We find very many old landmarks that we now remember

perfectly to have seen on our outward trip--a lonely cabin, a

path over the mountain, a deserted mill, a desolate Armenian

house. Thus in moments of tragedy can the eye collect vivid

impressions of things so commonplace that they are usually

missed. A very hot day of trekking, followed with frequent

collapsing of the horses, and more frequently of the harness,

which was tied with string or rope. Periodically came a

louder crash from our groaning wheels, which wobbled dreadfully,

sometimes so ominously as to threaten to tip us out

altogether. We were at an angle certainly of forty degrees off

the perpendicular quite often, and Greenwood, being a sapper,

developed a trick of making elaborate calculations as to how

many more fractions we might go over, and what the momentum

of our boxes packed behind our heads would be in a general

roll. We were hemmed in by the ribs of the wagon's cover,

and in case of accident could not move a foot. Once we

actually did go over, but only tipped on to the side of the

bluff, and luckily not the other way. We kept Ali in cigarettes,

and gave him more than one tin of food. Fatteh and another

very fat Turkish officer who accompanied him lived, I verily

believe, on the same onion and melon from Kastamuni to

Changrai. They ate bread and olives.

I was not altogether free from suspense lest I should be

held up in Angora and not allowed to proceed to Constantinople,

and I had asked Ali if Zia's letter to the medical officer

at Angora really existed. He said we would both go to

Constantinople, but this in the lying way of appearing pleasant

the Turk has. As we had been quite good friends, I asked

Fatteh in German to have a look for me. He got the letter,

and said aloud that it was for us to go to Stamboul. I asked

him again that night, and he admitted it was only for examination

in Angora, and did not mention Stamboul! However, I

saw the line. There was no need to pretend, as my eyes were

really bad. More than once I had to be completely blindfolded,

and sometimes lie down in the roadside.

We passed the Hittite caves in the cliffside near Kosah

river, and then reached Changrai, the halfway village. Here

we were taken into another serai in the town, an empty room

with hanging doors and broken windows. We ate hard, and

drank bad _raki_ hard, and slept hard. We stayed there all the

next day. Here I hid a section of my papers I had not shown

to Sheriff. When he pronounced his intention with regard

to my book, I slung the rest of my kit back into the box in a

great rage, and, of course, over the other parts of the book he

had not yet seen. These I expected to lose here. I now

forestalled a search by getting them sewn into some old rugs.

Fatteh promised to do all sorts of things for us, but I had the

usual doubts. He wishes us well, but is a Turk.

We saw the wretched little bazaar, and heard that the

whole of Kastamuni camp was to be moved to some lonely

barracks outside the town, so as to prevent more escapes. On

the morning of our departure we walked out slowly about a

mile over the fields to these barracks which lay en route.

They stood alone in the plain beside what in winter was a

stream, a four-sided great building of many rooms enclosing

possibly an acre of ground with a pump of bad water in the

centre. The rooms, or rather divisions, were large, enclosed

on two sides only, and strewed with filth and litter. Sheep

and goats ran from corridor to room as we went the round.

Windows were broken, and doors long since burned. The

building itself was fairly solid, as these go in Turkey, but

altogether the change from Kastamuni to this would be a

serious one for the worse. I tried very hard to get some

cryptic word back to our friends in Kastamuni, so that they

might put up every objection. (This I heard later never

reached them, and they were told excellent quarters were

awaiting them in Changrai.)

My resolution to leave this part of the country increased,

and I prepared to risk much, even life itself, for a change.

From Changrai on our voyage was much more uncomfortable.

It lay through the region of dry arid land, stony and dusty

tracks, or bare rocky defiles. The horses collapsed, our guard

got sick, and was reduced to Ali the _choush_, and Mustapha

the guard. The gendarmes had turned back on emerging from

the passes. Escape from here was hopeless, so barren was

the land. We hoped brigands might surprise us. We hatched

schemes for knocking Ali on the head and wrecking the wagon.

With one good friend something might have been possible,

but as it was I was half blind, in fact in the last month my

eyes had become very much worse, and my companion walked

with pain. So we went on. Ali, or rather Peter Pan, as we

called him, with a huge revolver and tin sword grew more

overbearing as the trek wore on. When we were most weary

he pressed on. The fellow was congenitally a fool, and often

after passing a decent camping place with shade and water,

stopped on a burned-up patch. At night he stuck us into some

vile _khan_. However, one way and another we got through.

At Changrai I doctored the wheel, which was nearly off, and

decided by pocketing the rivet to stop the caravan when

necessary. This I did more than once. However, two marches

off Angora, in the middle of some ruined and sacked villages,

two wheels had got so bad that they came off, the wagon

nearly going over a _khud_. They fixed it up with sticks and

rope, and then a few miles farther the spokes fell out, two or

three at a time. Just here Mustapha, who had walked the

whole way, collapsed with acute ague and malaria, and shook

violently on the ground. This simple soldier had come along

pluckily, and often did sentry duty at night as well, after

eating his bread ration that he carried. We admired him, and

although tired and in pain with over-walking ourselves, we

got out at once to give him a lift. Imagine our feelings when

the malignant Peter Pan broke into a terrible rage, bullied,

and struck his soldier for daring to ride, kicked him into going

on, and took our seat himself. We had a general row, and

Peter Pan struck the _arabunchi_. It was he and the _choush_

against us three, but Mustapha, the patient soul of the Turkish

peasant, and the best thing we had found in this country, was

too good a soldier not to submit. He was fond of us, and even

cursed his officer. He said he wished their officers were like

ours, who considered their men a little, but no word of rebellion

escaped him, and so collapsing every few moments he staggered

on. Then Peter Pan half drew his sword on Greenwood and

jostled him, a cripple. This was too much. I seized his arm,

and in a most impressive rage told him if he drew it I would

disarm him. He was speechless. It was a most colossal row.

Then we sat down and refused to go, unless we could get our

seats. "We are invalids, special cases _en route_ for hospital.

You have no right to sneak our seats." His defence was that he

was to be an officer by and by, and if his man could ride, he

could. The _choush_ sided with him, and we had to follow, while

he rode. But I showed him some letters, and swore to report

him to Zia Bey, who was not far ahead. He then showed his

teeth, and said his secret orders were to _shikar_ us, and give no

liberty, as I was a dangerous person whom they couldn't

catch. Anyway I took good care the wagon went phut

again soon, although he proposed to go on still a distance,

dragging the broken wheel. Finally the whole show crashed,

and he had to get out. Another driving _arabana_ of much the

same quality was commandeered, and we were wanted to

move without our kit. This we wouldn't do, and smoked

cigarette after cigarette on the road like disobedient schoolboys.

Finally the kit was put up, and we had to walk. The

_choush_ then became very ill with what he thought was cholera,

but what was evidently cold in the stomach and malaria.

He was rather a coward. He asked me for medicine and

prescription. I told him castor oil was a good thing, and gave

him enough of this and some ginger to put him out of any

future arguments. Peter Pan then had to capitulate, for he

was all that was left. We walked side by side, and more than

once made off as if we were escaping after water. Then he

let us drive a spell, at least I drove, and the _choush_ lay huddled

up frightfully ill in the back of the wagon. His rifle lay

resting on our knees, and if there had been five per cent. of

chance I believe we would have risked everything. But we

were pretty rocky by now.

Eventually we had to deposit the _choush_ by the roadside

near a _khan_. The wagon couldn't get up the hills, and so, on

foot, blundering on in the dark without a guard, and almost

too weak to go a step further, we at last staggered into Angora.

Here we were shown into a _gasthof_ of sorts where men and

women, Turks and Jews, and mongrel Armenians all seemed

mixed up in one living-room. Eventually we got rid of Peter

Pan, who went to his wife.

I squared the proprietor. Mustapha, who had come along

in some conveyance, was most accommodating. So when

Ali returned the next morning he found us in the hotel next

door, we two with Mathews our servant in one small room

which I had got emptied, and Mustapha asleep outside. He

said I had to go to a medical board at once, and Greenwood

was for Stamboul that night.

I found several dignified Turks around a table who proposed

to examine my eyes and spine. Before they did so I

asked leave to tell them something. This I did in German

and indifferent Turkish, but I told them certain things about

their politics that made them stare, also about the responsibility

of medical boards to whom a sick officer after eighteen

months' neglect had been sent in a wretched conveyance 150

miles over mountains in a Turkish cart. I refused to stay in

Angora, and said I wanted a diagnosis in Constantinople. It

was a long competition between their disinclination to send

to the capital one who had seen so much of Turkish maltreatment,

and their fear. I won. In fact, I made myself such a

nuisance that they had to do so. But I am certain it was only

a parade of arguments that won. The Turk can't grant a

straight-out request to a prisoner. But there are ways of

getting him not to object to a certain thing happening.

We went to the Military Commandant of Angora for a

servant, as we are in no condition to move our boxes. He is

the same evil-looking old villain we remember of old. He

literally spat at us and roared. I roared also, and when he

ordered me out of the room I walked the other way, being

blindfolded. He caught my arm rudely, but had scarcely

touched it than I sprang up as if electrocuted, almost upsetting

him. I told him that it was merely surprise, as Zia Bey told

us no one in Turkey must touch a British officer. He snapped

and snarled like a dog. We got out. I reappeared to ask him

if he could let us have any of our parcels that were _en route_

to Kastamuni. We were quite polite. But he barked that

there were none. Oh yes, pardon! there were. We had

seen them. He screamed that he had finished the interview.

We withdrew with chuckles. To-night we had the

usual appalling scenes about leaving. Eventually we got

to the station, and after a score of interviews and running

about the station against orders, I managed to get two seats

in a carriage with Fatteh, our old commandant. One had to

browbeat the officials, who said they had no orders for us

unless we paid. Our boxes must come on by a slow train.

Finally, weak to exhaustion, but elated at heart, we got into

the stifling carriage.

_En Route._--It is night, and delicious music of a train that

is carrying me away, away, is in my ears. We drank two

bottles of beer and a small bottle of Julienne, which we got from

an Armenian at the station. I met there my excellent former

acting-sergeant-major, Sergeant Graves. He looked well, and

said the survivors were now more or less free, but these good

times came only after all the terrible deaths and complaints.

There were, besides himself, six survivors of my battery. I

spoke to some of the men. Their sufferings last winter had

been awful in the Taurus, and even here at No. 12, Angora.

They had lived in holes in the ground, without kit or cover,

working from sunrise to sunset on the roads. Their food was

a mixture of wheat and water, and sometimes bones. One

called it Chorba. At the end of their meagre reserve strength

they fell ill. Some were then thrashed. Others were left to

die, and in some cases did not receive even bread-and-soup

rations unless their friends earned this for them by working

overtime. Here also the deaths had been so numerous that

the survivors kept themselves going by the dead men's parcels

which a German commandant caused to be distributed now

and then. The stories of the men having been compelled to

eat various kinds of vermin found on them was verified

beyond shadow of doubt. This was the Turkish method of

keeping down typhus. It was, however, impossible for our

poor lads, in the appalling conditions under which they lived,

to keep themselves clean. There had been several mutinies,

and often unsuccessful escapes, also with disastrous consequences.

I heard a ghastly rumour of some sick British

soldiers suspected of having cholera being deliberately

murdered with a dark serum with which they were inoculated,

and from which almost no one was known to recover, death

usually following within two or three hours. I cannot vouch

for this being true, so record the fact as it stands. There are

very many Turkish officers who would scorn to do this. On the

other hand, there is the class of official like the _Vali_, promoted

to Angora _Vilayet_, when his predecessor refused to countenance

a wholesale massacre of Armenians in 1916. This enterprising

gentleman picked his troops, and then, firing half the Armenian

quarter, drove the other half into it. I heard the most terrible

stories of fanatical Turks bursting in upon a family at their

evening meal. The men and old women and children were

first killed. The young and prettiest girls were promised life,

but were spared only for a night or two. One heard of cases

where a busy _Askar_ in the middle of the carnage maimed a girl

to prevent her getting away.

We thought Angora was very changed. So were several of

the Armenian villages a few marches out of Angora where we had

bought milk and fruit on our outward journey. They were

now deserted. Weeds grew above the walls and in the burned

floors. Here and there a vine or vegetable told of the swift

and terrible change. Still Armenians go about in Angora,

having daily affairs with the Turks. A consuming fire of black

impotent hate is in their hearts. And because it is impotent

the Armenian has by destiny become treacherous. Fatteh

and I talked German on many things; and after whistling the

"Merry Widow" out of tune for another hour, he fell asleep.

We reached Eski Chehir in early morning and found our

Choush quite willing to be reasonable, if we did him well. We

went to the hotel opposite, had a meal, slept, and then walked

to the town with our guard. Some loud and rather disreputable

women, Armenian and Jewish Levantines, I think, were in the

hotel. They were in some theatrical show, or had been.

Greenwood and I described them as performing women. We

travelled on again that night with Fatteh Bey and our guard.

Fatteh promised many things for us in Constantinople, but

being pensioned off, seemed doubtful of his ground.

The carriages were packed with travellers, including a

great number of children with mothers. They carried household

effects. One heard they were Armenians or Greeks whose

husbands were dead, and they were off to some new town.

We heard a confirmation that the big terminus station of the

Baghdad line on the Asiatic side of Constantinople, Haidah

Pacha, had been blown up two or three days previously.

After a pleasant run round Ismid Gulf we got to Ismid, a

large town with railway works. There in the silvery waters

of the Marmora we beheld Principo, Halki, and the other

islands, their bronze green shimmering in the bright sunshine.

