No games outside except an occasional soccer match are

played now as the ground is too hard. One highly interesting

tournament was, however, recently completed. Eight soccer

teams participated, and we ran two bookies on the field. I

have not played since Christmas Day when, in getting down to

a forward rush, I had several giants on top of me and twisted

my knee badly. Just before this, however, as left three-quarter

in a match against the Lower House I scored one of the hardest

tries since I was a boy. One can't run much these days, but

I did it diving for the line as a nailed fist left four ruddy tracks

from my neck down my back. Even then we lost the match

by two goals to a goal and a try. I came to the conclusion

that my conceit was excusable.

Christmas passed quietly enough. We consumed a

tremendous amount of cognac and mastik, and anything else

going, regardless of price, and for a few hours we quite took

charge of things. There was a concert of sorts with a few

banjo items and a farce at the end which was more ridiculous

than funny, but it served as well.

On Christmas Eve we eluded the postas, and about midnight,

while trying to correct my bearings for the house, for I had

somehow got downhill, I saw a figure of him we call the Admiral

(a naval paymaster), who evidently having wearied of trying

to discipline his legs had given it up and was crawling vigorously

on all fours in the dark. The sight of this white figure crawling

mysteriously along in the darkness, believing himself unobserved,

made me shout with laughter. The Admiral put on a

huge spurt when he heard it!

But the feature of Christmas was the children's party we

gave by special leave of the kaimakam. For days we had

been cooking tartlets and cakes and macaroons. They knew

it was on, and before breakfast a big crowd of children and

mothers had accumulated near our alley-way. We took our

long table and spread upon it "our events," as we called them,

including apples and special quantities of milk and nuts.

The poor little wretches are half-starved. For weeks previously

we had given them bits of bread, so that each one of us had

an "adopted" nipper. But besides our little pals--mostly

Greek, but some Turks--dozens of youngsters from far and

wide had turned up, some in their mothers' arms. Sam Mayo,

an ex-sergeant-major, took charge and formed them into

column of route, mothers and all. He did splendidly. There

was much crying and yelling, but he got them in order and

then made them file past. I don't think we had laughed so

much for many months. Each one of us soon found himself

administering milk to a monthling in one arm with half a

dozen brats into one's pockets or wrestling with one's legs at

the same time. Once there was a stampede set up by a

"Young Turk Party" (boys of eight and upwards), and we

each had to grab all the mites by a leg or an arm and hold

them up out of harm's way. One or two got a bit squashed

as it was. The supreme joke was when Sam was proudly

showing us how to coax a tiny infant to eat a macaroon; it

got so enthusiastic as to bite a half inch of his thumb nearly

off. "The little devil nipped like a mongoose," yelled Sam,

upsetting his second youngster into the sweet rock that stuck

_en bloc_ to its head. We enjoyed ourselves as much as they.

The postas, with one or two exceptions, helped us. The poor

little wretches ate and drank as if they hadn't for a week at

least. Then we had a scramble among the larger children

for the nuts and surplus, and when the fights had subsided

gave them some piastre notes. Altogether it was a great

show and made us very happy.

The people, we hear, couldn't understand at first how war

veterans could worry about children. But you require to

be a prisoner of war with no privilege of speaking to any one,

adult or child, to understand the meaning of children. The

after result was that for days and days a huge swarm of

youngsters followed us everywhere we went yelling "Backsheesh"

and "Ekmek" (bread) and "Chocolate."

Shortly after Christmas an Armenian turned up with a

violin of sorts. I had been on the look-out for one for months.

He wanted a fictitious price, and it wasn't a good one but fairly

loud. The strings were on the wrong pegs, and such strings

surely never existed before on any violin. The bow wanted

some hair restorer badly. I tuned it up and powdered the

few remaining hairs well on a lump of gummy resin, probably

off a pine-tree, and then, by the smoking stove of a Turkish

fire, I began to play--the first time for years and years. The

room was empty but every one came up from below to see

what on earth had happened. I found I had forgotten everything.

After a half-hour bits of Beethoven, Raff, Dvorak

and Vieuxtemps came back to me, but they wanted waltzes

and marches. The end of it was they persuaded me to buy

the thing. I practised assiduously for two or three hours a

day for weeks and then the bow began to collapse and the

strings gave out.

It was now dreadfully cold in one's room, but we managed

to have some cheery evenings. Banjos made of hide stretched

over tins purchased at the bazaar did quite well for an

accompaniment. One of our number, Lieutenant Munro,

has shown a deal of skill in cabinet making, and has turned

out a 'cello which is the queerest thing in the whole world,

looking rather like a dough roll squeezed considerably in the

middle by a small boy until its waist threatens to go altogether.

But it makes a noise. My violin is improving wonderfully,

and I have found some bad strings in an Armenian shop.

In other words, my violin has grown to a band composed

of two violins, a 'cello, a cracked flute, a clarionet, and banjos.

The Admiral plays a little, and having unearthed another fiddle

has come in as second violin. Major Davis plays the violin a

little, and we are going to fossick others out. Drums are under

construction, and another 'cello is to follow. Remains the

music. As none has ever been seen in Kastamuni probably

since the town existed, nor can be obtained anywhere or is

allowed through, we have to write our own. This involves

composition. There was luckily a volume of Prout's Harmony

that turned up at Christmas, so one or two with leisure hours

are working at it hard. We have had five practices. I

never could have believed I would endure such an offensive

noise, let alone help to make it! "Dreaming" and

"Destiny" and "The Girl on the Film" were the first things

we attempted. It was a thin stream of trickling melody

followed by the weirdest of side noises!

How dreadfully cold it is, and how interminably long the

winter seems! Malaria and colds have pursued us. Our

boots have collapsed everywhere, and the few pairs in the

bazaar cost over eight liras. Here, again, we have fallen back

on ourselves, and two officers started repairing in an institution

called the "Snob's Shop." They are now quite good at it, and

turn out really fine work. The only leather obtainable, however,

is rotten local stuff.

Other prices have risen steadily. The wretched tea

available is about two liras a pound, and there is little of that.

Sugar is ten shillings a pound, coffee dearer than tea, meat

two shillings a pound, and wood works out at about three-pence

a stick. The wonder is how all these people live. Many

are pinched and haggard, and funeral processions in the

snow are more frequent. The Turkish contractor at the

_mektub_ has been playing the extortionate _rôle_, and for weeks

we have threatened to strike and had meeting after meeting.

The net result has been to get the Turks' backs up against us,

and it seems evident enough that the military authorities

are in the financial swim with the fleecers. We have almost

decided to mess ourselves--the chief objection to this being

that every obstacle will be put in our way and prices will go

up accordingly in the bazaar.

The other day we were allowed our permitted long walk and

took the direction of the pine woods, away up the long ascent.

We trod in young snow a few inches deep. It was a glorious

walk with the tiny bronze pines peeping through the white

sheets that stretched from horizon to horizon over hill and

valley. We climbed until on a patch of upland from which

the sun had ousted the snow, thousands of tiny crocuses

invited us to stop and listen to their premature whispers of

spring. But since then winter seems to have fastened on us

another clutch of unmistakable proprietorship. On our way

back we stopped at our cemetery, which has gradually grown

larger since we came. Last November the survivors of the

unfortunate yacht _Nida_ reached us. She had struck a mine

near Alexandretta and lost half her crew. The commander

had a terribly rough trip here, and the disaster seemed to have

preyed upon his mind. He died in the hospital here, poor

fellow. Recently we buried a gunner orderly arrived from

Angora. He had belonged to the 82nd R.F.A., and came

with the last batch allowed us by the authorities as the result

of continuous applications. The reports they brought of the

men were simply terrible. Hundreds of them seem to have

perished in the cold. The sick were allowed to die without

any attention whatever. A daily loaf of bread and one blanket,

and often no medical care at all, had accounted for hundreds.

Whole regiments are wiped out. Father Tim and the Reverend

Wright, who were recently ordered to Kara Hissah for the other

officers, managed to get a line back to us to the effect that

the reports about the men were true. Rumours are in the

air that General Townshend has gone home on parole and is

arranging for us to be exchanged or go to a neutral country.

One can't hope for that. We have heard in the bazaar that

Kut once more is in our hands. Thank God!

_May 1st._--At last the winter has gone, but it went slowly

and fought a strenuous rearguard action up to quite recently.

How jolly it is to have dismantled those wretched tin stoves

and be able to write and read in one's room once more. Walks

have been resumed, and lead us even further and further

afield. Many changes have overtaken us--changes seemingly

insignificant and yet to us very momentous. We started to

run our own mess in February, the Turks taking away all our

Turkish and Greek servants and making us rely on our own

orderlies. They prove themselves more childish and more

babyish every week. An inquiry was held into affairs here,

and the old kaimakam was thrown out, but Sheriff Bey, the

worst of all, lied his way into remaining. Our new kaimakam

is a more decent fellow, speaks German, and has lived in Berlin

for four years. We have had him up to dinner, and it fell

to me to do all the talking to him about Berlin. He means

well, and has done all he can to help us, but he is so dreadfully

afraid of Sheriff Bey and his own restrictions.

The band has made great strides. I'm now first violin

and leader of the "Orchestra." We have five violins, two

'cellos and a double bass, besides the drums, two clarionettes,

flute, and banjo, and the Human Crochet has made commendable

progress in writing out our music from bits of anything

we got through the post, piano solos, and many we have

had to write from memory. We perform on Saturday evenings

alternately at either house. Sometimes we sound almost like

a seaside band at Home!!! I long for the old Queen's Hall

Concerts again. To attend even those, I would willingly

forget the London Symphony or Nikisch's at the Gewandhaus

in Leipsig. The band is almost the only live thing here. One

pines for music. Every evening I can get (so to speak) with

my violin beyond these forests and mountains. My window

overlooks the town and I have quite an audience of Turkish

heads listening. I am told the sound carries as far as the

muezzin. These people have not heard any music in their

lives, and think my crude efforts quite divine. Books arrive

slowly. Swinburne has never come. But we have Shakespeare

and some of Thackeray and a lot of cheap stuff.

With the advent of spring we all responded to the call and

took fresh hope and formed new resolves. Amongst them I

started a fortnightly paper called _Smoke_, the Kastamuni

_Punch_ and _Tatler_. In a rash moment I finally consented to

the "General's" request, the General being Captain Kirkwood,

our Mess-President. So far it has been a decided

success. Our artist was an officer from the Lower House

whose handy pen finished the cartoon and illustrated the serial

and verse. The paper was not wholly given to ragging and

joking, but in a serious corner we discussed aspects of Kut and

the Trek and Kastamuni and the war. We also ran fictitious

notes from Kara Hissa, Yozgad, Brusa (where the generals are),

and "Eve" of the _Tatler_ finally came to live in Kastamuni to

cheer us up with a certain famous chaperone called "The

Destroyer." The most popular article amongst our own mess

was the current one called "The Oblong Table," at which we

all sat--King Arthur, Sir John Happy Tight, Sir Saundontius

the Good, Sir Sulphurous Blears, Sir Bedevere le Géant, Sir

Leslie Bee de Canard, Sir Cliftus Smallkake, Sir Samuel

Longbow, Sir Carol le Filbert, Sir Richard Oldlace, Sir Pompous

Oldass, Sir Lancelot the Bard, Sir Galahad the Silent, and Sir

Rufus Appletree. And we lived well up to the best traditions

of the Round Table, and conversations and jests and challenges

flew to and fro. But altogether it is rather a sweat, as I have

to do the whole thing, and then it has to be copied out again

by some one with a decent caligraphy. Great care has to be

taken to keep it out of the Turks' hands.

I have also worked on a further constitutional study of

the possible Society of Nations or International Body, following

out constitutional developments and tendencies as revealed

by the war since my pre-war work "The Place of International

Law in Jurisprudence."

