The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Secrets of a Kuttite, by Edward O. Mousley
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Title: The Secrets of a Kuttite
An Authentic Story of Kut, Adventures in Captivity and Stamboul Intrigue
Author: Edward O. Mousley
Release Date: October 28, 2012 [EBook #41213]
Language: English
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THE SECRETS OF A KUTTITE
BY THE SAME AUTHOR
AN EMPIRE VIEW OF
THE EMPIRE TANGLE
With an Introduction by the
RT. HON. W. F. MASSEY
THE PLACE OF
INTERNATIONAL LAW
IN JURISPRUDENCE
[Illustration: "CTESIPHON"
(THE FAMOUS ARCH WHERE THE WOUNDED WERE GATHERED AT THE HEIGHT
OF THE BATTLE)]
THE SECRETS OF A KUTTITE
AN AUTHENTIC STORY OF KUT,
ADVENTURES IN CAPTIVITY AND STAMBOUL INTRIGUE
BY
CAPTAIN E. O. MOUSLEY, R.F.A.
LONDON: JOHN LANE THE BODLEY HEAD LIMITED
NEW YORK: JOHN LANE COMPANY MCMXXII
SECOND EDITION
PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED,
LONDON AND BECCLES.
THE TREK
No pause, no rest! Forward the column pushes
Across the stern and unproductive plain--
And Thirst, Satan's archfiend, darts at the brain
And the weight of the great heat their spirit crushes
To deeper silence and the tired feet bleed--
While the ruthless Turk with yells and sometimes blows
Urges them on beside his impatient steed
To a Future where and how no soldier knows
Beyond the dust-cloud on the horizon's rim,
Beyond the range of Hope--to memories grim.
But neither desert thirst nor fiercest sun
Nor dust-storms, nor the unknown miles ahead
Can touch their heart or clog its valves with dread--
These English lads that fought at Ctesiphon.
"SPARKLING MOSELLE."
From _Smoke_, the Kastamuni _Punch_.
TO
MY MOTHER
PREFACE
The following pages were actually written during the
siege of Kut or during captivity. The original manuscript
was concealed in Turkey and recovered months
after the Armistice. I have been persuaded by my friends
that to recast or add to the story would detract from whatever
appeal it may have as a human document. As such,
with all its limitations, it is offered to the public.
The exigencies of a captivity such as mine, even more
than in the field, determine from moment to moment one's
focus and perspective, and what to-day presents itself for
record is to-morrow ignored or forgotten by concentration on
the few things and the few moments that count. Added to
this there is for the prisoner the pressure of existence when,
so far from being allowed a pencil, he is considerably occupied
with selling his last fork.
One moves on from minute to minute between walls that
recede or converge, and one's experience, therefore, is a series
of incidents often unfinished. A diary must reflect one's
experience.
The secrets of every Kuttite would "make many books"
as large as this. And from an experience more varied than
fell to the lot of many prisoners the author hopes that the
following extract, a simple story of incident, adventure and
intrigue, may interest the British reader.
EDWARD O. MOUSLEY.
OXFORD AND CAMBRIDGE CLUB,
PALL MALL,
_March, 1921_.
CONTENTS
PAGE
PREFACE ix
PART I
TO THE FALL OF KUT, APRIL 29TH, 1916
CHAPTER I
_En route_ from Hyderabad to Mesopotamia. Voyage up the Tigris 3
CHAPTER II
With the Sixth Division after Ctesiphon. The retreat and action at
Um-al-Tabul 10
CHAPTER III
We reach Kut. Beginning of the siege. The Christmas assault 22
CHAPTER IV
Relief delayed. Floods. Life during the siege 52
CHAPTER V
General Aylmer's attempt. More floods. Pressure of the siege.
Preparations for relief. Failure. Life in a siege mess 88
CHAPTER VI
The last days of Kut. Sickness. Death. Surrender 120
PART II
THE TREK. KASTAMUNI
CHAPTER VII
The Third Captivity. Baghdad. The desert march of the sick column.
We reach Ras-el-Ain 163
CHAPTER VIII
By rail and trek over the Taurus to Angora. The last trek to
Kastamuni 185
CHAPTER IX
Life in Kastamuni. The first summer, 1916 208
CHAPTER X
Winter. Our "self-made" orchestra 222
CHAPTER XI
Extracts and Photos from _Smoke_, the Kastamuni _Punch_ 232
CHAPTER XII
Spring. Plots to escape. Betrayal. Escape of others. I am sent
to Stamboul for hospital 267
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 Marmara. Return 291
CHAPTER XIV
Discovery of the letter. Brusa. Court-martial. Life in a Stamboul
prison. Politics and intrigue 323
CHAPTER XV
Brusa again. Change on Western Front. Stamboul before the end.
Political manoeuvring. The Prince Subaheddine. The Union and
Progress Party 350
CHAPTER XVI
I leave Stamboul on a mission _en route_ for the Fleet.
Meet the Prince's delegate at Smyrna. Free! With the Entente
Fleet at Mudros before entering the Dardanelles 367
CHAPTER XVII
I leave Mudros with despatches for Rome, Paris, and
London, England! 381
EPILOGUE 386
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS AND MAPS
FACING PAGE
CTESIPHON _Frontispiece_
THE BRICK-KILNS, KUT 24
REMAINS OF MY BATTERY POSITION ON THE MAIDAN 56
RECENT PHOTO OF AUTHOR'S LAST BILLET IN KUT 134
GENERAL TOWNSHEND AT BAGHDAD, A PRISONER, WITH KHALIL
PASHA ON HIS LEFT 158
OUR PRISON, BAGHDAD (after British Occupation) 166
LETTER FROM EVE. (Photographed from _Smoke_) 232
KASTAMUNI KUTTITES KLEAROUT KOMPANY. (_Smoke_) 234
KING ARTHUR'S KNIGHTS OF THE OBLONG TABLE, ETC. (_Smoke_) 240
MERMAID READING (_Smoke_) 240
DIE NACHT, ETC. (_Smoke_) 244
AN ESCAPE STORY. (_Smoke_) 244
"FALL OF KUT." (_Smoke_) 248
THE SONG OF THE RAIN. (_Smoke_) 248
ENTRY OF GENERAL MAUDE INTO BAGHDAD 296
PHOTO OF AUTHOR TAKEN SECRETLY WHILE A PRISONER IN STAMBOUL 310
LIEUT.-COL. S. F. NEWCOMBE, D.S.O., R.E. 318
HOTEL AT BRUSA, ETC. 326
DJEMAL PASHA, ONE OF THE TRIUMVIRATE WHOSE A.D.C., ISMID
BEY, MET ME SECRETLY 340
GENERAL TOWNSHEND ON HIS ISLAND (PRINCIPO) WITH VISITORS 342
THE FIRST WARSHIP IN TURKISH WATERS: H.M.S, MONITOR 29 370
MAPS
OF KUT DURING SIEGE 42
OF GENERAL AYLMER'S ATTEMPT OF MARCH, 1916 88
OF TREK, INCLUDING PLANS OF ESCAPE 392
PART I
TO THE FALL OF KUT, APRIL 29TH, 1916
THE SECRETS OF A KUTTITE
CHAPTER I
EN ROUTE FROM HYDERABAD TO MESOPOTAMIA--VOYAGE
UP THE TIGRIS
_Kut-el-Amara, December 22nd, 1915._--At the present
moment I'm snugly settled inside my Burberry sleeping-bag.
The tiny candle that burns gloomily from its
niche in the earth wall of the dug-out leaves half the compartment
in sharp shadow. But through the doorway it lights a
picture eloquent of war. This picture, framed by the sandbags
of the doorway, includes a gun-limber, observation pole,
rifles, a telescope, and a telephone, along a shell-pierced wall.
Above winding mounds of black soil from entrenchments
hang the feathery fronds of the eternal palm. Only some
droop, for mostly they hang, bullet-clipped, like broken
limbs. The night is still and cold, the stillness punctuated by
the rackety music of machine-guns. As I write snipers'
bullets crack loudly on the _mutti_ wall behind my head.
Another night attack is expected from the trenches in front
of the 16th Brigade which we must support. When the
battery is in action the most unloved entertainment that
offers is the rifle fire that just skips the wall enclosing the
date-palm grove in which we are hidden. Sometimes the
sharp crackling sound of bullets hitting the trees increases
as the flashes of our guns are seen by the enemy, and resembles
in its intensity a forest on fire. One hears a sudden crack
just ahead like the sharp snapping of a stick, and in the early
days of one's initiation a duck is inevitable. I don't say one
ducks, but one finds one has ducked. For a time every one
ducks. It is no use telling people that if the bullet had been
straight one would have been hit before hearing it strike the
palm. Some people go on ducking for ages. Of course I'm
talking of the open. In the trenches ducking is a fine art.
The last time I ducked commendably, that I remember, was
yesterday. I was observing from our front line trenches
with plenty of head protection from the front, when a bullet
came from an almost impossible direction. It flung a piece
of hard earth sharply on my cheek, and I ducked. Afterwards
I laughed and took more care.
By the way, as this is not a diary but an unpretentious
record of things not forgotten, and intended on reference to
dispel the illusion that all this is a dream, I may as well furnish
an explanation of how I, Edward Mousley, a subaltern in the
Royal Field Artillery, come to be in this dug-out here in
Kut-el-Amara, along with the Sixth Division under General
Townshend, that is to say, almost the whole original Force D,
besieged by the whole Turkish army in Mesopotamia under
Nureddin Pasha.
My brigade was at annual practice near Hyderabad Scind
when a wire ordered another subaltern and me to proceed
at once on service with Force D (in Mesopotamia) to replace
casualties. Some very kind words and excellent advice from
my Colonel and innumerable _chota_ pegs from every one else
and the next morning we left, the other subaltern and Don
Juan and I, to exchange practice for reality. Don Juan is
my faithful horse. At Karachi I found several gunners of my
acquaintance who had come out from Home with me in the
_Morea_, a few months before, including one Edmonds, who
had tripped with me across India.
At Karachi I stored much useless kit, motor cycle, and
spare saddlery, and notwithstanding a heavy bout of malaria
just before, left for service fit and well equipped and with as
excellent a horse as one could wish for. We sailed in the tiny
mail boat _Dwarka_ for Muscat, Bushire, Basra.
Muscat is a mere safety valve of Satan in his sparest
wilderness, a lonely patch of white buildings completely shut
in by awful mountains, rocks that in remote ages seem to
have frowned themselves into the most fearful convulsions.
And, even in November, hot!
After two days of scorching heat and tempestuous seas we
arrived at Bushire, where a spit keeps shipping off.
Fifty Gurkhas, and a subaltern of whom I was to see
something by and by, came aboard. Fine little fellows they
are and very cheerful and contented even on the wretched
deck of a tiny steamer loaded with fowls, food, a Persian
donkey, vermin, and half-breeds.
Then, in a resplendent dawn, I saw the banks of the
Shatt-el-Arab, verdant with the greenness of a new lawn,
where millions of date palms clustered side by side on the flat,
flood-washed shores. Here the river is half a mile wide.
One may imagine its changed appearance when the great
floods come, that are now three months off. Outside the
entrance on the right bank, Fao, a tiny village and fort, marks
the initial landing and conquest by Force D--General
Delamain's brigade--in October, 1914.
Both banks of the river are thickly forested with date-palms
right up to Basra, a crowded spot of a few hundred
yards in frontage on both sides of a tiny creek Ashar, whence
once Sinbad sailed. It was brimful of soldiers and Arabs, and
quantities of stores and planks stood around half-erected
buildings. It had the appearance of a very busy port, some
dozen huge ocean-going vessels being anchored in the stream.
There was no wharfing accommodation at all. One communicates
with the shore by bellums. This is a flat-bottomed
pointed boat and propelled by bamboo poles or paddled by
sticks nailed on to a round blob of wood.
The shipping included H.M.S. _Espiegle_, the _Franz Ferdinand_,
and the _Karadenis_, the two latter being large steamers captured
by us and used as accommodation boats, each taking a thousand
men if necessary. Pending the arrival of our upstream
transport I was ordered with the other officers on to the
_Karadenis_ which lay in mid-stream. Some wretched-looking
Turkish prisoners were aft.
We little knew it at the time, but our few days on this
ship or mosquito-hive were destined to be our last in even
moderate comfort. Henceforth we were to be playthings of
the God of War.
There was a strange silence about news on this front.
Some thought our army was near Azizie, over four hundred
miles up river; others that we were just outside Baghdad. We
were chafing to get away to our units before we got malaria.
A sudden chance with a detachment of the 14th Hussars was
offered to a subaltern nick-named "Fruit-salt," because
"'e knows," and myself. We left on a paddle-boat called
the _P.5_, a barge of horses, Don Juan among them, on either
side.
To get on the _P.5_ again from the horse-barges we hop
over to the paddle-box and clamber on deck. Our camp
beds we stretched out forward, the men, arms, and maxims
arranged aft. We had a comfortable mess table set so that
we could see upstream and also a good deal of the left
bank. The officers of this troop of the 14th Hussars on
board were all very young, very pleasant, and very keen.
We sat and drank or smoked and talked, and war seemed then
very far away. Or we watched a wandering tribe of Arabs
trekking in the distance. The country was, of course, dead
flat and except for a scrubby grass there was nothing to
intercept one's eye reaching to the horizon. The river winds
a lot and far away the _mahela_ sails seemed to be making over
land. One thought of the Norfolk Broads. Somewhere in
the early morning we passed the confluence of the Euphrates
and Tigris, and Ezra's tomb. (Maxim fire increasing: I
must switch off here now.) _Later._--No harm occurred except
the heavy sniping has knocked out some poor horses and
wounded a syce and spoiled some more palms. I continue.
There was also on board an excellent engineer, full of
"sunny retrospect." He could talk or listen, which is like
unto a horse that can gallop and walk. As he explained on
inquiry, he had never married, nor had he ever avoided
marriage. Altogether he was a delightful fellow for company.
We passed the marshes of Kurna of an earlier engagement
in this campaign, where our army had dislodged the Turk
with guns mounted on planks between bellums, and whole
brigades punted and poled their way up. "Forward the light
bellums!" "Charge!" were the orders the commanding
officers yelled on that day. Britain was always irresistible
on the water! The whole affair is now called "Regatta
week."
We also passed where the Garden of Eden was said to have
been. As a matter of fact, the whole of this country, like the
plains of India, is delta formation. The two rivers must have
been higher up and consequently Eden also. The latter fact
rather knocks out the little remaining romance about the
place. Sir William Wilcocks puts the site at Hit, above
Baghdad, and says that even going no further back than the
tertiary epoch would place the delta there.
We reached Amara on the fourth day. It is a village of
some considerable size pleasantly lining both banks of a
beautiful straight reach in the Tigris. In the broad, clear
water one sees reflected the languid droop of the eternal date
palm, the great triangular sails of the _mahela_, the regular
contour of the Bridge of Boats. It is not unpicturesque.
Here, some months ago, a delightful _coup_ was effected by the
commander of H.M.S. _Shaitan_ and about a dozen men. These
were the first in the pursuit from Kurna, and the others not
having arrived, determined on a bold policy, as at any moment
the Arabs might have joined forces with the Turk and rendered
the taking of Kurna quite difficult. These few men went
ashore and, entering the barracks containing some several
hundreds of men, demanded their surrender and the immediate
handing over of the town. The prestige of the British Navy
or the eloquent silence of the gunboat's guns did the rest.
And so by this remarkable bluff Amara fell without bloodshed,
and was held although reinforcements did not arrive until the
next day.
Above Amara the country is still perfectly flat, but appears
less marshy in winter than lower down. Here a thicker ground
scrub teems with black partridge and quail, some of which we
shot from the boat. A sub. in the Hussars, named Pope,
brought off a wonderful revolver shot into a jackal's ribs from
the boat: we practised revolver shooting hard.
Arabs clustered in tiny tribes every few miles along the
river. The men, some of whom are quite naked, I thought
remarkable for great size of limb and muscular development.
They would sometimes accompany the boat for miles, doing
their weird undulating dance, hopping round first on one foot
and then on the other. They welcome us when we win and
torture and loot our wounded when they get a chance. Here
and there Jewish women and old men ladle water by a swinging
scoop into a drain for their irrigation. The dress and general
customs continually recall one's school days' pictures of
Biblical times.
Two or three days later we got to Kut-el-Amara (pronounce
Kut like foot), passing the battlefield of Essin _en route_.
It was at Essin where Townshend, by leaving his tents on one
bank of the river and crossing in the night, deceived the Turk
into fancied security, and the next day flung him neck and
crop out of a position of great strength.
Here the Hussars took my horse on by the desert and I
left in the _Shirin_ for Azizie. At Kut we had heard that
Baghdad would fall that evening, and later that night reverse
news that we had had very heavy casualties. The hospitals
were removed from the barges, and reinforcements' kit of the
West Kents and Hussars was left with us instead. "Fruit-salt"
and I messed with the West Kents, awfully good fellows,
one a youngster just from Clare College. The remaining
West Kents marched, escorted by the 14th Hussars, and met
us at some point on the river each day. One night we were
stranded ashore and in awful rain. The _tatti_ (rush) roof let
most of the water through, and what it did not let through,
collected in gutters that every now and then deluged over us.
My sleeping bag became a tank. Suddenly came the dawn
and we awoke to a steaming-hot sunny world.
A heavily-armed launch protected with _boosa_ bales passed
us. Their answer--"Headquarters"--was our first intimation
of the seriousness of the position of our army. Two days
after this, and about eight or nine since leaving Basra, we got
to Azizie, a mere bend in the river with a few huts. There
were many horses watering and several hundred Turkish
prisoners on the bank. On every side we saw evidence of a
hurried march. It was all hustle and haste. We went ashore,
our last orders being to leave for Salaiman Pak, some thirty
miles up river and fifteen from Baghdad. But once ashore,
we saw from the ungroomed condition of the horses, the dust-covered
harnesses and wagons, the exhausted men, many
asleep in their roughly arranged lines, that our army after
tremendous exertions had just arrived and halted. The
C.R.A.'s flag hung over a mud hut. He explained that we
had fought a big action at Ctesiphon where the Turks were
heavily entrenched, that we had turned them out, and got
into their second line when the enemy had retired to the
Diala river, his third line. But the action, which was tactically
a brilliant success, had cost us a third of our force. The word
came that two Turkish divisions were reinforcing them, so
we retired in the night. It seems that for a time both armies
were in retreat, but the Turks, on hearing of our withdrawal,
gave chase. They were, however, doubly respectful in having
suffered casualties twice our own, and they held off some few
miles from Azizie.
CHAPTER II
WITH THE SIXTH DIVISION AFTER CTESIPHON--THE RETREAT
AND ACTION AT UM-AL-TABUL
"Fruit-salt" and I joined our batteries, mine being
the 76th R.F.A. All the force bore marks of a
great struggle, great losses, keen hardship. The
weary army was resting. That was well. Some kindly god
that knew what still awaited them smiled on them, and they
slept. Here at last, I thought, is the famous army of General
Townshend, the fighting Sixth Division, that had overcome
difficulties that few other armies had been called on to do,
that had endured hardships of heat and thirst and pestilence
in the cauldron of Asia, marched hundreds of miles with
improvised transit, and moved from victory to victory until
Ctesiphon. General Townshend's was the most loyal of
armies in adversity. They knew that against his counsel he
had been ordered to risk the action, where even if doubly
victorious their tiny numbers would have been insufficient to
hold Baghdad. There was also the haunting dream of that
lonely river, our sole communication, winding through a
hostile country five hundred miles to Basra. Reinforcements
there were none at all in the country, which was a fortnight's
distance from India and more from Egypt. Anyway, this
was the army of which I, a subaltern in the 76th Battery,
Royal Field Artillery, was now privileged to consider myself
a member.
Rapid plans were in execution to strengthen Azizie, as the
Turks might try a night attack. The troops had only arrived
that morning, but by nightfall we had thrown up quite a bit
of cover with gun pits and light breastwork for the infantry.
Perfect order reigned over the customary military procedure.
No Turks were in sight. Every man of the fatigued army
worked as happens on manoeuvres. It was only the battered
condition of the gun carriages, the gaping wounds in the
diminished teams of horses and that quiet "balanced up"
look in the eyes of every Tommy that told of a reality more
grim. On the flat mud desert, with no kind asset of nature
to assist them, the nearest reinforcements hundreds of miles
away, but with its own transport and some limited supplies,
this lonely British army formed its semi-circle on the river.
So it faced this unkind plain, its destiny in its hands.
An atrociously bad place to defend is Azizie, merely a
meagre bend in the river, a floody or dusty desert with a few
mud-walled buildings on the Tigris edge. Much of our baggage
had to be left on a barge and the rest was taken from the Shirin
into the R.A. shed. The first was ultimately sunk and the
latter burned. None of it I have ever seen since--saddlery,
coats, uniforms, camp equipment--all went.
All the officers of the 76th Battery had been wounded
except one--Devereux, who had been with me at Hyderabad,
and Captain Carlyle of the 63rd Battery was in command.
I slept by the gun pits. Beyond the line of infantry that
separated us from the Turk, some jackals howled in ghoulish
song. They had followed on the flank of our army and waited
expectant, for they too had visited the field of Ctesiphon!
Their devilish symphony grew fainter, and I slept. Now and
then I was awakened by sniping.
The next day, November 29th, we got matters in order,
rearranged teams and sections to replace casualties, and
overhauled. We continued our vigilance. There was much
to be done and, as might be expected after the recent ordeal,
many were nerve-ragged and irritable, but all were light-hearted.
We expected to move that evening, but did not.
I slept on the perimeter by the guns again, and awoke to find
my servant packing up. Orders to stand by to move in an
hour set me going at once. After an early breakfast I had to
go and relieve another artillery officer on the observation post,
which was merely a few sandbags on the roof of a house,
covered with rushes to keep off the sun. At 11 a.m. the
greater part of the force had got on the road. Southward ho!
The Staff left about 11.30. General Smith, C.R.A., asked me
my orders, which were to wait there until sent for, but which
should have included "unless the Staff leaves first," as I was
left without any guard and surrounded by hostile Arabs. I
thought it better to wait a little and give a last attention to
the column I had seen emerging from the northward clumps of
trees where the enemy was waiting. I am glad I did so, for I
was afforded the privilege of witnessing a spectacle at once
unique and magnificent.
Below me the river lay blue in the morning sun between
the black winding banks, and dark Arab forms dotted its
shores. Somewhere ahead upstream was Baghdad. Distant
horsemen scoured the plain. Some cavalry of ours lay hidden
in an old smashed _serai_ just north of the village. Moving
south-eastward rose the dust of the main Turkish advance,
mounting in clouds higher and higher. The quicker dust
marked their cavalry, and here and there in dense column
formation their wheeled traffic came on. To the southward
in perfect order, and moving at an even pace, was our own army
in retreat. The khaki column reached away to the horizon
of dust, and the swarthy visages of our Indian troops doing
rearguard in extended order, and the gleam from the accoutrements
of the 14th Hussars were visible without field glasses.
The village itself that was burning in a dozen places now
broke into one great conflagration, and simultaneously some
Arab bullets cut their way unmistakably near. I decided
to rejoin my battery that was waiting half a mile off, as it was
selected for rear guard. Fortunately, before climbing down
the observation post I took the precaution to peer over the
edge at the doorway. I saw about a dozen gigantic Arabs,
one or two with knives, lounging round the exit, evidently
counting on my uniform and equipment after they had
despatched me. So I talked and answered for a minute, and
shouted an order for them to think I was not alone. Then I
ducked out the other side and jumped the back wall. I met
my orderly coming with my horse. The Arabs around the
doorway yelled in disappointment as we both galloped off.
I brought the battery into action just south of the town, but
we did not open fire. Then the C.O. signalled "Retire." It
was "Rear limber up, walk march, trot, canter," then a mile
farther on "Halt! Action rear," and so on. A delightful
battery, men and horses knew their job perfectly and foresaw
the order every time.
We did about fifteen miles, and halted by the river side
at Um-al-Tabul, a mere locality without a building. I had
scarcely seen that the horses were fixed up and fed, when an
order came that General Smith, B.G.R.A., C.R.A., wanted me
as orderly officer. I was to report immediately. An orderly
officer, I was told at once, is responsible for the health and
well being of his general, and has many details to attend to.
In action there are countless orders to deliver and reports to
make. The Brigade Major, mistaken for General Smith, had
unfortunately been knifed by an Arab while asleep one night
on a boat, so the Staff Captain and I were the only Staff. We
shared a dug-out, or rather hole, eighteen inches deep and of
course uncovered. Reinforced with some bread, meat, and
whisky, I scooped a pillow place for the General's head, and
in the darkness tried to collect some little of my kit, which,
however, got lost in the subsequent events of the night. I
completed arrangements for the morning and then slept.
General Townshend's _jugga_ was next ours. We were on
the river bank. Behind us lay H.M.S. _Firefly_ and other boats
and barges.
Presently from out of the darkness shells began to fall
around us. We were right in the line of fire. It appeared
that they were shelling the _Firefly_. One shell pitched just
short of us and wounded the syces, another burst exactly
over us, but too high for the spread to reach us. Then a brisk
rifle fire commenced and here and there we heard a suppressed
groan. These were my first real moments under fire. The
darkness and scantiness of cover made it seem worse, but I
was not half so frightened as I thought I should be, and after
some minutes, when it was necessary for me to deliver some
messages, I gave myself up to Fate with a light heart and
blundered in the darkness on my several errands. That was
infinitely better than lying pinched up in the inadequate hole
watching the dried grass being cut by bullets a foot above
one's head. It is a great thing to be occupied in times like
this. In passing through my battery I heard that two drivers
of my section had been killed. On returning to the dug-out
I saw the Staff Captain ferociously digging with a mess-tin.
I did the same for the General's side with his own shaving mug,--which
I bent, to his disgust--and then got on to my own.
About midnight the rifle fire thickened. Now of all entirely
horrid things under these conditions you have first and
foremost the bullet. It is a thing conceived by Satan for the
dispatch of his outsiders and unbeloved. Invisible it comes
from anywhere. You hear it and know you are safe. Or you
feel it and know you're hit. Since then I have often been under
rifle fire, but that night the devilry of the bullets was strange.
At 3 a.m. General Townshend said he would attack in two
columns unless the fire ceased. I delivered orders connected
therewith, but the fire slackened. I slept, and awoke before
the dawn, and bustled around after our headquarters' transport,
as we expected an immediate move. I also got breakfast
ready. This was December 1st.
At 8 a.m. the transport began to move. At 8.30 it had
got fairly on its way. At nine I was standing by the Headquarters
transport ready to move off, when the fog cleared as
suddenly as the shadows lift when the moon comes from behind
a cloud. Before us, some eighteen hundred to two thousand
yards off, on the higher ground, we saw a host of tents. Even
as we looked the guns of the Field Brigade on the outer
perimeter were limbering up. But within two minutes they
were down again in action, and the first shell sang out the
delight of the gunner at the prospect of so gorgeous a target.
For one minute it was splendid. The spirits of the incarnated
field guns ripped their music across the morning sky and over
the dewy earth in quick and lightning song. The next his
shells came back. I relished much less the white puffs up in
the air near us, each burst a better one. But almost immediately
I found myself taking a professional interest in the
faulty fuses of the Turk. Our own shells were cutting great
gaps in the tents and in the columns of panic stricken fleeing
Turks. I saw our bursts in excellent timing, quite low. But
their fire also thickened, and converged on the mass of troops
not yet under way, and also on our shipping, which was caught
at a wholesale disadvantage. Still, a great mass of transport
stuff and ammunition was on the move.
At last it was all off, and only the perimeter of our camp
remained, the four field batteries and the single line of infantry
close beyond them. Standing in the centre of the shell-strewn
ground was General Townshend and his Staff. I stood
for a while between him and General Smith, from time to time
galloping to the several batteries with orders or inquiries about
ammunition. Away to our right between the Turkish advance
and our own, the 14th Hussars were very busy, now covering
behind the knolls and now swooping upon the enemy, who,
however, gave them no chance of getting in at close quarters.
S Battery, R.H.A., which worked with them, was pouring
shell after shell into the teeth of the Turkish force.
One could not but feel the keenest admiration for General
Townshend, so steady, collected and determined in action, so
kind, quick and confident. There, totally indifferent to the
shell fire, he stood watching the issue, receiving reports from
the various orderly officers and giving every attention to the
progress of the transport. Some shells pitched just over us,
one, not fifteen yards away, killing a horse and wounding
some drivers. The restlessness of the horses, some stamping
their feet, others tossing their heads, betokened their objection
to standing still at such a time. It really is the most difficult
thing to do. One's mind was left too free to prophesy where
the next shell would fall. More than once I caught a humorous
smile on the General's face as some shell just missed us.
Suddenly, to the southward, a thick dust wall appeared.
The Turks had got round, and our transport, uncertain about
advancing, was held up. For ten minutes it seemed that the
issue might become general, but our gunners, and especially
S Battery, kept up such a rate of fire that the Turks were
paralysed. The officer commanding this battery, acting on
local knowledge, remained in action after the order to retire
had reached him, and by so doing contributed greatly to the
success of the day.
About nine o'clock General Melliss' Brigade, which had preceded
us from Azizie by several miles and which had been sent
for during the night, arrived on the scene of action, appearing
from the south-eastern quarter. That effectively threw back
the Turkish attack.
Then, as we gradually gave way, the tide of action moved
very slowly southwards. The General motioned us to take
cover in a ditch. Our horses we had sent on. It was about
this time that H.M.S. _Firefly_ was hit in her boiler and
captured by the Turks. Several barges filled with wounded
and stores had to be abandoned.
First one battery limbered up and fell into action half a
mile to the rear, then another, and so on. Several times I
took orders over the intervening ground that was now being
plastered with shells bursting either too high or on graze. Don
Juan behaved excellently. He shied once violently when a
shell burst just behind us, and again as he took off to jump a
nullah at the bottom of which a medical officer I knew, Major
Walker, was attending to a wounded man. For the rest he
went in his best hunting style over ditches and holes and took
not the slightest notice of the noise or bursts. I often give
him an extra handful of hay when I recall December 1st.
The transport was now some miles on its way and the mule-drivers
were doing their utmost. Then the Staff mounted and
I was sent to see the whereabouts of the ammunition barge,
as the guns, especially S Battery, were running short. Luckily,
I discovered where it had got stuck. In feverish haste we
replenished the carts ourselves, General Smith, the Staff
Captain and I, our telephonists and horseholders, all loading
the first few carts at the run. In less than five minutes the
cute little Jaipur ponies and mules had galloped to their guns.
The batteries remained in action as long as possible without
jeopardizing their safety, and each covered the retirement of
the other. This went on for hours. We, the Staff, walked
our horses half a mile, dismounted and waited. Our pace was
the pace of the slowest fighting unit, _i.e._ a walk. Gradually
we out-distanced the enemy, the Cavalry Brigade keeping him
back. Once they caught us up and sent shells wildly over our
heads. The Turks don't know enough of the science of
gunnery. If their fuses had been more correct our casualties
could not have failed to be very heavy. As it was they were
extraordinarily small considering the huge losses we inflicted
on them.
It was a most wonderful engagement, and General Townshend
watched its every phase with great satisfaction. An
exclamation of delight broke from him as he directed our
attention to a charge of the 14th Hussars. Over the brown of
the desert a mass of glittering and swiftly-moving steel bore
down upon the line of Turks, which broke and bolted. Then
the 14th came back.
My next job was to gather spare men and protect the
General's flank from Arab snipers. Once or twice a bullet
hit the ground at my feet. These Arabs use a tremendous
thing, almost as big as an elephant bullet.
At four o'clock I was ordered to ride ahead of the column
to find a watering place, which I did; but the Turks still
pressed in our rear, and we had to shove on without watering.
I managed to water Don Juan, however, and gave him three
of my six biscuits. The General had one and Garnett and I
had half each. We pushed on, the horses showing signs of
fatigue. At 6 p.m. it was dreadfully cold, and dark as
Tophet. The order of the column had now been changed, the
Field Artillery leading. The B.G.R.A. (General Smith), the
Staff Captain, and I, rode at the head of the Division. The
orders were seventy paces to the minute with compass directing.
We took this in turns of half-hours. The strain was very
severe. We had had no food except a sandwich for breakfast
for twenty-four hours--violent exercise under exhausting
conditions. The ten hours in the saddle had made me stiff,
which was to be expected after the slack life of a month on
board. We lost our way again and again as we got deeper into
the dense black night. Road there was none, only a few hoof
marks on the _maidan_. Tracks that went comfortably for a
mile suddenly proved false, and then we had to hunt for the
road. We all grew more irritable as we grew more tired, and
I got an awful wigging about every two minutes. It's no
joke leading an army on a pitch black night and endeavouring
to keep to a road that doesn't exist, especially when
thousands of Turks are in hot pursuit a mile or two behind
the tail of the column.
"Is this the road?" asks one.
"I don't believe it is."
"I think he's wrong. He's taking that fire for the
star."
"He must be wrong. That fire has been directly ahead
for hours and now it's to the left."
This was the eternal conversation behind as one tried to
count the seventy and answer inquiries as to the magnetic
bearing at the same time. With such preoccupations one
could not very well suggest that the nearer one got to the fire,
the more to a flank it must appear unless we were to walk on
the top of it.
Then arguments would follow as to whether such a mark
were really a hoof-mark or wheel track. The Staff Captain
lost his way several times running, and I confess my heart
rejoiced thereat. But we soon passed from levity that was
born of nervous exhaustion, to silence, grim and impenetrable.
I shall never forget that night. The want of sleep was maddening.
Since then I have gone without sleep for days together,
except for an hour or so once or twice. Then it came on one
unprepared. We stumbled on. I thought of the army behind
us, men as tired and hungry as I was, the army that had conquered
Mesopotamia, all bravely staggering onwards in the
darkness; heroes of Ctesiphon, full of painful memories of
lost pals somewhere behind, marching, marching, marching
to the pace we set, and following the indication of my prismatic
compass.
Some of the Staff suggested a halt. But our Napoleonic
general drove us on. Again, as we learned subsequently, he
saved us. That night the Turkish army, reinforced, was
trying to outmarch us.
We pressed on and on. Don Juan followed with my
orderly. It was awfully cold, but I preferred the cold to the
weight of my coat. I slung it over Don Juan. The poor
brute shivered from cold and hunger every halt. The march
became a nightmare. With frequent drinks of water I managed
to keep on. At eleven o'clock we were almost into the halting-place--Monkey
Village by name--when the whole column,
which was some five miles long, was compelled to halt owing to
a block. The ground was very uneven and scored with
nullahs, and had only the one narrow track leading to the
village. Across this track the Cavalry Brigade, which had
gone on ahead of us as advance guard, had bivouacked. The
block took about an hour and a half to rectify.
At last we got to some open ground past the village. How
cold it was! We bivouacked on sandy soil. I scooped a
dug-out for the General, got a few handfuls of hay for Don
Juan, and a whisky and water for myself. General Smith
got some sort of a meagre meal with me from a tin of jam, a
little bully and a biscuit. We kept half for the morning. All
our delightful _yak-dans_ of stores, hams, fowls, biscuits, jam,
tea and coffee were miles away with the transport, and I
inquired a hundred times that night before turning in, without
result. Those of our blankets which were not lost in the
scurry of the morning fight, were there also with the transport.
So in the bitter cold wind, feet numbed and teeth chattering,
I scraped a hole for my arm and a sand pillow for my head,
and shoving my topee over my ears to drown the nervy rip-rip
of the Arab snipers, I slept. It was not for many minutes.
The cold was too intense, without a coat. Then I had to ride
to General Townshend for orders several times. Poor Don
Juan was awfully done, but very game. There was a tiny
stone bridge over a deep nullah near the village. Each time
I was held up there. The scene was of the wildest confusion.
Camels were being thrashed across, kicking mules hauled
across, troops trying to cross at the same time. Several overturned
vehicles complicated matters. The whole force had
to go over that tiny bridge. After all had crossed the sappers
blew it up.
I was quite an important person that night, what with
orders and reports. The _Blosse Lynch_, with Major Henley
aboard and also plenty of food, if I had known, was alongside.
Captain Garnett was quite done up with continuous fatigue,
although he had not ridden very much. We couldn't sleep
for the cold, so we talked and hoped to get to Kut the next
morning. That day, December 1st, he informed me, was his
birthday. There could be many worse ways of passing one's
birthday than in participating in the engagement we had fought
that day. We felt a deep debt of gratitude due to our General
for bringing us out of such a tight corner so brilliantly. At one
moment the whole force was imperilled. The next our guns
smashed lanes of casualties through the Turkish troops. I
was assured by senior officers of much service that I had
witnessed one of the most brilliant episodes possible in war,
where perfect judgment and first-rate discipline alone enabled
us to smash the sting of the pursuit and to continue a retreat
exactly as it is done at manoeuvres.
At 4 a.m. we were away again. We walked half a mile,
then rested. After an hour or two of this the pace got slower
and troops began to fall out and sit down. More than one
dusky warrior unconsciously depicted the Dying Gladiator.
We spoke kind words to them and where possible gave them a
lift. Many mules were shot as their strength gave out. I ate
my biscuit and gave Don a pocketful of hay I had kept for
him. He rubbed his nose on my cheek and wished he were
back in his excellent stable at Hyderabad.
Once this day my General's horse nearly unseated him as
we crossed a nullah where a camel was lying stretched out.
"Come on," he shouted to me. "It's dead, and won't
bite."
Don hates camels, and was rearing up in fine style. Therein
he showed judgment more correct than did the General, for,
in answer to my spur, he had no sooner drawn level with the
beast than the "dead" camel swung its long snaky neck
round upon us and opened eyes and mouth simultaneously.
Don jumped the bank and the whole staff of telephonists and
landed almost on top of General Smith, whose horse objected
considerably. I laughed until the general restrained my
humour.
The horses were awfully done, and in the batteries could
just move the guns at the slowest walk. We did about a mile
an hour. About 3 p.m. General Townshend shouted to
General Smith that one of our batteries was shelling our own
transport which appeared round the head of the river, miles
ahead. My general apparently forgot me, and went off on
his old charger. The transport could not have been saved by
the time he got up to the guns. I put Don at a ditch and,
racing up a knoll close by, blew on my long sounding whistle
"cease fire," and held up my hand. The battery commander
saw it, and when I galloped up I apologized for interrupting
his shooting, and explained. They had bracketed the transport
and a shot was in the breech of the gun, so my whistle
had just got them in time. A splendid fellow is the commander
of that battery, Major Broke-Smith, an excellent
soldier and cheerful friend. Unperturbed, he said, "Well, if
I'm to shell all Arab bodies, and the river will wind so----"
And when I got back General Townshend thanked me, at
which I was much elated.
In the afternoon we halted for two and a half hours to
enable the straggling crowds to catch up. I rode miles trying
to find our transport cart with the stores, but it had got somewhere
in the front several miles off. Some one produced a
cube of Oxo, and we had that divided and a whisky peg each.
"G. B." slept, and I saw the horses watered and unsaddled.
The general had some biscuits given him, and some signalling
officer--whom the gods preserve!--gave me a sausage, which
I ate before considering whether it would divide or not.
Then on again, on, on, for hours. Mules fell down and
were helped up only to fall again a hundred yards further on.
Then word came by aeroplane that we might have to fight
our way into Kut through an Arab and Turkish force. Later,
to every one's dismay, we heard that we were not to reach Kut
that night after all, but to bivouac five miles from it. In the
last light of December 2nd, we saw the sun on the distant
roofs of the village we had legged it so strenuously to reach.
The brisk and prolonged marching of yesterday, and of last
night, had reduced the present possible pace to a mile an hour.
We found a ruined _serai_, a four-walled enclosure of ground
thirty yards square. Headquarters came here. A heap of
dust and trampled chaff I selected as a sleeping place for the
General, Captain Garnett, and me. It was colder than ever
and a biting wind blew through our very souls. No one who
has not sampled it for himself can credit the intense cold of
such a Mesopotamian night. I have registered the cold of
Oberhof, where twenty feet of snow and icicles forty feet high
rendered every wood impassable. I have boated on the west
coast of Scotland, where the wind from Satan's antipodes cuts
through coat and flesh and bone. I have felt the cold from
the glaciers of New Zealand. But I have never felt cold to
equal that of December 2nd of the Retreat. Perhaps hunger
and extreme exhaustion help the cold.
We lay close together for warmth. Late in the night some
bread arrived from Kut. I had an awful passage of a mile,
falling over ruts and into nullahs, and once very nearly into
the river. We could not show lights as the opposite bank
swarmed with Arabs. I walked with General Hamilton to
the supply column. While we waited he told me of the battle
of Ctesiphon. I got five stale loaves, two of which I gave Don
Juan, who was shivering violently. Then I picketed the
horses close together for warmth and we three ate our loaves.
General Townshend occupied the far corner of the _serai_, and he
spoke very cheerily to me for a minute or two. It was very
extraordinary how well I had got to know some of the Staff
during the last two days. Our acquaintanceship seemed of
years. But then the retirement itself seemed that long.
CHAPTER III
WE REACH KUT--BEGINNING OF THE SIEGE--THE CHRISTMAS
ASSAULT
We left at 5 a.m. and trotted over the _maidan_ to Kut.
The horses knew that there food and rest awaited
them. We got in at 7·30 a.m., but the column took
hours. I found Headquarters on the river front of the town
and our ill-omened transport already arrived there. I rode
on ahead to get things ready. First, I quieted my stomach
with some whisky and warm water, and then had a remarkable
breakfast of bacon and eggs, cold ham, cold fowl, toast
and marmalade and coffee.