A few sails were on the sea, the sea, the sea! Never shall I

forget the thrill we both had as, for the first time, after ages

in tiny mud dug-outs, flat plains, and a taunting confinement

behind a high range, we saw, a few yards off us, the sparkling

drops glistening as they fell from the tiny waves of the Marmora.

The sky darkened as we stopped at a place called Kadakeuy.

We now heard Haidah Pacha was in ruins, as a well-directed

plot had arranged that a huge consignment of petrol

should be fired. The flames prevented a train-load of ammunition

from being removed. This went off, playing havoc all

around. Missiles had been thrown into the adjoining districts.

After some delay we got our scanty kit on a ferry. The

boxes had not arrived. They contained our all. From the

paddle steamer we beheld a thunderstorm burst over Stamboul.

The minarets stood out above the streaks of yellow and

electric blue. Altogether I thought it a most impressive and

magnificent city, with all the beauty and passion and mystery

of Turner. From the close quarters of Galata bridge it

appeared less delightful. We said good-bye to Fatteh. It

was now nearly sunset. Our Choush, who had been quite

pleasant hitherto, grew obstreperous. We were bandied

about from barracks to barracks, deserted empty buildings

that made a tired and sick traveller faint. He wouldn't allow

us to get any food. We drew nourishment from the strange

sights and a few pleasant ones, such as the dainty progression

of Turkish ladies. They were sombrely but prettily apparelled

from head to foot in the prescribed Mussalman dress, an

overmantle from the forehead thrown back and hanging over

the shoulders as a cape. For the most part their carriage was

excellent. The better-looking ones were more or less unveiled.

As it grew dark we grew hungrier. We were tired and

sick, and in pain, hungry, cold, and thirsty. In this state to

have to sit hour after hour in an _arabana_, with the fees amounting

up to the last paper notes in one's pocket, while one's

guard goes off to drink or gets lost, left in his absence to the

unkind caprice of a passing soldier, is the lot of a prisoner of

war. Some time after dark we halted at an Armenian church,

now our new commandant's office. The locality was called

Psamatia. Here was more delay. A doll-faced and heavily-scented

Turkish subaltern at last appeared, and after administering

ridiculous questions, left us to some vicious-looking

postas, who led us away. Our _arabana_ took us on another

half-mile, and stopped at a tall, gloomy building behind heavy,

tall iron railings. We crossed a tiny yard behind them about

forty feet by fifteen. The gate was double locked and guarded

by sentries. We groped in the dark, up flights of stairs,

through the empty house, and reached a room where was an

iron bedstead and a filthy mattress. Here we were left.

After a moment or two some white-faced pyjamad figures

came to us, and proved to be Russian prisoners from Salakamish,

prisoners already for three years! One, Roussine by

name, we liked better than the rest. We drank their tea,

almost water, but it was hot, and we talked of news. Roussine

was inclined to be Bolshevist, and as Russia was now collapsing,

we held decided opinions on it. We ate some raisins brought

all the way from Kastamuni, and I remember well with what

solemnity on this sad night of disillusionment, I regarded

those raisins. This, then, was the Stamboul of rest and peace,

of clean sheets, of fresh flowers, medical attention, and

delightfully prepared meals handed to me by some Byronian

Stamboulie! A garret empty save for rats and bugs! No

food, no water, only the selfsame raisins. We still said we

were glad to have left Kastamuni, but, all the same, they made

us almost homesick for that we had left behind.

This was the first night. Others were precisely similar.

No one came, no one cared. The third day we got black

bread. Water that had flowed intermittently from a single

pipe now ceased. The commandant had been once to see us

in the dark. I complained to him. He was one of the worst

type of Turks I have met, a sullen, ignorant, hopeless brute.

He said _peckee_ (very good) once or twice and withdrew, his

tin sword clinking down the ghosty stairs.

We wondered how long this would last.

PART III

STAMBOUL AND BRUSA

CHAPTER XIII

PSAMATIA (STAMBOUL)--STARVATION AND NEGLECT IN HOSPITAL

AND GARRISON--PLOTS TO ESCAPE BY THE BOSPHORUS--I

ORGANIZE ESCAPE FROM PSAMATIA THROUGH THE HEART

OF STAMBOUL--STORM AND WRECK ON SEA OF MARMORA--RETURN

Sentries stood on the stairway to keep us from talking

to some Russian soldiers herded like animals down below.

We had not noticed them the first night, as they had

been on fatigue. On occasion one might go downstairs to

walk on the tiny stone courtyard. From near our room the

stairs led upwards to a large garret from where one looked

over Stamboul. The view of the city from here was excellent.

The many minarets flanking an expansive sea stood out

against the sun. One idea was predominant--the idea that

seldom if ever left us--Escape! The walls were high. Guards

marched ceaselessly to and fro below.

Among the prisoner officers was a sea captain. Greenwood

and I consorted with him. Our plan was through the local

restaurant, a wretched hovel, whither we were allowed once

about every three days for a meal of Kariwannah (vegetable

soup). We offered heavy bribes for oars. It meant going

over the high roofs with the hope finally of getting down,

seizing a boat, and trying the Bosphorus disguised, getting

out to the Black Sea before the dawn, or trying a long walk

to Rumania on the chance of something turning up _en route_.

But a few days after we arrived some Rumanian prisoners

escaped from a working party. All boats were drawn up,

and only the heavy ones allowed on the seashore. Guards

were redoubled. Our hopes diminished.

We watched from our desolate room all day long to get

acquainted with the movement of ships and trains. The

Balkan Express passed near our house, but every point was

guarded. We were somewhat weak and ill, but waited for

our chance. Money was a hindrance. This deterred us more

than the fact that the train was heavily guarded and closely

searched, and ran through Bulgaria, where prison life was

even worse--or Austria, if one chanced to get there. After

some ten days, we were sent to hospital, guarded by a Turkish

soldier, without any papers, and were told we weren't wanted,

as it was not a prisoners' hospital. At one of these Greenwood

remained, but he was placed by mistake in an infectious

disease ward, and when, in addition, a junior subaltern proposed

the most serious alternative operations, he made himself

such a nuisance that he was sent back to the prison camp.

In the meantime I wrote letters in French and German and

English, which I gave to passers-by or threw into the road,

and more than one I gave to German soldiers, who were

sympathetic with us. I wrote Bach Pasha himself, quoting

extracts from Conventions and Parliament on reciprocity of

prisoners' treatment.

The net result was the appearance, late one night, of our

commandant, livid with rage and excitement. Roussine and

I were playing chess by a flickering oil light, and my eyes

were bandaged. He strode up and dashed the chessmen

violently to the ground, and kept on touching his sword.

I am afraid his wrath was nothing to mine. I intended to

impress him with the fact that we were not schoolboys, and

in vigorous manner demanded why he hadn't visited us, or

given us bread or water, or allowed us our boxes. Was this

the hospital? Was he the commandant? Was it not a

whole week since, as he rode by, we besought him through the

railings for bread? I was overwrought with pain and endurance,

and came very close to physical remonstration. We literally

shouted him down. This brought the Russians around.

Before they had been cowed down, now they lamented loudly

too. All the while the doll subaltern stood by the commandant,

obeying his orders, but the sickest and sorriest object

one could wish to see. Most of all, I demanded leave to see

the commandant when necessary, in order to get an application

read.

We were then allowed once daily to the restaurant for half

an hour. Hospital attention seemed out of the question.

We made one more attempt, when the Chief of Haidah Pasha

Hospital sent for us, but the Choush took us to the wrong

hospital, through ignorance, and we were not allowed to

explain. We gave up hope of treatment. Then Ramazan

commenced, and the commandant did not appear for days together.

I was now watched, especially for letters. An amusing

incident concerned a letter I sent after this to Bach Pasha,

and one to the Dutch Minister. We had been so well watched

that all communication seemed impossible with the outside

world. For example, in the restaurant our plates were

searched, and our seats also after we had left. We were not

permitted to speak in any language our interpreter did not

know--generally Turkish only. I had contrived to leave

more than one letter in the street. If directed officially in

German, I thought it probable that it would be sent on.

Bach Pasha, the German General in charge of prisoners, did

not, however, prove sufficiently enthusiastic to reply. I

quoted conventions and parliamentary extracts for his benefit

in case we got freed. He now evidently rang the commandant

up, who merely came round and ordered me not to be allowed

to speak to any one. Our bread ration ceasing the following

day, I wrote another letter. As I paced up and down the tiny

courtyard, waiting for a German soldier to pass, the postas

followed every movement. I managed, however, to have

more than one conversation with Germans by pretence of

declaiming aloud from a book as I walked. The difficulties

were that the sentry would see a letter thrown on the path,

also that no German was allowed to approach the bars if I

was near them. I had managed to talk to one private from

Wilmersdorf, a suburb of Berlin, a homesick lad who hated

the Turks and enjoyed outwitting them. Besides, I said the

letter was for his officer. I told him not to approach until

I was seized. Seeing some other privates approaching in the

distance, I beckoned to them with my right hand with some

cigarettes, and rushed towards them. Half a dozen Turks

seized my hand and the cigarettes before I had gone five yards,

in order to interrupt me from communicating to the Germans

approaching. They did not notice, however, that as I waved

my right hand, I had placed a letter on the bars. The German

from Wilmersdorf, who, instructed by me, had waited close

by, dropped some cigarettes in. The postas rushed up. I

saw a certain cell if the letter was still there; but it had gone.

The Russians, who had breathlessly watched the show from

on top, cheered loudly. It was great fun seeing our lad

return an hour later, on the opposite side of the road, and hear

him shouting, ostensibly to his companion, "Richtig.

Gegeben." I had said certain things, and results could safely

be expected.

Nothing happened the next day until about 8.30. By

the glimmer of a fat candle the Russians and I were playing

chess with some pieces I had had sent out from home. My

eyes were bandaged up, and I had to peer over the board to

play. We were deep in a game, trying to forget our wretched

pains and hunger, when loud stamps, followed by increasing

roars, approached the room. The door was kicked open, and

our commandant, his face black with hate and rage, strode

up to us, struck the board with his fist, and knocked things

off the table. The only way to impress a Turk is with rage

or fear. He had hardly struck the board when I started up,

knocking and kicking the bench and chairs yards away. I

rushed to the door, shut it violently, and cannoned into the

fighting wax doll of a subaltern who accompanied him.

Being bandaged up I had a good excuse for going within an

inch of the commandant's head. I told him things in Turkish

and French, and more in English. We threatened him,

showed him some official letters from England I had kept, and

told him that answers were already on their way to England

about his treatment of our men, and that he was in for it, whatever

happened. It appeared that some kind of inquiry had

been made about our ability to write letters, rather than

about our cause of complaint. However, he had at least to

realize that we weren't children, to be starved to death without

a protest. He had evidently been well reprimanded for my

having contrived to write letters. In fact, my letters had

become quite a propaganda.

Russians flocked into the room, and, once started, they

also developed considerable horse-power, although the poor

brutes were too much kicked to say much.

The commandant ended up by mopping his head and

ordering me to go to gaol. But he subsided later, and after

waiting an hour in the cold, quite triumphant, I was allowed

to remain in my quarters. The next day we got one loaf and

some water, and were allowed to go to a filthy eating-shop "to

have hoof soup!" Instead I ordered eggs at an enormous

price, and, having eaten them, left it to the posta to carry on, for

we were months behind in our pay, and were not allowed to

cash cheques or get our Embassy moneys. This led to a wordy

scene in the street, and while the row was on I got another

letter off to the Dutch Minister by exchanging matchboxes

with a Greek. In it were my last lira note and a letter. That

night the commandant came again, and with dignity almost

too terrible even to be laughed at, pointed to me with his tin

sword, and ordered me to be taken away. I felt relieved.

Change is good for the soul.

We filed through the moonlight, a solemn little procession

of my few goods and blanket. A posta, who had received

from me heavy bribes--an awful scamp--took this opportunity

of jostling me along, to ingratiate his commandant.

I arrived at the garrison, the camp office of the commandant,

who, however, lived on the Asiatic side.

I was shown into a small empty room. The door was

locked behind me, but after some time, fearing I would

escape from the window, they unlocked it. I was not allowed

out of the room for the first day. Repeated remonstrations

with the posta resulted in nothing but the information that

I had to call the Choush if I wanted anything. Late that

night they pushed in a filthy straw mattress, ages old. Bugs

fell from it as it was carried in. It swarmed with them.

Being by now fairly accustomed to them, I tried to sleep.

Their voracity, however, proved too much. I was not allowed

to push it out of the door, so I put it out of the window into the

street. A posta was below, and reported this. Another

posta reappeared, and I gave him cigarettes for him to keep

it. He tried to sleep on it, and loud roars of laughter kept

me awake all night. They, also, had tried in vain.

A low-class Armenian was now allowed to buy me food.

He retained half the price for himself. The fellow was an

absolute bounder and coward, a hypocrite at heart and a

treacherous cur at all times. I can safely say he spied not

only to save his skin, but at any time there seemed money in it.

I heard tick-tacking in Morse from the men's quarters in

the same quadrangle. Quite an amount I made out. They

wanted money, money. I tried to buzz a message or two back

on the violin. Staccato notes are quite effective in their way.

