that the Turks did not treat hydrophobia with any seriousness. +Kismet takes no account of the Pasteur system. Short of actually +snapping at someone, the officer could not have established a belief in +his infection. He found it simpler to feign another ailment. Two other +officers, however, of a still more picturesque turn of mind, declared +that they themselves were mad, and actually hung themselves as a proof +of insanity. They were found one morning by their astonished sentries +suspended from a rafter, and apparently in the last stages of +strangulation. Convinced that they were "afflicted of God," the Turks +sent them to hospital, and carefully watched for any symptoms of +suicidal mania. After various astonishing experiences, in their role of +madmen, amongst real madmen in a Turkish lunatic ward, they were +eventually exchanged. + +In sheer manual dexterity, our prisoners also showed great resource. The +soldiers who were employed on making a tunnel through the Taurus, to +take one example, succeeded in purloining various odds and ends from the +workshops where they laboured under German supervision, until they +eventually were able to build for themselves a complete collapsible +boat. This boat they actually tested at dead of night on a river near +their camp, before setting out to reach the coast. That success did not +crown their efforts was sheer bad luck. Luck, also, was against most of +the forty officers who concerted a simultaneous escape from Yuzgad, and +prepared for it in absolute secrecy, down to the smallest detail, for +months beforehand. Some of them even made their own boots. Only eight +out of the original party actually got out of the country, however. +Their story, surely one of the most remarkable ever written, has +recently been published. + +The two great difficulties in any attempt to escape were: firstly, that +the Turks, by spies or otherwise, studied the psychology of every +individual prisoner, setting special guards on the more enterprising +among them, and, secondly, that the distance of the camp from the coast, +and the number of brigands infesting every mile of that distance, was +such that it was extremely difficult to gain the sea, let alone embark +upon it. + +The spies made some very bad guesses about the intentions of the +prisoners. One harmless and elderly officer was seen greasing a pair of +marching boots, and this gave rise to the most sinister suspicions. +Where could the officer want to march to, except the coast? He was +immediately asked for his parole, and gave it. + +Exercise in any form was a sign of incipient madness in the eyes of the +Turks. Why, they argued, should anyone in his right mind skip five +hundred times, and then splash himself with ice-cold water? If he did +such things, he ought certainly to be placed under restraint. Boxing, +again, was a suspect symptom. A man who bled at the nose for pleasure +might commit any enormity. In order to circumvent suspicion it was +necessary to adopt the utmost caution. The method I myself employed is +described in a later chapter. One friend of mine, while training for a +trip to Blighty, habitually carried heavy lead plates hung round his +waist, to accustom himself to the weight of his pack. Such were the +internal difficulties. But outside the camp the problems were even more +puzzling. How to avoid the brigands--how to carry food enough for the +journey--how to elude our guards and get a few hours' start--what +clothes to wear and what pack to carry--how to find one's way--how to +get a boat once the coast was reached--here were well-nigh insoluble +questions, which provided, however, excellent topics for talk. + +I talked about these things for eighteen months. But I will ask the +reader to skip that dismal procession of moons, and come directly to the +day when I was asked by the Commandant to sign a paper stating that I +would not attempt to escape. I naturally refused, as also did another +officer to whom the same request was made. + +Our negotiations in this matter, while interesting to us at the time, +and involving the composition of several noble documents in French, led +to the sad result that we were both transferred, at an hour's notice, to +a little box of a house in the Armenian quarter. Once inside the house, +with the various belongings we had collected during a twelve-month of +captivity in Afion-kara-hissar, we two completely filled the only +habitable room. And although habitable in a sense, this room was already +occupied by undesirable tenants. + +I must here, rather diffidently, introduce the subject of vermin. But, +saving the public's presence, bugs are the very devil. Other insects are +nothing to them. Lice the gallant reader may have met at the front. +Fleas are a common experience. Centipedes and scorpions are well known +in India. But bugs are Beelzebub's especial pets, and Beelzebub is a +ruler in Turkey. It is quite impossible to write of my captivity there +without mentioning these small, flat creatures who live in beds. I +cannot disregard them: they have bitten into my very being. + +Imagine lying down, after a sordid day of dust and disagreeableness. One +thinks of home, or the sea. One tries to slide out to the gulfs of +sleep, where healing is. But rest does not come: there is a sense of +malaise. One's skin feels irritable and unclean. Presently there is an +itching at one's wrists, and at the back of one's neck. One squashes +something, and there is a smear of blood (one's own good blood) and one +realises that one's skin (one's own good skin) is being punctured by +these evil beasts. Almost instantly one squashes another. A horrible +odour arises. One lights the candle, and there, scuttling under the +pillow, are five or six more of these loathsome vermin. They not only +suck one's blood. They sap one's faith in life. + + "If one could dream that such a world began + In some slow devil's heart that hated man," + +indeed one would not be mistaken. In them the powers of Satan seem +incarnate. + +Having killed every bug in sight, one lies back and gasps. And then, out +of the corner of one's eye, creeping up the pillow, and hugely magnified +by proximity, another monstrous brute appears. It runs forward, +horribly avid, and eager, and brisk. All the cruelty of nature is in its +hideous head, all the activity of evil in its darting body. Presently +another and another appear. There is no end to them. You kill them on +the bed, and they appear on the walls. You search out and slaughter +every form of life within reach, but the bugs still drop on you from the +ceiling. No killing can assuage their appetite for a healthy body. +Reckless of danger, they batten on the young. Regardless of death, they +swarm to silky skin. Of two victims, they will always choose the one in +best condition. + +After being eaten by bugs for some time, one feels infected with their +contamination. It is almost impossible to rise superior to them. In one +night a man can live through the miseries of Job. + +It may be imagined therefore that our confinement in that little house +was not amusing. My companion in misfortune and myself lived in that box +for a week with the bugs, without once going out of the door. Now, to +stay in a room for a week may not seem a very trying punishment (I was +later to spend a month in solitary confinement); but when the punishment +is wholly undeserved, and when, moreover, one is wrongly suspected of +something one would like to do but has not done, and when one is bitten +all night, and when from confinement one sees other officers walking +about in comparative freedom, one naturally begins to fret. + +There were compensations, however. Firstly, a friendship grew between +my companion and myself which I hope will endure through life. Secondly, +as a prisoner, any sort of change is welcome. And, thirdly, we felt we +were doing something useful. The Commandant did not dare to force us to +sign parole. Neither could he keep us permanently in special restraint. +It is rarely that one gets the chance, as a prisoner, of putting the +enemy on the horns of such a dilemma. + +This Commandant, an ugly, drunken beast, who is now, I hope, expiating +the innumerable crimes he committed against our men, caused a search to +be made one day amongst the effects of all the prisoners at +Afion-kara-hissar. One of the most interesting things he found was a +diary kept by a senior British officer, with the following entry: + +"New Commandant arrived. His face looks as if it was meant to strike +matches on." + +No better description could possibly have been written. He was a vain +man, and it must have cut him to the quick to see himself as others saw +him. + +After a month of "special treatment" the Commandant learnt that Turkish +Army Headquarters, fearing reprisals, no doubt, would not support his +bluff in punishing us if we did not give parole. He had to climb down +completely. + +We were transferred to another house, in the Armenian quarter, already +occupied by some R.N.A.S. officers, who were all determined to escape +if opportunity arose. A very cheery house-party we made. + +The time was now the year of grace 1917, and our life was organised to +some extent. Once or twice a week we were allowed to play football, or +go for a walk. On Thursdays we used to troop down in a body to visit the +officers in the other houses, and on Monday mornings we were sometimes +able, with special permission, to attend the weekly fair of coke and +firewood held in the market-place. All this gave an interest to our +lives, and money, so long as one was prepared to write cheques, was not +a source of difficulty. The Turks, in fact, encouraged us to write +cheques, exchanging them for Turkish notes at nearly double their face +value (190 piastres for a pound was the best I myself received), because +they rightly thought that our signature was worth more than the +guarantees of the Turkish Government. I heard afterwards that our +cheques had a brisk circulation on the Constantinople Bourse. But one +was loth to write many. Five pounds is five pounds--and in Turkey it +represented only a packet of tea or a kilogram of sugar. . . . I saved +as much as I could for bribes when escaping. + +A microscopic, but not unamusing, social life was in full swing. There +were parties and politics, clubs and cliques. Each prisoner, according +to his temperament, took his choice between grave pursuits and gay. + +There were lecturers (really good ones) who discoursed on a wide range +of topics, from Mendelism to Mesopotamia. There were professors of +French, Italian, Greek, Russian, Turkish, Arabic, Hindustani, and I +daresay all the languages of Babel, ready to teach in return for +reciprocal instruction in English. Our library contained many luminous +volumes, kindly sent out by the Board of Trade. Law and Seamanship, +Semaphoring and Theology, Carpentry and the Integral Calculus, Gardening +and Genetics--such is a random selection of the subjects on which there +were experts available and eager to impart information. + +But, personally, my mind resisted the seductions of learning. I learned +only how to waste time. And sometimes, perhaps, I touched the hem of +Philosophy's garment, and stammered a few words to her. Otherwise I did +nothing except try to forget things . . . things seen. + +Yet one enjoyed oneself, occasionally. The football was great fun. So +also were some of the lighter sides of our indoor life. Poker used to +pass the time. So also, though more rarely, did reading. The plays which +a dramatist--soon to be eminent, I expect--presented to enthusiastic +audiences are delightful memories. His revues and topical verses were +worthy of a wider audience, and I am sure his work--unlike the most of +our labours--will not be wasted. + +But best of all, I think, was to sit in a circle on the floor round a +brazier on a winter's evening, and sip hot lemon _'araq_, and listen to +songs and stories. It was a relief to laugh, and forget the fate of +those we could not help. + + "Sweet life, if love were stronger, + Earth clear of years that wrong her . . ." + +sang a soft Irish voice, whose melody seemed to melt into the cold of +one's captivity. . . . Then there were the fancy dress balls held on New +Year's Eve in 1917 and 1918. So good were they that for the night one +completely forgot one's surroundings. A very attractive barmaid +dispensed refreshments behind a table. There were several debutantes, +and at least one chaperone. Pierrot was there, and Pierrette, and +Mephistopheles, and Bacchus, and a very realistic Pirate. If some +reveller in London had looked in on us at midnight he might easily have +fancied himself at an Albert Hall dance. He would certainly not have +guessed that all the clothes and furniture and food were home-made, and +that everyone in the room was a British officer. The self-confident +flapper, for instance, who could only have given him "the next missing +three" was a Major in the Flying Corps. And the girl at the bar, with +big brown eyes, who would have offered him _'araq_ so charmingly was +really a submarine officer of the Navy, and a well-known figure at "The +Goat." + +After functions such as these, the morning after the night before found +me wondering where it would all end. If the war lasted another ten +years, would I ever be fit to take a place in normal life? How long +could I keep sane in this topsy-turvy world? . . . + + * * * * * + +The weather in the winter of 1918 was absolutely arctic. For a month +there was a very hard frost, and during all this time, had it not been +for festivities such as the foregoing I should have stayed stupidly in +bed and hibernated until the spring. Intenser cold I have never felt. In +the room in which we dined the water froze in our glasses on several +occasions while we were eating our evening meal. Icy winds howled +through the house, and the paper windows we had improvised (to replace +unobtainable glass) had burst, through weight of snow. Also, the plaster +of the outer walls of our mansion had peeled off, so that cold blasts +penetrated through the walls. With few clothes and only one pair of +leaky boots it was impossible to keep warm and dry-shod. Fuel, of +course, was very scarce. In my bedroom some precious quarts of beer, +which I was preserving for Christmas, froze and cracked their bottles. I +invited a party to taste my blocks of amber ice, but they were better to +look at than to swallow. + +Under these climatic conditions washing was a labour that took one the +best part of the morning, and until I caught a chill I used to economize +time and fuel by rolling in the snow on the flat roof of my house. This +amused me, and surprised the neighbourhood, but it was a poor substitute +for a bath. That winter was a black, bleak time. + +During the hard frost it was impossible to escape, but we used +occasionally to reconnoitre the sentries outside our house after +lock-up. I have spent some amusing moments in this way, especially in +watching one sentry (generally on duty at midnight) who used to warm +himself by playing with a cat. With pussy on one arm and his rifle on +the other, he formed a delightfully casual figure. It would have been +quite easy to pass him, but the difficulties lay beyond. . . . + +I then thought, wrongly I dare say, that the only reasonable hope of +success lay in starting from Constantinople, and it was to this end that +my real schemes were shaping. But I thought it well to have two strings +to my bow, and besides, I considered no day well spent which did not +include some practical effort towards escape. + +A complex of causes contributed to this idea, which became almost an +obsession. First, I dare say, was boredom. Second, the feeling that one +was not earning one's pay or doing one's duty by remaining idly a +prisoner. And thirdly--or was it firstly?--the condition under which our +men were living and the crimes which had been committed against them +made it imperative that someone should get to England with our news. It +was high time, and past high time, that the civilised world should know +how our prisoners fared. + +I have already written the savage story of our life at Mosul, where the +men died from calculated cruelty. The history of the Kut prisoners is +even worse, for the crime was on a greater scale. + +That garrison, debilitated from the long siege and the climatic +conditions of Mesopotamia, were marched right across Asia Minor with +hardly any clothes, no money, and insufficient food. Their nameless +sufferings will never be known in full, for many died in the desert, +clubbed to death by their guards, stripped naked, and left by the +roadside. Others were abandoned in Arab villages, when in the last +stages of fever or dysentery. Others, more fortunate, were found dead by +their companions after the night's halt, when the huddled sleepers +turned out to face another day of misery. Hopeless indeed the outlook +must have seemed to some lad fresh from the fields of home. The brutal +sentries, the arid desert, the daily deaths, the daily quarrels, the +bitterness of the future, as bleak as the acres of sand that stretched +to their unknown destination, the dwindling company of friends, the grip +of thirst, the pangs of hunger, and the pains of death--such was the +outlook for many a lad who died between Baghdad and Aleppo. Ghosts of +such memories must not be lightly evoked amongst those alive to-day, +friends of the fallen, but always they will haunt the trails of the +northern Arabian desert. + +Through it all our men were heroes. To the last they showed their +captors of what stuff the Anglo-Saxon is made. The cowardly Kurds, who +were the worst of the various escorts provided between Baghdad and +Aleppo, never dared to insult our men unless they outnumbered them four +to one. Even then they generally waited until some sick man fell down +from exhaustion before clubbing him to death with their rifle-butts. + +In the middle of the desert, between Mosul and Aleppo, a friend of mine +found six half-demented British soldiers who had been propped up against +the wall of a mud hut and left there to die. There was no transport, no +medicines. Nothing could be done for them. They died long before the +relief parties organised at Aleppo could come to their rescue. + +At Aleppo the hospital treatment was extremely bad. + +All men who were fit to move (and many who were not) were sent on in +cattle trucks to various camps in the centre of Anatolia, and when at +length they reached these camps after vicissitudes which were only a +dreary repetition of earlier experiences, they came upon the plague of +typhus at its height, and naturally, in this weakened state, succumbed +by scores and hundreds. + +To see a body of our soldiers arriving at Afion-kara-hissar, pushed and +kicked and beaten by their escort, was terrible. + +Our men were literally skeletons alive, skeletons with skin stretched +across their bones, and a few rags on their backs. This is an exact +statement of things seen. They struggled up the road, hardly able to +carry the pitiful little bundles containing scraps of bread, a bit of +soap, a mug, all, in short, that they had been able to save from +systematic looting on the way. + +In silence, and unswerving, they passed up that road to the hospital, +and all who saw those companies of Englishmen so grim and gallant in +adversity must have felt proud their veins carried the same blood. + +Once in hospital our prisoners fared no better. There were no beds for +them, and hardly any blankets or medicines. They died in groups, lying +outside the hospital. + +It was a common sight to see sad parties of our men passing down this +same road, away from the hospital this time, and towards the cemetery. +Those weary processions, consisting of four or five emaciated men, with +a stretcher and a couple of shovels, used to pass underneath our windows +going to bury their comrade. They were a party of skeletons alive, +carrying a skeleton dead. + +[Footnote 1: Afion = opium.] + +[Footnote 2: _Pekmes_: a substitute for jam and sugar, made from +raisins.] + +[Footnote 3: The _Hilal_: a Moslem morning paper, published in French.] + +[Footnote 4: _Sakuska_: Russian for hors d'oeuvres--such as sardines, +frogs' legs, onions, bits of cheese, or indeed anything edible.] + +[Footnote 5: _Posta_: a Turkish sentry.] + + + + + CHAPTER VI + + THE PSYCHOLOGY OF PRISON + + +The contrast of tragedy and farce and the incidents, and the lack of +incident, which I have attempted to sketch in the foregoing chapter, had +a marked mental effect on all of us. But each felt the effects of +confinement differently. With me, I came to look on my life in Turkey as +something outside the actuality of existence. I did not feel "myself" at +all. I was disembodied, left with no link with the outer world, except +memory and anticipation. I was in a dark forest far from all avenues of +activity such as the sanity of society and the companionship of women. +My world seemed make-believe, and my interests counterfeit. + +I worked at a novel with a friend of mine, and for a time that seemed +something practical to do. But there was always the fear that it would +be taken from us by the Turks, and the possibility that we would never +publish it. + +Doubt and indecision lay heavy on me. I did not know how long captivity +would last. A criminal's sentence is fixed: not so a prisoner of war's. +He is dependent on matters beyond his control, and a will beyond his +narrow ambit. To reach that outside will, and to form a part of it +again, was my dominating wish. Through the glasses of captivity the +world was colourless and distorted. Only freedom could make me see it +again aright. And when freedom seemed remote, the world was very +colourless. + +The novel amused me by snatches. Learning languages amused me at times. +But these things were really the diversions of a child, who dreams +through all its lesson-time of another and a fairer world. + +But, unlike a child, I became absorbed in self. I analysed my moods, and +thought gloomily about my health. I mourned my youth, as my hair turned +grey. The sorrows of the spinster were mine and the griefs of the +middle-aged. The value of material things was magnified. The pleasures +of the palate, I confess, assumed an exaggerated importance. I found a +new joy in food, and sometimes I dreamed that I was eating. Also I +contracted the habit of smoking cigarettes in the middle of the night. +And I learnt that the effect of alcohol, when one is very depressed, is +like putting in the top clutch of the car of consciousness, so that one +runs forward smoothly on the road of life. In short, I enjoyed eating +and drinking and smoking in a way that I had never done before, and +never will again, I hope. But I know now why public-houses flourish. +After my own experience of deathly dullness, I heartily sympathise with +those who seek relief in alcohol and nicotine. They may be poison, but +in this imperfect world the deadliest poison of all is boredom. +Prohibition, as I saw it in Turkey, when tobacco was short, or food was +scarce, or alcohol was forbidden, did not impress me as being +beneficial. The fact is, we all need stimulant of one sort or another. +Normally our work, our home, or our hopes supply this need. Almost +everyone in the world is struggling (however carefully they may disguise +the fact) to be other than they are, and better (or worse) than they +are. We strive after superlatives and are rarely satisfied by them. But +in captivity, as in other circumstances of distress, this stay in life, +this hope of something different and wish for something _more_, is +suddenly removed. We are left without _stimuli_. Nothing seems to +matter. One's mental and material habits inevitably relax. A muddy idea +seems as good as a clear one--a sloppy suit of clothes serves as well as +a tidy one. Energy wanes. + +But why? The reason is that the average mind cannot live on +abstractions. It must grapple with something practical. One must sharpen +one's wits on the world, and it is just this that as a prisoner one +cannot do. One cannot "lay hold on life," because there is no life to +lay hold of, except an unnatural and artificial existence, where the +sympathy of women and the dignity of work are absent. That was the crux +of the matter. Sympathy and dignity were lacking in our life. We heard +of advances and retreats as from another sphere. We read of great +heroisms and great sorrows without being close to them. We had no part +in the quarrel. We were in a squalid by-way, living out a mean tragedy, +while the fate of all we loved was in the balance. Never again would we +go fighting. + +From the moment of our capture we had passed into a strange narrow life, +where the spirit of man, while retaining all its old memories and hopes, +could not express them in action. + +Captivity is a minor form of death, and I was dead, to all intents and +purposes. + +Often, lying a-bed in the early morning, I used to feel that my body was +completely gone, and that only a fanciful and feverish intelligence +remained. I remember especially one dawn in the spring of 1917, when I +watched two figures passing down the station road. Slouching towards the +station, and all unconscious of the beauty of the waking world, came a +soldier with his pack and rifle. He wore the grey Turkish uniform, his +beard was grey, his cheeks were also grey and sunken. Slowly, slowly he +dragged his heavy feet towards the train that would take him away to the +war. The train had been already signalled, I knew (for I kept notes of +the traffic in those days), and I found myself hoping anxiously that he +would not be late. The sooner he was killed the better. He was old and +ugly and ill. If only such as he could perish. . . . Then my thought +took wings of the morning. From the soldier, plodding onwards devotedly, +as so many men have gone to their deaths, my eye ranged across the +plains, lying dim and dark to eastward, to the horizon mountains of the +Suleiman Dagh, whose snow had already seen the messengers of morning +hasting from the lands below our world. And man seemed mean and minute +in the purposes of Nature. So ugly was he, such a blot on the landscape +with his trains and soldiers, that I wondered he continued to exist. +There was a life above our life in the dawn. The powers of the world +knew nothing of this soldier's hopes and fears. To them his endeavours +were a comedy. A huge mountain-back, with the gesture of some giant in +the playtime of long ago, seemed shrugging its shoulders at this +ridiculous straying atom of a moment's space. The train came in, and I +saw its smoke above the tree-tops of the station. It whistled shrilly, +and the soldier quickened his pace. No doubt he was late. Perhaps he +still survives, and is toiling even now towards some trench. Anyway he +passed from my ken, but I still stood at the window, looking towards the +mountains and the sky. + +Then there passed an archaic ox-cart, creaking down the road slowly, as +it has creaked down the ages, from the night of Time. It was drawn by a +white heifer, whose shoulders strained against the yoke, for it was a +heavy cart. But she went forward willingly, resignedly. Work was her +portion. She would live and die under the yoke. She licked her cool +muzzle, dusted flies with her neat tail, and looked forward with +wistful eyes that seemed to see beyond her working world, to some +ultimate haven for the quiet workers. Somewhere she would find rest at +last. To my feverish imagination that white heifer symbolised the pathos +of all the driven souls who go forward unquestioning to destiny. + +And the soldier with his pack was a type also of voiceless millions who +carry the burden of our civilisation. + +We stagger on, under the bludgeonings of chance, and but rarely lift our +eyes to the dawn, although a daily miracle is there. Someone conducts +the orient-rite, regardless of the lives of men, which come sweeping on, +on the tide of war, to end in foam and froth. Yet from this stir of hate +and heroism some purpose must surely rise. From the travail of the +trenches some meaning will be born. + +I saw things thus, through images and symbols. Across the vast inanity +of that waiting time, streaks of vision used to flash, like distant +summer lightning. Impermanent, but beautiful