But there was no chance of rest yet awhile. A siege was
impending. No reinforcements were in the country and
Townshend's plan was to hold up the Turkish advance at Kut.
While we defended this strategical junction of the Tigris and
Shat-al-Hai, the enemy could neither get to Nasireyeh nor
down to Amarah. The river is the means of transport. And
so there was much to be done--wounded and ineffectives to
be moved downstream, trenches and gun-pits and redoubts
to be made, defences erected, and everywhere communication
trenches miles long to be dug and a thousand other things
arranged for. It was a race of parapet building against the
Turk. The army could not be spared much rest. I had to
collect the B.G.R.A.'s stores from _mahelas_ and elsewhere, get
a secure place for ourselves and our horses, and buy stuff for
the possible siege, although it might be for only three weeks.
The river-front then became too hot for the Staff, so we
adjourned to dug-outs in the construction of which hangs a
story. In the meantime one learned that we had lost a barge
of wounded, several _mahelas_ of supplies, supply barge,
H.M.S. _Firefly_, _Comet_, and _Shaitan_ in the retirement. The
_Firefly_ was an unfortunate affair, the shell striking her boiler.
There might have been time to blow her up, but it appears
that there was a wounded man down below. The breech-blocks
of her guns were thrown overboard and the crew escaped.
An excellent range-finder was captured on her. At
the moment of writing she is pelting shells at us into Kut.
We also heard that two cavalry officers who had ridden
through the Arabs' lines to General Melliss' brigade with
orders to join in the Um-al-Tabul engagement on the night of
December 1st, had been recommended for the V.C.
On December 4th, the day after we entered Kut, the last
boat left for down the river. On the 5th the Cavalry Brigade
and S Battery left Kut for down below, as they would not be
of so much importance in a siege. Before they went Major
Rennie-Taylor, commanding S Battery, had lunch with us.
A day later the aeroplanes flew away. Then we were
decidedly alone. Bullets fell from the north. Soon they
came from every direction.
The dug-out for the B.G.R.A.'s Staff was to be made out
on the _maidan_ near the brick-kilns. The General added to
the plans of the Pioneers for its construction, and so the
thing was built like a long grave and the poles laid
cross-wise. As a traveller of some experience myself I saw
that trouble was obviously ahead. I hinted that as three
poles were bearing on the centre one, that was insufficient to
carry the total weight. My suggestion was dispersed by an
eloquent explosion on the part of my General. So it was
built; and somewhere in high heaven a humorous Fate
looked down and smiled. At midnight the roof that carried
tons of bricks and soil collapsed without warning. It was the
greatest luck we escaped without awful accident. I occupied
the end farther from the entrance where General Smith slept,
Garnett sleeping underneath beneath the ledge.
Luckily I was awake and, hearing the beam snap, I was
out of my sleeping bag like a bullet, accidentally upsetting
the General on top of Garnett. As I moved it fell in. I
had taken the precaution to sleep with my head towards the
entrance, else I had never escaped. For the rest of the night
I shivered in the cold alongside the cook, without blankets,
sleeping bag, or even jacket. All these were pinned down.
In the morning when the working party came, we found that
the central beam had broken and the two broken ends were
forced a foot into the hard basement of my bed, just where
my chest would have been. My General offered the remark:
"An orderly officer is responsible for the health of his
General." And remembering the mental curses I had
manufactured at the time of the occurrence, and extracting
further humour from having accidentally omitted to remove
a stone from the part of the trench where the general had
been compelled to lie, I proffered embrocation, and, being a
dutiful subaltern, hid my smile. In the teeth of Turkish opposition
the West Kents remade the dug-out that day. It
has not collapsed yet.
To get from the dug-out to the town we had to cross a
shell-swept zone. Every few yards was a splash of smoke and
flame. That was, of course, at the beginning of the siege.
Our dug-outs were near several brick-kilns, themselves
sufficient target without our gun flashes. We had a battery
of 18-pounders on one side, 5-inch on the other, and howitzers
behind. So we came in for all the ranging. It was out of the
question to leave any cooking utensils above ground, for they
were certain to be perforated within a few moments.
A most wretched existence it was in that abominable
little dug-out, but the balancing feature was our proximity to
Colonel Courtenay of the 5-inch. A fountain of good-humour,
ever flowing, an excellent story-teller, and a very human
person. I delighted in his company. He was a very brave
man, not of the defiant sort, but rather as one who has learned
not to fear the inevitable. I saw him observing one day and
a burst described a complete zone around him, but he went
on stuffing tobacco into his pipe as if it was all November
fireworks.
One evening I stood at the mouth of the dug-out giving
orders. Some snipers from over the river must have seen me.
A volley whistled past, one bullet cutting through the pocket
of my tunic close to the hip. More extraordinary was the
escape of the C.O. of the 63rd Battery, Major Broke-Smith.
One morning he had a bullet through his topee and one
through a pocket. In the afternoon another bullet got
another pocket. Some one suggested his requiring a new
outfit at an early date.
[Illustration: THE BRICK-KILNS WELL REMEMBERED BY ALL KUTTITES. THE
GROUND HERE WAS HONEYCOMBED WITH DUG OUTS, GUN PITS
AND TRENCHES.]
After the Cavalry Brigade had crossed our bridge of boats
below the town we found it necessary to destroy it, owing to a
Turkish concentration upon that side. Its demolition was
the occasion of considerable excitement. We lost an officer
and men on the further bank. At the last moment it was
found difficult to blow the bridge up. The heavy guns could
not reach it, and I set off with orders for the howitzers to
blow it up--an impossible target. The nearest shell was
somewhere about 50 yards off. Then General Melliss rode
up across the open to see what could be done, and interviewed
my General. Finally, the bridge was destroyed by a very
gallant subaltern assisted by another equally plucky in the
following way.
At the further end of the bridge the Turks were in strong
force. When night fell, and a dark night fortunately it was,
a sapper subaltern started across the bridge with a charge,
fuse lighted, strapped to his back. That was to ensure the
explosion taking place even if he were hit. Strange to say,
he got out, planted his charge, and got back without a shot
being fired at him. The Turks must have been slacking.
Then the other charge was laid. Both were quite successful
and the bridge totally demolished. The officers have been
recommended for the V.C.[1]
I was then quite busy for a few days with communications.
We were very short of thick cable, and the thin stuff was
being continually broken by fatigue parties. The General,
as a rule, slept a little after tiffin, and at such times I would
look up Colonel Courtenay.
"Hallo, Mousley! How are you and the General?
Hope you are keeping him fit. Temperamentally of course,
yes."
"Hello? Oh, they're all right. Except lucky ones.
Help yourself to that lot. But I've a cigar for you. Now
let's talk about fishing."
Then there was Oxo (among the subalterns so named from
resemblance to an advertisement)--a fiery ha ha, hum hum
little colonel, as busy as a pea on a drum and exuberant
as a thrush in June. He came to see us frequently.
On the 10th General Smith went sick. Captain Garnett
followed suit. We left the dug-out for Headquarters, a
building in the centre of the town with a courtyard. Like
most others it was a two-story building with a promenade
roof that was used for observation. Helio was used up there.
Why, no one knows. Shells came on the building too,
hundreds of them, and smashed the wall or thudded against
it. The three legs of the helio disappearing over the balcony
was the first sight I saw one early morning, and the signallers
came down with white faces. The shell had smashed the
helio without touching them. The Turks religiously refrained
from hitting the mosque, but the hospital got it badly, and so
did the horses which are stalled in the streets.
The enemy's lines have drawn much closer in some places,
and are only sixty to two hundred yards off. The Turkish
commander, Nureddin Pacha, sent word to Townshend that
as our garrison was besieged by all the Turkish forces in Mesopotamia,
he called on him to yield up his arms. General
Townshend replied characteristically. Daily our General
issued _communiqués_ urging us to put up a good fight and to
dig deep and quickly. Within a week we knew what that
meant.
On the morrow I was brimful of influenza and chill
contracted in the night the dug-out fell in, and was slacking
on the bed when a report came from the 82nd Battery R.F.A.
saying that a subaltern was wounded that morning and the
captain was in hospital sick. The other subaltern, who had
come from Hyderabad with me, had been slightly wounded
days before. The message asked if the General could spare
me. A very ardent soldier I was that morning. I jumped
into my accoutrements feeling very weak from the influenza.
However, I did not want to lose the opportunity, so with
revolver, field glasses, and prismatic, I set off at once.
So delighted was I at the prospect of leaving the Staff for
regimental duty that I had not noticed the artillery duel
seemed to have developed into a general attack. No one
seemed quite certain as to where the battery exactly was. It
appeared to be somewhere in a palm wood some distance up
the river. There were no communication trenches yet dug,
so I went along the river-front which was shortest, and where
I had heard there was also some rudimentary trench. It was
a grave mistake, and I paid the penalty with as uncomfortable
a half-hour as ever I had in my life. The _maidan_ was
deserted. Shells plunged into the first wood which I skirted.
Rifle fire thickened and cracked fiercely in the trees. Snipers
fired at me from over the river and I ran for it, stooping low,
a hundred yards at a time. The Turkish gunners appeared to
be sweeping all the woods. I got through to a little _maidan_,
dead flat, not a blade of grass on it, and here was the hottest
cross-fire I have yet seen. I crawled along back into the wood
to get some way from the bank before going on. Then I
raced for it and did about a fifth of the distance, bullets
humming like bees in swarm. I took cover from the frontal
fire, and then flank fire from over the river made it intolerable.
About half way I saw a heap of rubbish and dirt about two
feet high. I arrived breathless and fell flat. Shells came too,
one burst on a building thirty yards nearer the river and the
bullets splashed all round me. I had evidently been spotted
over the river; bullets began to make a tracery around the
rotten little heap. One dug itself in a few niches from my
knee. The base of the mound stopped some, but when one
bullet came clean through the middle, the dust being flung
over my face and eyes, I got up and ran my best. This time
I reached a nullah where a mule that had been hit was kicking
to death invisible devils. From here I was fairly protected
from flank fire so I bolted through the wood, and two hundred
yards in I heard the battery in action. I shall never forget
that horrible little affair behind the dust heap. I could see
the Arabs' heads over the river as they shifted to take better
aim, and the dust every yard or so that the bullets knocked
up reminded one of Frying-Pan Flat in the volcanic region of
New Zealand.
I sprinted over to the cover of a wall in the centre of the
palm wood, and following it came across a gun-limber on end
used sometimes as an observation post. It was protected
by a few sandbags in front. I found the sergeant-major
carrying on, the subaltern just hit being in a dug-out near by,
where he was left until the "strafe" was over. The sergeant-major
asked me to take better cover as several casualties had
just occurred. I am now writing the first pages of this account
from the identical dug-out near the limber. For hours I
could not leave the post. The telephonist lay huddled
underneath the wheels and orders coming by wire from the
major I shouted on by megaphone to the battery, which was
dug in thirty yards in front. Later on, reporting myself to
my C.O. and the colonel of the brigade, I was laughed at for
coming across the open, and they were astonished at my
arriving at all.
"It's a miracle you weren't knocked over," was the
colonel's comment.
The fire slackened and fell to mere sniping. I looked
around. The battery had excellent gun-pits, sandbagged in
front. The dug-outs were very well built, the roofs being
supported by beams and trees. Each detachment had its
own dug-out, and the men had furnished them snugly with
old horse-rugs and rush curtains and ammunition boxes
inlaid into the walls. Our chief zone was directly up river.
My own dug-out was built up rather than dug out, being
constructed against a _mutti_ wall which we believed was shell
proof until one day three shells plugged straight through near
by. Then we dug down. The mess was a very thick-walled
building and heavily sandbagged. It also formed brigade
headquarters. To get to the mess from the battery or from
one's dug-out, one had to run the gauntlet through the
incessant sharp music of rifle bullets cracking against trees or
branches. As a rule, we one and all arrived in the mess
breathless from an ever-improving sprint. This, of course,
and also the going from here to Kut, will be better when the
communication trenches have been dug.
On the same evening at dinner a native servant brought
in most startling news that a bullet had gone through the last
barrel of beer. But jubilation succeeded dismay when we
found that a gunner, with the instinct of the British soldier for
preserving anything in the "victuals" line, had turned the
barrel over. The bullet had entered near the ground, so
quite three-quarters was saved. I hear on good authority
that the gunner will get the D.C.M. We are almost out of
anything drinkable and the siege may go on several weeks.
At 9.30 p.m. I felt tired from the excitement of the day
and from the influenza, and turned in. Ten minutes afterwards
I was summoned on a night job. Two guns of the
Volunteer Battery were in difficulties in an advanced position
near the river bank and just behind the first-line trenches.
They had been under heavy rifle and maxim fire at two
hundred yards range, and were enfiladed from over the river.
The guns were thus rendered unworkable. I was to take two
gun teams and a G.S. wagon at midnight to retrieve them.
This meant crossing the main _maidan_ in the open without an
inch of cover. It meant going almost under the rifles of the
enemy scarcely two hundred yards off, and being visible in
any sort of light to the enemy over the river. A guide was to
await me at twelve midnight, near the battery.
I arranged for the teams and wagon to be there at
11.40 p.m., and for all links, swingle-tree hooks, drag-washers,
and pole-bar to be bound up with rag so as to render them as
noiseless as possible. The teams arrived punctually, their
breath steaming up in the cold night air. The G.S. wagon
had had a mishap over a rut just before pulling up, and the
body was flung backward off the axle trees and jambed. We
all tried our best to rectify it, but the jamb was so bad that
it involved taking the thing to pieces. Here was first-rate
luck already. The adjutant had spoken of the difficulties of
the job, and strongly doubted the advisability of taking the
wagon for the detachment's kit. A wagon is a rattling affair
after any length of service. I utilized the accident as an
excuse for waiting until the moon had gone down, which I
thought advisable. I then awoke the battery sergeant-major
and a detachment for a final attempt on the wagon. That
was unsuccessful.
My drivers were all picked and excellent fellows. I
mounted an old cavalry stager, and we set off about 1 a.m.,
when I met the guide, who, to my surprise, instead of being
an officer or European N.C.O., was a half-caste, and as hopeless
an idiot as ever got lost. His teeth were chattering with
fright from the start. The _maidan_ we had to cross was scored
with trenches and barbed wire, and there was only one crossable
place on each occasion that had been purposely made for us
to cross. The guide could not even find the first flag. I
threatened him with all sorts of disasters if he didn't find the
place at once. We wandered about inside the _bund_ of a communication
trench for thirty minutes in awful darkness, that
was at once our salvation and greatest difficulty. I rode along
several trenches, and at last found the bridge the sappers had
built for us. I believe they had measured the wheel-tracks
of a gun-limber and deducted one-eighth of an inch from each
side just to test the driving capacity of the field artillery.
We found a plank and shoved it down. It was quite dark,
and any light was fatal. The drivers pointed out the difficulty.
I told them to do their best. They deserved a medal, every
man of them. The teams dressed exactly for the bridge, and
then, when all was ready, moved forward and crossed safely.
The noise brought rifle and machine-gun fire on us at once,
but the bullets went high, a few hitting the ground with a
sticky thud. I took the first team to a flank, and then we
got the second over. The fire increased. I ordered the
second gun team to keep one hundred yards behind the first
in case of a volley. I didn't want to lose both. Again the
guide was at fault, leading us bang upon our first-line trench
some one hundred and fifty yards off the Turks. But the
breeze came from the enemy to us, and, besides, the limbers
moved almost noiselessly, so excellently taut did the drivers
keep their traces. At last we found the small scrub and the
guns. A subaltern rushed out and said we should be shot
to the devil in two seconds if we came an inch further. Two
days under continual rifle fire and no chance of doing anything
had naturally not improved his nerves. I remember saying
certain "things" about guides. I was much concerned with
the state of his guns. They were in a banked hollow, close
together in such a way as to render it impossible for the teams
to hook in. Besides that, tins and rubbish were right across
the track of any team attempting to approach the guns.
As for the guns themselves, they bristled with the surplus
baggage. All this meant noise, and my orders were for the
greatest silence.
I ordered all baggage to be taken off the guns, and ammunition
to replace it, as we had no wagon. We loaded all the
ammunition, and after some trouble got the teams hooked
in and away, following two feet of cover along the river edge.
It was on the knees of the gods whether the enemy heard us.
The fire had dwindled to sniping only, but we could see the
lights of the Turks. A second guide now appeared. He was
to conduct us to the new position for the Volunteer Battery
guns in the middle of the _maidan_. To get there we had to
cross three or four trenches and barbed-wire entanglements.
The new guide, also a Eurasian gunner of the Volunteer
Battery, was more confident than the other, but as utterly
useless. He led us everywhere except in the right quarter.
Once he was certain he had found the crossing that had been
shown to him that evening. On approaching it, however, I
found it to be the flimsy roof of an officers' mess. In desperation
I led the guns towards the original crossing, intending to
reconnoitre for myself. The fire now increased, and a maxim
opened. I believed we were discovered. But the bullets flew
high. The Turks never dreamed that we could be so close.
At the bridge we made an awful row, the heavy guns
straining and creaking abominably. It took some time to
dress on to the narrow bridge. I wanted to get both guns
over without delay, as I knew we should be spotted then.
The first team refused to cross, but were persuaded to follow
my horse, an old cavalry thing I had for the evening, that
wanted to gallop on hearing the bullets. The drivers handled
their teams magnificently. A few inches of error would have
landed the guns in the deep trench--here quite ten feet wide
on the top. The first gun got over, and something snapped
in the bridge. I cautioned the drivers to have their whips
ready. The second gun smashed the plank, and the bridge
gave way. But the limber was over, and with whips and
spurs the gun was bumped over also. We hurried to a flank,
as several machine-guns opened on us. The fire was too high,
and neither man nor horse was hit. One or two bullets
cracked on a limber, and my old horse reared, breaking his
girth, and the saddle and I found the ground together. I
exchanged horses with a sergeant, and we went on. For the
best part of an hour I rode alone up and down trenches, and
at last found the crossings and the new gun emplacements.
General Delamain, whose dug-out we missed by a few feet,
asked if we had had casualties, and what had happened to
our guide. We got back about 3.30 a.m. The sergeant-major
had lain awake anxious. He is a father to the battery, and
was delighted we had had no casualties. "Didn't expect to
see you all back, sir."
My adjutant said he felt certain we were all done in when
he heard the machine-guns open fire; and Colonel Maule said:
"Good show," and complimented me kindly on the affair.
Looking backwards now, I am sure we could never have
managed it with the G.S. wagon.
On the evening of the next day, December 12th, the Turks
made an attack they had evidently been preparing some days.
It started so suddenly and decisively we felt no doubt as to
the matter. The bullets came without warning, a veritable
blizzard. I rushed out to the limber 'phone box, and we were
soon at it hammer and tongs. The attack was on the fort,
and a demonstration supported it from the trenches and scrub
in the zone in front of our guns. We raked the trenches with
shrapnel for hours. Subsequently the Arabs reported that
while the Turks were concentrating in the scrub, our fire had
killed a great many. We also fired some star shell, getting the
burst well behind the enemy so as to show him up. Guns
were booming all around, and the rifle fusillade on the walls
and in the trees crackled like a forest on fire.
On December 13th I began duty as Forward Observing
Officer for the field batteries. That meant that from our first-line
trenches I was to range our guns into the enemy's trenches
and saps. I was advised to dispense with helmet and wear a
comforter as offering less target. I left with a signaller so as
to reach the trenches at dawn, which was about 6.40 a.m. A
surprise was in store for me. Instead of the roomy deep
trenches with firing platforms, dug-outs, and so on, I found
wretched little ditches, in many cases only three feet deep at
the traverses. I did not know then, as I know now, the
tremendous amount of work required in digging a good trench,
and in Kut there were miles of them to be dug. The first few
days I crawled miles on my knees. Every few yards some
one had been sniped, so it came to crawling round the traverses.
The trenches smelled horribly in the parts held by the native
regiments. The dead were slung over the parapet, and sometimes
not buried for days. The Gurkhas are truly gorgeous
little men, patient, and very keen. They soon had their
trenches wonderfully improved. The parapets varied most
unreliably in thickness, and one had to keep one's head below
the level, as bullets often came through. Turkish snipers were
quite good. One day I saw a Punjabi carrying a pot of curry
on his head and a bullet knocked it off. It spilled its hot
contents over him and several others that blocked the road
as they sat huddled up in the trench.
I ranged our fire on to the Turkish trenches that in places
had got so close as fifty yards, and at one place where they
were sapping, only thirty yards off. We were firing 18-pounders
at very close range, the nearest being eight hundred
and fifty yards. It was great fun to correct back a few yards
and see the shell burst twenty yards in front of me, having
travelled about five feet above one's head. One such occasion
I was ordered to empty the trench for some yards in case of
accidents. It was as well we did so, for one or two prematures
burst behind us, and quite an appreciable amount of shrapnel
got in the trench. Several times after ranging I saw dead
and wounded among the digging parties of the enemy's trenches.
These trenches! They have their advantages, it is true,
for the Turks dare not shell them, and if you keep your head
down they are about the safest place in Kut; but in the
course of their construction it was a case of a breaking back
from hours of stooping, or a bullet if one stretched. I've had
bullets knock dirt into my face, so that I thought that I was
hit, and had periscopes smashed to bits in my hand. Once a
bullet cut dead in the centre of the glass of the exposed end,
and pieces crashed all around my head, burying themselves in
the wall of the trench, and wounding a _naik_ near by. The
Turks even came to know my yellow ranging flag, and cut the
bamboo rod time and again. They also had a nasty trick of
ricochetting bullets at us by firing them just ahead on the
ground. Not a few came into the trenches, especially before
they were very deep. Another factor that brought more fire
on us was the necessity of signalling from the trenches to the
battery by flag, and also having a danger flag. The reason
for this was the shortage of wire. The Turks always opened a
hot fire in the vicinity of the flags, and observation was very
difficult, except by periscope, as the loopholes were most
unsafe.
One afternoon I had been trying to discover a hostile
maxim that was playing havoc in our main communication
trench. A native reported that he had located it, and while
looking through a tiny loophole in plate iron he was shot
through the forehead, the bullet making a ghastly mess of
his head. Such a quick, silent death makes one careful. By
and by more periscopes were made by the sappers, and there
were fewer casualties. One mistake is enough, unless one is
very lucky. Turkish snipers lay with their rifles ready on a
part of our trench that was insufficiently deep. The first
sign of a movement there was the signal for a volley. After
a time we got accustomed to the dead things in the trenches,
and ate by them and slept by them. After all, they are only
earth full of memories as is an old coat.
Direct hits were very rare, but on one occasion I had the
satisfaction of seeing a machine-gun hurled over the Turkish
parados. The 82nd was an excellent battery, and shot well.
It was great fun ranging on the new trenches that had begun
to appear since the night. We blew one whole trench completely
out of shape and there was a stampede of Turkish heads.
Great luck decreed that two shells, on different days, both
premature, should scatter shrapnel in our trenches, while
emptied for safety. On one occasion Major Nelson, of the
West Kents, I, and my signaller were there standing at the
end of a traverse. A kerosene tin and some utensils were
scuppered between us, and dozens of our shrapnel bullets
buried themselves in the wall of the trench. But incidents
of this nature grew too numerous for mention, and happened
to many. Another round from a cold gun landed into the
cookhouse of the 76th Punjabis. No one was there, but the
cookhouse was not improved. Another tragic premature
killed a private of the Hants and badly wounded a second.
Some of the shrapnel of this burst reached to where I was
in the trenches nine hundred yards away.
We were in daily dread of another attack, and at night all
our guns were placed on their night-lines, each to its zone, just
over our trenches. On the first indication of a general attack
we thus made a curtain of fire that the Turks funked breaking
through. Two or three times a night we would sometimes
have to go into action for this purpose.
The West Kents improved their trenches splendidly, and
made them quite comfortable. A very nice regiment they
were, and on many occasions I have been grateful for their
hospitality at a breakfast.
They had a wee wooden home-made trench-mortar that
we christened "Grasshopper," as every time he was fired he
jumped, sometimes several feet back over the parados, out of
the trench, and had to be recovered with lassos. Once he tried
to range to some trenches farther away, and blew himself to
small bits. The casualties during these first weeks were very
heavy. Our line was short, scarcely more than a mile and a
half, and the enemy swept this with fair regularity. The
fatigue parties often had to risk going over the top in the
night, and there was almost always a casualty. I often think
of my great luck on that night when I went for the guns.
Nor shall I easily forget the first time I was in a trench
when an attack began. This trench was about eighty yards
from ours, and the rate of fire was terrific, but not so fast as
ours. The Turks well knew that although only eighty yards
had to be crossed nothing human could arrive.
My trench incidents would fill a volume, which I have no
time to write, and even with time it would be difficult to
isolate individual instances of extraordinary routine.
What a kaleidoscopic mixture this diary is, to be sure. I
confess that on reading a passage here and there it seems merely
an autobiographical sequence, and egoistical into the bargain.
But the truth is, that personal experience in this thing called
war is at best an awakening of memory from a dream of seas
and foggy islands bewildering and confusing. A few personal
incidents loom a little clearer, deriving what clarity they have
from the warmth of personal contact. Then incidents fraught
even with the greatest danger become commonplace, until
the days seem to move on without other interest than the
everlasting proximity of death. Even that idea, prominent
enough at first, gets allocated to the back of one's mind as a
permanent and therefore negligible quantity. I firmly believe
that one gets tired of an emotion. A man can't go on dreading
death or extracting terrific interest from the vicinity of death
for over long. The mind palls before it, and it gets shoved
aside. I have seen a man shot beside me, and gone on with
my sentence of orders without a break. Am I callous? No,
only less astonished. Death has lost its novelty. I am
tempted to diverge into a speculation as to the necessary
permanency of Heaven's novelty, a novelty of which one can
never tire. Alas, I am not now up in the cloistral peacefulness
of Cambridge, so I can't follow up that speculation.
Life never seemed so wonderful a thing as it does now. I am
extracting more fun and fact to the square inch here than I
ever did before. Now we know death as a tangible and non-abstract
affair. Let me not be accused of irreverence if I say
we walk in his shadow and lunch with him.
Every evening I return to the battery and enjoy a meal in
mess or relieve my major at his post. Then follows a look
around my section and inspection of the night-lines, and then
bed in my dug-out among the date palms. Our sergeant-major
is the best I've seen yet. The other day, just as he
put down his megaphone in the speaking hole, a bullet plugged
clean through it into the opposite wall, a vicious twang. He
laughed quietly. "I believe it was alive," he said.
The Turks have moved their big guns closer, and their
shells crash straight at this wall, which before was perfectly
safe. On the 20th, two days ago, a shell smashed into our
ammunition boxes after coming through the wall, a few yards
from my dug-out, which I have been deepening this afternoon.
It is a quiet day, and I left the firing-line early. The enemy
can't locate our guns, as there is a wall some eighty yards
ahead of the battery, so his gunners range just over the wall
and search. Several shells have been through the gun emplacements,
and some trenches have been smashed. Now and then
a palm tree goes down with a crash. I've often awakened in
the night thinking the whole place on fire. Sometimes, again,
I awake to the sound of soft ceaseless swishing, that full and
incessant sound of early morning in England, dear England,
when the gentle rain washes open the eyelids of the waking
world and green trees murmur, and birds begin to sing--but
I look outside my dug-out and see only a mass of black
crows flying over a palm-dotted wilderness to their Tigris
haunts.
This morning the Gurkha regiment relieved in the first
line. I am quite keen about them, a manly, silent, respectful
set of men; but children, too, mere children, for all that they
are tigers in a scrap. Their genial colonel and I had a pleasant
conversation after my morning ranging was done. We discussed
the war and the Mesopotamian campaign and the
eternal question of relief. He is a most active C.O.
of a sprightly regiment. It yet remains a wonder to me
how these full-sized colonels can possibly get along the half-completed
trenches, which the first fortnight were only some
3 ft. 6 ins. deep, and often barely 2 ft. wide, and partly filled
with ammunition boxes, stores, men's kit, and sundry cooking
pots.
Among the gunner subs, is one known as R. A., which
some say means Royal Artillery, and others the Ricochetting
American. He has just returned from ranging, with the
announcement that he knocked out half a dozen maxims with
his 18-pounders. We have been ragging him by suggesting
his field-glasses must be faulty, and asking to see them.
At a conversation in Kut to-day one heard many conclusions
about America, who is not yet in the war. "It is a terrible
New World," as Dooley said of the war; "but it is better
than no world at all." Not the least of our blessings is the
gift of Time. Time it is that invites us to sit tight and say
nothing while bounders and cleverly veneered barbarians
romp rapturously through an applauding world. We have
found them out. In time others will find them out. In the
meantime we wait patiently. And patience is life. This has
no connection with America, except that the Americans, with
all their virtues, and they have many, have adopted impatience
as their national characteristic. And Impatience is the offspring
of Ambition, and Ambition is forgetful of many things.
"Hitch your wagon to a star," suggests Emerson to his
countrymen. "I guess I'll do better," says the American
citizen, "I'll hitch it to a comet." At what time the shade
of Don Quixote, that excellent gentleman, smiles quietly as he
recalls having once hitched his charger to a windmill!
_Later. Quos Di Amant._--I hear that poor Courtenay and
Garnett are dead. Some days have elapsed since writing the
last lines owing to a severe engagement we fought on the
24th and 25th. I will revert to that in a moment, but just
now, as I sit here writing in the Fort, my narrative seems
incapable of any reference quite fitting for that excellent
soldier Colonel Courtenay. My General was ill when I left
Headquarters to replace a casualty in the 82nd Battery that
day under heavy fire.
Colonel Grier became C.R.A., and got hit in the head with
the splinter of a shell. Then Colonel Courtenay became
C.R.A., and Captain Garnett, Staff Captain of retirement
memories, removed with the office of the B.G.R.A. on top
of the building where the helio men had been. It was quite
a good place, but conspicuous and dangerous, and shells
struck incessantly on the wall behind. It was also in line for
Headquarters, which the Turks had located. Not long after
my leaving the building a disastrous shell killed Captain Begg
instantly, an awfully nice fellow, with whom I had often had
a joke, wounded and burned Captain Garnett severely in the
leg, and hit Colonel Courtenay badly in the lower leg, smashing
it. I tried hard to get along to see them, but urgent duties
prevented. Garnett's case was complicated with jaundice.
He died suddenly, to our great surprise and grief. I thank
goodness I am not married just now. The General, he, and
I, were together in that awful retirement, and during that
time we exchanged many confidences, and he had censured
me for taking risks. Now he is fallen already. Colonel
Courtenay died heroically two days after the amputation. He
was known throughout India as "Mike." After the operation
we were discussing how fine it would be for him to be able to
ride still. They had amputated his leg some few inches below
the knee, leaving plenty for a grip. I suppose the shock took
him away, that and the inadequacy of medical conditions. He
was a robust soldier, and every one says the Service has lost
a great sahib and an excellent officer.
Several other amputated cases have died with equal
suddenness. It seems that they are mostly run down with
the effects of this dug-out, exerciseless life. And the strain is
constant. No part of Kut escapes the shell and rifle fire.
The hospital has several casualties daily.
We have been on half rations in some things, and others
have ceased altogether. Tinned milk and fresh have both
stopped. There were a few goats, which have gone under
from shell fire. Drinks have become a memory, except for
the lucky ones who had huge mess stores awaiting them in
Kut. The bread ration is one half, bacon twice weekly, (a
tiny portion), no potatoes, and some cheese. Bully and
bullocks will last for some little time longer. The trouble is
that very many have dysentery, or colitis, or acute diarrhoea,
and cannot take much except milk and eggs. These are
almost unobtainable. What little there is, goes to the
hospital.
The weather is bright and sunny, quite warm at midday
and freezing at night. The extremes serve to emphasize the
cold, and I find I require more blankets than ever I did even
in the coldest weather at Shoebury. I have contrived to be
comfortable by the help of my Burberry sleeping-bag and
riding coat, combined with a travelling rug that is warm with
distant and pleasant memories.
During the week preceding Christmas the assiduous Turk
completed alternative positions for most of his guns, and it
became necessary for us to do the same, so that at emergency
we could shoot over the river also. For this a place was
selected on the _maidan_, as we call the bare flat plain. We
began with the pits by night fatigues, under fire the whole
time. The high parapet of a communication trench probably
saved a lot of us from getting hit. In two nights we equipped
my section, which was on the right, with a communication
trench, and I then fixed up an excellent little observation post
by a wall for myself. Long ramps were made for the guns,
so that we could get them into and away from the pits without
difficulty. It was to be my show, and I was very keen on it.
Then I chose a dark night and took my section down on the
edge of the _maidan_ near the river to demolish a _mutti_ building
that came in the way of our fire zone. Very heavy fire, but
fortunately much too high, broke out from over the river.
One man had a shovel hit, and another bullet struck a huge
lump of _mutti_ two men were carrying in my direction. Then
we built a wall with the _débris_ to screen us from machine-gun
fire immediately over the river. Altogether we made a good
job of it.
The horses are having many casualties daily. Already we
have lost a fourth of their number.
The relieving force is rumoured to be expected about
January 3rd. It cannot be a very large force, although on
the date of Ctesiphon large reinforcements were wired for
immediately. At first we were told that our concentration
was taking place near Shaik Saad, some thirty miles below,
on December 15th, but the rumours and counter-rumours cast
considerable doubt on the whole thing.
On December 24th the enemy tried to storm Kut with a
surprise attack by way of the Fort. It was a cold but eventful
Christmas Eve. About 12.30 midday a hot rifle fire broke
out over our trenches, and within a few seconds the symphony
of bullets crackling in the palm trees swelled to a roar like the
falling of fast and dense hail.
We went into a fast rate of fire at once with the battery
on our prepared zones, and immediately put up a heavy barrage
of shrapnel just in front of our first line. At first the densest
fire seemed to come from in front of the 16th Brigade, but soon
it extended right round our perimeter.
Woolpress appeared to be busy in action also, and then
our guns were hotly engaged by enemy guns of varying calibre,
but chiefly 16-pounders, shrapnel, and high explosive. From
our concealed position in an old orchard surrounded by a high
thick wall we were not definitely located, and the Turkish
gunners, often after having got our exact range, went on
sweeping and searching, hoping to get us. More than one
dug-out and gun-pit was entered by a shell, and one particularly
narrow shave was when a 16-pounder crashed through the
revetment of sandbags, smashed the shield of the gun, and
buried itself in the earth behind without exploding. The rifle
fire was so thick that our telephone wire in the trees was cut
through the first two minutes. Major Harvey, our adjutant,
had selected this position for the guns. The dug-outs of the
gun detachments and the communication trenches were by
this time well and deep down.
The fire became general all round Kut. High above the
roar of rifle fire and scream of shell rose the sharp high note
of the Turkish mitrailleuses. Suddenly most of his guns concentrated
on the Fort, a salient by the river, none too strongly
held. The Turk was evidently merely demonstrating on our
sector, and intended to attack through the Fort. All our
available guns in turn were switched on to their Fort lines,
_i.e._ for a barrage, already prepared, just over the walls of the
Fort. We increased our range and searched, getting in among
the Turkish reserves all piled up and awaiting ready to support.
A red glow hung over the low mud walls, and reports said that
the Turks with great gallantry and determination had rushed
up to the outer ramparts with grenades and charges of dynamite.
By this time their guns had made a breach or two in
the eastern sector known as Seymour bastion, and heavy
hand-to-hand fighting ensued. Grenades and the bayonet
were chiefly in operation. At one time some hundreds of
Turks had entered the ramparts, and it was touch and go.
The Oxfords and Norfolks were hurried up to stiffen the Indian
regiments, and every available man, sappers or pioneers
included, was given a weapon and pushed into the fray. The
Volunteer Battery did extremely well with rifle and grenade.
Instances of pluck and daring were many. Handfuls of men
from the British regiments in little knots formed the backbone
of the struggle, and, nipping around behind the attackers,
dispatched them to a man. Finally, thanks largely to the
terrible casualties our guns had inflicted on the enemy supports,
the pressure slackened, and the last Turks were bombed out
of the bastion. It was a great resistance, and successful
chiefly owing to the outstanding merit and fighting quality of
the British regular infantry.
Firing continued intermittently all day, and while on duty
at the guns pending any renewal of the attack, I inspected
the Christmas decorations of the men's dug-outs.
Above ground we saw merely the several sandbagged
emplacements of the guns among the long grass and fruit
trees, with six ominous muzzles peering through the revetments,
and ammunition awaiting ready near the pits, the
limbers drawn up snugly in rear for protection. Below, the
communication trench ran into and through the dug-out of
each gun detachment. The men had made those comfortable
by letting into the wall ammunition boxes as receptacles for
their smokes and spare kit. Rush curtains hung over the
entrance, and matting purchased from the bazaar was on the
ground. To-night decorations of palm-leaves were spread out
gaily on all sides, and the artistic talent of the various subsections
had competed in producing coloured texts: "God
bless our Mud Home," "Merry Xmas and plenty of Turks,"
"Excursions to Kut on Boxing Day." One humorist had
hung up a sock without a foot, and suspended a large bucket
underneath to catch his gifts.
Our mess secretary, Captain Baylay, an officer of much
resourcefulness in cooking and making shift, arranged an
excellent plum-and-date duff for the men.
Several alarms were given through the night, and we stood
by our guns hour after hour. However, nothing much
happened, as the Turks had evidently had enough. Orders
came for me to proceed to the serai, River-Front Artillery
observation post, and to be ready to open fire, if necessary, at
daybreak, and to have my telephone wire already laid. This
entailed getting up early, so after an hour's rest without
sleeping, I set off with my telephonist. We laid the wire
accordingly, direct on to our own brigade headquarters,
through the palm grove to the serai. Dawn found me among
the sandbags and _débris_ of the dismantled heavy gunners'
observation post, looking around on the vast plain, seemingly
quiet and deserted and divided by the great broad sheets of
the Tigris. Gradually the darkness rolled away. The soft
glow of approaching day climbed up in the eastern sky. Ray
after ray stole across the water-dotted plain and revealed to
me the coloured minaret of Kut silvered in the dawn, emerging
from the night. The outlines of Kut followed, our defences,
river craft, the palm groves, a few Arab goats grazing out on
the Babylonian plain. Less than fifty miles from the scene of
my Christmas morning once arose the Babylon of the Ancient
world, and her chariots coursed all around this vicinity.
Babylon has gone. For thousands of years her memory has
slept wrapt in the silence of oblivion except for the passing of
Arab or Turkish heel. Perhaps the war is to see this ancient
land once again awakened by England to life and a new
destiny.
Wild geese and duck were the first to stir. Buffalo far
down stream followed. Then small dots began to move along
the black lines. They were the heads of Turkish soldiery
moving along their trenches.
Suddenly a rifle fusillade broke out, and bullets ripped into
my sandbags, and some flew just over. I moved my telescope,
for the light of the sun was on it. At the same time one, two,
three, four small white fleecy puffs appeared away to the
north-west. Immediately after one heard the report. Before
the shells had reached us my message was through to the
brigade. "Target 'S' opened fire. Bearing so-and-so, new
position." Our guns engaged them. Other targets opened,
and the morning entertainment began. I was joined by the
garrison gunners, Lieutenants Lowndes and Johnston, who
took me down later to a wonderfully good breakfast.
I was relieved at lunch, and finding my way back to the
battery slept a little before having to stand by for action
again. In the evening I had permission to go into Kut to
attend a Christmas dinner at the Sixth Divisional Ammunition
Column given by "Cockie" R.F.A. It was dark when I left
the battery, and rifle fire became lively. The communication
trench, however, had progressed considerably, and one went
most of the way under cover. I overtook some stretcher
parties bearing wounded men from the first line. Arrived
at the D.A.C. I found a most cheerful entertainment in
progress. A long decorated table seating a dozen guests was
full of good things. We commenced with a gin concoction
of considerable potentialities. There was Tigre Crème,
Turques Diablées, Nour Eddin Entrée, Donkey à la lamb,
Alphonse pouding. I sat between Cockie and Major Henley
of Dwarka memory. The Navy, Indian Cavalry, Flying
Corps, and the Oxford Regiment and West Kents were also
represented. A limited supply of whisky was available, and
with such a good fellowship we abandoned ourselves to a
joyful evening. Anyone hearing our shouts of laughter would
not have imagined we were in a siege.
[Illustration: MAP OF KUT DURING SIEGE]
From the pudding I drew a lucky coin, a brand new half
rupee, which I am keeping as a mascot. A sweepstake on the
date of relief was opened, Lowfield January 1st, Highfield
(which I drew) the 31st. So optimistic were we on immediate
relief that I was offered for it only four annas. We had a
miniature game of football in the tiny quadrangle to terminate
proceedings, and at ten o'clock, in joyful frame of mind,
I struck out in the pitch-dark night for the palm grove. I
missed my way again and again before getting the trench,
and finally found the many turnings so bewildering without
a light that I got up on top and followed the river-front once
more as I had on joining the battery. A faint moon emerged,
and the Turkish snipers followed me along. Several shots
striking the wall alongside me I went inside it at the first
breach and came across a dismantled tent behind which dark
forms moved stealthily. On looking to see what it was, I
found several jackals and pie-dogs mangling a horse that had
strayed and been sniped. They sprang out with most dreadful
yells. This commotion was heard across the river, and the
Turks turned a machine-gun on. I lay quiet in the wood for
some time listening to the rain and the bullets in the palms.