And so what with the band and _Smoke_ and this diary and

bits of French and my law work, I have plenty to do. I am

only wondering how long it will be before these, too, follow the

rest of our enterprises to oblivion. It is true that one's springs

of action seem almost run out, and that with leading this

dreary existence the iron of Kastamuni has already eaten into

the souls of many. The psychology of a captive is an extraordinary

one.

At night-time, when the last tremors of the muezzin have

died away and all is still, we sometimes fancy we can hear the

echoes of those great events that are rearranging the world,

the crashing of nations in mortal combat, the battle cries of

men fighting for their faith, the death cries of the fallen,

above all, the cannon cacophany of the fire deluge.

And from here in the backwater of the world, without

news or knowledge, our hearts go out to our countrymen on the

other front, and we pray to God that we may soon be amongst

them again.

CHAPTER XI

EXTRACTS AND PHOTOS FROM "SMOKE," THE KASTAMUNI

"PUNCH"

_Smoke_ was the Kastamuni _Punch_, which I edited. Its

existence became known to the Turks, who tried by

every means to discover it. When I escaped from the

prison in Stamboul, I had it around my waist. Unwilling to

risk its capture in my subsequent adventures, I entrusted it to

some one in Stamboul, from where it was safely recovered

after the entry of the British troops. The photos are of the

original copy and the extracts perpetrated by me.

* * * * *

(1) Letter from "Eve," whom to cheer our loneliness we

transported to live amongst us in Kastamuni.

201, Curzon Street,

Mayfair,

May 28th, '17.

DEAR MR. SMOKE,

Such wonderful news for you. I'm to leave for

Kastamuni in two days. Think of it, my dear. For Kastamuni

and all of you. Almost _too_ wonderful, isn't it? You

know by the time the third edition of _Smoke_ arrived home it

became quite well known that you were incorporated with the

_Tatler_, and, of course, you and I are naturally expected to

become awfully interested in each other. Also by a marvellous

bit of planning on the part of Providence at the same time

Mrs. Huntingdon-East received such an extraordinarily warm-hearted

letter from a Mr. Carol Manrow of Kastamuni (do

you know him?), begging her to visit Kastamuni and prescribe

for his (little Carol's, if you please) loneliness, and also--but

I mustn't tell you too much, must I?

[Illustration: LETTER FROM "EVE." PHOTOGRAPHED FROM "SMOKE,"

THE KASTAMUNI "PUNCH"]

Oh, and we just love _Smoke_. Well, you know, the next

day I met the Destroyer at tea, _i.e._ Mrs. H. E., because she's

always under full sail, or whatever you call it. She has

persuaded my friends to make me go with her. But, my dear,

I was only too _delighted_ to go, and I do so want to see all the

dear things in that wonderful little place. Oh, I'm so glad

you are incorporated with the _Tatler_, and that I am to tattle

for you. The Women War Workers' Association has arranged

for the Destroyer to look after me. Can you imagine that?

But I shan't stretch my reins until I am safe with you all, and

then we shall see what pace is to be set in Kastamuni.

I'm to send news to the _Tatler_ as ever, and a column for

you on local gossip or fashionable intelligence. The last sounds

the best. Our spare time you must make interesting for us,

and as we are to have _carte blanche_ from our funny old enemies,

we can promise you a terrific time. And such news I've got

for you--just _too_ exciting.

We leave in two days via Boulogne, Paris, Berne, Vienna,

Constanti, and Ineboli--and the Sultan has offered the

Destroyer the use of his private yacht, _Abdul Hamid Secundus_.

We _screamed_ when we got his wire. So nice of him, and he

hopes to find us "chic." Just fancy the Destroyer being

chic. And we are to remain with you all until you go away.

Isn't that splendid?

Thank you so much for your long wire. So _thoughtful_ of

you, but, my dear, I'm not a bit shy, and I've not forgotten

you. In fact, I have tried to dream about you quite often.

Please try to believe this. We are to have the Vali's old

house, whatever that means. The Destroyer is a dear old

thing, and, of course, I leave all the arrangements to her.

She sends a message. "Give the dear things my love, and

tell them to pray that the weather will be good and the Black

Sea smooth."

Well, I must away to pack. Such appalling weather here,

and we have no potatoes. But no one cares the tiniest bit,

as the news is dreadfully good. The one drawback is that the

war will be over before we have finished the wonderful time

we shall all have in Kastamuni.

Bye-bye, dear Mr. Smoke.

Yours with love,

EVE.

* * * * *

(2) Advertisement of Kuttites Klearout Kompany, Unlimited.

KASTAMUNI KUTTITES KLEAROUT KOMPANY,

UNLIMITED

OBJECT, To defray the expenses of constructing, furnishing,

and equipping

The "HOMEWARD BOUND" Airship.

PROPOSED CAPITAL, £2000 (Turkish).

Consisting of 1000 Fully-Paid Preference and 1000 Ordinary

Shares.

TERMS, Preference Fully Paid, Ordinary Five per cent, on

allotment.

Balance after the War.

CONDITIONS, The investment in twenty shares will carry

the privilege of one seat in the "Homeward Bound," to

leave Kastamuni at some date unknown.

N.B.--In the event of having to jettison ballast from the

airship, Preference Shareholders will not be rated as ballast

until Ordinary Shareholders have been thrown overboard.

ADVANTAGES, On the back of every coupon will be found a

policy of insurance with the Credit Ottoman Insurance

Company covering risks against (1) Recapture, (2)

Collision, (3) Fire, (4) Cherif Bey, (5) Drowning,

(6) Falling Overboard, (7) Landing in Enemy Country.

Last date of Application for Shares, May 10th, 1917.

Original Allottees: (Katronides) The Rt. Hon. Marquis-de-Quinine;

(Cloulourides) Vicomte-de-Moular and five

Field Officers.

Bankers: Kastamuni Providential Banking Co., Ltd.

Secretary: A. Fludd,

47.8.9 _Smoke_ Offices.

[Illustration: KASTAMUNI KUTTITES KLEAROUT KOMPANY

(AN ESCAPE ADVERTISEMENT FROM "SMOKE")]

* * * * *

(3) SATIRE'S MY WEAPON, BUT I'M TOO DISCREET

TO RUN AMOK AND TILT AT ALL I MEET

THE WINGS OF A DOVE (Leading Article)

Had I the wings of a dove, far, far would I fly--away from

this dove-cot--from the Mekhteb and memories of Huznu--from

the Turkish bath fond joy of earlier days, away from the

chapel that has so often seen me, but now to see me no more,

from the bazaar where in days of yore I visited Ekki Bachouk's,

from the postas and Turkish female delights untasted--from the

band--ah, band of memories--most of all from the Oblong Table--in

short, from the Flesh and the Devil far, far would I fly.

Ah, those wings. I feel them already upon me. Like a

bird I feel also my capacity for flight. Wings that lie closely

to my shoulders, white pinions the outer ribs in stiff strong

rows, beside them smaller ones lighter than air, stronger than

steel, folding like a fan, opening like an umbrella, locked and

fast. Wings flinging arced shadows, wings with which to

issue some early morn from my window, to cleave the air, to

mount up, up, up above these mosques, the river, the town,

until Kastamuni shall appear a wee pattern of dusky patchwork

crossed by a silver thread and dotted with woolly smoke.

Wings to lift me so high that even that shall disappear--and

beyond the ranges will gleam the sea. Ah, the sea. How

I long for thee also. Since when have I walked within range

of thy tossing spray, thou sea skirting the crimson battlefields

of Europe. Thee would I follow until in the last light of even

I beheld once more "that isle set in a silver sea----"

Oh, for the wings of a dove. Far, far would I fly. Oh,

to be a dove. I, too, would stop to pluck an olive leaf, and

on it would scratch with my beak, _Mene, Mene, Tekel, Upharsin_,

and then having reached Potsdam, would I drop it at the

Kaiser's feet as he strolls about the palace grounds of Sans-souci.

Sans-souci, forsooth!

Then would he not conquer the world any more, but wring

the necks of all his eagles.

And then on to other isles and scenes, whence the voices

are calling----

Oh, for the wings, those free white wings of a dove.

* * * * *

(4) A Prophecy as to the Fate of Turkey.

THE DEATH OF COCK TURKEY

(With apologies to Cock Robin)

"Who killed Cock Turkey?"

"I," said Bull Jack,

"With my usual knack--

I killed Cock Turkey."

"Who helped to do it?"

"I," said old Bruno,

"With my little U know--

I helped to do it."

"Who saw him die?"

"I," said her ally,

With perfectly dry eye--

"I saw him die."

"Who'll have his feathers?"

"I," said the Lion,

"With my usual try-on,

I'll have his feathers."

"Who'll dig his grave?"

"I," said the vulture,

An eagle plus culture--

"I'll dig his grave."

"Who'll grow on his grave?"

"I," said the Lily,

She spoke quite shrilly--

"I'll grow on his grave."

"Who'll write his epitaph?"

"I," said the Armenian,

With the help of the Athenian--

"I'll write his epitaph."

"Who's heir-apparent?"

"I," said Uncle Sam,

"I guess that I am

The heir-apparent."

"Who'll toll the knell?"

"I," said the Kangaroo,

"With the help of the Emu,

I'll toll the knell."

And the Things of the Earth danced in ecstasy--

When they heard of the death of the Cock Turkey--

When they heard of the death of the Cock Turkey.

PACIFIC BILLOW.

April, 1917.

* * * * *

(5) Breach of Promise Case.

KING'S BENCH DIVISION

Mr. Justice Owes-Leigh.

Sonia _alias_ the Fair Girl _v._ Bimbashi Stew-Hot.

Damages for Breach of Promise.

Counsel for plaintiff, Mr. Wm. Sykes, K.C., of Dukes.

The defendant defended himself, and was assisted, where

necessary, by the learned judge.

Mr. Sykes, on traversing the Statement of Claim, alleged

that the plaintiff had been wrongfully deceived by certain

overtures and advances on the part of the defendant in that

he had, on many occasions, smiled at her, gesticulated towards

her, called her "choke guzelle," winked, and even kissed his

fingers at her when the postas were not looking. Moreover,

written evidence of a formal declaration of affection and

willingness to marry was in possession of the plaintiff. For

these reasons, submitted Mr. Sykes, an offer of the contract of

matrimony had been made by the defendant and accepted by

the plaintiff. The defendant was unwilling to fulfil--or at

least hung fire--plaintiff estimated her damages at piastres 500.

The defendant, who was evidently a humorist, was

understood to demur.

Mr. Sykes then called his chief witness, the plaintiff, the

Fair Girl herself. Her appearance caused a great sensation in

the court. There came a dream in daisy-patterned chintz,

the pattering of small red-stockinged feet, and a dainty whiff

of garlic streamed over the court as the fragile and closely-hooded

damsel clambered into the witness-box. Then, and

not till then, she threw back her veil, and the whole court

beheld, or rather heard, a tone poem of superlative beauty--a

song without words. Her striking looks affected the public

queerly, who fell to digging one another in the ribs, and the

learned judge had twice to threaten to clear the court.

She answered her counsel's questions firmly and sweetly.

The defendant then put her through the following cross-examination,

by the help of an interpreter.

"Sonia, do you love me?" (Violent nods.)

"How can you love me when I haven't talked to you?"

"You tried to kiss me."

"Who stopped me?"

"The postas."

"Do you want to marry everybody who kisses you?"

"Certainly not. Some kiss for fun, and some for love."

"How could I marry you when I am already married?"

The learned judge here intervened to the effect that in Turkey

a man might have several wives.