to me, they lit a fair +horizon. Else, all was dark. + +To call this time a death in life seems an overstatement, but if my +experiences in Turkey had any mental value at all, it was just this: to +teach me how to die. A curtain had come down on consciousness when I was +captured. Since then I only lived in the Before and After of captivity. +My old self was finished. I saw it in clear but disjunct pictures of +recollection: pig-sticking, sailing, dining, dancing, or on the road to +Messines one hard November night when feet froze in stirrups and horses +slipped and struck blue lights from the cobbles. And my new self awaited +the moment of freedom. It still stirred in the womb of war. + +Even so, in my belief, do the souls of our comrades lost consider their +lives on earth and look back on their time of trial with interest and +regret. Discarnate, they cannot achieve their desires, yet they long to +manifest again in the world of men. With level and unclouded eyes they +consider the incidents of mortality, and find in them a Purpose to +continue. There is work for them in the world through many lives, and +love, which will meet and re-meet its love. And so at last, drawn by +duty and affection, those who have woven their lives in the tapestry of +our time will one day take up the threads again. + + + + + CHAPTER VII + + THE COMIC HOSPITAL IN CONSTANTINOPLE + + +The one bulwark against morbidity was hope of an escape. Only by getting +away, or at any rate making an attempt, could I justify my continued +existence, when so many good men were dying in the world outside--and at +our own doors. + +Now certain spies, as I have told, were constantly on the look-out for +officers likely to give trouble to our custodians. The Commandant, I +knew, suspected me of wanting to escape, owing to my general eagerness +for exercise. I thought, therefore, that if I could induce him to +believe that I was ready to dream away my days at Afion-kara-hissar, I +should have established that confidence in my character which is the +basis of all success. I consequently purchased some two pounds of a +certain dark and viscous drug, wrapped in a cabbage leaf. With a sort of +theatrical secrecy (for even in Turkey Mrs. Grundy has her say), I +proceeded to prepare the stuff by boiling it for two hours in a copper +saucepan. I did this on a day when one of the Turkish staff came to the +house to distribute letters. Naturally the smell attracted notice. I +made flimsy excuses to account for it. + +After distilling the decoction, filtering, and then boiling it down to +the consistency of treacle, the first phase of my little plan was +ended. One of the Turkish staff, a certain Cypriote youth, had become +thoroughly interested in my proceedings. + +I showed him, under vows of secrecy which I knew he would not keep, the +stage property I had bought, consisting of two bamboo pipes, a lamp, a +terra-cotta bowl, some darning needles, and the "treacle" in a jampot. +Fortunately the most of these implements I had obtained second-hand from +a real opium-smoker, so that they did not look too new. Also I had read +de Quincey and Claude Farrere. After discussing the subject at length, +the Cypriote suggested that we might smoke together one evening. I +agreed with alacrity. + +One night after lock-up, therefore, I slipped out of my house, with my +paraphernalia hidden under my overcoat. A specially bribed Turkish +sentry brought me to a silent, shuttered house in a side street. Here +the door was opened by an evil-looking harridan, who showed me upstairs +to a thickly carpeted room, strewn with cushions, on which my host was +lying. The blinds were drawn and only the glimmer of a little green lamp +lit the wreaths of whitish smoke which curled down from the low ceiling. +The fumes stang my palate and thrilled me with expectancy. I could +taste, rather than smell, that strange savour of opium which fascinates +its devotees. + +I lay down, in the semi-darkness, on a sofa beside my host. After some +general conversation, I showed him my pipes and needles, but he said +that for that evening I should only smoke the opium of his brewing. + +"It is a joy to have found a fellow-spirit," I sighed. "When one has +opium one wants nothing more." + +"How many pipes do you smoke a day?" he asked. + +"Fifty," I said boldly, adding, "when I am in practice." + +"That is nothing," said the Cypriote. "I smoke a hundred. Come, let us +begin. Time is empty, except for opium." + +"But who will prepare our pipes?" I asked. + +"We will do that ourselves," he answered. + +"I can't," I had to admit. "I--I am used to an attendant, who hands me +my pipes already cooked." + +"There is no one here," he said, "except an ugly old woman. But I will +show you myself. Half the pleasure is lost if another hand prepares the +precious fluid. See, you take a drop of opium--so--on the point of the +needle, and holding it over the flame of the lamp, you turn and turn it +gently until it swells and expands and glows with its hidden life. From +a black drop it changes to a glowing bubble of crimson. Then you cool it +again, moulding and pressing it back to a little pellet upon the glass +of the lampshade. Then again you cook it, and again you cool it. Only +experience can tell when it is ready to smoke. It is an art, like other +arts. I would rather cook opium than write a poem. It is even better +than money. Now you take your pipe and, heating the little hole through +which the opium is smoked, so that it will stick, you thrust your +needle--so--into the hole, and then withdraw it again, leaving the +pellet of perfect peace behind. And now, lying on your left side, with +your head well back amongst the cushions, you hold your pipe over the +flame and draw in a long and grateful breath. In and in you +breathe. . . ." + +I watched him take a deep draught of the drug, and then lie back among +the cushions with heavy-lidded eyes. For a full half-minute he remained +silent and dreaming, then expelled the thick white smoke with a sigh of +bliss. + +It was my turn now, and not without some dismay (although curiosity was +probably a stronger emotion) I accepted a pipe of his preparing. I +inhaled in and in--I choked a little--and then lay back with a +dreaminess that was not simulated, for it had made me feel giddy. + +"You prepare a most perfect pipe," I coughed through the acrid fumes. + +But I had realised immediately that I had not an opium temperament. In +all I smoked ten small pipes that first evening, without feeling any ill +effects beyond a heavy lassitude, which lasted all through the following +day. I was disappointed and disgusted by the experience. The beautiful +dreams are a myth. So also is the deadly fascination of the drug. I +loathed it more each time I tasted it. + +Yet those nights I lay on a sofa, _couche a gauche_ as opium-smokers +say, weaving a tissue of deceit into the grey-white clouds encircling +us, will always remain one of the most curious memories of my life. The +couches, the needles and the pipes, the pin-point pupils and wicked +profile of my host, as he leaned over the green glimmer of the lamp +which burnt to the god to whom his heart was given, and the growth of +that god in him, as pipe followed pipe to stir his consciousness, and +the beatitude that lit his features, as he looked up from amidst the +cushions to that dream-world of subtle smoke, to be seen only with +narrowed eyes, where princes of the poppies reign: this had a glamour +against the drab setting of captivity which I will neither deny nor +excuse. I was doing something practical once more. Instead of reading +philosophy or playing chess, I was engaged in a human game, whose stake +was freedom. + +A measure of success attended my efforts, for I learnt from the +Cypriote, in the course of subsequent visits to his house, that if I +wished for a holiday to Constantinople it would not be difficult to +arrange. + +I think we were both playing a double game. + +We both tried to make the other talk, he with the idea of getting +information about the camp and I in the hope of picking up some hint as +to where to hide in Constantinople. But card-sharpers might as well have +tried to fleece each other by the three card trick. His knowledge of +Constantinople seemed to be _nil_, while the information he got out of +me would not have filled his opium pipe. After these excursions I used +sometimes to wonder whether I was not wasting my time and health. But +time is cheap in captivity, and as to health, I used to counteract the +opium by counter-orgies of exercises. In the early mornings I skipped +and bathed in secret, but in the daytime I tottered wanly about the +streets, and whenever I saw the Cypriote I told him that I craved for +_confiture_: this being our name for opium. + +In my condition it was an easy matter to be sent to the doctor. I told +him various astonishing stories about my health, chiefly culled from a +French medical work which I found in the waiting-room of his house. +Within a month I was transferred to Haidar Pasha Hospital, near +Constantinople. Had I been in brutal health, the operation to my nose +which was the ostensible reason of my departure would not have been +considered necessary. But I had been removed from the category of +suspects, and was now considered an amiable invalid. + + * * * * * + +The guard on my northward journey was more like a sick attendant than a +sentry. I showed him some opium pills, which I declared were delicious +to take. He evinced the greatest interest, and I was able to prevail on +him to swallow two or three as an experiment. Unfortunately, after he +had taken them, I discovered they contained nothing more exciting than +cascara. They did not send him to sleep at all. + +We arrived at Haidar Pasha without incident. Before being admitted, my +effects were searched, and stored away, but being by that time +accustomed to searches, I was able to hide, upon my person, a variety +of things that would be useful in an escape, notably a compass, and a +complete set of maps of Constantinople and its surroundings. + +Captain Sir Robert Paul, with whom I had discussed plans at +Afion-kara-hissar, was already installed in hospital, where he was being +treated for an aural complaint. His friendship was an inestimable +stand-by through the months that followed. Through scenes of farce and +tragedy he was always the same feckless and fearless spirit. In success, +as in adversity, he kept an equal mien. Without him, the most amusing +chapters in my life would not have happened, and if I write "_I_" in the +pages which follow, it is only because Robin, as I shall hereafter call +him, has not been consulted about this record of our days together. +Owing to circumstances beyond our control, the full responsibility for +this story must be mine. The seas divide us. I cannot ask his help, or +solicit his approval. + +The hospital at Haidar Pasha was the most delightfully casual place +imaginable. One wandered into one's ward in a Turkish nightshirt, and +wandered out again at will, the only limits to peregrination being the +boundaries of the hospital and one's own rather fantastic dress. Unless +one asked loudly and insistently for medicines or attendance, no one +dreamed of doing anything at all in the way of treatment. The only +attention the patients received was to be turned out of the hospital +when they were either dead or restored to health. Under the latter +category a crowd of invalids came every day, who were generally ejected +just before noon, clamouring loudly for their mid-day meal, and the +unexpended portion of their day's ration. Of deaths in hospital I +witnessed only one, although scores occurred during my stay. One evening +an Armenian officer was brought into my ward with severe wounds in the +head, due to a prematurely exploded bomb. He was laid flat on a bed, and +instantly proceeded to choke. No one came near him. It seemed obvious to +me that if he was propped up by pillows he would be able to breathe. But +no one propped him up. I suggested to the hospital orderly that this +should be done, and he said, "Yarin." And "yarin" the poor officer died +of lack of breath. How sick men survived is a mystery to me, because +they were never attended to, unless strong enough to scream. Screaming, +however, is a habit to which the Turkish patient is not averse. He does +not believe in the stoical repression of feeling. Strong and brave men +will bellow like bulls while their wounds are being dressed. Unless, +indeed, one makes a fuss, no one will believe one is being hurt. I have +seen mutton-fisted dressers tearing off bandages by main force, while +some unfortunate patient with a stoical tradition sweats with agony and +bites his lips in silence. + +But although the Turk cries out, he is by no means a coward under the +knife. His stern and simple faith seems to help him here. There is +something very fine about a good Moslem's readiness for death. No man +who knows the religion, or has lived intimately among its adherents, can +fail to give it reverence. Before God all men are equal, and when one +walks about in a nightshirt, one begins to realise this fundamental +truth. There was a great friendliness in that hospital, and a cordiality +that coloured the otherwise sordid surroundings. Poor jettison of the +war, broken with fighting, or rotten with disease, or shamming sick, we +forgathered in the corridors, or in the garden, with no thought for the +external advantages of rank and fortune. + +Matches at that time had practically disappeared from Turkey, and +whenever one issued from the ward with a cigarette between one's lips, +one was beset by invalids in search of a light. Who lit the original +vestal fire I do not know, but I am sure it was never extinguished in +that hospital. Patients smoked and talked all night. + +We took our part with pleasure in this picnic life. Robin, with +remarkable skill, had contrived to smuggle in various forbidden bottles, +which contributed greatly to our popularity. One drink especially, from +its innocuous appearance and stimulating properties, found great favour +amongst the patients. It was known as "Iran," and consisted of equal +parts of sour milk and brandy. A teetotaller might safely be seen with a +long glass of creamy-looking fluid, yet Omar Khayyam himself would not +have despised a jug of it. Imbibing this, we used to hold polyglot +pow-wows with the patients, in French, German, Arabic, Italian, and +Turkish. Sugar and tea from our parcels also did much to promote +cordiality. + +The recent explosion in Haidar Pasha station, which blew out all the +windows of our (adjacent) hospital, and the first British air raid of +1918 were frequent topics of discussion. With regard to these events we +invented a beautiful lie, namely, that the station explosions were the +result of bombardment by a new type of submarine we possessed, but that, +_per contra_, the first air raid, which did no damage, was not carried +out by British aircraft at all. We proved by assorted arguments in +various languages that the bombs on Constantinople had come from German +aeroplanes, the raid being a display of Hun frightfulness, to show what +would happen if Turkish allegiance wavered over the thorny question of +the disposal of the Black Sea fleet. Nothing was too improbable to be +true in Constantinople, and nothing indeed was too absurd to be +possible. Enver Pasha had made a monopoly in milk, and a corner in +velvet. The new Sultan was intriguing for the downfall of the Young +Turks. The funds of the Committee of Union and Progress had been sent to +Switzerland, where a Turkish pound purchased thirteen francs of Swiss +security, or half its face value. Fortunes were won and lost on the +meteoric fluctuations of paper money. A lunatic inmate of the hospital +(formerly a Smyrniote financier, driven to despair by the press gang) +told me that he could make a million on the bourse if they only set him +free for a few hours, and I daresay he was right. Anything might have +happened during those summer days. Secret presses were engaged in +printing broadsheets of revolution. The nearer the Germans got to Paris, +the more persistent were the stories of their defeat. The air was +electric with rumours. The story about German aeroplanes bombing +Constantinople, which we had started in jest, was retailed to us later, +in all earnestness, and with every detail to give it probability. +Anything to the discredit of their ally found currency in the Turkish +capital. + +An Ottoman cadet in my ward, for instance, used to impersonate a German +officer ordering his dinner in a Turkish restaurant. He managed somehow +to convey the swagger, and the stays, and the stiff neck. Clattering his +sword behind him, he used to seat himself stiffly at a table and call +haughtily for a waiter. Then, after glaring at the menu, he used to +order--a dish of haricot beans. "Des haricots," he used to snap, with +hand on sword-hilt in the exact and invariable Prussian manner. + +But to the last, the Germans were all-unconscious of what went on behind +their corseted backs. Only at the time of the armistice, when they were +pelted with rotten vegetables, did they realise that something was +amiss. + +To return to our hospital. Our day began with rice and broth at six in +the morning. At nine the visiting doctor made his rounds and the +patients who needed medicines clamoured for them. Unless one made a +fuss, however, one was left in perfect peace. At midday there was more +rice and broth, with occasional lumps of meat. The afternoon was devoted +to sleep, and the evenings to exercise in the garden, or intrigue. Rice +and broth concluded the day. This sounds dull, but after two years of +prison life, the hours seemed as crowded as a London season's. To begin +with, we did not attempt to subsist on hospital fare, but commissioned +various orderlies and friends to buy us food outside. Then there was the +never-failing interest of making plans. A certain person raised our +hopes to the zenith by telling us of the possibility of a boat calling +for us at night, at a landing place just below the British cemetery. The +idea was to embark in this boat, row across to a steamer, and there +enter large sealed boxes in which we would pass the Customs up the +Bosphorus, and then make Odessa. The plan was almost complete. The +shipping people had been "squared." It only remained for us to select +the spot from which to embark. With this object in view, we reconnoitred +the British cemetery which abutted on the hospital grounds. It was then +being used as an anti-aircraft station, and when, a few days later, the +first air raid came, we saw the exact positions of the Turkish machine +guns, spitting lead at our aircraft from among the Crimean graves. This +air raid, and the atmosphere of "frightfulness" caused thereby, rather +interfered with our escape plans. First of all we were forbidden to go +near the British cemetery, and later other small privileges were +curtailed which greatly "cramped our style." For some time we could not +get in touch with the person already alluded to. + +Meanwhile the arrival of our aeroplanes was a very stimulating sight. +Everyone in hospital turned out to see the show. + +Crump! crump! Woof!--said the bombs. + +Woo-woo-woom!--answered the Archies. + +Kk-kk-kk-kk! chattered the machine guns. + +"God is great," muttered the hospital staff. + +"Give me a gun!" cried one of the two British officers posing as +lunatics (I have already related how they had pretended to hang +themselves). "Give me a gun," he reiterated loudly--"this is all a plot +to kill me, and I must defend myself!" + +Calmly and confidently our machines sailed through the barrage, dropped +their bombs, turned to have a look at Constantinople, and then sailed +away. + +The British lunatic shook his fist at them, as he was led back gibbering +to his ward. The head doctor was much concerned as to his condition. + +"Every day," he told me--"some new madness takes that poor deluded +creature. Eighteen pounds were paid to him recently and he promptly tore +the notes in half and scattered them about the room. When he was asked +if he wanted anything from the Embassy he wrote for a ton of carbolic +soap, and half a ton of chocolate. On another occasion he jumped into +the hospital pond with his pipe in his mouth, declaring he was on fire. +I dare not send him to England without an escort, for he would do +himself some injury. As to the other British lunatic, he has not spoken +for five weeks. I do not know what is to be done." + +Neither did I, for I was not then aware of the patient's true condition, +and had no desire to "butt in." They had lived for several months among +the other madmen in hospital, and I thought it probable that they had +really lost their reason. + +The lunatics' ward was a terrifying place. My experience of it, although +limited to a few hours, was enough to last a lifetime. In order to +secure drugs for "doping" sentries I complained of severe insomnia one +day, and was sent to the mental specialist. While waiting for him, I +noticed that one of the British lunatics was regarding me with +unblinking furious eyes, while the other was praying--apparently for the +souls of the damned. The Greek financier was singing softly to himself, +and applauding himself. There is something very alarming about madness. +One feels suddenly and closely what a narrow margin divides us from a +world of terror. Their souls stand forlornly by their bodies, knocking +at the door of intelligence. + +When the mental specialist arrived, I was seized by grave alarm. What if +he should find me insane? . . . + +He held up a finger, tracing patterns in the air, and told me to watch +it closely. While I watched him, he watched me. + +"The moving finger writes," I thought, "and having writ . . ." + +"I can see your finger perfectly," I protested nervously. + +"Far from it," said the enthusiastic specialist. "You are not following +it with your eyes." + +"I am--indeed I am," said I, squinting at his fat forefinger. + +"I am told you cannot sleep," continued my interlocutor. "You seem to me +to be suffering from nervous exhaustion." + +"A little sleeping draught . . ." I suggested. + +"I ought to observe you for a few days," he answered. + +"Not here?" I quavered. + +"Yes, here." + +"But I do not like the--other lunatics," said I, in a small voice. + +Eventually, to my great delight, I was allowed to remain where I was, +and was given (as reward for the danger I had endured) several cachets +of bromide and a few tablets of trional. + +I returned in triumph to my ward, and Robin and I laid our heads +together. With the drugs we now possessed it would be possible to send +our sentries to sleep when we were moved from hospital, if the person +who was making plans for us to be taken on board a Black Sea steamer +failed to communicate in time. But the question now arose as to how much +of these drugs was suitable for the Turkish constitution. The object was +to administer a sleeping draught, not a fatal dose. If we were +transferred from Haidar Pasha we knew we should be sent for a time to +the garrison camp of Psamattia (a suburb of Constantinople on the +European side) and our intention was to inveigle our attendants into +having lunch during our journey there, and ply them with Pilsener beer, +suitably prepared, until they were somnolent and unsuspicious enough to +make it feasible to bolt. + +Neither the bromide nor the trional could be tasted in cocoa or coffee, +we discovered, so one evening, I regret to say, I carried out an +experiment on a wounded patient, who was otherwise quite fit, although +rather sleepless, by giving him a cachet of bromide and a tablet of +trional in a cup of cocoa. In about half an hour his eyelids began to +flicker, and he was soon sleeping like a lamb. Next morning he +complained of a slight headache. Should he chance to read these lines I +hope he will accept my apologies. _A la guerre comme a la guerre._ + +So now we had the beginning of a second plan, in case the box business +_via_ the Black Sea failed. But, in the event of escaping during our +journey to Psamattia, we had no very clear idea of where to hide. That +there were Greek and Jewish quarters in Galata and in Pera we knew, and +also in the northern part of Stamboul, but the chances of detection in +any of these localities were great, especially as we had no disguises at +the time. There remained a possibility of hiding in the ruins of recent +fires, but it was difficult to see how we were to live there. On the +whole the Black Sea trip seemed to offer the most favourable +opportunities of success. But to carry it out, we had to wait, and wait, +and still to wait, until we heard from our agent again. And eventually +the time came when we could wait no longer. . . . + +A week or two is nothing in Turkey, but unfortunately we had attracted a +certain amount of undesirable attention in hospital by our popular +supper-parties and reputed wealth. There was also a Bulgarian nurse who +had an uncanny intuition about our intentions. She told the visiting +doctor that two other nurses were in the habit of bringing us brandy. +She also said we were both quite well and had never in fact been ill at +all. The latter statement was true, but the former I can only attribute +to pique, the brandy having come from other sources. However, this did +not affect the fact that we were politely but firmly told that we had +greatly benefited by our stay in hospital. This was equivalent to a +notice of dismissal. We would have to go. Thereupon we both instantly +pulled very long faces, and went to see the ear and nose specialist. He +was our one hope of being allowed to stay on. + +While waiting for an interview, I had an opportunity of seeing an +eminent army surgeon at work on the Turkish soldiers. Let me preface +this description by emphasising the fact that he _was_ eminent. He was +no rough bungler, but a clever practitioner, well known for his +professional and human sympathy. This is the scene I saw. + +The doctor sat on a high stool, by the window, with a round reflector +over his right eye. A glass table beside him was strewn with +instruments. A lower stool seated his victims. In his hand he held a +thing like a small glove-stretcher. Behind him two young assistants +stood, looking like choir boys who had been fighting, in their robes of +blood-stained white. The room was full of miserable shivering soldiers. + +A deaf old man takes the vacant seat in front of the doctor. The +glove-stretcher darts into his ear. A question is asked. The old man +gibbers in reply. Glove-stretcher darts into the other ear. Another +question. More gibbering. Both his ears are soundly boxed, and he is +sent away. The next is a goitre case, too unpleasant for description. +Suddenly the attendants come forward, and pull off all his clothes. The +doctor removes the reflector from his right eye, and stares for a moment +at the ghastly skinny shape with a sack hanging from its throat. Then he +dictates a prescription to one of the attendants, and seizes the next +soldier. Prescription and clothes are thrown at the naked man, who walks +out shivering, holding his apparel in his arms. Meanwhile another victim +is already trembling on the stool. This man trembles so violently that +he falls down in a faint. The attendants cuff him back to consciousness. +Painfully he gets up and tries to face the instrument again. But as the +glove-stretcher is being inserted into his nostril, he turns the colour +of weak tea and again silently collapses. The doctor does not give him a +second look. One of the attendants drags his limp body to a corner, +while another patient takes the seat in front of the doctor. After a few +more cases have been examined, the two attendants return to the +unconscious man in the corner, drag him back to the doctor and hold his +lolling head to the light, while the glove-stretcher does its work. Then +he is pulled away, like a dummy from an arena, to the door of the +consulting room, where (and here I confess I expected a scene) a woman +awaited him. But she seemed to consider it all in the day's work. +Perhaps poor Willie was subject to fainting fits. . . . + +I knew I would not faint, but I cannot say I took my turn on that seat +with a light heart. The surgeon was