The Secrets of a Kuttite Part 37

One letter was to Lord Islington, and contained, besides a _precis_ 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 cas.h.i.+ng 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 G.o.d 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 a.s.sured 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'Hopital. 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 "ee 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. Konig, 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 (pa.s.sports), etc., were necessary, however, for the train, which went only so far as San Stefano!

While awaiting Dr. Konig, 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." Konig 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 b.u.mped by the sh.e.l.l 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 Konig, 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 s.h.i.+p. 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 cus.h.i.+ons 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 a.s.sistant 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 Emba.s.sy'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 a.s.sured 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 subst.i.tuted 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 bas.e.m.e.nt 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, s.h.i.+ps' 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 (pa.s.ses), 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 pa.s.sed 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, pa.s.sing 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 Gloucesters.h.i.+re 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 pa.s.sing 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 a.s.sumed the role 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 smas.h.i.+ng 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 a.s.sured me that a Jewish Armenian interpreter who had just joined the garrison was absolutely trustworthy.

He had carried several letters to the Emba.s.sy. 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 a.s.surance, agreed to his giving it to the interpreter Fauad.

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