A question was now put by defendant to the witness with

reference to other affections, but was disallowed. Plaintiff

was now required to produce the written evidence, but counsel

for plaintiff, springing to his feet, opposed this proceeding as

violating the religious law of the plaintiff's sect. He was overruled

by the learned judge, and the witness produced from her

stocking a piece of crumpled paper. All eyes were turned on

the defendant, and it seemed now improbable that he could

win his case. However, after some delay, and much to the

embarrassment of plaintiff's counsel, and to the amusement

of the rest of the court, the paper was found to be an old

laundry list of the defendant, which he may or may not have

dropped accidentally.

At this point a startling revelation was made in Mr. Sykes'

re-examination of plaintiff to the effect that witness had been

twice actually kissed by the defendant, and a collar stud of

his, retained in plaintiff's possession, was produced in court.

The defendant, who had hitherto conducted an able defence,

was considerably put out by the last fact, and applied to the

learned judge for special permission further to question the

plaintiff. This being given, the Bimbashi severely taxed the

witness as to her means of support, and several times the

learned judge had to intervene on plaintiff's behalf. The

questions were satisfactorily answered, and the witness left

the box.

Mr. Sykes summed up in a manner so scathing that the

Bimbashi was heard to interrupt the court by saying that he

wished both Mr. Sykes and he himself had never been born.

Counsel was well into his final peroration, when he chanced to

refer to the plaintiff's "rosy innocence," which, on being

interpreted to the Fair Girl, caused her to burst out laughing.

On being admonished by the learned judge, she inquired of

Mr. Justice Owes-Leigh whether the picture of her counsel,

Mr. Sykes, talking of innocence, was not too funny even for

a Turk. This caused a counter-sentiment in favour of the

Bimbashi, and closed the case for the plaintiff.

The defendant, a man of mischievous disposition, and

inclined to be humorous, opened his defence by reciting

Wordsworth's "We are Seven," and had got well into Mrs.

Hemans' "The Graves of a Household," when the learned

judge asked what this had to do with the case.

"Nothing, my lord. I am merely making an impression."

Upon which the learned judge dropped on him like a chimney,

and Mr. Sykes suggested the defendant had tried to make an

impression on the Fair Girl.

Unabashed, the defendant proceeded with his case, which

was--

(1) That he had said or done nothing to encourage the

plaintiff.

(2) If he had done so he had not meant it.

(3) If he had meant to do so he had had no idea----

"You are wasting the time of this court," thundered the

learned judge, and demanded the line of defence.

"I have no defence, my lord."

"Then why on earth are you fighting the case?"

"I'm not fighting anybody. I am willing to marry her

on certain conditions."

The elucidation of these conditions necessitated the

clearance of the court, and for some time the case was heard _in

camera_. However, it is generally known that the learned judge

himself re-examined both parties, as a result of which the Fair

Girl admitted to being secretly in love with a gendarme, and

flatly declined to marry the defendant. The case was dismissed

without costs on either side. Counsel for plaintiff explained

that the officers of Kastamuni had subscribed the amount of

plaintiff's court costs. A question by the Bimbashi as to

whether plaintiff's counsel had received his professional costs

from the Fair Girl was disallowed by the learned judge.

Counsel for plaintiff, who became greatly heated, was distinctly

heard by some to say something about "a jealous counsel,"

but the remark evidently did not reach the ears of Mr. Justice

Owes-Leigh.

The court rose, and the Fair Girl, whose nerve possibly

failed at the last moment, went out on her counsel's arm.

* * * * *

(6) Knights of the Oblong Table.

THE OBLONG TABLE

KNIGHTS AT MESS (Subject: Pooling of Parcels)

KING ARTHUR (_a three-parcel wallah with designs on Sir

Saundontius the Good, a fourteen-parcel wallah_): Gentlemen,

I propose that in future all parcels are pooled in the mess.

(_Loud protests and uproar._)

SIR SAMUEL LONGBOW: No, I'm against that. Fancy

dividing two tins of sardines amongst fourteen.

SIR CLIFTUS SMALLKAKE: Well, I'll tell you this much, I

shan't give mine up. One cake wouldn't feed two knights.

SIR SULPHUROUS BLEARS: Blank your blankety blank.

I'm for pooling the blankety blanks, blank it.

SIR EDWARD LE FUMEUR: I've a chicken, that means a

bone each.

SIR POMPOUS OLDASS TO SIR S. BLEARS: How many

parcels have you received?

SIR SULPH. BLEARS: None, you blank-headed blankety

blank.

SIR LESLIE BEC DE CANARD: Very good idea. I've got

flea powders and thirst quenchers. Pool 'em, with pleasure.

[Illustration: "KING ARTHUR'S KNIGHTS OF THE OBLONG TABLE"

IN OUR MESS. THE HILLS OF KASTAMUNI IN THE DISTANCE!]

[Illustration: MERMAID READING "SMOKE"]

SIR RUFUS APPLETREE: I've had no parcels. Even if I

had I would have pooled them. (_Laughter and exclamations._)

SIR SHINYTOP STEWARTUS (_who sits next to King A. and knows

that in any case Royalty appropriates_): Hear, hear, let's pool

them.

SIR CAROL COEUR DE LION: I'm not afraid of speaking my

mind. I'm against it, as I don't approve of socialism or cheap

parcels.

SIR SAUNDONTIUS THE GOOD (_fourteen-parcel wallah, and

feeling under the circumstances that he had better go no further

than timidly venturing to agree with the last speaker_): I hardly

think so, Sir King, Old Thing. One tin of jam would last me

for a week, but the mess scarcely one minute. (_Storm grows

wilder, the only voices for the affirmative being those who up to

date have received no parcels._)

KING ARTHUR (_much annoyed, and seeing a way of retreat,

in a whisper to Sir Shinytop_): Pass the word it's only a ramp

against Saundontius. (_The murmur grows to one of general

accord and cry of "Pool 'em."_)

SIR SAUNDONTIUS (_an excellent thought-reader, aside to Sir

Sulph. Blears_): Pass the word the ramp is only an excuse of

King A. to get his point. Ramp or no ramp, the vote will

count.

KING ARTHUR (_not a good thought-reader, and believing all

well_): Gentlemen, the vote! Who's for pooling them?

(_Votes for, six, including Sir Saundontius (who has counted);

votes against, eight._)

* * * * *

(7) PARCEL DAY

(_Accele-rato, con moto, mysterioso_)

There's a murmur in the air--in the air--

There are ninety parcels there

Full of jams, anchovies rare

For the prisoners de guerre--

Bless their souls.

Hark! I hear him read the list--read the list--

Six for you--I do insist--

One for me is rather triste--

Though size counts too I wist--

Bless our souls.

At the room we breathless wait--breathless wait--

You must not risk being late,

It might change your parcel's fate,

So on our boldness do not prate.

Bless our souls.

All is o'er, they have them fast--have them fast--

There's some jam that will not last,

Some tongue for a repast--

Quenchers, shirts, and tea! avast!

Bless _their_ souls.

* * * * *

(8) LETTERS COME

(_Adagio_)

Letters come. Letters go.

Winter's gone. Gone the snow.

Gone the footer and toboggan,

Gone our erstwhile trick of hoggin,

And the price prevents our groggin,

Life is so.

Rumours come. Rumours go.

What's the truth?--we don't know.

In Kastamuni our hearts are breaking

And we fear the rude awaking

When from her tracks we'll be making,

Love is so.

* * * * *

(9) "Die Nacht"--an inversion of "Der Tag," a one-act

play of 1914.

DIE NACHT

(_A New Version of "Der Tag," all about Billy Primus,

June, 1917._)

SCENE I (AND ONLY).

(_Large room used as smoker-library with tall windows overlooking

the waters of Wandsee. The Kaiser in the uniform of the Death's

Head Hussars, seated behind a table-desk. A shaded lamp throws

the sharp silhouette of his features upon the wall, leaving him

mostly in shadow and the rest of the room in the light. He

presses a bell. Enters_ ZIMMERMAN, _Foreign Minister_.)

KAISER (_motioning Z. to be seated_): Before Talaat arrives

let me know briefly how the matter stands.

ZIM.: Turkey desires peace at once, but gives the last

possible date as three months. An immediate loan of

10,000,000 liras on mutual security is demanded.

KAISER: Is Enver in with this, or is it a feeler only?

Z.: I assure your Majesty, it requires urgent attention.

The whole of Turkey is behind it, led by the few vested and

private interests that remain. You remember my saying

that as soon as the private interests are hit the Turks will

murmur.

KAISER: What hold have they on the public?

Z.: According to Talaat, and privately confirmed, the

wealthy classes are heading the general dissatisfaction at the

famine prices and daily loss of territory. It is an ultimatum.

KAISER: What course do you propose for extending the

three months?

Z.: I suggest the situation would concern the War

Minister.

KAISER (_ringing_, HINDENBURG _appears_): The day, my

general, is nearer than we thought. Turkey pulls out in three

months. How will the map lie then?

H.: With Russia merely held, or, if necessary, by retiring

to our system of railways and carrying on with smaller forces

on our Eastern Front, we can intensify our shortened line in

the West and hold it against all odds until the autumn. This

is providing Holland remains neutral and the Turkish campaign

is pushed.

KAISER: What is your opinion of the news from Turkey?

H.: Palestine and Syria will go during the summer.

Possibly Russia will get astride the Baghdad Railway from

their Eastern push.

KAISER: Our connection to Constantinople?

H.: We can keep open for three or four months, when the

Western wastage will necessitate withdrawal of Mackensen's

forces and further concentration. Say four months, providing

Turkish wastages are replaced and she remains firm.

KAISER _to_ Z.: To what extent can you trust Turkey for

three months?

Z.: If the line is not cut she can be kept in by our military

dispositions, so my reports say. The Turkish forces are kept

in the out-field and German troops are fought nearer to the

Capital. Their staff is still wholly German, and reports give

no ground for uneasiness, except, of course, non-military riots.

In which case comes in our "Remedy" among the Ultimate

Provisions drawn up by your Majesty. We can seize and

garrison Stamboul within twenty-four hours.

KAISER (_turning over papers_): Hindenburg, is your opinion

still unaltered about our last stand there? Remember, it is

of the greatest consequence to the whole issue. For how long

can we hold Stamboul?

H. (_drawing himself up proudly_): Your Majesty, our plans

are perfect. On the dispositions made I will undertake to

hold Constantinople behind the Tchataldja lines and a south

trench for three years against the world.

KAISER: There is nothing overlooked? (_Rings, and_

BETHMAN-HOLLWEG _appears_.)

H.: Nothing. With our shore batteries we could outrange

any gun ashore or afloat, and as a submarine base it would

be excellent. Ammunition and food would last that time.

KAISER (_dreamily_): Three years. It would astonish

posterity.

BETH.-HOLLWEG: Magnificent, my Emperor, but more than

necessary.

KAISER: You mean England would be sickened out long

before then?

B.-H.: If the rest of the war-map could remain as it is,

it wouldn't be worth her while to insist on unconditional

terms. But gallery play in Stamboul is useless once our line

gives in the West.

KAISER (_to_ HINDENBURG): If we sacrifice the Roumanian

line and hold one across Austria instead, make a stand in

Constantinople, and concentrate all our forces on the Western

Front, how long can we go on for?

H.: To the autumn of 1918, when it will all collapse like

a house of cards.

KAISER (_to_ B.-H.): The siege of Constantinople then would

not be mere gallery play, Herr Chancellor?

[Illustration: "DIE NACHT," AN INVERSION OF "DER TAG," WRITTEN

JUNE, 1917, PROPHESYING THE DOOM OF GERMANY IN

AUTUMN OF 1918.--"SMOKE"]

[Illustration: AN ESCAPE STORY FROM "SMOKE." THE AIRSHIP ENTERING

THE BLACK SEA]

B.-H.: There is yet a more serious factor. We can crush

or sacrifice Turkey in revolution, but before a revolution in

Germany your Majesty's guns will melt like butter in the sun.

KAISER: Have you not quietened the National Liberals

by nominally conceding the constitutional point of veto, and

in assembling and proroguing the Reichstag?