I had no access to the commandant. The room was small,

but the light from the window was so intense that my eyes

could not stand it. I hung most of my clothes upon it. When

I did not sleep, I planned and planned escape. It all seemed

futile, but nevertheless one went on. I wanted, at any rate,

to get outside. Five days after, a Turk drove up in a carriage

to see the commandant. He seemed a man of note, and I

saw the commandant bow graciously to him, and make as

to kiss his hand. Giving them time to get into conversation,

I forced my way past the old posta, and kicked into pieces a

door of what had once been a bathroom. One had got tired

of being days without water or convenience. Three or four

soldiers came in, but I made as if to bolt out the back way,

and then sprinted upstairs, back as if to my room, passed it,

and, in a wild, dishevelled state, burst in on the commandant.

I gave my reason to the distinguished guest, and altogether

the commandant was badly rattled, for I showed a letter

from an important quarter in England about our treatment,

and he appeared very disturbed. I made a horrible scene by

refusing to leave the room, and eventually got leave to go out

for a walk around the thirty yards' beat of the yard for half an

hour a day. Here, for the first time, I managed secretly to get

direct speech with our men, most of whom were either totally or

partially disabled. They had been collected for exchange. On

each occasion, months apart, they had got as far as the station,

some even on to the train, but the train so far had never gone.

They had not been paid for months. A Turkish subaltern

had stolen some of their pay and faked a receipt.

Their parcels had been opened, and a one-armed sergeant,

who spoke up, had been assaulted by the guard. We were

almost the first officers to arrive at Psamatia, and the first

the men had seen for years. From them I heard details of

the fall of Baghdad.

I got a letter into the Kivas' pocket about all this for the

Dutch Minister, Monsieur Villebois. A few days after this

a fat, beefy figure entered the door and said, "Bleiben sie

ruhig." It was our new commandant, Gelal Bey. I had at

least effected some good result by getting the old rascal kicked

out. I can honestly say that his own postas loathed him, and

said he put their soup money in his pocket. Matters improved

to a degree. Some order was possible, and a minimum of freedom.

Gelal was a straight Turk, from what I saw of him, and

certainly more fair. The men's complaints were heard and

some were allowed a daily walk, although it was obvious my

reputation was quite terrible. A raging toothache I had had for

a fortnight was now mercifully righted. The other commandant

had not allowed a visit to a dentist. Before this I had been

fairly sick of my room, and even went so far as to try to burn the

whole show down with a large box of matches which I stuffed

in a rat-hole; but the fire went out, probably, I should think,

extinguished by bugs.

[Illustration: BAGHDAD CAPTURED AT LAST. GENERAL MAUDE'S ENTRY]

It was before this new commandant arrived that I commenced

arrangements for sending news to England. A

Sergeant Mandel, who had lost one arm at the shoulder, was

to be exchanged, and I arranged for him to take it, as I thought

him a likely person for exchange, but I wanted to run no risks.

He was strongly for having it put in a crutch, or sewn into the

sole of his boot; but as I anticipated a search of every particle

of kit, I adopted my own plan. With my scanty money I

bought candles. Having written my letter quite small and

as carefully as I could with my bunged-up eyes, I rolled it up

tightly in a small cylindrical shape, and making a paper mould

around it, filled up the interstices with dripped fat, thus making

a candle with the letter inside. This was to preserve it. I

shaved it down, pushed it in a water-bottle, and ran the other

candles boiling into it, thus filling the bottle two inches from

the bottom. I shook it, and found it firm. The bottle was

then filled up with strong tea. This was because it was not

transparent, and cold tea was a usual drink--when one could

get it.

I hoped this would answer, and that they would not suspect

anything. Nothing rattled, and inside the water-bottle was

quite dark.

One letter was to Lord Islington, and contained, besides

a _précis_ of information I had been asked to send from the

senior officer of the prison camp, a statement by me of the

condition of the men, and their treatment since the trek. I

gave some information on the high cost of living, and the great

difficulty of keeping oneself alive without cashing many

cheques at a worthless exchange.

I had heard of a convention recently signed between

England and Turkey at Berne about prisoners, and quoted

some glaring cases of maltreatment which, as one of the

original arrivals in Stamboul from provincial camps, I was in

a position to know about. I sent also a few other matters of

information about the state of Turkey. I prefaced all my

letters with a statement, "I alone am responsible for statements

therein, which are unknown to the bearer of the

packet." I did this in case the letter was found.

I had scarcely got it away when I was sent to Harbiay

Hospital for treatment. I had now left Kastamuni some ten

weeks without receiving any medical treatment, except for

one visit to a place called Tash Kushla, where a doctor examined

my eyes, and said I was to be exchanged. Even in

spite of my distrust, gradually a gleam of hope found its way

into my mind, and grew to huge dimensions. I was afterwards

coldly informed, however, that his actual written report was

merely that Turkish eye treatment was preferable to German,

and I was not to be allowed to go to German specialists!

At Harbiay I was put in a room with a half-mad Russian,

who had been shot in the head, and some poor old Russian

grey-headed men--sailors, I think--who smoked and cried

most of the night. Here I had no food for thirty-six hours, and

then only watery soup. We were not allowed to leave the

room, and the postas were unusually brutal. The director

of the hospital, who had been most kind to me at our first

interview, offered to send me diet and books, and even

medicine, and to attend to me himself--all of which I doubted.

After about four days I was sent to a Turk, and an old savage

he was, who said if God willed I would get right. Then a

German doctor examined me, but was most aggressive and

rude, and seemingly angry at being asked to diagnose an

Englishman, and muttered something about this. He prescribed

some special injection for my eyes. Then we were

lined up, and were all dosed by a filthy Turk out of the same

squirt, whatever our eye trouble was. This was a mistake,

it appeared afterwards.

The next day, having hidden my trousers under my

bed when I arrived (they always take away all one's kit

on entering hospital) the guard was sent to get them. I

put them on nevertheless, and then demanded to see the

Director. It took all day to await my chance, but when the

posta was off the _qui vive_ I ran along in my trousers and a

blue overall of the hospital towards his office. It was a huge

building, and I got lost, but it was fatal to turn, so I went on

through numerous corridors with an increasing train of postas

at my heels, and finally fetched up in what appeared to be an

ante-chamber of the Director's wife. The postas stopped

short and peered in at the door. I apologized to the Turkish

lady, who was arguing with some Armenian maids. She asked

why I was running away from the postas. I assured her I

was doing nothing of the kind, but I was merely running to

the Director. She was tickled by my having trousers, and

asked how I had managed it. I explained that the Director

had given me a standing invitation to his office for any request

and that I had hidden my trousers to be able to do so. She

rebuked me for breaking rules, and asked me what I could

possibly want. I said I wanted to give some urgent information

to the Chef d'Hôpital. Finally, she conducted me to him.

He heard me coming, and I saw his face over the posta's

shoulder quite enraged and savage, and he said I was not to

enter.

It was spoken in Turkish. I had, however, already

entered! His face changed in a second, and he was the

crafty Director, professed huge surprise at my statement that

I had had no food and had not been allowed out of the room,

or to cash cheques, or to receive any attention, and that I

wanted to return to the garrison at Psamatia. He promised

to remedy all things at once, and to send me "ée yemek"

(good food) at that very moment. I extracted a promise to

depart next day. How I loathed the place! The Russians

alone made it unbearable, poor fellows. They seemed on the

verge of suicide in that great empty room with hundreds of

beds in it. Nothing else happened for two days except that

a Turkish doctor came and injected some serum into my eyes,

which he said was to happen three times a day. The Director

himself came round next day, and tried to pretend he was

busy, when I went for him. I made myself such a nuisance,

and torpedoed his dignity so successfully, that he finally unmasked,

and I knew him for the cruel, lying, and crafty type

of Turk, veneered with excellent manners, but a brute at heart.

It was the same fellow, as far as I can remember, who refused

a dying Russian officer's daily request for permission to have

one or two of his friends from Psamatia to see him in order

to make his will and provide for his wife and children. I had

been in Psamatia when our Russian friend (Roussine) had

daily asked for this from their end. Their letters were never

answered, but were destroyed by the old commandant, as

were the dying man's by the Director. He died. When he

had been dead some days the Director sent to Psamatia a

kind request to the officer to come and talk to his friend,

with private directions that they were to be told the man

had just died when they came.

Anyway, by the end of the third day after the "torpedoing,"

my patience was at an end. I had learned, after

many weeks, how difficult it was to get out of a hospital once

one was in. After more scenes I left in the evening in an

_arabana_, bearing a letter in Turkish, saying I had been

excellently treated and had received the best attention

possible. On arrival at Psamatia my little sad room seemed

heaven again. I was alone, and the groaning of the Russians

was somewhere away.

The new commandant was haughty and somewhat Germanic,

but I found him a much better fellow, and straight.

He did what he promised. He heard my complaints about

the men, and rectified their pay and provisions, he got us

money, and sent me, on one occasion, a Polish book to read--which

tickled me. I found he meant well, and decided to cultivate

his good graces, which I did in German. He had had

four years in Berlin, but sided against us in the war. Anyway,

he let me go to see Dr. König, a German eye specialist from

the _Goeben_, at a marine hospital around the harbour. _En route_,

the posta with me led me across the station, and in the crowd

I went to ascertain how to get a ticket, and found they would

have issued one to me right enough. Vesikas (passports), etc.,

were necessary, however, for the train, which went only so

far as San Stefano!

While awaiting Dr. König, I talked to a delightful old

French lady nurse, who was seventy years of age, and had

not been allowed to leave. I mixed freely with German

sailors from the _Goeben_, and heard of their escape from our

fleet. They thought they would win the war, but seemed less

confident than before for an early peace. They were all very

loyal, and stuck to it that their country was well provided for,

and "sehr billig." König I found a very capable and courteous

officer, and quite efficient. He prescribed most carefully for

my eyes, told me to avoid all glare, to follow his precautions,

and I might prevent my eye trouble from becoming chronic.

He explained my blurred vision and periodical darkness as

nervous exhaustion, and related it to my spine, where it had

been bumped by the shell explosion. He ordered rest and

quiet, and sent me to his colleague, a nerve specialist. The

net result was that I was not allowed to get the medicine as

the shop recommended was not a Turk's, and I was sent to a

Turkish nerve doctor, who mixed the whole thing up, and

thought an operation on the eye was necessary, but, later on,

said he had meant the other eye! I felt like operating on

both of his.

My visit to König, however, was momentous in one

respect. On my way back I was stopped by an Englishman

in mufti, and offered cigarettes. He seemed very kind, said

he was a sailor man, and, before the posta intervened, gave

me his address. We had to be careful, as the posta knew some

English. In short, in five minutes we had agreed to escape.

He was an interned civilian, taken at the outset of the war

from his ship. I found out that church was the best meeting

place. I hoped to further matters on my next day at the bath.

I was now allowed out once a week. I found out which bath

was best for my purposes by talking to the postas. The thing

was to find one near the Galata Bridge. This was, however,

out of bounds. I did the next best thing. Frequent

visits to the commandant's room made me acquainted with

the map of Stamboul. I found a bath, both hot and cheap,

in the Turkish quarter but a mere five minutes' walk from

the Galata Bridge. After two trips, and working the right

posta with a heavy bribe of a two-lira dinner, I was allowed

to a restaurant after the bath, but only on promising not to

enter any shop. I stumbled most miraculously, however,

into a Greek restaurant, which afterwards became quite a

favourite centre of plots and plans. I eyed the place at once

as very strategic. It was some steps down from the road,

and not too conspicuous. One could see without being seen.

Two tables at the far end adjoining the wall had benches

behind which one could slip letters, and I arranged for cushions

to be placed there in which I could put letters in case the

posta searched, which he did more than once. In the middle

of the door at the far end was a small pigeon-hole through

which the manager or his assistant shouted orders for food.

I gradually built up a disposition to order my own food. A

few words were allowed. Often I went up, and, completely

blocking the view, slipped in a letter. I even went to the

extent of getting a message along the 'phone on the opposite

side of the street by two relays--the first from me to Theodore

in French, about food. It was a great dodge to get some other

officer with one--_i.e._ to go in twos--and by some clear conversation

with him in something the posta didn't understand,

give information to Theodore the manager. In this way

we often ran a four-cornered conversation. I paid heavily,

but money was forthcoming from my cheques, and the Dutch

Embassy's allowances came in regularly here. Letters and

replies were received here from Dorst the sailor. We formed

rendezvous for the church, if one could only get there. The

Christmas season was approaching, and we assured Gelal Bey

we wanted to go to church. We had asked very often for

months, but this had been refused. However, the new

commandant allowed us this on certain severe conditions.

I shall never forget how restful and glorious it seemed to

get into the Crimean Memorial Church, an excellent chapel

built of stone off a side road in Pera. An Englishman preached

most beautifully to us, and English people sat all around;

but we were not allowed to speak or sit near them, and an

interpreter came to approve of the sermon. Our money was

scrutinized to see if there was any writing on the notes.

I had a Burberry that I had dragged along with me on the

trek, and I often changed it for one very similar, having made

rents and marks similar on both. One left at the door on

our entry would be substituted for the other, with notes

carefully sewn into the shoulders, underneath the lining.

On more than one occasion the crude efforts of our dear

countrymen and women to communicate with us brought us

within an ace of discovery and always intensified suspicions.

This often resulted in a redoubled guard or, greatest tragedy

of all, a blank week, when we were not allowed out at all

except along the wretched suburb of Yedi Kuhli.

But I proceed too rapidly. All this took a long time.

Time for a prisoner with experiences such as mine behind one

is one terrible blank punctuated by moments that count.