It was a most ghostly spot--what with dead horses and mules,
dismantled tents, graves, cast clothing, and shell-stricken
trees. At this minute I became aware that I was not alone,
a feeling one can very well have on such occasions. And I
watched a certain shadow move by inches along the ground.
It had been hiding behind a tree, and I imagine had been
following me some little distance. There were from time to
time rumours that the Turks sent Arab spies into Kut to
pick off stray people in the hope of getting any plans. With
my cocked Webley in my hand I called out. It proved to be
an Arab who took to his heels and vanished like a wraith. He
had probably been salvaging. I reached my dug-out very
tired an hour later and found all the battery asleep. An order
required me to stand by from four to six, so I slept with my
boots on. At four I went around the battery and had the
men standing to, which means awake and dressed ready for
action but resting. Nothing happened. At dawn I was told
to get my kit and report for duty at the Fort as Observation
Officer to the Tenth Field Artillery Brigade, the other officer
having been wounded the preceding day. Slinging a few
things together to be brought along by my servant, I walked
the two miles of trenches to the Fort, which I entered for the
first time.
It proved to be a mud-walled enclosure of about seven
acres with a few bastions extending beyond. The garrison
of the Fort were all underground and dug in. In fact, the
place was a network of communication trenches, dug-outs, or
store-pits. It was an easy target for the Turkish artillery,
and shells of all sizes kept leisurely arriving from all sides, and
at this close range we hadn't any warning report of the Turks'
guns, besides which, grenades and bombs were slung or fired
over the wall indiscriminately into any part of the Fort. In
the centre an observation mound of bags of _atta_ (flour), some
fifteen feet high, commanded quite an extensive view over
the walls on to the plain beyond. One could see three-fourths
of the horizon and a very good view of Turkish activities upstream.
This observation post was frequently a mark for
the Turkish machine-guns, and one had to run the gauntlet
in getting up to it by making a sudden bolt, and frequently
a r-r-r-rip of bullets into the flour-bags followed. Sometimes,
generally during the firing of a series, the Turk ranged
several machine-guns and small pounders on to the post.
Besides myself there was an observer for the heavy guns.
When registering we seized the most favourable hour of the
day for the minimum of mirage, usually just after sunrise or
before sunset. As the artillery duel became general, one had
to range on several targets in succession and sometimes two
simultaneously. When one was too preoccupied the services
of the machine-gun officer were utilized. Although not trained
for artillery observation, and talking of "degrees over" or
"short," which frequently puzzled the gunners, he nevertheless
had a good eye for a bursting shell. He was a big-game shot
endowed with a large imagination and a bad memory, as he
constantly varied the same story, but what one lost in veracity
one derived in entertainment. I liked especially to get into
the "stack," as we called it, at dawn, and watch the shadows
lifting over the plain and the wild duck and fowl flying away
to their feeding-grounds.
On one such early occasion, after a heavy "strafe" the
night before, I had no sooner entered the "stack" than two
or three of the several bullets hitting the bags came through
and struck the inside wall. We placed another bag or two
on the spot, and then in the afternoon a bullet came through
between another officer and me. We could not understand
why this had happened, as the "stack" had frequently
been subjected to the heaviest Maxim fire, and if there had been
any flaw we must have been riddled several times. Late at
night, before the moon was up, I climbed on to the bags from
the outside and found that the machine-gun fire had cut grooves
into two sacks and the flour had run out on to the ground,
making an excellent mark, and what was worse, the outside
bags were three parts empty, allowing the bullets to come
through the second.
The long tedious hours of the day were diverted by the
Volunteer Battery Section firing at any target that offered.
Other things failing, a basket ferry at near range was engaged,
and excellent sport it made, the Arabs or Turks ducking out
of it into the river. A small mountain gun called Funny Teddy
was ubiquitous, appearing on all sides. He was extremely
annoying to us, and once several guns were turned on to him.
He was fairly well protected, but one round turned him completely
over. Great joy reigned over the Fort, and word was
sent into Kut. But the last message had scarcely been dispatched
when he appeared behind a tent and spat out several
rounds almost into the "stack" just to show his spite.
Early one morning, a few days after I had reached the
Fort, I observed that the _Firefly_, formerly H.M.S., now S.A.I.,
was not in her accustomed spot. We usually located the ships
of the Turks and reported any activity to G.H.Q. Suddenly
there caught my eye something like a perpendicular stick
moving at a rapid rate downstream towards Kut. Her
funnel appeared immediately after. We informed Kut and
a fire was opened on her from our five-inch and four-inch River
Front Guns. This stopped her, but not before she had got
some of her 4·7's into Kut. This gun, with some small supply
of ammunition, was captured on the _Firefly_ and was the
hardest hitting gun the Turks had.
_January 1st._--I was up a half-hour before the dawn on
first spell of duty, Captain Freeland taking the second hour.
We usually took breakfast in turn. Food at the Fort I find
much worse than in Kut, the distance out being accountable
for that, and the special chances of getting horse-liver or
kidneys, a great delicacy, quite a remote one. We live in a
tremendously large dug-out, some sixteen feet by ten, the roof
being spanned by great beams of wood, eight by six inches,
but much too low to allow one to stand upright. The beam
is already bent considerably with the great weight of some feet
of soil on top, and one lies smoking on one's back staring at
this beam and applying the Aristotelian axiom that just as
"some planks are stronger than others, so all will break if
sufficient weight be applied," and hoping a 60-pounder won't
just add the difference.
I am writing alone in the observation post. The New Year
has just been heralded in with a wonderful dawn. Shades of
mauves and heliotrope and violet are diffused over the most
extraordinary geography of floating cloud islets, continents,
and seas, sailing and sailing up and away. From a belt of
electric blue fringing the southern horizon down to Essin
past the Tomb, and over the Eastern desert, cloud island after
island has broken from its aerial moorings speeding like
sailing ships across the ocean sky up past Shamrun Camp of
the enemy towards Baghdad. The first streak of dawn beheld
this phenomenon of smartly moving Change. How much
more prophetic this than the stillness of a static dawn. As
Horace says, one sees not into the future, but such a moving
dawn may well be taken as an augury of big happenings in
the year just born and, ultimately, let us hope, of a convergence
of British destinies moving onward like these cloudlands to
Baghdad. But I for one as a traveller do not believe we have
yet nearly appreciated the tremendous vitality and potentiality
of Germany or fully realized the great strength and solidarity
she draws from her geographical centrality.
In the meantime, here am I in a siege, believing in a
certain relief within a few days or two weeks if British luck
holds, sitting in an observation post of many tons of _atta_
(flour) which seems to have been used for defences on all sides
and no tally kept of it at all. Sitting on an _atta_ stack talking
of dawns!!
_Evening._--Quite a few shells fell about our dug-out, and
machine-guns were turned on the stack while I was ranging
on to a party of Turks working on two distant gun-emplacements.
The Turks seem to know most of the ranging is done
from the Fort, and when our guns in Kut open fire the northern
sector invariably strafes our observation stack. The working
party we can observe quite well taking cover when the shell
is heard coming, and immediately after the burst away go
their shovels and picks again. We fired sectional salvos, and
I believe did good execution, as we observed carts coming
out from their hospital and some stretcher parties. The
work evidently proceeded nevertheless, and this afternoon
two guns in the new position opened fire on Kut. Our heavy
guns, however, soon silenced them.
This afternoon I visited the battered sections of the Fort
known as Seymour Bastion, still in a most dilapidated and
shattered condition from the heavy assault of the 24th, and
only roughly reinforced as yet with corrugated sheet iron,
barbed wire, and trestles. The bombs and shells have made
great breaches in the wall. We went along in the dusk to the
listening post and along the bastion, a corridor running out
past main wall towards the Turks, and enabling the defending
party to enfilade an assaulting party on the outer wall. However,
on the 24th, the bastion itself became the scene of a
hand-to-hand struggle and it got choked with dead. It is
a pity we haven't Lewis guns as they have in France, which
are much lighter and more portable in case of an assault.
But when our machine-guns were out of action, bombs and
bayonets and rifles held him off. The bastion, I was informed
by a man of the Oxfords, was a most unhealthy spot. It
proved so. As we passed a loophole, bullets entered that one
and the one ahead. The Turk here is ever alert, and he has a
big tally to account for. One passes a loophole (they are
quite low and unavoidable in walking), and then waits for
the rifle fire before rapidly crossing another. In one place
bullets simply pour through a cavity or chink in the mud wall.
This is to be built up to-night. The Oxfords and Norfolks
are very proud of the part they took in the fight and showed
me scores of dead Turks scattered all around. There were
hundreds, only many have been removed by the enemy during
the truce. In this heat of the day, the odour that comes to
the stack from the "unburied" is at times almost overpowering.
More than one Turkish "trophy," rifle, belt, or
helmet has been boldly retrieved by our men, and one sepoy
has recovered no fewer than three helmets and an officer's
sword.
Our frugal breakfast is rice and bully and tea. We have
no butter nor sugar. For dinner we are to have a small ration
of potatoes, fillet of horse, date and _atta_ roll, and to divide
two bottles of beer the Mess has providentially saved--a very
good New Year's Day meal considering one is not a Scotsman.
_Later, 7 p.m._--Dinner over. I feel in conscience bound
to say it was excellent and almost half enough. I have a
Burma cheroot from a very precious supply of a kind-hearted
subaltern here from Burma.
_January 2nd._--The event of to-day was the arrival of an
enemy aeroplane flying quite fast. It came from the Shamrun
Camp and flew over taking observations, followed by a fusillade
from every available rifle and machine-gun.
Later in the day another aeroplane flew over us likewise
from the north. Our big-game friend insisted that it was a
Turk. One could not see the colour, but I saw what looked
like rings. General Hoghton, who came into the stack, agreed
with me about it, and on its return so it proved to be. A
Turkish plane has a crescent on its wings or generally the
German cross. This brigadier is a most intrepid and fearless
man, and is to be found everywhere at the loopholes, digging-parties,
and observation posts. The Fort is merely part of
his command (the 17th Brigade), but one sees much more of
him than the C.O. Fort. He is a most genial and kind general
and very cheerful about everything. To-day I met Colonel
Lethbridge, now commanding the Oxford Regiment, and one
of the few officers of that regiment to survive Ctesiphon. We
had a most interesting and diverting talk on European politics
in general. He is an extraordinarily well-read man and over
everything he says plays the quiet light of a well-focussed
intellect. We talked of Germany, where I had spent a considerable
time before the war, and he asked me many questions
of the French front. I hear I am the only one of the garrison
who was in France in August, 1914, and only two other officers
have been there at all. In fact, one notices that this Division,
having come direct from India early in the war, has, for the
most part, no idea of the significance of the war and of the
new armies. Neither has it, or could it be expected to have,
any sort of perspective of the many fronts of the war. They
allow either too much or too little. They are focussed sharply
on to Mesopotamia and the Sixth Division, and the perspective
of the World War suffers. Moreover this front is not contiguous
to any other front. But this Colonel of reserved
utterance in his grave way dismissed many of the current
rumours of Kut as being out of proportion, and made one feel
at least how very vast and far were the ultimate issues of
the war. And for listening respectfully I had a most entertaining
hour and two large whiskies and water. On my way
back I saw the work of the Sirmoor Sappers, a most keen and
enthusiastic body of men who are never idle.
_January 16th._--I am writing in an excavation of four
mud walls and beneath a tiny roof of corrugated iron topped
by some feet of earth. Two tiny camp chairs, a wooden table
with legs driven into the earth, and two niched candles form
the furniture. It is the mess of my battery, 76th R.F.A.,
whither I have been ordered some days since from the Fort
to replace Lieut. Edmonds who was wounded while mending
a telephone wire. The man accompanying him was killed
outright, and Edmonds had a narrow shave, the bullet cutting
a deep groove across his neck and just missing the spinal
column.
Captain Baylay of the 82nd Battery relieved me at the Fort.
He has about eighteen years' service and is by general admission
a very good gunner, quick, resourceful, and of instant decision.
Apart from the fact that I am getting back to my own battery
I feel he will be more able than I am to deal with the ever-increasing
responsibilities of observation officer out there,
which goes pretty close to having two or three targets almost
simultaneously. It will also enable the machine-gun detachment
commander to devote his attention to his own particular
job and incidentally to become conversant with the theory
and terminology of field-gun ranging.
My battery is just behind the middle line out on a solitary
position on the _maidan_. Unlike any other field battery we
have no cover whatsoever except that of the earth. Every
time a gun fires the flash is visible to every Turkish gun on
the north or eastern sector. We are swept by rifle fire all
around, the nearest some few hundred yards over the river,
and we get all the "shorts" intended for the heavy guns at
the brick kiln, five hundred yards behind us. Our Major
(Lloyd) is away at the Brick Kilns from where he can observe
much better than in the battery, and he messes more comfortably
with C.Os. of other batteries there. The only other
officer in the battery is Lieut. Devereux, my junior of a few
months, who had been sent from Hyderabad before me. He
has a keen sense of devotion to duty and is most conversant
with every detail of horse management, harness, and guns,
but less quick at figures and in making up his mind. I leave
much to him, as for some months he had been a sergeant-major
of M battery before coming to Hyderabad, and we owe more
than one good meal to his knowledge of the Q.-M. department
in Kut, and "Coffee-shop" official ropes. We live and sleep
in the mess with our boots on, as we frequently go into action
during the night.
The new dug-out for myself, just behind my section of guns,
is almost complete. It is large and deep, and although in
danger of floods, I am content. Some trestle beams from a
dismantled dug-out I am using for the roof. The difficulty
is to find wood of sufficient strength to support the weight of
earth necessary to keep off rifle fire.
The 40-pounders we cannot compete against. For a
radius of one hundred yards the battery is thick with holes
which in one place have joined up and made a pond where I
have counted over sixty unexploded shells. Before I came
one of these arrived in the mess, having entered through feet
of soil and beam and iron. The thrilled occupants had reason
to be thankful that it did not explode. It has been inserted
in the hole, which it fits exactly, just above the doorway, its
nose pointing at the table, a standing reminder of the thinness
of line described by the Circle of Destiny.
We are awfully short of firewood, only enough being
available to cook one meal a day for the men, and provide
hot water besides for breakfasts. Sometimes there is not even
that. Theft of wood is punishable with death. The G.O.C.
is loth to destroy the town. We shall, however, have to do
that very soon.
News there is none, except that on January 12th General
Younghusband smashed into heavy Turkish forces at Wadi, a
stream coming down from the Pusht-i-Kuh mountains, and
got through with the tremendous losses of four thousand.
The liner _Persia_ has been sunk by a submarine.
The patience of the garrison is beyond all praise. I can
honestly say I have learned to love the character of the British
soldier who has acquired the habit of doing cheerfully what he
does not want to do, at the moment when he just does not
want to do it. In other words, bigger than himself is the
momentum of years, discipline become a habit. There are
rumours that the Relieving Force has retired. The fighting,
we hear, is in deep mud and must indeed be terrible.
CHAPTER IV
RELIEF DELAYED--FLOODS--LIFE DURING THE SIEGE
_January 21st._--A black-letter day for Kut in general
and myself in particular. About 6 a.m. in the pitch-dark,
the water burst into our front line by Redoubt D
and flooded the trenches up to one's neck. All the careful
and dogged efforts of our sappers could not stop it.
Lately the weather has been what an undergraduate would
call the last edge. On the 17th it poured. In fact the
heavens opened and lakes of water tumbled down. It has
kept this up on and off ever since. To-day we have had to
abandon our first line from Redoubt B to the river on the
north-west sector, and the line now falls back at a tangent.
The salient at the Fort has been kept with the greatest difficulty;
but the enemy on the flooded sector has had to go back likewise.
It was a queer sight to see them all running over the
top where we had previously seen only their pickaxes and
caps. Our casualties from rifle fire during this movement
were not so many as his. We shelled his ragged masses with
great glee. A mile or more of silver water now surrounds this
part of the line. As to food, we have eaten up some very
tough bullocks, and I much prefer donkey to mule. We are
down to horse in a day or so. The floods have put our meagre
fires out, and for dinner we had half-raw donkey, red gravy,
and half-cooked rice with some date stuff that made me feel
like an alarm clock just set off.
_January 26th._--The weather gets worse. I am in my new
dug-out, cold and shivery. In fact my lower half is almost
without feeling. The water percolates from the four sides
and from the roofs in several streams. This I have diverted
into buckets and ammunition boxes by means of pipes and
waterproofs strung up with any available tackle. The
various sounds of water falling into its several receptacles
remind one of fishing in the rain by a cliff-side.
Our trenches are half full of water, and as we have no
change of dry kit we run the gauntlet along the battery to
the mess. It is difficult in the dark to get along, and of course
no light is permitted, as every day some one pays the penalty
of chancing it. One runs low and slides along the mud. In
the day a heavy fire is invariably opened. But one just gets
through in time. I can tell where I am by the sound of my
boots in the water. Once I slipped down with my megaphone,
and when I found it a second later it was pinked with two holes
from a bullet.
To-day General Townshend has issued a lengthy communiqué
dealing with the failure of General Aylmer to get through,
and predicting relief by the middle of February, but noting
our last day of resistance under reduced rations as reaching
to about April 15th excluding horse rations. We are, however,
beginning to see how vital a part the floods play in every
movement of troops. Here in this dug-out, streaming with
tiny rivulets and squelchy underfoot, one feels rather than
sees the plainness of the issue between the Turks and us--our
advance of four miles with four thousand casualties, a rumour
of repulse with as many more, a sequence of Turkish trenches
similar, floods rising, etc., etc.
* * * * *
Kut-el-Amara,
January 26th, 1916.
The relieving force under General Aylmer has been
unsuccessful in its efforts to dislodge the Turks entrenched on
the right bank of the river some fourteen miles from the
position of Essin, where we defeated them in September
last when the Turkish strength was greater than it is
now.
Our relieving force suffered severe loss, and had very bad
weather to contend against. More reinforcements are on the
way up river, and I confidently expect to be relieved some day
during the first half of the month of February.
I desire all ranks to know why I decided to make a stand
at Kut during the retirement from Ctesiphon. It was because,
as long as we hold Kut, the Turks cannot get their ships,
barges, stores, and munitions past this, and so cannot move
down to attack Amarah, and thus we are holding up the whole
of the Turkish advance.
It also gives time for our reinforcements to come up from
Basrah, and so restore success to our arms. It gives time to
our allies the Russians, who are now overrunning Persia, to
move towards Baghdad, which a large force is now doing.
I had a personal message from General Baratoff in
command of the Russian Expeditionary Force in Persia the
other day, telling me of his admiration of what you men of
the Sixth Division, and troops attached, have done in the
past two months, and telling me of his own progress on the
road from Kermanshah towards Baghdad.
By standing at Kut I maintain the territory we have won
in the past year at the expense of much blood, beginning with
your glorious victory at Shaiba; and thus we maintain the
campaign as a glorious one instead of letting disaster pursue
its course to Amarah, and perhaps beyond. I have ample
food for eighty-four days, and that is not counting the 3,000
animals which can be eaten. When I defended Chitral, some
twenty years ago, we lived well on atta and horseflesh, ...
but, as I repeat above, I expect confidently to be relieved in
the first half of the month of February. Our duty stands
out plain and simple. It is our duty to our Empire, to our
beloved King and Country, to stand here and hold up the
Turkish advance as we are doing now; and with the help of
all, heart and soul with me, together we will make this defence
to be remembered in history as a glorious one. All in England
and in India are watching us now, and are proud of the
splendid courage and devotion you have shown; and I tell
you, let all remember the glorious defence of Plevna, for that
is in my mind. I am absolutely calm and confident as to the
result. The Turk, though very good behind a trench, is of
little value in the attack; they have tried it once, and their
losses in one night, in their attempt on the fort, were 2,000
alone; they have already had very heavy losses from General
Aylmer's musketry and guns, and I have no doubt they have
had enough.
I want to tell you all now that when I was ordered to
advance on Ctesiphon I officially demanded an Army Corps,
or at least two Divisions, to do the task successfully, having
pointed out the grave danger of attempting to do this with
one Division only. I had done my duty: you know the
result, and, whether I was right or not, your names will go
down to history as the heroes of Ctesiphon, for heroes you
proved yourselves to be in that battle. I, perhaps, by right
should not have told you of the above, but I feel I owe it to
all of you to speak straight and openly and take you into my
confidence, for God knows I felt our heavy losses and the
sufferings of my poor wounded and shall remember it as long
as I live. No general I know of has been more loyally obeyed
and served than I have been in command of the Sixth
Division.
These words are long, I am afraid, but I speak straight
from the heart, and you will see that I have thrown officialdom
overboard. We will succeed, mark my words, but save your
ammunition as if it were gold.
(Sd.) CHARLES TOWNSHEND,
Major-General,
Commanding Sixth Division.
* * * * *
I grow sleepy. Two nights ago we had a disaster I have
not recorded. The flood burst a _bund_ adjacent to us, and
surplus flood water travelling fast swept across the battery
carrying along with it the revetments and emplacements.
The soft side of the trenches collapsed with a sickening thud,
and in places filled right in. I was awakened by the sound of
trickling water pouring down the earthen steps of my dug-out.
It overflooded the _bund_ which I had taken the precaution to
build between the battery trench and my cavern. On
climbing out I saw that the whole plain was a reach of water.
I shouted to my orderly. We seized spades and shovels
and filled in. This kept out further water which was still
rising. The men were similarly engaged. One dug-out
was close to the main trench and only supported by a tiny
wall of earth which collapsed when wet. Trench and dug-out
then ceased to exist. It was a pathetic sight to see the
men, eight to a detachment, diving in five feet of mud and
water for their belongings, some of their friends holding up the
roof of their dug-out with poles. No bunnies flooded out ever
felt more "out" of it than the men of my section. I had all
their clothes dried as best as our scanty firewood could do it,
some hot tea made for them, and their spare kit put into my
dug-out. All night long the fight continued. My floor
was two feet under water. In the gun-pits it came up to
the breech-blocks of the guns, some of which had collapsed
through their planks which had sunk into the mud. This I
had foreseen weeks before. In fact, I had drawn up a simple
scheme for putting in each gun-pit a foundation of filled
ammunition zinc linings, then the planks, and on top the
bricks from the brick kilns close by. There were a great
quantity of these. My Major, however, possibly for some
good reasons of his own, thought this unnecessary, and I was
not permitted to go on with it. To-night, as I lay in my
dug-out after hours of useless battling with the floods and in
endeavouring to get the guns into action, I felt glad that my
scheme had proved well-justified, for the ammunition pit
which I had made as an experiment was the only dry part of
the battery. We had the greatest difficulty in endeavouring
to traverse the guns. After getting the wheels level we
found every movement of the trail brought it off the scanty
planking, and our many targets required considerable
traversing. We reinforced the telephone compartment but
the mess was feet deep in water. About two dug-outs
remained more or less habitable, and in these the men crept
while a few still went on trying to retrieve lost kit.
"'Ere, Bill, 'old me 'and, while I reach for this boot."
The next moment oaths followed as the unfortunate pair fell
in owing to the bank collapsing. Gaspings in the dark
indicated where the unfortunates were. "'Ere I tell yer!
Take me 'and! That ain't me blanky 'and. That's me
blanky foot."
In the morning a most deplorable sight met our eyes.
The trenches were unrecognizable, and from six feet had
become in places only two feet deep. We had to go into action
with the guns in this state and had to depress the gun to get
the shell home into the breech without wetting it. Then we
elevated the gun. After hours of bailing and bunding we
reduced the water in the gun-pits to about eighteen inches,
but two guns were still out of action. We now put all hands on
making a bunded wall right around the battery, and on this
we worked for two days and nights. On this second night I
went to Kut and had dinner with "Cockie." We dined on
horse and dahl peas quite satisfiedly. My way home was in the
pitch dark. Myriads of starlings were screaming and wheeling
in the sky. On the plain the high yelping chorus of jackals
arose over the steady crack, crack of the enemy's snipers.
Beneath all as an accompaniment was the rippling music of
the running floods.
[Illustration: REMAINS OF MY (76 R.F.A.) BATTERY-POSITION ON THE MAIDAN.
THE GUN ENPLACEMENTS AND DUG-OUTS ARE STILL DISCERNIBLE]
From a reminiscent I got into a prophetic mood, and then
I suddenly found myself tumbled headlong over some obstacle
on the _maidan_. The trenches were for the most part eighteen
inches deep in mud and water, and apart from the discomfort
took hours to negotiate, and I had leave only until 10 p.m.
from the battery. One therefore walked on top. I found I
had stumbled over a horse that had no doubt strayed and
been sniped. His four feet turned skywards. As I got
up, the moon appeared and played full on his ghastly
head with bared gums and teeth. Assuring myself, from an
inspection of his hoofs that he wasn't of my battery, I moved
along and got into quite an amount of rifle fire. I ran and ran
until I almost fell again over Number 2 gun emplacement.
Two large saddles, a limber pole, and packal very much
known to me, located my tiny boarded bed staked into the
wet earth.
Everything is wet. I must stop smoking this drenched
Arab cigarette. These are like small spills filled with bad
tobacco dust and invariably burn one's clothes. Last
night again the rain came! The tackle did not work.
Streams poured on to my head and chest. I lit the tiny rope
that floats in my dubbin tin. I lit my pipe that had belonged
to Colonel Courtenay, my good friend, now resting among the
date palms. This tobacco burns well. I listened to the roar
of the four sectors of heaven all raining. Heaven, earth, and
the waters under the earth, all rained. A raining world, in
the centre my dug-out, a beleaguered town, a Turkish rampart.
Outside the desert, and somewhere across it home, home,
home! One searched oneself to see if one could do ought
else, but ever returned to the sound of the rain.... It was
at this moment that I bethought me of Timon....
Now Timon was a wee green frog that came to me some
days ago from out the deluge. I fed him on many things, and
he couldn't escape over the line of my dug-out. Him I
watched and addressed on more than one occasion, and our
talk found common history. [My notes here are broken, but
I find them continued with an address to Timon before going
to bed, written probably an hour before the procession of
mule carts wound their way out to the Fort with rations, as I
frequently smoked in the rain near my doorway until they
passed, somewhere about 9.30 p.m. They were my signal
for sleep----]
"And so, Timon, thou tiny frog, now shalt thou hear more
of thy long history. Before Daly's Theatre or America was,
before 'dry land was or ever the sea,' before there even
roamed a Brighton bather along the shore, nay even before
the forests themselves had appeared, thou wert. That, wee
frog, was long, long ago to us men. It was in the twilight days
when this round earth beneath our feet had just rolled out of
primeval Night, and upon her still hung the shadows of
Tehom which is Chaos. Then all was still, there were no
forests, and no birds sang. In that deeper silence was only
the whispering of racing stars and the humming of the spheres.
A great symphony was that, the lullaby of the earth's infancy.
After a long time and many changes, came the marsh reeds
and the squashy moss plants that did for vegetation. It was
all bog, wee frog--all. No wonder thy eyes grow big with
wonder. And somewhere in that great marsh that covered
the world was thy first great ancestor born. God knows what
freakish fancy of a frolicsome couple in that distant Walpurgis
night brought _him_ forth. He was a salamander and he had
the world to splash and croak in. Thou hast a question?
Ah! Yes to be sure there were many insects and pulpy sedge
for thy meat and vegetable. Wouldst have been there, my
Timon? Well! and then alongside the salamanders came
toads, and these multiplied and filled the world with noise.
Such was the first chorus that arose from the dank, dark
reeds--ten billion million jumping, diving, frolicsome little
fellows, all lifting their voices in one tremendous
croak--croak--croak--croak in perpetual chorus. Then was thy
ancestor, the salamander, the largest animal or moving thing.
But in time the water receded and shrubs grew, then themselves
fell and sank deep down to form the coal beds of other
ages. That was the coal plant. And then small trees
appeared, later forests, and great beasts hung therefrom or
walked beneath. But thy line remains distinct. Ages flew
by and then I found thee, Timon, in my trench.
"Thou listenest intently as if thou rememberest it all.
Canst hear the voice of thine ancient father still echoing
adown Time's corridors? 'Tis a great thought, is it not, my
Timon, that the earth, being a female, possessed herself of
many-coloured draperies and the moving fancies of ten
thousand hues, and man, that extraordinary biped, then
appeared, and invented locomotives and whistles and violins
and guns. Truly we are large frogs equipped with ancient
instincts. Imagine thine ancient ancestors in the primeval
swamp ahorseback on tiny horses, or standing boldly up to
their guns from which they shot fire at other obstinate frogs.
It's a lovely idea is it not? Of course at the first shot there
had doubtless been a tremendous plop and a universal view of
disappearing hind feet, but they would have got accustomed
to it as have we. Thou hast forgotten. Man never knew.
But the earth hath a memory long and sad, and it is said that
she longs for the ancient stillness and turns yearly more cold.
And one day when the sun no longer warmeth her glaciers
and frozen seas she will return to that cold contemplation of
the eternal problem from which she was diverted to watch
the careering antics of man. A mere wraith of memory will
she retain of tiny bleached bones gripped once again in the
eternal snows--the last relics of that small and daring race of
unaccountable beings. And then the wraith will be closed
over by the mists, and Night shall descend once more. Thou,
Timon, and I, will be what Thomas Atkins calls 'done in.'
Hast still a smile? 'Tis well! 'Tis very well. Thou art a
game little devil, and altogether the queerest little cus I've
ever come across. So! Thou wishest a stroll after our long
talk. Bravo, thy profile is absolutely wreathed in smiles.
That was a right merry little hop. I wish dearly that I could
teach thee to dance. Thou would'st make Gaby blush, and
she is no small fish at the game. Now what in the name of
the Seven Gods art thou at, poking thy head in that fashion?
Thou shalt to supper and bed. Here are three flies and a
squashed worm. Fill thy small green belly and sleep. _Pax_,
I say, _vobiscum_. For thou also wert made by God."
_February 13th._--I have had a half cup of milk. This
morning I awoke feeling abominably seedy with sharp pains
across the small of my back, awful head and wretchedly
feverish. Devereux and I are suffering from dysentery, as,
in one form or another, are many others. This complaint in
its mildest form is diarrhoea which becomes colitis, which
becomes dysentery, which turns sometimes to cholera. The
doctors shake their heads and say: "Diet." They might as
well recommend a sea trip. But of course they are right.
Some fellows in their unwillingness to enter hospital stuff
down dozens of leaden opium pills, various powders, much
castor oil with chlorodyne and camphoradyne in between.
The last is an excellent drug. It's all a matter of constitution,
but sooner or later it's a case of hospital and injection of
emmatine. A hostile aeroplane flew over to-day and dropped
bombs on the town and brick kilns, evidently potting at the
5-inch guns there. A brisk rifle fire from our trenches
followed it. Accounts suggest the unpopularity of this
demon bird with its unhappy trick of laying, in mid-air, eggs
that explode on reaching the earth. Another danger is from
falling bullets fired at the place. The circuit is now complete.
We are shot at all round and from on top.
General Aylmer's forces concentrated on the 6th for a
new effort in a new position. It wants two days only in which
to disprove General Townshend's prophecy about the date of
relief. We hear that a Division has left Egypt for here.
Every one is asking why it didn't leave months ago. Impatient
questions are quite in vogue, but then we are many of us
seedy and "siegy" and "dug-outish," and the end does not
seem in sight. The latest news is that at Home no one knows
a word of it all. We are merely "hibernating in Kut." Well,
if it isn't known now it will be one day, that the siege of Kut
is probably the most important and vigorous siege in modern
military history.
I finished a novel to-day. It has at least made me long
for England again. We are all full of longings; and the
chief blessing of civilization is that it supplies the wherewithal
to quieten them. Lord! for a glass of fresh milk and a jelly.
Temperature 103° and shivering. I am going to have an
attempt at sleeping. Everything is very quiet. The sentry's
steps beside my roof make the earth shake.
It is the seventieth day of the siege.
_February 14th._--Well, here am I again in my sleeping-bag
at six minutes past eight p.m. Everything is dead quiet.
Stillness itself is throbbing with the pulsation of a very real
thing. Two sections are away digging at the alternative position
by the kilns which faces both ways. There is a great deal of
work required to complete such emplacements for a whole
battery. Besides the gun-pits and parapets and communication
trenches, there are ammunition dug-outs, a telephone and
battery dug-out where the battery headquarters are, officers'
mess, officers' dug-outs, men's dug-outs, cook-houses, and
water dug-outs, and latrines. Then a trench and _bund_ must
be made around the position to keep out rain floods.
Dorking came to see me this morning for a time. The
fever has decreased but my boasted fitness seems to have
deserted me for good. I believe those wretched floods did
the damage. Sleeping more or less under water tells on
one in weakened condition. I have no cold though,
luckily. Number 3 gun's detachment has appalling coughs,
and every dug-out is the same. They have two blankets, but
when the dug-out gets wet they have nothing even wherewith
to dry themselves.
Cockie, who rather prides himself on some rudimentary
knowledge of Egyptology, sent me a perfectly undecipherable
note in hieroglyphics to come and dine. At least I guessed
this out. What other interest could men have in common so
much at such a time? I sent a figurative reply with a linear
representation of myself in bed, a procession of ancient
Thebans filing out of the dug-out with fowls, snipe on toast,
puddings and fruits--all untouched. I hope to be able to
toddle out for a walk to-morrow.
We have laid in a stock of Arab tobacco--half branches
and twigs, and make our own cigarettes. Our reserve bottle
of whisky to be drunk the night of relief we have divided, as
firstly the relief may never come, and secondly we may be
bowled over beforehand, in which case the one concerned
would lose his share. Finally, I suggested that when the
relief does come we shall be sufficiently intoxicated with joy,
even supposing no refreshment is with the relieving force on
that fortunate day.
The Turkish aeroplane bombed us again to-day. Yesterday
thirty-five people including Arabs were wounded.
The sniper fellow over the river hit a gunner in the back
yesterday at the next gun. The poor fellow is mortally
wounded I hear. I was at my own gun at the time and heard
him sing out. He didn't fall but walked about a little, "just,"
he said, "not to let the swine know he had been lucky." We
sent him to hospital and will visit him to-morrow.
How very horrible to be quite poor! Here am I longing
for hot milk and buttered toast, and instead I have a coarse
slice of black _boosa_ bread with the chaff sticking out of it--and
a tiny portion of tinned cheese! But I will forget these
abominations of the flesh and hope my twenty--one aches and
pains won't pursue me into dreamland.
Venus, in her whitest robes, is shining resplendent over
the Eastern horizon above my mud staircase.
_February 15th._--I am feeling somewhat better, thank
goodness. I hear that Pars Nip, the garrison gunner sub
that came out from India with us, is in hospital with dysentery.
There is quite a deal of sniping. A bullet whinged off
a limber a few minutes ago. My candles are finished and I
don't like sitting alone in a dug-out on a foggy evening without
any sort of light. It suggests being buried alive.
A shocking report is to hand concerning Don Juan.
During the last two days he has taken advantage of the cold
weather to eat three successive blankets, four jhuals, and his
companion's head-collar. I suggest turning him loose in the
dismantled hospital camp on the _maidan_, now a wilderness
dotted with rotten tents. Some horses have commenced to
eat their tails and are not above snapping at their mates' tails
if they get a chance. It's great fun watching them all on the
qui vive sparring for an opening to attack one another's tail,
or cover, or head collar. Don has even gnawed his wooden
peg to chips and swallowed most of them.
_February 16th._--This morning we had a heavy artillery
duel. Fritz, the Turkish planist, flew over several times but
did not bomb. He is evidently observing. His plane proved
to be an old pattern Morane and is certainly very fast.
I have been for a little walk in the trenches. I felt awfully
groggy and returned to R. L. Stevenson's "Silverado
Squatters," which rings so very true even in a Mesopotamian
dug-out. In this volume Robert Louis, without the addition
of the terrible occurrences so dear to the sensational writer,
and so rare to the lives of most of us, has left the beauty of
simplicity unadorned.
_February 17th._--Fritz flew back this afternoon and dropped
bombs on the town. The one nearest to us was 300 yards
towards the 4-inch guns. One bomb fell in our horse lines in
Kut, just missing several drivers in a harness room, and taking
the adjoining room completely. Everything therein was
wrecked, but the effect of a bomb is very local. They are as
yet only 30-pounders, all of which along with some larger
ones, 100-pounders, were captured from us on a barge in
Ascot week. Ascot week represents the temporal series from
Ctesiphon to Kut. The passing overhead of Fritz's Morane we
view with feelings compatible with our universal conception
of him as the Destroying Angel. All deeply detest his tricks
and damn him most devoutly, and I have heard many say
that to be bombed by an aeroplane is the worst experience in
the field. Not in the trenches, for there one is comparatively
safe unless it pitches to a yard. Who doesn't take many more
risks motoring? But when one's duty requires one to move
about a battery in action, the fire of which is a perfect target
to the plane hovering overhead, or to move about Kut or the
horse lines, it is a considerably smaller joke. For the most
part the dug-outs are entirely unproof against bombs, or, of
course, a direct hit by a shell. The town quarters of the
regiment on relief from the trenches are dug-outs covered
with canvas or straw _tatti_-work and three or four inches of
soil. The only safe place is in these Arab houses of two floors.
The roof explodes the bomb which wrecks the upper room
and possibly the first floor if not very substantial. Now an
S & T walla sprinting for cover is considered, not being a
combatant, quite in order, but an infantry officer not so. As
for an artillery officer, he is supposed to be so used to high
explosives that if the table and everything thereon blows up
while he is drinking his cup of coffee, he must nevertheless not
take the cup from his lips until he has drained it dry.
The first indication of his visit comes from the alarm gong
which hangs near the river front observation post. All eyes
strain skyward and a little black speck scarce distinguishable
from a bird dots the blue sky. It approaches, and our
improvised air-gun, a 13-pounder worked on a circular
traverse at a high angle, has a pot at it. This gun was set up
by Major Harvey, R.F.A., our adjutant, a most efficient
gunnery expert from Shoeburyness. He worked out the
mathematics, too, with schemes of ranging in the two planes,
perpendicular and horizontal. A little white puff of cloud
appears near the plane and one hears the report. Then
another shot is fired and the plane mounts or swerves and
still comes on. His propellers and engine are heard quite
distinctly as he gets within range. A fierce burst of rifle fire
and the still sharper maxim gun's staccato music is the signal
for all to take cover. One sees him now directly over the
Gurkha regiment's bivouacs, and hears a faint hissing
noise as of rapidly spinning propellers. The hissing increases
for several seconds until it becomes quite loud and terminates
with a crashing explosion. One bomb has dropped. The air
is full of other hissing things in various stages of their careers.
A creepy feeling suggests that the bomb with its tiny propellers
rapidly spinning, is going to pitch on the top of one's
head and blot one out of existence, like stamping out an ant.
It strikes a building a hundred yards off and the resounding
smash of falling timber is caught up by another smash which
has struck earth, a third that has landed in the hospital,
scattering death all around, a fourth that has splashed small
pieces of horseflesh and hair on the surrounding walls and
trees.
All these are our captured bombs. A Tommy to-day
observed that the Turk was flinging our bombs about as if
they belonged to him. Another wag suggested Fritz was
merely returning them.
_February 18th._--This afternoon we had to shoot at a gun
target that was pestering the Fort, and as a consequence drew
thick shell fire on ourselves. Shells fell all around every gun.
We went to the fastest rate of fire, gun-fire, the first heavy
firing for over a month. Last evening the 82nd Battery,
R.F.A., had its turn when, although concealed in the palm-grove,
it was bombed by the plane and shot over by three
or four targets.
There were several wounded and two killed. The guns
on the water front are very active. The greater attention
which the Turks have paid us during the last few days suggests
that something startling is doing.
_4 p.m._--I have just received orders attaching me temporarily
to the ammunition column, which is practically without any
officer as Cockie has several guns on the river front, and is
continually up in the observation post there. I am to take
charge of the column and incidentally relieve him at observation.
It is thought that the enemy may try to rush boats
down the river. They could never get past our four-point-sevens
in horse barges moored on the river, or the 5-inch or
the 18-pounders or the 12-pounders from the Sumana. But
great vigilance is necessary. The river is at least 400 yards
wide.
It is quite good business getting attached to the column.
I shall be practically C.O. with all the horses and wagons
and ammunition, and two guns to keep my eye on, and
observing between whiles. It will mean living in a house, for
which I am very thankful. Anyway, I have been moved
about owing to casualties certainly as much as any other
subaltern, and up till now I have been fairly fit all along.
Those early days in the brick kilns, then in the shallow
trenches, then in the Fort, and especially during the floods in
this battery, absorbed my fitness, and I am now a bag of
pains and have lost ten pounds in weight.
I have had tea, and am already packed up. Farewell my
dug-out, in which I have spent many wonderful hours and
thought many strange thoughts. I am wiser at leaving than
on entering thee. Timon, also my friend, thou hast earned
thy freedom. Thy supper eaten, I shall put thee near the
pond behind the old communication trench near the palm
woods. I have no time to write an elegy upon thee. Thou
camest sharply into my life and leavest it as suddenly. It is
the way of the army and of life. Thou hast been a soldier's
companion. Many, many are the fantasies we have indulged
in, have we not? Many thoughts exchanged that could never
be set on paper, oh dear, no. What better confidant than a
wee green frog! Mind not thy unceremonious dismissal. My
advice is to smile. When thou seest thy fly, go for him between
wind and water, and smile even if thou art unsuccessful.
Joyful days and full rations I wish thee. Never think!
Farewell!