B.-H.: It's not that. Neither is it the Socialists or the

Left Centre. It's the agrarian classes of the Out Provinces.

They already imagine that disaster has overtaken their absorption

by Prussia, and thought towards decentralization must

not be trusted too far. As they had least to win so they have

most to lose in a war of taxation and attrition. Moreover,

they fear the aftermath of fearful reprisals if the enemy

carries war into Germany.

KAISER: But my army, surely it can maintain its

supremacy?

B.-H.: We cannot spare troops to garrison railways, and

once the seed is sown lines will be cut, communications

interrupted, and the army--excepting the Prussians--which

is sick of fighting, will dissolve. I speak, your Majesty, from

a near view of facts. Three months may be short, but when

Turkey goes the terms will be harder.

KAISER: Turkey may go. Constantinople will not go.

(_Rings._)

B.-H.: The time to negotiate is now. We shall not

succeed in sickening England out, and if we wait until we are

right back before we ask peace, our enemies will push. (_Enter_

VON KAPELLAR.)

KAISER: Von Kapellar, First Sailor of the World, you are

our present hope. You have three months within which to

paralyse British shipping completely--there must not remain

one ship afloat. Everything comes back to this.

VON K.: My Emperor, in that time I can dismember, but

I cannot annihilate. Every submarine must consult opportunity.

Their chief boats are convoyed. If necessary, the

American and Japanese destroyer flotillas will be used against

us. It would take a year before we got at her throat. Besides,

she is building.

KAISER: It must be done. It shall be. We are working

against a time-table. With England cut off, and Turkey

remaining in, Germany is consolidated. Von Tirpitz was

right, after all. It is our chief weapon of parley. You must

smash every ship and redouble our submarine tactics ten times

from to-night--from this minute. I see it all plainly and all

will be well.

(VON KAPELLAR _withdraws_. KAISER _motions to the Chancellor, who

disappears through the door, to reappear immediately conducting_

TALAAT PASHA.)

B.-H.: I present to your Majesty our friend and Embassy

from Turkey--Talaat Pasha.

(_The_ KAISER _rises to his full height, silent and immovable,

for ten awful seconds. And during those ten seconds the heart of_

TALAAT, _humped violently, as he beheld, at last, beyond the

bowed heads of these grim men, the famous figure, strangely

terrible, of the Great War Lord standing there dark and silent as

Fate in the lamp shadow--the War Lord that had carpeted the earth

with blood_. TALAAT, _not being used to these things, bows low.

The_ KAISER _advances and takes him cordially by the two hands_.)

KAISER: Welcome, faithful friend of the Fatherland in

peace and war, and soon in victory. You see, I have just

been reviewing my sinews of war. A magnificent piece of

news has just arrived. We have smashed the Mistress of the

Seas. It but remains to sweep away the fragments. (_Enter_

VON KAPELLAR.) I will introduce to you Baron Von Kapellar,

the hero of the hour.

(_Introduces them to_ TALAAT, _and after a few moments'

conversation they withdraw, and_ TALAAT _is left alone with the_

KAISER, _who smokes_.)

KAISER: Your arrival, my friend Talaat, has been the

precursor of most wonderful news. I am happy to be able to

tell the distinguished leader of our brave and faithful ally

that the end of the war is a matter of a few weeks only. In

four days we have sunk seventy-two large boats. There is a

panic in England, and we have been touched about terms of

peace.

TALAAT: Oh, that is good. My mission was for ten

millions now, and to say we can't stand the strain for more

than three months.

KAISER: The strain? My generals will see to that. We

are at England's throat. You must press every ounce--her

terms depend on these blows. We could have peace to-night,

but the peace we want requires manoeuvring for. You remain

firm, do you not? (TALAAT _nods meekly_.) Our submarines

are supreme, and every day the position improves.

TALAAT: There are riots in Constantinople.

KAISER: I will arrange for sufficient policing of the place.

Now do not misunderstand me. The case for Turkey is everything

or nothing, and without Germany it will be nothing.

You are to dine with the Chancellor and me to-night. Is

there any question you would like to ask?

TALAAT: What is your plan of retirement in the West?

KAISER: To fall back to a line we can hold for years--to

prove to our enemies that at the rate of their advance it will

take them two years to get into Germany, which extra effort

will not mean so much gain to them more than they have at

present--but the expenditure of millions of lives and double

their war debt. That being so, we win. And now (_rising_)

it is my royal wish to distinguish this occasion by conferring

on you a Grand Duchy of the Fatherland. I have one vacant.

The revenues have accumulated since the war. We will

speak further of this at dinner.

(_The_ KAISER, _smiling at_ TALAAT, _shakes him by the hand. As

the Chancellor reappears for_ TALAAT, _the latter, pale with

excitement, bows himself out of the royal presence_.)

(_The_ KAISER _falls dejectedly into his chair and rings again_.

PROFESSOR ADAM LASSOON _enters--the arch-spy, Press gagger, and

confidential friend_.)

KAISER: Well, Adam. What news?

L.: There has been much public comment on the fact

that the Reichstag has even made it possible to demand

changes in the Constitution so openly. This has been dealt

with. There is also a growing tendency towards isolation.

Men sit in cafés and talk. The world is against us, and even

the entrance of Hayti has a bad moral effect. They hear the

hordes already thundering at our gates for vengeance. This

also has been dealt with and articles prescribed for it.

KAISER: Be extra vigilant about the provinces, and make

a submarine boom.

(LASSOON _disappears_.)

(KAISER, _now alone and smoking hard, walks to the window. He

looks out on the lake in silence. The moonlight streams in

across the room. As he watches, a black sailing cloud obscures

the moon, and the_ KAISER, _turning down the lights, sinks back

dreamily in his chair. The smoke from his cigar floats up in

thick clouds as he rests his haggard face in one hand. He sleeps.

Past the smothered light the mists grow thicker and in them

suddenly appears a form, a spectre--it is the_ SHADE OF BISMARK.

_With fearful voice it speaks._)

THE SHADE: It is true, Wilhelm. You have need for the

pilot, nicht wahr? The glorious empire I gave is on the brink

of an abyss. Colonies, commerce, shipping, armies, friends--all

are gone. The isolation of England has ended in the

isolation of Germany. The very cement with which I bound

State by State to Prussia is crumbling to dust. Germany is

sliding--soon she will be an avalanche charging to her doom.

Even now there is barely time to avert the catastrophe. You

dropped me. This is my revenge.

KAISER (_awakes with a start, and the_ SHADE _flees_): What a

fearful dream (_quotes_)--

"There is a tide in the affair of Nations,

Which, taken at the flood, leads God knows where."

On such a full sea are we now afloat, and we must take the

current when it serves or, like our submarines, go to the

bottom. I'll ring for wine....

(_Rings as the curtain falls._)

Written in June, 1917.

* * * * *

[Illustration:

_Photo from "Smoke"_

"THE SONG OF THE RAIN"]

[Illustration: BALLAD OF THE FALL OF KUT. ("SMOKE")

THIS SKETCH AS ALL OTHERS WAS DONE BY LIEUT. GALLOWAY]

(10) Ballad by a bombardier on night of Fall of Kut.

THE FALL OF KUT

_April 29th, 1916_

Crack me the last bottle of date-juice

And hand me some leaves of the lime--

For to-day falls Kut-el-Amarah,

And for us, God knows, it's time.

We're only a siege-battered army,

And most of us bones and skin;

And we thought that our troubles were over;

But we find they only begin.

For five months the might of the Turk

Tried to take this tiny Kut.

Now he says that we are devils--

And we know that he can loot.

We thrashed him at Shaiba and Kurna,

At Amarah we bluffed him to flight,

At Essin we grappled and threw him--

How we swore when he left in the night!

That gave us Kut-el-Amarah

Where runs in the Shat-el-Hai.

'Tis the key to Mesopotamia,

And surrounded by Arab canaille.

We were now a conquering army,

And we fought well and ate well and drank;

And though he'd retreated to Baghdad,

We followed for military swank.

The march was a long one and thirsty,

Still we thought of the Baghdad goal--

Till the Turk barred our way at Ctesiphon,

Thrice our force and entrenched like a mole.

But Townshend saw it all swiftly--

To him were all our wins due.

"I'll not fight without reinforcements--

There's my communications, too."

Now, it's a trick they have in the Army,

To ask you "What's absurd?"

So unsupported, Charlie T.

He took them--at their word.

"It's a risk, and I'm not for it;

But if fight it's got to be,

We'll fight like the Sixth Division,"

Quoth our General, Charlie T.

We found his flank and joined battle,

And held with a frontal attack.

Stormed his first line--he vacated his second,

Was reinforced, and we had to fall back.

A third of our force on the field;

But the Turk had suffered much more.

We knew that the game was up,

So retired with the honours of war.

Then came the wild hordes of Islam,

Hot-footed upon our track.

They caught us at Um-al-Tabul,

But in the open we flung them back.

Mars surely was in his chariot,

And smiled at Townshend then;

And Charles made good to the God of War,

And snatched from the grave dead men.

We hurled him back and held him,

And got our transport through--

It was a glorious gunner's show--

But that's 'twixt me and you.

For forty hours we marched on,

The nights were fearfully cold.

Men hungered and fainting, and men

That slept as they walked, I'm told.

But Townshend got us to Kut,

And the remnants stumbled in.

And Hunger and Death stared from our eyes,

But we counted it all a win.

We dug down deep and quickly--

Next day they were all around,

And our planes flew away to the southward.

We were alone and battle bound.

We fought them from the trenches--

We came to blows in the Fort.

We fought them and we fought the floods--

And then the food ran short.

Relief had been expected

In two weeks, or four, at the most.

So we starved, or we died by the hundred;

But we stuck each man to his post.

All this time the enemy, vengeful,

That ringed us tightly round,

Swept us with shell and rifle fire

That followed us underground.

Our front line gazed into the blue,

Where Formless Things rode by,

And followed the wake of sound and heard

Them burst in the old Serai.

Or sometimes it was the Hospital,

And sometimes anywhere,

And later came planes that bombed us--

'Twas only luck served you there.

So the months went by, and we ate husks,

Chupatties, and mule, and weeds.

We'd Divisional Orders for breakfast,

And ribs of the silent steeds.

And still the Relief kept coming--

The Staff nominated the day.

Twenty times they fixed it for certain,

And each time explained the delay.

So we swallowed disappointments,

Tommy only groused his share;

But one sad day the floods came,

And Destiny seemed unfair.

The trenches filled with water,

And the plain showed scarce a sod,

And we slithered and waded, or murmured--

"On top, for the love of God!"

And many's the unfortunate devil

Fell to the sniper's shot

Through "chancing his arm" in the open;

But the others heeded it not.

Once again, on that waste of waters,

I gaze from the gun-pit floor,

Where Tanks and I kept vigil

Through each hour of the twenty-four.

I see the maidan silvered

With waters in the dawn--

Dark lines of distant parapets.

Fresh earth against the morn,

With files of khaki turbans

Moving forward to relief--

I see the busy shovel,

Hear the cursings underneath.

Farther still, beyond the sand-hills,

The trenches of our foe,

Seeming silent and deserted--

But I know that they're below

In lines on lines encircling

Us, north, south, east, and west--

And if my glasses tell me true,

They're reinforcing for the test.

'Tis moonlight, and they're sleeping,

The detachments of my guns--

Here, just behind the limber,

These best of England's sons.

For the dug-outs are now flooded,

Washed by this muddy sea--

The gun-wheels half in water,

The breech-blocks scarcely free.

And parapets and sandbags,

Our trenches fallen, too--

There's room for ammunition,

But not for me or you.

Once more, from the mouth of my dug-out,

I smoke the leaves of the lime--

Sort the destinies of my shells,

"Percussion" and also "time."