alarmingly sudden, and already the +room looked like a shambles. + + * * * * * + +To my relief, he used a new glove-stretcher. + +"Slightly deflected septum," he pronounced, and his diagnosis was later +confirmed in London. + +"I hurt my nose boxing," I explained conversationally, "and cannot now +breathe through it. I would like to stay----" + +"Can't stay here." he said instantly and incisively; "no time to deal +with your case." + +"But I can't breathe through my nose." + +"Breathe through your mouth," he suggested kindly, but a little coldly. + +Now, it is impossible to "wangle" a man who sits over you with a +reflecting mirror screwed into his right eye. I vanished with suitable +thanks. + +Robin had better luck with his ear. He could have stayed on in hospital +and would very likely have been invalided back to England eventually. +But he absolutely refused to exchange the comfortable security of a +bodily affliction for the vivider joys of escape. In spite of my advice +to stay in hospital, he decided, to my great delight, that we would try +our luck together. + +All hope of remaining in hospital was now at an end. + +That evening at sunset we were in the garden, looking across the blue +waters of the Marmora to the mosques and minarets of old Stamboul, +flushed with the loveliest tints of pink. + +It was the last evening but one of Ramazan. To-morrow the crescent of +the new moon would appear over the dome of San Sofia, as a sign to all +that the fast had ended, and the time of rejoicing come. Between that +moon and the next moon an unknown future lay before us. And whatever our +fate, it was sure to be something exciting. + + + + + CHAPTER VIII + + OUR FIRST ESCAPE + + +Our crossing from Haidar Pasha to the garrison camp at Psamattia was a +tame affair. Early in the day we had made up our minds that it would be +unwise to escape, as well as unkind to our indulgent sentries: unwise, +because we realised that if we bolted blindly from a restaurant, we +would probably be caught at the first lodging-house at which we tried to +gain admission; and unkind because, in common chivalry, we decided that +our sentries were too trustful to be drugged. + +Our day, therefore, was spent in seeing the sights of Pera, gossiping +over a cocktail bar, purchasing some illicit maps under cover of a large +quantity of German publications, and generally learning the lie of the +land. But it might be indiscreet even at this distance of time to +describe in too great detail the sources from which we obtained our +information. One name, however--like King Charles' head with Mr. +Dick--will keep coming into this book. I cannot keep it out, because it +is impossible to think of my escape and escapades without thinking of +the gallant lady who made them possible. + +Miss Whitaker, as she then was (she is now Lady Paul), knew something +about all the escapes which took place in Turkey, and a great deal about +a great many of them. Against every kind of difficulty from foes, and +constant discouragement from friends[6] she boldly championed the cause +of our prisoners through the dark days of 1916 and 1917. She visited the +sick in hospital, she carried plum puddings to our men working at San +Stefano, she was a never-failing source of sympathy and encouragement. +She sent messages for us, and wrote letters, and lent us money and +clothes. She was the good angel of the English at Constantinople, a +second--and more fortunate--Miss Cavell. + +And she was the _Deus ex machina_ of my escapes. Having said this, I +will say one thing more. I cannot here put down one-tenth of the daring +work that Lady Paul did for me and others. The reason may be obvious to +the reader; at any rate it is binding on me to say far less than I would +wish. + +On reaching the prisoners' camp at Psamattia, our first object was to +get in touch with her whom we had already heard of as the guardian +spirit of prisoners. With this object in view, we asked to be allowed to +attend Sunday service at the English church. Religious worship, we +pointed out, should not be interfered with, further than the necessities +of war demanded. After some demur the Commandant agreed, and accordingly +we went to church. Here it was[7] that we met our guardian angel for the +first time. She trembled visibly when we mentioned our plans for escape, +and I thought (little knowing her) that we had been rash to speak so +frankly. + +"I strongly advise delay," she whispered--"but I will meet you again at +the gardens in Stamboul in two days' time--four o'clock. I'll be reading +a----" + +"_Haide, effendim, haide, haide_," said our sentry, and her last words +were lost. + +Further conversation was impossible, but the forty-eight hours which +followed were vivid with anticipation. + +How were we to manage to get to the gardens of the Seraglio? Would we +meet her? Could we talk to her? Would she have a plan? . . . + +On the day appointed, Robin and I complained of toothache, and asked to +be allowed to go into the city to see the dentist. We were at once +granted permission. + +From the dentist's to the Seraglio garden was only a step, but we were +four hours too early as yet to keep the rendezvous. However, a large +lunch, in which our sentries shared, smoothed the way for a little +shopping excursion into Pera. Here, amongst other things, we bought some +black hair dye, which completed our arrangements for escape. Other +paraphernalia, such as jack-knives, twenty fathoms of rope, maps, +compasses, sand-shoes, chocolate and "dope," we had already acquired. +Nothing now remained but to find a hiding place, when once we had +escaped. + +At about three o'clock we were sitting in a cafe, eating ices, with our +complacent sentries, who had every reason to be complacent for they had +been sumptuously fed, as well as liberally tipped. They were quite +willing to do anything in reason, and nothing could have been more +natural than a stroll in the Seraglio gardens. + +But just then Robin began to get "Spanish 'flu," which was raging in the +city. The symptoms were as sudden as they were unmistakable. Violent +shivering, giddiness, weakness--all the ills that flesh is heir to, +waylaid him at this vital juncture. He was completely incapable of +action. + +There was no help for it. I left him shaking and shivering in the cafe, +in charge of one of our two sentries, and, after a little persuasion +and some palaver (during the course of which another bank-note changed +hands) I induced the other sentry to accompany me for a stroll. Unless +we walked in the gardens, I assured him, we should both fall ill with +the deadly contagion of my friend. Nothing but fresh air and iced beer +could avert that fever. On the way, therefore, we stopped for a glass +and I managed to drop a small dose of potassium bromide into the +sentry's mug before it was given to him. + +A little before four the sentry and I were smoking cigarettes on a seat +in the Seraglio gardens quite close to the Stamboul entrance gate. + +It was a hot day, with thunder-clouds hanging low. Toilers of the city +passed us fanning themselves. Turkish officers had pushed back their +heavy fur fezzes, and civilians wore handkerchiefs behind theirs. German +ladies panted loudly, and even the _hanoums_ appeared to be a little +jaded: their small feet and great eyes, that so often twinkle in the +streets, had grown dull with the oppression of the day. Small wonder my +sentry nodded. + +Presently, with a walk that no one could mistake, a tall and slim figure +entered, dressed in white serge coat and skirt. I watched her, on the +opposite footpath, strolling down the shady avenue with an insouciant +grace. She held a novel and a little tasselled bag in her right hand. +She sat down some two hundred yards away, and began reading calmly and +coolly, apparently quite unconscious of the feverish world about her. + +With a hasty glance at my sentry, I rose and walked very slowly away. He +woke at once, and followed. I stopped to look at some flowers, yawned, +lit another cigarette and said to the sentry that it was too hot to +walk. I intended to sit for a little in the shade on the opposite side +of the road, and then we would go back to join our friend at the cafe. + +We meandered across the road, and I sank into a seat beside the guardian +angel. There was no room for the sentry, so he obligingly retired into +the shrubbery behind. + +Without taking her eyes from her novel, she began by saying I was not to +look at her, and that I was to speak very low, looking in the opposite +direction. + +She then asked where my companion was, and on hearing he had the 'flu, +she told me that she also had been attacked by it at the very moment +that we had spoken to her at church, and that it was only with +difficulty she had been able to keep the rendezvous to-day. I tried to +thank her for coming, but she kept strictly to business, and +concentrated our conversation to bare facts. Her news ranged from the +world at war, to plans for Robin and me, in vivid glimpses of +possibility. She covered continents in a phrase, and dealt with the +plans of two captives in terse but sympathetic comment. When she had +told me what she wanted to say, she opened her small bag and took out a +piece of paper, rolled up tight, which she flicked across to me without +a moment's hesitation. + +"You had better go now," she said. + +But my heart was brimming over with things unsaid. + +"I simply cannot thank----" I began to stammer. + +"Don't!" said she, to the novel on her knees. + +And so, with no salute to mark the great occasion, I left her. Neither +of us had seen the other's face. + +Here I must apologise for purposely clouding the narrative. The plans I +made are only public so far as they concern myself. + +On rejoining Robin, I found him palpitant and perturbed. The fever was +at its height and he ought to have been in bed. Yet it was urgently +necessary that evening, before returning, to make certain investigations +in the native quarter of the city. How to do this without attracting the +notice of the two sentries, perspiring but still perceptive, was a +matter of great concern to me. I thought of saying that I was going to +buy medicine for Robin, but in that case one of the sentries (probably +Robin's, for my own had grown very somnolent with beer and bromide) +would certainly accompany me. Then I bethought me of going to wash my +hands in a place behind the cafe and slipping out of a back door. But +there was no back door, and Robin's sentry had followed me to the +wash-place, and stood stolidly by the door until I came out. + +I sat down again, thinking and perspiring furiously,[8] and ordered +more beer. But this time I failed to manipulate the bromide. Robin's +sentry saw me with the packet in my hand and asked me what it was. + +"It is a medicine for reducing fat," said I, and of course after this I +had to keep the drugged beer for myself. But the sedative did no harm. +After sipping for some minutes I had a happy thought. + +There was a particular brand of cigarettes which were only obtainable at +a few shops in Constantinople. I asked the waiter if he had them. He had +not. + +"I must have a packet," I said, standing up--"there is a shop just down +the street where I can get them." + +And without taking my hat or stick (as a proof of the innocence of my +intentions) I strolled out of the cafe. + +The sentries did not follow. It was too hot. + +I rushed down the crowded thoroughfare as if all the hounds of heaven +were on my trail. I fled past policemen, dodged a tram, bolted up a +side-street, and arrived gasping at the doorway I sought. After a hasty +survey of the locality, so as to identify it again at need, I rushed +back to the restaurant, buying a box of Bafra-Madene cigarettes on the +way. Robin was still shivering; the sentries were mopping their large +faces. All was well. Our work was done. + +Trying not to look triumphant, I got Robin into a cab, and we drove back +to Psamattia camp. + +During the next few days I thoroughly enjoyed myself. Not so Robin, who +was grappling with his fever. Later, however, when he was convalescent, +we used to go down to the seashore together to bathe. In the evening, we +used to sup off lobsters at a restaurant on the beach. In the water one +felt almost free once more, and in the restaurant, when one was not +gambling "double or quits" with the lobster-merchant as to whether we +should pay him two pounds for his lobster or nothing at all, we were +talking politics with other diners. Those days of Robin's convalescence +were delightful. The moon was near its full, which is the season when +lobsters ought to be eaten, and the climate was perfect, and our hopes +were high. + + * * * * * + +Psamattia is one of the most westerly suburbs of Stamboul. From it, a +maze of tortuous streets lead to the railway terminus of Sirkedji, and +the Galata bridge over the Golden Horn. On the eastern side of the +Golden Horn lie the European quarters of Galata and Pera. From our camp +at Psamattia to the house where we intended to hide was a distance of +five miles, and there were at least two police posts on the way. But +with our hair dyed black (we had already effected this transformation, +and it is astonishing how it changes one's appearance) and fezzes on our +heads, we trusted to pass unnoticed as Greeks. + +Our plan had a definite and limited objective. We wanted to escape by +night from Psamattia and hide in Constantinople. Once in hiding, we +trusted to going by boat to Russia, or else going with brigands to the +Mediterranean coast, where our patrols might pick us up. But the first +object was to get away from the camp. Until this was achieved it was +almost impossible to make definite arrangements. At first we had thought +that it would be an easy matter to give our sentries the slip when we +were out shopping. But when it came to the point, we felt scruples about +bolting from men we had bribed and wheedled so often. All's fair in love +and war, but yet if it could be avoided we did not want to abuse their +trust in us. + +There remained the alternative of escaping by night from the house where +we were interned. But when Robin had become fit enough to try (and of +course he was all agog to be off at the first possible moment) we found +the guards were more alert than we thought. + +Our situation was roughly this: We were housed in the Armenian +Patriarchate, next to the Psamattia Fire Brigade, and there were +sentries in every street to which access was possible, by craft or by +climbing. The window of our room, which was directly over the doorway +where the main guard lived, looked out on to a narrow street, across +which there was another house, inhabitated by Russian prisoners of war. +At first we thought it might be possible to pretend to go to the Russian +house, and, while casually crossing the street, to mingle with the +passers-by, and melt away unnoticed in the crowd. We tried this plan, +but it was no good. The guards on our doorway were alert, and followed +our every movement. . . . To slip out with the Armenian funerals which +used to go through our gateway was another project doomed to +failure. . . . To get into the Armenian church, on the night before a +burial, remove the occupant of a coffin and so pass out next morning in +the centre of the funeral procession, was an idea which excited us for a +time. But the melodrama we had planned could not be executed, because +the church was locked and guarded at night. . . . To climb out of the +back window of the Russian house also proved impossible, because a +sentry stood outside it always. . . . Every point was watched. Two +sentries armed with old Martini rifles (of archaic pattern but +unpleasantly big bore) were posted directly below our window. Two more +similarly equipped were opposite, at the door of the Russian house. One +man with a new rifle was behind the Russian house. Two more were behind +ours, and one was in a side street. There were also men on duty at the +entrance to the Fire Brigade. + +After considering all sorts of methods we decided on a plan whose chief +merit was its seeming impossibility. No one would have expected us to +try it. + +Our idea was to climb out of our window at night, and by crossing some +ten foot of wall-face, to gain the shelter of the roof of the next door +house. This roof was railed by a parapet, behind which we could crouch. +Along it we would creep, until we reached a cross-road down the street. +Here we would slip down a rope to the pavement, and although we would be +visible to at least five sentries during our descent, it seemed probable +that no particular sentry would consider himself responsible for the +cross-roads, which was beyond their beat. + +To climb out of a window set in a blank wall, about thirty feet above a +busy street where four sentries stood, did not seem a reasonable thing +to do. But the wall was not as impassable as it seemed. Two little +ledges of moulding ran along it, under our window-sill, so that we had a +narrow yet sufficient foothold and handhold until we reached the roof of +the adjoining house. And although we would be visible during our +precarious transit of the wall-face, we knew that people rarely look up +above their own height, and rarely look for things they don't expect. + +It was the night of the twenty-seventh of July, when a bright full moon +rode over the sea behind our house, that we decided to make the attempt. + +The first point was to get out of the window without being seen. . . . A +Colonel of the Russian Guards, a little man with a great heart, +volunteered to help us. Directly we extinguished the lights in our room, +he was to engage the sentries at the door of the opposite house, where +he lived, in an animated conversation, keeping them interested, even by +desperate measures if need be, until our first ten yards of climbing was +successfully accomplished. + +After a cordial good-bye, he left us. We took off our boots and slung +them round our necks, drank a stirrup cup to our success, roped +ourselves together, coiled the remainder of the rope round our waists, +stuffed our pockets and knapsacks with our escaping gear, and then blew +out our lamp, as if we were going to bed. Crouched under the window-sill +we waited. . . . The sentries below us were sitting on stools in the +street. The two men opposite were lolling against the doorpost, and the +moon, rising behind our house, while still leaving the street in shadow, +had just caught their faces, so that their every eyelash was visible. To +them came the little Colonel, and only the top of his cap reached the +moonlight. We heard his cheery voice. We saw both sentries looking down, +presumably helping themselves to his cigarettes. + +That waiting moment was very tense. An initial failure would have been +deplorable, yet many things made failure likely. At such times as these, +the confidence of one's companion counts for much, and I shall never +forget Robin's bearing. Anyone who has been in similar circumstances +will know what I mean. He went first out of the window. I followed an +instant later. . . . And once the first step was taken, once my feet +were on that two-inch ledge and my hands clung to the upper strip, the +complexion of things altered completely. Anxiety vanished, leaving +nothing but a thrill of pleasure. One was master of one's fate. + +At one moment we were in view of four sentries (two at our door and two +opposite), a Turkish officer who had come to take the air at our +doorway, and several passers-by in the street. But no one looked up. No +one saw the two men, only five yards away, who clambered slowly along +the string-course, like flies on a wall. + +After gaining the roof of the next house, we lay flat and breathless +behind the parapet, and thanked God we had succeeded in--not making +fools of ourselves, anyway. + +The parapet was lower than we thought, and in order to get the advantage +of its cover it was necessary to remain absolutely prone in the gutter +of the roof. In this position, from ten o'clock till half past eleven, +we wriggled and wriggled along the house-tops, past a dead cat and other +offensive objects, until at last we had covered the distance. Once, +during this stalk, my rope got hitched up on a nail, and I had to +wriggle back to free it. And once, having raised myself to take a look +round, one of the sentries on the Russian house ran out into the street +and started making a tremendous noise. I don't know what it was about, +but it alarmed me very much, and condemned us to marble immobility for a +time. + +At last, however, we reached the end of our wriggle. But here a new +difficulty confronted us. Directly overlooking the part of the roof from +which we contemplated our descent, and less than ten yards away, an +officer of the Psamattia Fire Brigade sat at an open window, looking +anxiously up and down the street, as if expecting someone to keep an +appointment. His window was on a level with us. So intently did he stare +that I thought he had seen us. But we lay dead-still behind the parapet, +and it became apparent, as time passed and he still stood disconsolate +by the window, that we were not the objects of his languishing +regard. . . . And meanwhile the moon--the kindly old moon that sees so +much--was creeping up the sky. Soon she would flood us with her +radiance. Even a love-sick officer of the Fire Brigade could not fail to +notice us across the narrow street, lit by the limelight of all the +universe. For an hour this annoying Romeo kept watch, while we discussed +the situation in tiny whispers, and cursed feminine unpunctuality. But +at last, just as we had determined to "let go the painter" and take our +chance, he began to yawn and stretch and look towards his bed, which we +could see at the further end of his room. "You are tired of waiting: she +isn't worth it!" I sent in thought-wave across the street. He seemed to +hesitate, then he yawned again, and just as our protecting belt of +shadow had narrowed to a yard, he gave up his hopes of Juliet, and +retired. + +That was our moment. + +[Illustration: THE ARMENIAN PATRIARCHATE AT PSAMATTIA, CONSTANTINOPLE.] + +We stood up, and made the rope fast to a convenient ring in the parapet. +Traffic in the street had ceased. The sentries were huddled in their +coats, for it was a chilly summer night. Up street, a dog was yapping, +and its voice seemed to stab the silence. Before stepping over the +parapet I took a last look at the world I left and thanked God. + +The waiting was over. In two seconds' time we should have gained +freedom, or a slug from some sentry's rifle. + +It took two seconds to slip down thirty feet of rope, and two seconds is +a long time when your liberty, if not your life, is at stake. I half +kicked down the sign-board of a shop in my descent, and Robin, who +followed, completed the disaster. In our haste, we had cut our hands +almost to the bone, and had made noise enough to wake the dead. + +Yet no one stirred. We were both in the street, and no one had moved. + +After two and a half years of captivity we were free men once more. The +slothful years had vanished in the twinkling of an eye. Can you realise +the miracle, liberty-loving reader, that passes in the mind of a man who +thus suddenly realises his freedom? . . . + +I don't know what Robin thought, for we said nothing. We lit cigarettes +and strolled away. But inside of me, the motors of the nervous system +raced. + +The only other danger, in our hour and a half's walk to our destination, +was being asked for passports by some policeman. In our character as +polyglot mechanics, whenever we passed anyone, I found it a great +relief to make some such remark as: + + Lieb Vaterland, magst ruhig sein, + Fest steht and treu die Wacht am Rhein. + +But Robin, who could not understand my German, paid little heed. + +Only once we did think we were likely to be recaught. At about one in +the morning, as we were passing the Fatih mosque, we heard a rattle on +the cobbles behind us. A carriage was being galloped in our direction. +It might well contain some of the Psamattia garrison. We doubled into +some ruins, and lay there, while the clatter grew louder and louder. + +A few wisps of cloud crossed the moon, that had reached her zenith. +Their silent shadows moved like ghosts across the desolation of the +city. A cat was abroad. She saw us, and halted, with paw uplifted and +blazing eyes. + +Then the carriage passed, empty, with a drunken driver. It rattled away +into the night, and we emerged, and took our way through the streets of +old Stamboul, under the chequered shade of vines. + +[Footnote 6: This applies in no way to the Americans, who did everything +possible for our men before they left Constantinople. Their assistance +was always of the most prompt and practical nature. It may be invidious +to mention names in this light account of adventure, but I cannot +refrain from giving myself the pleasure of saying how grateful I am to +Mr. Hoffman Phillips, of the American Embassy. His name, as also the +name of his chief, Mr. Morgenthau, is indissolubly connected with our +early prisoners. I wish to thank him from the bottom of my heart, and I +know many of all ranks who will join with me in this--far too +meagre--tribute to his activities and ability.] + +[Footnote 7: Let no one think the clergyman in charge aided or abetted +our secular efforts to escape. On the contrary, on a later occasion, +when Robin, as a poor and distressed prisoner hiding from the Turks, +endeavoured to find sanctuary for a few hours in the church, he was +expelled therefrom, so that our enemies should not complain that the +House of God was used for anything but worship.] + +[Footnote 8: During the afternoon I lost over seven pounds in weight.] + + + + + CHAPTER IX + + A CITY OF DISGUISES + + +We knocked softly at the door of the house that was to be our home, and +then waited, flattened in the shadow below it, quite prepared for the +worst. It was then four o'clock in the morning. It seemed too much to +hope that we would be welcome. + +But we were. The door opened cautiously about one inch, and two little +faces were seen, low down the crack. Behind them, someone held a light. + +Then the door was flung wide, and we saw on the stairs a whole family of +friendly people, male and female, old and young, all in night dress, and +all with arms outstretched in rapturous greeting. We might have been +Prodigal Sons returning, instead of two strangers whose presence would +be a source of continual danger. + +Hyppolite and Athene, the twins, aged eight, who had first peeped at us, +now took us each by the hand, and led us upstairs. + +"The last escaped prisoner we had here was a forger," said Hyppolite to +us. + +"He was a friend of father's," added Athene over her shoulder, "and he +escaped from prison about six weeks ago. He was afraid that the police +would find his tools, so he threw them all into our cistern. They are +there now." + +We reached the top floor, and were shown by the twins into an apartment +containing a double bed with a stuffy canopy of damask. + +"This is the family bedroom," they said. + +"And where are we to sleep?" I asked. + +"Here," said Themistocle, the proud owner of the house. "My sister and I +and the twins were using the bed until your arrival, but now we will +sleep in the passage." + +"The passage?" I echoed. "Haven't you any other beds, and were you all +four using this one?" + +"Yes, yes. The other rooms are full of lodgers. There are three officers +of the Turkish army here at present. But they won't disturb you, because +they are hiding too." + +"Mon Dieu!" said I, sitting on the bed--"but your sister can't sleep in +the passage, can she?" + +"Certainly, she's quite used to that sort of thing. It's safer also, in +case the police come." + +"I know all the police," said Athene, "even when they are not in +uniform; I can recognise them by their boots." + +"And we are always on the look-out for them," added Hyppolite. "If the +police come to search the house you will have to get into the cistern." + +"Where the forger threw his tools," explained Athene. + +Coffee and cigarettes were produced, and ointment for our lacerated +hands. We were made to feel quite at home. . . . The family stayed and +talked to us until dawn broke. They thoroughly appreciated the story