_February 19th._--Graoul removed my kit to the building
in the town occupied by the 6th D.A.C. near the Minaret,
where I had enjoyed my Christmas dinner. It is close to the
mosque, and two minutes from the guns on the river front.
There is the usual tiny concrete square with rooms all around
it, mostly occupied by the servants, and one large room with
wooden shutters which was the mess. Cockie sleeps in a
basement room as being presumably safer and wishes me to
share with him. But he is such an extremely exuberant and
nervy companion, I have taken a small room on the first floor
which has a thick wall on the side from which the shells come.
Of course the doorway is also there, directly in line of the
usual fire direction, and many bullets have at one time or
other entered there and gone through the front wall which is
quarter inch wood only. However, I have enough room for
my bed, and must learn to lie close. Outside my room is a
tiny promenade space of the flat roof and the basement rooms,
and bounded by a low wall which stops a lot of bullets. I
have often sat up there close to the wall and read while bullets
cracked into the other side of it or flew overhead. Looking
over this wall, one may see the deserted shell-ploughed ground
between the battery and the palm trees that fringe the river,
the river itself and the Turkish trenches beyond.
I dined with Cockie and Edmonds, who is convalescing,
and enjoyed an excellent cup of coffee with tinned milk.
I commenced duty this morning by inspecting the horse
lines. Cockie has not been near the lines for months, and
the general condition of things is highly creditable to the
N.C.Os. who have carried on. The horses, I find, are easily
the best conditioned in Kut, but that is because they are by
far the youngest, and also have not had the work of the
battery horses. The wagons and harness require attention,
and I have ordered inspection of each in sections. We are
almost out of dubbin, which is in great demand for light. A
twisted piece of rope, or wick, if possible, gives a mild, dull
light.
Graoul I had to send back to the battery, which is too shorthanded
to spare men. My new servant is a Punjabi Mohammedan
from the lines, by name Amir Bux. He is a good,
silent lad, and very attentive. This morning the aeroplane
got up and then went down so we have been spared one
entertainment at least.
This afternoon I spent some hours in Cockie's observation
post, river front, which is a tiny sandbag affair arranged
around an opening in the roof to which a ladder leads from the
first floor of the heavily bricked and sandbagged building on
the river bank, and some forty yards from the water. This
tiny strip of land, once the wharfage, is now grass green. To
cross it is certain death. The observation post is certainly
the most exposed in Kut, being nearer the river front than
the Heavies, and getting all the 5-inch over and shorts. The
Turks are thickly entrenched on the other side of the river,
and have a bee line on every brick on the water front. The
two-horse artillery guns and the 18-pounders are behind
emplacements just below, and are within megaphone distance
from the observation post. Our telephonists are at the foot
of the ladder on the first floor. The post commands a view
of three quarters of the horizon, the whole of the right bank,
and has artistic advantages all its own. The solitary waters
of the sunlit Tigris and the misty distances between and
beyond the palm trees invite one to pleasant dreams after
the strenuous times of trench days, and fort days, and perpetual
dug-out days.
Edmonds returned to the battery and my dug-out. He has
had a delightful period of convalescence here on the balcony,
and seems much more fit.
This afternoon there was quite a strafe. The Turkish
snipers' nest near the mouth of the Shat-el-hai, opposite our
observation station, became troublesome, and we popped a
few into them from the 13-pounders. That shut them up.
Then Fanny, the huge Turkish trench mortar near the Woolpress
post we hold on the other bank, popped her bomb of
150 pounds weight towards us. The bomb comes slowly at
about the pace of a falling football, and of course is quite
visible. It burst about a half-minute after reaching this bank,
but did no damage. Then Fritz flew over and dropped three
crashing bombs on the town, and returning to the Turkish
lines for more ammunition, dropped four bombs near the
104th heavy battery. We gave him a hot rifle fusillade, and
our improvised anti-aircraft gun did quite well. One burst
was just below and two just in front. Fritz mounted very
hurriedly.
As I write, guns are rumbling downstream in a most
pessimistic way. Reuter reports this campaign has been
taken over by the British War Office. The reinforcing
division is said to have embarked at Port Said on the 10th.
That would remove the date of relief at least to the end of
March. Food may be made to stretch, but the casualty list
of sick will be very high. Even now some castes will not eat
horseflesh, and the Mohammedans have refused to touch it.
To-night for the first time in three months I am sleeping
in pyjamas, as my only duty with the guns is to relieve
Cockie.
_February 20th._--I have to-day continued inspection and
altered the horse-lines in case of a flood. I also went to the
first-line trenches for a walk, the second line that was, for the
floods compelled us to abandon the original line. I scarcely
knew the place. The trench was a fine broad pathway ten
feet deep with firing platforms several feet wide where the
men bivouacked and the officers had tiny mess tents. A wall
or _bund_ loopholed at the top, some five or six feet high,
sloped towards the Turkish position for fifteen feet. Beyond
it, in patches, are the waters of the last flood. The loopholes
lend this firing-line an appearance of mediæval embattlements.
My old acquaintance, Dinwiddy, in the West Kents I found
doing awfully well under awnings, but looking very thin.
This flood scheme is one of the most praiseworthy incidents
in the siege of Kut. Every day the flood waters of the
approaching annual floods are creeping across our front. We
believe the _bund_ will save us.
It was a beautiful day, and I enjoyed my walk immensely.
At midday the sun is unpleasantly warm, and the nights are
quite cold. We have all gone back to helmets, and perspired
freely in the day. We hear the _avant-courrière_ of the summer.
Last night Wells of the Flying Corps came into the mess,
and "re-flew over Ctesiphon." I should like to fly. He has
had the bad luck to lose all the fingers of one hand while
engaged manufacturing hand grenades for the trenches. The
old Flying Corps has been of great assistance to us in Kut.
Another Flying Corps officer, Captain Winfield Smith, rigged
up old engines and made our corn grinders and mills practically
out of scrap-iron.
Cockie wants me to promise to go Egyptologizing with
him after the war! Fancy a mummy awakening from a
silence of three to five thousand years to hear a voice like
Cockie's!
Frolicsome Flossy, that very aggressive female, made four
overtures to the gunners on the 4·7 barges. Needless to say
her warm attentions met with the cold reception they merited.
I also visited the hospital to look up some sick friends.
One who was in with jaundice had a complexion like grass-green
oil flung into a bowl of rich Jersey cream. The sight
made one bilious. I'm not so seedy as I was, but the
universal complaint still pursues me.
Don Juan is in his new lines with a native syce. He has
already eaten both tails off his new companions, one of which
is Cockie's charger. Cockie is furious, but seeing that Don
has eaten his own tail also I don't see much for Cockie to
grumble at.
Erzeroum has fallen. That may relieve the pressure here.
I have just come across Longfellow's "Daybreak," an old
favourite of mine that I once heard that excellent song writer
Mallison and his wife render in a most delightful manner.
One misses any music except this endless fire symphony!
_February 21st._--The eightieth day of siege. We fired at
Snipers' Nest across the river, otherwise the day was very
quiet except for the visit of Fritz who had evidently had
sufficient taste of our anti-aircraft gun, and he flew diagonally
across the town and right around to avoid it.
Upon the tiny observation station, which is scarcely large
enough for two to sit down in, Cockie entertained me with
antiquities. He likes to talk of empires and dynasties falling,
and thousands of years gone by, and Good-God-look-at-it-all-now
sort of thing. To which I always lend a careful ear, and
if he ever asks me a question to see if I am attending, I say,
"Good heavens! How extraordinary! Don't spoil it by interrogations.
Go on!" Not that I'm not interested in such
things, far from it, but Cockie gets impatient with his inadequacy
of description.
Sealed orders arrived at 10 p.m. to be opened at 4 a.m.
Something is agog! I must sleep again in breeches and
field boots.
_February 22nd._--At 4 a.m. by the dusky dubbin's misty
light, Cockie opened the secret orders with an air of mystery
becoming an Egyptologist having the secrets of forgotten
worlds beneath his thumb.
The General Staff has been hatching a scheme for some time
past, and this is why I was wanted in the column so urgently.
Cockie is to remain C.R.A. of the river front artillery. I'm in
command of the ammunition column. General Townshend,
our G.O.C., intends to attack in two columns, Column A comprising
General Melliss's 30th Brigade and one battery R.F.A.
to debouch through Redoubt A, Column B with the 17th Brigade
and two batteries R.F.A. to debouch through by the
Fort. The show is conditioned to take place if the Turkish
forces retreat past Kut to their main camp on this bank--or
if any reinforcements proceed on their way to the Turkish
Essin forces downstream. The latter condition makes it
appear that something should happen soon.
Some say it is a risky thing for us to move outside our
position, but somehow one has every confidence in such
an old campaigner as the Sixth Division. The intention is for
the 16th Brigade in front of the 82nd Battalion position, to
demonstrate, holding the Turks there and thus enabling
Column A to move on. One section per battery (R.F.A.) will
remain to cover the advance. The advance of either column
must necessarily be subjected to a lively enfilade fire from
across the river and by the transverse trenches rounding the
Fort. Enfilade from our left, _i.e._ the right bank of the river,
must be kept down by the river-front artillery. The sappers
will go ahead to spring the many-rumoured mines of which I
doubt the existence, as the Turks are not very up to date
this way.
I have everything ready, wagons loosened up, shovels and
picks on, ammunition filled, double feed in horse bags, men's
rations ready for one day. The ammunition column does not
move off until the last guns of the 63rd have moved clear.
So we are not harnessed up, as there will be more than doubly
sufficient time when the batteries get the order to go--and it
will save the horses a lot, as it may be a long waiting affair.
Our job will be to keep in touch with both columns and have
a first position outside Kut only if either column advances
into the open. The trip will have to be done again and again,
so we shall not escape without casualties.
It is on the knees of the gods, and I for one hope it comes
off. In fact we all do. An impression has stolen upon us that
if we don't help ourselves we shall stay here altogether.
_2 p.m._--There is heavy firing downstream. Fritz has just
flown by to see what's doing. The G.O.C.'s intention, according
to rumour, is to consign matters to final issue, and to force
a great battle, provided the show downstream goes decently
well.
I am glad the horses have not been in their harness all day.
Four teams have had to be lent to the batteries as theirs
have been eaten more largely than ours.
Now I'm off to have another look round my show and then
on to the observation post.
_6 p.m._--There has been nothing to report except a decided
Turkish movement downstream from the right bank. It has
been a beautiful day with plenty of cloud.
Downstream the firing, which had lulled this afternoon, is
increasing. I have been on the _maidan_ near the pine woods
watching distant bursts.
_February 22nd._--There has been another hitch downstream.
The Turkish position blocking the relief advance is
evidently much stronger than was anticipated. This we hear
in the form of a rumour that there was insufficient artillery
preparation of the position before the infantry got in. Also
a lot of difficulty and uncertainty has arisen over some of the
native troops. Two or three times to-day the heavy bombardment
downstream has suddenly ceased, a phenomenon pregnant
with meaning in war, for it means that the infantry has
advanced to the last stage and awaits the cessation of gun-fire
to spring up and rush the position. But as often as it ceased,
it recommenced an hour later and continued until the next
break.
As yesterday, we are all ready and awaiting the order for
immediate debouch. I am "booted and spurred" and feeling
very important. The Turks are reinforcing heavily on the
other bank, the sly dogs, as appears from the movement in
their trenches. Our little affair is supposed to be awfully
secret, but there is no doubt that Arabs scuttle away across
the river or swim it and keep their religious pals in the know.
_February 23rd._--Last night at 11.30 p.m., as a counter
demonstration, there was a night attack on Woolpress Post,
our village over the river. This induced an attack from the
enemy facing our 16th Brigade. The town was alive with
bullets that cracked incessantly on the _mutti_ walls of the town.
Through the deserted streets I ran to the observation station,
river front, in case the field-guns were required to go into action.
For forty yards I had to run the gauntlet from the street end
to the door. There was not an inch of cover and the bullets
were splashing on the road and into the buildings on my left.
The fire was swishing as thick as water from a powerful fire
hose. Goodness knows how I got through. I passed several
poor wretches on stretchers and ran up the ladder.
On the first floor bullets were viciously cutting through the
_tatti_ and interstices, and some plopped into sandbags, and the
air seemed full of that tiny buzzing music as from some lightning-winged
bee.
When I returned I found that some men and several horses
had been hit, and in my room one bullet had ricochetted across
the bed and three others had entered by the doorway and gone
out by the window. Anyway it is more pleasant up here, and
the bed zone is safe enough, so I'm going to risk it. And I must
dress on the far side of the room. I am sure, after the awful
air in that wretched dug-out, with swamp water oozing through
it, that most people would risk something for this comparatively
delightful air.
_February 24th._--We are to remain in a state of diminishing
expectancy and increasing disappointment. We acknowledge
the colossal difficulties that beset our friends downstream,
nor do we forget one division there has been previously decimated
in France, and has many recruits. The fighting is
against the pick of Turkish troops entrenched behind seas
of mud.
The Mussulman soldiers here will not eat horseflesh.
Among their excuses is one that the signature from India of
their High Priest's permission to eat it is not authentic. It
came by wireless!
Generally speaking, the native soldier for first-rate work in
the field is only third class if he has no _khana_ (food).
_February 25th._--The show downstream has been postponed.
More reinforcements are necessary. History repeats
itself, and we are down to three slices of bread a day. It is a
lovely morning. Some gunners and Fritz, R.A.M.C., were
around to dinner last night bringing their own bread, as is
the correct order of things in Kut. We had an excellent roast
of horse. For sweets we had rice and date juice, and instead
of savoury, "post mortems" on Ctesiphon.
Our friend, Tudway, R.N., has been awarded the Military
Cross for Essin services. This we celebrated.
_February 26th._--Much firing downstream. Last night I
dreamed that Alphonse (Townshend) was communicating with
Aylmer by megaphone, all Kut excepting I being asleep. And
this is what happened--
"There, Aylmer?"
"Of course."
"Why didn't you attack on the 22nd? What happened?"
"Sweet damn all. Didn't even get a look in!"
"Then why on earth didn't you? You've had your reinforcements
and sufficient time."
"'Tis not in the nature of mortals to command success.
We've done better, Townshend--we've deserved it!"
"Rot! There's a screw loose somewhere. At Essin I
turned him out of a much stronger position than he's got now,
and with one-fourth of your force. Do you suppose we like
being here or can hold out indefinitely?"
"Don't gibe! Do you know you're certain for a peerage--Townshend
of Ctesiphon, I hear--nice alliteration too."
"No, really? Well, old chap, get through when you can.
Some old time! We're eating door-mats and dubbin [Liar]!
My pigeon though."
"Oh, I say! Last night I thought of suggesting we risked
a plane landing in Kut for you and bringing you away so that
you could have had the honour of relieving Kut."
"Then why didn't you?"
"Well, I thought what a godless ass you would look if
you didn't succeed. Nothing seems certain except these
floods!"
"Do you really think there is any chance of your getting
through?"
"Not in the least! Even Lloyds wouldn't look at it.
But the Bishop of London says you are making a glorious
page in British history!"
"Page, sir, be damned! We've finished two volumes
long ago. Is there anything else?"
"Yes! The people in all the churches at home are
praying for you."
Loud laughter sounded through both megaphones, and I
bethought me of the queer temperament of our race--and
awoke.
_10 p.m._--Cockie has retired to bed. I am alone with the
"dim glim." The Turkish aeroplane has left us unmolested
to-day, and for a change one of our own machines from below
flew past us and bombed the Turkish main camp. It also
dropped some money for the troops and letters for the General,
as it has several times previously. There has been a considerable
increase in the scurvy cases lately among the native
troops. Of course all the drivers in the ammunition column
are native troops. I had a scurvy inspection to-day, and the
regimental surgeon picked out the grubby ones. It is due to
total lack of vegetables. This is what we must chiefly guard
against--disease.
Anthrax also has broken out in a few isolated cases and
the orders are for livers of all animals to be buried.
I am much more comfortable here, as we have a long table
and chairs and two or three stock books, "Monte Cristo" and
Longfellow. That simple poet's lines in "Sand of the Desert
in an Hour Glass" seem to have added to themselves additional
appeal since the siege.
"Or caravans that from Bassorah's gate
With Westward steps depart;
Or Mecca's pilgrims confident of Fate,
And resolute in heart!"
That is the old Basra downstream: I must, if possible,
visit the ruins of Babylon some sixty odd miles from here and
forty directly west of Azizie. Also I would like to see
Istamboul as they call it: and if Aylmer doesn't hurry up
I possibly shall.
_February 28th._--Alarming reports are to hand that the
river is rising. It is already three feet higher than it was two
days ago. The Shat-el-hai now has changed from a water-course
to a broad deep river that _mahelas_ can navigate quite
easily. It is worthy of mention how very close the _mahela_
resembles one's nursery pictures of the Ark and possibly
most correctly so, for with its great beams and high
bow and stern it has remained unchanged for thousands
of years. This land, we are told, is God-forsaken. Animals
there are none, beside the goat, sheep, camels, donkeys, jackals,
and river buffaloes. A few herds of the latter used to bask
downstream near Kut. Now they too have deserted us.
It is reported that the Russian General Baratoff has taken
Kermanshah on the road to Baghdad. We are all anxiously
hoping he may get through.
A large sweepstake on the date of the relief has been
started for all European troops. Relief is defined as the time
when our first boat passes the Fort. The contingency of our
having ultimately to surrender is not included. For who
could entertain that possibility except in the extremest banter?
A Reuter tells us of a big German shove at Verdun. What
an awful slaughter yard that will be! The news has become
most unsatisfactorily fragmentary. We hear that something
or other is about to take place; then subsequently the wireless
is blocked and we never know whether it happened or not.
There is much anxiety in the town about the floods that
must soon come, and the river's level is the all-absorbing topic.
The fine spell of weather seems about to break.
_February 29th._--It is raining in a most shocking fashion.
Lord! How it does rain here--when it wants to! The
sun goes, the sky shuts its eyes and rains with all its might,
so that it is difficult to believe there ever was a time when
it did not rain.
Cockie is sick. I took his duty on the river-front observation
post and watched for hours the deluge of water falling
down and flowing past in a yellow turgid current. The reports
are that it is hourly rising. Every endeavour is being made to
strengthen the _bunds_ and build others. The main _bund_ across
our front still holds and the other side of it is already a great
lake where our former position was. The Turks have had to
leave this part of their line and go back a few hundred yards
to the sand-hills. Through my telescope I can see tiny waves
dashing up against the _bund_ like a drifting sea against a
breakwater. I met Captain Stace, R.E., to whom I lent a
clinometer while he worked at this invaluable construction.
He is most reassuring in his quiet optimistic way.
The next most important event of to-day is that Dorking
was persuaded to exchange seven cigars for my ten cigarettes.
I came by them yesterday in a special issue "found" by the
Supply and Transport people. By the way, there are more
things in the Supply and Transport philosophy than heaven
and earth ever dreamed of.
It is the gala-day of Leap Year, but I have no extra proposals
to record--not even from Sarah Isquashabuk, the Arabian
lady with bread-plate feet and small gate-post legs and a
card-table back on which she carries small trees and walls of
houses. She is a hard worker and always cheerful, but with
a most murderous-looking eye, and I confess that one doesn't
always see daylight through all her actions. This morning
I saw her dragging a stalwart Arab along by the unshaven
hair with much laughter--possibly her truant Adonis.
The Arab population have done themselves fairly well
until recently, for they had hidden much foodstuff and stolen
considerable supplies since. But the last few weeks they have
been begging, and the children search corners and rubbish
heaps.
If the siege goes to extremities it will be ten thousand
pities that the Arab population was not removed out at the
outset. For the laws of humanity would restrain our pushing
them out now--the Turks or surrounding hostile Arabs would
murder the lot. But we should have had the food they are
getting now for rations, and that might have saved the lives
of thousands of British downstream. All we did was to invite
them to stay at their peril. They accepted.
_March 1st._--A most eventful day. Cockie is still down
with dysentery, and I have relieved him all day at the observation
post. Everything was very quiet on my way to tea.
I walked through the palm grove intending to examine the
mountings of the anti-air gun when I heard the muffled boom
of guns to the north. Then others sounded--that ruffling
sound of a blanket being shaken. I hastened back to the
observation post, shells falling in the trees and alongside the
trench. I got on top and ran until I got back. The fire
increased into the biggest artillery bombardment the enemy
has yet made, lasting for two and a half hours. About ten
batteries opened out on us, searching the palm grove for our
4-inch, and then four batteries concentrated on the 4·7 guns
in the horse boats and barges moored in the river 150 yards
from them, and also on the 5-inch heavies immediately below
them but thirty yards to a flank. Thankful I was indeed for
that thirty yards respite. At least fifty shells pitched at
exact range for my few sandbags that any direct hit would
knock flying--exact range but always within those thirty
yards to a flank, and of course on the other side into the river
dozens of them. But not all, for sometimes they "swept"
and the heavy Windy Lizzies tore up the green ground all
around, and the building, on the roof of which were my bags,
shook so much that the bags moved. Then one lucky shell
struck the _mahela_ near by, another got the building I was on,
smashing down the end room, and yet another pierced the
side partition ten yards off, and for a few seconds I didn't
know whether I had been blown into the river or not, for the
shock was severe and all was yellow darkness. Large pieces
of wood and _mutti_ were hurled all around my sandbags, one
piece fetching me a clout on the helmet and denting in my
megaphone. I remember a faint cheer from the Supply and
Transport shelters when the smoke cleared away and the
observation post was seen still to exist. All this time I had
been engaging one target with our 18-pounders, and keeping
the rifle fire of Snipers' Nest down with another.
It all seemed to come about so very quickly. One moment
I was walking out of the trench in the date grove threading
my way over the slippery ground when the first three muffled
booms told me B target had opened fire. The next, without
wondering what the grimy Turkish gunners at B were shooting
at, or what the result of the shells still in the air would be, I
was tearing back to the river front. One counted the usual
twelve seconds from the distant boom of these targets and then
heard the invisible singers in the mid-air, and then
krump-kr-rump-sh-sh-sh-sh as the shells struck with a deep bass
explosion followed by the swishing sound of falling earth that
had been hurled up aloft. I recollect now seeing a mule bolt as
it heard the increasing hits, and although I felt quite as
uncomfortable as the mule I was tickled with the notion of a
mule developing the fire instinct, for it bolted intelligently
to a flank. That mule deserves to live.
From the observation post there was no need of a telescope
to tell me that B was in action. The three puffs stood out
very clearly and three more to the right. I reported a new
target, gave the bearing, and watched our 5-inch and 4·7's
reply. This brought A and B targets to engage our 4·7 and
5-inch below me. The 40-pounders tore up the water, going
very close to but always missing the barges, and the shock
from a Windy Lizzie hitting the water was always much greater
to my sandbags on the roof, than when hitting the earth
beneath us. In the former case my six-foot stack vibrated
several inches. I saw one shell actually enter the 5-inch
emplacement. It exploded on touching the other side, missing
a gun-layer by inches. The shock knocked him down--that
was all. Ten minutes later another shell got there again,
within two feet of the former one. This time the men were
taking cover. It was now that the battery opened on the
town with 16-pounders, and on my engaging them the Turkish
heavies lengthened and shelled my observation station, also
the other observation station for our heavies 100 yards away.
As I have noted, they got me in a beautiful 100-yards bracket,
the one crashing into the poor devils in the hospital amid
awful yells, and the two nearest getting the end of this building
and smothering me with débris. Some pitched into the
hospital forty yards away, their trajectory just above us. It
is extraordinary the tricks one gets up to on occasions. The
sergeant-major, an excellent soldier and very cool fellow,
stuck his hands on his head more than once, and I found myself
leaning hard up against the sandbags the hissing Lizzies were
directly making for, just as if my doing so would help the bags
to stick there. They came with a slow hiss that finished in
a vicious whip past for the last bit. The sandbags stopped
scores of bullets this afternoon, and that is all they are meant
to do. I had very good luck with the target we had previously
registered on. It is a target of three guns over the Shat-el-hai.
I shut them up with half a dozen rounds, and then took on
another new target that opened further south. Then still
another target on the Woolpress sector shelled Kut and the
82nd engaged them. We had barely shut up this target M, and
also S, when several other Turkish batteries that had been
silent for months opened up on the town. This proved too
much for the youthful spirit of Funny Teddy, that ardent and
sprightly young mountain gun, which just as a puppy watching
a fight between his seniors tries to have a look in too and barks
and bucks about in the most promising style, opened up on
H.M.S. _Sumana_. From my observation post I could see
targets all round the compass being engaged by our guns.
The Turk was out-gunned and out-shot absolutely, but his
target was Kut and ours merely his guns.
A hot rifle fire sprang up from the Snipers' Nest, Shat-el-hai,
and from across the river by the tomb. This we kept
down in a fashion in our sector, and the 12-pounders
of the _Sumana_ also gave them hot music, as the men
call it.
The town then came in for it badly, the hospital especially
catching it. We may thank heaven the Turks haven't anything
much in the way of high-explosive shell. They use old
stuff, common and segment, and the thick crust of baked mud
wall is usually sufficient percussion to bring about the burst.
The danger then is from the fragments. The building usually
escapes. I have seen segments of a Windy Lizzie as big as a
half loaf embedded in a wall opposite to the aperture it made
on entering. High-explosive shell would demolish the building
altogether.
At the height of the show the sharp notes of the alarm
gong rang over Kut, and Fritz, with a second machine
accompanying his Morane, was seen approaching rapidly from
the north. Our machine-guns opened on them and also a
brisk fusillade from the trenches as they came over. They
bombed Kut and then returned to their camp for more bombs.
This was repeated again and again, making a dozen trips in
all. Every one took cover in basements. Scarcely a soul
was to be seen. We had to stick where we were, as our guns
were still in action, but one had plenty of time to look skyward
and see the death-bird there, as I did three or four times this
afternoon, directly in a plumb-line over our heads, and to hear
the whirring propeller of the bomb increasing in loudness and
pace as it fell. One trusted in Providence or luck. He got
the bank of the river and the hospital several times, but his
nearest to us was at least forty yards off. The bombs cannot
be placed with great accuracy, so they drop three or four
close together to make a zone. Some of the bombs were
100-pounders, which would blot a fellow out as effectually
as an hydraulic stamp.
Funniest of all, the heavy mortar, Frolicsome Fanny, tiring
of acting wallflower on the other bank, chucked her big bombs
at us. But she is a left-handed and cross-eyed filly, and the
gods have set a limit to her range for evil. Some went in
the river near the horse boats. These were received calmly
by the Tigris. Another got into the sand-heap near our
butchery and fell into it without exploding. Some scientifically
minded Arabs charged up to secure it and were within thirty
yards when the thing went off to their huge astonishment.
We had a good laugh at the way they sprinted back
jabbering with rage and fear. The mules have got to know
her, and, keeping one eye on the bomb as it comes over the
river, continue grazing until it is nearly across and then bolt
the opposite way.
One of Fritz's bombs, a 100-pounder, we saw toppling
over and over in the air quite plainly. It didn't go off. But
another such sent a table at least two hundred feet into the air.
This is true. I won't spoil it by saying that the cloth was laid
and set. It was merely a table and its four legs stuck up
towards the evening moon.
The bombing raid continued until it was too dark for
Fritz to see. Then I went home, and on my way saw interested
little crowds that had emerged to examine various shell-holes.
Arabs ran up and down the streets howling for their dead.
Over a thousand shells have been flung into the town and there
were a good few hit among the hospital patients, and the
Arabs lost many. About a score only were killed, but many
more were injured. Considering the intensity of the bombardment
this is an excellent tribute to the shelters of Kut.
_10 p.m._--Every one is extra vigilant to-night although we
think it hardly likely the Turks will try to storm us. That
they cannot easily do now, and the floods increase their
difficulty daily.
_March 2nd._--The whole night long wild howlings and dismal
wailing of the Arabs for their dead and wounded continued
and kept me awake. Now and then some other Arab extra
full of despair would let out a yell like a steam-whistle that
rose high above the universal hubbub. The Jews here cry
in a different key altogether, a wobbly vibrato long sustained,
much less sweet but not wholly unlike the _tangi_ of the Maoris
in New Zealand. A Jewish funeral is a sad little affair.
Dressed in long black robes and carrying lights in little tins
they escort the dead to a grave way out on the _maidan_. They
walk with bowed heads in twos, a tiny column and a sort of
acolyte person following the body. They perform their
ceremonies by night so as to avoid drawing fire upon themselves.
It is a peaceful day, the peace that follows a violent storm.
Rumour has it that various Turkish guns which had been
withdrawn for service downstream have been brought back
here, and the bombardment was intended to acquaint us with
the fact. Or else they are thinking of sending the guns down
and wanted to disillusion us on the point. This is most likely.
It certainly hasn't done much harm, and surely Khalil Pacha
does not suppose he can give us "nerves" by this sort of thing.
A beautiful aeroplane of ours flew over, her wings resplendent
with the morning sun.
It has been very cold and windy all day, but so very
peaceful--not the peacefulness of calm but of a windy, lonely
day.
During the show yesterday I was practically doing C.R.A
River-front, a high-sounding title especially pleasing to
Cockie, but as a matter of fact it is merely an observation job,
as all he does is to command his own three guns. He is still
seedy and inconsolable at his inaction.
_March 2nd._--An uneventful day. We fired a few sniping
rounds. I hear the 76th Battery got its share of shelling the
other day, and a bombardier was killed.
I persuaded Cockie to talk about ancient Egyptian kings.
He annotates himself in a most delightful way in talking
history, and has an extraordinary imagination for detail.
This imagination it must be admitted does not get much of
a chance in Egypt, which has been fairly well explored. I
would suggest turning him loose among visions of the lost
Atlantis. I believe he would even produce the history of
the other Adam's first love affair in that continent. Some such
sentence as this--"Yes! In that extraordinary land which
history has almost forgotten and which geology never knew,
Phargon the bog-king, the præcursor of Romeo, proceeded
to divest himself of shoes and jacket, and taking in another
hole of his belt, plunged, according to Whinny, feet foremost
after Phargette."
_March 3rd._--The cold wind, or the wet, or something, has
made my back so rheumaticky that I can hardly turn round
or get down to tie my bootlaces. I am very lucky to have
kept as fit as I have. Dozens of men from the trenches are
in hospital with muscular rheumatism from the floods--the
source of many evils.
I have finished "Monte Cristo." What an artist he was!
And I have started "David Copperfield" again.
I omitted to record that a shell tore down the house at
the front of this, and one wrecked the base of the column
office. Several horses were wounded during the bombardment.
We had a parade of Mussulman drivers, and I read a communiqué
asking them to eat horseflesh, as their Mullah in
India requested, this being required by the exigencies of the
service. Not they! I believe, nevertheless, there is only one
thing rooted deeper than a man's religion, and that is his
appetite. This proves it, for hunger is driving them to eat it.
What an awful joke on the part of Charon if, when these
fellows reach the banks of the river Styx, he informs them the
only available ferry is astride of swine.
We have finished the inspections. The horse rations have
fallen away to very little. We give them pieces of palm tree
to gnaw at.
_March 4th._--The rheumatism is much worse. It is bleak
and cold in the observation post. On such an occasion the
vigil is a wretchedly dull one. I'm too cold to dream. One
can only psychologize viciously on the difference in point of
view between a full man and an empty one. Eating maketh a
satisfied man, drinking a merry man, smoking a contented
man. But eating, drinking, and smoking maketh a happy
man--that is, the heart of him glad.
It is not far from the truth to say I have to-day done none
of these. For by _eating_ one cannot mean half a slice of chaff
bread, nor by _drinking_ a water-coloured liquid like our siege
tea, nor yet by _smoking_ a collection of strange dried twigs and
dust. Man, it has been excellently observed, cannot live by
bread alone. How much less, then, can he live upon half chaff
and half flour?
Far away on the edge of the western horizon I watched for
hours, through my telescope, a convoy of camels, each with a
tiny white dot of humanity aboard, striding away with delightful
patience to the Turkish camp downstream. They were
conveying stores from Shamrun, the enemy depot on the
river above us.
General Smith, of former mention in these notes, has been
dangerously ill in hospital, but the crisis has been passed. He
contracted pneumonia on the retirement. I have been to see
him. He is very full of pluck, and gave me a _Times_.
Tudway, R.N., dropped in for a pipe. We talked of the
sea, and he spoke of the soft life on the Chinese station.
The adjutant of the Dorsets was killed while strolling in a
communication trench yesterday--a chance bullet getting his
heart. The D.A.A.G. is being operated on to-day with an
abscess in the thigh. The facilities for operating on such cases
are very modest. But nothing less than raising the siege could
alleviate these matters. And in this little maelstrom of
destiny here at Kut, we and our weaknesses are whirled around
together. Some of us disappear in the vortex, and others
continue circling around the swift walls, and may or may not
be fortunate enough to so continue. But from this seething
cauldron none can escape by his own effort, for we are all up
against a thing greater than ourselves.
_March 5th, 6th._--Shortly after daybreak, as usual, I got up,
feeling awfully full of aches and unsteady. Cockie, however,
being still seedy, it was necessary for me to be on duty on the
observation post, so I flannelled myself up and went. I stuck
it until 9 a.m., when I returned for breakfast. Our Parsee
regimental doctor, from whom I required a dose of rheumatism
physic, sent for a major of the Fourth Field Ambulance, who
pronounced me bad enough with muscular rheumatism to have
to go into hospital. I was awfully disgusted at this after
holding out so long, and begged to be allowed to stay in my
billet. But it was of no use. He said strict orders made it
imperative, also that in hospital eggs were forthcoming. Four
native bearers and a stretcher turned up shortly afterwards,
much to my disgust. Anyway I walked, after fixing up for
the sergeant-major to carry on.
I entered a ward too terrible for words, next bed to a most
sad and awful apparition of a poor fellow who had been very
ill. It was a long skin-covered skeleton with skinless ears,
eyes protruding so far that one wondered how they stuck up
at all, teeth on edge, legs thinner than a pick handle, and two
arms like gloved broom-sticks catching frantically at various
parts of his apparel where creatures of the amoebic world fled
before those awful eyes. Add to this a half-insane chattering,
punctuated with a periodical sharp crack as louse after louse
was exploded between the creature's two thumbs, and you have
the picture entitled, "A Hospital Shikar." Altogether it was
a sight utterly terrible.
I thought of flight, and other things, but the hospital was
small, and there was no other available room. So I wished
them all good morning, and sat on the side of my bed farthest
away, and having undressed got into bed as the assistant-surgeon,
otherwise apothecary, directed. I had not been there
for more than three minutes when the Enigma's Hindoo bearer
entered. He became quickly engaged with his master in
strenuous argument relating to curry, what time the Enigma
ricochetted on and off the bed, and his mouth became the
exhaust valve for his pent-up opinions of the world in general
and his bearer in particular. I discovered later that malaria and
dysentery had between them rendered him temporarily insane.
He had been in the hospital for the whole of the siege, but was
now slowly recovering. While he was _in extremis_, however,
I should say from all accounts that he must have been by far
the most interesting person in Kut. For many days it seems
his main hobby was in trying to make his bearer precede him
through a door which did not exist at the foot of his bed.
Another diversion was in seating himself on the window-sill
stark naked about 1 a.m. in the night and mimicking, often
with ghastly relish, the sounds and noises of various members
of the Turkish artillery from Windy Lizzie to Naughty Nellie,
the buzzing howitzer. I believe he was quite good at the
bullets, and very promising on Frolicsome Fanny, which was
easy, and only required an awful noise without warning--for
as I have noted Fanny's jokes sometimes held fire for minutes.
But in reproducing vocally the aeroplane's 100-pound bombs
he is reported as having outdone even the bomb itself. In
fact his own nerves could not stand this performance, and he
generally wound up the item by taking cover under his bed.
Other nights he has been known to get behind his overturned
bed and preach in a most entertaining way. Why he
took to preaching was, he explained, due to the fact that he
had been to church only once in his life, and that was his
wedding-day. His sermons may be described as unorthodox,
and varied from blatant sarcasm in such texts as, "When ye
hear of war and rumours of wars be ye _not_ troubled" ("Not"
being considerably emphasized) to sheer optimism, one being,
"Eat, sleep, and be merry, for to-morrow ye starve." But
he did not always stick to his text, and in the last-mentioned
sermon made a humorous digression on Kut, the way in and
the way out, this being, as he informed his midnight audience,
the prelude to a book he had recently written called "The Last
of the Sixth Division," by a Field Officer. One day he insisted
on believing he was on board a P. boat going downstream in
charge of Turkish officers, and having attempted unsuccessfully
to rejoin his boat in scanty apparel, finally consoled himself
with fishing out of the window. However, he is now supposed
to be more or less permanently located in the sane region, but
this from the other would seem to be separated by a mere
dividing line, and he occasionally strays back.
But these interesting events are past, and the poor fellow
is a dull subaltern once more. Other occupants of the ward
were the Welsh Bulbul and an awfully decent subaltern in the
Territorial Battery named Tozer, whom they called the Eye-Opener,
because he never slept.
An awful place is this hospital. Our ward is on the first
floor on one side of the yard, and the barred windows are
sandbagged up part of the way.
I read and slept, and then stole downstairs to interview
"G. B.," who was in a most kind and amiable mood.
The only advantage to be derived from being in hospital
here is that one has facilities for dying under medical supervision.
Not that the authorities don't do all they can, for the
officer commanding the officers' hospital is as kind and thoughtful
as he is able, and altogether the best of good fellows. But
his difficulties are enormous. There is the scantiest of sick
diet left, medicines are more or less exhausted, only the simplest
drugs remaining. Besides, the pressure of work on all the
medical people here necessitates the use of untrained orderlies.
One of these, a podgy and giggling recruit, enters twice daily
with a handful of pills in his fist, and distributes them as per
order, but it is well to know one's ailment and the remedy, for
sometimes the ardent youth is forgetful. The C.O. comes
round once a day, which is the event of the twenty-four hours.
He is all patience, encouragement, and industry. The orderly
rubs the backs of the rheumatic patients, and this is a delightful
relief.
As for food it matters not. Dysentery and rheumatic
cases can be safely starved, I believe, and if this is the chief
way of getting well there is every facility here for rapid
recovery. Two small portions of Mellin's food and one egg
with a small piece of white bread are the daily ration. A few
extra things came for me, but I could not eat them.
From 6 to 8 p.m., as we have no candles we have a spelling
game, each one in turn adding a letter that continues to spell
a word. The object is to avoid saying the last letter of the
word, and consequently the words changed or lengthened in
an extraordinary fashion. One-syllable words were barred,
and we had challenging for bluffs. Each fall meant a life, and
three lives was the total. Thus o-s-t-r-a-c-i-z-i-n-g. The
defeat was staved off "ostrich" and "ostracize" on to some
one else. It proved highly entertaining, and abuse flowed
freely, especially as the abuser was more than once let down
deliberately by all hands. Doubtful words we voted on. I
got into trouble with "phrenolophaster," which we carried
by three to two, I pointing out other words, poetaster, philosophaster,
etc. One wouldn't dare to tell Dr. Johnson so, but
it "did."
There joined us in these evening orgies a subaltern of the
Oxfords named Mellor, otherwise Square-Peg, who was convalescent
from a bomb wound in the arm. On the morrow I
got out of bed and walked with him to the vegetable gardens,
which were planted at the beginning of the siege, like they
were in Troy. I hate bed when I'm not fit, and the walk was
refreshing. I am trying to get permission to go back to my
billet and do duty on diet.
_6 p.m._--There is an order for the Arabs to remain confined
to their houses as another sortie is imminent.
I have just been talking to Woods, a cheery fellow who
got the Military Cross for saving men from a dug-out at the
Fort during the heavy bombing of December 24th. He is
gleefully nursing the stump of an arm, and tells me how he
proposes to still enjoy himself in life with the other. "The
Enigma" has just begun another _shikar_, the severalth this
day.
_March 7th._--Late last night there was talk of a brigade
going over the river to stop the enemy's forces attempting to
retreat that way. We had no bridge, but Major Sandes had
prepared a trestled bridge for the Shat-el-hai, and if wanted
the brigade was to be ferried over in _mahelas_. We were all
wound up and restless in hospital, and did not wish to miss a
show. All night long there was the clang and clump, clump,
of marshalled forces, and the champing of bits and the tramp
of men under full arms. A few rounds were fired during the
night, and at the dawn a signal awakened us, but nothing else
happened. Anyway orders for the debouch were about to be
issued the second time, and with this as an excuse I persuaded
the C.O. to let me out to resume duty, and I was to remain on
diet issued from the hospital. I left the Enigma my midday's
rations. It was a relief to escape from the dreadful ward.
This I did at 11 a.m.
But before I left I visited General Smith's room on the
other floor. From him I learned that Verdun is raging with
unabated fury, and Epinal and Belfort still hold out. The
Russian General Baratoff is almost on to Khanakin through
the mountains. If this were only true the Turks hereabout
would have to retire on Baghdad.
The general was what girls call "very nice" this morning.
He reads three books at once, so that when he is tired of one
he changes to the other. We talked more fishing, and what
we would do when we returned to India. This I find the
most interesting topic for invalids.
_9 p.m._--It is rumoured from headquarters that an attempt
is being made by General Aylmer to get through to-day or to-morrow
with a dawn attack. The weather is favourable to a
long march. We are all ready with our _mahelas_ and launch
and _Sumana_ to convey a brigade across, if necessary to cut the
Turkish retreat or assist General Aylmer. It is, however, a
serious impediment that we have none of the bridging trains
which were so famous in the history of the Sixth Division and
so efficiently handled by Major Sandes. The last was blown
up on December 5th.