There's a light in the telephone dug-out--

I think I'll have a peep,

For I'm half expecting a message--

Maybe the Bombardier's asleep.

Asleep! in the arms of Hunger;

But I'll report him not,

Though I "rounded" him well for his slackness,

And returned to my watery lot.

Past sheets of wintry moonlight

I see the drooping palm,

And the ribboned edge of the Tigris,

Dreaming of Eden's calm.

Hard by, in ghastly stillness,

His four feet toward the moon,

I see the corpse of a stricken horse,

Death-knelled by the shrapnel-tune.

A broken wagon there yonder--

A topee adrift in the flood--

Its owner was strafed in the trenches,

There's the case of the shell in the mud.

I hear the belated mule-carts

A-rumbling on to the Fort

Under the cover of night--

For so their provisions were brought.

I hear the jackals' chorus,

Athirst for expected prey,

Where the Arab tribes lie sleeping,

Patiently awaiting "the day."

Enough! these things are over,

The moon is on the wane,

And the palm-fronds' festooned shadows

I ne'er shall see again.

For Kut at last is fallen,

And more men have to die--

Our flag is down, and the Crescent

Waves o'er the old Serai.

God grant to us, now captives--

Who at Death's gate boldly dare

Boast we haven't succumbed to battle--

Grant us this fervent prayer--

That in our future cheerless,

We yet shall know o'er Kut

Our avengers see the Union Jack--

Tramp the Crescent underfoot.

To that, then, drink from this date-juice,

And fill up your pipe with the lime.

We have fought till the Great Gong sounded--

Till the Referee called out--"Time!"

SPARKLING MOSELLE.

* * * * *

(11) THE SILK GAUNTLET

OR, HOW WE ESCAPED FROM KASTAMUNI

By "A Kuttite."

I. THE SHIP.

The Kastamuni Kuttites Klearout Kompany was immediately

launched in accordance with the advertised prospectus

in _Smoke_, and the plans proceeded apace. Silently and

secretly the airship was constructed in the Rabbit Warrens of

the Lower House under the supervision of Captains Tipton

and Wells. The design, one of the simplest, consisted in the

usual vast air-chambers, and underneath a reinforced carrier

named the Raft guaranteed to contain two hundred men.

Beneath that ran the main shaft--a street tube bought at long

intervals in parts from the bazaar, and to it were fitted some

beechwood propellers, a special patent by Parsnip, and made

by Bamptarius and Munrati. As no engine was available,

the motor power was derived from treadles arranged in pairs

on either side of the main-screw shaft, and fitted thereto by

bevelled cogs turning in teethed collars along the screw. In

other words, twenty old bicycle pedals and cranks had been

stuck on to bevelled cogged collars along the shaft, and when

pedalled vigorously by twenty stalwart officers, it was calculated

by the designers that a speed of at least thirty knots

would be attained. A secret trial was out of the question,

but so great was the faith of every one in the abilities of our

members of the R.F.C. that parole was recalled in small

batches so as not to occasion suspicion. Then one day an

excited whisper spread from mouth to mouth. Although

officers lounged about as usual, and even played footer, or

smoked and read, the hearts of all beat high with hope, and

in every eye was the old look one remembers on the evening

of our intended debouch from Kut. The whisper was, "To-night's

the night."

II. THE ESCAPE.

There was no moon--only a faint starlight that seemed to

intensify the darkness. At 2 a.m. strange figures, some

hatless, all bootless, and some in pyjamas, flitted swiftly and

noiselessly through the empty streets. The rendezvous was

the large stone mosque in the grassy plot to the right flank

beneath Mr. Smoke's window, which had been selected as the

most suitable place for fitting the "Homeward Bound" together.

At this rendezvous the committee had been working

on it since midnight, and when the others arrived the "airship"

rode proudly in the air tethered to the minaret by a

cable. I am now writing on board, and the blue sea is far

beneath us....

In order to picture our embarkation, cast your mind back

to the sketch in a previous issue of _Smoke_ of a "Homeward

Bound" model riding anchored to the minaret, and dark

figures with monkey-like spasmodic movements crawling

along a rope ladder to the airship. Stores and water were

quickly got on board. There was a committee for everything,

and nothing had been forgotten. The organization was

wonderful. The bandsmen were privileged to bring their

instruments. In fifteen minutes we were all aboard, and even

with the extra weight she still strained upwards at the ropes.

The first fatigue took their places at the treadles, and the

propellers whirred. Crack! A shot rang sharply through the

night--another and another! It was the alarm being given

to Kastamuni. In thirty seconds it had grown to a fusillade.

Lights flashed here and there in the town, but the "Homeward

Bound" was in darkness....

"Cast off," shouted our Commander Tipton, and as the

ropes were cut the "ship" leaped to a height of 10,000 feet. "Ye

gods!" "Heavens!" "What's happened?" were heard on all

sides. What a leap at the heavens it was. We fell sprawling,

clutching at anything, but the caution we had previously

received saved us, and for the most part we held the guard-ropes.

You see, we had expected something, but scarcely

that. Yet the plans were perfect. The 10,000 feet had been

calculated to a pound of gas. "It's all right," yelled out

Tipton, no doubt accustomed to these stunts. The fatigue

party had been jerked half off their seats and couldn't pedal

as her bow tilted upwards. That was righted with the air

valves, and in a few seconds she brought up at dead level.

Then the fatigues started pedalling hard, and we waited--waited.

A cheer burst out as the "Homeward Bound"

slowly started forward, her pace increasing every second.

Then, overcome with joy, the band seized their instruments

and struck up an air. Away down in Kastamuni the people

awakened out of their sleep by the alarm, heard a soft whirring

high up in the sky, and then the strains of "Destiny Waltz"

came floating down to their astonished ears. This changed to

"Rule Britannia" and "God Save the King."

Bullets pished-pished past us, but as we got further away

we lit up, and all they probably saw was a light or two in the

sky, moving like stars towards the hills.

III. THE FLIGHT.

We now proceeded to make ourselves comfortable on the

raft. We rigged up sleeping corners, a reading corner, a band

corner, and storeroom--although many stores were suspended

from the airship by dangling ropes. Not the least feature

about the appointments was the coffee-shop and bar, presided

over by Sir Bedevere le Geant, King Arthur's henchman and

mastik drawer. The Oblong Table as the chief promoters,

with Mr. Smoke, of the scheme, rigged up an oblong table of

sorts, and kept up the old order of things, King Arthur being

in great form. Sir Shinytop regaled us all with humorous

lamentations for his lost love in Kastamuni. The consumption

of _mastik_ was limited to ten per man per night. Oh, the

sensation of those first starry hours of freedom, the exquisite

sensation of easy movement (it wasn't my fatigue) on a glorious

early summer's night, the thrill of joy after months of confinements,

the speeding on towards liberty! If you have been

a prisoner of war you will know the meaning of this. It was

exactly the reverse sensation to that we had on going upstream

as captives after Kut. So we drank, drank, drank mastik

after mastik and thanked the gods.

But I must hasten to repair an omission and say something

about the "Homeward Bound." Tipton was commander

and aeronaut wallah, assisted by Lieut. Nicholson, R.N.,

navigating officer. Captain Wells "repairs," and Sir Lancelot

le Fumeur as international lawyer in case of complications,

Lieut. Wulley, M.A. (Maiden Aunt), as Intelligence Officer, had

a little crow's-nest on top to which he pluckily scrambled by a

ladder. In an ingenious manner he had drawn maps all around

him on the silk cover of the ship. Major Syer had Supply, and

Captain Reyne did Sergeant-Major of Fatigues, as he got more

work out of the boys who went on in two-hour spells. The

"Admiral," our pilot, had much time to spare, and started a

book with Fludd and Hunger on the various risks uncovered,

also betting on where we should land and when. The tiny

bridge was forward in the bows, with a glass window that

looked out ahead. Some of the orderlies were on the after-part

of the raft and others on a trailer just below. Away

astern, and towed by a long tow-rope, was the dinghy, a contrivance

of King Arthur's by which punishments were inflicted,

the boat being hauled alongside, and after the delinquent being

placed therein, let out astern. The first offender was Sir

Pompous for _lèse majesté_, and as he drifted past he yelled--_quelle

politesse!_ Sir Sulphurous followed for "language,"

and Brabby for promoting a fight between two small gamecocks

he had smuggled on board, thus drawing a crowd and

tilting the "airship" at a dangerous angle. Hummerbug

came next for regretting the kaimakam was not with him.

Most mysterious of all was a buoyant canoe called the cradle,

also in tow, that floated high over the "Homeward Bound."

Great secrecy was maintained about this, but rumour had it

that Sir Lancelot le Fumeur and Sir Carol le Filbert had

worked this project for exploiting a new model in the London

music halls--in other words, that Sonia the Fair Girl was

in the cradle. In support of this theory it may be mentioned

that during the first night of the voyage each of these knights

was missing for a time, and could nowhere be found. We

averaged about twenty knots and soon passed over the dark

passage 7000 feet below us that stood for the ranges we had

so long beheld as the horizon of our imprisonment. Less

than three hours after leaving, as the dawn was breaking, we

saw far beneath us a silver feathery line.

"Gentlemen," said our genial commander, "Turkey is

behind you--behold the sea." A small wiry figure came

scrambling down the observation ladder in breathless excitement.

"It is the Black Sea," he said, and every one laughed,

and Le Fumeur, who sat writing in the corner, swore he would

shove that into _Smoke_ if he was hung for it. By the way, he

promised us a last edition of _Smoke en voyage_. It appeared

yesterday, but all in good time. We kept on this course for

an hour, and the mist prevented us seeing any shipping. In

the distance we had seen a few white dots--possibly Sinope.

"Head wind springing up. Storm ahead, sir," reported

the pilot to the commander. "Clap on pace," yelled old

Tipton. "Stick her at it, half-hour fatigues, band strike up,

emergency guard-ropes out, lash everything quick."

The wildest scrimmage took place. Sleepers were trodden

on, mastik bottles upset, and people sent sprawling as the

"first twenty," all fit as fleas, sprang to take a relief. How

those fellows pedalled. The propellers screamed a higher note,

and for a moment we swept along; but a second later, as the

tide of wind caught us, our pace slackened more and more

until we remained almost stationary. The wind whistled

through us, and the canvas screens on the raft reported like

cannon shots. Every one had hold of something, except the

band, who were in a sheltered corner. We played ragtime and

poppies to some purpose, but when we struck up the "Marche

aux Flambeaux" a miraculous thing happened. Scarcely had

we done ten bars when we bounded ahead as if we had cut a

tow-rope holding us back. We did ten knots in the teeth of

the gale. The fatigue pedalled six revolutions of a leg to every

note of the Marche, and The Crochet set the pace. The whole

ship cheered, and a solitary shout came from far behind.

This was from dear old Pompous in the dinghy, whom every

one had forgotten. We beheld the latter being twirled round

and round like a spinner, but now that we moved its occupant

shouted with glee to find himself on an even keel. This kept

on for two hours, and as man after man gave out or got cramp

another replaced him at the pedals. "Storm approaching,

portbow," yelled the pilot. "Emergency holds every man.

Prepare to mount," our commander yelled in a cavalry voice.

The band instruments were secured. We held tight. A lull

had succeeded the heavy wind, and somehow the sea was

much nearer.

"More speed, more speed, keep her head to it," was the

order.

Suddenly, without a second's warning, an avalanche of

wind swept down on us, and the shock of impact seemed to

hurl us a mile back. "Stick it, boys," yelled Captain Reyne.

"Splendid, splendid. Try a bit more, kick it in."

Stuff got swept overboard. We held like grim death.