of +the escape, and clapped their hands with glee at the idea of the Turks' +amazement when they discovered that we had vanished, leaving no trace +behind us. + +"They will never find the rope," said Themistocle, "because the +shopkeeper over whose shop it is will certainly cut it down and hide it, +for fear of being asked questions." + +"And now we must thank the Blessed Saints for your escape," said an old +lady who had not previously spoken. + +She went to a glass cupboard, opened it, and lit two candles. A scent of +rose-leaves and incense came from the shrine, which contained oranges +and ikons and Easter eggs and a large family Bible. + +For a moment or two we all stood silent. + +Then---- + +Just when I was expecting a prayer, the old lady blew out the candles +and shut up the cupboard and crossed herself. The thanksgiving was over, +and we dispersed with very cordial good-nights. I think Themistocle +wanted to kiss us, but we felt we had been through trials enough for the +time and refused to offer even one cheek. + +The family retired to the passage and settled down to rest with squeaks +and giggles, while Robin and I, after thanking God for all His mercies, +with very humble and grateful hearts, threw ourselves down on the bed, +too exhausted to undress, and slept the sleep of free men. + +Next instant, it seemed to me, although in reality two hours had +elapsed, we were awakened by the twins, who looked on us as their +especial charges, and thought us tremendous fun. + +"Time to get up," they said excitedly. "The house might be searched at +any minute." + +Instantly we were afoot. + +"Where are the police?" I asked. + +"There is a detective standing at the corner of our street," said +Hyppolite. + +"And they often come to see if all our lodgers are registered!" added +his sister. + +We bundled our maps, compasses, and other belongings into a towel, and +staggered downstairs, with fear and sleep battling for mastery in our +minds. + +But in the pantry, we found the seniors of the household quite +unconcerned. There was no imminent danger of a search. . . . On the +other hand, there was the immediate prospect of breakfast. + +A saucepan was actually being buttered (and butter was worth its weight +in gold) to make us an omelette. By now we had been thoroughly stirred +from sleep, and realised how hungry we were. I forget how many omelettes +we ate, or how much butter we used, but I think that that charming +breakfast cost a five-pound note, or thereabouts. + +When it was over, an engaging sense of drowsiness began to creep over me +again, but the twins were adamant. + +"You must practise getting into the cistern," said Hyppolite. + +"Like the forger did," chimed in Athene--"and then you must arrange a +hiding-place for your things." + +The worst of it was, that their suggestions were so practical. Obviously +it was our duty to at once take all precautions. + +I consequently took off my clothes, and removing the lid of the cistern, +I was let down through a hole in the floor into the waters below. In my +descent I re-opened the wounds in my hands, and it was in no very +cheerful mood that I found myself in darkness, with water up to my +shoulders. I moved cautiously about, trying to imagine our feelings if +fate drove us to this chilly and conventional hiding-place while +detectives were conducting a search for us above. Then I barked my foot +on something hard, and stooping down through the water I picked up a +large block of pumicestone, which was doubtless the forger's engraving +die. Something scurried on an unseen ledge; a rat no doubt. I felt I had +seen enough of the cistern. Groping my way back to the lid, my fingers +touched a little thing that cracked under them, and instantly I felt a +stinging pain. Whether it was a beetle or a sleepy wasp I did not stop +to inquire. + +"Lemme get out," I bleated through the hole in the floor. . . . "Robin," +I said, when I was safe once more, "if ever we are driven down there, we +must take something to counteract the evil spirits." + + * * * * * + +All that morning we passed in the pantry, eating and dozing by snatches. + +Morning merged into afternoon, the afternoon lengthened into evening, +and no policeman came. We were safe. + +At nightfall, after sending Hyppolite as a scout up the stairs to see +that the other lodgers were not about, we ascended to our room again, +and settled down definitely. + +Our stay, we then thought, might last several weeks, so as to give us +leisure to weigh the reliability of the various routes and guides that +offered. There was no particular hurry. The longer we stayed, the more +likely the Turks would be to relax such measures as they had taken for +our recapture. + +But we had reckoned without our host: the host of vermin. They were +worse in this room than in any other place I have seen in Turkey, not +excepting the lowest dungeons of the military prison, where they breed +by the billion. Their voracity and vehemence made a prolonged stay +impossible. Except for the first sleep of two hours, when exhaustion had +made us insensible, we never thereafter had more than a single hour of +uninterrupted rest. + +Throughout the long and stifling nights of our stay, Robin and I lay in +the stately double bed, wondering wearily how any man or woman alive +could tolerate the creatures that crawled over its mahogany-posts and +swarmed over its flowered damask. Every three-quarters of an hour, one +or other of us used to light a candle, and add to the holocaust of +creatures we had already slain. + +"What hunting?" I used to ask sleepily. + +"A couple of brace this time, and a cub I chopped in covert," Robin +would say. + +"That makes twenty-two couple up to date--and the time is 12.35 a.m." + +Then at one o'clock it was Robin's turn to ask what sport I had had. + +"A sounder broke away under your pillow," I reported. "Six rideable boar +and six squeakers." + +Ugh! + +Those first days of our liberty were a trying time. To the external +irritation of insects were added the mental anxieties of our situation. +What, for instance, would happen to the twins if we were caught in that +house? And, again, was Themistocle faithful? Would he be tempted by the +reward offered for our recapture? At times we were not quite certain. He +used to talk very gloomily about the risks and the cost of life. + +"Everyone is starving," he used to say thoughtfully--"even the +policemen go hungry for bribes. A friend of mine, a policeman, said to +me the other day: 'For the love of Allah find somebody for me to arrest. +Among all the guilty and the innocent in this town, surely you can find +somebody that we could threaten to arrest? Then we would share the +proceeds.'" + +"What did you say to that?" I asked. + +"I said," he answered thoughtfully, "that I would do my best." + +"But what sort of man would you arrest?" I asked. + +"Any sort of man. A drunkard perhaps, if I saw one, or a rich man, if I +dared." + +"Rich men are apt to be dangerous," said I meaningly. + +"I know. But what can one do?" he asked, spreading out his hands. "One +must live!" + +"And let live," said I, thinking suddenly of the bugs, and wondering +what Themistocle thought of them. + +It was then that I noticed his method of combating the household pets. + +Previously I had observed that the ends of his pyjamas (we always talked +at night) were provided with strong tapes, which were tied close to his +ankles; but the object of this fastening only became apparent when I +noticed the excited throngs of insects on his elastic-sided boots. They +could not get higher. They were balked of their blood. If he ever felt +any discomfort, he merely tightened the tapes. + +After a careful study of Themistocle's psychology (which was so full of +outlooks new to me that I never achieved more than a glimpse into the +pages of his past) I came to the conclusion that he was implicitly to be +trusted. In his frail frame there burned a spirit of adventure and a +courage that might "step from star to star." His soul had been born to +live in a great man, only somehow it had made a mistake and taken a +tenement instead of a manor-house to live in. . . . + +I think sunset and sunrise were the pleasantest hours in our new abode. +It was possible then to draw back the blinds without any danger of being +seen, and enjoy the cool of the evening and the magnificent view which +our situation afforded. Our house, although it stood in a side street, +commanded a prospect of the upper end of the Golden Horn, as well as a +view of one of the most populous thoroughfares of the town. + +We used to sit and gaze at the twilit city, until the creeping darkness +overtook us. + +If circulation be a test of a city's vitality, then Constantinople was +certainly at a low ebb. The pedestrians seemed to get nowhere. They were +hanging about, waiting for something to happen. The whole town was +dead-tired, unspeakably bored of life as it had to be lived under the +Young Turks. Constantinople was getting cross. . . . Cross, like someone +who was tired of adulation from the wrong person. Some trick of sea and +sun give her this human quality of sex. Anyone who has lived for long +in her houses must feel her personality. She is the courtesan of +conquerors, but inherent in her is some witchcraft, by which she weakens +those who hold her, so that they die and are utterly exterminated, while +she remains with her fadeless and fatal beauty, an Eastern Lorelei +beside the Bosphorus. . . . She sapped the strength of the Roman Empire, +she overthrew the dominion of the Greeks, and now, after a period of +fretful wedlock, she was shaking herself free from the Turk. + +Something was going to happen soon. One felt it in the air. + +What happened to us, was that it became necessary to draw the blinds and +light our candle, and search for the pestilence that crept by night. +Presently our meal arrived, which was always a cheerful interlude, but +it was as short as it was sweet, for courses were few, with famine +prices prevailing. Afterwards we continued our hunting till dawn. + +At dawn, when the chill of morning had sent our sated enemies to sleep, +there was another truce from trouble. We used to draw back the blinds +again and sit at the window. + +I used to watch the pale sun on the horizon, fighting the mist-forms +that clung heavily to earth and sea, and I felt that in the +world-consciousness a similar contest swayed. The old ideas of +government were being caught by a light that was pale now, but soon to +grow luminous--a radiance that would dispel the night of war, and show +us a new world, intangible yet, but dimly sensed. + +In the dim alleys and side streets below, where balconies overhung, +shutting out the dawn, what a weight of woe there was! Famine and fire, +twin angels of destruction that lurked in every by-way of the city, were +waiting to take their toll. And the war went on for caged and free, +while some starved and others made fortunes, and some became generals +and others corpses. And the end of these things was vanity. _Vanitas +vanitatum._ + +The minaret of a mosque was directly opposite to me. Under sway of the +sanctuary and the hour, the voice of the _muezzin_ spoke to me in all +its sincerity and unity of purpose. God was everywhere, all-pervasive, +all-unseen, invisible only because He was so manifest. Evil of the night +and glory of the dawn made His picture, the world. With new eyes I saw +now this city grey with sin, and fresh with the promise of another day. + +From the house of that stern and simple faith that is the creed of +one-fifth of the world, there came a sense of kinship with all the +suffering under the sky. Reverence came to me also, and that brotherhood +which is the message of the Great Teachers since time began. These +thoughts were round me, a silent company, as I looked Mecca-wards, to +the place of prayer. Then the heralds of the dawn alighted on the +minaret, and their wings were amethyst and saffron. The night was over, +and the _muezzin's_ long, exultant call to worship died down with the +increasing light. + +Another day had begun. + + * * * * * + +Not many days and nights did we tarry in Themistocle's house. Robin +decided to try his luck by land. After various inquiries, he made +arrangements with a Greek boy to board a melon-boat bound for Rodosto. +His idea was to make that port, and thence work his way to Enos, where +he hoped to be picked up by our patrol-boats. After many adventures and +perils by land and sea, and a great deal of bad luck, he was caught at +the town of Malgara. So ended a very gallant attempt, which ought to be +set down in detail by him. + +I can only describe his appearance when he left. His disguise was a +matter of great difficulty, for he is so tall and so Saxon that he +always attracted notice in an Eastern crowd. An Arab ragamuffin seemed +the role best suited to him, and he accordingly exchanged his +comparatively respectable clothes for a greasy old coat and a pair of +repellent trousers. With a tattered fez well back on his head, and all +his visible skin blackened with burnt cork, he looked an unspeakable +scoundrel. But he was too villainous. He would have been immediately +arrested for his appearance alone. A touch of genius, however, completed +his make-up. . . . In his hands he carried a poor little bowl of curds +and half a cucumber, which completely altered his ferocious air by +adding the requisite touch of pathos. The edible emblems of innocence he +carried transformed him completely into a sort of male Miss Muffet. + +No detective could have found heart to inquire where he was going. He +was enough to make anyone cry. + +He left in a frightful hurry, for his boat was due to catch a certain +tide, but we drank a stirrup cup to his success, and parted with much +sadness on my side, not until the old lady before mentioned had lit a +candle before the ikon of Saint Nicholas. . . . + +I was very sorry to see him go, but I was quite convinced (wrongly, as +events proved) that the best chance of success lay in going to Russia. + +The little Colonel of the Russian Guards had told us before we escaped +that he was likely to be soon repatriated (for he was a person of +influence in the Caucasus), and I felt sure that I could arrange to go +as his servant, if no better scheme presented itself in the meanwhile. +But there were many possibilities in the "city of disguises." + +During my stay with Themistocle I had been learning history, as it is +never written, but as it is most strangely lived by a people on the +brink of dissolution and disaster. As an escaped prisoner I thought that +delay in Constantinople--somewhere clean, however--would not be time +wasted if one was in touch with the politics of the time. If the +Russian scheme failed, there were other openings, by earth and air and +water. + +But the first thing to do was to find a place where I could lay my head +without getting it bitten. + + * * * * * + +The good angel of prisoners came to my assistance at this critical +juncture in my affairs. + +"You must be disguised as a girl," said she--"I will buy you a wig at +once." + +"But what about my figure?" I asked, "and my feet . . .?" + +"Some clothes were left with me at the beginning of the war," she +answered, "which will fit you with the help of a tailor. And as to your +shoes, your own will pass muster, with new bows. No one has had any +proper shoes for ages here. But you will want--well, lots of other +things." + +And I certainly _did_ want a lot, before I looked at all presentable. +After very careful shaving, I began to splash about confidently at my +toilet table. There was Vesuvian black for the eyebrows, _bistre_ for +the eyelashes, _poudre violette_, rouge, carmine--more powder--more +rouge--at last I showed my satisfied face to Miss Whitaker, who gave a +cry of horror, and flatly refused to be seen in my company. + +There was nothing for it but to wash my face and start again. + +This time I succeeded in making myself presentable, although a blue +streak of whisker seemed always slightly visible through the powder. The +wig, however, helped matters greatly, and I arranged some ringlets on my +shaven cheeks. + +The dressing-up was quite exciting. Silk and lace and whalebone, +especially a lot of lace in front, was the basis on which I built. The +foundations took some time in laying, but when finished I found to my +delight that the coat and skirt belonging to Miss Whitaker's friend +fitted my figure perfectly. + +A few details, invisible to my eyes, were quickly corrected, and I think +that when I finally emerged, with large hat at a becoming angle, I did +credit to my instructress. + +Gloves I had always to wear, of course, and a veil was advisable, +chiefly to tone down my blinding beauty to the eyes of passers-by. Do +what I would, however, I could not hide a certain artificiality in my +appearance, which was most unfair to Miss Whitaker, considering that I +was her companion. But I behaved as well as I possibly could. + +[Illustration: The Author as a German Governess] + +I learned how to walk in a ladylike fashion, and how to powder my nose +in an engaging manner. My arms and legs had to be kept under various +restraints. A mincing gait was soon acquired, but I found sitting still +more awkward. My knees evinced an almost ineradicable tendency to cross +themselves or sprawl, while my gloved forearms, to the last, felt as +unwieldy as a baboon's. But everything I could I learned assiduously +and in dead earnest, down to managing my veil, and patting my curls +nicely in front of a looking-glass. It was so frightfully important not +to make a false step. + +My only excuse for going about with Miss Whitaker at all was the +complete success of the role for which she had so skilfully prepared me. +Never for a moment was there any suspicion of my identity. + +On one occasion, in the early days of my disguise, when we were +sight-seeing at Eyoub, some Turkish ladies stopped to talk to us. I +remained silent, of course, but I watched them narrowly and came to the +conclusion that they saw nothing amiss. My eyes, incidentally, were as +well painted as theirs. Now, if two charming and worldly-wise _hanoums_ +cannot detect a flaw in one's form or features, it is unlikely that any +mere male could be cleverer than they. + +The mere males, alas! were enthralled by my appearance. Once or twice an +embarrassing situation was narrowly averted. The road behind the Pera +Palace Hotel is dark, and we used to ascend it in fear and trembling. +But although we were followed sometimes, no one ever presumed to speak +to us. + +Miss Whitaker had found me by now a delightful roof, near the house in +which I took my meals, and this place was free from all life smaller +than a rat. Here I was able to make my plans in peace, with no fear of +treachery, for, so cleverly had Miss Whitaker arranged matters, no one +knew I was not a woman. + +As Mademoiselle Josephine, an eccentric German governess, who suffered +from consumption (and therefore spoke very low and huskily) I used to +pass my nights _a belle etoile_, after well-spent days in the docks or +cafes, where my plans were maturing. The stars in their courses seemed +to be on my side. No longer, as when a fretful prisoner, did I think +their quiet shining was a reminder of man's minuteness in the schemes of +God. I felt now that man could make his destiny. And when that destiny +was shaped by hands such as those that helped me, the world was a +beautiful place. Good angels were here on earth, at "our own +clay-shuttered doors." . . . + +Two little girls, to whom I used to bring chocolates, used to come up in +the evening and kiss my hand, wishing me good-night. They thought I was +the most amusing governess they had ever met. Their mother, a kind old +lady who offered me cough mixtures, must have thought me rather odd, but +then she was prepared to make allowances for foreigners, especially in +war-time. To have a reason for wishing to be inconspicuous was nothing +unusual in those days, whether one was German, Jew, or Greek, or male or +female. + +Of various opportunities that came my way, the most practical and +attractive was that suggested by the Russian Colonel. His repatriation +to the Caucasus was now only a matter of days. He had not only got his +own passport, but also a passport for a servant. That servant was to be +myself. In order to discuss plans, we found the safest rendezvous was +the open-air cafe of the Petits Champs. This place was crowded with +"fashionable" people, and although both he and Miss Whitaker were +constantly shadowed by detectives there was nothing at all suspicious in +their being seen at tea-time in the company of an elegantly dressed +German lady. + +The German lady was obviously not as young as she tried to appear, but +then there was nothing unusual about that. She was also rather _gauche_ +in her movements, but this again was not out of keeping with the part. + +"In a fortnight's time we will be having tea at Tiflis," the Russian +Colonel used to say. "I will raise two regiments of cavalry and take +them to kill the Bolsheviks. You shall be my adjutant." + +"With the greatest pleasure in the world, _mon Colonel_. But please do +not speak so loud." + +"Ah, that _sacre_ detective. I had forgotten him. Soon we will not have +to think of such things." + +"Yes, but at the present moment your own particular shadow is trying to +listen to what you are saying," I remarked in low tones. + +At once the Colonel's voice assumed a softer note, and his green eyes +began to melt with tenderness. + +"_Mais Josephine, ma petite, ecoutes donc, je t'adore. . . ._ There, +he's passed. Everything is ready. I have got you a Russian soldier's +uniform. You have only to put this on, and follow me on board when I +go." + +"And if someone asks me who I am?" + +"You are my Georgian servant. And you can only speak Georgian. Just say +this----" + +There followed a tongue-twisting sentence, which I tried to memorise. + +Meanwhile the band played, and people passed, and inquisitive eyes were +turned in our direction. + +"That's a spy who knows me," Miss Whitaker would say. "_Encore une +tasse, mademoiselle? Non?_ I think we ought to be going." + +"We'll settle the final details to-morrow," I whispered. + +"Right! Remember to let your beard grow. I couldn't have a smooth-faced +orderly." + +"_Eh bien, mille mercis, Colonel_," said I, giving him my hand. + +He held it a moment, bowing, and looking inexpressible things. + +"_Ah, Josephine. . . ._" + +"_A demain, alors!_" + +And with a simper I left my gallant and dapper cavalier to pay the +bill. + + + + + CHAPTER X + + RECAPTURED + + +At five o'clock one morning Mlle. Josephine received a staggering note +from the Russian Colonel to say that he had had to leave at a moment's +notice for the Caucasus, under a Turkish guard, and that there was no +prospect at all of his taking his dear Josephine with him. + +Thus my plan had failed. It was not the Colonel's fault, but it was +annoying all the same. I had wasted both time and money, provisions and +opportunities, and now I had to begin all over again. + +I decided that I would not continue in my disguise as a girl. It was too +nerve-racking to begin with; and also, as a girl, I could not go down +myself to the docks and arrange matters at first hand. I felt I must do +something for myself. During the month that had elapsed Robin had been +recaptured, other officers had escaped, the whole course of the war was +changing, and here was I still _embusque_ in Constantinople. + +Something must be done, and, as usual, my good angel did it for +me. . . . She bought me a small upturned moustache, spectacles, +hair-dye, a second-hand suit, a stained white waistcoat which I +ornamented with a large nickel gilt watch chain, a pair of old +elastic-sided boots (price L7), an ebony cane with a silver top, and a +bowler hat which I perched rakishly askew. I was a Hungarian mechanic, +out of a job. I had lost my place at the munition factory near San +Stefano. But I was not down-hearted. My nails were oily and my +antecedents doubtful, but I drank my beer and smoked my cigars and +looked on life brightly through my spectacles. + +I did not avoid the Boche--in fact, I frequently drank beer with him. +The non-Latin races are not inquisitive as a rule. They cared little +whether I was Swiss or Dutch or Hungarian, and I frequently claimed all +three nationalities. They did not even think it odd when, on one +occasion, I said that I had been born in Scandinavia and later that I +was a naturalised Hungarian, and later again (when a Jewish gentleman +with military boots joined us, whom I recognised to be a Government +informer, paid to pick up information) that I was really of Russian +parentage and that I had a passport to this effect (which I showed to +the company present) signed by Djevad Bey, the military commandant of +Constantinople, permitting me to proceed to Russia and ordering that +every facility should be given to me at the custom-house. + +This forged passport was a source of perplexity to me at the time, and +later it was to be the cause of great discomfort. I had bought it for +ten pounds from the gentleman whose pumicestone engraving die reposed +at the bottom of the cistern. It was an ornate affair, duly stamped, and +sealed, and signed with a Turkish flourish. But I could not bring myself +to believe that it would get me through the passport office, the +_douane_, and the medical station at the entrance to the Bosphorus. Some +hitch would certainly have occurred. + +However, it impressed the company in the cafe. People generally take one +at one's own valuation, and the few secret agents to whom I spoke +obviously considered that I was not a likely person to be blackmailed. +With the Greeks I was certainly popular. The seedy-smart polyglot youth +who was so liberal with his cigars (which were rather a rarity then) and +so fond of talking politics and drinking beer was a _persona grata_ in +the circles he frequented. We talked much of revolution. + +"We will crucify the Young Turks," said a Greek to me one day, "and then +eat them in little bits. We will----" His expressive hands suddenly +paused in mid-gesture, and his mouth dropped open, but only for an +instant. He had seen a detective enter. "We will continue to preserve +our dignity and remain calm whatever happens," he concluded neatly. + +But calm the Greeks certainly were not. + +In the cellar of a German hotel in Pera the Greek proprietor displayed +one night a collection of rusty swords and old revolvers which were the +nucleus of the New Age of brotherly love, when the streets were to run +with Turkish blood, and the Cross replace the Crescent in San Sophia. I +was privileged to be present at this conclave of desperadoes. After +swearing each other to eternal secrecy we sampled some of the contents +of our host's cellar, and talked very big about what we were going to +do. But our host, beyond dancing a hornpipe and declaring that he was +going to murder everybody in the hotel (after they had paid their +bills), propounded no very definite scheme. + +Out of this atmosphere of melodrama one emerged into the sombre, silent +streets and went rather furtively home, feeling that there was something +to be said for the Turks after all. But I need hardly say that no +influential Greeks had a share in these proceedings: they were always on +the side of moderation. One had been a fool to consort with fools. + +Behind the lattices of the harems it was said that Enver Pasha's day was +done. The new Sultan had thrown him out of the palace, neck and crop. +There was to be an inquiry into the means by which he had acquired huge +farms round Constantinople--farms which were supposed to be purchased +from the proceeds of a corner in milk that had killed many children. The +Custodians of the Harem (and in Turkey these tall flat-chested +individuals have positions of great power; the Chief of the White +Custodians, for instance, is one of the high dignitaries of the Empire, +and ranks with a Lord Chamberlain) had long been intriguing against the +Committee and especially against the German element with Enver at its +head. . . . The Sultan was high in popular favour, and a dramatic +suicide in the main street of Pera, which lifted a corner of the curtain +hiding the unrest behind the