_Later._--We partly expect some orders this evening. I find
I am almost too stiff with this rheumatism to mount my horse.
I have been practising on the table, but once in the saddle I
shall be perfectly right.
I am overjoyed to have got back to my billet from that
hospital ordeal. Have played chess with Mellor.
There is sound of distant firing--a dull smothered roar of
an engagement down at el Hannah.
Everybody is talking about Baratoff, and hence this verse:
"The mountains looked on Baratoff
And Baratoff looked on me;
And in my evening dream I dreamed
That Kut might still be free."
CHAPTER V
GENERAL AYLMER'S ATTEMPT--MORE FLOODS--PRESSURE OF
THE SIEGE--PREPARATIONS FOR RELIEF--FAILURE--LIFE
IN A SIEGE MESS
_March 8th._--In the night a terrific explosion from
the direction of the Shatt awoke Kut. Someone
says it was caused by a floating mine going aground.
It had been intended for the bridge some distance up the
Shat-el-hai. Not long after dawn we awoke to the sound
of intense gun-fire so close to us, that for a time it seemed
like our own guns in Kut. At first we surmised this to be
Turkish artillery turned on positions won by the Relief
Column, but, on climbing on to the roof, we saw the flashes
came from what the experts knew as Dujaila Redoubt.
Our own guns were preparing on the Turkish position!
This in itself seemed difficult to believe, although, no doubt,
some good reason existed for it. As the light got better,
before eight o'clock, we saw quite clearly hordes of Turks
rushing up towards the Shat-el-hai support trenches, and
some troops were being ferried over near Megasis from the
other bank. General Aylmer's night march had evidently
been a complete success, and the Turks were taken by surprise.
Why, then, were we waiting to prepare? The fire grew heavier,
the bursts thicker, and all the while the Turks were rushing up
troops. Then the fire ceased. We held our breath and waited
for news, knowing that the bayonet was busy, and the men at
handgrips. No news has come. We have waited hour by hour.
Is anything amiss? Why haven't they got through?
Was our artillery preparation intended to be so deadly as to
pulverize the Turks' whole series of trenches? Could so
many heavy guns be got up? If not, why did we wait?
We only know that up to 9 a.m. the Turks' trenches were
rows of moving heads, and many went over the open. The
fact seems to be that our arrival at the redoubt was absolutely
a surprise, and yet, through not pushing on, the benefit of
surprise has been lost.
[Illustration: Aylmers Dujailah Attempt
8^{th} March 1916]
_March 9th, 3 p.m._--The relieving force did not get through.
We have heard this unofficially. We all have the feeling it
is "the big effort," and not a side show. We are disappointed,
but having had little else than disappointments we are accustomed
to them.
_March 10th._--There is another famous _communiqué_ from
General Townshend, our G.O.C. It is interesting to see how
"Alphonse" improves every occasion. Here it is:
* * * * *
_Communiqué to troops._
"As on a former occasion I take the troops of all ranks
into my confidence again, and repeat the two following telegrams
from General Aylmer from which they will see that the
relieving force has again failed to relieve us.
"_First telegram: March 8th._--'To-day's operations terminated
in a gallant but unsuccessful attempt to storm
Dujaila Redoubt. Our troops pushed home the attack and
carried out the operations with great gallantry, but the enemy
was able to mass great reinforcements which arrived from the
left bank at Megasis and Shamran, and we were unable to
break through. Unless the enemy retires from his present
position on the right bank, which does not seem probable, we
shall be unable to maintain ourselves in the present position
owing to lack of water, and unless the enemy evacuates the
Essin position to-night, we shall be obliged to withdraw to our
previous position at Wadi.'
"_Second telegram: March 8th._--'We have been unable to
break through to relieve you to-day and may have to withdraw
to Wadi to-morrow, but hope to make another attack
before long and relieve you at an early date. Please wire
movements of enemy, who in any case suffered most severely,
as their repeated counter-attacks have been repulsed with
heavy loss.'
(End of Telegrams.)
"I know you will all be deeply disappointed to hear this
news. We have now stood a three months' siege in a manner
which has called upon you the praise of our beloved King and
our fellow countrymen in England, Scotland, Ireland, and
India, and all this after your brilliant battles of Kut-el-Amara
and Ctesiphon and your retirement to Kut, all of which feats
of arms are now famous. Since December 5th you have spent
three months of cruel uncertainty, and to all men and all people
uncertainty is intolerable; as I say, on the top of it all this
comes--the second failure to relieve us. And I ask you also
to give a little sympathy to me who have commanded you in
these battles referred to and who, having come to you a
stranger now love my command with a depth of feeling I have
never known in my life before. When I mention myself I
would couple the names of the generals under me whose names
are distinguished in the army as leaders of men.
"I am speaking to you as I did before, straight from the
heart, and as I may ask your sympathy for my feelings having
promised you relief on certain dates on the promise of those
ordered to relieve us. Not their fault, no doubt--do not think
I blame them; they are giving their lives freely and deserve
our gratitude and admiration. But I want you to help me
again as before. I have asked General Aylmer to bring such
numbers as will break down all resistance and leave no doubt
of the issue. Large reinforcements are reaching him, including
an English division of 17,000 men, the leading brigade of
which must have reached Wadi by now--that is to say, General
Aylmer's headquarters. In order, then, to hold out, I am killing
a large number of horses so as to reduce the quantities of grain
eaten every day, and I have had to further reduce your ration.
It is necessary to do this in order to keep our flag flying. I
am determined to hold out, and I know you are with me in
this heart and soul.
"(Signed) CHARLES TOWNSHEND,
"Major-General,
"Commanding the Garrison in Kut.
"Kut-el-Amara,
"10th March, 1916."
* * * * *
The rank and file of the garrison, from what one overhears,
are all for sympathy with their G.O.C. They are quite
sure that "Alphonse would have got through" and have
altered the name of the relieving general to Faylmer. Why
wasn't the action delayed until the new division could have
taken part? As a matter of fact, one should suspend judgment
until all the facts are in, and in the last analysis the blame
must rest on Governments rather than on generals. When
first besieged we expected to be relieved within a month, and
so far as the Government knew we could hold out for about
two months. Fortunately we secured various supplies of corn
from Woolpress, and from dismantled engines we erected
milling facilities which enabled us to turn corn and barley into
bread.
But reinforcements have been sent into the country at a
slow trickle and the enemy has found no difficulty at all in
out-reinforcing us. When one considers the state of Turkey
this is most incredible. One would think that the lesson of
Ctesiphon was sufficient to chasten the authorities out of the
belief that the Mesopotamian campaign could be dallied with.
By sheer brilliancy of arms a whole country had been conquered
by a single unsupported division. This achievement was
not enough, however, and the cheap methods in vogue further
required this one division to risk the whole fruits of a campaign
in a single doubtful throw, and this against the advice
of its generals. Through the same cheap methods of having
insufficient forces to follow up a brilliant victory, our army
was badly let down and several thousand lives flung away.
Then only the same brilliant generalship of General Townshend
disengaged the division from a force several times its size, and
completed a masterly retirement for ninety miles, with the
whole Turkish forces on top of it. Extraordinary success of
the rearguard action at Um-al-Tabul enabled the division to
reach Kut, where it is intended to hold up the Turkish advance
and keep back the enemy tide from reswamping Mesopotamia.
The post was surrounded and bombarded at once, but the public
evidently does not know this owing to very necessary censorship.
The garrison, then, can hold out for a certain time. It
can forestall disaster for that time only.
One might imagine that the Indian Government would by
this have become awake to this aspect of the crisis, have taken
prompt action and sent out three or four divisions at once.
Even admitting the difficulties of river transport, six weeks
from the date of Ctesiphon, _i.e._ January 9th, would have
allowed ample time for arrival at Basra. But the first
reinforcements did not arrive in the country until considerably
later, and then only depleted divisions. British divisions,
which are really required, were only sent for recently and have
hardly started. And now difficulties of transport will delay
their transit up river. One cannot help recording these facts
in black and white. Every day lost now is piling up tremendous
difficulty for the future and swelling the list of lives
downstream that, please God, will one day retrieve a disaster
that might easily have been avoided. The world knows
nothing of the siege of Kut, and the authorities are not being
goaded by public opinion. In other words, the Indian Government
has played with a serious situation. The price will be
disaster. I am not setting this down as my own opinion
merely. It is the point of view of every one in Kut. As a
soldier one must refuse to believe that the position has been
mishandled or that Kut will fall. But if I were a politician,
which I am not, then would I add a lot of things here which I
will not.
As I write it rains, and with every drop of rain the time
within which the garrison, and, more important still, the
strategic position at Kut, can be relieved, shortens. Soon
come the annual floods, and when the whole country is under
water reinforcements will be of no avail. And the time is
short. It is the eleventh hour, and unless considerable forces
are already on the way it is even now too late. But that is
an affair between the authorities and the floods. Our problem
is one of food.
The position here is much as it was in the Dardanelles.
Excepting for floods and natural conditions we can outgun
and outfight the Turk every time here. Moreover, we are
tremendously relieving Aylmer of pressure, as the Turkish
river communications must stop at Shamrun above us, and
then his transport has to go overland. This is the marvellous
thing about our enemy. He is daily carrying on a colossal
bandobast of transport away from the water.
_5 p.m._--Reuter reports the Verdun battle is going satisfactorily.
One imagines that the German Kultur Geist must
be bilious by this time, according to the numbers they are
offering at his shrine. I am wondering how Nietzsche's
Zarathusa would speak now if he saw the Verdun shambles.
And what his blonde-haired, pink-limbed Über Mensch would
say about it too. Somehow I can see old Rudolf Eucken at
Jena with outspread hands invoking "Schicksal" (destiny)
as once he used to "Die Unendigkeit, Die Ewigkeit." Deep
down in the German nature is a connative impulse towards
the dramatic, and this is fed by a presentiment coloured with
all the hues of harmony sweetest to them. It is not unknown
for students at Jena and Heidelberg to extract such exquisite
juice out of the word "Unendigkeit" (Immortality) or "Ewigkeit"
(Eternity) as to become intoxicated therewith and
commit suicide shortly after in the pine forest, or near a
ruined "Schloss" (castle) what time the sun sets.
He loves the experience of the actor, likes to feel his gamut
of emotions considerably twanged. This dramatic tendency
showed itself on the occasion of that delicious utterance of the
Kaiser on the eve of the Great War: "Now let my ministers
put their hands through mine in token of fidelity, and let the
nation follow me through Need and Death." Now, the Roman
did this sort of thing rather well, but the German makes an ass
of himself. One feels the Kaiser said it to see how it felt to
say it.
The Germans tell us they are doing well, but I believe there
is a sight becoming more familiar to their eyes, a phenomenon
it is their daily delight and wish to behold, and that is the altar
of this "Schicksal"--Fate. The Germans think in battalions.
They have yet once again to go mad as a nation, as they did
on the outbreak of war--absolutely "verrückt,"--and to bolt
with competitive haste towards the national funeral pyre.
They are not fanatics. They are temperamentalists--and from
the spleen of a German musician it is said that in a successful
operation you can cut a piece of temperament nine inches long
and twenty-five ounces in weight. Apropos of this general
digression one may consider their "New Year's Picture" of
"Tod" (Death), of which a copy reached us in the autumn
of 1914 in France, and cheered us up considerably.
"Tod" (please pronounce "toad"), an awfully unpleasant
looking "Death," a snobbish skeleton with a bad seat, rode a
heavy horse through a smitten land, a tremendous scythe over his
shoulder and his metacarpal bones holding his reins incorrectly.
The scythe flung a gigantic shadow, and as for Tod, his shadow
reached almost to the horizon over black, burned villages,
sacked cities, and many corpses. The horse had reached a
double signpost which showed the way to St. Petersburg and
the way to Paris. But, more interesting still, the skeleton
had the lantern jaws of a Prussian. Fancy turning such a
fellow loose! Truly the "God of Want and Rapine and
Death!" and a most excellent subject for the Germans'
accepted New Year's Picture.
I remember my limber gunners having the same picture,
months afterwards, at Aldershot. And Chopin composing the
"Marche Funèbre" with a skeleton between his legs while he
played wasn't in it with them. They had stuck the picture
on the muzzle of the gun while they cleaned it. I hope every
one of them goes untouched through the whole war.
Poor Germany! I have had some happy days there, but
when I compare the Kaiser's words to his nation on the eve
of war with those of our own dear King, how I thank God I
am an Englishman. And who would not mind being a
Pharisee at the price of being an Englishman? I ask you.
It may be suggested that when Germany falls, the same
cement that holds that extraordinary nation together will
assist it in falling together. In the meantime it will be an
interesting spectacle for history to observe--the German
nation sprinting on hot foot towards the registered funeral
pyre, with all the dramatics of the bolting horse that gathers
speed and insanity from its own flight.
Talking of horses, I hear that to-day is the slaughtering
day for numbers of them. This is good-bye to any possibility
of debouch, for there will be insufficient horses to move the
guns. It will eke out our corn and barley that can be made
into bread; but what is wanted is sugar or jam for the
body, and tea for the spirit.
"You are," says Townshend, "making a page of history."
"I would rather," thinks Tommy, "make some stew."
_March 11th._--We have all been made acquainted with
Sir Percy Lake's condolences on our misfortune, but also
promising us relief; but the floods are gradually increasing,
and we fear it will be a case of Lake _v._ Lake, and there will
be no appeal.
Sir Percy Lake is the Army Commander in place of Sir
John Nixon, and General Aylmer is Army Corps Commander.
Before going to bed last night we told fortunes by cards. The
results in short were these: Firstly, a climax is to be reached
shortly. (I quite agree.) Secondly, March 27th, my birthday,
will seal my matrimonial affairs, the marriage to take place
before the following March 27th. (Doubtful, unless I marry
an Arab or Turk, or get freed for the event.) Thirdly, the
star of the Fortune-God is in the ascendant, and his horoscope
is wreathed with smiles. Which we two subalterns, and
Cockie (a junior married captain), devoutly pray may come true.
Personally, I hold with that excellent fellow Horace that
"the gods only laugh if they behold mortals showing an
unseemly interest in their destiny." It is essentially a plebeian
instinct, a relic from barbaric days when the world was brimful
of curiosities for the twilight intelligence of recently-born man.
But many decades taught him that unbridled curiosity ended
in burnt fingers. Then he avoided with a fearful dread all
that he did not know, and not the least of his tortures was
occasioned by the Inexplicable straying upon him across the
border from the Great Unknown. Later on he gets more
nerve and he pioneers--still later he becomes scientific and
investigates. And when the facts are more or less all in, his
curiosity instead of his investigativity once again gets the
better of him, and he fortune-tells and goes table-rapping, and
tries to lassoo his astral body and to open up direct communication
with those "not lost but gone before." It is, one
might say with some truth, a mark of spiritual breeding to
know how to acquiesce. Somehow one cannot picture the
greatest of the gods tremendously excited. Equanimity is at
least more dignified and always useful.
Nor should prophecy be confused with fortune-telling, for
it is to the latter what investigation is to inquisitiveness.
And inquisitiveness was always bad form. The personal
factor looms too large.
Ah! how infinitely colossal and strangely beautiful is
that great thing the Future, that ever bears down upon us
from across the seas of Time. That dark tidal wave bearing
great histories in its bosom and pregnant with joys and sorrows
for us all. The gymnastics of living philosophers teach us that
Time does not exist--but to me here in Kut it is almost the
only real thing. O Futura Divina Ignota! thou mighty
engulfing wave advancing from horizon to horizon upon us,
with Change and Hope lightly treading thy combing crest--how
pricelessly excellent a thing art thou, and what could we
do without thee? Whence art thou? From what distant
regions of Eternity art thou sped, on what strange shores do
thy billows break! We know not. It is beautiful not to
know. And thus is Faith born. Thou art a beautiful
stranger. We dread thee not. We trust thee--for thou
art God.
Truly it is a great and wonderful world, and considerably
reflected upon before patented. Some day a great man will
write a book on "Some Attitudes to the Future"--wherefrom
it will be gathered that the happiest is he who trusts but does
not seek to know. "If," writes the prospective Plato, "it
were permitted me of God to be the only mortal in the history
of the human race to discover the lever that raises the curtain
between us and the next world, and even if by so doing we
might at once behold the flight of angels, the life of the spirit
world, the procedure of heaven, yet would I certainly refuse
to reveal the secret or to use it. Because to behold that
Ultramontane would be to remove from life the two essential
factors of discipline and hope. Moreover, if likewise I only
were accorded the power of turning the searchlight on that
land of mists we know as the Future so that all might see what
is ahead of each, yet again would I not do so." And on second
thoughts, who would? It would indeed be a dreadful ordeal
to have to live. And if you don't believe this, then go and
ask a certain gunner subaltern in Kut.
_9 p.m._--My hospital acquaintance, Square-Peg of the
Oxfords, came along this afternoon for a game of chess, and
asked if he might join our mess, as he is convalescent. Square-Peg
and we talked 'Varsity gossip by the pipe-dozen. He is
at present doing light duty on patrol of the gardens, technically
known as "C.O. Cabbages."
I managed to best Edmonds later. He conceded me a
knight, but then he is a very good player.
I made another acquaintance at the hospital, one Father
Tim, the Catholic padre, who called to see me to-day.
A few rounds fell into the town. We did not reply.
We are informed that the English division of which we
have heard so much is coming up-river now.
Rations have been still further cut down. We get bread
and meat, nothing else, and of the former merely four ounces
per diem. The garrison is in a bad way. Men go staggering
about, resting every now and then up against a wall. I hear
that the number succumbing in the trenches is daily increasing.
As for the native hospital, the sight is too appalling for words.
Skin-covered skeletons crawl about or turn over to receive
their scanty nourishment, but nothing else, not even shell
fire, engages their attention. One sees a coma stealing over
them, a coma not less relentless than the Arctic Sleep of
Death in the snow. The poor devils cover up their faces with
blankets or tattered turbans, and dream of Home. One told
me the other day that he heard the steps of Kismet.
It is roughly estimated that this further reduction of
rations will give us two to three weeks--not more.
There is every confidence in our army below. One thing,
however, we dread: that is the floods, which may or may
not leave sufficient time.
_March 12th._--Rain fell last night and again early this
morning. Then we heard the sound of distant artillery, which
increased to the subdued throb of gun-fire far away. But this
was drowned in the grander music of a thunderstorm. How
splendid is the artillery of the gods! How majestic their
salvos billowing across the heavens!
Last night we felt what we believed to be an earthquake,
but which proved to be the sappers trying to dynamite fish
in the river, which experiment was completely unproductive.
_5 p.m._--It is still raining, which is bad for the river. I
did my rounds and straightened up pay books, etc., in the
office, and then played chess. I am a little better, and Amir
Bux is an excellent masseur, a distinct improvement on
Graoul, who used to treat my shoulders like a punch ball.
The soldiers have re-named this place Scuttle-Amara!
_March 13th._--More rain has fallen! The Tigris is almost
bank high, and still rising.
I have been around the horses. Every tail is bare, and
the _jhuls_ and head ropes disappear as fast as they are put on.
They all remain perpetually on the _qui vive_ to prevent their
stall-mates from biting them. Some are scarcely horses, but
rather half-inflated horse skins.
Father Tim, the worthy Irish padre, who divides his
attention between wistful ultramontane meditations and an
excellent appetite, played chess with me to-day. He rooked
me beautifully once.
_March 14th._--Heavy gun-fire has been heard downstream.
The irrepressible humours of Tommy inform us that it is our
own guns covering Aylmer's retirement to Basra.
_5 p.m._--The rain has stopped. I have been writing to
King's College, Auckland, of many memories, and also to my
acquaintance, "the delicious Conservative," at Corpus--Cambridge.
I find in the latter's epistle this sentence: "To-night I
shall think of you in that delightful room with chairs so easy
and cheroots so persuasive, soliloquizing on the eternal destiny
of the American Conservative candidate."
He does not regard all Americans favourably, and I
remember well how once when a Southern son of that enterprising
nation averred that in the Northern States there were
no aristocrats or conservatives, still the South was full of both,
that he replied he had always understood it to be merely this
way, that the Northern States had neither, and the Southern
believed they had both. Which was very severe. But then
he had a delightful, disarming smile. Oh, for a disarming
smile! ! !
_March 15th._--The Ides of March! Moreover they are
come and gone, for I am making this entry, I find, on the 16th.
The river rose eighteen inches, and for some hours lapped over
the banks. Then it subsided a little. I had a walk through
the palm grove and back via the Gurkha communication
trench.
_March 16th._--It is a beautiful day, warm and sunny, and
the only blur on the silvery brightness is the muddied Tigris
winding like a yellow ribbon over this flat desert land. I felt
so weak during my walk yesterday that to-day I merely
strolled about the "gardens."
It was a fine sunset. Away over the muddy plain the
Western skies were dragon-red, and clouds stirred by the
evening breeze sailed in and out of the luminous belt which
reflected a soft pink on the face of the rising moon climbing
over the Eastern horizon.
I stale-mated a game of chess. Also received a gift of
three brace of starlings that are the veriest God-send for the
seedy.
_March 17th._--We had an extraordinary breakfast of
kedjereed tinned salmon Square-Peg brought with him.
Cockie's temperature is increasing and ought to be
diminished.
I played patience a little, which I can't stick for long.
There are not many books circulating.
_March 18th._--Another beautiful day! I stale-mated a
game of chess with Square-Peg, and then had a walk round
the trenches almost up to the Fort. There is an old disused
trench skirting the river on the eastern side, where we sat in a
hidden nook and let the cool breeze from the river play on our
feverish dank foreheads.
Grass is beginning to grow in patches here and there on
the _maidan_; and here and there a truant mule did himself
well behind the _bund_. Presently the Turks or Arabs spotted
us, and we reluctantly had to leave the blissful spot.
Rumour says that the Turks have some new 7·5-inch guns
coming. If so, the damage done will be ten times what it has
been. And if they only had high-explosive shell the smashing
up of the fort wall and the town would be a very short
affair.
A bombardier of the 76th Battery, an excellent lad, has
just died of wounds from the aeroplane's bomb. I remember
upholding him in a matter of duty once.
Every day some one goes, either from wounds or sickness.
And so far as we know the end is not yet.
_March 19th._--Rheumatics bad again. They remind me I
lived in feet of water in my earthy dug-out during the floods,
even my bed sopping wet. However, in the heat of the day
the aching is less intense. More serious are the increasing
cases of enteritis everywhere in Kut. I believe this is essentially
a siege malady. The symptoms are violent pains in the
intestines and a wish to vomit. It is, I hear, due to bad and
insufficient nourishment. I know many who have already
succumbed, but so far in my case these pains have been rather
stomach than abdominal.
A bombardment started while I was in the gardens, and I
hastened back to Cockie's observation post. It lasted the
best part of an hour.
The floods have necessitated removing the 5-inch guns on
the river-front, which are now in a dead line for our observation
post, so any accurate one will be not far away. Anyway
they can scarcely be closer than they have been. One shell
we felt certain was making dead for us, but it went by with a
fearful swish and burst ten yards off, killing one man and
wounding another after penetrating two feet of brick wall.
The fumes and filthy gases well-nigh choke one.
Another shell got the _Sumana_ through the funnel and
bridge, killing one of her crew. Tudway's cabin was completely
wrecked. Tudway is a deserving, hard-working
subaltern, the only R.N. representative in Kut. He always
takes it as a personal insult if his gunboat is hit. She is the
apple of his eye. H.M.S. _Sumana_, an improvised gunboat, is
of the greatest importance, as she keeps us in touch with
Woolpress, our tiny stronghold on the other bank, which
prevents the Turks from coming right down to the river-bank
and thus rendering our water-front totally unendurable. She
takes across a barge with provisions and reliefs, and makes
three or four trips a week. This the Turks know full well, and
do their best to send her under during the day. However,
she is fairly well protected with _mahelas_ and rafts, though by
no means completely. It is a difficult problem to know how
to protect her, and engages all Tudway's thoughts. In fact,
how she remains afloat at all is a puzzle to every one.
The last trip of the Morane plane was sufficiently disastrous,
one bomb dropping into the hospital ward, killing a
dozen men and wounding many others. These large bombs
are dreadful things, the splinters of the outer case being very
thin and sharp as razors. Square-Peg's servant was among
those hit. In the 1907 Convention at the Hague we tried to
get all the Powers to agree to refrain from this abominable
trick, but it was not to be. Anyway war is now full of
abominable tricks.
_March 20th._--Cold and windy, an ideal day for a leather
chair with book-rest in one's study before an open fire, or for
Grieg's music, for there is a whip and a whistle in the wind,
and Peer Gynt is passing over us.
Another small strafe started, and H.M.S. _Sumana_ stopped
quite a few. She received five direct hits from 9-pounders,
and one from the 18-pounder field-gun the enemy captured
from us at Ahwaz.
To be shelled by one's own gun and ammunition adds
humour to injury. And we have learned to respect the fearful
rip of this weapon. She hits ten times harder than any other
gun they have got of the same size. But as Cockie says, "If
British workmanship will be so thorough----"
The Morane flew over us last night in the moonlight and
dropped several bombs, one of which cut through an ammunition
wagon, setting off several shells. We give every credit
to this intrepid flyer. He came quite close.
For dinner we had a very excellent roast joint of horse and
some rice. I find that first-class horse is better than second-class
mule, and only second to second-rate young donkey. It
beats camel and eclipses buffalo altogether. The horses
decrease most sadly. Poor Don Juan! No insurance
company on earth would look at him.
We smoked lime-leaves and talked rose-leaves, which
means Omar Khayyam and Hafiz. But it lacked much--for
we had no drinks more Khayyamnian than water.
_March 21st._--To-day it is a world of brightness. One has
in one's self a feeling of joy and rejuvenescence, and outside
there are the strong lines of a matter-of-fact morning, bright
with the spangled beauties of ten thousand sheets of sunlight.
They are the banners of approaching summer, and beneath
the palm trees one hears the sweet voice of that ardent goddess
and the elfish cadence of her myrmidons.
Gorringe, promoted to lieut.-general, has succeeded General
Aylmer in the command of the relieving force, and has wired
that he is making his final plans.
The river has fallen three feet, and so to-day the
whole garrison is keen with expectancy and buoyant with
hope.
A few details are to hand with regard to the recent unsuccessful
dash by General Aylmer up the right bank. From
all accounts it was an excellent scheme, and came very near
being a brilliant success. The Turks were completely hoodwinked,
expecting the attack on the left bank, but Aylmer's
flying column, by a commendable night march, got up to the
main line of the enemy, and struck Dujaila Redoubt. The
British troops got into this, but the story goes that General
Aylmer then chose to wait for his guns and prepared before
pushing through. This took two or three hours, and the
Turks, who had scanty troops on that side, immediately rushed
over every available man from the other bank, and Aylmer,
in attacking again, found the position too strong, and had to
cut his way back. If he had shoved on at dawn he must
have carried it easily.
Another version is that he had to go back for water, which
is almost incredible, the show not having miscarried at all in
length of time, and the river lay before him. One thing is
certain: if he had got through, the Essin position would have
had to be abandoned by the Turks, and, incidentally to the
relief of Kut, our debouch would have brought about a
heavy capture of the enemy. The difficulty now is that the
floods are daily rendering more and more of this table country
impassable. The soil is such that a shower of rain makes it
a quagmire, and stagnant water turns it into the stickiest
paste. Guns cannot be moved a yard, and it is almost equally
impossible for man or horse to move. This means that the
enemy's line downstream is shortened considerably, as they
have to depend mainly on the dry land for transport.
To-day there is artillery fire below. Our guns exchanged
a few rounds with his, and then Square-Peg and I strolled to
the middle line and managed to procure some saccharine.
We are spending every available sovereign to buy anything
that can be got to see us over the last days of the
siege.
It is needless to remark that the only foodstuffs now for
secret sale are those that have been stolen or illicitly concealed.
But even these have long since been purchased, and it is only
by secret-service methods that an Arab is fossicked out who
will sell a tin of milk for fifteen rupees, a pound of rice for
five rupees, or atta for ten rupees. Officers and men, we are
all on the same footing, and the extra that one can buy is,
after all, such a very small supplement. There are many
besides myself who have to starve completely if eggs or milk
are not obtainable. Of the latter I have had one on issue
per day when they are available. This just keeps one going,
and after a few days of it one can manage with potato meal
and a small portion of horse.
Tudway has joined our mess altogether on account of the
_Sumana_ being untenable. One shell has completely smashed
his cabin, luckily during his absence. Her 12-pounders are
ashore and he has a little nook which enables him to see a fair
zone on the right bank which he periodically shoots over like
a luxurious lord his pheasant coverts.
_March 22nd._--During the night the enemy's plane visited
us and the sharp staccato notes of our anti-air maxims rapped
out a brisk warning to the sleeping garrison. The others took
shelter downstairs, but my bed was so very comfortable that
I waited for the music of the first bomb before jumping out.
It didn't come. At 5.30 a.m. we were awakened by a sudden
and intense bombardment. This building is not far from the
mosque and quite close to the anti-air maxims, so-called
because they never hit anything but air.
The bombardment seemed concentrated a good deal on
this part of the town. Cockie went to observe. Then the
plane came back and bombed us, circling across the town,
after which the bombardment again opened. Square-Peg
developed a spasmodic sprint of extraordinary alacrity every
time anything happened or the plane gong rang out, and
dressed downstairs. This proved such a nerve-racking ordeal
that I proposed to have my tea in my room and then go below.
The shells were thumping on the houses just behind us, and I
took the precaution to shift over the thick wall side of the
room which left just space enough for my servant Amir Bux
to miss the doorway. Shell after shell struck the adjoining
buildings, shaking our house considerably. Then suddenly
there was an awful roar and splitting crash. The room was
filled with smoke and dust and plaster, and a terrific thud
shook the wall just behind my head. Two segments of shell
had flown through the doorway and embedded themselves in
the opposite wall. That excellent fellow Amir Bux suddenly
asked, "Master thik hai?" And on my assuring him I was
all right he pointed to the embedded segment and smiled,
muttering "Kismet!" On inspection I found that a Windy
Lizzie had crashed through the slender wall of the upper
enclosure around the roof on which my room opened (there
was no door), and about half the fore-end of the shell had
struck the thick wall of my room a few inches behind my
head and had gone halfway through the plaster. Another
foot and it would have got my scalp precisely.
The show kept on intermittently until 8.30 a.m. The
horse lines and hospital have again caught it rather badly.
One shell passed under a patient's bed in the General Hospital
and exploded on the far wall without hurting anybody.
There is not any backward zone worth mentioning in some of
these shells. High explosive would have been a different
story.
_9 p.m._--A few more shells fell this evening. We hear that
after all the plane did bomb last night and altogether made a
most daring raid. We must give Fritz full marks for excellent
bombing. He attended chiefly to Woolpress village over the
river. More serious was the damage done by the same plane
to the 4·7-inch guns in the horse boats--a very small target.
One barge was almost sunk, being suspended by her cables
only, and the other gun was jerked out of its socket by the
force of the explosion. It appears the bomb touched the
edge of the horse boat and fell into the river, exploding under
the water. The result was a deluge that heaved the gun out
of its pedestal. Reports from Woolpress say he flew within
thirty yards of the barges, which for a night performance was
highly commendable. Fritz is a German. He had hard luck
in not getting one gun at least. We contemplate painting in
large letters on the roof of the Serai, our condolences over his
bad luck. Tudway is busy towing the barge to the _Sumana_
shelter where it is to be repaired.
Cockie is a first-rate chess player, at least so he has
repeatedly informed us. He knows the whole history of Ruy
Lopez even to his private affairs, and can at any stage of any
game tell you the exact measurement of the sphere for evil of
any piece on the board. He does not finger his piece and
wave it in mid-air before moving as do smaller fry at the game.
Neither does he hesitate for four minutes ever. Attacks,
counter-attacks, demonstrations, feints, holding and flanking--he
is an artist at them all. At every exchange he gets an
advantage in pieces--_or position_. "Position," he assures us,
"is the all in all." He can even nominate the moves without
looking at the board. In short, if he did not invariably get
beaten, he would be a perfect player, and even Lasker would
have to look out. Square-Peg once brilliantly remarked that
this tendency to get beaten was the tragedy of it all, but with
infinitely more tact, at least to my mind, I added that Cockie
was merely a great player and not infallible; in other words,
that there were limitations in us all. This Cockie said he
denied. And I agreed.
That may seem illogical. But it was necessary. If to
beat Cockie is a misdemeanour, then to allude to the fact is
certainly a crime--in his eyes. Besides, he isn't invariably
beaten, as I have said. That was a mis-statement. For
when he has made a bad slip or, let us say, paid too big a price
for "position," such as losing his queen for a bishop or maybe
a pawn, he frequently goes very red in the face and knocks
all the pieces from the board on to the floor, which shows he
has the foreseeing eye, a faculty absolutely necessary to a
first-rate chess player. Maeterlinck, we are told, has the seeing
eye. How much greater, then, is Cockie, who has the foreseeing
eye? If, thinks Cockie, it is not always the province
of man to anticipate disaster, he can at least forestall it.
"I had the game on my head," Cockie usually bursts out
as he sweeps the board. "And it wasn't lost either, don't
forget--but the interest in it had all gone."
He did the same the first time he played me when he
showed me a new opening--about three moves. He got a
piece or two ahead, when after an hour or so I evened things
up. Then he made his invariable slip, and before one could
strike a match Cockie had the board clean as a skating rink,
remarking hotly, "When I play against myself I'm always
beaten."
"Thank your God, Cockie," I retorted, "then you admit
some one can beat you." Which remark somehow or other
he didn't appreciate.
However, since then I'm more awake, and when, which is
not often, I bag his queen, or when, which is very often, he
makes a slip, my arms are around the board before you could
smile. It's the only way to keep the men on. If we were in
America I should practise "getting the drop on him with a
Colt's revolver" at each crisis.
Poor Square-Peg came to me in trouble on this point
the other day.
"We have to be thankful, S.-P.," said I, "that Cockie has
not yet commented on our morality."
"But it's coming. He's saving it up. I'm sure of it.
Why, this morning I had a certain mate in two moves, but my
dread of what he would say in another explosion was such
that I thought it necessary to extend the check to six times
before finally checkmating him. It was a hard job and
might have cost me the game. But then, since that last show,
my nerves are none too good."
"Well, you got off lightly! I heard him merely knock
his chair over and say that your playing was only better than
mine. Did he not?"
"Yes! he's a blank, ten to one."
Whereat we both laughed as only subalterns can. At
this point Cockie, who wanted my field-glasses, looked in at
the mess. Now, if one thing annoys him more than another
it is to see two people laughing and not to be in the joke. He
always presumes he is in it. This time he was correct.
Turning to me venomously Cockie said, "I suppose you'd
like a game?"
"Rather not, thanks awfully, I might get beaten."
Cockie snorted in disgust, and I had to give him a last
cigarette I had just made for myself.
"The truth is, Cockie, that Square-Peg and I are hopelessly
deficient in this chess business, and we have to fluke to
win as they say in 'pills.' That churns you up and you can't
see the pieces, and consequently move the wrong one. Don't
swear. I've a proposition. 'Nellie' is coming to lunch and
will give you a game. He's very hot stuff."
So it was settled. Square-Peg and I made our plans and
fixed it all right with Nellie, who tries to be a very dignified
and silent person of the cutting variety, and dislikes Cockie.
After our lunch of stewed horse and horse-beans and rice
the game began. After a few moves Cockie had a slight
advantage, and I took this opportunity to whisper to him that
Nellie had a weak heart and it was dangerous to shout at him.
Cockie nodded approvingly and the game went on. Half an
hour later Cockie lost a bishop which he could only retrieve
by uncovering check.
His face went red and he took a breath. "Don't forget,"
I sang out, and I and S.-P. each seized a glass of water and an
almost empty rum bottle for any emergency.
Cockie glared at me in a cannibalistic fashion, and eyeing
Nellie carefully the while, addressed some superlatives to us,
saying that the interruption had spoilt his move. Nellie sat
with steady countenance while I replied that the interruption
came after the move. But Cockie played brilliantly and
recovered a piece, whereupon he got quite genial and addressed
conciliatory remarks to me.
Twice Cockie forced exchanges, and as in both instances
he got "position," which means that he was a pawn to the
bad each time, we quietly stood up with the water in a first-aid
attitude. But Cockie was playing as he never played
before, and was nodding his head in a queer way. I thought
he was so blind with annoyance that he was counting the
pieces, but Square-Peg assured me that his engine had got
hot and was running free. Cockie went on serenely for about
another half-hour when, after a pause of several minutes, he
suddenly discovered himself to be mated, for Nellie had said
only the word "check" and now added "mate" in the most
matter-of-fact voice.
"Damned fluke," screamed Cockie, forgetting himself,
and springing up he banged the chessboard down fiercely on
the table with an awful smash.
Poor Nellie gasped and said "Oh-o-o-o," and apparently
stopped breathing and reeled in his chair. Not having brandy
we gave him the last of Cockie's rum, which he managed to
negotiate, and then, as usually happens, felt better. We three
preserved a frigid silence towards Cockie, who said he was
damned if he knew what was the use of people on service
with weak hearts, and then strode off, Nellie in the meantime
pulling hard at the bottle for an extra drip or so. How we
laughed. For Cockie was really scared. It's not the sort of
story to make you popular if it gets about--wilfully startling
a fellow to death with a weak heart merely for beating you in
a game of chess.
Later on Square-Peg and I joined Cockie on the observation
post and a battle royal ensued.
"I tell you," said Cockie to me, "it's fearfully difficult
to give the whole of one's attention to the game when one is
playing an absolute novice. So things are missed. But if
you will back me for five rupees against Square-Peg to win
ten games out of ten I'll do it, you see. That will supply the
interest."
I complied at once, offering one game in, which he proudly
refused. With a vicious jab to Cockie to please remember it
was "my money and not his" that was concerned, and to
have no nonsense, he grew demonstrative, and I fled to pay a
visit to Tudway on the _Sumana_.
"I tell you I can't lose," he had said. When I returned
to the mess, there I found Square-Peg, who announced that he
had left Cockie in a fury, he having lost the first three games.
I insisted on Square-Peg's taking the five dibs. It appears
that during the first game Fritz passed him and said "Good
afternoon," to which interruption Cockie stormily attributed
his subsequent beating....
_Later._--This very morning the other half of the shell that
crashed outside my doorway (there isn't a door) went through
the roof of Cockie's bedroom and simply smashed most things in
it. A foot of _débris_ from the roof lay on the floor. It was lucky
for Cockie that he was on duty. And luckier for me that I
did not accept Cockie's many invitations to share his room.
Only yesterday he asked me again to do so. But Cockie
generally has two or more rounds with Curra Mirali and
pursues him round the yard, leaving the door open--every
morning about 6 a.m. when I am doing my best to have one
other dream.
To-night after dinner Fritz, Cockie, Square-Peg, and I
discussed the proposition that the hole a shell makes is the
safest place, as no two shells ever fall in exactly the same spot.
One recalled that very good Tommy story from France when,
on being asked why he hadn't taken cover in a Jack Johnson
crater as he had been ordered, replied, "Unsafe, sir. I'd
rather try another spot and chance it."
"But you know that the same gun never shoots into
exactly the same spot twice?"
"Yes, sir. But another gun might."
Fritz and I upheld the theory of probabilities as being
against a second shell getting into Cockie's room. For that
meant a very precise elevation just clearing the back houses
and wall, and meant also the range to a foot or it would
get the yard.
Cockie and Square-Peg, on the contrary, held that because
one shell has got there and so proved that a shell _can_ get there,
another might get there also. I remember painfully suggesting
that Cockie ought not to sleep in the room if he thought that
another shell might come in, especially as he had no doubt
offended the gods over the Nellie incident. This is altogether
an extraordinary affair and I am recording it in detail.
Well, Cockie went to bed, taking the precaution from my
incident of the morning to sleep with his head to the door
instead of his feet. We were half undressed when the
bombardment reopened. It became so hot that we all took
shelter in the mess, the safest place. Indeed the back wall
was stopping dozens of them. Later it slackened and we
went to bed, whereon it gradually increased. After I had
tossed restlessly for half an hour it exceeded the limit, and the
plaster and dust were being flung through the doorway of my
bedroom. On my way down I inspected the whole of the wall
and found the roof all around pulverized. Five minutes
later Square-Peg and I were smoking half undressed in the
mess when the stunning noise of a splitting crash seemed to
burst the world in halves. _Débris_ came into the mess. We
thought the shell had entered the tiny yard, but Cockie's voice
in unearthly yells quickly disillusioned us.
I shot into the room, which was stifling with fumes and dense
yellow gas and smoke. The lamp went out. I told Square-Peg
to fetch a doctor and tried to strike a light, but nothing
would burn in the thick fumes. I felt for the ruined bed and
managed to get him out of the room into the mess. There
was a nasty deep gash over the tendon of Achilles, but no
bones were broken, although the ligaments were gone and it
was bleeding freely, so I applied a first field dressing, as I had
so often done in France, and assured him it was not at all
serious and that now he was sure to get downstream. Nevertheless
poor Cockie's many nerves had been badly shaken.
Fritz came and said:
"Let me see. That's good--no bones. Bleeding stopped.
Move your foot. Nothing much really. Where else?"