The ship plunged and reared like a mad horse as we were

hurled from side to side, and the deck took every imaginable

angle. But Nicholson somehow managed to keep her nose

to it. Something snapped, and there was a wild beating and

creaking. The next moment the repair party, headed by

Captain Wells, all on life-lines, got to work, and one or two

who fell off were fished back. Then the propeller went, and

a violent controversy was waged between Parsnip and Bamptarius

on the matter. But a new one was fitted by Bamptarius

with extraordinary skill and daring. It was just in

time. The ship was bearing round, and once beam on she

would have gone smash. I remember looking astern the while

and seeing the dinghy playing high jinks and whizzing like a

ball. Then came the hail and lightning that played over the

steel ribs in an awful fashion. Something else gave on top,

and there was a wild fluttering of canvas.

"Hold tight," yelled Tipton. It happened the second

time, and this time much worse.

A man astride of a bullet couldn't have gone up faster than

we did. Something to do with exploding a gas charge--a

secret stunt of Tipton's own. We found ourselves gliding

along smoothly and evenly with incredible swiftness, possibly

doing eighty knots. The relief from the storm-tossing to the

thrill of racing smoothly was wonderful. Have you ever

while yachting beaten up in the teeth of a heavy gale round a

headland and had the sea sweeping over you and the boat

dancing and leaping like a mad thing, and then suddenly

found yourself gliding down a smooth channel with the wind

behind you? Then you will know what this was.

"Why on earth did not you do it before?" we all demanded.

Tipton laughed. "To lend colour to our enterprise, of

course, and then we have now left one emergency charge only."

Our first thought was to have the dinghy alongside and

rescue Sir Pompous. We found him very white. "Thank

God you are alive," we said.

"Seems so!" he answered sarcastically, a favourite phrase

of his.

"Fearful time, wasn't it?"

"No. I liked it, of course."

With that King Arthur clapped him on the shoulder and

poured half a bottle of mastik down his throat and shirt. Sir

Lancelot gingerly climbed along the ladder with a reviver for

Lieutenant Wully, expecting to see that officer in a faint,

instead of which he was quite cheery with an empty bottle of

mastik protruding from his pocket.

"How the devil did you stick on?"

"Stick on? Oh, eashy!"

"What's this?" asked Le Fumeur, producing the empty

mastik bottle from the pocket of our Intelligence Officer.

"Ohsh, thaths noshing. Nerve resthorah. Keep oush

cold, verish draftish ere. Donst shay anyshing to boysh.

Don't wansh go dingsh."

Sir Lancelot helped him down, and he slept.

IV. LOST.

The wind fell and the sun came out. The ship was put to

rights and, scarcely knowing where we were, we headed due

north. It seemed about midday. We had a full ration and

dosed away in a pleasant sunshine to the steady creaking of

some stay or rippling flutter of some loose ribbon in the air-chambers

above. We smoked and dreamed of home. A

little later our Intelligence Officer, now at his post again,

assured us he could tell from the birds beneath us that we

were near land.

"What land?" we all asked.

"I'll tell you at tea-time," he said. At tea-time he reappeared.

"Through a break in the mists below us I'm sure

I saw a town," he said, "white dots on green."

"Possibly sheep," said one.

"Or sea birds on a green sea," ventured another.

"Rot," replied he. "It is not green; why, it is the Black

Sea."

Two hours later, as the twilight fell around us, we saw, as

in a flash through a rent veil, the twinkling of a myriad lights.

Some one suggested fire-flies. "A mirage," said an orderly

from the stern raft.

Without doubt it was a town. Great excitement prevailed.

Our navigating officer believed it to be Odessa.

"I believe it's Constanty," declared Wully, and as the

lights grew nearer he became more insistent. "The sea is

beyond and around the lights, it must be Constanty." And

half an hour later, "I tell you I can see mosques and minarets;

besides, I know Constanty. I am absolutely----"

Boom! A dull billowy wave of sound reached us.

"That proves it," he said; "we are being fired at."

On this a council was held, and it was decided to steer due

N.W. We ran before a strong southerly wind that until now

had been on our port beam. We did about sixty knots, and

by fifty hoped to have reached Russian territory. But to be

quite sure we kept on until midnight, when we descended to

what we considered was 5000 feet. Suddenly a cry from the

pilot brought every one to his feet. There, not a 1000 feet

below us--a mere 300 yards--were the white-crested, creeping

waves towards which we were rushing.... "Hold on."

Boom! Swish! Our second barrel of gas was exploded and

we rushed up and up. But once there the "Homeward

Bound" began to sink again.

"Pedal, pedal, or we are lost," shouted Tipton. And they

_did_ pedal. But we still sank slowly....

"Lighten ship," he roared, as the repair party tackled a

huge rent in the side of the bag. Things were slung overboard

wholesale and the dinghy cut adrift. The ship then steadied

and gently rose, but not before a large volume of the _Mastik_

was hurled overboard by Blind Hookey.

"My poems, my precious poems," shouted Mr. Belton, as

he leaped to save them. He slipped, beat the air, and had

not Mr. _Smoke_ seized him by the coat tails and twirled himself

around a stanchion he had followed _Mastik_ into the abyss

of mist and cold grey sea. The gas generator was set going

and we gradually rose to 10,000 feet once more.

"Gentlemen," said our commander coolly, "we have been

under way twenty-four hours, and I beg to report we are lost

at sea."

Lost, lost, lost, the words echoed. A ringing cheer was

our only answer.

* * * * *

(12) FROM MY BEDROOM WINDOW

Spring has come. The tree I told you of is thick with

leaves. And so when as now the evening wind blows, a

changed music falls on my ear. Instead of the soft swish of

branches is the lisp of the young leaves, stirring in delight as

they listen to the story about the winter dreams of the old

tree. Birds are back once more, Old Jim Crow, the jackdaws

that awoke me early last summer, and a little fellow like a

wagtail who in his own fashion is accompanying the lyrics of

a thrush in the mosque garden close by. One and all they

have the look of adventurers thick upon them. "Happy to

meet, Sorry to part, Happy to meet again," is the leit-motif

of their song. Perhaps like birds we shall ourselves soon

return to English woods.

A great window is this of mine with its view from the

garden across the town to the distant hills. Now, to appreciate

a view fully, it is imperative that you shall have spent

just previously some considerable time in trenches and dug-outs

and gun-pits. No, it is not a view either, but rather a

stage. In the background is the drop-scene of mountainous

hills, dotted with villages and scored with paths and gullies.

It is a scene shadowed with forests and sprayed by the

advancing sunlight, or sometimes by this light misty rain.

Other drop-scenes are the mists that advance or retreat with

the rain, and sometimes a thunder blanket shuts off the stage

just outside the town. For the curtain there is the mantle

of night--when there is no moon.

An extraordinary stage. Let us look at it more closely.

I can promise you no set drama, but great entertainment if

you are the sort of fellow to enjoy sitting on a bit of a hill

above a winding river in the country--with a pipe and some

field-glasses wherewith to watch the affairs of the world

around you. No man-made drama, no plot, no prompter,

and not a cue. The players stray on to and off the stage,

and suggestion can do lots.

In the fowlyard below two cocks have renewed their battle

for the right to crow last. "Seems so," says Sir Pompous

beneath my window, as he watches them intently. The

youngest pullet, coy and not uncoquettish, withdraws from

the scene of combat to arrange her feathers in the far corner.

She, in any case, will have to abide by the decision of the

contest.

Cynically the old hens condescend to a dull interest only,

contrasting this sorry affair with the strenuous and gory

combats that waged over _them_ in _their_ day, when their hearts,

too, were young. Love's young dream long since awakened to

matter of factness and steady routine. But for an example

of love still dreaming observe the cocks themselves--the

younger lamenting his lack of experience, but game; the elder

no doubt regretting that his Virgil is not at hand to adorn

further Georgics with the account of his strenuous endeavours--to

point anew that old moral in the Battle of the Bulls.

A mate has joined the chirruping wagtail with many a

ship and twist of her small head. The cock-bird, prepared to

earn his amours, indulges in risky flights round the twigs and

back again, landing suddenly beside her with a little joyful

chirp. "In the spring a brighter crimson comes upon the

robin's breast--in the spring the wanton lapwing gets himself

another crest."

"The call of Spring," as Pacific Roller says in another

column, "announcing that the season of love is at hand and

inviting youth to put on his gayest apparel."

There has just appeared in the foreground of our stage the

wee bear Alphonse, delightful little fellow except when he

makes that awful noise--and why shouldn't he? 'Tis time,

he thinks, that he was on the warpath alongside his dam, for

it grows dark and the call of the wild rings out for him in

clarion notes, challenging him to fulfil his destiny. Manfully

the little fellow is trying to do so, roaring lustily and making

commendable attempts to stand on his hind legs and reach a

bough. As he thrusts his way through some _débris_ I can see

his woodcraft is coming on apace.

The first drops of rain are falling, and as they swish on to

him his wee heart, I've no doubt, throbs restlessly for

freedom once again. Freedom. Poor little lad, I sympathize

with him. Different from the cocks or the wagtail he, if he

could speak, would agree with me on this point at least. But

one thing he doesn't know, and that is the future, nor how

close the hand of Fate is to him even now. For it is as good

as decided to poison him for being in disposition incompatible

with all of us--to wit, that he is a bear and roars. As a matter

of fact, five grains of strychnine were given to him last night

and he survived.

And what could augur better for the normality of the

Knights of the Oblong Table than to say that some cheered

and all felt glad when, to-day, we saw Alphonse still going

strong, apparently overdosed. The iron of Kastamuni, that

rumour says has entered into more than one soul (and rusted,

too, withal in others), cannot have bitten so very deep into

King Arthur's Knights. And Alphonse the bear, innocent of

our design or of the attitude of Destiny, stands on his hind

legs like a wee man and chuckles. Is all this drama a tragedy,

or comedy, or what?

Please note there has been a duel over an _affaire de coeur_, a

love episode, a captive, with a great Fate of uncertain mood

flinging a dark shadow at the end....

Past the column of grey smoke thickly climbing through

the raining mist, a black speck moves down a white path. It

is a labourer returning from his fields beyond the town. To

the west is the smothered glow of the setting sun. In the

central background of the stage above the high lights, observe

a wee, grey coil of smoke twisting upwards from the shining

speck in the gully. I know the hut well, although never has

it appeared larger than the tiniest button. There is a romance

of an old man and woman, a son at the war, and a pretty girl

within, if you look closely!! Behind the house a long track

winds uphill to the pass. But the last light has left the hills

and I see only the dark patches of forest. Look carefully,

and, if I mistake not, you will see an advancing pair of darkly

burning orbs. They are the eyes of another Alphonse, luckier,

let us believe, on the warpath, traversing his domains, the

dusky fastnesses of the wild glens....

The sun has set and the rain falls more thickly on the

hills. Through the gossamer of moving mist fond fancies

steal to me. And so the last scene before this slowly falling

curtain sings of the Past.

What play does not? It is the song of the rain. Would

you like to hear it?...

* * * * *

THE SONG OF THE RAIN

Oh, I'm longing for the homeland way past the setting sun--

I'm yearning for old faces and for more sober fun;

But sometimes, as at even, my heart with pleasure fills,

While it drifts back to England--when the rain is on the hills.

Oh, I'm tired of the Orient, I want the old, old lanes.

I want the Dear Old Country--her pleasures and her pains.

I want the white-frilled hedgerows--the heather and the rills

That lift me back to England now the rain is on the hills.

Night's mantle softly falling o'er Kastamuni town,

The last dim colours flying, dark grey and dusky brown.

I hear the goatherd piping to the flock his good-night trills,

And my heart hies back to England--for the rain is on the hills.

Below me in its basin the old town dreams away--

I see the first light flicker that ends another day.

The distant bugles dying--the muezzin floats and stills

My heart to pray for England--when the rain is on the hills.