scenes at the Imperial Palace, became a +nine days' wonder, and gave rise to extraordinary rumours. A Turkish +officer in full uniform had been seen running for dear life down the +Grand Rue de Pera, pursued by policemen. The officer took refuge in the +Turkish club, but he was refused asylum there. The policemen crowded +into the entrance hall to arrest him, while the fugitive dashed upstairs +to the card-room. Finding, however, that he could not avoid arrest, he +threw himself out of the window, and was instantly killed on the +pavement below. For some time, the corpse, dressed in the uniform of the +Yildiz Guards, blocked the traffic of the city. + +A few days later a British air-raid gave the Constantinopolitans +something new to think about. It was a stifling night, and I was dozing +and listening to the mosquitoes that buzzed round me, when their drone +seemed to grow louder and louder. I lay quite still, thinking that +another raid would be too good to be true. But presently there was no +doubt about it. Invisible, but very audible, the British squadron was +sailing overhead. I jumped up and at that moment the Turks put up their +barrage. Bang! Boom! Whizz! Kk--kk--kk! All the little voices of +civilisation were speaking. + +Greeks crowded into the streets, and clapped their hands when the crash +and rumble of a bomb was heard in the Turkish quarter of Stamboul. + +"The Sultan is going to make peace," they told me. "He has refused to +gird on the Sword of Othman until the Committee of Union and Progress +give an account of their funds." + +"Hurrah for the English!" shouted others, quite undismayed by the +shrapnel and falling pieces of shell. + +Here are some chance remarks, actually heard during air raids. + +"Ah! Here is the revolution at last!" said a Turkish officer in a +chemist's shop in the Grand Rue de Pera, thinking the firing meant the +downfall of Enver Pasha and his gang. + +"Bread costs four shillings a two-pound loaf," said an Armenian in the +suburb of Chichli--"and as often as not there is a stone or half a mouse +thrown into the four shillings' worth, for luck. May this gang of +swindlers perish!" + +"Allah! send the English soon," wailed a Turkish widow in a hovel in +Stamboul, where she was living with her five starving children. "We are +being killed by inches now; it would be better to be killed quickly by +bombs. The English cannot be worse than Enver." + +This, indeed, was the general opinion in Constantinople. Few of the +population, outside the high officials, bore us any grudge. The thieving +of the Young Turks was on as vast a scale as their ambition. From needy +adventurers they had become the prosperous potentates of an Empire. No +country, surely, has ever been the prey of such desperate and determined +men. + +The air raids were one of the first causes of their weakening hold on +the people. The moral effect of these demonstrations was incalculable, +coming as it did at a time when the Sultan was supposed to be in favour +of peace. + +Peace, indeed, was the only faint hope of salvation that remained to the +very poor. Milk had almost disappeared from the open market, and for +some time past children had been exposed in the street, their mothers +being unable to support them any longer. + +Each night, when I passed the Petits Champs, I saw a row of starving +children, poor little living protests of humanity against the barbarisms +of war and the cruelty of profiteers, huddled on the pavement, mute, +uncomplaining, too weak to even ask for alms. + +And Bedri Bey, sometime Prefect of Police at Constantinople, when +appealed to, said: "_Bah! Les pauvres, qu'ils crevent._" + + * * * * * + +Although politics were interesting enough, escape was my first +preoccupation. It was necessary to approach the harbour officials with +caution, and they, on their side, although ready enough to help with +suggestions, seemed inclined to shelve all the actual work on to a +person or persons unknown, who remained in the background. It was very +difficult to get at the principals. + +One of the chief agents of escape, however, I met one day in the Grand +Rue de Pera. He was a most remarkable man. Intrigue was the breath of +his nostrils, and although he had made thousands of pounds by helping +rich refugees out of the country, he was really more interested in +politics than pelf. He laid the groundwork of such knowledge as I +acquired of Constantinople. + +Incidentally, in the course of our conversation, a squad of Russian +officer prisoners passed, accompanied by two sentries whom I knew quite +well. So confident did I feel of not being recognised that I said a few +words to one of the Russians, while their escort glanced at me with +faces perfectly blank. They had not the vaguest idea who I was. + +To get away from Constantinople, the escape merchant told me, was a +matter of passing the custom house. Formerly this had been easy, but now +every ship was searched from stem to stern and from deck to keelson. +Also every skipper was a Mohammedan. All Christians had been recently +deprived of their positions. + +Still, Mohammedans are not an unbribable people, and something might +possibly be done for me. In fact, that very day he had learnt of a +certain Lazz shipmaster, who was going over to the Caucasus in his own +boat, and who would be prepared to take a few passengers for a +consideration. + +Later in the same day I heard that two other officers, who had escaped +about a week before (by bolting under a train in Haidar Pasha railway +station), were already in touch with this Lazz. I went to see them early +the following morning and we agreed to charter the boat between us, so +as to reduce expenses. + +My two friends were living in the house of one Theodore, a Greek waiter +at a restaurant in Sirkedji, who believed that they, as well as myself, +were Germans. + +The Lazz, who came to visit us, was absolutely astounded when we +proclaimed ourselves as British officers: he had been under the +impression that we were some sort of Turkish subject. However, all +passengers were grist to his mill, and British officers who talked +glibly of gold payments were not people to be neglected. After haggling +about terms, we made an appointment for the next day, and parted with +some cordiality. + +On the morrow, punctual to our appointments, the Lazz and I again +arrived at Theodore's house to confer further with my two friends. + +As it was a very hot afternoon, I took off my coat and my false +moustache, before plunging into the details of our departure. It was +evident that the Lazz was in a hurry to be off. His cargo was complete, +he said. He had only to take in petrol for his motor before leaving on +the following day. There remained the question of money, and after much +argument we settled to pay him five hundred pounds on arrival at the +port of Poti in the Caucasus, and one hundred pounds advance for fuel +immediately. He was to provide the disguises necessary for us to pass +the customs at the Bosphorus. We were each of us to don a black dress +and a black veil and to sit in a row in his cabin, refusing to move or +speak if interrogated. Muslim ladies, he assured us, had frequently +refused to undergo any scrutiny whatever at the customs, and provided +they were vouched for by some responsible person on board, the gallant +excisemen were ready to let them pass. As his very own wives, said the +Lazz, no harm could possibly come to us, provided of course we remained +sitting, and silent, throughout the inspection. + +This seemed a very satisfactory scheme, for obviously whatever risks we +ran, our friend the Lazz would run them too. + +By evening our pact was complete. We handed over a hundred pounds, and +the Lazz promised faithfully that he would have the boat ready and our +disguises prepared by nightfall on the following day, when we would sail +for Russia. + +Hardly had the money changed hands before I noticed a suspicious-looking +individual in the street below. Presently he was joined by another +detective, whom I recognised. + +Things looked ugly. + +We took the Lazz cautiously to the window. + +"Do you know anything about those men?" we asked. + +He turned deathly pale, but swore he had never seen them before. I do +not think he had. His fear was genuine. + +"Let me get out! Let me get out!" he said, making a bolt for the door. + +And he went. There was no use in trying to stop him. + +One of my friends and I now went downstairs, while the third member of +our party stayed behind to hide a few odds and ends of gear, in case the +house was searched. + +We waited downstairs, making light of our fears, and fighting a +premonition of disaster. + +Presently there was a loud tapping on the door. Even if it were the +police, I thought, our disguises would carry us through. Then I noticed +that my friend was in shirt-sleeves. I put on my spectacles and tried to +stick on my moustache again, but the gum from it had gone. + +The rapping at the door became louder and louder, and presently it was +opened by a flustered female. + +In trooped six detectives, including the man I had recognised, who was +apparently their leader. + +"There are some British officers hiding here," he said fiercely to the +woman; "show me where they are." + +While this scene was passing in the entrance-hall, we were behind the +door of the pantry. + +A detective came in and caught my friend. Meanwhile two others were +pommelling the unfortunate woman to make her say where we were. She kept +pleading that she knew nothing about any British officers. + +Another instant, and I should have been found. So I came out from behind +the pantry door, and crossed the entrance hall. + +In the doorway stood a burly policeman, who said "_Yok, yok_," when I +attempted to pass him. + +Had I had the requisite nerve I believe I could have bluffed this man. +Some phrase with _schweinhund_ in it would probably have got me past. +But I hesitated, and was lost. + +My hand flew to my breast pocket, where the forged passport lay, and my +false moustache. + +"Seize that man and search him," said the head detective, looking over +the banisters. Then he went upstairs, dragging the woman with him. + +My arms were instantly caught from behind, while a seedy-looking youth, +who was probably a pick-pocket in his spare time, ran his fingers over +my clothes. My wad of money, watch, compass, passport, moustache, +everything was put into a small canvas bag, and I was then taken to the +opposite corner of the room to that in which my friend sat, and told +not to move under pain of death. A levelled revolver emphasised the +injunction. + +[Illustration: The Author as a Hungarian Mechanic] + +Presently there were cries of women heard from the attic, then there was +a loud crash, and I knew that the third member of our party had fallen +through the trapdoor leading to the roof. + +That was the last of my freedom for the time. Thus suddenly my five +weeks' scheming was ended. + +Each of us was taken charge of by two policemen, who linked their arms +in ours. Presently the order to march was given, and a dismal +procession, consisting of two weeping women, a seedy-smart individual in +a bowler hat, two youths in slippers and shirt-sleeves, and a Greek +waiter, could be seen wending their way to the Central Gaol of +Stamboul. + + + + + CHAPTER XI + + THE BLACK HOLE OF CONSTANTINOPLE + + +Before leaving, we had protested strongly against the treatment of the +women in the house. + +"But they are Turkish subjects," said the detectives. + +"Anyway, they are women," we protested. + +But this had little effect. Theodore and his unfortunate family were +marched off behind us to the Central Gaol. I think, however, that our +protest was not quite in vain, for it gave the women courage. When I +last saw them, before being taken to the Chief of Police, they had dried +their tears. Eventually they were released, but not, alas! until they +had endured much suffering. + +The Chief of Police congratulated us on being safe once more in Turkish +hands. + +"Yes, we are comfortably back in prison," I said with a faint smile, +"and therefore there is surely no harm in giving us back the personal +trifles that the detectives took from us." + +"I cannot give you your papers," he said. "There is a forged passport +here, amongst other things." + +"Very well, do as you like about that," I said, shrugging my shoulders, +"but surely my empty pocket-book and my watch might be returned." + +To this he agreed, whereupon he handed me-- + +(_a_) My pocket-book, containing five pounds hidden in the lining. + +(_b_) My watch, and a compass, which he mistook for another timepiece. + +(_c_) My false moustache, which had been captured on my person. + +I was in an agony of anxiety about this moustache. Had the police +inquired at the only two hairdressers' where such things were made, they +would have found that Miss Whitaker had ordered it for me only ten days +before. But now it was safely in my possession again. I had the only +connecting link of evidence that might incriminate Miss Whitaker in my +trouser pocket, and was tearing it to shreds as I talked to the Chief of +Police. + +The interview passed on a note of felicitation, until the very end. +After praising the smart way his men had surrounded the house, and +receiving his congratulations on our escapes, just as if the whole thing +was a game, we said that there was one criticism we had to make on +police methods, and that was their treatment of women. + +"They are Turkish subjects," snapped the Chief of Police, suddenly +showing his teeth. + +"They are women," we retorted, "and they are innocent. If they are +maltreated----" + +"I know how to manage my affairs," he said with a gasp of annoyance. + +"Certainly. But if they are maltreated you will be responsible after the +war." + +To this he made no reply. + +We were removed without further ado, and after being photographed and +measured in the most approved fashion for criminals, we were taken up +long flights of stairs, and across a roof, to the quarters for prisoners +awaiting trial. Here we were allotted separate cells, where we were to +pass the next few days in strict isolation. + +To my amazement (for I knew something of Turkish prisons from a previous +experience, not here recorded) these cells were scrupulously clean. A +bed, a table, and a chair were in each apartment, all very firm and +foursquare, as if designed to withstand any access of fury or despair on +the prisoner's part. There was electric light in the ceiling, covered +with wire netting. Walls and woodwork were of a neutral colour. The +windows, which were barred, had a convenient arrangement for regulating +the ventilation. The heavy door, which admitted no sound, was provided +with a sliding hatch, which could be opened by the warders at will for +purposes of investigation. Everything was hideously efficient. + +Turkey is a country of surprises, but I was not prepared for this. I +would have preferred something more picturesque. One's mind, after the +testing climax of recapture, craves for new doses of excitement. + +The brain of a criminal, after he has been apprehended, must be a +turmoil of thought. He curses his stupidity, or his luck, or his +associates. He longs to explain and defend himself. Instead of this, he +is left in silence in a drab room, with no company but his thoughts. + +My own thoughts were most unpleasant. I had failed miserably and +innocent people were suffering as the result. + +After five weeks of effort I was farther than ever from escape. Worse +than all, Miss Whitaker was in danger. Never again shall I pass such +dismal hours. I see myself now, seated on that solid chair with head on +arms, bent over that efficient table. A prisoner's heart must soon turn +to stone. + +But although our surroundings were inhuman, one of our gaolers had a +generous heart. He opened the slot in my door merely to say he was sorry +about it all, and that the women were all right. It is little actions +such as these that so often light the darkest hours of life. The man was +a European Turk. + +It was urgently necessary to communicate with my fellow-prisoners, in +order to arrange to tell the same story. My friend next door solved the +problem by bawling up through his barred window at the top of his voice +that he would leave a note for me in the wash-place. + +"Right you are!" I howled in answer, and instantly the slot of my door +opened, and I had to explain that I was singing. + +Already, interest was beginning to creep back into one's life. I found +the note in the wash-place, read it secretly, thought over my answer, +and transcribed the message on to a cigarette paper. Having no writing +material, I used the end of a match dipped into an ink prepared from +tobacco juice and ash. By these simple means we established a regular +means of communication and before forty-eight hours of our strict +seclusion had elapsed we were all three in possession of a complete, +circumstantial, and fictitious account of our adventures prior to +capture. + +When not engaged on reminiscences, I was generally pacing my cell, or +trying to invent some new form of exercise to keep myself fit. But at +times energy failed and one felt inclined to gnash one's teeth at the +futility of it all. + +One day, when I was feeling inclined to gnash my teeth, the slot in my +door was furtively withdrawn, and, instead of a gaoler, a very comely +vision appeared at the observation hatch. A pair of laughing black eyes +were looking in on me. She wrinkled her nose, and laughed. I jumped up, +thinking I was dreaming, and hoping that the dream would continue. At +the same moment something dropped on to my floor. Then the trap door was +softly shut to. + +I found a tiny stump of lead pencil. That was proof of the reality of my +vision. + +Countless excuses to leave my cell, and voluminous correspondence with +the pencil's aid eventually enabled me to find out that she was an +Armenian girl, awaiting trial, who took a deep interest in us. At great +risk to herself, she had provided the three of us with writing +instruments. Except for a brief glimpse, and a mumbled word, I was never +able to thank her, however, owing to circumstances beyond our control. + +On the fourth day we were transferred to the Military Prison in the +Square of the Seraskerat. + +As usual in Turkey, our move was sudden and unexpected. That morning, on +complaining at mid-day that I had as yet received no food, I was told +that _inshallah_--if God pleased--it would arrive in due course. + +Instead of a belated breakfast, however, a _posse_ of policemen arrived, +and we started on our journeys again: my friends still in their +shirt-sleeves and slippers, and myself still in my bowler hat, although +I did not now wear it so rakishly. + +But we were fairly cheery. We had learnt (no matter how) that the +females of Theodore's family would soon be released, and that Theodore +himself, although still in duress, would not suffer any extreme fate. +Also, it was by now fairly obvious that Miss Whitaker would not be +apprehended, as sufficient evidence was not obtainable against her. She +had covered her tracks too well. All things considered, there was no +cause for depression. + +But waiting is hungry work. That afternoon still saw us, fretful and +unfed, waiting outside the office of Djevad Bey, the Military +Commandant of Constantinople. + +At last I was taken into an ornate room, where I had my first talk with +this redoubtable individual, who was popularly supposed to be the +hangman of the Young Turks. Anyone less like an executioner I have never +seen. He was plump, well-dressed, with humorous grey eyes. He wore long, +rather well-fitting boots, and smoked his cigarettes from a long amber +holder. He also had a long amber moustache, which was being trained +Kaiser-wise. + +I stood before him at attention. + +"About this forged passport," he began--"do gentlemen in your country +forge each other's signatures?" + +"It is not usual," I admitted. + +"Then you, as an English gentleman, surely did not counterfeit my +writing?" + +"Oh no! I wouldn't dream of doing such a thing." + +"Then how do you account for this passport being in your possession?" + +I remained silent. + +"Who forged it?" he insisted. + +"May I look?" said I. "Is that really your signature?" + +"It is indeed. With it you could easily have got out of the country." + +"What an idiot I was not to use it!" I said with quite unfeigned +annoyance. + +"You were!" he laughed--"they would have passed you straight through the +Customs on seeing this." + +I felt very faint at this moment, and staggered against the table. But I +recovered after an instant. I quite forget his next few remarks, but I +know that I committed myself to a story that I had bought the passport +from a man in a restaurant whom I could not now recognise. + +"But where have you been living all these weeks?" he asked. + +"I was living in the ruins near the Fatih mosque," I said glibly--"and I +used to lunch and dine at various cafes in the city, a different one +every day. It was in one of these places that I bought the passport." + +Djevad Bey considered this statement for a moment. There was a nasty +look in his eye when he spoke again. + +"I shall never rest until I know who it is who can forge my signature so +well," he said--"and until I know, I am afraid you will be very +uncomfortable, for by law you are in the position of a common +malefactor." + +"By law I am in the position of a prisoner of war," I answered--"and as +such, I am liable to a fortnight's simple imprisonment, for attempting +to escape. The Turkish Government signed this agreement only a few +months ago with the British representatives at Berne." + +"A man who forges another's name is not an officer, but a forger," he +said meaningly. + +"Say what you like, and do what you like," I answered--"I am in your +power. But one thing I ask, and that is, that if you punish me, you +should liberate the innocent Theodore and his family. True, we were +found in their house, but----" + +"I cannot believe what you say," said Djevad Bey thoughtfully. + +There was a pause. Then: + +"Come, as man to man, won't you tell me who forged that passport?" + +"You have just called me a liar," said I. "That ends the matter." + +And with an all-is-over-between-us air I left the room, feeling dizzy +and uncomfortable. + +It was then four o'clock in the afternoon, and I had not yet eaten. I +did not feel at all amused at the prospect of the Military Prison. + +I was taken downstairs into the darkness, on entering this inferno of +the damned of Enver Pasha. There were cries and shouts down there, and +men scrambling for food, and other men who looked like wild animals, +behind bars. A swarthy custodian took my name, and I then proceeded, +down a long corridor, until my escort reached an iron portal such as +Dante imagined long ago. + +_Lasciate ogni speranza voi ch'entrate. . . ._ The gates had clanged +behind me, and I was in a long, low room below ground level, airless, +ill-lit, filthy with tomato skins and bits of bread. Well-fed rats were +scurrying amongst the garbage, and badly-fed prisoners were pacing the +room forlornly, or twiddling their thumbs, or scratching themselves, or +gnawing crusts of bread. + +They gathered round me, clamouring for news and cigarettes. In less than +no time they had picked my pockets. They had no more morals than +monkeys. Poor devils! who could blame them, living as they did down +there, where no rumours are heard of the outside world, except the cries +of beaten men and the dull sound of wood on flesh? + +"What are you in for?" they asked me. + +"Forgery," said I, not to be outdone by any desperado present. + +One man, however, confessed to murder, having cut a small boy's throat a +few months before. With him I could not compete. But the most of us were +fraudulent contractors, spies, petty swindlers and the like. Our morals, +as I have said, were practically _nil_. Yet I noticed that a Jew lived +quite apart, and was shunned by everybody. By trade he was a brigand, +but this was no slur on his character as a criminal: the failing that +had led to ostracism was that he pilfered the other prisoners' tomatoes. +That was really beyond a joke. . . . + + * * * * * + +One of my newly found friends took me to a bed, consisting of two planks +on an iron frame, which he said I could have for my very, very own. He +also gave me a piece of bread and some water. On beginning to eat I at +once realised how hungry I was, and inquired how I should obtain further +nourishment. + +"Luxuries are very difficult to obtain," he said; "how much money have +you got?" + +"Twenty-five piastres,[9]" I answered. + +He pulled a long face. + +"That won't go far. But every evening at eight a boy comes round with +the scraps left over from the Officers' Restaurant. Otherwise you will +live on bread and tomatoes." + +"What about bedding?" I asked, to change the subject. + +"Bedding!" he said, looking at me as if I was a perfect idiot. "Do you +mean to say you have come here without any bedding?" + +I admitted I had, but felt too exhausted to explain. + + * * * * * + +One was utterly lost in that dungeon. Even when the war ended, would one +be found? I doubted it. Yet as I would naturally never reveal the +forger's name, it seemed unlikely that I would get out. . . . Then I +thought of my companions. I imagined them happily together, in some +place where one could see the sky. . . . As for me, I might languish +down here for ever. Obviously something should be done. + +But what? I rose (rather hastily, for on looking between the planks of +my bed, I noticed that the crack was entirely filled with battalions of +board beasts in line, waiting for a night attack), and began to pace +our narrow and nasty apartment. A group of prisoners were cooking some +pitiful mess by the window. Four others played poker with a very greasy +pack. One was twiddling his thumbs very fast, and I suddenly recollected +that he had been twiddling his thumbs very fast half an hour ago, when I +had first seen him. The lonely Jew was removing lice from the seams of +his coat, and throwing his quarry airily about the room. + +Then I noticed that besides ourselves, there were other prisoners even +more unfortunate. There had been so much to see in my new surroundings +that I had not noticed the people in chains. . . . One side of our room +opened out on to some half-dozen cubicles, each of which contained a +prisoner in chains. These cells had no light or ventilation. They +measured six feet in length by four in breadth. In solitude and +obscurity, fettered by wrist and ankle to shackles that weighed a +hundredweight, human beings lived there--and are still living for aught +I know--for months and even years, until death released them. These men +were ravenous and verminous, but they had by no means lost their hope +and faith. I shall never hear the hymn-- + + "Thy rule, O Christ, begin, + Break with Thine iron rod + The tyrannies of sin . . ." + +without remembering that an Armenian lad said those words to me, lying +in chains in one of these cells. With another prisoner, a Greek, who +had endured eleven months of this torture, I also had some speech. + +"Yes, the war will be over soon," he said. "My God, how good this +cigarette of yours tastes! I haven't touched tobacco for a month. But be +careful. The sentries must not see you speaking to me." + +"Yes, the chains were bad at first," he continued when the sentry's back +was turned, "but one gets used to anything in time. And I have had time +enough. It takes a lot to kill a healthy man. Before I came in here I +used to be strong and well. I used to ride two hours every day, on my +own horses. Now my horses have gone to feed the Turkish Army and I can +hardly drag my chains as far as the water-tap. But God is great. . . ." + +God is great! _Allahu akbar!