After a fresh spasm Cockie complained that his back seemed
cut in two, and this proved a nasty bruise, although the skin
wasn't gone. It was a black bruise, and he must have
got a pretty hefty knock from a piece of the bed. How
he escaped goodness knows. The room was two feet deep
in rubbish--topees, uniforms, cameras, bed, everything was
wrecked.
We got him to the hospital, and on the way he invented
extraordinary futures for each of the stretcher bearers.
Arrived at the hospital I am afraid the whole place was
awakened, and some poor fellows whose dying was only a
matter of hours or days turned from their fitful sleep on the
ground floor to ask who was hit.
He wanted me to sit up with him, but General Smith
insisted that I went back to bed, assuring me I was far too
ill, and he kindly gave me an excellent cigarette.
Cockie is intrepid under fire even to the point of recklessness,
but is also of the kind that feels pain tremendously.
It is, I suppose, a matter of temperament and nerves.
This has released me from the river-front and I succeed to
the command of the ammunition column, and am now running
our mess.
Tudway, Square-Peg, and I are now alone here. We have
a little potato meal and rice, and I have procured a tin of
jam. I could not have two more generous companions with
whom to share our last food.
_March 23rd._--The servants won't sleep in that part of
the building where the shells came, so we have vacated a
room for them, and Square-Peg and I have moved below into
the basement.
I saw Cockie this morning and heard him from afar.
Near him is an officer lying very still and white and quiet
with his whole leg shattered, silent with the paralysis of extreme
pain.
I assisted Cockie with letters and other things, and got away
as quickly as I could, as I felt this other sufferer wanted silence.
_March 24th._--Some shells fell in the town during the night,
and once again the horses got it badly.
The 4·7-inch gun which was bombed by the plane is now
under-water, as the river has risen five feet, the highest level
during the siege.
It is a clear, beautiful day and appreciably warmer. Already
the flies are dreadful and swarm everywhere in billions. The
Kut fly is a pronounced cannibal.
I walked through the palm woods to the 4-inch guns,
where I found Parsnip alone in his glory. There he has been
the whole siege with a very comfortable tent under the
trees, and his only job is to repeat orders from the telephone
to his two antediluvian guns. As a field gunner I am not
enamoured of his monotonous and stationary job. Parsnip
is a subaltern also and has two characteristics. In playing
chess he seizes the pieces by the head, and after describing
an artistic parabola, sets them down. He is a Radical, as you
would expect of any fellow so handling a pawn, let alone a
queen. His second claim to notoriety is said to be as author of
a future publication entitled, "Important People I intend to
meet." As a hobby he kills mosquitos with a horse flick.
For over an hour beneath those biblical palms Parsnip,
or Pas Nip, and I stood by his guns and smoked and looked
out over the darkening plain where shadow chased shadow
under the capricious moon, and where, like will o' the wisps
of an extravagant dream, tiny flashes tempted us still to hope
on. For what? Well, there were the flashes. They were
the flashes of our guns. And I longed for tobacco and wine.
Parsnip, on the contrary, was a married man!
_March 25th._--This morning I had a thorough inspection
of the horse and wagon lines and inspected shelters previous
to my visit to headquarters to report on ammunition. Orders
are out for all ranks to prepare to receive heavy bombardment.
I am having the ammunition shelter even further reinforced
against shell or bomb. The present scheme is to have two
thick roofs each topped by kerosene tins packed close and filled
with soil. One of these shelters will explode the shell or bomb,
and the other receive the burst. The horse-lines have been
changed and pits dug for all drivers and detachments and
traversed for possible enfilade bursts. The men are working
on a shelter for our basement room with tins of earth piled up.
Tins are fearfully scarce, as hundreds have been requisitioned
for the defence of H.M.S. _Sumana_ and other things. We have,
we believe, sheltered the probable zones with what tins we
have. Thus the doorway and window are unprotected because
the upper back room would stop all except howitzer fire, and
the enemy's howitzer is south of Kut. Similarly to prevent
a lucky shell bursting through the wall of the first-floor room
and roof of our present one, we have had three rows of tins--all
we could get--arranged in front of the wall upstairs. I
have calculated that any burst entering higher than this
would get the opposite upstairs wall and pass out into the
street.
Tudway and Square-Peg have accused me of being cold-blooded
over the affair. But I intended to be nothing if
not practical, and the next morning discovered that any shell
of average intentions, in fact one falling ten feet shorter than
the very one that had plugged into my bedroom wall up above,
would have no difficulty in going through the mess roof and
so through the mess cupboard--a large receptacle into the
wall--into our so-called impregnable bedroom which was to
be the emergency shelter for all hands. My bed was just
beyond the cupboard the other side of the three-foot wall.
So this evening when Tudway went to the cupboard for the
jam and meat and bread he found a solid wall of tins filled
with earth. This he considered a master-stroke. The
provisions, as he explained, would have been directly in the
line of fire!
Moreover, I have had removed a score or two of loose
bricks which were wedged in the best Damocletian style between
the joists and the ceiling. For last night I dreamed one
fell on my head. Why my head is always in the line of trouble
I can't say.
Talking of dreams, that is the second nasty one in a few
days. The previous time I dreamed I was being hung.
That was probably due to a button that I had sewn on to the
neck of my pyjama jacket by the uncertain light of dubbin oil!
_10 p.m._--There is heavy and continuous firing downstream.
I respectfully suggest a variation of Watts's "Hope"--that
popular picture. A junior sub asleep in a barricaded corner
of a room in Kut beside a four-ounce slice of bread, listening
in his dreams to distant guns.
I must now make one of the most important entries of
the whole siege. General Smith gave me a _Punch_. I mean
that having finished with a copy of _Punch_, sent to him by
aeroplane, he has passed it on to me.
Shakespeare, Thackeray, and Punch. In the flesh, what
friends those three would have been!
"If," writes an unborn Teufeldrockh, "I were not a
German, I would like to be Punch."
"If," replies Punch, with a dignified bow, "you were not
a German, you could aspire."
For what duellist but that great English gentleman Punch
has the seeing eye, the delicate wrist, the merciful smile?
_March 26th._--I am in Indian khaki again, for summer has
come to Kut. It is even getting unpleasantly warm.
The massaging has decreased the rheumatics if anything,
although I am very much weaker and can't walk 400 yards
without getting blown. It is worth while to avoid the chaff
bread, and I stick to an occasional egg and rice-husk and soup.
How fit I was when I started on this front! Square-Peg
was seedy yesterday and in pain. I gave him some essence
of ginger tabloids, and later on opium, which relieved him
somewhat.
It is rumoured that the 6-inch guns from home have at
last reached Gorringe. The enemy is now completely outclassed
in artillery.
Tudway took me with him on board the _Sumana_ to see
the effects of the recent bombardment. By a miracle one
shell missed the main steam-pipes and carried away part of
the bridge and cabin and funnel. Tudway is a keen officer,
and has all the delightful insouciance of his service. We went
over the whole boat and the barges. He was all on the alert,
in his quiet way, to gather any suggestions for further protecting
his alumnus. We sat in his dismantled cabin and talked
of the sea, or rather he did, and I mentally annotated him
with my own dreams. The sea, the sea, so vast, so great, so
deep, so far away! As the hart panteth after the water-brooks
so pant we Englishmen after thee, O Sea, even after
thee, wild and lonely as thou art, and after thy waters briny
as tears. Mighty, untamed, eternal! We, thy children, love
thee. Alone, thou art free!
Turkish snipers followed us up, and we had to run the
gauntlet on the way to the shore over the waters of the flood.
I bought three small fish yesterday here, but some one's native
servant was killed last evening by a stray shell while fishing,
so for the future it's all off. On one occasion, Tudway and I
tried to net some, but both the Turks and the fish were
against us.
This siege is a perfect device for leaving a man to his own
plaguings. A book is now almost as great a luxury as bread.
I am even driven to re-robing and criticizing some of our
early endeared legacies. Let us begin with the poet's notion
of service--admittedly of a bygone day.
_The Soldier's Dream._
By the other Campbell.
_Our bugles sang truce for the night-cloud had lowered--_
Delightful arrangement that, one must admit. A
truce is, after all, more fun than a night attack. And
perhaps the cloud was a big one and it looked like rain!
_And the Sentinel stars set their watch in the sky--_
Much better! But that does away with the rain theory.
_And thousands had sunk on the ground overpowered--_
Bad-fitting word. Sounds like avoirdupois. But it
must have referred to gas fumes, otherwise the line
certainly reflects on the condition of the men. This
climate could be called "overpowering."
_The weary to sleep and the wounded to die--_
That scouts the gas theory! As a matter of fact it's
the last thing the weary have a chance to do, and the
wounded certainly take weeks to die. Look at Cockie!
_While reposing one night on my pallet of straw--_
Fancy Tommy "reposing"! Campbell, may I inform
you that Thomas neither poses nor reposes, which
suggests the soft, rounded limbs of a Grecian maiden on
a bed of rose-leaves. Tommy likes his mouth open, and
often prefers to lie on his stomach with his legs wide
apart. Reposing! My hat! What an awful swank
the man was with his knocking off work because of the
night-cloud, and what with his reposing on a pallet of
straw. Why he didn't go in for a convertible four-legged
wheelbarrow bedstead puzzles me. Tommy lies on the
"good 'ole dirt" if it's hot, and otherwise screws himself
up into his blanket, head and all. I hear Graoul asking
his pal, "O, Halgie, koindly porse erlong may pallet
hof straarw hat wance."
"Roight yer hare! 'Ere, Toenails, pallit-er strore is
forwerd--hand the quilt halso."
_At the dead of night a sweet vision I saw,
And thrice ere the morning I dreamed it again--_
Kindly eliminate "dreamed" and substitute "saw,"
then re-read it. Don't laugh! Why shouldn't he
"see" it the second and even the third time also?
Tommy sees lots of things--at times.
_I dreamed from the battlefield's dreadful array
Far, far, I had roamed on a desolate track.
It was springtime and summer arose on the way--
To the home of my fathers that welcomed me back--_
Tommy wouldn't dream of dreaming such a thing.
As for the "home of my fathers," the shape of the idea
would give him a fit. "Bit o' skirt more like it."
_Stay, stay with us, thou art weary and worn;
And fain was the war beaten soldier to stay--
But sorrow returned with the dawning of morn
And the voice in my dreaming ear melted away--_
"D'ye 'ear this, Spud?" says Tommy Toenails.
"The voice in 'is dreeamin' hear melted."
"Bit o' wax, more like," says Spud.
"I say a flea an' charnce it," adds Tooting Tom.
"Hand," says Spud, "wen 'e hawoke 'e got anuther
stomikful o' sorrer. Marrid man, too. Gawd 'elp 'im."
We pass on. Let us take that dear little hymn lots
of us learned at our mother's knee--
"_There is a green hill far away
Without a city wall._"
How I used to wonder what a green hill could possibly
want _with_ a city wall. Ah! the dear doubts of childhood!
I shall be told that "without" meant "beyond."
Another doubt was about "Llewellyn and his
Dog." How the siege has helped us to join hands with
childhood once more. Surely I haven't thought of
the lines for many years. They run--
"_The gallant hound the wolf had slain,
To save Llewellyn's heir._"
I remember we had to write a composition on the
poem, and having decided that it was the wolf that had
killed the hound--just as one says, "The scanty bone
the beggar picked"--I had to square matters so as to
explain how the hound died a second time at the hands
of Llewellyn. It's all misty now, but I at least remember
propounding the theory that the Welsh chieftain, in his
terror, must have mistaken the wolf for the hound, and
consequently did _him_ in for murdering the lost child.
It was this incident, I believe, that induced my parents
to select for me a career at the Bar.
That incident recalls another one later on. At school
we had a delightful master who hated using chalk. He
informed us that we were to write an essay on--
"_Beneath the rule of men entirely great
The pen is mightier than the sword._"
One promising fellow misheard the last word as
"saw." He was rather an authority on saws, and treated
us to a delightful treatise on saws in general, band-saws,
hand-saws, rip-saws, fret-saws, and circular saws. As
far as I remember, the drift of his argument was that
a pen could merely write, whereas a saw could cut a
piece of wood.
Once more, "Eheu! _Fugaces postumi----_"
I wonder where that lad is now. I should think he
must be a large saw-miller somewhere--possibly asleep
on a "pallet of straw" in France, and seeing "visions"
of his beloved saws. Why not! God bless him. I've
forgotten his name and even what he was like.
Well, well, these frivolities must come to an end for
it's ten o'clock. I had intended to set out more details of
our starvation methods, but we talk enough of it and I'm
sick of the subject. Besides, what is happiness but a big
digression?
_March 27th._--The day's bulletin is that the Churches in
England are praying for us. How we hope they pray hard.
There is, we understand, to be a last forward movement of all
arms to the relief of Kut. The position down below seems to
have developed into something like that in France, as the
Turkish forces are dug deep and well flanked with impassable
swamps. It is difficult to force such a position against the
clock, but we easily outnumber the enemy, so it is said, and
then our heavy guns may do a great deal.
The water of the floods is now all over the _maidan_ around
our old first line, in fact in front of our present first line is a
great lake some feet deep, and possibly eight feet above the
dry base of our trench. The large _bund_ or wall we have made
is excellent. The enemy has had to withdraw still further back,
and in places he is 1500 yards off. In this way the floods
have saved us. There is little chance of an attack through the
water. It may be doubted whether our men could have stood
the strain in their present condition if the enemy had maintained
his original proximity of from 50 to 150 yards. I
remember a listening post at C Redoubt something like ten
yards from the first line of the enemy.
Over the river all around Woolpress and beyond, and also
reaching southward, are shining sheets of water with ever-diminishing
green patches between. During the last flood of
a few days back the water percolated into Woolpress, which,
of course, is on the bank of the river, and wrought great
havoc in the trenches and among the men there.
It must be an awfully lonely and desolated existence over
there at Woolpress, a siege within a siege. The post is a
mere sequence of mud houses, all adjoined, five yards or so
from the water and forming a segment of a circle on the river
about 250 yards frontage, its first line being the arc extending
150 yards inland at its farthest. They have first and
second line trenches, and barbed wire, and since the heavy
floods, a _bund_. So that it is now practically an island. The
Turkish lines reach all round it in larger arcs also resting on
the river-bank. They have not even the chance of buying
stores as we have, and never come over, nor is it permitted
for any to cross. The communication is by motor-boat or
almost always by the _Sumana_. Tudway has the nerve of
Beelzebub, and delights most of all in his moonlight trips. It
would, of course, be certain destruction for him to cross in
the daytime. At the beginning of the siege there was telephonic
communication, but the wire was rotten and broke
continually. We have helio now, and some sort of understanding
for emergency signalling by lights. Our river-front
guns are all registered on the enemy's lines around the place,
and on one or two occasions we have gone to gun-fire, thus
preventing any Turkish reserves getting up. From this side
of the river a section of the 82nd R.F.A.'s guns can enfilade
the enemy's northern lines around Woolpress.
We get news of the place by the drafts that now and then
reinforce the post on relief. The story goes that the other
day a party of Turks peered over their trenches and cried
aloud to our Mussulman soldiers not to fight against their
brother followers of Mahomet, but to go over to them who
had plenty of food. This sort of thing had gone on quite a
time when the officer on picket duty got about a dozen sepoys
to fire a volley at the Turks just by way of exchanging compliments.
The Turks replied, and general fire ensued. That
highly intuitional body over here, Headquarters, believing that
Woolpress was being attacked by all the spare Turks in the
Ottoman Empire, gave our artillery enthusiastic orders, and
Woolpress began to think they took some part in the siege
after all, in fact that they belonged to us. And although it
was a storm in a teapot, no doubt for those in the teapot it
was highly interesting. It is even said that senior officers
struggled out from beneath spider-webbed blankets where
they had hoped to complete their hibernation until the siege
was over, to see the reason for this turn of events. Woolpress
are a gallant little band, no doubt, and there have been times
when no insurance company on earth would have looked twice
at any one of them, although a philanthropic society might
have stretched a point for those certified able to swim; for a
red Turkish crescent ringed them in and grew ever closer to
them, and once the river took sides and offered to drown them.
But that was months ago.
Woolpress, too, has its advantages. They have been
practically never shelled and rarely bombed. On the contrary,
when we are getting bombarded or any particular show is on,
they all take front seats on their river-bank in absolute security
and observe our emotions. I well remember that gala day
of March 1st, when enemy guns of both sides took part in that
very well conducted "command matinée" performance for the
entertainment of the gods. The whole crowd of Woolpress
was seated early, orchestral stalls for field officers, subalterns
in specially erected boxes, and the rank and file everywhere
else. I was, of course, very much on the stage, being stuck up
there shooting my guns, while the Turks cut patterns round
me with all the artistry of Turkish artillery. The heavy
gunners on the observation post farther along, that well-battered
remnant that is the despair of the Sultan's artillery
observers, also attracted considerable attention from an
audience particularly sporting. I felt that the Woolpressers
were making and taking huge bets as to what time my wee
sandbag arrangement with contents would go by the board.
Opera glasses were there by the dozen. But Jove, Trenchion,
and Shraptune, the sporting gods that had decreed the performance,
naturally objected to such small fry sharing the
entertainment, and sent Fritz along with bombs. This
considerably thinned the box plan, from which many
adjourned for afternoon tea, while those more deeply in debt
remained taking still larger bets on their own immediate
existence.
This is my birthday. We have raised a small quantity of
rum with which we three shall notch the year to-night. Why
doesn't one feel older? Life lies immediately behind us like
the wake of a ship, but _we_ don't change--only the distance
behind us changes (and a few of us are a stone lighter!).
9.30 _p.m._--I returned from my round with a copy of _The
Field_ from General Smith. There was an excellent article on
Pan-Germanism, and another that brought to Kut the brown
wintry heather, the smell of the peat streams, the pheasants,
and the free rolling moors of Yorkshire. And that led me to
contrast the present flooded aspect of this dreary stretch of
God's ancient mud with the frilled hedges and those gay wild
banners of English springtime.
Speaking for myself on this my thirtieth birthday, I never
felt so restful and free from the gnawings of ambition. For
better fellows have fallen, and promising careers have closed,
and disastrous ones terminated before amends could be made;
while I have lots of credit in hand, for I have had many lucky
narrow shaves.
CHAPTER VI
THE LAST DAYS OF KUT--SICKNESS--DEATH--SURRENDER
_March 28th._--It is a quiet day. On the right bank
there is some movement of the enemy downstream.
Convoys of camels and mules trekked from Shamrun
camp over the Shat-el-hai to the Turkish depôts below.
We are all eagerly awaiting news of our preparation for
the big show, and there is much debating as to what would be
the best plan of attack.
_3 p.m._--There is considerable Turkish activity all around,
and reinforcements are probably being pushed down below,
for the enemy knows quite well that we are on our last legs
and that a big attempt will be made to relieve us.
The river is gradually falling, and one 4·7 has been towed
back into position, but the other is still under-water.
A bombardment is proceeding downstream, probably the
shelling of Sunaiyat, the formidable position of the enemy on
the left bank, a series of trenches on a tiny front of 400 yards
between a marsh and a river. In this position the enemy is
so deep down and has such excellent cover that the place has
so far baffled every attempt to take it. Not the least difficulty
is that the intervening ground, which every storming party
must cross, is wet as a bog. This has, of course, been worked
by the Turks. On the right bank Gorringe seems to have
pushed on almost level of Sunaiyat, and, with a little more
success, enfilade of the Sunaiyat position should be possible.
According to rumour, the plan of attack roughly may be
as follows:--
One division will probably have the task of holding Sunaiyat
forces while the other two divisions push up through Beit
Aessa, whence our 6-inch guns should enfilade the Sunaiyat
position. The line of advance would probably make for
Dujaila Redoubt which would be taken on by our big guns
and the bridge at O destroyed to prevent escape of the enemy
to other bank. One division would then have a large part
of the Turkish force hemmed in on the Essin ridge right bank,
and the other division crossing into Kut by a bridge to be
erected by us would swing around past the Fort to prevent
the remaining enemy forces on the left bank from getting
away. It will be either a dismal failure or brilliant success,
and much at this belated hour must depend upon the floods.
_March 29th._--A beautiful day and quite hot. We have
been unmolested except for some shells on the Fort. I have
finished "Septimus," by W. Locke. Septimus is a delightful
chap, and would make much fun for us if he were here.
Then we played chess, and I visited Pas Nip on my way
around the trenches. He returned and lunched with us. I
have managed to get a tin of gooseberry jam at ten rupees, one
tin of milk twelve rupees, 1½ lbs. of atta for fifteen rupees.
I held another inspection of the native drivers among
whom scurvy has increased. They still refuse to eat horseflesh.
Don Juan has turned from a dark black to a burned brown.
That, possibly, is his way of turning grey! I gather him
some grass every possible day.
_March 30th._--It has been a day of the most perfect tranquillity,
and as I couldn't sleep for this confounded backache
I was up for the dawn. I climbed up to the observation post
and looked around on a lovely earth. I mean it. The very
wretchedness and misery of the floods, and the broken palm
grove, and the disfigured earth, were all woven into the most
bewitching harmony by sheets of silver and bars of golden
sunlight. It was hard to realize it was a scene of war, that
those receding terraces were trenches filled with armed Turks.
I am beginning to think that, after all, the Garden of Eden
could have been very beautiful--at any rate in the dawn,
for then it is a country of long shadows and persuasive lights.
This morning the drooping palm fronds patterned the water
and the wide plain. There was gold and green in every patch
of grass. As for the rest of the earth, it was all a wonderful
and faithful mirror, for in the lucent waters of the ever-growing
flood one saw the moving images of clouds and wild fowl.
Down below there was not a breath, but high above a gentle
breeze from the west caught some fleecy islets of the sky and
washed them out into the great blue sea. To-night the
geography of the sky has changed. There are no islets, there
is no movement. But across the whole western quarter of
the sky the clouds have formed an ethereal beach of white-ribbed
sands that reach around the world, and form the shores
of a wide dark ocean that is lit by flashing stars.
To-night I should like to be Peter Pan in an obedient
cutter and sail there far and wide. Jolly runs I could have,
and how very easy to find my way about safely with all those
splendid lights and beacons. And being Peter Pan I should
know them all.
An ominous buzz recalls me to things nearer at hand.
The room has been invaded by mosquitoes. Already the flies
are an abominable nuisance in the daytime, and cockroaches
are plentiful.
Last night the _Sumana_ was strafed again, and Tudway has
been toiling all the evening at her defences.
This morning I paid the men and did some office work, and
brought the war diary up to date. After that I found time
to try a longer walk around our first line, but felt too seedy to
go into the Fort. I heard that the sickness is rapidly increasing,
and the condition of the troops is so bad that the chief dread
of the whole routine is the marching to and from the trenches.
This being so, regiments are now allowed to remain out there
permanently. In one Indian regiment man after man has
simply sunk down in his tracks and died through want of food.
And an extraordinary number of soldiers wretchedly ill won't
report sick, partly through a horror of entering the crowded
and unhappy hospitals, and also from a sense of duty. Among
the men there is, of course, a good deal of ragging and
general barracking about our not being relieved, but their
spirit and patience and trust in their general is truly magnificent.
No soldier, I truly believe, could wish for a more splendid
loyalty from his rank and file than these men, the European
troops, at any rate, feel and show in a hundred ways for their
"Alphonse." They get little news but of disappointments,
still they go about their duties with a step unsteady and painfully
slow, and at every fresh misfortune they joke and smile.
We miss very much all communication with the outside
world. The generals get a few letters and papers by aeroplane,
but no one else. The other day, however, our mess bombardier
received one from an enterprising brother who directed the
letter to General Townshend, and enclosed the letter to his
brother inside. He tells me his brother is a seaman in a Royal
Indian Mail boat, and is a very up-to-date sort of chap. I
should just think so!
_March 31st._--The weather has broken and once more the
steady downpour has made Kut into a mild sort of Venice.
We have no gondolas it is true, but if our _bund_ goes we can
make shift with rafts.
The _Sumana_ got badly shelled last evening. One shell
went through the awning and crashed through the main stop-valve
over the boiler, missing the funnel and boiler by an inch
or two. That would have been irreparable. As it is things
are quite serious with her. Great volumes of steam escaped,
no doubt to the huge delight of the Turkish gunners. Great
consternation prevailed at headquarters, and Tudway was
immediately reminded---much to his disgust--of the "example
set by Beresford on the Nile when he repaired his boiler under
fire." Tudway is not the sort of fellow who needs any example.
I went on board this morning and saw the damage done.
The old boat has simply been shot through and through. We
drew up a scheme for using shields of gun wagons spread out
over the awning to lend additional protection. As we sprinted
over the planks back to the shore, the Turks at Snipers' Nest
were evidently waiting for us, and a hail of bullets flew by.
We found cover by some millstones, and after a few minutes'
rest took to our heels for the remaining stretch. We are hoping
to get a valve up from below by aeroplane.
Native rations, except for meal, have ceased altogether.
This may induce them to eat horse. There is nothing against
it now as they have the full permission of the Chief Mullahs
in India. The horses are on 4 lbs. of bran and 12 lbs. of grass
cut by fatigue parties off the _maidan_. It keeps them going,
and that is all. The young animals are merely drawing on
their constitution.
I am deeply sorry to hear that poor Woods has gone. He
was the subaltern I have mentioned before as having got the
Military Cross for bravery at the Fort on December 24th, when
he lost his arm. He was a jovial fellow, and a very good sort.
We have had many a gossip together at the hospital. He died
from jaundice. It is very, very unfortunate, as his arm was
quite well, and he was back on light duty. The truth is our
condition is so low that anything carries us off. We are all
very glad he died happily.
_April 1st._--A terrific thunderstorm swamped everything
last night. The place was alive with electricity, and flashings
kept me awake for hours.
Most of our heavy bombardment trenches are full of water,
and I have had fatigue parties on all day baling them out and
shifting the horses.
A rumour has it that the Russians are in the Pushtikus,
the distant range just to the eastward. I consider this a
pathetic rumour, and I'm more interested in what Shackleton
is doing at the South Pole.
To-night we had a meagre portion of fish which one of my
drivers caught in the river. We pay him well and he buys
atta for himself and his pals.
Square-Peg sleeps most of the day, and represents the three
of us in collecting a daily account of Cockie's doings. There
is no one, I am given to understand, sorrier that Cockie was
hit than General "G. B.," who happens to be next door
to him. The hospital, I was yesterday informed by an inmate
slow to anger and of great mercy, consists of two factions,
those that do not love Cockie and those who can't hear him.
I hope he doesn't mind my writing this. I have sent him fish
and fowl, and for my pains he sent me back inquiries as to why
I hadn't done so before. Bah! Cockie can be so rude if you
don't always do sufficient homage--and then I'm so forgetful
in these matters. Not a man in the garrison has risen to-day
to an April fool's joke--not one!
_April 2nd._--We tried some green weed or other the Sepoys
gathered on the _maidan_. Boiled and eaten with a little salad
oil that Tudway fished out from heaven knows where, it seemed
quite palatable. After all, as he says, all we want is something
of a gluey nature to keep our souls stuck on to us.
A delightful little mess is ours. There is none cheerier in
Kut. Picture a long bare wooden table, the other end piled
up with war diaries, books, papers, pipes, and empty bottles,
revolvers and field-glasses, we three at this end. Tudway is
much senior to me, but insists that I preside. So I have the
camp armchair, and he the other, which has very short legs so
that he often seems to be talking under the table. It has
also paralysis in the right arm, so that it is necessary to be
very careful in leaning that way. Now and then, usually once
a night, Tudway forgets, or perhaps he likes doing it, for he
simply bowls over sideways, and by dint of repeated practice
can now do so while clutching at the bread or joint en route.
Sometimes he does it in the middle of a sentence, which he
nevertheless completes leisurely on the floor as becomes an
imperturbable sailor.
Square-Peg opposite has a high wooden chair, and is getting
up a pose for the Woolsack, which I understand he will one
day adorn.
My position is strategically a difficult one, for the other two
acting in conjunction can at a pinch remove the victuals beyond
my reach towards the other end of the table, and my rum--when
we do raise a peg--is in constant danger until consumed.
Square-Peg, whose pseudonym has nothing whatever to do with
a drink, is extraordinarily forgetful in this way at times, and
has been known in the course of an excellent story to drink
all my rum and half of Tudway's. But I've an excellent
memory, and the next rum night--possibly weeks after--Square-Peg
goes short.
I am carver and taster, both useful functions in a siege.
Tudway likes it thin, but with Square-Peg it is necessary to
cut it thick. After the third helping Square-Peg has to carve
for himself. We inaugurated that last week. If by accident
the horse is extra tough, and Square-Peg gets splashed, he gets
four helpings, but Tudway does not, for he can take cover
under the table.
As regards the vegetables, "Sparrow-grass" and potato
meal _or_ beetroot and rice, I divide, and we all cut cards for
first pick. There is always plenty of horse, but vegetables are
a great delicacy. Tudway and I conspire to do Square-Peg
out of his greens so as to keep him up to the scratch in procuring
or in "pinching" vegetables from the garden of which he is
C.O. It works admirably, and I am only sorry his small
pockets necessitate his making several trips. On wet days
we have "encore" in the vegetables, for then he wears a top
coat with big pockets. He refuses to do so on fine days as
he says it looks suspicious. If we have an issue of a spoonful
of sugar I barter it for milk, and the date juice, when we get it,
is measured out with a spoon.
For pudding we have kabobs, fried flour and fat, two each,
and we cut for choice. An excellent idea which we have lately
followed is to get the fat off a horse--there is very little now,
poor things--and render it into dripping, which is quite excellent.
I have sometimes waited for hours to get this from
the butchery. While we had sardines our bombardier produced
a savoury with toast, but that is long ago. Instead we have
coffee, which is mostly ground-up roots, plus liquorice powder,
if you're not careful in buying. The date juice goes into the
coffee, but Square-Peg complains that he can't "feel it that
way," so he drinks his like a liqueur. I prefer bad tea, as the
coffee is generally atrocious, but Tudway likes it for the sake
of "the smell." I provide the tobacco out of the funds, and
sometimes have been diligent enough to make cigarettes, which
are better than those the Arabs make, by screwing up the paper
like a lollipop, pouring the tobacco in and twisting the top end
up. The latter cigarettes require great art in smoking. One
has to lie back in one's chair and point the cigarette to the roof
so as to prevent the baccy emptying out of the cigarette into
one's coffee.
This is the hour sacred to us. We exchange rumours or
invent them. We pool all our gossip into a common heap
which becomes the altar of another day's hope. We avoid all
matters of misfortune or suffering. We have mutually and
tacitly barred the subject of Home. But when the smoke
cloud above the remains of our sorry banquet grows dense
from the pipes of three excellent smokers, we lapse into
silence, and see in the moving mists sweet fantasies far away.
If we were Germans we would, I have no doubt, sing "Home,
Sweet Home" in parts, and shake hands, and shed tears in
unison. But we are merely Englishmen, and if anyone were
to sing five notes of that song he would get slung out for making
a brutal assault on our hearts. So instead we merely smoke on
and on, and the jackals' chorus grows less and less as memories
drift about among the wisps and wraiths of this strange fog-land.
We are glad we are here. We have no tears to give,
but although we know it not, in the heart of us each is a
prayer.
_April 3rd._--It is four months to-day since the Sixth
Division on its last legs entered Kut-el-Amara, expecting relief
to be here in three weeks, a month, possibly six weeks.
Inscrutable are the ways of Allah!
This afternoon a fierce thunderstorm broke over Kut, and
hailstones larger than pigeons' eggs rattled upon us with the
sharp music of musketry. One should be quite sufficient to
knock a fellow out if it got him bare-headed. Afterwards it
turned to rain, which we fear may delay the next battle for
Kut. We hear that the enemy is making every effort to hold up
the relieving force down below, or delay us, for the short time
beyond which the garrison cannot now hold out.
I am feeling very seedy again to-day, what with this
enteritis and rheumatics and jaundice. So is Tudway, to
whom I have given various opium pills and camphoradine.
I am, however, lucky so far to have escaped the severe form
of enteritis which many others have had. It is a deadly and
horrible thing enough, accompanied by violent pains in the
abdomen, and vomiting. To be sure I have had the former
for so many weeks that I am used to it, and we often say we
can scarcely remember the time when we hadn't these infernal
pains. "A brandy flip, my dear fellow, is the one and only
for it," our medical friend says, and smiles. Ho! for a brandy
flip. In the Arctic circle the two seasons are light and dark,
and in India dry and wet, and in Kut when one has stomach
ache and when one hasn't.
It is said that a certain cavalry regiment has at last
unanimously rescinded the rule that it is bad form for any
officer of the regiment not to be fit. Most of us have been put
down for sick leave at once when the relief occurs. The India
list is the most cheerful phrase one hears. Tudway has asked
me to go downstream with him on the _Sumana_, and proposes
a grand progression down to Basra and to pass H.M.S.
_Clio_, his parent boat, when we get there. I am quite intoxicated
with the notion. And truly the sight of the _Sumana_
ripped and torn through and through by shell and bullet,
with her shotted funnel and her smashed cabins and her
twisted bridge, and her white ensign that soiled and tattered
bunting, the finest flag in all the world, still fluttering in the
stern--would be a sight for the gods. But then I've had
nothing whatever to do with the _Sumana_, so I must prefer to
be ashore. I see it all exactly, her grey dirty form with the
black patches where shells have shifted her paint, and near
the path of that Windy Lizzie that crashed through the bridge,
the redoubtable countenance of our friend Tudway, the youthful
commander and preserver of this eloquent trophy. The
_Clio_, of course, salutes her diminutive sister, and ah, those
terrible and honest cheers! An awful moment for Tudway I
admit.... But at twelve o'clock that night he will have
indigenous metamorphosis!
"Tudway!" I exclaim, "you no longer have the inches
of a god. Can't you stand up?"
"Donsh wansh stansh up. If you'd hads many cockstailsh
I've had couldn't either."
Perhaps!
_April 4th._--A heavy bombardment downstream continued
for hours this morning. The rain has ceased and the soaken
earth is steaming under a bright hot sun.
Reports from the hospital are to the effect that Cockie's
temperament "has increased, is increasing, and ought to be
diminished." His delusions include a notion that he still
commands the column. To dispel the latter delusion it is
necessary for one to cancel quite a number of his orders.
Dorking has evolved quite a number of literary ideas since
my leaving the battery. He has read the letters of "Dorothy
to Temple" which I recommended to him, and quite enjoyed
them. In fact he says he would not have minded marrying
Dorothy himself. Now I wonder what Dorothy would have
had to say about Dorking--I wonder.
I hear on very reliable authority that the plane, our own
plane, dropped yesterday a packet which was supposed to be
a stop-valve for the _Sumana_. The valve, however, went off
on the _maidan_, and in fact proved to be a three-pound bomb.
To-day another plane dropped another supposed valve which
turned out to be a gear-box for an L boat.
Very facetious of them, I'm sure, but Tudway calls it an
indifferent joke.
A mild artillery duel wound up the day's events.
_April 5th._--To-day we have had a strenuous Shikar after
food. We raised a half-pound of dirty dates which we boiled
into jam; also two rupees worth of chupattis and hard,
white, mealy flat-jacks--they are eight in number, a two-pound
tin of barley which will make an exciting porridge.
We visited the officers' hospital which is full again to overflowing
with dysentery, jaundice, and malaria cases. The
doctors have put me on diet of one egg and cup of milk daily,
which commodities are only procurable on special certificates,
and rarely. The mess bombardier draws these.
"I 'ear, sir, that this 'ere milk is sometimes 'uman and
sometimes donkey's. I 'ope as you won't drink it, sir."
"To save one's life, bombardier, one may have to eat
anything," I told him. Then I heard him in sad conference
with the mess cook.
"Gawd! It's 'ot 'uman milk, Bill. An' 'e ain't 'ad no
milk for ages. It'll knock 'im hover like 'ot punch."
"Wen you live in Kut," said Bill, "you 'ave to do az
Gawd's hancient people do."
_10 p.m._--Cheerful news at last! Early this morning
Gorringe bombarded and smashed through the Turkish lines
above Hannay, and five lines of trenches have been taken.
He is consolidating his position before advancing on Essin.
It does not seem clear on which bank this success was.
At 8 p.m. this evening the heavy firing recommenced.
Square-Peg and I restrained our enthusiasm by a long game of
chess. The news has cheered up every one immeasurably.
It is the most hopeful night for months.
_April 6th._--Downstream a terrific bombardment went on
intermittently for hours. We are on six ounces of bread
to-day and are almost on to our emergency rations, which can
be made to spin out for three days.
The _Sumana_ is going over to Woolpress to bring over
reliefs. I had arranged with Tudway to have a starlight
excursion there and see something of these strangers, but
headquarters disapproved.
Green cress has been issued from the gardens, and every
effort is made to save every crumb. The sick and those in
hospital are worst off, as hospital comforts like cornflour and
Mellins' Food have long since gone.
It is a beautiful day, but the river came up during the
night and beat all previous records of the siege by two inches.
How very close the relieving force has driven things. Altogether
the situation, as Punch said of the man dangling from
the drag rope of a balloon, is most interesting.
I have made inventories of ammunition and wagons, lines
and horse-lines of the 6th D.A.C., as I am officially returned
to my battery pending the relief of Kut. I hope to enter on
the next page that the siege has been lifted.
_April 7th._--There is a lull in the operations downstream.
How we hate lulls. A lull is a divine leg-pull. The word
"lull" has an odious sound!
Gunner Graoul has returned to me from the battery
apropos of my re-transfer to my original battery, and Amir
Bux has returned to duty. There are a good many things to
fix up in the ammunition column, so I am remaining in my
comfortable billet here unless wanted for urgent duty at the
battery--pending relief. I am so weak that my legs collapsed
on the ladder, and I find a long staff better than a walking-stick.
We killed one of our two emergency fowls, which we
boiled, and I found the broth delicious. Graoul called it
"'en brorth."
The river has risen seriously and is now a good three feet
deep all over the plain in front of the _bunds_. General Gorringe
has had hard work to bund the river down below and has
evidently met with flood difficulties already.
There is an ominous whisper about a "wireless" which is
not being made known.
Other and wilder rumours, obviously untrue, are in quick
circulation. The men, poor fellows, are keenly on edge for
news. There are many merely remaining alive to hear that
Kut is saved. They all know the end is now in sight and the
coma of the past months is over. We are like restless bees in
swarming time.
_April 8th._--A quiet day! Some few shells wandered into
the town and a steady stream of sniping indicated that the
enemy had probably withdrawn many men for reinforcements
downstream. Woolpress is a complete island. In fact a
part of it had to be abandoned yesterday, and last night the
_Sumana_ brought a large part of its garrison back. As a last
resort one regiment will remain there to hold the Woolpress
buildings only.
From my old observation post to-day, which I climbed
with great difficulty, I looked on a very changed scene. The
whole country is a series of huge lakes with tiny green patches
between. The enemy has had to abandon his lines around
Woolpress. In front of our first line tiny waves on this tiny
ocean lap against our preserving _bunds_. In fact, Kut is an
island!
_3 p.m._--Gorringe has wired to say "all's well." "Advance
continues!"
Once more with Micawber it is permitted to us to hope.
_April 9th._--Shells, expletives, and suspense fell into Kut
in unusual quantities. We are on the edge of a volcano.
Who could keep a diary while sitting on the edge of a volcano?
The gods, those humorous birds, have just flown over Kut on
a tour of inspection. We can almost--as John Bright did not
say--hear the _flapping_ of their wings.
_April 10th._--Poor Don Juan has taken his last hedge!
I have hitherto managed to extend his reprieve, but to-day
the order came. I gathered him a last feed of grass myself.
He salaamed most vigorously as I had taught him. The
chargers have been kept to the last. His companions stood by
him trembling as the quick shot despatched one after another.
Not so he! now and then he stamped, but otherwise
stood perfectly still. I asked the N.C.O. to be careful that
his first bullet was effective and to tell me when it was over.
I kissed Don on the cheek "good-bye." He turned to watch
me go. Shortly after they brought me his black tail, as I
asked for a souvenir. Strange as it may seem we ate his
heart and kidneys for dinner, as they are now reserved for
owners. I am sure he would have preferred that I, rather
than another, should do so.
He carried me faithfully, and died like a sahib. In the
garrison I had no better friend. Being so he shall have this
entry to himself.
_April 11th._--Two paramount budgets of especial interest
and importance reached us first thing this morning. One was
that Cockie was annoyed with us for eating our own fowl, the
other being from Sir Percy Lake to the effect that Gorringe
cannot possibly be present here for the 15th, but will have
great pleasure in doing so by the 21st instant. With the help
of God and the strength derived from having eaten the hen, we
hope to survive the first budget. To this end Square-Peg and
Tudway and I immediately slaughtered the second hen and
sent a polite message of this information to Cockie with a
promise to reserve for him the head and feet. Tudway has
been in shrieks of laughter all day, and mounted guard over
the hen himself. To be sure I intended to reserve for him
half of my portion, but the others voted this treachery, as
they think Cockie has done very well lately with hospital
rations of fish and eggs. Cockie still consumes slabs of horse,
the size of a slab being about that of the ordinary Nelson's
7_d._ edition.
The news from Sir Percy Lake is serious enough. Our
men are now dying by the score and their condition is reduced
to the last degree, many being scarce able to walk. It is not
merely rations that they require, but sick comforts.
General Townshend has issued these communiqués to the
troops--
* * * * *
Kut-el-Amara,
April 10th, 1916.
"The result of the attack of the Relief Force on the
Turks entrenched in the Sannaiyat position is that the Relief
Force has not as yet won its way through, but is entrenched
close up to the Turks in places some 200 to 300 yards distant.