There is born a patience terrible with hope. To get out on

Sunday we waited and planned all through the week, arranging

appearances with postas, often waiting a whole day for a

chance to speak a word freely to our brother officers, only

possible when a certain posta was on duty at night. How

seldom all the necessary elements of a setting to a single

successful transaction are present, only a prisoner can know.

But as I went homeward from that bath and restaurant and

saw an avenue through that way to freedom, I felt hope once

again stir within me.

In two or three weeks I had already got plans quite far

advanced.

The scheme began to shape itself as follows:--

I would escape from barracks at Psamatia some Thursday

night. This would give me a good start, as Friday is the

Turkish Sunday, and inspections, etc., on that day are very

slack; in fact, the commandant did not always come out on

that day. He also lived on the Asiatic side. The first step

would have been impossible while I was in the garrison itself,

as besides a permanent and personal guard on me there was

one beneath my window, one at the foot of the staircase, and

several on the door, besides one at each street corner. By

complaining of the morning sun that poured into my room,

and of the noise, I got a transfer to an old building opposite,

the real reason being that my small room was watched and

impossible.

The old building I had found out all about from a Russian

who had been there before, and great was my delight in first

getting over there. I had to pretend I was almost blind for

days before I effected this. As a matter of fact my eyes were

getting a little easier and only troubled me at times, so far as

seeing went.

I had to be so very careful those first days. I was alone

and all the postas watched every movement and seemed to

suspect my very thoughts. So much so that I had never yet

had an opportunity to go upstairs. After a few days I had

got friendly with an old posta who generally came on duty

very early. When he had got my cigarette well going I

chased my kitten up the stairs. He helped me to catch it, and

I had a good clear survey. A hammer to extract nails and

screws from the window, and a rope to get on to the ground,

were all that was necessary, provided we had a clear field.

There were many difficulties, among which was the increasing

of the guards, on account of a stampede of prisoners and

the arrival of a whole regiment of Rumanians, that seemed to

have surrendered intact. To make room for these the

Russians were now moved from the Bastille at Psamatia and

brought to my house upstairs. We were not allowed to talk

to them, and guards to prevent this were stationed on the

stairs. They could not be trusted, but Roussine certainly

could. The others were curious to the point of being a

nuisance, and while not on for escape themselves were not

very sympathetic. Roussine was loyal, however, and most

sporting. I spent long hours each day in watching every

movement of the street and the habit of the neighbours.

Near by, one old Turk, straight opposite our back windows,

used to light his pipe about dusk and smoke well into the night,

staring towards us. Another wretched fellow used the back

road for his rendezvous with his sweetheart. After a few days

I had collected a great amount of information and knew the

routine of postas with their family details and homes; they

loved to talk of all this.

I became acquainted with the changes of police and the

street traffic. My behaviour improved so much that I hoped

the posta would soon be removed from our landing. I

encouraged the habit of the postas meeting downstairs. This

I did in various ways. One was by making huge cracks in

the wall with an axe above where he stood. The cold was

now acute. A little fire downstairs in an old kitchen, even

after our frugal meal was finished, was a further inducement.

A Turkish soldier loves to sit over a plate of hot cinders and

dream of his fields and goats on the far-away uplands of

Anatolia. They would not drink on duty, and seldom off.

A plan of the house was as follows:--

We were directly opposite the commandant's garrison, in

about the middle of a street. The house on one side was, I

believe, "to let" in its upper story. I formed wild notions

of a secret tunnel through the wall from the inside of my cupboard,

and a Monte Cristo chamber on the other side with a

comfortable bed and excellent table, with an office for all kinds

for secret-service meetings, with a free access to Stamboul

through the back door by a change of kit. Alack and alas!

the house proved very much inhabited, and often when I was

spying on others I found they were spying on me. The

basement of our house was only a cookhouse and a stairway

that led up to the landing on the first floor, and up another

flight to the Russian officers. On the second flight was a

window-door, old and flimsy, that was nailed up. It led

outside to a tiny landing that was surrounded by windows

from other houses. Behind this landing was a tiny spare

plot where a house had been burned down. Other windows

high up in our lavatory looked down over roofs on to this

section. I got through on several occasions and crawled on

the tiles, which cracked like biscuits when one knelt not

precisely at the sides. And this was very conspicuous, besides

being right under the Russians' noses.

Doust and I had met once or twice at church. He had

been in charge of a Turkish tug for months and knew the

movements up to the harbour, ships' booms, the plans of mine-fields,

and also replacements of guns at the Dardanelles. We

intended to take these plans with us. He first of all promised

an old launch to pick me up halfway to Galata, and go through

the Bosphorus against the strong current. He was to bring

Visikas (passes), and I was to go disguised with a fez. He said

that the boom was open for hours each night, so that a small

thing could get away. The whole plan had to be altered,

however, on account of the Russian armistice and revolution.

It was now the second week in December and the boom was

closed all night.

Only traffic heavily searched was allowed through. This

the Germans supervised, and they were thorough. I verified

many of these facts from the German sailors themselves. In

fact, quite often I wore my Burberry, and with my cap

passed for a provincial German on several occasions with the

German Tommies. Others thought I was a German American.

We altered our plan to that of going as fishermen, as these

were still allowed out and in more freely. We should all be

disguised as fishermen, get to a point inside the entrance,

walk overland a few miles to the Black Sea, and then pick up

the boat, which would be skippered by some reliable so-called

fishermen through the actual entrance.

We only awaited a strong wind to enable us to get over

the distance in time, also some money, and the perfecting of

the arrangement. I did exercises, tried to get fitter, and laid

in a stock of necessaries and medicine for my eyes in case of

exposure to the weather.

My difficulty was to see how to escape from my room just

at the right moment. Neither part of the _bandobast_ could

wait for the other. Moreover, a chance had to be taken when

offered, as everything depended on the right posta. To

escape and hide in Stamboul seemed the best thing to do, but

this meant that my chance of getting right away was lessened,

as one would be sure to be missed after some hours, and at

most after a day. This would be telegraphed all over the

place and search would be redoubled. The ordinary risks

were bad enough. Communication got very difficult owing to

the capriciousness of the commandant, as he sometimes

wouldn't allow me to go out, or only to a bath near by, and

sometimes the posta was obdurate. On one occasion I

crossed from one tramcar on to another and then back again

on to the first, leaving my old posta revolving around helplessly.

I had previously told him that if we lost each other, we

should each go back at once to report. He was an old peasant

from Anatolia, or I would not have dared this. I had promised

him not to escape while with him. This I did first thing

before he allowed me into the restaurant. A change of trams

and swift walking brought me to Pera. I made plans and

called at the rendezvous. Nothing happened. I left a letter

and then drove back as hard as I could to Psamatia, passing

the posta just before arriving there. He was weeping with

fright and annoyance, but forgave me on seeing me again.

The new commandant gave me an orderly named Plaistow,

from the Gloucestershire Yeomanry, and a very excellent

fellow and good friend he was, although his cooking was not

of the first grade. A night or so after this when he was

rubbing my spine, from which I suffered acute neuralgia at

intervals in the region of the bruise, the door opened and two

British officers came in. Their physical condition and that of

their kit marked them as just captured. One was a colonel

named Newcombe, who had been captured north of Beersheba

with a small striking desert force armed with machine-guns,

during a phase of the battle of Gaza. On camels he had led

the force, about sixty strong, without convoy, before the

battle, by a circuitous route over the desert to the Turks' rear,

and having captured cars and staff officers and generally

enjoyed an excellent field day, he was himself taken after

heavy casualties. A large Arab force, which by the Emir

Feisul's influence should have co-operated, had let him down.

I liked him at once. He seemed dead beat and very non-plussed,

if not depressed, at being captured. He could not

sleep, and I combated in my mind this new difficulty in my

escape programme--of a colonel who could not sleep. A

goodly number of the senior officers I had hitherto met in

captivity were against escaping, some unsympathetic, some

almost hostile, and one actually gave a written order to all

officers junior to him not to escape. I was extracting secret

delight from the fact that here at least was one colonel half

asleep and little conscious of the fact that I was going that

night, or certainly during the next few days, when, following a

huge sigh, I heard the extraordinary words, "Mousley, what's

the chance of bunking from this, do you know?"

The colonel was eyeing me attentively. Gradually I

acquainted him with how I had had designs to escape from

the very first, but everything had been frustrated, that now

once more I had a show on hand ready after much work and

patience. We sat up in our respective beds, smoked many

cigarettes, and planned. A bottle of bad whisky helped us.

I found him a most interesting companion and very human.

In fact, immediately after his capture he seems to have

complained to Djemal Pasha about our men's treatment one

moment, and the next to have proposed to Djemal's A.D.C.,

Ismed Bey, either to let him (Newcombe) escape or to let

our Fleet into the Dardanelles, no matter which. We talked

politics, and he put up all kinds of extraordinary and difficult

schemes which we crystallized together. Actually I promised

to let him join my escape plan with Doust, provided he agreed

with the scheme and came under my orders so far as plans

went. He agreed most readily.

This was necessary for many reasons, as I had trodden

very delicate ground what with impersonating Germans, etc.,

and could not trust any one with the plans at that stage. He

helped me most loyally and generously although not always

effectively. To get out to Pera and Stamboul it was necessary

to act, and act earnestly, before the commandant, and the

colonel more than once abandoned the point and through lack

of insistence lost the day. This meant hanging up things.

My privileges of a bath and dentist had grown to be a regular

thing, won single-handed after much struggle.

I had now to start afresh. To make matters worse some

more officers, newly taken, now joined us. One was a firebrand

and tried shock tactics, such as kicking the postas. He

did himself much harm and no one any good. Others were

content to be told "Olmus" (Can't be done), but we old

hands knew that by a judicious alternation of determined

insistence and quiet submission one got ahead on the wave of

the commandant's mood. My plans had to be altered on

account of the extra guards put over us, and the heavy snowy

weather. I managed after much difficulty to meet Doust and

his friend, a youth named Castell, in a Turkish bath. Plans

were ready. They cashed my cheque. The boat laden with

oars, sails, provisions, and charts would come to a point half

a mile from our camp the next night or two, depending on the

weather. The signal was to be given by Castell passing at

2 p.m. precisely, smoking if we were to start and not smoking

if it was off. He came and did not smoke.

After delay and trouble we got word from him that the

wind had changed and it was impossible to get through the

Bosphorus in time, before dawn, as the current was so tremendously

strong, and the only way was somehow to contrive to

reach a point by road about halfway along the Bosphorus,

thus shortening the time. This meant more _bandobast_, more

money, more contingencies, and more meetings with more

interviews of the commandant.

By this time I was quite friendly with him and knew his

politics. He was a German-hypnotized old Turk, too simple

to be either clever or dishonest. He assumed the rôle of uncle

to me. This I fostered and became a most unruly nephew

constantly out of money (so as to get cheques cashed), full of

pains (to get at a doctor--I mean Doust), persistent in wrong-doing,

and contrite after commission.

My violin he quite loved (so he said), but while I played

forte he little thought that the colonel was either pulling out

nails from the escape window, or smashing the frame. I got

a posta to help me haul up a bucket of water from the well at

the foot of the stairs, and contrived to let it go with the end

of rope and all. He certified this. We got a new rope. This

we intended to use on the night.

About eight days before Christmas a change of plans had

to be notified to Doust. Everything was "Yesak" (forbidden)

on some new temporary order. I could not get out,

so, much against my will, I trusted some one. Colonel

Newcombe assured me that a Jewish Armenian interpreter

who had just joined the garrison was absolutely trustworthy.

He had carried several letters to the Embassy. I had written

Castell (there was no time so I abandoned our code) a note

giving a new sketch of our house, the section at the back, the

place by which we would descend, and where Doust would

meet us. Also I gave orders for a motor-car or arabana

(Turkish carriage) to be half a mile off. We were to go hard

for the Bosphorus point arranged. I put in urgent orders for

roubles according to prearranged plan, also that the boat

should have lifebelts (in case we had to swim for it at the

entrance), charts, and certain food. Also bailers!!

The letter was sealed and signed with the cryptic sign

I used [the pentagram symbol]. This I gave to Newcombe, and, on his

strong assurance, agreed to his giving it to the interpreter Fauad.

He said he would take it. We waited for a reply.

Nothing happened for days. No reply or answering signal

from Doust was forthcoming. We waited anxiously. About

four days before Christmas, Fauad told me quietly after our

evening meal (we were eating with the commandant and his

staff, raw fish chiefly and soup beans) that he had posted the

letter instead of delivering it. The censor had come to him

secretly that night and for £1000 would keep quiet!! I

tried to take this as coolly as possible, and announced as quietly

that he would be hung at any rate for carrying the letter.

This was to see if he was blackmailing. When we got back to

my room we had a general council with the colonel and

Gardiner, a captain of the Norfolk Regiment, whom I allowed

to come with us. The colonel advised not taking him as he

was not much used to the East, and he couldn't talk any

language but his own. But I promised to let him come as he

wanted to see his wife, and he was quite enthusiastic. It was

a pleasure to me to see how keen he was and I admired him

much for this. However, they both thought I should see

the censor, and prevent him going to the commandant. I

felt more and more strongly as I thought it over, that there

was something unsatisfactory about the thing. The censor

would not commit himself to Fauad and us. Moreover, would

Fauad post it? He was an Armenian and the Turks were

against him. My friends insisted. I persisted.