_ + +I determined to get away from that dungeon at all costs, if for no other +reason than because I had to survive to write about it. + +I went to the big gate, and tried to bluff the sentry to let me go to +see the Commandant. But a clean face and a full stomach are practically +necessary to a _debonnaire_ appearance. When one is scrubby and starved +it is almost impossible to succeed in "wangling." I stared at the sentry +through my eyeglass, and I offered him my twenty-five piastres as if I +had plenty more _baksheesh_ to give to a good boy, but I utterly and +dismally failed to impress him. + +"_Yok, yok, yok_," he said, looking at me as one might look at an +orang-outang that has + + +-------------------------------+ + | DO NOT IRRITATE THIS ANIMAL | + +-------------------------------+ + +written over its cage. + +I gibbered in impotent rage, and then went and put my head under a tap. + +A little later, while I was drying my head with my handkerchief, I saw +some barbers come to the big gate. They stood there, clapping and +clacking their strops. Instantly, my fellow-prisoners rushed to the gate +as if they had heard the beating of the wings of some angel of +deliverance. This was apparently the occasion of their weekly shave, +when egress to the corridor was permitted, the barbers naturally not +wishing to go inside our loathsome room. + +Taking this tide in the affairs of men at the flood, I found it led on +to fortune. I was in the corridor with six other prisoners, and a barber +confronted me with a razor in his hand. He whetted his steel +expectantly, but I would have none of him, and seized a passing official +by the arm. + +He was a dog-collar gentleman. + +A dog-collar gentleman, I must explain, is Authority Incarnate. On his +swelling chest he wears a crescent tablet of brass, with the one word +_Quanun_ inscribed thereon. _Quanun_ means "law," and the wearer of this +badge is responsible for public decorum of every kind. If a Turkish +officer be seen drinking alcohol in uniform, or playing cards, or +flirting, or talking disrespectfully of the Germans, or indulging in any +other prohibited amusement, he is instantly arrested by the dog-collar +gentleman, and brought to prison. In his official capacity, the +dog-collar gentleman is one of the most important personages in Turkey: +policeman, pussfoot and prude in one. + +"There is some mistake," I said excitedly. "I am a British officer, and +have been put in a room with criminals." + +"You a British officer?" said the dog-collar man incredulously. + +"A captain of cavalry," said I, slipping him the twenty-five piastre +note. + +"_Pekke, Effendim_," he answered. "Very good, sir, I will see what can +be done." + +I had burnt my boats now. + +About ten minutes later, just as I was flatly refusing to either be +shaved or to return through the gate, a sergeant-major and a squad of +soldiers arrived and bore me off to the Prison Commandant. + +Here I caught sight of my two companions, and was able to fling them a +few words through the "Yok, yok" of the sentries. They also had been +separated, and put amongst criminals. Their lot had been no different to +mine. + +"A slight mistake has occurred," said the Prison Commandant to me, "but +now you shall have one of the best rooms in the prison. Only I am +afraid you will be alone there, until after your trial." + +Of course I did not believe him, but I was glad that I was to be alone. + +I was taken to a room on the upper floor, furnished with a bed and +blanket, and with a window opening on to a corridor, where people were +always passing. The Commandant had spoken the truth. It was quite a good +room, as prison apartments go, and the traffic of the corridor amused +me. + +At nine o'clock that night I was able to get a dish of haricot beans, my +first meal of the day. + +Then I settled down to a month of solitary confinement. + +I think I may claim to write of this torture, which exists not only in +Turkey but through the prisons of the civilised world, with some expert +knowledge. I use the word "torture" because it is nothing less. Solitary +confinement is a punishment as barbarous and as senseless as the +thumbscrew or the rack: more so indeed, for it is better to kill the +body than to maim the mind. The spirit of man is more than his poor +flesh; the war has reminded us of that. And if it has also reminded us +that our prison systems are archaic, so much the better for the world. + +At times, in gaol, a tide of pity rose in me for all life created that +is caged by man. + +Take a felon at one end of the scale, and a canary at the other. The +felon is imprisoned for twenty years. For twenty years, less some small +remission for good conduct, an abnormal brain lives in abnormal +surroundings, where hope dies, and ideals fail. He has sinned against +society, and therefore society murders his mind. Corporal and capital +punishment, I have come to believe, are saner than the cruelties, +immeasurable by "the world's coarse thumb and finger," suffered by the +mind of man in solitary confinement or the common gaol. The +sentimentalist who shudders at the cat and gallows forgets the worse, +slow, hidden horrors that pass unseen in the felon's brain. Perhaps the +sentimentalist does not realise them. Perhaps also the old lady who +keeps a canary does not realise the feelings of her pet. She may think +she is protecting it from the birds and beasts outside. But I feel now +that I know what the canary feels. . . . However, it is difficult to +argue about questions involving imagination. + +I lived on hope, chiefly, during the days that followed. With nothing to +read, no cutting instrument of any sort, no washing arrangements, and no +one to speak to, the time passed hideously. I used to gaze at my watch +sometimes, appalled at the slow passage of time. The second-hand had a +horrible fascination for me. It simply crawled round its dial and each +instant, between the jerks of the little hand, the precious moments of +my youth were passing, beyond recall. Madness lay that way. If I had +been a real criminal, I wondered, would I have repented? Unquestionably +the answer was, "No!" Solitary confinement would have made me a +permanent enemy of society. + +There were no smiles and soap in that Military Prison, no scissors, no +sanitation. There was nothing human or clean about it. Nothing but +destruction will rid it of its vermin, or scour it of its taint of +disease and death. + +Perhaps the lack of scissors was the amenity of life whose absence I +most deplored. Try to do without a cutting instrument for a month, and +you will realise why it was that some sort of cutting edge was the first +need of primitive man and remains a prime necessity to-day. + +However, as a matter of fact, I did not remain a whole month without a +cutting edge. Before a fortnight had elapsed I had bettered my position +in many ways. I had secured a knife (which I stole from the restaurant), +a wash-basin (sent from the Embassy), and pencil and paper from a +friendly clerk. With these writing instruments I used to correspond +voluminously with the other British prisoners, by various privy methods. + +I had a regular routine for my days now. Early mornings were devoted to +walking briskly up and down my room in various gaits--the sailor's roll, +for instance, and the Napoleonic stride, and the deportment of various +of my acquaintances. During this time I avoided thinking, but generally +imagined some incident in which I took a distinguished part. In the +forenoon I played games, such as throwing my soap to the ceiling and +catching it again, or juggling with cigarettes, both lighted and +unlighted. The afternoon generally passed in sleep, but the evening and +nights were bad. It was then that the second hand of my watch began to +exert its fascination. The electric light bulb, however, could +occasionally be tampered with, and on these occasions there was always +the hope that the sentries would get a shock in putting it right. Also I +found amusement in my watch chain, which I made into an absorbing +puzzle. + +But, curiously enough, I found it impossible to write anything, except +lengthy letters. + +A real prisoner in a well-constituted prison does not enjoy his days any +more than I did. On the other hand, he knows how long his sentence is +going to last, whereas in my case I was confined during Djevad Bey's +pleasure, or the duration of the war, and each day brought me nearer +nothing--except insanity. + +One evening, however, an Imperial Son-in-law entered my room, and lit my +life with a certain interest. His father, who was a Court official, had +betrothed him to a princess, and he had consequently assumed the title +of Damad, or Son-in-law. This youth had had a remarkable career. While +still a guileless lad, scarcely broke from the harem, he had used his +revolver so injudiciously that he had seriously damaged one of the +Imperial apartments, besides killing the elderly Colonel at whom he was +aiming. Enver Pasha had of course himself a weakness for this sort of +thing, but still, to save appearances, the Damad had to be punished. He +was therefore condemned to three months' confinement in the Military +Prison. Although nominally in residence there, he used, however, to +leave prison every Friday to attend the Sultan's Selamlik, and only +return on Monday night. Moreover, he not only thoroughly amused himself +during his protracted week-ends, he also squeezed every bit of pleasure +possible out of his prison days. Life was a lemon, which he sucked with +grace. He was free to wander where he wished in the prison, and to eat +and drink what he liked. The best of everything was good enough for the +Damad. Grapes came for him from the Sultan's garden, and a faithful +negro slave was always at his heels. + +The Damad had rather charming manners. He knocked politely before +entering my cell. + +"Excuse my interrupting," he said, "but----" + +"You are not interrupting me at all," I answered, getting up from my +bed. "I do wish you would stop and talk. Have a cigarette? I haven't +talked to anyone for a fortnight." + +"I am so sorry, but I daren't talk to you. That is a pleasure to come. I +wanted to borrow something, that's all. And, I say, will you allow me to +offer you one of my cigarettes--they're the Sultan's brand, you know. +Better take the box. Well, I saw you with an eyeglass through the window +in the passage. Will you lend it me to appear at the next Selamlik?" + +I was delighted, and said so. To my sorrow, the Damad instantly took his +departure. + +"Smuggle me in something to read," I said, as he left with profuse +apologies for his hurry. + +He nodded, and his long left eyelash flickered. + +Next day his little nigger boy, when the sentry's back was turned, +popped about twenty leaflets into my window. I seized them avidly, and +found that they were the astounding adventures of Nat Pinkerton in +French. Never have my eyes rested so gleefully on a printed page. I +consumed them cautiously, else I should have gorged myself with +excitement at a single sitting. Like an epicure, I made them last, by +always breaking off at the critical juncture of the great detective's +affairs. From that moment my life flowed in more agreeable channels. + +"Devouring time, blunt though the lion's paws." . . . I suddenly +understood Shakespeare's meaning afresh. Time had dulled the clawing of +regret. + +I had failed to escape, it is true, but there was always hope. Things +were getting better. The women had been released. Themistocle only +awaited a formal trial. My own condition had improved. I had been moved +from my solitary confinement, just when I had secured a Bible, and a +large tin of Keating's, wherewith to combat the devils of captivity. But +any change is better than none at all, I thought. The mortal hunger for +companionship is strong, and my new room, besides containing an officer, +also enjoyed an excellent and varied view. + +After a few days' experience of my new room-mate, however, who was a +Bulgarian Bolshevik, I began to pine for solitude again. A more +unmitigated Tishbite I have never seen, but fortunately he was smaller +than I. When I found him washing his feet in my basin one night, I smote +him, hip and thigh. + +That Bulgarian has coloured my whole view of the Balkans. The less said +about him, the better. + + * * * * * + +One day about thirty British officers arrived from the camp at Yuzgad, +whence they had escaped and been recaptured on the occasion when +Commander Cochrane and his gallant band of seven marched four hundred +and fifty miles to freedom. All the party who arrived in the Military +Prison were in uniform, and in excellent spirits. They were like a +breath of fresh air in that sordid place. On being put into three rooms, +these thirty brave men and true at once demanded beds to sleep on. In +due time the beds arrived, in the usual condition of beds in that place. +They might have been so many Stilton cheeses. Our thirty prisoners, +despite the protest of the guards, carried out their couches into the +passage, and lit two Primus stoves. Over these stoves they proceeded to +pass the component parts of each bed, so that its occupants were utterly +exterminated. + +Imagine the scene. A dismal corridor, a flaming stove, Turkish sentries +protesting with Hercules in khaki, cleansing the Augean stable. . . . +But protests were useless. The smell of burnt bugs mingled with the +other contaminations of the prison. Our officers had done in little what +civilisation will one day do at large throughout that land. + + * * * * * + +A British officer, going to the feeding place, looked into a window +which gave on to my room. But I was kept strictly apart from my fellows, +and the sentry consequently tried to drag the officer away. + +"Leave me alone, you son of Belial!" said he. "Isn't a window meant to +look through?" + +Windows in that prison were certainly not meant to look through. + +From my new eyrie I had a composite view of startling contrasts. Down +below, some soldiers were living in a verandah, behind wooden bars. +Anything more animal than their life it would be impossible to conceive. +Every afternoon at three o'clock a parade of handcuffed men were +marshalled two by two, and then pushed into these dens. Beyond them lay +the city of Stamboul with its clustered cupolas and nine-trellised +alley-ways. And beyond the city were the blue waters of the Marmora. + +Then there was the window in the passage through which the British +officer had observed me. This gave me a view of the rank and fashion of +the prison, so that I knew who was being tried, who received visitors, +and so on. + +And directly opposite me, in another face of the building, was yet +another window, with curtains drawn. That was the window of the Hall of +Justice. Directly under my perch, but rather too far to jump, were some +telegraph lines which might possibly have provided a means of escape. +Sentries used to watch me carefully, whenever I looked at these +telegraph lines. I was considered a dangerous, indeed a desperate +character, and my every movement was regarded with apprehension. Not +only was no one (except now the Bulgarian) allowed to speak to me, but I +was not even permitted to look at anything, or anyone, for long, without +being bidden to desist. Whatever I did, in fact, I was told not to do. + +Eventually I made a scene. + +The immediate cause of the row was that I had a glimpse of a sitting in +the Hall of Justice. I had often wondered what passed there, for at +times faint screams used to hint of the infamies that passed behind +those curtains. + +One day I saw. + +The Hall of Justice is a fine room, with a lordly sweep of view over the +city and the sea. Why anyone chose such a situation as a torture chamber +I do not know. But there it was. There was something dramatic about the +beautiful prospect and the bestial people who sat with their backs +turned to it, interrogating the Armenians. + + "Every prospect pleases and only man is vile." + +Very vile were the two Turkish officers, judges I suppose, who sat +smoking cigarettes, while an old Armenian woman and her son stood before +them to be tried. What passed I could not hear, but evidently her +answers were not satisfactory, for presently the policeman who stood +behind her kicked her violently, so that her head jerked back and her +arms flung forward, and she was sent tottering towards the judges' +table. Then the policeman took a stick as thick as a man's wrist, and +began to beat her over the head and shoulders. Her son meanwhile had +fallen on his knees and was crawling about the room, dragging his +chains, and supplicating first the judges and then the policeman. He was +imploring them, no doubt, to have pity on his mother's age and weakness. + +She fell down in a faint. The policeman kicked her in the face, and then +prodded her with a stick until she rose. + +I wish the people who are ready to "let the Turk manage his own country" +could have seen that savage pantomime. + +I tried to get out to stop it, but was driven back with bayonets. + + * * * * * + +Djevad Bey, the Military Commandant of Constantinople, with a +resplendent retinue, arrived one day to inspect us. With his long +cigarette-holder, and long shiny boots, he swaggered round, followed by +_ormulu_ staff officers and diligent clerks and pompous gentlemen in +dog-collars. Everywhere around him was dirt, disease, destitution, and +despair. But Djevad Bey in his shiny boots "cared for none of these +things." He was himself, with his medals and moustaches, and that was +enough. + +"What more do you want, _effendi_?" he asked me after I had made a few +casual complaints (for it was useless to take him seriously). "You have +one of the most beautiful views in Europe from the garden." + +"But I am not allowed into the garden." + +"Have a little patience, _mon cher_," said he. "It is rather crowded +with older prisoners now. But in a little time perhaps, when I have +discovered the name of that forger . . ." + +And with a condescending smile he passed on between ranks of sentries +standing stiffly at attention, to inspect another portion of his +miserable menagerie. + + * * * * * + +Ah, Djevad, _mon cher_, those days seem distant now! You and your +popinjays have passed. . . . + +[Footnote 9: Five shillings.] + + + + + CHAPTER XII + + OUR SECOND ESCAPE + + +The ghosts of the prisoners of the Tower, or of the Bastille, could they +revisit earth, would undoubtedly have found themselves more at home in +the Military Prison, Constantinople, than anywhere else in the world. +The dark ages were still a matter of actuality in the dark dungeons of +Constantinople in 1918. To be tried, for instance, was there considered +something very up-to-date. Most prisoners were not tried, until their +sentence was nearly over, when they were formally liberated. + +After a month of solitary confinement, and a week of confinement with +the Bulgarian, which was an even worse travail of the spirit, I received +the joyful news that the preliminaries for my court-martial were almost +complete. + +I attended this first sitting with the thrill of a debutante going to a +ball. I determined to make up arrears of talk. And I did. I began at the +beginning of my life, sketched my education, and came by easy stages to +my career as an officer in the Indian Cavalry. The clerk who recorded my +evidence wrote for two hours without pause or intermission, but it is +worthy of record that at the end of that time we had only reached the +point where an officer of the Psamattia fire brigade, hearing, as I +thought, a suspicious movement on the roof of the house across the +street, kept a stern and steadfast gaze in our direction, while we +crouched trembling under cover of the parapet. At this point the +proceedings were adjourned. + +But the Court had let fall a useful piece of information. Robin was back +in prison, but was being kept even more secret and secluded than I. + +However, love laughs at locksmiths, and it takes more than a Turkish +sentry to defeat a persevering prisoner. We sighted each other in +passages, we met in wash-places, we flipped notes to each other in bits +of bread, or sent them by a third party concealed in cigarettes. By such +means, I learnt Robin's remarkable story. . . . After being caught at +Malgara, ten days after his first escape, he was taken back to the +Central Gaol, where he was treated as a Turkish deserter and given +nothing but black bread to eat. He thereupon went on hunger strike for +three days, and alarmed the Turks by nearly dying in their hands. Later +he was allowed to purchase a liberal diet, including even wine and +cigars, which he declared were necessary to his health, but his +constitution being enfeebled by privation, he developed alarming +swellings over his face and scalp, which were probably due to some +noxious ingredient of the hair-dye he had used. In this condition he +was sent to hospital, and from hospital he escaped again. A Greek +patient was his accomplice. + +Giving this man ten pounds to buy a disguise with, he made an +appointment with him for nine o'clock outside the German Embassy (!) and +then set out on his adventures dressed in a white night-shirt. How he +eluded the sentries is a mystery to me, although I inspected the place +after the armistice. Patients were then saying (Turks, who are sometimes +sportsmen, among them): "Here is where a British officer escaped. Thus +and thus did he climb--past the sentries--along that buttress--down into +the street hard by the guard-house!". . . . He arrived punctually at +nine o'clock at the German Embassy, in his night-shirt. But the Greek +accomplice was not there. He was at that moment drinking and dicing with +Robin's money. For half an hour Robin waited for him by a tree in the +shadows of a side street leading to the sea. The few people who passed +him stared hard, and then moved nervously across to the other pavement. +They thought he was a madman. + +Robin, I think, felt he was a madman too. In his present situation and +dress, detection was only a matter of time. However, chance might be +kind and send him a disguise. Cold and disconsolate, he ascended the +main road that led to the top of the Grand Rue de Pera, and taking his +way through the traffic, dipped down into the ruins beyond. The saint +who protects prisoners must have guided that tall white figure, that +paddled across the busy town. . . . And more, once he was hiding in the +ruins, the saint must have sent along the small boy who passed close to +him in that lonely spot of cypresses and desolation. All-unknowing of +the fate that awaited him behind the angle of the wall, the small boy +strode sturdily along, thinking perhaps of the nice bran-bread and +synthetic coffee that awaited him for supper. Robin pounced out of the +shadow, and seized him by the scruff of the neck. . . . The victim +instantly began to blubber. + +"Give me all your clothes," said Robin. + +"Who are you?" sobbed the little boy. + +"Brigand," said Robin shortly. + +This answer had the desired effect. The youth dried his tears, and +divested himself of his apparel, which Robin immediately put on. The +boots were much too small to wear and were returned. Still, the brigand +was so satisfied with his clothes that he gave the small boy four pounds +with a magnanimous gesture. Then he set out to seek his fortune, wearing +a tiny fezz, and a coat whose sleeves reached half-way down his forearm. +For four days he dodged about the city, never more than a few hours at +one place, until, just when his strength and his funds were exhausted, +he found a house to give him shelter. From here he made a plan to +escape, but was recaught through treachery at the docks, and taken back +to the Military Prison. Only an Ali Baba could do justice to these +experiences. Alas! the best books of adventure are just those which are +never written. + +Anyway we were together again, two desperadoes in dungeon, "apart but +not afar." + +The Damad's little nigger boy often contributed to our schemes for +communication. This lad, who was in training for the position of keeper +of the harem, and consequently belonged to the species that rises to +eminence in Turkey, was a remarkable child. He did exactly what he liked +and no one dared interfere with the little Lord Chamberlain _in posse_. +He had an uncanny brain and uncanny strength, and I can quite understand +the reliance which Turkish Pashas are wont to repose in these servants. +I relied on him myself at times, and was never disappointed. + +The arrival of a neutral Red Cross delegate, at about this time, did +much to secure us better treatment. For over five weeks now I had not +breathed fresh air, but directly the Red Cross delegate arrived I was +allowed to go to the bath, escorted by two dog-collar gentlemen with +revolvers and two sentries with side arms. While glad to feel I was +employing so many of the Turkish Army while at my ablutions, I could not +but deplore their anxiety on my behalf. + +"No officer has ever succeeded in escaping from this wonderful gaol of +yours," I said to the Prison Commandant, who (in contrast to Djevad) was +quite a good fellow in his way "and I don't suppose anyone ever will. +Why therefore go to the trouble of guarding us so closely? It would be +a very graceful act on your part if you allowed us to go occasionally +into the garden." + +"Yarin, inshallah," murmured the Commandant, meaning, "To-morrow, please +God." + +And to-morrow, strange to say, actually arrived in about a week's time. + +Perhaps a bomb raid hastened matters, by stimulating the Commandant's +desire to do graceful acts before the war was over. + +One of the bombs of this raid dropped in the school playground just +outside the Seraskerat Square, and shattered all the windows in my +passage. Fortunately all the children were away, it being Friday. No one +was killed by that bomb, but a large handsome Turkish officer prisoner +standing beside me in the passage, when some panes of glass beside us +burst, threw himself on the floor and refused to rise again, declaring +he was killed. A full ten minutes he lay, with his moustaches in the +dust, surrounded by sentries. In the confusion that ensued Robin +cleverly slipped over to me and we had a very useful chat. + +The first and most vital thing to do, we decided, was to get into +Constantinople, in order to learn how the situation really stood, and +make our plans for escaping, so that in the event of our success we +should be in possession of knowledge useful to the Allies. + +Having settled this, we returned to our respective cells, where I +witnessed a scene that, by contrast with the behaviour of the nervous +Turkish officer, reminded me of the "patient deep disdain" that the +East will always feel for the marvels of our age of steel. Our machines +are things of a day, but the ancient needs remain. The bomb that had +dropped in the playground had wrecked a large tree that stood in its +centre, and hardly had its smoke cleared away before an elderly peasant +appeared with a donkey and started collecting twigs and splinters for +firewood. Slowly and stolidly, under that barrage-riven sky, the old man +continued gathering the aftermath of the raid, before the raid was +finished. Empires might crumble to the dust: he would cook his dinner +with the pieces. + +This bombing business "cleared the air" for us greatly, and another +little incident clinched matters. + +An officious sentry, who had received the usual orders about treating +Robin with especial severity, so far exceeded his instructions as to +slap Robin in the face when he was merely standing at the door of his +room. Robin instantly knocked him down with a hook on the point of the +jaw that would have sent a prizefighter to sleep, let alone a _posta_. +There was a click of rifles and a glitter of bayonets. Sergeants were +whistled for. Swords and spurs rang down the corridor. The Commandant +arrived. + +What seemed an awkward situation for Robin at first now turned greatly +to his advantage. He demanded an apology from the Minister of War, and +although he did not receive this, our treatment immediately improved. +The Turkish sentry was so clearly in the wrong that the Commandant felt +he should do something to placate us. + +One day, Robin and I were told that we would be allowed into +Constantinople to shop, provided we gave our parole not to escape while +in the town. + +This we immediately decided to do, and wrote a promise stating that +while we could give no permanent engagement about our behaviour while +guarded in prison, if we were allowed out into the town we bound +ourselves to return faithfully to our quarters at a fixed time. Next +day, accordingly, we dressed in the quaint apologies for clothes in our +possession, and