General Gorringe wired me last night that he was consolidating
his position, as close to the enemy's trenches as he can get,
with the intention of attacking again. He had had some
difficulty with the flood which he had remedied. I have no
other details. However, you will see that I must not run
any risk over the date calculated to which our rations would
last, namely April 15th, as you will all understand well that
digging means delay, though General Gorringe does not say
so. I am compelled, therefore, to make an appeal to you all
to make a determined effort to eke out our scanty means, so
that I can hold out for certain till our comrades arrive, and I
know I shall not appeal to you in vain.
"I have, then, to reduce the rations to five ounces of meal
for all ranks, British and Indian. In this way I can hold out
till April 21st if it becomes necessary. I do not think it will
become necessary, but it is my duty to take all precautions
in my power. I am very sorry I can no longer favour the
Indian soldiers in the matter of meal, but there is no possibility
of doing so now. It must be remembered that there is plenty
of horseflesh which they have been authorized by their religious
leaders to eat.
"In my communiqué to you on January 26th I told you
that our duty stood out plain and simple: it was to stand here
and hold up the Turkish advance on the Tigris, working heart
and soul together; and I expressed the hope that we would make
this defence to be remembered in history as a glorious one,
and I asked you in this connection to remember the defence
of Plevna, which was longer than that even of Ladysmith.
"Well, you have nobly carried out your mission, you have
nobly answered the trust and appeal I put to you. The whole
British Empire, let me tell you, is ringing now with our defence
of Kut. You will all be proud to say one day, 'I was one of
the garrison of Kut,' and as for Plevna and Ladysmith, we
have beaten them also. Whatever happens now, we have
done our duty. In my report of the defence of this place,
which has now been telegraphed to headquarters, I said that
it was not possible in dispatches to mention every one, but I
could safely say that every individual in this force had done
his duty to his King and Country. I was absolutely calm
and confident, as I told you on January 26th, of the ultimate
result, and I am confident now, I ask you all, comrades of all
ranks, British and Indian, to help me now in this food question."
(Sd.) CHARLES TOWNSHEND,
Major-General,
Commanding the Garrison at Kut.
* * * * *
This _communiqué_ is a breezy one! But we all know our
General has a difficult task in communicating these repeated
disappointments. The native troops are beginning to recall
that the G.O.C. months ago passed his word for early relief.
To a British Tommy this was what he calls "'opeful buck,"
but to the Sepoy it is a promise.
* * * * *
Kut-el-Amara,
April 11th, 1916.
"General Sir Percy Lake, the Army Commander,
wired me yesterday evening to say: 'There can be no doubt
that Gorringe can in time force his way through to Kut. In
consequence of yesterday's failure, however, it is certainly
doubtful if he can reach you by April 15th.' This is in answer
to a telegram from me yesterday morning to say that, as it
appeared to me doubtful that General Gorringe would be
here by the 15th, I had reluctantly still further reduced the
rations so as to hold on till April 21st. I hope the Indian
officers will help me now in my great need in using commonsense
talk with the Indian soldiers to eat horseflesh, as the
Arabs of the town are doing."
(Sd.) CHARLES TOWNSHEND,
Major-General,
Commanding the Garrison at Kut.
* * * * *
_April 12th._--This entry I am making with my eyes almost
shut. I have had a miraculously narrow shave, and got a
nasty shock and contusion since the last entry. At about
3 p.m. shells began to k-r-r-ump into the town, and the fire
steadily thickened. I had just finished the war diary, and
was sitting up on my bed restlessly awake with stomach pains,
and Square-Peg was fast asleep by the other wall, when a high-velocity
shell crashed into the room and burst. I was completely
dazed by the concussion, which drove me against the
wall. In fact, I was half stunned, as I was directly in line for
the back-lash of the burst. I wasn't certain I wasn't hit, and
my back felt queer. The room was so dark with dust and the
dense yellow fumes that stank horribly that I couldn't see an
inch. We were half smothered in _débris_. The walls and roof
in part collapsed, letting fall dozens of bricks which had
propped up some huge beams on the ceiling.
Square-Peg, who was groping about, assured me he wasn't
hit, and hurrahed when he heard I was alive. However, on
trying to rise, I found myself partly paralysed in my back,
my spine in severe pain, and I could hardly see at all. He
helped me out of the yellow gases, for I couldn't walk alone.
I lay down in the mess, and after drinking some water felt
better. But I am horribly shaken and suffer acute pain in
whatever position I lie. In fact, last night I couldn't sleep,
for every movement awoke me.
It proved to be a segment shell that had burst inside the
room, and dozens of pieces were buried deep all round the
walls and on the floor.
There is no luck like good luck. Tudway says it was an
intended punishment for the affair of the fowl, which, nevertheless,
we ate completely.
[Illustration: RECENT PHOTO OF AUTHOR'S LAST BILLET IN KUT
(ABOVE LITTLE ARAB BOY). THE SHELL DEMOLISHED
THE UPPER STORY.]
We are sleeping in the mess until the wreckage is cleared
up. Major Aylen, commanding the officers' hospital, visited
me, and, although there is no incision, says there is a contusion
over the spine from a blow. Either a brick must have hit me,
or when I was flung violently back I struck the broken bed.
I am writing this in bed.
The shelling continued last evening until late, and began
again early this morning. I have been severely shaken, and
it was as much as I could manage, even with assistance, to
get on the verandah to my old room to see how it was the
shell got in. For a time I could find no sign of its entry, but
in getting my servant to remove the tins of earth I saw the
shell-hole. There was no doubt the two tins had been removed,
and the culprit had replaced them after the shell came. We
were terribly angry, and had the whole crowd of men-servants
and bearers and orderlies up about it at once. The orders
had been strict. I had myself made a practice of going around
the place every morning. Yesterday morning they were all
right. They all said they knew nothing of it, but this afternoon
I discovered that a syce from the lines had gone up to the room
for my saddlery about an hour before the affair and moved
the tins. He was in the next room when the shell entered,
and hastily replacing the tins, he bolted in fright. I threatened
him with a court-martial for removing defences, etc., at which
he got in an awful funk, so I let him go. He shifted them, he
said, to look for a tin of saddle soap, which I don't believe, as
the wooden frieze was missing. He probably had come after
the firewood.
In the night we had another thunderstorm. This will
assist the floods, against which Gorringe is building at a
fever rate.
According to general opinion, the suspense now occasioned
by this last news from Sir Percy Lake is the most severe trial
of the siege. We are all rather glad than otherwise that the
state of our rations must precipitate the crisis one way or the
other soon. The casualties on our behalf are appalling. An
extraordinary sequence of fortunate factors, such as the
discovery of the mill, has enabled us to hold out months longer
than ever we could have dreamed possible--and we are in as
great a state of uncertainty as ever. It is true that we all
try to avoid the selfish point of view of requiring Kut to be
relieved at all costs. The military situation is the only one
to be considered, and to that end every other consideration
must be sacrificed. If it is necessary that Kut should be
sacrificed to the military end, none of His Majesty's forces
could be more ready for sacrifice than the Sixth Division.
But when one thinks of the past months and the neglect to
face the obvious military situation after Ctesiphon, one feels
that the sufferings of the troops in Kut and the heavy loss of
life downstream could easily have been avoided. There yet
remains for us the hope that unnecessary as these sacrifices
may have been, they will at least not have been made in vain.
To a soldier war may be sheer fatalism, but to a general
it should be snatching victory from the knees of the gods.
_Later._--General Hoghton, commanding the 17th Brigade,
entered hospital yesterday suffering from acute enteritis
and dysentery. Early this morning, to the universal sorrow
of the garrison, he died. It is said that the wild green
grass stuff was partly the cause, and also abstinence from horseflesh,
which a digestion ravaged by the siege could not stand.
He was a most genial and kind general, and always cheerful.
I saw quite a lot of him in the "fort" days. I was sorry to
be unable to attend his funeral. A great number were
present. There was no funeral party, but from the verandah
I heard the piercing bugle notes of the soldier's requiem. The
Last Post came thrilling and sharp from the silence of the
palm grove, and was no doubt heard in the Turkish lines. A
brave soldier in a soldier's grave, amidst a goodly number!
_8 p.m._--It has been a cool, breezy day, and the floods have
subsided one inch. We hope the heavy rains that fell in the
night won't bring them up again.
Tudway brought a rumour that good news had been
received, but could not be published just yet. Has Sunnaiyat
fallen? That is the question in every one's mouth. I have
given my rations to the others and stuck to barley for two
days. They aren't much to give, certainly--merely two small
slices of bread. My shell-shock and bruise have affected my
digestion, and all my nerves are in constant trembling, and
my legs and arms jump and twitch.
It is a damp evening, and although I have been up only
three or four hours to-day I shall get back to bed presently.
At any rate it is much better than being in hospital, and one
can do minor duties. Tudway is an awful brick at his job,
and he is very seedy indeed.
A month or two ago three or four of men who were also
at the siege of Ladysmith had a dinner. They say that the
conditions there were infinitely less severe than they are here.
There was only one hostile siege-gun that reached into the
town; the hillsides and higher slopes were not under fire;
they had some provisions, no floods, and their enemies did
not include Arabs.
_April 13th._--More rain! We hear that Gorringe is awaiting
the arrival of another British division, the _seventh_ in number,
according to rumour, that has come into this infernal problem.
Even the Twenty-first April isn't so certain now, and that must
be the last day. There is practically nothing to eat. However,
we are prepared for anything. Even an order for the
whole garrison to undergo a fasting cure for six weeks wouldn't
startle us.
The death of General Hoghton seems to have impressed
every one with the ruthless passage of the God of the Siege.
They are aware, a little more plainly than before, how undeviating
is the course of that Relentless Spirit. Somehow one
expects generals should be spared. Two others have recovered
from sharp attacks of sickness, and one has been wounded.
It has been said that the soldier becomes callous. It would
be more true to say that he merely becomes indifferent. But
an exceptional phase of death removes the blinds from many
disused windows of his mind, and he sees all too well. Such
an event is the loss of this kind-hearted general, and it has
given to many a higher altitude in point of view. There is
the point of view of the trench and dug-out, of the hospital, of
the observation post, on a roof top. There is that of an
aeroplane. There is the standpoint of the overhead stars that
see us as a flashing sphere. Tommy does not borrow the
vantage point of a god from way beyond the farthest star,
the most distant sun, to behold the universe, that gaily lighted
ship of destiny travelling forward through the Seas of Time.
But he has at any rate reached very far. This morning I was
visited by some of my old section at the battery, and talked a
time to the men, and I gave them some Arab tobacco. I find
they have thought a good deal about things in general, and
one was induced, to the amusement of the others, to give us
what he considered a "bird's hye view" of our immediate
future, which certainly didn't seem too bright. He saw Kut,
a tiny spot under famine and fire, completely surrounded by
hordes of the enemy, beyond them the menacing waters and
fatal floods, beyond the floods the God-forsaken country of
murderous Arabs,--and beyond that great and stretching continents
of desert reaching thousands of miles away and ending
in those strangely silent and unknown shores or losing themselves
in the heart of Asia.
But fortune has smiled on us quite a deal, too. We found
the grain stores at Woolpress, and the Flying Corps rigged up
the mill-crusher discovered lying there. Then a large store
of oil for the river steamers was utilized for fuel and lighting
for all duty, and the Sappers and Flying Corps artificers made
our bombs out of various charges for the howitzers and 4·7's.
The aeroplanes brought us the detonators. Then the subsidence
of the floods brought up the grass with which we bribed
the animals to exist a little longer, while we ate their grain--and
them.
The ammunition has lasted wonderfully well. We have
over half of the original lot still in hand.
In truth, when one thinks how the Fighting Sixth fought
its way across Mesopotamia, battling with fire and floods,
thirst and heat, right up to the gate of Baghdad, and then was
let down by want of supports, one has to extract thankfulness
from the thought that Chance left it to the same division, alone
and unreinforced, to stem the result of the turned tide. This
it has done from December 1st at Um-al-Tabul until now,
April 13th, a temporal avenue through sickness and death.
One is informed that if Kut had not been held, the position
of the Turks would have been consolidated, and the tactical
and strategical usefulness of its position with the enemy.
These are the most cheerful thoughts possible in the garrison
when one feels extra weary and sick.
It is not too much to say that almost no one has any
misgiving as to the future. In this tiny horse-shoe panorama
on the Tigris, where the destiny of Kut has pursued its dramatic
evolution for the last four and a half months, the garrison
awaits the ultimate development of the drama with a feeling
merely of wide curiosity. Will the last scene be Tragedy, or
will the people be allowed to leave the theatre feeling "comfortable,"
that it all came right in the end?
Alas! whatever the play is, it cannot be Comedy. And
when one remembers the large-hearted general who has gone,
and whom some few medical comforts in time might have
saved, one is made aware of the stern conditions of victory!
The enemy provoked an artillery duel this afternoon, and
quite a number of shells fell in the town. Rain has stopped
Gorringe's attack. Every possible disposition has been made
for the entry of our relieving force or co-operation with their
arriving on the other bank. We can only wait.
We brought about a delightful coup this afternoon in the
purchase of 2½ lbs. of bad rice for five rupees. Tudway and
Square-Peg go hungry now. I don't feel the last decrease
in bread so much as they, as I am too seedy to eat it, and
sometimes I can scarcely see. However, I am better to-day.
Some one has placed a bradawl in the dessert dish! It forms
the second and last course. It is "not to be eaten" in large
letters, and "may be used for making another hole in your
belt." The fish have left Kut. I wonder that even the
birds don't fly away....
Outside in the street, beneath my window, a decrepit Arab
beggar, in a deep passionate voice, asks for alms for the love of
Allah and Mahomet. It is often the first sound I hear in
the morning. Later in the day the Arab children make their
appearance in groups, begging and wailing piteously. Once
the babes in their mothers' arms used to cry the whole day
long, but the unfortunates are probably long since gone.
The Arab population has been dying by the hundreds, and they
look dreadfully shrunken and gaunt. A few escaped, but
were shot by the Turks. They have had everything possible
done for them.
It is the hour of the _muezzin_, the most peaceful of the day,
for at that ancient call of prayer even the wailing and begging
ceases. From the mosque near by, whose open doorway faces
Mecca, I hear the high thrilling notes quivering and trembling
with all the passion of the East, the high-pitched semi-tone
cadences sailing afar out and cutting ever greater ripples on
the bosom of the still night air like growing circles from a
stone dropped into a placid pool. It is truly wonderful this
immemorial custom of calling the Followers of Mahomet. The
volume of sound echoing from the minaret is thrown by the
_muezzin_ further and further. With extraordinary power his
voice rises and falls, describing circles, arcs, and strangely
winding parabolas out of the still silences of evening. It is
but an appeal. He calls the world to prayer. It is more
potent than the appeal of bells. In the _muezzin_ the Mussulman
hears the voice of Allah.
Now the _muezzin_ is finished, and everything is so very still.
I wonder if they are praying for the relief--as hard as their
fellow religionists in the rest of Turkey are praying for the
fall--of Kut. The odds, I fear, are against us.
I must sleep! I cannot remain awake five minutes longer.
God in His wisdom made sleep the great possession. For the
first essential to man is a gift of humour, and the second is
the capacity for sleep. Sleep and forgetfulness! How many
warriors on this dreadful planet at this fearful hour would
willingly drink of Lethe and wake up on their respective
battlefields when the war is over?
Eheu! I see the dark forms asleep on the snows of
Russia, in the trenches of France, on the mountains of Italy,
on the decks swept by the night winds of the North Sea. Who
of them would not wish it?
"Nox ruit, et fuscis tellurem amplectitur alis."
"Night descends and folds the earth in her dusky wings!"
_April 14th._--Heavy firing began downstream just before
the dawn. It continued till about 8 a.m.
The floods are spreading. A little rain fell during the
night. Around Kut everything is extraordinarily quiet. I
was very seedy during the night with violent pains and nausea,
possibly the result of attempting to eat a little liver for dinner.
I don't remember feeling worse. I took some opium pills at
once, and Graoul came in early this morning with some hot
water, which I drank. Have had two eggs sent from the
hospital, and am ordered to eat nothing beside the yolk and
a half cup of milk. About midday I felt quite bright again,
and wrote some letters with one eye more or less closed. One's
stomach these days has become an awful snob and simply
won't look at anything. How fit I was until these wretched
floods!
A report says that we must be fed by aeroplanes, but it
seems that it will take three days in which to carry one day's
provisions.
I imagine _Punch_ will have something to say on this. We
shall be represented as fielding for loaves and cakes and fishes
and whisky bottles, Mellins' Food, and some of us charging
towards the Tigris under fire from the opposite bank and
endeavouring to recover our balance on the edge as we watch
the priceless articles falling into the water.
The coming of the Turkish armada down the Shat-el-hai
is evidently postponed. They are possibly frightened of John
Bull on the water, even if it is only the river.
The Catholic padre and Square-Peg are playing chess. The
Pope in other lands is probably entering in his diary that he
has had a tiring day and that Kut must fall. Not because
God has forgotten it, but because the garrison has no
provisions.
Equally well advised is our mess bombardier, who has
invented certain rhymes which he repeats over his cooking as
no soothsayer ever did.
"Hashes to hashes! Bust ter bust!
If Gorringe cawn't 'elp us the Lord Gawd must!"
_April 15th._--This was the day beyond which we were
assured it was impossible to go. We are evidently out for
records.
The floods are steady. They can scarcely fall. Will the
Turk attack to-day? Will Gorringe?
There is a tide in the affairs of Kut
That taken at the flood will let through Gorringe--
Omitted, all the voyage of the survivors is bound on donkeys
or on camels.
On such a full sea we are now afloat
And we must chance the Tigris at the curves or down go Kut
debentures!
Shelling now is a regular thing on and off the whole day.
The Arabs are preparing to flee.
Last night the thunder bellowed her despair, or rather ours,
according to Kipling, and Square-Peg talked horribly in his
sleep, and was putting up a masterly defence in his best
English against some Arab hordes--women were in it--who
had him at bay somewhere in the gardens. Having lulled
them into inattention he shot clean off the bed and out of
the door, when he pulled up and said something sheepishly.
Of course I pretended to be asleep; and after examining my
face carefully he lay down again. Square-Peg is quite touchy
about his nightmares. I heard him say "Damn" softly once
or twice under his breath, and then fall asleep again. This
time he was in an attack, and behaved shockingly, tossing
about the bed in a most ghastly manner. Suddenly it dawned
on me that he was taking cover. He knew the road to the
door too well not to manage an advance or retire at the double.
I think it must have been the former, because he hesitated a
second this time before he moved, but I gave such a terrific
roar that he immediately collapsed on the bed and swore
horribly.
"Don't do it again," I said. "If you do, I'll put a bucket
in your way. I swear it."
"What the devil do you mean?"
"Mean! Why, don't go after cigarettes with such
enthusiasm again, that's all. Have one of these."
Then he called me names, at which I laughed the more.
"They are nothing to what your wife will call you, Square-Peg,
if you carry on in that fashion when you are married!"
That set him thinking. The only thing to be said for him
is that during a nightmare he doesn't snore.
_April 16th._--It is a beautiful summer day full of spiciness.
It was impossible to lie in bed, so I got up, imagining I was
leaving aches and pains in my sleeping-bag. A distinct scent
of green grass and the balmy air filled me with thoughts of
England! It was good to be out and to find myself walking
again.
After breakfast I crawled out with Tudway on board the
_Sumana_, and saw the excellent repair our sappers had effected
in the main stop-valve. I make myself walk. We discussed
her defences and I worked out the number of gun shields that
would be necessary if they were utilized to cover all her deck.
The plan was partly adopted. Then we lazied an hour or
two in her smashed cabin, getting a hot sniping on our return.
Afterwards, I played chess with Square-Peg and Father Tim.
Pars Nip came to tiffin. God has endowed him with two
things--a perpetual appetite and a short memory, for he comes
to tiffin very often without his bread.
Moreover, on any subject under the sun Pars Nip will
dogmatize with all the splendid audacity of youth, with all
youth's magnificent indifference to authority. With the
smallest amount of encouragement he has politically the
makings of a magnificent catastrophe; otherwise he is normal.
We speculated on the treatment we should receive if
captured. The Turk is said to be off the civilized map, but
every one seems to think we should be done first rate, and some
believe that he would be so bucked at capturing a whole army
and five real live generals that we should be offered the Sultan's
Palace of Sweet Waters on the Bosphorus and a special
seraglio.
An evening communiqué said that Gorringe had captured
the enemy's pickets, at Sunnaiyat, presumably, and was ready
for a further advance, the results of which are expected by
the morning.
For the first time aeroplanes to-day made several early
trips, carrying some 150 lbs. of atta each trip. One lot fell
into the Turkish lines. Kut apparently is not the easy mark
it seems, for at different times quite a few parcels, detonators,
money, and medicines have got the other bank or the enemy's
lines here. In fact, one wonders why the Turks, instead of
shooting at our fliers, don't encourage them. They do some
very fair ranging with shrapnel at our planes. The whole
garrison is indulging in such calculations as this: If a man
and a half eats a slice and a half in a day and a half, how many
trips of the planes are necessary before the Turks get more
of the rations than we? By going hard all day they cannot
supply us with one day's provisions, even on these fractional
rations.
But we _are_ grateful. When we saw the first sack come
tumbling down we felt much as Elijah may have done when
the ravens ministered to his wants. Of course no aeroplane
has landed in Kut during the siege. That would mean very
probable disaster, so close are we to the enemy's lines.
To-night at dinner (?) we were without salt again. This
is the third or fourth day of an affliction a hundred times
worse than having no sugar. I can recommend all doubters
to try dispensing with this necessary commodity for a few
days in the preparation and eating of food, and to note the
result.
Square-Peg and Tudway eat no bread at all for tiffin;
just meat. The utmost effort gives them a spoonful of rice
every other day for dinner or boiled cress. But we go through
the form of dinner, and that helps a lot. Some messes of
different mind have almost dispensed with the regular meal,
and merely negotiate their rations at any old time. It is just
possible they miss a lot. For some of us think that the
decencies and conventionalities of life go a long way. In
diluted quantities they themselves supply motive power to
life's wearily knocking engine. They use energy gathered from
past events and help us to carry on through gaping periods of
our life when nothing seems worth while; and when we are
indifferent or impatient with destiny, they are the pacemakers
of existence. "A rich man," says the future philosopher,
"may afford to dispense with dressing for dinner, but
a poor man certainly cannot."
Now there are, of course, quite a few things said beneath
our nightly cloud of tobacco smoke that do not appear in this
diary. It would be sacrilege in some cases, and in others, why,
one never knows who may come across one's diary. Confession
is the salt of life, but suppression the sugar. And does
not Maeterlinck tell us that the reservoirs of thought are higher
than those of speech, and the reservoirs of silence higher still?
But so far I have not heard that this has been quoted in a
court of law. And to show that we are not totally devoid
of artistic intentions I must record a sample of our mental
gymnastics this evening. We were tilting at a few enthusiastic
sentences of Robert Chambers' books.
"We are informed," I began, "that this interesting youth
was sitting disconsolately awaiting his beloved, his well-shaped
head in his hands. Any remarks?"
"Prig," said Tudway. "What business has a fellow to
have a well-shaped head? Besides, where else could he put
it except in his hands?"
"Don't be catty," said Square-Peg, "he wasn't in the
navy. Why shouldn't he have a well-shaped head?"
"Probably he hadn't," I suggested mischievously. "We
merely have the novelist's word for that, you know." At
which they both called me an ass.
"If he did have such a head, I don't see why he shouldn't
put it in his hands as well as anywhere else?" ventured
the senior service.
"Possibly as he was in love he was hanging on to his head,
having already lost his heart." This from the future K.C.
"But if his heart was in his mouth, how----" I was
shouted down.
Then we all thought hard.
"What is the point, Curly?" This to me.
"Yes! What's the matter with the sentence after all?"
added S.-P.
"Well, I can't quite say. You see she came along the
corridor at midnight, we are told, and saw him, his well-shaped,
etc. One doesn't like the excellent shape of his head being
shoved in there. The fact, after all, was that his head was
in his hands, and she surprised him, sorrowing in solitude."
"But if his head was well-shaped, why not say so?" said
the truthful Tudway.
"Yes," nodded S.-P., "that may have been essential. If
his head hadn't been well-shaped she mightn't have gushed
all over him."
"Hang it," I broke in desperately, "I don't care if it was
well-shaped or not. The word doesn't fit. Any other word or
none. You see it suggests--er--something outside the matter
in hand, she may as well have said his mathematical----"
They considered me beaten, and laughed horribly.
"The next is, 'her superb young figure straightened confronting
the sea.' Any remarks?"
"She was playing to the gallery, of course," said S.-P.,
"or else she stood on a thistle."
"Don't talk rot! I'm with Curly there. 'Superb'
swanks it too much. There's nothing superb in the world
except a destroyer at thirty knots."
"Or the action of a blood filly going through her first
pacings," I prompted. This raised a yell.
"The next is, 'her skirts swung high above the delicate
contour of ankle and limb.' Any remarks?"
"That's naughty," said Square-Peg. "Besides, it doesn't
say which limb."
"There's no doubt about the limb," I said, "unless her
arm was meant, in which case her skirts----" But an awful
roar interrupted me.
"Cut out 'limb' and substitute 'leg,'" suggested
Tudway.
"Worse and worse. If 'limb' suggests anatomy, 'leg'
suggests----"
"The Empire," they both screamed, and after the immoderate
laughter had ceased I declared I wouldn't go on.
We refilled our pipes, but Tudway grew horribly silent.
After a long time we chaffed him about the _Sumana_, and
offered him a kabob for his thoughts.
"Ah!" he said, "it was that limb. It recalled----"
Then he stopped and actually reddened; and nothing would
induce him to go on.
That set us all thinking.
We both retired to bed, and with one eye I finished the
story. It is quite a good one, and tells you many other things
about the call of the rain. That reminded me of an evening
years ago in far-away New Zealand, when in the heart of the
great silences I looked through my tent door and saw the rain
on the wild river and great forests and distant mountains....
Well, I read with my half-shut eyes by the flickering dubbin
tin that gave a small and ever-dwindling light, and although
my eyes burned and jumped I read through to the end. And
in the end Robert Chambers married them after all--those
two young and ardent spirits, and together, no doubt, they
looked at the night waves, and the snow on the wintry trees
and at the distant stars, and heard the whisper of sweetness
ineffable, the inarticulate music of the call of the rain.
And facing that last page was a bold advertisement and the
picture of "Our extra guest folding bedstead--folds quite
flat when not in use!"
That also was a human note, and how real! It invites
us to view the deserted stage, the drabs of colour with grey
torn canvas, the ghostly framework of the scenes, the tinsel
robes and stifled flowers.
"Folds quite flat when not in use"--which will be quite
often, as we have not many friends....
and a tiny little boy
With hey ho, the wind and the rain!
A foolish thing was but a toy
For the rain it raineth every day....
It's awfully late. Only millions of starlings are abroad.
I wonder if Tudway is dreaming of the limb!
_April 18th._--A terrific bombardment continued downstream
from last night until early this morning. We have since heard
that the Third Lahore Division, under General Keary, after a
magnificent struggle, has taken the lines of Beit Aissa, and that
Turkish hordes are counter-attacking in successive waves.
Our casualties are very heavy. The large pontoons which the
Turks dragged overland for a ferry downstream are now in
position. Tudway was recently to have led a river attack
at night in H.M.S. _Sumana_ and to have pierced or blown up
the bridge. The scheme, however, was cancelled.
Arabs continue to wait around the butchery for horse
bladders on which to float downstream. They are shot at
by the Turks, who want them to stay on here and eat our food,
or else they are killed by hostile Arabs. Every night they go
down, and a little later one hears their cries from the darkness.
There are rumours that the Arab Sheik and his son, who are
here with us and are badly wanted by the Turks, are to escape
secretly to-night. These people know the Turk and the
treatment they are likely to get for having associated with us.
For three or four days our heavy sea-planes have brought
us food, dropping each day from one half to a ton of flour and
sugar in the town and as often as not into the Tigris or Turkish
lines. We are grateful to our brother officers downstream for
this, and realize the difficulty of getting a correct "drop"
always. I for one don't consider this at all a possible _soulagement_,
as even with their best effort our tiny four-ounce ration
cannot be nearly kept up. In fact, one ounce would be nearer
the mark. Money is also dropped, and many coins dented in
the fall go as souvenirs at double value.
_April 24th._--I have been compelled to abandon keeping
my diary owing to excruciating pain in my spine from the shell
contusion. What is wrong I can't make out, but sometimes
the tiniest movement sends a sharp thrill of keenest pain
through one's whole being. I think I must have struck the
wall forcibly and affected the vertebræ. After lying in one
position for any little time this particular spot in my spine
aches with a most ravaging pulsation of neuralgia, and I find it
difficult to sit upright for many minutes. On these occasions
if I lie still my arms and legs shoot out at intervals with a sort
of reflex action, and sometimes repeat the performance several
times.
But for being much easier to-day I thank God. I have
even walked a little with a stick, and the twitching is much
less violent and less often. My eyes, however, are still dim, and
I find it difficult to see very distinctly. To complete the
list of my infirmities of the flesh the enteritis, which has continued
in a mild form for three weeks, has got worse, and I
find emmatine the only thing that has done any good. Here,
again, I have much to be thankful for, in that I have not had
the severe form as so many others have, or else with other
troubles I should be on unskateable ice. My legs are shockingly
thin, less than my arms were, and I can fold my skin
round my legs. In fact, I might think of applying my remarks
on the poor fellow at the hospital to myself. The daily egg
and ounce of milk stopped days ago. We have paid Rupees 30
for a tin of milk which I have with some rice my very good
friend Major Aylen sends me from the officers' hospital. He
now wishes me to enter hospital, but I prefer being an out-patient.
The atmosphere there is both siegy and sick.
The bombardment of the 22nd downstream appears to
have been a tremendous attempt by Gorringe to get through
at Sannaiyat. It failed. Our comrades gave their lives
freely for us and they fought in the mud feet deep trying to
get at their enemy. As they fell wounded they were drowned.
What an appalling price we are costing! A calm seems to be
stealing over the garrison. It is the reaction from suspense
extended infinitely far, and we know that we have done all
possible to carry our resistance to the last possible day. These
words are not so self-righteous as they look when one considers
the gallant effort to walk and to carry out the simplest
routine by men dying and doomed. There are men, with
cholera staring from their faces, moving along at a crawl
with the help of a long stick; men resting against the wall
of the trench every ten yards. One wills hard to do the
simplest thing. From our men the siege has demanded even
more than from us. We have now drifted very near the weir
and within a few days must know our fate. A few say it
appears already. There is, between us and that, however,
only the habit, now strong within us, of refusing to believe
that Kut can fall. And yet if Gorringe has not yet got
Sunnaiyat, how can he cross these successions of defences in
a few days?
_April 25th._--I am making a great effort to write further
in this diary. Last night there happened one of those gallant
episodes that confirm our pride of race.
A relief ship, _Julna_ by name, had been fitted out downstream
and loaded with every available comfort for us, and
provisions for several weeks. She was heavily protected
and commanded by Lieut. Cowley, R.N.R., the famous local
celebrity who knows every yard of the Tigris. He with two
other officers and some men of the Royal Navy volunteered
to outdo the Mountjoy episode. The Turkish gunners were
engaged by our artillery down below, and under cover of darkness
the _Julna_ left. The Turks, no doubt, knew, or soon found
out, what the show was. She came along gallantly, drawing
a heavy fire, and surmounted all difficulties until reaching
Megasis ferry, where, fouling a heavy cable, she swung on to
a sandbank. Here the Turkish guns confronted her at a few
yards' range. Her officers were killed, Lieut. Cowley captured,
and she was taken within sight of our men waiting to unload
her by the Fort, and of the sad little group of the garrison who
beheld her from the roof-tops of Kut. She lies there now. It
appears that this tragic but obvious end of so glorious an enterprise
is a last hope. We have scarcely rations for to-morrow.
It now remains for us to submit ourselves as best we can
to the workings of the Inexorable Law.
_April 27th._--Last night we destroyed surplus ammunition.
To-day General Townshend, Colonel Parr (G.S.O.I.), and
Captain Morland have gone upstream to interview the Turkish
Commander-in-Chief. There is a hum of inquiries. One says
it is parole and marching out with the honours of war.
Another talks of the Turks requiring our guns as the price of
the garrison. To-day it is a changed Kut. It is armistice.
No sound of fire breaks the hush of expectations. The river-front,
grass-grown from long disuse, and the landing-stage
likewise, for it has been certain death to go on that fire-swept
zone, to-day swarm with people walking and talking. The
Turks on the opposite bank do the same. It is strange. I
walked a little with a stick. Hope has made one almost
strong. This afternoon I went over the river to Woolpress
village, where the tiny garrison has been the whole siege, and
many of them have not once visited Kut. The defences are
excellent. They have also had to fight floods. A little
hockey ground and mess overlooking the river safe from
bullets suggested Woolpress as a peaceful spot, notwithstanding
its liability to instant isolation from Kut.
_April 28th._--General Townshend has issued this _communiqué_,
and its joyous effect on the whole garrison is indescribable.
With the tragic side that the relieving forces cannot
get through in time we are acquainted as with the fact that
we have actually eaten our iron emergency rations, but General
Townshend has given out a strong probability that we are to
be released and sent back to India on parole, not to fight against
Turkey again.
This _communiqué_ is as follows:--
* * * * *
Kut-el-Amara,
April 28th, 1916.
"It became clear, after General Gorringe's second repulse
on April 22nd at Sannaiyat, of which I was informed by the
Army Commander by wire, that the Relief Force could not
win its way through in anything like time to relieve us, our
limit of resistance as regards food being April 29th. It is
hard to believe that the large forces comprising the Relief
Force now could not fight their way to Kut, but there is the
fact staring us in the face. I was then ordered to open
negotiations for the surrender of Kut, in the words of the Army
Commander's telegram, 'the onus not lying on yourself.
You are in the position of having conducted a gallant and
successful defence and you will be in a position to get better
terms than any emissary of ours ... the Admiral, who had
been in consultation with the Army Commander, considers
that you with your prestige are likely to get the best terms....
We can, of course, supply food as you may arrange.'
"Those considerations alone, namely, that I can help my
comrades of all ranks to the end, have decided me to overcome
my bodily illness and the anguish of mind which I am suffering
now, and I have interviewed the Turkish General-in-Chief
yesterday, who is full of admiration at 'an heroic defence of
five months,' as he put it. Negotiations are still in progress,
but I hope to be able to announce your departure for India on
parole not to serve against the Turks, since the Turkish Commander-in-Chief
says he thinks it will be allowed, and has
wired to Constantinople to ask for this, and the _Julna_, which
is lying with food for us at Megasis now, may be permitted to
come to us.
"Whatever has happened, my comrades, you can only be
proud of yourselves. We have done our duty to King and
Empire, the whole world knows we have done our duty.
"I ask you to stand by me with your ready and splendid
discipline, shown throughout, in the next few days for the
expedition of all service I demand of you. We may possibly
go into camp, I hope between the Fort and town along the shore
whence we can easily embark.
"The following message has been received from the Army
Commander: 'The C.-in-C. has desired me to convey to you
and your brave and devoted troops his appreciation of the
manner in which you together have undergone the suffering
and hardships of the siege, which he knows has been due to the
high spirit of devotion to duty in which you have met the call
of your Sovereign and Empire. The C.-in-C.'s sentiments are
shared by myself, General Gorringe, and all the troops of the
Tigris column. We can only express extreme disappointment
and regret that our effort to relieve you should not have been
crowned with success.'
_Copy of a telegram from Captain Nunn, C.M.G., R.N._
"'We, the officers and men of the Royal Navy who have
been associated with the Tigris Corps, and many of us so often
worked with you and your gallant troops, desire to express
our heartfelt regret at our inability to join hands with you and
your comrades in Kut.'"
(Sd.) C. V. F. TOWNSHEND,
Major-General,
Commanding 6th Division and Forces at Kut.
* * * * *
A great arrangement. We are a sick army, a skeleton army
rocking with cholera and disease. Instead of the lot of
captivity in this terrible land, with the Turks who have never
had any _bandobast_ for anything, and merely barbaric food
themselves, the garrison may see India again and have a
welcome there. Whatever our end, there is no denying the
great fighting qualities of the Sixth Poona Division. More than
its glorious career, its stupendous efforts in vain to overtake
the tragic destiny decreed by the gods for the mistake of
others, must make it famous in arms.
The fact that the communiqué does not state for absolute
certainty the condition of parole does not detract so much from
the spirit of the garrison, such faith have they in the G.O.C.,
and General Townshend's prestige with the Turks is held
sufficient to get this condition. Besides, they say a general
must always leave a big margin, and when he states probability
he means certainty. I cannot imagine a greater
change than this that has come over all to-day.
Dying men laugh and talk of Bombay and news of home.
The sepoy sees again his village and feels the shade of the
banyan. "Not to bear arms against Turkey." That still
leaves Germany and all the rest. Others say they knew all
along it had to come like this, that in high heaven the gods
that had forsaken the Sixth Division at the zenith of its conquest
and decreed for it tasks too Herculean, would now crown
its career with an honourable return. Except on the two
occasions when we expected to debouch, I doubt if the heart
of Kut ever beat higher.
_Later._--Two junior officers visited the Turkish headquarters'
camp. General Townshend did not go.
They brought back news that Enver Pasha had refused
parole and demands unconditional surrender. Destruction
of our ammunition, spare rifles, and kit, proceeds apace. I
have just destroyed my two saddles, field-glasses, revolver,
and much else. Detonations are heard all along the trenches.
Kut falls to-morrow. This news on top of these few short
hours of hope seems incredible, and the silence with which the
garrison received it is too magnificent for reference.
_Later, 4.30 p.m._--At lunch Tudway informed me in his
quiet way that he contemplated running the gauntlet downstream
in the _Sumana_ to-night in the hope of saving his ship
from the Turks. He has communicated with his S.N.O. at
Basrah. He invited me to come with him. I felt very complimented
and after some consideration I agreed. Tudway knew
his ship, the river, and the likely stoppages. He had counted
the risk of cables. The current would help us and the Turkish
guns were all still, no doubt, pointing downstream against
other possible _Julnas_. In two hours we should be down.
We left things at this and Tudway went to make inquiries.
He has just returned in a resigned frame of mind. The
project was absolutely private and not known to headquarters,
who, however, sent anticipatory orders to Tudway that the
_Sumana_ was under no circumstance to be damaged but kept
intact in Kut.
The surrender was unconditional, and we were destroying
everything. The _Sumana_, however, was a most valuable
asset for inducing Turks to give us transport. One learnt
subsequently, however, that the G.O.C. had retained it for
his own use on a Turkish promise to allow him to go downstream
to see Sir Percy Lake the Army Commander.
Whether this was actually so I cannot say. We have
considered the chance of getting downstream by night on a
ship's lifebelt, the current doing several knots and quite
enough to carry one down. There was, of course, the considerable
chance of capture by the devilish Arabs or being
seen by the Turks. The chief question, however, was whether
we could stay in the water six or seven hours. In our present
health we decided it out of question, even if we had covered
ourself with oil.
_9 p.m._--Our little mess had its last talk. We sat and
smoked, divided the remnants of tobacco and tin of atta, and
awaited news. I am told to come into hospital, but a later
report says there is no room.
_April 29th._--General Townshend has issued a last communiqué
holding out hope that he will go home and arrange
the exchange on parole. It is, however, a very slender hope.
* * * * *
Kut-el-Amara,
April 29th, 1916.
"_Communiqué._ 1. The G.O.C. has sent the following letter
to the Turkish Commander-in-Chief:
'YOUR EXCELLENCY,
Hunger forces me to lay down our arms, and I am
ready to surrender to you my brave soldiers who have done
their duty, as you have affirmed when you said, "Your
gallant troops will be our most sincere and precious guests."
Be generous, then, they have done their duty, you have seen
them in the Battle of Ctesiphon, you have seen them during
the retirement, and you have seen them during the Siege of
Kut for the last five months, in which time I have played the
strategical rôle of blocking your counter-offensive and allowed
time for our reinforcements to arrive in Iraq. You have
seen how they have done their duty, and I am certain that
the military history of this war will affirm this in a decisive
manner. I send two of my officers, Captain Morland and
Major Gilchrist, to arrange details.
I am ready to put Kut into your hands at once and go
into your camp as soon as you can arrange details, but I pray
you to expedite the arrival of food.
I propose that your Chief Medical Officer should visit my
hospitals with my P.M.O. He will be able to see for himself
the state of many of my troops--there are some without
arms and legs, some with scurvy. I do not suppose you wish
to take these into captivity, and in fact the better course
would be to let the wounded and sick go to India.
The Chief of the Imperial General Staff, London, wires me
that the exchange of prisoners of war is permitted. An equal
number of Turks in Egypt and India would be liberated in
exchange for the same number of my combatants.
Accept my highest regards.
(Sd.) GENERAL TOWNSHEND,
Major-General,
Commanding the 6th Division and the Force at Kut.'
'2. I would add to the above that there is strong ground
for hoping that the Turks will eventually agree to all being
exchanged. I have received notification from the Turkish
Commander-in-Chief to say I can start for Constantinople.
Having arrived there, I shall petition to be allowed to go to
London on parole, and see the Secretary of State for War and
get you exchanged at once. In this way I hope to be of great
assistance to you all. I thank you from the bottom of my
heart for your devotion and your discipline and bravery, and
may we all meet in better times.