Oh, I'm longing for the homeland, my homefolk and my pals,

I know that some have fallen 'mid the bullets' madrigals;

But a memory's in her woodlands--a love no distance kills--

And to-night my heart's in England--for the rain is on the hills.

PACIFIC ROLLER.

CHAPTER XII

SPRING--PLOTS TO ESCAPE--BETRAYAL--ESCAPE OF OTHERS--I

AM SENT TO STAMBOUL FOR HOSPITAL

In this diary, notwithstanding it has been written in

the greatest secrecy and kept hidden, I have nevertheless

refrained from including any mention of a

subject that in my latter days in Kastamuni engaged almost

all my attention, _i.e._ escape. Besides being an unnecessary

risk, it would have been unfair to those concerned. I am

adding a note from Brusa.

* * * * *

After our first winter in Kastamuni, the warmth of April

stirred our blood to respond to the call of spring. I decided

to try every human device to get away.

The Turks asked us to give our parole not to escape. A

keen controversy sprang up in our midst. From the point of

view of some officers it meant a few more privileges and less

punishment, and escape was almost impossible anyway they

said.

Some senior officers were for giving orders forbidding the

whole camp individually to escape. Others, including myself,

considered this a private matter for the person concerned. I

refused my parole, and was down in a black list of the Turks.

It meant extra convoy and less privileges, but we asked for,

and were given, no facilities for escaping than what we could

make.

In the town some months before I had got to know a

Russian "runner," Kantimaroff by name, who was interned

in Kastamuni, but secretly in touch with the Russians. For

a heavy bribe he got me news of the Black Sea coast only

some forty kilometres to the north. So careful was I with

Kantimaroff that outside the Turkish baths I spoke to him

only once, and then in a shop.

It would take many chapters to set down all the many

changes of programme of increased and diminishing hope

according as the octroi posts between us and the ranges were

changed, or as the Black Sea patrol scoured this coast for

fishing-boats. Sometimes vigilance was so increased as to

terrify any one against helping us at all. This took months.

At last, by great good fortune, I discovered a Greek outlaw,

on whose head the Turks had put a price. He was in hiding,

and wanted to get away to Russia. He was in need of money,

and, provided he did not run too much risk, would meet us at

the Black Sea's edge, and take us with him.

Kantimaroff, who was practically free in Kastamuni, sent

him again and again to the coast, or said he did. The scheme

looked rosy enough. The main road to Ineboli was heavily

guarded, as was that to Samsun.

But between them was a track over the mountains known

only to a few. It led to a sacked village halfway to the coast.

Here, formerly, the Greek had lived. It was within ten miles

of the sea, and in case the coast were too crowded one might

rendezvous here in caves.

The boat problem was the most serious. All these had been

collected or destroyed by the German and Turkish authorities,

and only a few licensed ones were allowed at all. They were

simply not to be had for any money. The nearest coast of

Russia lay only 250 miles away.

The Greek, however, after collecting a considerable amount

of money for his trips to and from the coast, announced that

he had bought a boat, tested it, and buried it in the sand near a

creek. There were oars, but no sail. It was while waiting for

the return of the Greek on this occasion that Captain Ellis

of the Duke of Cornwall's Light Infantry asked to accompany

me, and Lieutenant Sweet of the Gurkhas also decided to come.

We had every detail ready, our kit and disguises and stores

and compass, and wanted to start that night. But Kantimaroff

said he could not agree to this. Suspicion might fall on him.

He must be given a few days to perfect his schemes. It was

now June, and the moon was rising too early. A later rising

about 11 p.m., while leaving us obscured in getting out of the

town, would enable us to negotiate the hills and rocky detours

we proposed to make, as quickly as possible. So we decided

to wait. In the meantime I reserved for myself the supreme

luxury of breaking bounds to test the feasibility of this part

of our programme. Just after dinner, when the other officers

were settling down to bridge, and before the postas had put

on their all-important "night" bearing, for at night they were

extra vigilant, I side-tracked the sentry downstairs and hid

in the woodshed. After waiting half an hour for exchange of

guard I got a tiny window open and hopped out into our back-yard.

I had to wait another hour before I could close it

behind me. Then I went through the yard, over a roof-top

and a high wall, and found myself half stunned at the bottom

of the wall on a side street, with some sleepy Turks near by

going to prayer.

The mischievous feeling of a schoolboy breaking bounds

for the first time was nothing to mine, although I had been

out on previous occasions. This time I felt that the first step

of the escape was feasible. I wandered around the town in

a fez and old clothes, shuffling a pair of dilapidated shoes _à la

Turque_, and coughing steadily. This because I had disguised

my face with a scarf as if I had a severe cold in the head. I

found out where the postas were, and where not, and after

more than one narrow squeak got back over the wall with the

greatest difficulty, pulling a part of it down in doing so. Some

days later, as the plan was being held up, it was necessary for

me to get out again. This time I slipped out in the afternoon

in uniform with a basket of purchases, ostensibly from the

bazaar. Now, sometimes our postas lagged behind us in the

town so that an officer walking apparently alone was no uncommon

sight. It worked beautifully. On being seen alone

with the purchases I imagined our own postas would think I

had outdistanced or lost my posta, and on this occasion I

merely walked boldly past all our sentries and into the front

door of our house. They were suspicious the second time.

Not a word of all this I said to any one. Experience was

dearly bought and precious.

Two days before we were to start I heard that somehow

or other Kantimaroff had been approached by a party from

the Lower House, and anxious to reap a double harvest, he had,

it appeared, taken money from them and divulged about the

boat. At this time any intercourse between the houses was

difficult, and I endeavoured to communicate with Keeling,

who was organizing the other escape. Ellis was less watched

than I was and asked the other party not to touch Kantimaroff

who was, it appeared, heavily suspected. We agreed to give

each other notice of our "bunk" so as to arrange to go the

same night. So soon as one party got away the other would

have little chance.

I now met Vicomte d'Arici, the Italian songster that had

lately come to Kastamuni, and who resided with the Italian

interned. I met him secretly in the castle above our house,

and he helped me with information considerably. I found

also that he was a political prisoner, and had done an amount

of political work before the war, and knew people I knew in

Berlin and on the Continent. He was a light-hearted and

plucky fellow, and except that it wouldn't suit him, would have

come himself. He told me to beware of Kantimaroff, who was

on the point of betraying us to the Turks. The Greek seemed

straight enough, and wanted to see us.

Later I took Ellis, and we both had a night "rehearsal."

Being two helped matters at the wall. We improved our

disguise, and even gave lights to unsuspecting Turks.

On the way back, however, we took a wrong corner and ran

into the arms of a sentry who challenged us. Ellis tried to

answer in Turkish, which was fatal. The sentry was obdurate.

He had hold of us lightly by the sleeve. Pushing some liras

into his hand we disengaged ourselves and took to our heels,

scrambled over the wall, and got back into bed by inches ahead

of the search party.

The next morning, to our secret amusement, and the wonder

of the camp, a certain major, who had given his parole, and

who used to walk about proudly without any postas at all,

was suspected by the Turks with having been "out at night."

The variations of the rumour were highly interesting. Who

were the two out? Every one good humouredly accused

every one else, and quite a number of officers decided to get

out as it now appeared that it could be done.

I supplied the other escape party with particulars of the

brigands with Cowi Bey in the valleys between us and the sea.

If one could get to them the chances were that for a ransom

they would assist one across the Black Sea with the extreme

chance of getting knocked on the head for one's boots.

I was now secretly informed by d'Arici that I was heavily

suspected. This made inter-communication between houses

most difficult. Sweet who was in the Lower House decided to

start with the other party, and Captain Ellis and Lieutenant

Taylor, I.A.R., who were in my house, to come with me. We

got everything ready, and on an evening in the third week in

July, we waited in our room ready to start with all our

disguises and equipment ready. At the last moment I got

an urgent message that Kantimaroff's house was picketed

by police, and the Greek had run away in fright to a house

near by. We made one more desperate effort to go and join

him and make our plans after getting out. I sent urgent

messages to Lieutenant Keeling through our trusty Sergeant

Britain not to try to see Kantimaroff openly, as he was suspected.

However, that day he and two members of the other

party went up to the Russians in the street, with the consequence

that I got a chit on a paper bag saying the Greek had

fled, and he was in danger of his life and that, for the money

we had given him, he could not do more than give us all the

information he had. The same night a posta was delegated

to watch me, and every half-hour he came to my bed. We

waited for an opportunity. None came. And our escape,

which had offered a most excellent chance of success, went

"phut" accordingly.

The other party duly informed us that they intended to

start. Three weeks afterwards they did. The posta had just

left me about eleven, when we heard a shot. Some excitement

occurred down below, and postas swarmed up to our house to

see if I was there. Search parties were out all night.

We were all confined to our house. Next day I heard that

at the last minute the escape was nearly nipped in the bud at

the start. This was prevented by our old Bombardier Prosser,

who did servant down there. One of the party forgot his

watch, and actually sent the bombardier, who was showing

them out, back for it. A posta accosted him. He knocked

the posta down, and rushing up to his room, shaved his

moustache off and got into bed. They had him out and

listened to his heart to see, as they did on such occasions, if

it was still beating quickly. This would have meant he had

just been out.

We remained under "bund" without incident. Hourly

reports came that the other party had been captured. But

they didn't return. The following notice appeared posted up

next day and signed by the commandant.

"_Possession of the offensives have been taken. Other officers

are requested not to escape, and will be surely shot in bunking.

Officers offensive in this fashion, giving their parole, are informed

they must be fired at in any case. All are requested to be happy.

Do not take rotten advantage of your old postas for God sake.

This is final notice before shooting. Let the special one note._"

I was voted the special one in my house.

We heard a rumour that the party while trying to avoid

the bandits in making for the coast had actually struck the

main band, and after getting away, tried to pass off as Germans.

They were discovered. I have no wonder--and a letter written

by an officer, amateur at Turkish, was taken.

Clumsy as the start was, they have done well, and we all

wish them the very best of luck.

So the days dragged on and the nights stood still. Once

more summer was over. Once more it seemed we were

entering the long stretch of autumn that led into the terrors

of winter, with its cold, and scarcity of food that our slender

means could not negotiate. But through the nights and days

always, always, there was the same range of hills dividing us

from the sea. In the first days of September there suddenly

appeared in Kastamuni a tall Turkish Mir Ali (full colonel),

named Zia Bey, the inspecting officer of the Government.

He came to hear our complaints. His visit last year had

been hailed with great glee, but we had since learned that

these events were shorn of possibilities of increase of liberty.

He came, no doubt, to inquire about the escape. We were

still heavily under "bund," and so he visited each house.

He had a pleasant appearance, was very quiet, and extraordinarily

polite, but he did nothing. We stood around his

chair while our spokesman told of our petty troubles, the large

ones we knew it useless to recount, so we asked for fresh air

and money and leave for our British servants to go to the

pump without a posta as they were few and we were often

thirsty. He noted our points, but promised nothing except

one or two.

I heard him ask which was I, and I could see I was still

under heavy suspicion about escaping, although my eyelids

were so swollen that I could not see at all out of one eye, and

only indifferently out of the other. But I was not so blind

that I could not see that Zia was the polite type of lazy Turk

that in the heart of him has fear. I said nothing of the scheme

that evolved itself as we all sat together. It was fatal to hand

over one's embassy to another. When he had gone I wrote a

letter to him.

My assets were that I had really been very ill from the

effects of a shell contusion in my spine for a very long time.