For one thing I could not understand a Government censor,

in a place so full of intrigues as Stamboul, playing with a

noose to such an extent. But if Fauad was acting he did it

well. A post-office official did visit him every day or so, but

in spite of all, I could not get over the fact that Fauad had

been quite cool when I had sprung it on him, that if the censor

had seen it he, Fauad, would be hung. If the censor _had_ seen

it Fauad should have shivered. In the meantime I told

Fauad we would pay a good sum, but not £1000, and

pretending to be very frightened, showed him that we must

be allowed to go to town often to get money. We would have

paid a good deal even on the chance of the story being true,

and intended doing so. However, I watched him carefully,

and the more importunate he got, the more leave we obtained

to town, where, needless to say, I strained every nerve to

further and hasten our escape. We told Fauad we couldn't

pay before a week, and hurried on our arrangements to get

off before then. I grew more certain, day after day, that it

was merely a scheme for getting money. He seemed to grow

more anxious daily lest we should escape, but more, I believe,

for fear he should lose the money than anything else. He

tried to stop us from going to a certain bath where I had

arranged a last rendezvous with Doust and Castell. At the

last moment, through the innocence of some newly arrived

subalterns, we nearly missed them. They wanted to go elsewhere

as the bath was full--but I was undressed and through

the door before they could get me back, and there I saw Doust

and Castell. Fauad spied on me and followed me to the bath.

I introduced him to Doust as an Armenian who would lend

us the money in a few days, and thus I told a good deal of my

story to Doust and Castell with Fauad not suspecting, and

in fact being quite overjoyed about his money. A few

moments alone when we got outside the bathroom, and our

plans were ready. Fauad became rather suspicious, but I

risked all.

[Illustration: PHOTO OF THE AUTHOR TAKEN SECRETLY WHILE

A PRISONER IN STAMBOUL]

When we got back I was greatly surprised to see a posta

on the stairs and doors. The commandant knew nothing of

this, but afterwards it appeared that Fauad had probably invented

something vague about hearing us talking escaping,

just to safeguard himself in case we went, and without divulging

about the letter. This was a serious block. The

stairs' posta had been taken off, and was now on again.

I had within three days to re-establish an entente with the

commandant. We got ready. Our clothes we stuffed with

cheese, oxo, cigarettes, and chiefly nuts and raisins. I wore

my uniform under my mufti kit, as in certain quarters I

wanted to pass as an interned civilian, in others as a German.

I also had a fez.

By this time our plans for escape from the building were

ready. The door could be opened noiselessly and on more

than one occasion I got Colonel Newcombe to hold the rope

while I went down to reconnoitre. I remember the exquisite

feeling of being on the road outside the guard. I lay in hiding

the opposite side of the wall and watched processions of people

passing, the movement and change of sentries, and explored

the street corners near by to see which were guarded. It was

quite difficult to get back by the rope up the wall without

knocking down old bricks or tiles. Doust failed me time and

again on these occasions, partly through uncertainty whether

to take a risk or not. As the day grew near we felt more and

more our difficulty of communication. As I have said, I

believe I was the first to have really a plan of escape in

Kastamuni, and I can safely say that in no case of escape

within my knowledge, was communication so very difficult.

We had to have alternate plans.

Thus a tremendous storm burst at the entrance of the

Bosphorus from the Black Sea and altered all the police

arrangements. German reliefs changed the guard at the walls.

I saw that the difficulty was to find an occasion when the

auspices would be favourable both for getting out of my

prison and getting away from Stamboul. On this account

Doust promised to get me a secure place of hiding, in fact

assured us both that in hulks lying in the harbour, or in

quarters of Stamboul, it would be very easy and without risk

to any one.

This latter consideration was my only deterrent from

changing a life of wretched misery and oppression for comfort

and rest, that the consequences for the unfortunate discovered

sheltering us would be more than one could reasonably allow.

Moreover I steadily avoided, so far as escape went, any assistance

from women, let alone the kind and dear souls of the

English fraternity who were in Stamboul. I considered it a

selfish measure and one that no man has any right to accept

from a woman unless she is professionally in the secret service.

For a woman to risk the penalties of discovery in Stamboul

might be a terrible ordeal. I had asked only to be shown an

empty place, _e.g._ possible for a stowaway, and I would retrieve

my own food.

In the meantime we had heard from Doust that he had

suddenly decided to get married and would send, instead, a

youth of about twenty, called Castell, more or less an English

Levantine who could travel as a Turk or Greek, had a passport,

and knew the country from Panderma to the coast. The plan

had now been altered to the Dardanelles, failing which we

were to make for Panderma and overland to Aivalik on the

coast, thence to Mytelene.

The wind had been steadily east for days. No other craft

was available except the sailer. But by leaving here, say

Thursday night, and getting past the shipping zone by dawn

and making the Dardanelles entrance late that (Friday) night,

we should run the gauntlet through the narrow neck of

Gallipoli past the unwary watchmen and lightship, and what

with our capellas (Turkish officers' fezes) and a good German

appearance of one of us, with a current of six knots plus the

wind behind us, we thought it good enough. An hour or two

later and we should be at Imbros, and pictured ourselves

coming gaily along on a flood tide heading straight for our

gunboats, probably attracting the fire of both our guns and

the Turks'. Doust had verified that there were not very

many surface mines, most, the nearest, being two feet deep.

We drew about eighteen inches. Altogether it looked a most

sporting chance and I can say that we enjoyed preparing our

plans as much as schoolboys. The navigation was to be left

to Colonel Newcombe, who made a quadrant, and to my

excellent radium prismatic compass which I had retained

from the retreat. Failing our reaching the Dardanelles in

time, from stress of weather or other cause, we intended

making for a point past Panderma, which we hoped

to reach by next evening and from there march to the

coast.

Just before Christmas the weather grew colder and more

boisterous. I got leave to go to town and was allowed into

the Maritza café. Here I found most urgent and useful news.

Some fortnight before while walking with my posta, who was

quite friendly towards me after his lira lunch, I told him I

wanted to ask some German soldiers what mosques we could

go to at Tchouka Bostan. Reluctantly he allowed me to

speak to them. They took me for a civilian _interné_. I soon

learned that German N.C.Os. often got along to the forbidden

quarter, where were the usual nightly attractions for the

troops, by pretending they were going to the _Korkovado_, a

large Russian ship near the southern end of Galata Bridge,

and used by the German General Staff Officers. Having got

through the military police by saying they were off to the

_Korkovado_, they swung past the ship around the bay. I

intended to do the same, only to swing round out to sea.

The restaurant man now verified this to be true.

The wind was so favourable and the position of our sailing

boat, which had to be kept in an exposed bay in order to be

ready, was so precarious that our friends sent us word that

we must start Christmas Eve, notwithstanding the extreme

cold. The idea of their arriving at the foot of the back wall

was less to help us than to tell us whether the road was clear,

_i.e._ on what streets the police sentries were, for as I have said,

besides the garrison itself, a cordon of police surrounded most

of the streets.

Doust and Castell came about six o'clock to the back

street. As arranged, I had lowered a string down. Doust

was to tie a note on the end if our plans were altered, and to

smoke if we were to start.

Instead of this, however, they bungled badly, lost their

direction in the dark, and jumped about in the most ridiculous

fashion; in fact, their proceedings were the most suspicious

imaginable. They continued to grope in the wrong corner of

the section and to take alarm at their own shadows. They

had previously inspected the section and said they had located

our rope. This they could not have done.

All this time I was on the ledge outside our house hiding,

with Greeks and others peering towards me out of windows

not eight feet away. One was smoking and washing up. I

thanked Heaven it was dark. Once she called out asking if

any one was outside. I could almost have reached her with a

stick. The posta had cut off my retreat by going upstairs,

but it appeared he did not know I was outside. I felt greatly

amused at our sentry with fixed bayonet mounting guard on

the stairs, his prisoner being a few feet away outside the house

beyond the door, which I had shut after me. I heard my

friends trying to get the posta downstairs. When his steps

sounded as going downstairs I threw some small bits of clay

towards Castell to show him where we were. He looked

round helplessly. I dropped some just over our corner. It

made a loud sound. Still he did not understand. Then I

threw a large lump and hit him. He skipped like a jackal and

took to his heels with a terrific clatter. Although it was

annoying the whole show was so funny that I almost overbalanced

with laughter.

I went after him down the rope and found postas and

sentries wandering about us in all directions, but our friends

had gone. Sentries being on all the streets and on the _qui vive_,

I returned up the rope and sent my orderly to the bazaar.

There he found Doust. They said they had only come to tell

us that the boat had been smashed on the rocks near Psamatia

and had also fouled the Galata Bridge. But we were to start

next night and walk to Galata, risking the German police and

so on.

This was Christmas Eve which we now proceeded to celebrate,

and determined to start next day. The other officers

bearded the commandant's cat, a satanic beast that had stolen

our food often. It combined all the cunning and resourcefulness

of a dozen cats. It broke several windows and went for

several of us before we despatched it. As a matter of fact, I

deprecated all this as it meant renewed guards.

But our escape was known only to me and two other

officers, as more than one found the topic all engrossing, and

the newly captured had no idea of the danger from the Turkish

spy system of being overheard. I was feeling pretty done up

with the tension of waiting and waiting for days on the point

of going every moment. I did not go to church as I wanted

rest, and we had had a boisterous night. They brought back

a note from church saying we should be off that night. All

this meant an appalling amount of anxiety, as we had to eat

with the commandant opposite. However, at the last moment

a posta appeared, and in any case the wind was unfavourable

and no signal came. We opened our Christmas parcels from

the English community at Pera, and the colonel and I smoked

on still full of hope. The posta pacing outside my door kept

me awake. Alarmed at this embarrassment to our escape I

protested loudly with him and called the guard to stop him.

It was maddening to any one in our state of nervous health

(besides inconvenient for the escape).

First thing next morning I went to Gelal Bey, our commandant,

and complained. He smiled and shook his head.

It was necessary. We had been caught speaking in church.

I assured him it was the Christmas season, a season of peace

on earth, not of tramping postas, etc. He laughed and said

he would take him off late in the night. I asked him if he

thought I was going to escape. This completely disarmed

him. He indignantly said "Of course not. My arrangements

are complete. You cannot." And he took off the posta at

once. We had dinner, intending to start as soon as we got

back from the commandant's house. The whole crowd of

officers and clerks was there with the commandant at the head

of the table. Colonel Newcombe was so silent and thoughtful

that I thought something would be spotted. I contributed

some liveliness, however, and drew up elaborate schemes for

to-morrow's marketing and getting boots mended, and the

usual routine. On returning to our room the posta was off,

as had been promised.

Now I had been marked as an escape officer, and had

refused my parole several times, so I was not bound in any

way. I therefore assumed my disguises. I bulged horribly

with my double clothes. Parts of this diary I had around

my waist, and some in a roll which I had sealed. I waited

twenty minutes from my hiding place outside, disguised and

ready. Should we start or was it another failure? Then two

highly-nervous figures passed at a quick walk, or run, beckoning

us to come at once. At the last moment they abandoned

all our careful plans, why, I never found out. I told them to

wait a second and watch, as we heard sentries. They did not.

We risked it. Half a word to the others and we were down the

rope. I went first, then came the colonel dangling two legs

in the air in great style. We waited at the foot of the rope

while people passed. After a terrible delay Gardiner's little

stout figure appeared on the rope going round and round. I

reconnoitred and went ahead. Doust and Castell had simply

sprinted on ahead rather panicky. I set out to track them.

The others walking together tracked me. At last the two

appeared, and Doust on seeing me started at a run evidently

thinking me a German or sentry. It was awfully funny. I

called to him to walk quietly, but he could not. His was just

the way to attract notice. He led us miles round the seashore,

and many people regarded us wonderingly. Finally,

in reducing our going to a normal walk, we lost Doust altogether.

At last when we reached the most glaring quarter, to

our horror he came out in the main streets. Some one asked

for a light. I went on.

The night was rainy and sticky, and what with two suits,

a heavy trench burberry lined, and with about ten pounds of

food, I developed a most awful stitch in my side. The weight

of my coat I estimate at twenty pounds. The others felt the

walk less, but then I was a much older prisoner, and had been

solitarily confined for weeks and weeks, often without stretching

my legs. More than one policeman looked at me. I wore

a fez, and at last Doust walked more slowly. With my

burberry on and field cap I passed as a German. While

carrying my burberry on my arm and wearing a mufti jacket

and fez, I passed for a local inhabitant. We adopted our own

pace and walked on opposite sides of the road. The colonel

most kindly changed coats with me, his being much lighter.

In the heart of the traffic by the tramway at Sedkigevy,

Doust stopped us to sign some document purporting to be

that he had helped us to escape, so he said! He gave us a box

of wedding cake at the same time, for he had been married

on Christmas Day. We put our names on the paper without

reading it as we were under every one's eye. Rather an unnecessary

and totally unwise procedure I thought. We were

now nearing Galata Bridge. Passing Maritza café, now dark

and gloomy, I jocularly suggested a drink. It was, of course,

closed. Doust shook hands and left us. Castell had gone

ahead it seemed, and ought now to be paddling about disguised

as a boatman near Galata. Early that evening he had

sent some one ahead with some bribes for the Turkish water

police, whose duties were to examine any one leaving the jetty

by Galata Bridge. The German guard also was informed that

some German officers were coming over to the _Korkovado_. I

now walked on a hundred yards ahead alone, with a good

Prussian swagger, wearing my burberry and cap. A Turk or

two saluted me, and some Germans also. But one of the latter

came boldly up to me and I thought I was discovered. The

Germans would be the last to let us escape, although they often

sympathised with us. I pretended, however, I was in a great

rage. I roared out in German for a boat for the _Korkovado_,

and spoke sharply to the police, asking them if they had nothing

to do. The fellow then stopped, turned, and strode off on the

regulation beat. A boat now came out from the ruck with

several others behind it. I recognized Castell disguised as a

ferryman, and got aboard.