sallied out, blinking in the sunlight of the square. + +Imagine our surprise when we found an escort of ten armed men, who were +to accompany us to see that we kept our word. Highly incensed, we +returned directly to the Commandant's office, followed by our retinue. +At first the Commandant did not understand the nature of the insult he +had offered to us, but eventually he agreed that a squad of soldiers was +unnecessary to enforce an Englishman's promise, and he promised to send +us out again on the following day, more suitably attended. + +This time there were only two dog-collar gentlemen to accompany us, and +although we were later joined by a third, who, I think, smelt beer and +beef in the offing, we considered that this number of attendants was not +unsuitable to our importance. (For a long time after escape, indeed, I +was always expecting to find a sentry at my elbow. They were very +convenient for carrying parcels, and during this excursion the minions +of the law actually carried back to prison our escaping gear, wrapped in +harmless-looking packages.) Rope, fezzes, and maps were the articles +chiefly required, and these we purchased without much difficulty in +restaurants where we were known. Robin and I were adepts at this sort of +thing by now. One of us had only to go over to our escort's table, and +standing over them, inquire whether they preferred black beer or yellow: +meanwhile the other would be "wangling" the waiter. Besides material +accessories we also required certain moral support. Was it worth while +to escape? Would the Bulgarians attack Constantinople? What was the +_morale_ of the Tchatchaldja garrison? . . . . All this and much more we +learnt from Miss Whitaker, whom we met (just by chance, do you think?) +at tea at the Petits Champs. + +We returned from our excursion highly satisfied with our prospects. That +evening we thanked the Commandant warmly for our delightful day, and +asked one favour more, namely that we should be allowed out regularly +into the garden, in order to get the exercise necessary to our health. +An hour's walk every day would greatly relieve the tension of captivity. +Surely, we said, the Commandant did not intend to keep us caged like +wild beasts, with a minimum of air and exercise? + +Permission was granted, with the proviso that we should not talk to +other prisoners. Of all black sheep we were the blackest ones. + +So we walked in the garden, and discussed plans of escape. We now had +fezzes, rope, and plenty of money. On the other hand, there were so many +sentries everywhere, and so many doors and barriers to get through, that +the thing seemed impossible at first. + +Bribery was not to be thought of. Any attempt in this direction would +have sent us through the portals of the damned again, to await the end +of the war in chains. + +Only in the garden was there the slightest chance of success. Our +chance, however, lay, as before, in the element of the unexpected. + +On the far side of the garden from the prison were some iron railings, +which overlooked a drop of from one hundred to two hundred feet, to a +street below. These railings were spaced at just about the width of a +man's head. We tested them at various points while apparently engaged in +looking at the view, and made a note of the gaps most suitable to +squeeze through. No one appeared to think it likely we would try to +escape over a precipice. The six sentries in the garden therefore, whose +sole duty it was to watch us, generally devoted their attention to +seeing we did not talk to the Greek clerks who came into the restaurant +to get their dinner of an evening. Beyond occasionally saying the magic +word "_Yok_," they allowed us to do much what we liked at the other side +of the garden, where our interests, they thought, could only be of an +innocent nature. + +At first our idea was to get through the railings and slide down a rope +into the street, but there were practical difficulties about this. +Thirty fathoms of rope are impossible to conceal on one's person. +Besides, we thought of a better plan. + +Having got through the railings, we would climb along outside them, past +the garden, and along the wall of a printing-house, where their support +still continued, until we reached the main square of the Seraskerat. +Here we would squeeze back through the railings (for the drop was still +too difficult to negotiate) and proceed as follows: We would stroll to +the centre of the square, light cigars, and then suddenly altering our +demeanour, hurry back to the staff garage where the military motor-cars +were kept. The sentry on guard would certainly think we were chauffeurs. + +With a guttural curse or two, we would start up a car, and drive +directly to the Bulgarian frontier, or Dedeagatch, as the situation +dictated. If anyone attempted to stop us on the way, we had only to say, +"_Kreuzhimmel donnerwetter_," and open out the throttle. The plan was +charming in its simplicity and _kolossal_ in conception. We already +imagined ourselves arriving with full details of the Constantinople +defences, in a big Mercedes car. The plan was complete. We had only to +do it! + +Opportunity came one twilight evening, when we two were alone in the +garden, with the six sentries, all rather sleepy, and the Damad, who had +just returned from a hectic week-end up the Bosphorus. He was full of +stories and news which we did not want to hear. For a time he bored us +to tears talking of the war, but at last conversation flagged, and we +bade him a cordial good-night, making an appointment to see him again +next day, which we trusted we would not be in a position to keep. + +Then we edged to the far side of the garden, where the railings were. +The six sleepy sentries were watching the stream of people going into +the restaurant near the entrance gate. They paid no attention to us, and +looked--rather sadly, I thought--at the Greeks who were coming in to +have a square meal, a thing that they themselves could only dream of. + +Feeling that the moment was too good to be lost, and yet somehow too +good to be true, we stood by the railings, with our heads half through. + +"Come on," said Robin cheerily. + +I put my head through, and my flinching flesh followed a moment later. I +hung over the drop and looked and listened tensely for any stir in the +garden, expecting every moment to hear the clamour of sentries and the +drone of bullets. But all was quiet. One sentry lit another's cigarette. +A third was playing with a kitten. The others had their backs turned. + +We clambered along, and reached the printing-house. We were out of +sight of the sentries now, and the way seemed clear, across a patch of +ivy, to a gap which would give us entrance to the main square. Once we +had gained its comparative freedom, success, I felt, was certain. + +But my hope was short-lived. The railings on the wall of the +printing-house led past an open window, which we had not been able to +see from the garden. At this window three Turks were sitting. They were +officials of the printing-house no doubt, and were now engaged in +discussing short drinks and the prospect of the Bosphorus. Had we +interposed our bodies between them and the view, we would have been in a +very unpleasant position. With one finger they could have pushed us down +to the street a hundred feet below, or else detained us where we were, +to wait like wingless flies until soldiers came to drag us back. + +It was a horrid anti-climax, but we decided to go back. There was no +alternative. + +That return journey was quite hideous, for at any moment before we +reached our gap a sentry might have seen us. And even if they had missed +us at fifty yards (and we were a sitting shot against the sunset) we +would have looked absolutely foolish and been abjectly helpless. + +All went well, however. We squeezed back through the railings, and found +ourselves in the prison garden again. Our attempt had failed. I felt as +if someone had suddenly flattened me out with a rolling pin. But Robin +was quite undismayed. + +"Our luck is in," he said--"else we would have been spotted against +those railings just now. Look, it is a full moon, like the last time we +escaped. I bet we succeed to-night." + +"I won't take your money," I said, hugely heartened, however. + +Four of our sentries were smoking sadly, and looking into the +restaurant, as boys look into a cake-shop. The fifth was standing by the +gold-fish pond. The sixth leaned against the railings, about eighty +yards away from us, looking out towards Galata Bridge. + +After hurriedly dusting ourselves, we walked straight past him. He +turned and glanced at his watch, and then at us. + +"Just five minutes more," we urged--"we haven't had nearly enough +exercise yet." + +And we continued walking round the garden, breathlessly discussing +plans. + +The sentry nodded and sighed, then turned again to contemplate the +Golden Horn. + +Our one remaining chance was to walk straight out of the gate near the +restaurant, into the main square. In moments of intense stress one can +sometimes grasp the psychology of a situation in a flash. We saw into +the minds of the sentries, I believe. They were bored and unsuspecting. +A sort of prevision came to us that we would be mistaken for Greek +employees of the Ministry, and could stroll unquestioned through the +gate, if we acted instantly. + +It was getting dark now. We slipped into a patch of shadow, threw away +our hats, and taking out the fezzes which we always carried concealed +under our waistcoats, we put them on our heads. Then we strolled on. + +To understand our feelings, it must be remembered that no officer has +ever before succeeded in escaping from this ancient prison. The Turks +prided themselves on the fact. Recently, a political suspect had made a +desperate dash for liberty by the same entrance as we now approached, +but he had been caught before he reached the outer square. Good men had +tried--but fools rush in where angels fear to tread. And we _knew_, by +sheer faith, that we would not be stopped. + +We walked very slowly now, stopping sometimes to gesticulate, after the +manner of the Mediterranean peoples. What we said I have no idea, but I +think I spoke _staccato_ Italian, while Robin answered in Arabic +imprecations. Near the gate I remember saying to him passionately in +English: "For God's sake turn your trousers down," for to one's +sensitive mind such an oddity of dress was certain to spell detection. +This was idiotic, but my nerves were on edge. + +Mingling with the Greeks who were coming out of the restaurant, we came +at a very, very leisurely pace to the sentry-guarded gate. Everyone has +a pass of course, both to enter and to leave this gate, but season +ticket holders, so to speak, are rarely asked to produce their +credentials. + +[Illustration: THE SQUARE OF THE SERASKERAT, CONSTANTINOPLE] + +We came level with the sentries at the gate. One of them took a step +forward, as if to ask Robin a question. Then he looked at us again, and +changed his mind. I have a sort of idea that my white waistcoat and +ornamental watch chain saved the situation. No one with such belongings +could fail to be a personage of clerkly habit. + +In that instant, however, faith had almost faltered, and the temptation +to quicken one's pace had been almost irresistible. To bolt into the +comparative freedom of the main square was now quite feasible, but we +had to remember that once there, our difficulties were only half over. +Every gate was guarded: the same high railings as we had already +negotiated formed its perimeter, and there was a battalion of soldiers +in the square itself. Therefore until we were out of the Seraskerat, we +had to proceed with caution. + +Lethargically and nonchalantly we drew away from the restaurant. +Although time was now a factor of importance (for at any moment the +sentries in the garden might miss us), we dared not hurry our steps. + +"There are no cars about. Are we going into the garage?" I murmured +doubtfully to Robin. + +At that moment an individual came up behind us, who settled the question +out of hand. He was a Turkish officer. After passing us, he turned round +to stare. We returned his scrutiny with careful composure, but it was +quite obvious that he did not like the look of us. Yet our appearance +was none of his business: he hesitated a moment and then decided to do +exactly what one might do oneself if one saw a suspicious-looking +individual in a public place: he went and told a policeman. We saw him +hurrying to the main gate, where he called out the sergeant of the +guard. We, meanwhile, were slinking diagonally across the square, as if +bound for the side gate. To go to the garage now, as if approaching it +from the Ministry of War, was impossible, as we were being watched. We +whispered together, making new plans. + +It was almost past twilight, but the electric light over the main gate +showed us the Turkish officer in confabulation with the sergeant of the +guard. No doubt he was saying that our passports should be scrutinised +before we were allowed to pass. The sergeant saluted as the officer +left, and then stood in the circle of light, a burly and menacing +figure, peering into the gathering darkness. + +We had now reached the middle of the Seraskerat and saw that the side +gate was shut, and sentry-guarded. There was also a sentry in the +adjacent shed. The main gate was impossible of access. So also was the +garage. Our only chance lay in going forward. + +We went on, past the shed, until we reached some small trees by the side +of the outer railings. We tried to put our heads through, but owing to a +slight difference of spacing, we found this could not be done. We would +have to climb over them. + +A couple of people were crossing the square. The sergeant stood blinking +at the entrance. Else all was quiet. + +The railings were only some twelve foot high, so they did not form a +serious obstacle, but on their other side there was a drop of ten feet, +into a crowded street. That someone would raise an alarm seemed very +probable. + +From the top of the railings I looked back to the prison where I had +passed the last two months, and then forward to the street. + +Two little girls stood hand in hand, gaping up at me. A street hawker +glanced in my direction. Except for these, no passer-by appeared to +notice us. + +I dropped in a heap on the pavement. Next moment Robin landed beside me. + +We were free once more, this time not to be recaught. + + * * * * * + +The two little girls clapped their hands with glee when they saw us +drop. As to the street hawker, I daresay he thought we were robbers, and +as such, people not to be interfered with. The other passers-by merely +edged away from us. No one, in Constantinople, will involve himself in +any civil commotion if he can avoid it. Whether the disturbance be a +fire or theft, the procedure is the same. If your neighbour is being +robbed, you look the other way. If your house is being burnt, you bribe +the fire brigade not to come near it, for it they do, they will +assuredly loot everything that the flames do not consume. Hence the +sight of two wild men dropping into a crowded street stirred no civic +conscience. No one asked who we were. + +We crossed the tramway lines unmolested, and dived into a narrow street +leading down the hill. Then we ran and ran and ran. + +That our escape would be instantly reported we did not doubt. That +Galata Bridge would be watched and all our old haunts also seemed +certain. The care with which we had been guarded showed that the Turks +set a value on keeping us out of harm's way. At large in the city we +would be factors of unrest. + +Avoiding main streets, we toiled on and on, through dark by-ways where +the moonlight did not come, until we reached the old bridge across the +Golden Horn. Here we decided to separate for the time, so that if one of +us was caught by the toll-keepers, the other could still make good his +escape. + +But the toll-keepers took their tribute of a stamp without demur. They +knew nothing of British prisoners. + +Crossing, we turned right-handed, passing behind the American +Ambassador's yacht _Scorpion_, at her berth near the Turkish Admiralty, +and then went up into the European quarter. In Pera we knew a score of +houses, between us, that would be glad to give us lodging, and it only +remained to choose the most convenient. + + * * * * * + +It is late at night, some days before the Armistice. I am in the gardens +of the British Embassy, with a certain Colonel, an escaped prisoner of +war like myself, who is in close touch with the political situation. We +had come here, in disguise, to be out of the turmoil of the town. + +Outside, in the unquiet streets, men talk of revolution. Gangs of +soldiers are under arms for twenty-four hours at a stretch. Machine guns +are posted everywhere. The docks are an armed camp. Detectives and +informers, the prison and the press-gang are at their old work. All is +still dark in Constantinople; but we, fugitives at present, and meeting +by stealth, speak of the day so soon to come when the barren flagstaff +on the roof of the Embassy will carry the Union Jack. + +Below us, as we walk on the terrace, lies the Golden Horn, silver in the +starlight, and across its waters the city of Stamboul stands dim, +forlorn, and lovely. The slip of moon that rides over San Sofia seems +symbol of the waning of misery and intolerance. Soon that sickle will +disappear, and when the moon of the Moslems rises again and looks +through the garden where we talk, she will see all round it a happier +city. . . . Let us hope so, anyway. + + * * * * * + +Of the maze of plot and counterplot in the city, of the death-throes of +the old regime, and of our own small part in the history of that time, +this record of moods and misadventures is not the place to write. My +life as a prisoner was finished: my brief career as a minor diplomat, +keeping his finger on the feverish pulse of Turkish politics, had only +just begun, and the story of those crowded weeks would fill a volume. + +Up to the last moment, the Government, in the person of Taalat Pasha, +hoped to hold the real, if not the ostensible, reins of power. Until the +flight of the Union and Progress triumvirate, the average Turk affected +a certain lightheartedness about his country's losses. True, huge +territories were lost to the Ottoman revenue, but on the other hand they +had gained the Caucasus. So long as there was taxable territory, what +did it matter whence the tribute came? + +One night, when my newspaper work permitted, I visited a friend of +Taalat Pasha, without disclosing my identity. + +"Nobody but Taalat can possibly manage Turkey," he told me--"and the +English, if they come, will be well advised to deal with him." + +"It is not the English only," I suggested modestly, "but the whole +world-set-free, that is coming to Constantinople." + +"Then the world must deal with Taalat. His party has all the money, and +all the brains and energy as well." + +"Everything except imagination," I replied. + +But I did not myself imagine that only thirty-six hours later Taalat, +the fat telegraphist whom Fate caught in her toils, and Enver, with his +peacock-grace and peacock-wits, and Djemal, with cruelty stamped on him +like the brand of Cain, would pass disguised, and in darkness, and in +fear of death, through the city they had ruled as kings. + +Neither did I imagine that in another fortnight the streets of Pera +would be decked with banners, and the capital of the Turks a playground +for the peoples against whom they had lately been at war. Nor did I know +that I should soon be listening to the strains of "Rule Britannia," at +the Pera Palace Hotel, while an enthusiastic crowd showered confetti on +the bald head of the Colonel who had just arrived as the first British +representative. Nor did I know that I should telephone to the papers to +stop their press, while I motored down with the first interview from our +delegate. Nor, again, could I realise that the pomp of the Prussians +would be so suddenly replaced by pipes and walking-sticks and dogs. Nor +did I even dream that the fifty-sixty horse-power Mercedes car in which +General Liman von Sanders was still racing through the streets would +soon be my property, bought and paid for in gold, complete with all +accessories, including even the chauffeur's diary, and that I should +garage it in a garden where a performing bear stood guard against any +attempt at theft by the disorderly and demoralised Germans. These things +are another story. + + + BILLING AND SONS, LTD., PRINTERS, GUILDFORD, ENGLAND + + + + + Telegrams: "Scholarly, London." 41 and 43 Maddox Street, + Telephone: 1883 Mayfair. Bond Street, London, W. 1. + _October, 1919._ + + Mr. Edward Arnold's + AUTUMN ANNOUNCEMENTS, 1919. + + JOHN REDMOND'S LAST YEARS. + By STEPHEN GWYNN. + + _With Portrait. 1 vol. Demy 8vo._ =16s. net.= + +The "History of John Redmond's Last Years," by Stephen Gwynn, is in the +first place an historical document of unusual importance. It is an +account of Irish political events at their most exciting period, written +by an active member of Mr. Redmond's party who was in the confidence of +his chief. The preliminary story of the struggle with the House of Lords +and the prolonged fight over Home Rule is described by a keen student of +parliamentary action. For the period which began with the war Mr. Gwynn +has had access to all Redmond's papers. He writes of Redmond's effort to +lead Ireland into the war from the standpoint of a soldier as well as a +member of parliament. The last chapter gives to the world, for the first +time, a full account of the Irish Convention which sat for eight months +behind closed doors, and in which Redmond's career reached its dramatic +catastrophe. + +The interlocking of varying chains of circumstance, the parliamentary +struggle, the rise of the rival volunteer forces, the raising of Irish +divisions, the rebellion and its sequel, and, finally, the effect of +bringing Irishmen together into conference--all this is vividly +pictured, with increasing detail as the book proceeds. In the opening, +two short chapters recall the earlier history of the Irish party and +Redmond's part in it. + +But the main interest centres in the character of Redmond himself. Mr. +Gwynn does not work to display his leader as a hero without faults and +incapable of mistakes. He shows the man as he knew him and worked under +him, traces his career through its triumphs to reverses, and through +gallant recovery to final defeat. A great man is made familiar to the +reader, in his wisdom, his magnanimity, and his love of country. The +tragic waste of great opportunities is portrayed in a story which has +the quality of drama in it. Beside the picture of John Redmond himself +there is sketched the gallant and sympathetic figure of his brother, +who, after thirty-five years of parliamentary service, died with the +foremost wave of his battalion at the battle of Messines. + + + A MEDLEY OF MEMORIES. + By the Rt. Rev. Sir DAVID HUNTER BLAIR, Bart. + + _With Illustrations. 1 vol. Demy 8vo._ =16s. net.= + +Sir David Hunter Blair, late Abbot of Fort Augustus, in the first part +of these fifty years' recollections, deals with his childhood and youth +in Scotland, and gives a picture full of varied interest of Scottish +country house life a generation or more ago. Very vivid, too, is the +account of early days at what was then the most famous private school in +England; and the chapter on Eton under Balston and Hornby gives +thumbnail sketches of a great many Etonians, school-contemporaries of +the writer's, and bearing names afterwards very well known for one +reason or another. Eton was followed by Magdalen; and undergraduate life +in the Oxford of 1872 is depicted with a light hand and many amusing +touches. There was foreign travel after the Oxford days; and two of the +most pleasantly descriptive chapters of the book deal with Rome in the +reign of Pius IX. and Leo XIII., both of which Pontiffs the author +served as Private Chamberlain. There is much also that is fresh and +interesting in the section treating of the lives and personalities of +some of the great English Catholic families of by-gone days. + +Sir David entered the Benedictine Order at the age of twenty-five; and +the latter half of the book is concerned with his life as co-founder, +and member of the community of, the great Highland Abbey of Fort +Augustus, of which he rose later to be the second abbot. The intimate +account given in these pages of the life of a modern monk will be new to +most readers, who will find it very interesting reading. The writer's +monastic experiences embrace not only his own beautiful home in the +Central Highlands, but Benedictine life and work in England, in Belgium, +Germany and Portugal, and in South America. One of the most novel and +attractive chapters in the book is that dealing with the work of the +Order in the vast territory of Brazil. + +The volume is illustrated with an excellent portrait, and with some +clever black-and-white drawings, the work of Mr. Richard Anson, one of +the author's religious brethren, and a member of the Benedictine +community at Caldey Abbey, in South Wales. + + + WITH THE PERSIAN EXPEDITION. + By Major M. H. DONOHOE, + Army Intelligence Corps. + Special Correspondent of the "Daily Chronicle." + + _With numerous Illustrations and Map. Demy 8vo._ =16s. net.= + +Among the many "side-shows" of the Great War, few are so difficult for +the average reader to understand as the operations in Northern Persia, +an offshoot of the Bagdhad venture, which had for their object the +policing of the warlike tribes in an area almost unknown to Europeans, +and included the various attempts to reach and hold Baku, and so get +command of the Caspian and Caucasia. + +The story of these operations--carried out by little, half-forgotten +bodies of troops, mainly local levies who broke at the critical moment +and left their British officers and N.C.O.'s to carry on alone--is one +of the most amazing of the whole War, and comprises many episodes that +recall the most stirring events of the Empire's pioneering days. + +By happy chance, Major M. H. Donohoe, the famous War Correspondent, +whose work for the _Daily Chronicle_ in all the wars of the past twenty +years is well known, was in this part of the world as a Major on the +Intelligence Staff, work for which his knowledge of men and languages +off the beaten tract peculiarly fitted him. He has written the story of +these operations as he saw them, chiefly as a member of the Staff of the +Military Mission under General Byron, known officially as the "Baghdad +Party," and unofficially as the "Hush-Hush Brigade," which set forth +early in 1918 to join the Column under General Dunsterville. Though +there is little of fighting in the story, the book gives an admirable +picture of the Empire's work done faithfully under difficulties, and +glimpses of places and peoples that are almost unknown even to the most +venturesome traveller. Indeed, it is largely as a book about an unknown +land that this volume will attract, together with its little +pen-portraits of men and little pen-pictures of adventures, that Kipling +would love. + + + A PHYSICIAN IN FRANCE. + By Major-General Sir WILMOT HERRINGHAM, K.C.M.G., C.B., + Physician to St. Bartholomew's Hospital; Consulting Physician to the + Forces Overseas. + + _1 vol. Demy 8vo._ =15s. net.= + +How the war, as seen at close quarters, struck a man eminent in another +profession than that of arms is the distinguishing feature of this +volume of personal impressions. It is not, however, merely the outcome +of a few weeks' sojourn or "trip to the trenches," with one eye on an +expectant public, for the author has four times seen autumn fade into +winter on the flat countryside of Flanders, and, when the war ended, was +still at his post rendering invaluable services amidst unforgettable +scenes. The author's comments on the day-to-day happenings are +distinguished by a tone that is at once manly, reflective, and +good-humoured. Medical questions are naturally prominent, but are dealt +with largely in a manner that should interest the layman at the present +time. Sir Wilmot was with Lord Roberts when he died. A very pleasing +feature of the book is the constant revelation of the author's love of +nature and sport, and his happy way of introducing such topics, together +with descriptions of the country around him, makes a welcome contrast to +the stern events which form the staple material of the book. There are +some very amusing stories. + + + LONDON MEN IN PALESTINE. + By ROWLANDS COLDICOTT. + + _With maps. 1 vol. Demy 8vo._ =12s. 6d. net.