Of this I could show nothing except in two places, the vertebræ

were parted and irregular, and one had since grown

nearer. If one could refer to anything so damnable as captivity

being blighted, I might say that bruise has blighted

mine. Of the untold hours that I lie awake waiting, waiting,

for the roof, sky, and earth to stop pulsating to the pulsation

in my spine, no one can ever know. But the eye trouble,

originally strain from shell-shock and from grit, is now only

bad conjunctivitis, although it looks awfully serious. As first

violin of our band my bandaged eye, and, later, my absence,

had been conspicuous enough to the Turks. Moreover, I had

recently received word from the late Lord Grey and a letter

from some friends at the Foreign Office. In one letter a kind

inquiry existed about my health, noting the special treatment

our enemy prisoners were getting in cases like mine in

London, and saying medicine and glasses were being sent me

to save my eyes in the meantime. On this I made my case

without threatening the Turk, but indicating that they had

become aware of my case in London. That I had been so

neglected my eyes were imperilled, and that whatever had

happened in the past the inspecting officer, at all events, now

had the opportunity of giving me in Stamboul the treatment

that the Turks got in our best hospitals.

I terrified my interpreter into giving this application to

Zia Bey himself, as I could not trust Sheriff Bey. This I did

by showing him another letter to be delivered by another

source that night to Zia Bey, showing that as had happened

in previous cases applications were not allowed to reach him.

Ananias, as we called him, took my letter to Zia Bey. The

next morning I was summoned to the office. They led me

down. Several fat Turks stuck oily thumbs into my eyes.

The local doctor had to say what my complaint was, and

although they admitted that under him my eyes had got worse,

and he would not accept further responsibility, they allowed

him to say what the trouble was. It developed into a hot

discussion. I refused, point blank, to be diagnosed by a

doctor who wasn't a specialist. Had they no specialists?

Finally they produced a file of letters to me and extracts and

bad reports on "qatcheor" (escaping). They asked me if I was

willing to go to Angora for examination. Now I loathed this

place above all, but it was _en route_ to Constantinople. Here

I made the most important move of my captivity. Lieutenant

Greenwood, with a smashed shoulder from football, aggravated

by an old wound in Kut, was a dead certainty to go. I refused

unless I could go with him. They agreed.

On my return the whole camp was discussing "Mousley."

How the devil had he worked it! What a fool he was to go to

Angora! Others said I was going to escape _en route_ or at

Constantinople. I was told I was leaving the next day.

Oh, the delicious whirl of life again as I felt the first unloosening

of the chains. Only three officers at long intervals

have gone over the mountains from our camp to Constantinople.

Here in this basin by the Black Sea, buried from the

world, and far away from the great issue, one has been left

alone with one's inactivity, one's interrupted career, the

unaccepted portion of one's sacrifice, and has too much time

for morbidity. But now, to-day, the sun shines on Kastamuni

as it never did. The postas are more than kind. The castle

alone is green. I may be off to an indifferent fate, but I am

off. Munro our lightning carpenter has justified his reputation.

"A box, righto! This cupboard just it. Oh yes, about

twenty minutes." So he did. He kicked the lid off, closed

the sides, braced the back, and altered the hinges, and as we

looked there appeared the box good and strong. I have packed

a heavy accumulation of stores as belated parcels have

recently started to arrive in exciting quantities.

I have given away all my spare kit to my former companions.

In fact, with my good joy, I couldn't auction anything.

Every one has been very kind and given me odds and

ends for the journey, and the doctor has sent up special

packages of emergencies _en route_. I am told I am to leave

at dawn, but we are still under _bund_, and I can neither visit

the other houses nor see Greenwood to make a _bandobast_ for

the journey. It will mean our carrying two of some things

and nothing of others. The Round Table gave me a very

lively dinner. My box is ready with all my worldly possessions,

including my manuscript packed in below. I tried to get a

false bottom made to my box, but with the wood this is not

possible in time, although I expect a search, but rely on their

previous permission given to me to work at these.

_Angora._--We arrived here last night on foot in a battered,

lame, halting and blind condition in the dark. I must set

down how our gay cavalcade that left Kastamuni early on

September 3rd dwindled away to this. After my last entry

I did not leave the following morning, but waited in terrible

tension lest they should cancel the arrangement. But the

delay was the worst. One horse had just had a foal, and a

substitute could not be found. Another horse had gone sick

and had no shoes. The arabana or wagon was to cost us

twenty liras. This we refused to pay out of our funds, but

told them to cut it out of our pay. As a matter of fact, and by

a miracle, we got off paying, as, of course, we ought. They

found an old vehicle in some yard and put the commandant's

bodyguard on to it. They nailed up the wheels, put on a

cover, and in the early dawn Ananias, the interpreter, burst

into my room screaming "Haidee." This was the day after

my last entry. Sergeant Britain, our very estimable N.C.O.,

and another took my box and kettles downhill to the commandant.

Here I was made to sign my pay sheet. Then,

suddenly, Sheriff Bey entered the room, closed the door and

demanded to see all in my pockets. I had to produce them.

He took from me my private papers, including addresses, dates

of remittances received, numbers of cheques cashed, and private

accounts. Also my manuscript music in part. Then, tragedy

of tragedies, he demanded on my word of honour if I had

anything else written. One was by this time fairly sick of

giving one's word on nothing, but there was no way out. I

told him, however, that I had had permission to work on my

book, and on a law study, that I had given much time and

thought to this, that they knew in England I was working at

it, and that I would show him all I had if he promised to give

it me back on my assurance that it contained nothing against

the Turk or of military or political importance. His glee on

receiving a large book of manuscript was unbounded. The

interpreter read parts of this to him, anecdotes of captivity,

of the campaign and other selections on problems of the new

International State or Society. He assured me on his sworn

word of honour I should have them back at once after the

censor had seen them if they contained no plans of Turkish Forts,

and in any case on the signing of peace. (I subsequently heard

my book was found torn up in his office.) In vain I begged for

them. He felt that at last he had me at a disadvantage. I

appealed to Zia Bey. He was all politeness, and gave orders

my name should be carefully and legibly written on the book.

But my heart sank as I thought of the fate of such things on

former occasions, and of the many many hours I had worked

at it.

Our kit was put on board the wagon, a place made with

our rugs for Greenwood to rest his broken shoulder, and an

orderly named Mathews, who was being sent back to Angora

for breaking barracks repeatedly, was to do servant for us.

This was untold luxury compared with our trip to Kastamuni

eighteen months before, but I was terribly depressed over my

book and parts of this diary. Valuable or worthless, it stood

in any case for a part of my life, and I felt as though something

very close to me had been snatched away. For many months

here and there I had written this. It was a history written

among dying men, not of them, but of many things, and such

that I can never reproduce. On many a night in winter, by

a black smoky oil light bought with money saved from my

tobacco or mastik money, I had worked with the flickering

wick near my bandaged eyes, my two worn blankets wrapped

around my legs and feet, stockings around my head and neck

to keep out the paralysing cold. Outside was three feet of

snow, and sleet and wind from the Russian waste blew icily

over the Black Sea straight to my window. Ours was the

highest and coldest house in camp, and faced the north high

on the bluff above the town. And so I wrote and re-wrote

until often only my writing hand remained unfrozen.

Before leaving Kastamuni we had to wait two or three hours

for the gendarmes that were to accompany us. I was not allowed

to visit the two shops to rectify my accounts, so carefully did they

watch any one leaving lest any communication should be set up

for those left behind. I went to the Lower House to say good-bye

to some friends, including Square Peg, at work on law. His

friend, whom we called the Count (Horwood), was most

sympathetic over my book, and took me to the bar to have a

last bottle of beer (so-called) that had arrived. This beer, to

me so long estranged, was so good that I bucked up to a

degree, and decided, as I have always tried to do since in

moments of catastrophe, to merely suspend judgment and my

grief. At the time it is too much deliberately not to care or

to try to diminish the size of the catastrophe.

At last we were rushed off, crowds of people following us,

and small boys wanting tips, and many peasants whose faces

one knew were honestly grieved to lose us, and possibly our

money as well. Last of all Sonia, our Sonia, who had on

occasion had quite an amount to do with me, and had danced

to my fiddle and carried notes for me, and decoyed the postas

from my rendezvous in the castle, followed us for miles with

her basket, crying bitterly. She was a case-hardened daughter

of Eve, a wild little untamed savage, but pretty and entrancing

and very daring. She waved to me, and threw many kisses

with lightning rapidity when the gendarmes were not looking,

then followed the river bank to her destiny, and we rounded

a bend towards ours.

The first time in one and a half years of restriction, that

seemed one and a half centuries, we wound up the eastern

road back on to the plateau, and the brown roofs of "Kastamuni

the Terrible" fell beneath the brow.

It was a beautifully soft morning. Our cavalcade scattered

themselves out on the flanks to scour for brigands. Besides

the _arabanchi_ (driver), there was our excellent sentry Mustapha

and his _choush_, a sergeant, from the Lower House, who was

reported rather treacherous, also a wretched little officer cadet

fellow named Ali, and about three or four _askars_ and eight

gendarmes mounted. We halted for lunch among some trees

in a delightful glade between two hamlets. In the evening

we walked to get over the jolting of the springless cart, which

bumped and bounced over every rut. My travelling companion

had a bad time on occasions with his fracture, although

it was better than we had hoped. We reached the region of

pines and ravines, and in the dusk pulled up at a grimy and

dirty Serai a few miles short of the old saw-mill where we had

stopped on our way out.

We were bundled into a tiny room filled with smoke and

all sorts of travellers. We emptied this room after much

argument, and allowed in two or three of our postas only.

This was my first scrap with Ali. He was afraid, as Zia Bey

had arrived at the Serai just after. Zia was off to Angora,

but travelling in luxury in a landau. We had a good supper

after paying huge amounts for water and firewood, and to the

owner of the wretched _khan_ or shed. The place teemed with

fleas and bugs. In the early dawn we had breakfast of Cambridge

sausage, biscuits, tea, and jam, from our parcels. My

travelling companion likewise had a large box full of stores

just arrived, and I should think ours was the best supplied

caravan that ever crossed that mountain.

We walked along beside the wagon up the incline. The

horses were so poor that they could scarcely pull the empty

wagon. The route led among pine woods and water-falls

alongside a sparkling brook. I exchanged a few words with

Zia, who was also walking, but he soon passed us. He had

seen service in the Dardanelles and at Sivas.

Slowly we climbed, sometimes walking, sometimes riding.

The great forests of fir with tiny log houses perched among

the heights on every clearance, were above us as we started.

By three o'clock we were on the summit above them. Al

Ghaz Dhag, a fine peak, lay alongside us wreathed in mists.

We were kept together, and quite an army of gendarmes

convoyed us. Recently the brigands who swarmed in these

hills had robbed the mails and repeatedly held up passengers

for tribute.

My eyes became troublesome, and Greenwood's arm

inflamed. However, we made a good halt and lunch in the

summit among pines, and here met our old good Commandant,

Fatteh Bey, who was storming against Enver Pasha and Sheriff

Bey. He had had some difference at last with Sheriff Bey,

whom he was too weak to restrain. This led to Fatteh's

getting removed to Eski Chehir. He had had so many contradictory

orders to go that at last he set off without them.

While he was away the escape occurred, and he was interrupted

at Changrai and ordered to return. Sheriff, the nominal

commandant when the affair occurred, accused Fatteh of

conniving. He caused Fatteh's kit to be searched secretly at

Changrai, and a letter, really innocent, was found from an

officer in Kastamuni to a friend at another camp. So Fatteh

got in disgrace, and was now pensioned off. It was all worked

by Sheriff. Fatteh told us he wanted to leave Turkey and

go to England to live. Every now and then he produced a

Cook's English-Turkish. He has already learned the money

quite well!

That night we reached another wretched _khan_, and slept

on the roof. We smoked a little while the drivers slept, and

the gates being well secured we could not escape. Ali became

obstreperous and obstinate, and wished to show his authority

even in the matter of our walking or riding or getting firewood

or procuring water to wash. He wants us to get it from the place

where we must, of course, pay for it. But these have been wonderful

days of movement, a voyage of rediscovery of the

world, a passing from sleep to dreamland, from death to life.