A few moments afterwards, what seemed ages to me, the

other two appeared, the police regarding us all. We pushed

off. The water was choppy even here. We passed the _Korkovado_

in the dark, the anchored boats, and what appeared to be

a guardship. Here certain boats were challenged. Castell

earlier in the evening by lying off for some time near these

boats, had heard the password given by other boats on going

past this point. He now used it once. As the water moved

behind us, one felt that one was at last committed to the

attempt for good or bad. Stamboul was behind us. We had

now actually reached the Marmora Sea by steady rowing. It

was about 8.30 p.m.

We had purposely not conversed until we were away from

the jetty, and now took stock. Our dismay may be imagined

when we found the money had not been brought, and for which

we had given cheques. The boat we had bought. The lifebelts

had been forgotten. I had said we couldn't start without

them. In fact, these and buckets for bailing I had repeatedly

asked for, and was assured they were there. There was no

spare mast, one faulty rowlock, a chart and telescope. We

might have been going on a voyage of discovery to a new

America!

I put the wedding cake down near our seat, and four dozen

eggs Castell had brought were placed on another. Castell and

Gardiner and I alternately sat on these. In fact the boat

seemed full of eggs, and we joked about poultry farming.

Only two loaves had been brought. Then I sat in some more

eggs that were covered up by a coat.

We were now a mile or more out in a dark heaving sea, at

this stage about a foot of water in the boat, which plunged

violently especially as Castell's oars were generally in the trough

of the sea just at the wrong time. By the light of our lanterns

it was a queer show altogether. Gardiner moved about in

a most unsteady fashion, with wedding cake sticking to his

clothes, and we were all over egg. I fell to eating them raw.

Ever since the sporting days of my youth I have liked eggs.

The others chaffed me about this, and we became quite jocular

over the whole show. The wind and sea now made progress

difficult. I opined that if we didn't get on, the commandant

at dawn would see us from his window. Castell had told us he

knew everything about a boat. In fact, he knew extraordinarily

little. He assured us that when we got out a bit more

the wind from the Bosphorus would enable us to hoist a sail.

We were a long while getting there, and more than once were

very nearly upset. The swell increased tremendously. One

second we saw the gloomy form of mosques and minarets, and

lights, the next we were in the trough of the sea.

I had had the rudder, but now started to bail out with

small tins. It was useless to be angry with our well-meaning

friends, but to put it simply, the whole _bandobast_ was a horrible

"let down." I have before been in a storm without a bailer,

which had been washed overboard, and almost lost my life

through the same cause. Gardiner nearly fell overboard more

than once in shifting about. I was trying to bail with one hand

and keep the boat's head on to the sea, eating eggs in spare

seconds. The boat rose and fell and plunged severely. Suddenly

Castell's oars fell plop into the sea, and he vomited

frightfully. Here was our skipper sea-sick! I am afraid I

was bad-mannered enough to laugh outright. Colonel Newcombe

joined in. Gardiner was silent, we learned why a few

minutes later. Colonel Newcombe pulled splendidly for some

time, and then I, and then Gardiner. The colonel and I

bailed with all our might, bailing out eggs (the bad ones

floated), wedding cake, cheese, and all kinds of garments.

The boat was like a horse out of control. And filling rapidly.

Gardiner couldn't get both his oars into the water at the same

time, or if he did they fouled his knees, and his legs beat the

bilge and air trying to recover his balance. Then Colonel

Newcombe took the oars again, and we got along, although

slowly. Subsequently our skipper decided on the sail. We

ran it up, and the boat sprang before the wind in a most

enthusiastic manner. The boat, I have forgotten to note,

was about twelve feet long, and, of course, quite open. She

cut through the water at a great pace, the black waves rushing

past us like snakes. We were heading, however, between Haida

Pasha and Principo instead of the open sea, and we thought of

General Townshend asleep in his excellent bungalow, and

some one suggested we paid him a visit.

[Illustration: LIEUT.-COL. S. F. NEWCOMBE, R.E., D.S.O.,

WHO ATTEMPTED TO ESCAPE WITH ME BY BOAT OVER THE MARMORA SEA]

I suggested at this juncture that the Dardanelles were not

in this direction. We tried to get her around, but the wind

was changing and varied greatly. It now came on to blow a

gale. There was nothing for it but to tack. Our tacking,

however, was much like a political speech of Mr. Asquith,

chiefly zigzag, without much progress. The wind beat us up

to the Bosphorus, and one tack very nearly landed us on a buoy.

We were driven in the wrong direction, and I prophesied we

would ultimately land in the Sultan's kitchen. Poor Gardiner

now became very sea-sick, and said things to me for eating

eggs. I said I enjoyed them, and that as a matter of fact I

hadn't been able to afford eggs for ages.

Suddenly there was a loud report, as if some one had fired

from close by. The boat nearly upset. We shipped a heavy

wave that broke over us, and something wild and heavy

smothered us. It was the sail. The mast had broken off

short above the stays. We were very nearly wrecked, for the

boat was heavily waterlogged and still leaking horribly.

Hitherto our pace had kept her going. We all bailed for life,

then Newcombe and I took the oars. There appeared to be no

spare mast or cord. Then we bailed for life, while the colonel

pulled magnificently.

When he was tired I took over, and found that, notwithstanding

my back, I could pull fairly well.

To attempt to go on was ridiculous, even if possible. It was

freshening to a heavy gale outside, and we had taken about two

hours to get two or three miles. Castell proposed landing at

Haida Pasha and walking to the coast, which, of course, was a

most childish idea, meaning a huge and unnecessary march without

arrangement. I proposed we all returned and got a place of

hiding until a proper _bandobast_ could be made. This had

been faithfully promised us. It now appeared, however, that

there was no arrangement made, and we were advised to go

to Doust's house. This we all refused to do, as he was now a

married man. We begged hard for some other hiding-place

until a plan for escape could be made, but nothing seeming

possible without implicating women, we decided to return.

Sadly we put the boat about, and made for the lights of

Topkana. The water literally poured into the boat. After

several narrow shaves we regained Galata Bridge, but instead

of returning to the same jetty, I decided to cross under the

bridge, and disembark the other side. This we did without

mishap. Rendered bold by disaster, we were rash to the point

of recklessness, and I set out to get a carriage, leaving the others

by the quay. This I did by haranguing an Armenian driver in

broken Turkish and German. He was to drive us back to the

Arc Serai, a military quarter not far from Psamatia. The

others clambered in with me.

We left Castell to do as he liked with the boat. Short of

encumbering our English friends there was nowhere to go,

although we had been assured there would be when we started,

and we all realized only too well the double difficulty of making

the opportunity of getting out of the house coincide with that

of getting right away. We thanked Castell and said "good-bye."

I first took the precaution to indicate the line of defence

in case we all came up for trial about the letter.

We drove past police and sentries without mishap, and I

thought how easy it would have been to have gone the same

way.

The question now was how to get back to garrison. The

colonel advocated driving to the commandant and saying we

had been out for a "nuit joyeuse," a sort of supper and dance

programme, in fact. Gardiner, on the other hand, advocated

"benefit of clergy." We were to walk to the house of the

Catholic padre, who had been very good to us, and get him to

take us back like prodigals. Both of these courses I thought

unnecessary, and determined to try to get back undiscovered.

We passed many police and sentries, who came out to look

at us, but we kept talking French, and except for a _chokidar_,

who followed us and kept hammering the street with a stick,

and who eyed us most severely, we arrived at the back entrance

without incident. I left my friends behind and reconnoitred,

intending to get back if possible over the roofs. To my great

astonishment, however, the rope was still there. Now, before

starting, I had asked our friends left behind to pull the rope up

between one-half and one hour after we had left. The reason

was that I didn't want the rope discovered at dawn or by some

night watchman, thus advertising the escape. And if, on the

other hand, the strong cordon of police and guards round

about the camp rendered escape impossible, we should be glad

of the rope. It was, however, now long after midnight.

I asked the colonel to be especially cautious, as I felt certain

there must be some reason for the rope being there.

He climbed up, leaving his coat with ours, which we tied

with the end of the rope. In getting up, however, his foot

went through a pane of glass. But he arrived at the top,

peeped in, and said there was no posta, and the road was clear.

Gardiner and I arrived up, in fact I helped him over the wall,

as I found his nose, hands, and feet all together within a few

inches of the top as he had tried to scale the wall like a steeplejack.

He went inside and I remained to bring in the rope and

coats. Laden with all these and twenty feet of rope I was just

about to enter the door, when I saw a Turkish posta returning

up the stairs. It afterwards appeared that he had been sent

on duty shortly after we escaped, probably by a secret order

of the commandant, and had only gone downstairs for a

moment to see what caused the falling glass.

Dropping all my kit and the rope on the landing, and closing

the door, I rushed downstairs as if coming from the Russians

above, shouting that some one was ill. I managed, of course,

to collide forcibly with the posta, knocking him and the lamp

downstairs. While my friends arranged his injured feelings,

I made for my room, tore off my clothes, and got into pyjamas.

It was now necessary for some one to go down the rope

again to get some coats and disguises which had fallen down

through some one's tying them to other coats in the loop

instead of on to the rope. The colonel very sportingly insisted

on going down the rope while I, in bare feet in the

thinnest of pyjamas, made a violent demonstration downstairs,

saying I insisted on going to the shops to get some brandy

for an officer who was dangerously ill. As I expected, the

posta downstairs, thinking I was escaping, called his friend

from above, who came down, leaving the road clear. They

both hung on to me and drew their bayonets. I managed to

delegate one to ask the commandant for special leave, while

the other was compelled to remain at the front door.

There is nothing like thoroughness on these occasions.

This gave them a good fifteen minutes to get the coats, and

hammer up the door, which had been hanging by a nail. We

made some hot tea, one of the most glorious drinks of my life,

and, quite exhausted, slept. The last words I heard when

going to sleep were from Colonel Newcombe, who said, "For

Heaven's sake let us never mention escape again." But an

hour before the dawn he and I were both at work with a small

hammer inside our charcoal cupboard, hammering a hole

through the wall to next door, which we believed "to let."

We worked at this the whole of the following day, and

except for the sentries being on duty permanently outside our

door, no one visited us the whole day. This shows how well

the plan for having a good start would have succeeded.[2]

CHAPTER XIV

DISCOVERY OF THE LETTER--BRUSA--COURT-MARTIAL--LIFE

IN A STAMBOUL PRISON--POLITICS AND INTRIGUE

On the day following this, extra sentries were put on us,

and all privileges stopped. Nothing was known, but

it appeared that Fauad was suspicious, and had

probably informed the captain of the guard. He was more

importunate than ever for money. The crisis was precipitated

by our discovery that he had appropriated large sums of

money for cheques given to him by other officers. He said

that the censor had become impatient, and that he had had

to be paid with this money. I got Fauad to come to our room.

I proposed to buy the letter off him, as it was stamped. He

first swore that he had the letter, and on our producing the

money, some only of which we wanted to give him, he started

to blackmail us by refusing to say where the letter was until

he got the whole sum. It ended up by me closing the door

and saying I wanted the letter and proposed to take it. He

was a tall but sloppily built fellow, and after a straight one

on the point of his chin I back-twisted him over the iron bed.

We searched him, but found nothing. It was at this point

when he said the letter was known about, and when it seemed

he would betray us in any case, that another officer caught

him by the throat. But he managed one wild yell, which

brought up the sentries. I was marched off with fixed

bayonets for about the tenth time in my career as a prisoner

of war, but had time to hand my pocket-book and papers to

a friend before this happened.

The commandant kept me waiting a long time, and, of

course, the letter was produced, but not a word was known of

the escape. I believe they sent urgent telegrams to the

mouth of the Bosphorus police, so that if we had actually

got away to the Dardanelles, fortune would have assisted us

with an extraordinary false scent. In the meantime, the

commandant's wrath was terrific, in fact, as I explained to

him, it was rather unnatural, seeing he had once said he would

adopt me as his nephew. But, alas, he was beyond a joke.

I was remanded under a heavy guard, who inspected me

about every five minutes, so that work at the hole had to

cease, and two nights after, we were carpeted before a Court

of Inquiry consisting of the commandant, another officer,

and some one from headquarters. As we didn't know

whether the letter actually existed now, there was no point

in saying much. But the colonel, when asked why he wanted

to go out, said "Pour une nuit joyeuse," comprising, presumably,

a dinner at the Tokatlion and a fairy row on the

Bosphorus. His countenance, however, and mine also, fell

when the commandant produced the letter, all about our

roubles and lifebelts, and the way to Russia. But when the

commandant jeered at the colonel as being too old and past

his prime for such undertakings, I laughed out aloud, for on

our actual show, so far as physical serviceability went, the

colonel was worth about six of us.

At the inquiry the others left the affairs to me. The net

result was that by evasive answers and careful admission we

were able, while sticking completely to the truth, to save

the escape from being divulged. At the beginning of the

inquiry we thought they had found out from Castell, who,

we were informed, was under arrest. Our fears were allayed

and our cautions justified when it turned out that nothing

was known.