= + +This book embraces so much more than the ordinary war story that we have +a peculiar difficulty in describing it in a few chosen words. + +The curtain lifts the day after the battle of Sheria, one of the minor +fights in General Allenby's first campaign--those movements of troops +which came only to a pause with the capture of Jerusalem. Gaza has just +been taken. You are introduced to one of the companies of a London +battalion serving in the East, of which company the author is commander. +The reading of a few lines, the passing of a few moments, causes you +(such is the power of right words) to be _attached_ to that company and +to move in imagination with it across the dazzling plain. When you have +tramped a few miles you begin to realise, perhaps for the first time, +the heat and torment of a day's march in Philistia. It is not long +before you feel that you, too, are adventuring with the toiling +soldiers; with them you wonder where the halting place will be, what +sort of bivouac you are likely to hit upon. By this time you will have +met the officers--Temple, Trobus, Jackson--and are coming to have a +nodding acquaintance with the men. Desire to compass the unknown, and +sympathetic interest in the experiences of a company of your own +country-men, Londoners footing it in a foreign land, now takes you +irresistibly into the very heart of the tale, and you become one with +the narrator. With him you wander among the ruins of Gaza, pass into +southern Palestine, and come to the foot-hills of Judea. With him you +slowly become conscious that the long series of marches is planned to +culminate in an assault upon Jerusalem. Now you are part of a dusty +column winding up into Judea by the Jerusalem road, looking hour by hour +upon those natural phenomena that suggested the parables. "London Men in +Palestine" brings all this home to you as if you were a passer-by. Next, +the massing of troops about the Holy City is described, and you are +given a distant view of the city itself. A chapter follows that +describes the coming of the rains. Then you spend a night in an old +rock-engendered fortress-village while troops pass through to the +attack, the storm still at its height. A chapter follows that tells of a +crowded day--too complex and full of incident here to be described. The +book closes with an exciting description of a fight on the Mount of +Olives. + + + MONS, ANZAC, AND KUT. + By an M.P. + + _1 vol. Demy 8vo._ =14s. net.= + +The writer of these remarkable memoirs, whose anonymity will not veil +his identity from his friends, is a man well known, not only in England, +but also abroad, and the pages are full of the writer's charm, and +gaiety of spirit, and "courage of a day that knows not death." Day by +day, in the thick of the most stirring events in history, he jotted down +his impressions at first hand, and although parts of the diary cannot +yet be published, enough is given to the world to form a graphic and +very human history. + +Our author was present at the most critical part of the Retreat from +Mons. He took part in the dramatic defence of Landrecies, and the stand +at Compiegne. Wounded, and a prisoner, he describes his experiences in a +German hospital and his subsequent recapture by the British during the +Marne advance. + +The scene then shifts to Gallipoli, where he was present at the immortal +first landing, surely one of the noblest pages of our history. He took +part in the fierce fighting at Suvla Bay, and, owing to his knowledge of +Turkish, he had amazing experiences during the Armistice arranged for +the burial of the dead. + +Later, the author was in Mesopotamia, where he accompanied the relieving +force in their heroic attempt to save Kut. On several occasions he was +sent out between the lines to conduct negociations between the Turks and +ourselves. + +"Mons, Anzac, and Kut" . . . A day and a day will pass, before the man +and the moment meet to give us another book like this. We congratulate +ourselves that the author survived to write it. + + + THE STRUGGLE IN THE AIR. + 1914-1918. + By Major CHARLES C. TURNER (late R.A.F.). +Assoc. Fellow R. Aer. Soc., Cantor Lectures on Aeronautics, 1909. Author +of "Aircraft of To-day," "The Romance of Aeronautics," and (with Gustav +Hamel) of "Flying: Some Practical Experiences," Editor of "Aeronautics," +etc., etc., etc. + + _With Illustrations. 1 vol. Demy 8vo._ =15s. net.= + +Major Turner served in the flying arm throughout the great conflict, +chiefly as an instructor of officers of the Royal Naval Air Service, and +then of the Royal Air Force in the principles of flight, aerial +navigation, and other subjects. He did much experimental work, made one +visit to the Front, and was mentioned in dispatches. The Armistice found +him in the position of Chief Instructor at No. 2 School of Aeronautics, +Oxford. + +The classification of this book explains its scope and arrangement. The +chapters are as follows: + +Capabilities of Aircraft; Theory in 1914; The flight to France and +Baptism of Fire; Early Surprises; Fighting in the Air, 1914-1915; 1916; +1917; 1918; Zeppelins and the Defence; Night Flying; The Zeppelin +Beaten; Aeroplane Raids on England; Bombing the Germans; Artillery +Observation; Reconnaissance and Photography; Observation Balloons; +Aircraft and Infantry; Sea Aircraft; Heroic Experimenters; Casualties in +the Third Arm; The Robinson Quality. + + + CAUGHT BY THE TURKS. + By FRANCIS YEATS-BROWN. + + _1 vol. Demy 8vo._ =10s. 6d. net.= + +This book contains a full measure of adventure and excitement. The +author, who is a Captain in the Indian Cavalry, was serving in the Air +Force in Mesopotamia in 1915, and was captured through an accident to +the aeroplane while engaged in a hazardous and successful attempt to cut +the Turkish telegraph lines north and west of Baghdad, just before the +Battle of Ctesiphon. Then came the horrors of the journey to +Constantinople, during which the "terrible Turk" showed himself in his +worst colours; but it was in Constantinople that the most thrilling +episodes of his captivity had their origin. The story of the Author's +first attempt to escape (which did not succeed) and of his subsequent +lucky dash for freedom, is one of intense interest, and is told in a +most vivid and dramatic way. + + + JOHN HUGH ALLEN + OF THE GALLANT COMPANY + + A Memoir by his Sister INA MONTGOMERY. + + _With Portrait. 1 vol. Demy 8vo._ =10s. 6d. net.= + +This book is the life-story of a young New Zealander who was killed in +action at the Dardanelles in June, 1915. It is told mainly in his own +letters and diaries--which have been supplemented, so far as was +needful, with the utmost tact and discretion by his sister--and falls +naturally into three principal stages. Allen spent four very strenuous +years, 1907-1911, at Cambridge, where he occupied a prominent position +among his contemporaries as an active member, and eventually President +of the Union. Though undergraduate politics are not usually taken very +seriously by the outside world, yet this side of Allen's Cambridge +career has an interest far transcending the merely personal one. +Possessed, as he was, of remarkable gifts, which he had cultivated by +assiduous practice as a speaker and writer, and passionately interested +in all that concerns the British Empire, and the present and future +relations between the United Kingdom and the Overseas Dominions, his +record may well stand as representative of the attitude of the _elite_ +of the New Zealand youth towards these vital matters in the period just +preceding the war. + +After Cambridge, he returned for a time to New Zealand, where he +resolved to make his permanent home, but came back to England in +December, 1913, to complete his legal studies and get called to the bar, +and was still in England when the war broke out. Consequently the second +stage is the story of seven months' experience as a lieutenant in the +13th Battalion of the Worcesters, and his letters of this period give an +attractive, and intensely graphic account of the making of the new army. +Finally, he was despatched, with a few other selected officers, to the +Dardanelles, arrived on May 25th at Cape Helles, and was attached to the +Essex regiment. The last stage, brief, glorious, and terrible, lasted +only twelve days but, brief as it was, he had time to draw an +enthralling picture of the unexampled horrors of this particular phase +of trench-warfare. The book is steeped, from beginning to end, in a +sober but fervent enthusiasm; and the cult of the Empire, in its noblest +form, has seldom been as finely exemplified as by the life and death of +John Allen. + + + NOEL ROSS AND HIS WORK. + Edited by HIS PARENTS. + + _1 vol. Demy 8vo._ =10s. 6d. net.= + +A series of charming sketches by a young New Zealander, who died in +December, 1917, on the threshold of a brilliant literary career. Noel +Ross was one of those daring Anzacs who made the landing on Gallipoli. +Wounded in the early days of the terrible fighting there, he was +discharged from the Army, came to London, rejoined there, and obtained a +commission in the Royal Field Artillery. Afterwards he became a valued +member of the Editorial Staff of _The Times_, on which his genius was at +once recognized and highly appreciated. Much of his work appeared in +_The Times_, and he was also a contributor to _Punch_. In collaboration +with his father, Captain Malcolm Ross, the New Zealand War +Correspondent, he was the author of "Light and Shade in War," of which +the _Daily Mail_ said: "It is full of Anzac virility, full of Anzac +buoyancy, and surcharged with that devil-may-care humour that has so +astounded us jaded peoples of an older world." + +His writings attracted the attention of such capable writers as Rudyard +Kipling, and Sir Ian Hamilton, who said he reminded him in many ways of +that gallant and brilliant young Englishman, Rupert Brooke. + + + WITH THE BRITISH INTERNED IN SWITZERLAND. + By Lieut.-Colonel H. P. PICOT, C.B.E., + +Late Military Attache, 1914-16, and British Officer in Charge of the +Interned, 1916-18. + + _1 vol. Demy 8vo. Cloth._ =10s. 6d. net.= + +In this volume Colonel Picot tells us, in simple and lucid fashion, how +some thousands of our much tried and suffering countrymen were +transferred--to the eternal credit of Switzerland--from the harsh +conditions of captivity to a neutral soil, there to live in comparative +freedom amid friendly surroundings. He describes in some detail the +initiative taken by the Swiss Government on behalf of the Prisoners of +War in general, and the negociations which preceded the acceptance by +the Belligerent States of the principle of Internment, and then recounts +the measures taken by that Government for the hospitalization of some +30,000 Prisoners of War, and the organization of a Medical Service for +the treatment of the sick and wounded. + +Turning, then, more particularly to the group of British prisoners, he +deals with their discipline, their camp life, the steps taken for +spiritual welfare, and the organization of sports and recreations, and +an interesting chapter records the efforts made to afford them technical +training in view of their return to civil life. + +The book also comprises a resume of the formation and development of the +Bread Bureau at Berne, which ultimately, in providing bread for 100,000 +British prisoners of war in Germany, doubtless saved countless lives; +and a description of the activities of the British Legation Red Cross +Organization, both of which institutions were founded by Lady Grant +Duff, wife of H.M.'s Minister at Berne. + +Colonel Picot throws many interesting sidelights on life in Switzerland +in war-time--diplomatic, social, and artistic--and his modest and +self-effacing narrative dwells generously on the devotion of all those +who, whether by appointment or chance, were associated with him in his +beneficent labours. + +It is hoped that this account of a special phase in the history of our +countrymen will prove of interest to that large public who have shown in +countless ways their sympathy with all that concerns the welfare of +Prisoners of War. + + + A CHILDHOOD IN BRITTANY EIGHTY YEARS AGO. + By ANNE DOUGLAS SEDGWICK, + Author of "Tante," "The Encounter," etc. + + _Demy 8vo. Cloth._ =10s. 6d. net.= + +With exquisite literary art which the reading public has recognised in +"Tante" and others of her novels, the author of this book tells of a +great lady's childhood in picturesque Brittany in the middle of the last +century. It covers that period of life around which the tenderest and +most vivid memories cluster; a childhood set in a district of France +rich in romance, and rich in old loyalties to manners and customs of a +gracious era that is irrevocably in the past. + +Charming vignettes of character, marvellous descriptions of houses, +costumes and scenery, short stories in silhouette of pathetic or +humorous characters--these are also in the book. + +And through it all the author is seen re-creating a background, which +has profoundly influenced one of the finest literary artists of the last +century. + + + GARDENS: THEIR FORM AND DESIGN. + By the Viscountess WOLSELEY. + + _With numerous Illustrations by_ Miss M. G. CAMPION. + + _1 vol. Medium 8vo._ =21s. net.= + +The present volume, which is beautifully got up and illustrated, deals +with form and line in the garden, a subject comparatively new in +England. + +Lady Wolseley's book suggests simple, inexpensive means--the outcome of +practical knowledge and experience--for achieving charming results in +gardens of all sizes. Her College of Gardening at Glynde has shown Lady +Wolseley how best to make clear to those who have never before thought +about garden design, some of the complex subjects embraced by it, such +as Water Gardens, Rock Gardens, Treillage, Paved Gardens, Surprise +Gardens, etc. The book contains many decorative and imaginative drawings +by Miss Mary G. Campion, as well as a large number of practical diagrams +and plans, which further illustrate the author's ideas and add to the +value of the book. + + + MEMORIES OF THE MONTHS. + SIXTH SERIES. + By the Rt. Hon. Sir HERBERT MAXWELL, Bt., + F.R.S., D.C.L., LL.D. + + _With photogravure frontispiece. Large Crown 8vo._ =10s. 6d. net.= + +It is some years since the fifth series of "Memories of the Months" was +issued, but the demand for Sir Herbert Maxwell's charming volumes +continues unabated. Every year rings new changes on the old order of +Nature, and the observant eye can always find fresh features on the face +of the Seasons. Sir Herbert Maxwell goes out to meet Nature on the moor +and loch, in garden and forest, and writes of what he sees and feels. It +is a volume of excellent gossip, the note-book of a well-informed and +high-spirited student of Nature, where the sportsman's ardour is +tempered always with the sympathy of the lover of wild things, and the +naturalist's interest is leavened with the humour of a cultivated man of +the world. This is what gives the work its abiding charm, and makes +these memories fill the place of old friends on the library bookshelf. + + + SINGLE-HANDED CRUISING. + By FRANCIS B. COOKE, + Author of "The Corinthian Yachtsman's Handbook," "Cruising Hints," Etc. + + _Illustrated._ =10s. 6d. net.= + +The contents of this volume being based upon the author's many years' +practical experience of single-handed sailing, are sure to be acceptable +to those who, either from choice or necessity, make a practice of +cruising alone. Of the four thousand or more yachts whose names appear +in Lloyd's Register, quite a considerable proportion are small craft +used for the most part for week-end cruising, and single-handed sailing +is a proposition that the owner of a week-ender cannot afford altogether +to ignore. To be dependent upon the assistance of friends, who may leave +one in the lurch at the eleventh hour, is a miserable business that can +only be avoided by having a yacht which one is capable of handling +alone. The ideal arrangement is to have a vessel of sufficient size to +accommodate one or two guests and yet not too large to be sailed +single-handed at a pinch. In this book Mr. Cooke gives some valuable +hints on the equipment and handling of such a craft, which, it may be +remarked, can, in the absence of paid hands, be maintained at +comparatively small cost. + + + MODERN ROADS. + By H. PERCY BOULNOIS, M. Inst. C.E., F.R. San. Inst., etc. + + _Demy 8vo._ =16s. net.= + +The author is well known as one of the leading authorities on +road-making, and he deals at length with Traffic, Water-bound Macadam +Roads, Surface Tarring, Bituminous Roads, Waves and Corrugations, +Slippery Roads, Paved Streets (Stone and Wood, etc.), Concrete Road +Construction, etc. + + + A THIN GHOST AND OTHERS. + By Dr. M. R. JAMES, + Provost of Eton College. + + _Crown 8vo. Cloth._ =4s. 6d. net.= + +The Provost of Eton needs no introduction as a past master of the art of +making our flesh creep, and those who have enjoyed his earlier books may +rest assured that his hand has lost none of its blood-curdling cunning. +Neither is it necessary to remind them that Dr. James's inexhaustible +stories of archaeological erudition furnish him with a unique power of +giving his gruesome tales a picturesque setting, and heightening by +their literary and antiquarian charm the exquisite pleasure derived from +thrills of imaginary terror. This latter quality has never been more +happily displayed than in the stories contained in the present volume, +which we submit with great confidence to the judgment of all who +appreciate--and who does not?--a good old-fashioned hair-raising ghost +story. + + + New Editions. + + GHOST STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY. + By Dr. M. R. JAMES, + Provost of Eton College. + + _New Edition. Crown 8vo._ =5s. net.= + + + MORE GHOST STORIES. + By Dr. M. R. JAMES. + _New Edition. Crown 8vo._ =5s. net.= + + + THE PERFECT GENTLEMAN. + By Captain HARRY GRAHAM, + Author of "Ruthless Rhymes," etc. + + _New Edition. Crown 8vo. Cloth._ =3s. 6d. net.= + + + THE COMPLETE SPORTSMAN. + By Captain HARRY GRAHAM. + + _New Edition. Crown 8vo. Cloth._ =3s. 6d. net.= + + + _The Modern Educator's Library._ + General Editor: Professor A. A. COCK. + +The present age is seeing an unprecedented advance in educational theory +and practice; its whole outlook on the ideals and methods of teaching is +being widened. The aim of this new series is to present the considered +views of teachers of wide experience, and eminent ability, upon the +changes in method involved in this development, and upon the problems +which still remain to be solved, in the several branches of teaching +with which they are most intimately connected. It is hoped, therefore, +that these volumes will be instructive not only to teachers, but to all +who are interested in the progress of education. + +Each volume contains an index and a comprehensive bibliography of the +subject with which it deals. + + + EDUCATION: ITS DATA AND FIRST PRINCIPLES. + By T. PERCY NUNN, M.A., D.Sc., + +Professor of Education in the University of London; Author of "The Aims +and Achievements of Scientific Method," "The Teaching of Algebra," Etc. + + _Crown 8vo. Cloth._ =6s. net.= + +Dr. Nunn's volume really forms an introduction to the whole series, and +deals with the fundamental questions which lie at the root of +educational inquiry. The first is that of the aims of education. These, +he says, are always correlative to ideals of life, and, as ideals of +life are eternally at variance, their conflict will be reflected in +educational theories. The individualism of post-reformation Europe +gradually gave way to a reaction culminating in Hegel, which pictured +the state as the superentity of which the single life is but a fugitive +element. The logical result of this Hegelian ideal the world has just +seen, and educators of to-day have to decide whether to foster this +sinister tradition or to help humanity to escape from it to something +better. What we need is a doctrine which, while admitting the importance +of the social element in man, reasserts the importance of the +individual. + +This notion of individuality as the ideal of life is worked out at +length, and on the results of this investigation are based the +conclusions which are reached upon the practical problem of embodying +this ideal in teaching. Among other subjects, the author deals with +Routine and Ritual, Play, Nature and Nurture, Imitation, Instinct; and +there is a very illuminating last chapter on "The School and the +Individual." + + + MORAL AND RELIGIOUS EDUCATION. + By SOPHIE BRYANT, D.Sc., Litt.D. + +Late Head Mistress of the North London Collegiate School for Girls +Author of "Educational Ends," etc. + + _Crown 8vo. Cloth._ =6s. net.= + +In this book, Mrs. Bryant, whose writings on educational subjects are +widely known, takes the view that in order to produce the best result +over the widest area, the teaching of morality through the development +of religious faith, and its teaching by direct appeal to self-respect, +reason, sympathy and common sense, are both necessary. In religion, more +than in anything else, different individuals must follow different paths +to the goal. + +Upon this basis the book falls into four parts. The first deals with the +processes of spiritual self-realisation by means of interest in +knowledge and art, and of personal affections and social interest, which +all emerge in the development of conscience. The second part treats of +the moral ideal and how it is set forth by means of heroic romance and +history, and in the teaching of Aristotle, to build up the future +citizen. The third presents the religious ideal, its beginnings and the +background of ideas implied by it, together with suggestions for study +of the Bible and the lives of the Saints. In the fourth part the problem +of the reasoned presentment of religious truths is dealt with in detail. + +There is no doubt that this book makes a very considerable addition to +what has already been written on the subject of religious education. + + + THE TEACHING OF MODERN FOREIGN LANGUAGES IN SCHOOL AND UNIVERSITY. + By H. G. ATKINS, M.A., + +Professor of German in King's College, University of London, and +University Reader in German, + + AND + + H. L. HUTTON, M.A., + +Senior Modern Language Master at Merchant Taylors' School. + + _Crown 8vo. Cloth._ =6s. net.= + +The first part of this book deals with the School, the second with the +University. While each part is mainly written by one of the authors, +they have acted in collaboration and have treated the two subjects as +interdependent. They have referred only briefly to the main features of +the past history, and have chiefly tried to give a broad survey of the +present position of modern language teaching, and the desirable policy +for the future. + +As regards the School, conclusions are first reached as to the relative +amount of time to be devoted to modern languages in the curriculum, and +the various branches of the subject--its organisation and methods, the +place of grammar and the history of the language--are then discussed. A +chapter is devoted to the questions relating to the second foreign +language, and the study is linked up with the University course. + +In the second part Professor Atkins traces the different ends to which +the School course continued at the University may lead, with special +reference to the higher Civil Service Examinations and to the training +of Secondary School Teachers. + +The general plan of the book was worked out before the publication of +the report of the Government Committee appointed by the Prime Minister +to enquire into the position of Modern Languages in the educational +system of Great Britain. With the report, however, the authors' +conclusions were in the main found to agree, and the text of the book +has been brought up-to-date by references to the report which have been +made in footnotes as well as in places in the text. No further +modifications were thought to be necessary. + +The book will be found to give a comprehensive review of the whole field +of modern language teaching and some valuable help towards the solution +of its problems. + + + THE CHILD UNDER EIGHT. + By E. R. MURRAY, + +Vice-Principal of Maria Grey Training College; Author of "Froebel as a +Pioneer in Modern Psychology," etc., + + AND + + HENRIETTA BROWN SMITH, LL.A., + +Lecturer in Education, Goldsmith's College, University of London; Editor +of "Education by Life." + + _Crown 8vo. Cloth._ =6s. net.= + +The authors of this book deal with the young child at the outset of its +education, a stage the importance of which cannot be exaggerated. The +volume is written in two parts, the first dealing with the child in the +Nursery and Kindergarten, and the second with the child in the State +School. Much that is said is naturally applicable to either form of +School, and, where this is so, repetition has been avoided by means of +cross references. + +The authors find that the great weakness of English education in the +past has been want of a definite aim to put before the children, and the +want of a philosophy for the teacher. Without some understanding of the +meaning and purpose of life the teacher is at the mercy of every fad, +and is apt to exalt method above principle. This book is an attempt to +gather together certain recognised principles, and to show in the light +of actual experience how these may be applied to existing circumstances. +They put forward a strong plea for the recognition of the true value of +Play, the "spontaneous activity in all directions," and for courage and +faith on the part of the teacher to put this recognition into practice; +and they look forward to the time when the conditions of public +Elementary Schools, from the Nursery School up, will be such--in point +of numbers, space, situation and beauty of surroundings--that parents of +any class will gladly let their children attend them. + + * * * * * + +_Further volumes in this series are in preparation and will be published +shortly._ + + + FIRST PRINCIPLES OF MUSIC. + By F. J. READ, Mus. Doc. (Oxon.) + +Formerly Professor at the Royal College of Music. + + _Crown 8vo._ =1s. 6d.= + +This book is the result of the author's long experience as Professor of +Theory at the Royal College of Music, and is the clearest and most +concise treatise of the kind that has yet been written. + + "It is a useful little book, covering a wider field than any + other of the kind that we know."--_The Times._ + + "It is calculated to quicken interest in various subjects + outside the normal scope of an elementary musical grammar. The + illustrated chapter on orchestral instruments, for instance, is + a welcome and stimulating innovation."--_Daily Telegraph._ + + + LONDON: EDWARD ARNOLD, 41 & 43 MADDOX STREET, W. 1. + + + =Transcriber's Notes:= + hyphenation, spelling and grammar have been preserved as in the original + Page 21, Azizieh possibly should be Aziziah, but left as is + Page 58, no common languge ==> no common language + Page 81, smallest detail, for month ==> smallest detail, for months + Page 85, supected of something ==> suspected of something + Page 123, Mr. Morgenthan ==> Mr. Morgenthau + Announcements at end, page 3, Bagdhad venture ==> Baghdad venture + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Caught by the Turks, by Francis Yeats-Brown + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CAUGHT BY THE TURKS *** + +***** This file should be named 37343.txt or 37343.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/7/3/4/37343/ + +Produced by Barbara Watson, Ross Cooling, Mark Akrigg and +the Online Distributed Proofreading Canada Team at +http://www.pgdpcanada.net ((This file was produced from +images generously made available by The Internet +Archive/Canadian Libraries)) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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