One was amused at hearing the old commandant's boast

about his having made it too difficult for us to get out.

"Why didn't you start?"

"We did not start for the Black Sea because you had got

our letter of plans, and then it was difficult with our sentries,"

etc., etc. So I replied.

Masses of documents were compiled. The colonel was

twitted about one so senior as he being led astray by me!

And I was locked up.

I had only got one message away, about trying to establish

a hiding-place, and I feared I would be sent away now to camp.

The others, after several false starts, left one night in a hurry

with a heavy guard for Afion Kara Hissar, the camp away

back near Konia. Col. Newcombe and I had patched up all

sorts of schemes in the meantime. The difficulty now was

how to communicate with him. One good scheme was by

intercepting letters arriving from England for him after he

had left, and adding words. In fact, more than once I took

such a letter and extracting a bill, sent on news from England

and from myself, which practice became general.

A week later I was, to my great delight, examined by a

doctor for my spine--a concession due to the kindness of the

commandant, whom I played to across the road one or two

tunes he had informed me he liked.

One had to bank on there still being a soft place in his

heart for me. But he resolutely refused to see me. I wrote

him, saying he couldn't be more angry if I had got away; yet,

here I was, and might I not be allowed to stay in Psamatia--my

parole, of course, being impossible. I got no answer, but

to my delight he followed Dr. König's recommendations for

me to go to the baths at Brusa, the Generals' camp, the reason

he gave being that my former General (G. B. Smith) had no

A.D.C., and I might join him. I was paid up to date (Gelal was

an excellent fellow in this way) and in the early twilight, one

snowy morning, with my sad little bundle of baggage in front on

a donkey cart, I set out with a heavy guard, who watched me

every second. My guard had evidently had terrific orders,

but I managed to implicate them into a fray with some German

soldiers, who didn't understand Turkish or that I was a

prisoner. One of them gave me a _Tageblatt_, which I returned

during the fight with a letter inside for the Dutch Embassy,

containing news as to my departure. This I hoped would let

every one concerned know at once where I was off to.

The steamer trip was wonderful after so many years away

from a ship. I watched a German officer and a rather pretty

German girl on board. They were quite polite, drank beer

marked Münchener, and talked about friends on different

fronts. It was roughish weather. We got to Panderma

about 3 p.m., caught a tiny train that wound over pretty,

undulating country for twenty miles, bringing us nearer and

nearer to the snowy heights of Olympus. One and a half

hours later I was put in a gharry (_quel luxe!_) and taken

to the commandant, a youngish Mir Ali, who spoke a little

French and tried to appear kind. Our _entente cordiale_ progressed

considerably, he pointing out how he loved all his

generals and other prisoners, and how they loved him, and how

I must also get to deserve his affection, as he put it. He

said we were all free, had a posta each--I already saw myself

near Olympus, making a bee-line for the coast--and then he

opened my confidential report from Gelal. The commandant's

jaw fell, and he got black with rage at having taken me, as he

said, for a _bon garçon_. I was, it seemed, a horrible "escape

officer," and had come to stir up his flock to revolt, etc., etc.

I should go to the bath only once a week, and not enjoy any

privileges or walks, etc. Knowing the Turk by this time, and

seeing much hope ahead, I said little. The generals were in

what had been a hotel, and were divided into several messes.

They had a garden in front of the house.

Captain Goldfrap, whom I remembered from Kut, came

to take me up to General Delamain, who was kinder to me than

I can say. He gave me dinner and some cognac. I was half

frozen with the snow. I noticed that his first questions were

about his officers and men. The generals had been cut off

for long from all the rest of the Kut force, and I enlightened

them considerably. General Evans, made a brigadier in the

last days of Kut, was still as cynical as ever. On this first

night of comparative comfort, I also talked to Major Hibbert,

whom I had had a little to do with when on General Smith's

Staff. They were all very, very kind to me. I didn't say

a word about escaping just yet. General Delamain talked

to me quite a long time after the others had gone. He was as

cool and unruffled as ever, and weighed the political news I

gave him very carefully. He was very much more _au courant_

than most officers through having read German literature

"on the passing show."

I rigged up a bed and slept. In the early hours of the dawn

I felt more peace than I had had for years. Snow was still

falling. I was very much impressed with every one's kindness

to me, a subaltern, and, knowing how hard up they all were,

decided to go on my own so far as possible. As I lay in bed

shivering with cold, I found a figure rattling tea-things beside

me. It was Namatullah, the faithful Mohammedan servant

of General Smith, who had heard I was back. He was always

the best of servants, and his delight at seeing me was a rare

treat. Later I got a servant to myself from the camp. The

escape got abroad the next day, when orders came that I was

not allowed to go out. But the generals one at a time took me

for walks, or went bail for me.

[Illustration: HOTEL AT BRUSA

WHERE OUR GENERALS, WITH THEIR A.D.C., SPENT THEIR CAPTIVITY]

Life here was more possible. They had books and papers

not so very old. They had had over two years of uninterrupted

study, and were very proficient in acquired languages. General

Melliss I thought more aged than the rest. His captivity sat

heavily upon him. He also was extremely kind to me, in fact,

I might say that one of the most wonderful experiences of my

many and varied phases of captivity was meeting these senior

officers of our army in captivity. More than ever I saw deep

into those traditions of the old British Army, where efficiency,

quietness, and comradeship took first place. I felt that for

these men captivity was even more serious than for me, for,

although their careers were more or less perfected and mine

broken off sharply at its beginning, still they had so much less

time left.

I am writing this part in Brusa, some little time after, and

want to give first place to this important record. I am tempted

to remark with Stevenson on the glories of old age. Youth

is uncharitable to youth, so coltish and impatient with shortcomings,

and so infinitely borable. My whole experience of

captivity showed nothing to equal the brave resignation of

these Christian men at Brusa, "their kindness and forbearance,

their oversight of imperfections." And I had had the

privilege of seeing their brigades in action, and knew them one

and all by common report for men who would have had their

own armies to command if they had been spared by fate for

France. I only hope that if ever anything of all this is

published they will not take amiss anything written herein.

_Later._--Most of the notes of my life in Brusa have been

lost. I must only record the gradual relaxation of my restrictions,

and my earning, by good behaviour (!), the right to my

own posta, who took me through the sights of old Brusa--for

this was the former capital--to the Green Mosque, and sometimes

away to the near foothills. Brusa is a smiling valley.

The high-road was forbidden, and it was only when we got a

new posta that we could go there.

I discovered most excellent companions in Major Hibbert

and Captain Goldfrap, who sometimes walked with me, and

were most strenuous workers at languages. General Hamilton

sometimes gave me tea and talked India and history, and

General Smith talked chiefly fishing. He seemed much

restored by his captivity, and walked at a tremendous pace.

General Delamain I discovered was a chess player, and many

were the excellent games we played together. He was very

much stronger than I, but I improved, and managed to win

about one in three later on, Queen's Pawn Opening being the

only one that he ever succumbed to. We had frequent talks

on politics and travel. He has many points of contact outside

his profession, and is most exceptionally well read in foreign

politics and international movements. On occasion at the

football field I was sometimes privileged to discuss with him

the larger game of chess that seemed to promise to pass from

an apparent stalemate to decisive results. The collapse of

Russia was now more than ever apparent. It was the fourth

week of March, 1918.

I had got to know Brusa fairly well by now with a view

to politics, and had sounded many of the prominent Turks

there. It was seething with sedition and readiness for revolt.

Suddenly two pieces of news arrived simultaneously.

Without notice I was ordered to Stamboul under a heavy

guard, being told I was probably to be exchanged....

And a heavy barrage of artillery had begun in France.

After dinner General Delamain took me into his room.

We had some Brusa wine and a long talk. He pointed to the

paper, and said he believed the beginning of the supreme test

had arrived. Facts following on this showed how right his

judgment was. He was most kind, and offered to lend me

money, for which I thanked him sincerely, but said I had

enough.

In fact, I told him I expected to be up either for a court-martial

or else to be going home. We had a pleasant evening,

and he wished me all luck.

General Melliss also gave me a tin bath and some good

advice. I collected orders for articles wanted for when, if

ever, I should return, and left at dawn.

The journey I made under a most undesirable character,

called Mohammed Ali, a Turkish subaltern, thoroughly dishonest

and treacherous, and a bully. We soon came to loggerheads,

as I realized I would get no privileges from him except

what I took. I was driven to the Brusa station in his gharry,

for which he made me pay two liras. When we got to

Modarnia I had to wait an age on the roadside in a biting

wind. This, I remember, set my neuralgia going severely in

my back. It was necessary to wait, he said, while he bargained

for various hens and a lamb, which he proposed to turn over at

a profit at Stamboul. Then, when I went for a meal to an

exorbitant Greek, he wanted to stop my ordering from the

waiter, even through him, and proposed to decide what I

should eat, and this, when he proceeded on the usual presumption

that I would pay for him. We did this on occasion, but

the regular thing into which this custom had grown was often

exploited against us. He ran up a huge bill of about two liras,

which he was so certain of my paying that he started bullying

beforehand. His face, when I didn't pay, was a study for

Mr. Punch's artist.

The sea ran high and our boat left before we arrived. I

hoped for many things if we could wait that night in Modernia,

what with communications and plans useful in case I returned

to Brusa. No one had ever stopped there. As bad luck had

it, a terrible little produce boat turned up late in the evening,

and, with many cattle and sheep and hens, we crouched down

from the wind. It was the third week in March, and at this

season the Marmora can be very rough.

White horses raced by, and cold spray dashed over us.

Except in the sun it was almost freezing. We called at two

or three little ports. The weather grew worse, and every one

was seasick, including Mohammed Ali. It was a race as to

who would be sick first. He eyed me helplessly. And, of

course, no sooner had he been sick two minutes than I had

a letter or two off. I felt sick, but was not actually so, and

tried to hide it. Later, I was allowed into the captain's wheelhouse,

and sat down. The sea was very rough, and got so

bad that we had to lay to all night off an island, where we

tossed and tossed. All the Turkish peasants, men and women,

went through their toilet in the dark, and what with men

smoking, women being seasick, and children--dozens of

babies bawling their heads off--I had plenty of entertainment.

I paid a lira for a place to stretch my legs and, later on, slept.

Before morning I had appropriated a fat peasant for a pillow,

in discovering which at dawn he was so honoured that he gave

me some cigarettes. Here Mohammed Ali butted in and

kicked him. However, I gave my place to him to finish my

lira's worth, and at this Mohammed Ali became nearly mad

with annoyance. During the previous day the cattle had

stampeded from side to side, and as the boat heaved one went

overboard, but was recovered. One was lost for good. More

than once, when the tiny top deck was deserted except for

my guard and myself, Ali edged away from the heaving side

and eyed me most furtively. I saw what he was thinking of.

I laughed, and caught hold of him, and he squealed and had

his posta brought up. I informed them both that they must

be careful, as the boat was rocking and the sea was rough and

that one cow had gone overboard!

The next morning we awoke to a magnificent dawn, and

all was still. Across a silver, warm, and sunny sea we cut a

gleaming path towards Stamboul. Land was scarcely in

sight, and I was alone with the sea. Things deep down within

one stirred with a sympathy now long grown old.... The sea

and destiny and the secrets ahead of us, known only to these

both.... Here was I, returning to Stamboul either to the

wonderful far-away world that lay before April 29th, 1916,

or to prison. I knew not which.

At about 3 p.m. the minarets of Stamboul stood out of a

glorious afternoon sky. I saw the scene of our adventure, and

soon was ashore once more by Galata Bridge.

Here I found a whole _posse_ of police to escort me, and began

to realize I was not going back to London!

On shore I found the most indescribable bustling in the

streets, and newspapers and bulletins were being bought

everywhere. My guard, and, in fact, several people, shouted

out to me as we went on, that England was "biti" (finished),

that our French front had collapsed, and we had lost 40,000

in prisoners alone. This increased my guards' excitement

so much that they walked at a fearful pace, and I told them

that when their news was bad they went slowly, and when

good they ran. This steadied them, and we clinked along

over familiar streets, and I expected to be going to Psamatia

again, but, instead, I was left with my guard outside the

Ministry of War, in the large square known as Serasquerat,

in the centre of which stood a very old tower, Yargun Kuhle.

Here, after some delay, I was sent into a room, and some

insolent Turkish officers gave contradictory orders. My kit

was burst open and searched, and anything like a knife or

matches, or razor, or even the commonest utensils such as a

fork, were all taken from me, together with any written

matter or books. Then I had another long wait in the central

hall, while Staff officers came and went, all talking about the

great news.

I was dead tired and hungry, having eaten only an egg

and some bread since leaving Brusa, thirty-six hours before.

My back gave such trouble I could hardly sit up straight.

Ultimately I was taken to a building called the Marhbesana,

a gaol where military and civil offenders languished and died.

I had heard a lot about the place. Four British officers had

been in it and one had died there. It was half full of

Armenians, who were spared until they divulged where their

money was, or of officers put on one side by Enver, and of

scapegoats, a few of whom, no doubt, deserved being there--excluding

myself. I went along hard stone passages to a

fellow called Djemal Bey, acting commandant of the gaol,

who wouldn't say anything about me, why I was there, or

what I had to do. I grew very tired and impatient at another

long wait of over an hour, standing up. Then I was put into

a room with an old Arab and a dishonest-looking civilian Turk,

and a renegade Egyptian. I was to be left here "a moment,"

so my escort said, as he went away, but the door was barred,

and I realized that I was a prisoner in this wretched tiny

dark room, with a window looking out on the passage and an

appalling lavatory place opposite. A heavy guard on the

door paced ceaselessly to and fro, and had strict orders about

me. I was not to be allowed anything.

The Egyptian actually made me a cup of coffee. He was

a cross-eyed sort of chicken-and-egg lad one sees in Port

Said, but I preferred him to the rascally Turk, who was

from Rumania, a clerk fellow, who called me Herr Leutnant,

and, when he wanted anything, Herr Hauptmann. Shouting

and roaring went on between these people. I got

a sort of tiny wooden frame down and tried to sleep. One

couldn't walk or move about while the others were there,

for want of room. The Arab was evidently a man of some

position from Aleppo. He proved a fanatic, and prayed

every half-hour on his mat, working his lips the while.

He had all the fervour of the fanatic, and when he prayed his

eyes assumed a Berserk look. I discovered him to be an old

rascal, none the less. He gave me a little of his soup (gaol

stuff), and then helped himself to some sugar and tea which

I had brought in my pocket against emergencies. No one

came near us with food all that day. I commenced to roar

lustily through the bars. After some hours of this a man

appeared the following day with some soup and bread at least

twenty-four hours after I had arrived. My companions now

laughed, and said I was to be court-martialled, and the old

Arab, who seemed friendly with the guard, told me they had

decided to try me for escaping, for sending letters home about

Stamboul, and that they had got letters back from some

"big men" in London to me which proved I had done so.

At this I felt more resigned.

The Arab then commenced in all sorts of ways to sound

me about helping him. He wanted a large sum of money to

let loose a conspiracy, something about killing the Sultan,

Enver, and a few more. It was very difficult to talk with

him, as I didn't know Arabic and he didn't know Turkish,

and he would only trust one old inaccessible man, who spoke

French, to translate. The scheme set me thinking. That it

was partly a feeler I had no doubt, but I began to glean direct

intelligence of many matters of intrigue in Turkey.

All the elaborate caution of the East this old Arab showed

when we talked together, pretending he was discussing food,

and we had often to wait for hours until the others were

asleep. This was March 27th, my birthday, and a terrible

one it was. I felt very unwell. There was no food. I had

no access to any one to ask for food, and my polite notes to

the commandant were ignored. I managed to get a paper,

and the news from France was bad. The German offensive

was sweeping everything before it.

My guards and gaol companions amused themselves by

showing literally how Germany was now walking over the

French and us. I, however, awaited the counter-offensive,

if we were not too broken, and, in any case, the moment

when the German advance must be outdistanced owing to

the elaborate communications required for pushing on the

great masses of men and materials of modern war. It was a

most miserable birthday, but in the evening we had a side

show, which I encouraged. The Turk slammed a door on

the Egyptian's heel, and then, in a second, the latter, who

had been very forbearing, was at his throat with one hand

and tried to brain him with an iron off the bed with the other.

The Turk produced a knife. They fought, and knocked over

the table. The old Arab came in to separate them, and got

embroiled himself.

When the show was at its height and the guard came in, I

stepped out and got a note on to a shelf in the washing-place.

This was for a poor little subaltern of the R.A.F., who had

been hauled into a room near mine, only he had some air and

a good view of the Bosphorus. Thus correspondence started.

I had had it ready, and when all the doors opened to see the

fun I shouted a word to him. We exchanged notes in this

way, although it took a long time for him to find the place.

We exchanged money and other things.

The fight being over, our commandant came in. He

thought I had had a hand in it, but the guard was loyal. I

asked for a cell for myself. He was an inconsiderate beast,

so I quoted the privileges of officers in captivity, and objected

to being with an Arab and a Turk. The latter was eventually

removed. Life went on. The plot of the Arab proved very

subtle. He wanted an aeroplane to fly with gold into Turkey,

and his party would meet it at a certain place, and then

presto! up would go any building or bridge we liked. I

found out the two sides to the Arab movement, the _coterie_

round Enver, the Armenian gambit, the German supervision,

and the extreme precariousness of Telaat's position as Grand

Vizier. The movement was quite widespread throughout

Turkey, but it all seemed so futile and nebulous. There was

no head, and corruption was on every hand. Three or four

days afterwards, I saw Gardiner's face around the passage

beckoning violently to me. With him here it was now apparent

what we were up for.

I got in touch with him by notes, and a day or so afterwards

I was taken from my appalling room and put into his, a fine,

large room, along a side alley and overlooking a courtyard with

huge iron railings, but with a most magnificent view of Stamboul

beneath us. It was a distinct change from the terrible

place I had been in.

Beneath us was another storey where the worst criminals

were confined. Their lot must have been terrible. The tops

only of their cell windows were above the ground.

Gardiner had been hauled away from camp at Afion Kara

Hissar for "escaping." This was all he knew. He had come

to prison about ten days after I had, and had had a much

better time. He had made some arrangement for getting

food outside by sending out a posta and giving heavy backsheesh.

Then, days later, we got the Kivas from the Dutch Embassy

to visit us. He brought Yarmouth bloaters and tea and clothes.

One day I bought a tin of cocoa, for which I paid £8 10s.

After a few more days the commandant sent for me, and said

an officer, who was interested in me, would like to talk.

I found a very polite Turk in naval uniform, who was

evidently out for news. I remembered having seen him with

Germans on occasions. What did I think of Stamboul, of

its beauties, of its buildings, of its future after the war?

He gave me news from the Western Front, and let me see the

papers, as the tide of war just then was much against us.

Had I seen Enver in Berlin? (They had evidently been reading

some of my letters, including some intended deliberately for

them.) Who was Earl Grey, was George Lloyd related to

Lloyd George, and was Fitzmaurice--a secretary to the British

Embassy before the war--in position in London? I merely

told him that I had only just commenced to get food, after being

neglected for some days, and if he would get me permission

to have a bath I would be glad and happy to help him waste

as little of his valuable time as possible.

This he did, and I was allowed to a bath--not my old one,

worse luck!--close to the gaol. I also got a doctor to verify

my former report to Dr. König that I needed baths, and there

I hoped to begin planning again. On the promise of a consideration

of these things, we talked hard. I told him I

recognized he was out for news, of which I had none; but

that, in other words, I was certain that unless Turkey made a

separate peace she would have small say in any peace, as Germany

would decide that for her. If she was for a separate

peace, the time was now, before the counter-offensive began.

I found out a good deal about the German hold on Turkey.

With considerable cunning, the Commandant Djemal later

confirmed my suspicions that the Turks, with all the capacity

for intrigue for which they are famous, wanted to get in

direct touch with England just to verify German accounts,

and a strong party in the Turkish Cabinet was for this. Their

motives were less those of _rapprochement_, than suspicion of

their grasping ally.

The bath I had every week, writing many letters about

it beforehand, or it was sure to be missed. We were allowed

to walk in the courtyard, a hundred yards long, every day or

two. Scanning the bars, I saw some British faces there, and

some Indian soldiers who had escaped. The R.A.F. officers

were brought to the prison just to be interrogated, and, after

a few days, went to a camp.

Colonel Newcombe now arrived, and had the next room to

us. We got in touch with him. He had just been allowed

to go to Brusa with some other senior officers, and after three

or four days there was brought here. He was most lugubrious

about the French front, and said he feared Kemmel meant

the collapse of Ypres, etc. We cheered him up, and sent him

_yarhut_, the Turkish sour cream. He was most generous with

the stores he had. We began communicating at our windows

as we had postas on our doors. I now heard that Lieut.

Sweet, who was to have escaped with me from Kastamuni,

had died in Yozgad. He had been wounded in his escape.

Fearing we might be separated, we arranged that the

defence of the case should be left to me, as it seemed still

uncertain whether we were up for trial of the letter--_i.e._, intent

to escape--or whether they knew anything about the actual

attempt.

Some days later I was sent for to the Taki-ki (Court of

Inquiry), some quarter of a mile off. They wanted to know

whether the fourth officer--referred to in _the_ letter--was

present. It seemed not. They then mixed up Galloway,

who had given his parole, with another officer who had wanted

to escape early in December, when the Black Sea affair was

on, but not later, for the Dardanelles attempt. Galloway it

was who had had a cheque stolen. My last memory of him

from his former visit was that he complained of leaving

Stamboul, which he liked. He had been sent for spectacles,

but the Turks had sent him to bed in hospital, saying his

eyes must be bad.

I answered nothing. Lieutenant Galloway turned up

weeks later, very indignant. He thought the prison much

inferior to the almost absolute freedom at Gedhos, where

those who had given their parole walked about practically

free for miles.

We others didn't sympathize much with his grief, but got

ready another plan for escaping while in town.

To our great amusement the parole wallas--those who

have given their word of honour to the Turks not to escape--are

infinitely touchy on this question, and prefer to call themselves

Jurors, as distinguished from non-Jurors. We ragged

them by pointing out that even a Bolshevik was only a non-conformist,

and we re-named them the Abjurors, as distinguishing

them from the Endurers. We heard that the Abjurors

(parole wallas) on leaving Changri had been persuaded to

"abjure" by promises of "palatial dwellings in Smyrna."

These turned out to be huts at Gedos.

Then the trial started. The other two were had up

separately. They said I wrote the letter, that it was entirely

my plan, although they were coming, and how only I had

managed to get the information it contained, and that the

whole plans were left with me.

I went the next day, realizing I could postpone the trial

if I wanted to. A colonel and four or five other officers were

assembled around a table, and a very decent Turk, Ali Bey,

who spoke excellent English--was a graduate of Edinburgh--talked

to me. They were all most deferential, and I seemed

rather a character to them. Many of my letters sent back

from the Censor lay on the table. I explained that I could

quickly tell them all they wanted to know, but wouldn't say

a word until they realized I was a British officer, and before

trial wanted some fair play. I wanted baths and massage

for my spine. There were my medical certificates to prove

this. I wanted food.

The therapeutic baths lay in Pera, far-famed Pera, which

included the church, the Embassy, the baths. The latter

gave me rest, and also chances of getting a _bandobast_ for

escaping, if necessary, alone. I actually got the court's leave

to go here, after refusing to say a word. An hour or two

afterwards I was striding along Pera with a military policeman

at my heels. It was such an exceptional thing in these days

to be allowed out from the gaol that my guard was impressed.

We found a bath the other end of Pera, a poor enough establishment,

but one of the few places where one could get hot

water. From here one managed to send out a note or two,

although at first my guard wouldn't allow me to speak to

any one alone. The bath people were awfully afraid, but I

paid them well, and little privileges like a note to the Embassy

meant cheques cashed and food available. The Germans

were now nearly at La Fére, and the public grew more timid

accordingly.

On my way back I was stopped at Galata Bridge by a tall

figure in mufti. The voice sounded strangely familiar. It

was Forkheimer, an intimate acquaintance of mine at Cambridge

before the war. We had often canoed up and down

the Cam, and had played some keen tennis together. I

had missed keeping an appointment with him in Leipzig in

1914, and had been invited to visit him in Vienna. Had he

been fighting? Yes! being a German-Austrian, _natürlich_, a

captain of cavalry, he had had his portion of it all on the

Russian-Austrian front. There was no time to say anything

else but give me his phone number.

On returning to the prison I found our room had been

changed, and of all people in the world I met there, Vicomte

D'Arici, my Italian friend from Kastamuni. He had been

brought to gaol for trial. He was a brave man, well read, an

excellent linguist, and had done foreign secret service for

Rome for years. He knew of people I had known in Germany.

In fact, it was the most exquisite good fortune that brought

us together in prison when the one aim of the commandant at

Kastamuni had been to separate us. We talked German day

and night. He was up for being in possession of plans of the

Dardanelles forts, and of all kinds of intelligence which he had

gathered at Adalia, where, being free for many months after the

outbreak of hostilities, he had been in a position to do this.

He had, I understood, got quite a lot through to the Italian

Foreign Office.

Nothing but the barest reference to the adventures and

intrigues that now followed is possible in this diary. He was

still carrying excellent information of the internal state of

Turkey, the army and navy, the inner politics, the German

supervision. Through him I got acquainted with one De Nari,

an Italian engineer of great influence and power and ability,

a prominent man in the Committee of Union and Progress,

and a close friend to Turkey. By dint of much work I continued

to pay bogus visits to a doctor's apartments beneath

de Nari's, and the posta believed this was my dentist. We

discussed politics, and de Nari, who was most hospitable and

kind, gave me information over coffee and smokes.

He was an intimate friend of Midhat Chukri Bey, the

secretary of the Union and Progress, and of Telaat Pasha, the

Grand Vizier. The latter was, it appears, quite interested in

Newcombe and me, and had some idea of getting in touch with

England direct. I had several offers made to me, and only

too glad would I have been to take any offer direct through

to our Foreign Office, especially as Telaat wouldn't trust any

ordinary envoy from Turkey. As the Germans had all the

codes, to begin _pourparlers_ by means of a prisoner would be

the most secretive. I became quickly _au courant_ with politics

there. I was told that when peace was in sight I was to be

sent home with an offer. I did not, however, like the great

influence that De Nari had in the councils of things, and it

seemed that the whole cabinet was a mass of infidelity and

intrigue. A few decided and definite men could have persuaded

Turkey out of the war, and, personally, I think it a great pity

we didn't bomb fortified Stamboul years before.