(Sd.) CHARLES TOWNSHEND,
Major-General,
Commanding the 6th Division and the Force at Kut.'"
* * * * *
No orders have been issued about the entry of the Turks.
Some sort of formality in handing over is talked of. We
have demolished everything. I have just met the brigade
armourer, a most valuable N.C.O., who has the history of
every gun in the brigade. He looked many years older, and
said he had just helped to blow up the last gun. One breech-block
of the howitzers which we demolished by lyddite in the
bore travelled over Kut far on to the _maidan_.
* * * * *
_May 7th._--I am lying in a very shaky condition in the
overcrowded officers' hospital in Kut. This is due to temperature
of a 104° from malaria, also dysentery, and mild enteritis,
apart from my bruise. Many ages seem to have passed
since my last entry. We had understood that the Turks
would make a formal entrance into Kut. Instead, some time
after lunch, I heard wild yelling in the streets. Arabs armed
with dozens of crescent flags danced and cheered some Turkish
horsemen that rode along a street known as Regent Street.
Then, suddenly, wild yells and scuffling came from the wall
upstairs on our tiny roof, and over this wall separating the
adjoining houses I saw crowds of wild bearded men in the
most unkempt condition conceivable, armed with rifles and
bayonets. With loud shouts and cries they passed over our
kit, yelling out "Kirich" (sword). One seized mine and tried
to open my kit. They were very excited. At the same
moment our front door was knocked in, and Square-Peg's
effects were similarly wanted. Looting of the mess and of
our mess servants followed. They seized the bombardier's
coat which was hanging on a nail. He objected, and got
hammered with rifle butts until I intervened. It looked like
a general scuffle. I went outside and found a diminutive
officer who spoke German, was extraordinarily polite, and
evidently much elated. He came in and restored some small
degree of order by requesting his men, in fact he pleaded with
them rather than ordered them. I took my sword from the
Turkish soldier and handed it to this officer. At this he was
most moved. Square-Peg went into the hospital near by for
orders. There, also, it seemed events had taken unexpected
turns, and looting had begun. We were ordered in at once.
While he was away I had kept the officer with me, and we
went about the street stopping similar scenes. When we
returned a few moments later we heard our bombardier had
been unmercifully beaten by Turks for trying to retain his
boots. The Turkish officers did not mind much when this
was reported. We got some sepoys to carry our kit, or rather
the remains of it, and as I left the tiny courtyard the last
thing I saw was poor Don Juan's black tail hanging on a
nail on the post in the sun to dry. I wanted it for a souvenir
of a trusty friend, but there was not a second to be lost. In
the street the Arabs were all hostile to us. Turks full of loot
raced up and down. We met officers whose rings had been
taken and pockets emptied.
The padre's wrist-watch and personal effects were taken.
In hospital, Square-Peg and I lay on our valises on the ground
of the tiny yard, as the hospital was overflowing and officers
kept still arriving. Sir Charles Melliss came shortly after.
He had a bed beside mine near the doorway, and I thought
looked very ill. His little white dog was beside him and all
around him were sick and dying officers. Nothing I can say
could measure my gratitude and admiration for Major Aylen,
the C.O. officers' hospital. While living on the hardest and
most severe of diet himself he has gone from minute to minute
with only one thought--for his charge. He is everywhere,
and in adversity his industry, patience, and hopefulness are
all we have left. If I am to be fortunate enough to survive
this ordeal I shall have him to thank.
Tudway turned up as arranged for the evening meal.
We pooled our flour and had _Chuppatis_, one-fourth of which
we gave to Holmes my orderly. We lay on blankets on the
ground and smoked the lime-leaves, and Tudway said good-bye.
After leaving us in the morning he had returned to
the _Sumana_ to find a party of Turks had been sent over to
seize her, taking everything on board, including the whole of
his kit. His men had been put off. Remonstrations were
useless. At the last moment the G.O.C. was not permitted
to go downstream, and so we lost the _Sumana_ intact to the
Turks. Naturally her able and devoted commander felt
sore about this. He announced his intention to go upstream
with some other brigade, and I said good-bye to a very pleasant
companion.
The hospital had already been looted several times by
Turks. The night was hot. One heard the moans of the
enteritis patients and the tramp of troops all night long.
In the early dawn some Turkish troops entered past the
sentry, whom they ignored. I had slept in my boots and
hidden all my loose kit, but they commenced to seize what
they wanted from others. One took General Melliss' boots
from under his bed and another his shoes, and made off, notwithstanding
the general's loud protests. Sir Charles jumped
out of the bed and followed them. A scuffle ensued in the
street. The general reappeared, and put on his cap and
jacket showing his rank and decorations, and then returned to
the fray. The soldier, however, seized him by the throat,
and the general, in a highly indignant frame of mind, and
looking very dishevelled, returned and got leave to go to
General Townshend, which he did in his socks. While he was
gone more Turks swarmed in and robbed patients who were
too ill to move, taking shoes, razors, mirrors, knives, and
anything they fancied.
Our C.O., Major Aylen, in a tremendous rage seized the
sentry and pointed to his red-cross badge and the flag of the
hospital. Although his not knowing a word of the language
made things worse, there could be no mistaking his meaning
as he pointed to the looters and our red-cross flag. A group
of Turks, some junior officers, stood looking on, merely interested
spectators. Half an hour later a Turkish officer
appeared from headquarters in a frenzy. He had evidently
been severely reprimanded. He kicked the sentry and
struck him repeatedly in the face. After this for some hours
looting was less frequent, but later recommenced.
Square-Peg's interpreter was next found on the roof of the
hospital. He was kicked down head foremost, and dragged
off to be hung. This was the unfortunate man who had
brought us vegetables and supplies from the Arabs. Officially
interpreter to Square-Peg who was fire-brigade officer, he
had asked us about escaping, and hoped to disguise himself
as a Eurasian from the Volunteer Battery. A Baghdadi by
nationality he said he had lived in Calcutta. He had been
with our force, and was no doubt betrayed by the pro-Turk
Arabs in the town. Sassoon, our other interpreter and a
well-known figure in Kut, has also, I hear, been hung with
his legs broken, for he had been so thrashed and tortured that
he jumped off the roof to kill himself. The friendly Sheik
and family have met a similar fate. One now sees the Turk
at close quarters.
To crown all, the disastrous news has come that, despite
most elaborate assurances to the effect that the garrison
would be conveyed upstream in barges, the men have been
ordered to march to Baghdad with kit through this fearful
heat. They have no rations except the coarse black Turkish
biscuit. Officers have not been allowed to accompany them
and their guards are mostly Kurdish rank and file, the most
barbarous savages in this country. In some cases there are
no Turkish officers, but merely Turkish sergeants or privates
in charge of our prisoners. We are all many stages past indignation.
The Turkish promises at the surrender were too
much relied upon. General Townshend, we hear, has already
left for Constantinople by a special steamer and car, and is
permitted to travel _en prince_. I can believe already the
prophecy of the reverend father that surrender would mean
a trail of dead. Most of our troops left Kut on the 29th or
next day for Shamrun, ten miles up-river. We had eaten
our last rations on the 28th, and supplies were expected
immediately from our captors. However, they sent us
nothing for four days, and only black biscuit then. Everything
must be bought from the Arab bazar--after the Turks
have taken what they want. Some stores and letters have
gone upstream from down below, but so far nothing has
arrived for the lonely hospital here filled with wounded and
sick and dying. Nothing, except for a few gifts Major Aylen
brought us from the hospital ship and a few cigars from
the padre.
_May 9th._--The Turkish authorities seem determined not
to send any British officer back if it can be helped. More
than one who was rejected by the Turkish medical officer as
not sufficiently ill to warrant exchange has succumbed. A
poor fellow in the next ward who has been groaning for days
died yesterday. One is not likely to recover on Turkish
biscuits at this stage. I was ordered by Colonel Brown-Mason,
our P.M.O., to translate for the Turkish doctor who
knew German and a little French. This I did for several
officers, but we were all rejected, although about six of us
had been told we were certain to go. Four were selected in
all, by no means the worse of the cases, while men with legs
in splints, smashed thighs, and shot backs, one of whom could
not sit or stand up, were rejected. Kut was deserted and
lone. General Aylmer, we heard, had retired to Amarah.
We expect to leave every day for Baghdad. How the men
have fared we don't know, but from time to time terrible
stories reach us.
[Illustration: GENERAL TOWNSHEND A PRISONER, WITH KHALIL PACHA,
OUR CAPTOR (RIGHT), AT BAGHDAD AFTER KUT FELL]
* * * * *
_June 1st._--I am writing from Baghdad in what is supposed
to be the hospital, but is actually an empty house commanded
by a Turkish dug-out cavalry captain, quite a well-meaning
old fellow, but not much use to any one sick, and very strict.
After many false alarms we were moved from Kut in a hospital
boat, which proved to be the ill-fated _Julna_. I was carried
on a stretcher which the Turks tried to loot as I passed. On
my way I saw looting on every side. Our Indian troops lay
like rows of skeletons. Their food and boots were taken from
them by their own guards. A few cases of looting have
been admonished, but no general measures taken. On more
than one occasion the officer whose aid was requested merely
asked the Turkish Askar to return the loot. Our kit was
searched, and I lost my tiny camera and some excellent
photos taken of Aziziyeh on the evacuation, showing our
army retreating and the Turkish army advancing. Other
photos were of the field artillery in action at Ummal Tabul,
and some excellent ones of interesting corners in Kut, dug-outs,
battery positions, shelters, and our inner life below--rare
photos that, unfortunately, can never be replaced.
We were packed on the deck of the _Julna_, which had been
captured practically intact, one engine working perfectly and
one screw. Every yard had a bullet hole. We called this
the Death Ship, as on it were all the remnants of the sick.
Men were dying as they came aboard. Brigadier-General
G. B. Smith was senior officer, but Colonel Brown-Mason,
P.M.O., was in charge. We carried a few sentries. As we
moved upstream past the palm grove, scene after scene in
a tussle of five months became again vivid. Then the Turkish
crescent, floating from the Serai in place of our Union Jack,
was shut out from our eyes by the bend of the river, and we
realized a little more that Kut and the siege were back history,
and we prisoners in a relentless captivity....
PART II
THE TREK. KASTAMUNI
CHAPTER VII
THE THIRD CAPTIVITY--BAGHDAD--THE DESERT MARCH OF
THE SICK COLUMN--WE REACH RAS-EL-AIN
The voyage was a sad and long one. There was
mildewed and rotten bread that no one could touch.
It was worse than the biscuits. Other things like
eggs and milk we had to buy at huge prices. At Baghailah
Arabs came within a yard of our boat, and danced in ecstasy,
gibing at us, and drawing their fingers across their throats
indicating what they thought we deserved or were in for.
That did not trouble us much. But we tingled with anger
and shame at seeing on the other bank a sad little column
of British troops who had marched up from Kut being driven
by a wild crowd of Kurdish horsemen who brandished sticks
and what looked like whips. The eyes of our men stared
from white faces drawn long with the suffering of a too tardy
death, and they held out their hands towards our boat. As
they dragged one foot after another some fell, and those with
the rearguard came in for blows from cudgels and sticks. I
saw one Kurd strike a British soldier who was limping along.
He reeled under the blows. We shouted out, and if ever men
felt like murdering their guards we did. But that procedure
was useless. We prevailed on the Turk in charge of our boat
to stop and take some of the men. It seemed that half their
number were a few miles ahead and the rest strewed the road
to Kut. Some have been thrashed to death, some killed, and
some robbed of their kit and left to be tortured by the Arabs.
I have been told by a sergeant that he saw one of the _Sumana_
crew killed instantly by a blow on the head from a stirrup
iron swung by a Kurdish horseman for stopping by a road a
few seconds. Men were dying of cholera and dysentery and
often fell out from sheer weakness. But the remorseless
Kurd, worse than the Turk, knows no excuse.
Every now and then we stopped to bury our dead. The
awful disease, enteritis, a form of cholera, attacked the whole
garrison with greater vigour after Kut fell, and the change of
food no doubt helped this. It showed also that before surrender
the garrison had drawn on its last ounce of strength.
A man turned green and foamed at the mouth. His eyes
became sightless and the most terrible moans conceivable
came from his inner being, a wild, terrible retching sort of
vomiting moan. They died, one and all, with terrible suddenness.
One night several Indians were missing. Others
reported that these have fallen overboard or jumped overboard
to end their wretchedness. But more than one was probably
trying to escape. Some officers played bridge and one or two
chess.
In a cot close by the wasted form of a well-known major
still balanced between life and death. He was a big man, but
nevertheless now weighs less than a child of ten.
Then Lieutenant Tozer succumbed to enteritis after a
terrible ordeal of some days. The groans of this poor fellow
as he lay unconscious hour after hour stirred one to the heart.
Periodical violent vomiting succeeded, and one morning the
changed and drawn face was still and the tired eyes of a
ghastly green were closed. We held a tiny service below Ctesiphon,
Arabs waiting around and casting longing eyes on the
blanket that enclosed him. But we buried him deep, and a
sheik promised to see his grave was respected. General Smith,
Major Thomson, and I attended his funeral. He was a very
popular and good fellow. We realized as we stood around his
grave that the remorseless hand of death overshadowed us too.
I think we were ready to fight the symptoms when they should
appear and ready to die quietly if it had to be. We were
still cheerful but a little quieter.
The voyage up to Baghdad lasted almost two weeks, owing
to our running short of petrol. A tin of this turned up here
and there and the ship simply went on until this was done.
Messages and countless orders were sent. We waited
day after day moored to the bank some miles from Baghdad.
The death rate was increasing. This ship seems stricken.
Then we were told we had to walk to Baghdad. Very few
of us could have got there. Fortunately our resistance prevailed,
although had we been the rank and file I am convinced
this order would have been carried out. Finally the engineer
in charge of the boat set off on a donkey for Baghdad, his legs
doing a dangling jig from side to side. We were now within
ten miles or so of Baghdad and the green date palms of the
city were before us. Some days afterwards the Mejidieh
came and took us in tow, but we made very slow headway
against the current and had to tie up once more at night.
Waterways worked by a horse running up and down on an
incline and hauling over a wheel a rope attached to a large
skin receptacle of water was the new irrigation scheme in this
district. We passed more palm groves within high walls, and
tried to think of Haroun-al-Rashid. Then minarets and the
domes of mosques appeared, and we swung into view of a fine
river-front of buildings less dilapidated than we had seen for
many months. In going round the corner against the rapid
current we had to make about eight attempts, each time
resulting in our getting swung round, and to avoid the sandbanks
we had to return. Assisted by men on shore with ropes
we managed this at length and drew near the bank. It was
about eight o'clock at night. We passed within a few feet
of crowds of fezzed figures on the verandah cafés that stood
on piles in the river on the right bank. We heard their
carousals, and I remember the red line of their flaming pipes
as they cried together yelling and cheering in exultation.
Then we drew alongside the left bank near what we called the
Water Tower. We were very hungry and ill, and alongside
our dead on board many others were dying. The only
visitors we had were disreputable Arabs and Turks who, as the
night grew darker, swarmed on board and looted or thieved.
I define loot as open theft under threat of violence, by a captor
from a captive.
In the morning we were subjected to more looting, and if
one left one's kit a second it disappeared. Having to carry
some of our kit as best we could, the rest was imperilled. I
lost my haversack with all my knives and plates and razor
and toilet kit and scanty supply of medicine like chlorodyne
and quinine, of which the Turks had none. We were left
in the sun in rows still without food and under the eyes of a
curious crowd. We bought a few things from women hawkers.
This same major who lies here dying in this house in
Baghdad was, so soon as we disembarked, left lying uncovered
from the sun on a stretcher apparently unconscious and
covered by thousands of flies, in fact, black with them. Now
and then a wasted arm rose a few inches as if to brush them
off but fell back inadequate to the task. One wondered if
he were dead. Our protests as we realized he had been left
there hours before we arrived were more than vehement.
One of our orderlies was finally allowed to remove him under
cover from the fierce sun and to give him water. One saw
British soldiers in a similar state dying of enteritis with a green
ooze issuing from their lips, their mouths fixed open, in and out
of which flies walked like bees entering and issuing from a
hive. We were thankful to leave the ill-fated _Julna_, and
personally I felt very grateful to Col. Brown-Mason, the
P.M.O., our eternal friend Major Aylen (O.C. officers' hospital)
and General G. B. Smith who, in the periods of long waiting,
was most cheerful and encouraging.
We were split up into parties of sick in various hospitals
so called. Two officers accompanied me and the sentry. We
were told it was one minute's walk. Lieutenant Richardson,
who had a shot back and could not stand for many seconds,
had to walk. Lieutenant Forbes and I took his arms to assist
him, and like three drunken men lurched forward through the
bazaar. Poor Richardson collapsed several times on the way
and finally fainted. It was at least a mile off, and our sentry
lost his way. He was quite a decent fellow and did not object
to some Armenian women who ran out with lemonade. We
got a stretcher and at last arrived.
I am in a long room filled with bug and flea infested beds.
Twice a day at hours impossible to conjecture a Turk brings
in youghut, a curdled milk, in a bucket which we found most
uninviting but have since learnt to take, and some rice and
pilaf. We have been here some days, and through talking
German to the son of the old cavalry commandant, I have
actually been allowed to get dressed and go to the adjacent
shops to buy castor oil with some of my remaining coins.
[Illustration: OUR PRISON, BAGHDAD, AS IMPROVED AFTER
BRITISH OCCUPATION]
The American Consul has visited us. He is a kind man, and
regrets that he has not any money left, as he gave all he
could get to the first column, but he helped us with our luggage
and sent along a few comforts such as tobacco and quinine. I
heard that all the money at the fall of Kut was distributed
among the garrison, and about three or four gold liras were to
have reached me. They did not, however. I have only
eighty piastres left, the balance of changing fifty rupees.
At night it is very hot and we sleep on the roofs, as does all
Baghdad. Major Cotton has grown worse. On arrival here
he was taken to some contagious disease hospital by mistake,
and met no one who knew who he was or who could speak
for him, days after he came here. His sufferings and mental
anguish had been terrible away from us all. Major Aylen
gave him a tablespoonful of champagne brought up secretly
from the camp by another party. After this the poor fellow
became more coherent and quite restful. Late that night
he begged me to take him on to the balcony. Notwithstanding
the pain of my back I managed to get him on the verandah.
He could not have weighed more than five stone. He said he
was very grateful to feel the gentle movement of a breeze.
Next morning he was dead. Details of other similar cases I
won't write about.
_May 26th._--_Cavalry Barracks, Baghdad._ I have been here
some days, having decided that one could not hope to recover
in an empty house, and so after a week or more there resolved
on a supreme effort. We were sent to these Turkish barracks
near the north gate on the _maidan_. It was no great distance
but took much effort to get there. We left in the late afternoon,
but owing to mistakes of the sentries, who took us to
several wrong places, and to the fact that the Turkish sergeants
at the barracks did not approve of our papers, we still wandered
about after dark. He sent us back. This was repeated several
times. We wandered round the place in the dark huddled
up like sheep on the foul and stenching _maidan_ by our
postas who awaited the Commandant.
Towards 10 p.m., in the dark we got up from the mud
pool, which reeked of the dead horses therein and the rubbish
of the city. Sick, hungry and cold we plodded up the steps
to empty rooms, our means of existence being only what
remained to us, that is to say, what the various parties had not
looted. This meant two or three tins of milk, a little bad tea,
and possibly raisins.
The chief columns of officers have already left for Mosul.
Daily I practise walking on the wall, a space that offers
opportunity for a good promenade. I want to see how much
I can do. Altogether I feel a little better but the dysentery
has left me very weak, and after a half-mile have to sit down.
I have contrived to send my British orderly to the town
where, with the money I have raised by selling some of my
kit, he has bought on occasion small pieces of meat or fish,
a few vegetables, and even a small fowl which we shared among
six sick people. We stewed the fowl to rags and drank the
soup.
I have been allowed by special leave to visit General
Smith in hospital. He had asked me during the last days of
Kut to do A.D.C. again to him in captivity. This was an
excellent chance for which I was most grateful, as it seemed
doubtful whether I would last the trek. But I have no money
and can't get any, and am averse to travelling on my general's
supply, as money now is one's chance of life. I told him frankly
that I am doubtful about being fit enough to carry on very
efficiently for him, but as he is to travel in a carriage over the
desert for all those hundreds of miles I could do a certain
amount, and I hoped to be of use in knowing something of French
and German. However, in my woebegone condition I was
promptly turned down. I recognize now that I am in for the
ordeal of the survival of the fittest with a heavy handicap.
We hear sometimes terrible accounts of the hardships undergone
over these hundreds of miles of foodless and often waterless
land, to struggle over which is an achievement even for a
strong man. But for one thing, we should be too dismayed
to start--that is the hope and will strong within us to survive.
One recognizes this show has become a competition between a
man and a merciless fate. I believe I shall get through.
Major Middlemas and Lieutenant Greenwood shared my
room and we slept on our blankets on the floor.
_Later._--We have been allowed three times into the town
and wandered through a bazaar full of bootshops and cafés.
Gunner Holmes sticks faithfully to me. He is lucky to have
escaped the lot of the others. Shortly after our arrival we
saw what even the oldest soldiers amongst us regarded as the
most awful spectacle of their lives--the sight of a column of
British soldiers under Turk and Arab guards entering Baghdad
after the march from Kut. They were literally walking
corpses, some doubled with the pains of cholera, some limping
from blows received _en route_. They were pressed on by their
guards. Some had lost their boots and shoes or had parted
with them for food. Some fell, but under the coercion of
loud shouts or a Turkish heel got up and lurched forward
again.
We heard from hospital of the awful sufferings of the men
here who were quite unnecessarily confined in a bare baked-up
field near the station. Indians and British were all mixed
up, a deliberate effort of the Turk to encourage strife between
the Mussulman prisoners and the others. For some days,
mad with thirst, they struggled around a tiny foul pool into
which the sick crawled and collapsed. It became stirred up
with mud but the men, poor fellows, drank it.
They have no cover from the sun except a few wretched
sticks propped on poles.
Baghdad is a very old city. But from its grimy and ill-kept
streets and from its dust-smothered houses, the glamour
of its ancient romance seems very far off. One minaret of
Byzantine design we passed on our way to the town. There
is nothing else to tell one of its glorious past, in fact it is said
that all Baghdad was on the other bank. It is merely a drab,
dull succession of buildings formed of the sun-baked mud of the
desert. On the river, however, especially at sunset when the
dirt and dust are obscured and only the pipes of the Baghdadis
and Arabs blaze in the dusk, it is decidedly picturesque.
All the sick, even if only partly able to walk, start on the
desert trek for Mosul in a few days. We have heard so much
of waterless marches and barren lands crossed only by the
nastiest Arabs, that one has the resistless desire to try one's
chance. To move is to live; to stay here is to die.
_Later._--I have made a small tour of some antique shops in
the bazaar with a delightful youth named Lacy of the Hants.
He has just left school and is as slender and green as the young
willow, and yet he has contrived to keep his manners intact,
to await quietly his turn and to prefer dignified acquiescence
to selfishness. We found quite an amount of silver work and
even china, some of which we heard had found its way here
during the war from an old caravan route from China.
I have corrupted my first sentry by giving him a drink,
swallowed a horrible cognac, the immediate effects of which
were promising, and learned two Turkish words. One is
"yok," which means "there is not," and the other is "yesak,"
which means forbidden!
_Mosul, June 14th._--Nearly three weeks ago at Baghdad
the convalescent and sick who were able to move at all were
given several false starts, and then without notice marched in
the fierce heat to the railway station nearly two miles off. We
then lay down in the road until evening when the train was found
to be unable to start. We bought some bread and at intervals
managed leave from our guards to get water. In the early morning
we left by train for Samarra, the rail head eighty miles off, a
tiny village on the scorching plain. Dust storms enveloped
us as we marched to quarters which were on the ground inside
a serai. A few branches interwoven overhead afforded most
inadequate shelter. Here we met some other officers who had
been left behind from previous columns. Feverish preparations
filled the interval while we awaited donkeys which were
to transport us. One heard that previous columns had bought
the few available stores, and that the Arabs had learned
to put up prices. The novelty for the Turk of white prisoners
was wearing off, and altogether we seemed in for a rough time.
We were allowed to go down to the river near by to bathe under
escort. On one occasion our padre quoted "By the waters of
Babylon we sat down and wept when we thought of thee,
O Zion." We realized we were the Third Captivity. In
fact he might have selected another psalm.
About a quarter of the donkeys turned up. Our senior
officer objected; but ultimately we had to start with what we
could get, a half donkey for one's kit and one-third for oneself.
We had to walk in turns, and from the size and condition
of the donkeys a collapse was soon inevitable. Major Middlemas
and I piled our kit on a large donkey, whom we called the
Cynic, from the cut of his head and from his eye and his
perpetual sneer, no doubt brought about by a disgust of the
Turk's hopeless _bandobast_. He went at his own pace.
The sun was setting on the desert as our column of about
forty British officers, a number of native officers, and some
sick men whom we took as orderlies, wound slowly over the
scorching sand. Dust from the forward column blinded us,
and one was frequently almost ridden down by others pressing
on. A riding animal I shared with Lieutenant Lee-Bennett,
who feeling ill collapsed after doing a mile or two, and so he
rode most of the time. He had been very ill, whereas I was
recovering, and although racked with pain I managed to keep
going by holding on to a strap. At intervals in the hot night
we halted. I shall never forget the impressiveness of this
scene. Our long shadows reached far over the plain. For
the most part we were silent men, and determination to get
as far as possible was in every one's heart, but it was an absolute
gamble. Here and there friends walked beside a donkey and
held a sick man up. I felt an inner conviction I would manage
all right, and this kept me up in many a doubtful moment
later. Here and there an Indian Mussulman soldier fell out
for a few seconds, and with his forehead in the desert dust
paid his devotion to Allah. More than one of our guards did
so likewise. A glorious sky of red sailing clouds stretched
above us, and there came over me the battle picture of Détaille's
"Dream," a procession of soldier spirits marching across the
sky with banners streaming, while down on the plain below,
among stacks of piled rifles, men lay sleeping among the dead.
Some Arab set up his chant and the rhythm then fitted
in exactly with that of Beethoven's funeral march. I was
sorry for having had to start without some of my friends.
Lieutenant Lacy of the Hants was too ill. He has drawn
very much on his youth. I have been much struck with his
quiet manly self-possession.
It was a feverish night, and as it wore on we found our
strength giving out. To fall out was to be neglected and lost.
One pressed on as in a sort of nightmare. Now and then
a donkey fell or refused to budge and our orderlies had to be
carried also. This meant casting kit. At last we reached the
camping place, but there was no water. After an hour or two
of broken sleep we were aroused by shouts of "Haidee" (hurry),
"Yallah" (get on). Now our donkeys had been requisitioned
from Arabs at Samarra, and Turkish payment is generally
nothing. These Arabs followed us in the night. In the
morning most of the donkeys were missing. We had had to
sleep where we were ordered and could not guard them
ourselves. This meant a fruitless search, and after much labour
the Cynic only was recovered from another convoy. Our
riding animal was gone so I had to walk. It was an awful
march once the sun had got up. In the distance a few sandstone
hills appeared. Our tongues were swollen and our
throats on fire as we at last staggered on to the river. The
donkeys bolted into the water, and some fell in with their
packs on them. After a rest of two hours we went on again
over stony defiles. I had to fall out several times and then
had some luck in buying from an Arab a ride on his tiny donkey,
whom I called Peter Pan, a small thing not two feet high but
awfully game. We pulled each other up the hills, and hours
afterwards tumbled into Te Krit, a hostile Arab village which
treated our men abominably.
We slept in a Serai stable place and rested two days,
purchasing what food we could. On the river front was a
camp of our soldiers dying from enteritis and dysentery.
Medicine that had been left in charge of a native assistant
surgeon had been sold to the Turks and the money kept by
him. Many and loud were the complaints of our men against
him. This man I understand is to be dealt with. He was an
absolute traitor, in fact, murderer. The Turks had no
medicine, and what this man sold had been carefully preserved
and given to the camp by a previous column. The ration for
the men (who had no money) was indigestible bread, and they
were only allowed to crawl to the muddy river which made
dysentery worse. The Arabs were particularly bad, and it
wasn't safe to go outside the door without a guard. While
defending my bundle of scanty clothes on the donkey from a
big Arab, his friends made off with my spare haversack of
utensils, and I lost this haversack also with my water-bottle.
From here the trek became a daily affair. Men fell out and
died or were left in some village. Donkeys collapsed and kit
had to be abandoned. From out of the darkness one heard
moaning cries of "Marghaya, Sahib" "Marghaya" (dying)
from our Indian friends who could go no farther. One looked
into the night and saw the Arab fires, and knew the fate of
him who fell out.
Turkish troops passing our column in the night seized our
water-bottles and rugs or anything they could get without
making too much disturbance, and although I have no doubt
this was against orders, still no one seems concerned to see
Turkish orders carried out. We made bivouac tents of our
rugs by the river at which we fetched up each night. The
country became a sand-grassy waste. Here and there were
a few goats or sheep herded by the river. The rest was desert.
At Khan Khernina, a stopping place on the Tigris, we prepared
for the long waterless march of which we had heard so much.
We bought waterskins, cast spare kit, and with our dates,
chupattis, and the bones of our last meal for stew, for we could
afford meat only once a week as our small pay from Baghdad
was almost finished, we pressed on. It was a terrible march for
sick men. Hour after hour we kept going, our thirst increasing
and our water evaporating from the skins. I had no donkey
but borrowed one here and there from my brother officers.
We all tried to help our orderlies also.
Later, I coaxed on a small beast that had collapsed and had
been left to die. Gunner Holmes and I had to chastise him
along and he required pushing. After a time we got him to go
a little better and tried making him walk behind our water-bottles
strung on the donkey ahead that carried now three
officers' kits. Every one asked why we bothered. That night,
however, when other donkeys were giving out and the halting
place drew near, our donkey revived and made off at a great
rate expecting to end up with his usual draught of water. It
was this beast that helped us to negotiate the worst patch.
The night of the first great waterless march we rested on
the _maidan_, a hilly bare spot near some salt springs, and had
a most entertaining time of it. Dust storms revolved around
us and donkeys stamped over our heads as they stampeded.
Kit, men, and beasts became indistinguishable. Nightmare
followed nightmare in quick succession, and shortly after, while
it was still dark, we were hurried on. The thing was to get in
the lead of the column and, having the use of a donkey for the
first hour, I left with the leading file alongside Fauad Bey,
our half-Turk, half-Arab Commander. This meant getting
ready early. He was a rough sort but his chief sins were
ignorance and faulty judgment and inability to make any sort
of _bandobast_. With proper orders much of our sorrows could
have been obviated. The waterless march continued through
dust and heat. Donkey after donkey collapsed. Our last
drop of water was evaporating, so we drank it. At last,
after some hours, we looked down over a depression and the
cry "mai," "mai" (water), came from our guards ahead--they,
too, wanted water.
The Tigris lay far below. The cry was taken up in Hindustani
"pani," "pani." It travelled down the column giving
hope to the faltering. The village was still three miles off.
Then a thunderstorm with heavy rain broke over us. The
beautiful water soaked on to our skin. We loved it.
An hour or so afterwards we reached Shergat, that in old
times was Asshur--the Assyrian capital of the 13th century,
B.C. The excavations enabled us to see something of the
life of that ancient town. There seemed much Roman work
there, too. In the first hour we drank and drank and drank
again, and then got into the river, sick men and all, to let
the glorious element caress us once again. Then we settled
down for sleep among donkeys, drivers, and Turks, the bearers
flourishing pots all round us. The better rooms on the balcony
and first floor were for senior officers. I was feeling very
weakened and could not sleep for pain in my spine, but hoped
to get through as the waterless march was over.
Malaria returned the second night, and with a temperature
of 105° I heard we were off. I felt appallingly unsteady and my
head throbbed to every movement of the donkey, as it does
in such cases. I was lucky to have any donkey at all, because
some of the native orderlies having lost their own donkeys clean
shaved most of the others, thus erasing the letters that had
been cut out of the hair of the animal. Wild and high raged
many a conflict over donkeys. I found mine had been re-branded
and was claimed by another. At the last moment I
managed to get a tiny animal from an Arab water-carrier
for my last money.
Once again we filed out to the setting sun past Bedouin
camps. We crossed some heavy water-courses, and more than
one humorous event occurred thereat. To see a colonel
seated on a diminutive donkey that stuck midstream, refusing
to budge either forward or backward while the water gradually
climbed up the angry colonel's breeches, was quite entertaining.
In such cases a fat Turk or Arab would seize the
animal's nose while the others pushed the beast or the colonel
from behind. I remember that on one such occasion a very
"bobbery" major rode a donkey that had conceived an
affection for mine, and always followed my little beast. So when
we stuck midstream the major's beast stopped also, and, less
lucky than I, his animal happened to have stopped on some
quicksand so that when finally my beast was got to move
the major's could not. The whole four of us were equally
put out. I suggested later that we should exchange donkeys,
but as I had only a slight lien on my animal the major disagreed.
A detailed account of our many wanderings would spoil
the perspective of this diary. We went on through the nights
and through the days; through dust-storms and heat, by
night passing the fires of Arabs who awaited the stragglers,
sometimes camping by Bedouin tents or pebbly water-courses,
always following the trail of dead, for every mile or
so one saw mounds of our dead soldiers by the wayside. We
left Hammamali, a village of sulphur-baths, on the 14th June,
and stumbling over rocky ground for some hours we reached
far-famed Mosul, and with great delight saw again a few trees.
Then appeared the mounds of Nineveh and the mounds of
the palace of the great King Sardanapalus. But even the
shades of Sargon, Shalmaneser and Sennacherib scarcely
interested us. In the foreground we saw a great tomb which
we were told was John the Baptist's! And Alexander's great
battlefield of Arbela lay on the eastern plain.
The impression of life in Mosul is bad. We have some
rooms in an appalling dirty barracks among gangs of Kurds
in chains. Every day or so one of these is hung. Down
below in the basement our men are dying wholesale. They
are the survivors of previous columns. We have been compulsory
guests of a Turkish officers' club. They charged us
three times as much as the town did, and generally neglected
us. General Melliss, however, told us to-day to go to the town.
We quoted his high authority freely and went to a most
excellent little Italian restaurant. The proprietor was from
Naples, and we had some conversation of his old haunts. He
did us very well and quite reasonably, actually cashing a
cheque or two for us.
_Nisibin, June 26th._--After many false rumours of wagons
and carts for transport and the usual half-dozen false starts
we left Mosul on June 20th. Early in the morning before
starting I slipped out in the confusion of preparing the columns
and did the round of Mosul absolutely unattended. With the
little Turkish I had picked up and French here and there, I
visited the bank quarter to try to raise some money by cheque.
There was no chance of this, but I succeeded in changing the
notes I had for smaller. The notes were not accepted in the
bazaar, and one was charged for paper change. I had not
the fortune of meeting one likely person or I should not have
returned, but to attempt to escape without help in such a
place with the desert all around was too hopeless. I saw
merely bazaar and squabbling Arabs.
On the 20th a few tiny donkeys were given us for riding
animals, about enough to allow one officer out of six a ride
one hour in three. Some donkeys were on three legs, some so
poor and sick they could scarcely move. For transport we
were shown a set of a dozen untrained, wild and unharnessed
camels, altogether the most savage and nasty brutes I have
ever seen. They were unapproachable and snapped and
gyrated and then trotted away. If a kit were fixed on they
proceeded to brush it off. One or two had a rotten saddletree
without any girths, bridles or head-straps there were none,
only a piece of rotten rag or rope being around the animals'
heads. We had, however, already laid in a stock of the best
rope we could get, and having first fitted this into the jaws of
the brutes, proceeded to fix on our kit. I was very amused
at the efforts of the Turks to help us. They tied the kit
actually on one camel's neck, and our Indian bearers went one
better by tying it on to his legs. However, finally we got
most of our kit on board, and then the fun started. First
one and then another got loose, as the servants were too
weak to hold them. Soon the road was a procession of fleeing
camels dropping bundle after bundle in their headlong flight.
This pantomime went on for hours. It was awfully hot.
We took a long time to get them refitted. An hour later,
blinded with perspiration and dust and in the last stage of
exhaustion, we set out again, having done only about four
miles of this terrible trek of which we had heard so much and
which was now said to be worse than the other we had just
finished. We plodded on. Presently loud shouts of consternation
broke from the rear, and we saw a gigantic camel laden
up with well-roped valises, firewood, and stores topped with
rugs, and a fowl or two. He simply charged through the
procession, brushing every bit of kit off the other camels as
he passed and setting off two or three along with him. One
camel followed him with a helpless bearer seated on the top
of the stores, the head-rope gone. His shouts as he was borne
toward the wrong part of the horizon would have been funny
if it had not meant disaster for his sahib. We rested an hour
or two and then went on in two columns, one of which got lost
and did several miles too much, joining us before the dawn in
time to start again. The camel pantomime continued. I
walked or borrowed a ride from an Arab. My endurance was
to me the marvellous thing.
I was almost two stone underweight, and very unwell
from the long bout of colitis, my digestion quite out of gear,
weak from want of nourishment and my shell-bruise, not to
mention continual pain from my eyes. Yet with all the
exertion and sleepless nights, so fascinating was movement
after long inaction that I managed to go along quite well, and
at times felt my legs swinging rhythmically along in the night
and believed it possible to be well one day again. One donkey
I managed to get for my baggage and that of my fellow
voyager, Lieutenant Stapleton, I.A.R., who was an official "of
important dimensions" in the I.C.S., and although not much _au
fait_ with knots and donkeys, made a most excellent purchasing
officer, as his Arabic was so doubtful that the Arabs, being at a
loss to know his wants, had to produce all their possessions,
and in this way we ended up more than once in having a
goat's head when he had set out to describe the more expensive
chicken. He was keen on ologies, and we called him the
Ologist. One tried to extract humour out of our incongruous
situations, but getting tired of being humorous we ended by
examining things from the resigned angle of the fatalist.
Each day before the dawn broke we were up, and after a
breakfast of tea, black bread, a small piece of cheese and two
figs, or generally only raisins, we prepared to leave. Then the
camel pantomime started afresh, and it was no uncommon
sight to see half our convoy of camels bolting headlong in
the wrong direction before a crowd of galloping gendarmes and
Turks, their uplifted tails disappearing over a sand-ridge
against the rising sun and their kit distributed at intervals on
the plain.
On this trek we lost the sense of time. Sometimes we
marched by day, but generally in the evening and well on into
the night. But for us time was not. I knew two seasons
only: when we walked and when we did not. I did not always
sleep. We have had to rely on provisions we brought with us
and live chiefly on raisins. Sometimes one was on foot,
sometimes one rode, and a broken-down wagon or two offered
a fraction of a seat to any one that collapsed up to the number
of six. But so many from one cause or another got sick
or footsore that the extra had to hang on to the wagon.
Our Commandant, Fauad Bey, has been in a most obstreperous
and belligerent mood for days. He allowed our senior
officer, Colonel Cummings, to remain and fish at the latter's
request at the first camp out of Mosul on the understanding
that he would follow with his escort the same night. The
colonel turned up some days later, and whatever misunderstanding
there was, Fauad considered his kindness abused, and
made the whole column suffer with regulations and restrictions.
At Demir Kapu we finished the most strenuous march I have
ever done. It was a dry, waterless stretch of forty kilometres
over parched ground with not even salt springs _en route_.
Again and again we had nothing left but the will to go on.
My donkey collapsed, and with difficulty I got him to a swamp
of foul slime in which, besides many bones, were the half-picked
skeletons of two donkeys that had apparently been
drowned in their attempt to get water.
So dry and thirsty were the animals that most of them
rushed into the slimy pool up to their backs and then subsided,
kit and all, into the mud. We extricated them, and having
drunk our fill also of slime, we set out for the last few miles.
This water was green and filled with germs, but one's experience
had pretty well inoculated one by this time. Our thirst
was not to be denied. One's soul was hot within one and one's
tongue dry and hard. With our limit of transport there was
no alternative, and most of us had had no money wherewith
to buy "mussocks" (waterskins). The column reached out
for miles. Even our guard were quite done.
At length we reached Demir Kapu (iron gates), where a cool
translucent stream runs through some rocks, and we drank and
bathed, and some having slept began to fish. At our next
halting-place a dust-storm descended on our camp in the night.
I have been in dust-storms in various places, but this was of a
new order. With a roar like thunder a deluge of sand fell
upon us, travelling terrifically fast. It tore down bivouacs,
carried off tents and valises, pulled up picketing pegs, and rolled
even heavy pots hundreds of yards off, where they were buried
in the sand and many lost. We could not stand against it
any more than against an incoming tide. It lasted for some
minutes. One buried one's head and lay with all one's weight
on one's kit. I understand how people are often suffocated
in these storms, as even this was quite long enough. My
chief loss was my topee, for which I looked long in the dark
and even walked along the river to within a few yards of an
Arab village to see if it had been carried down. The next
day my improvised headgear of a towel proved inadequate,
and I went down with an awful attack of sunstroke. Our
medical officer allowed me to ride some of the way in the ambulance
cart, as my temperature, he said, was quite high. Thanks
to his kindness and attention and wet cloths I picked up enough
to walk a little. I arrived at Nisibin feeling very ill and
feverish.
I am writing under an old Roman stone bridge. Nisibin was
once the outpost of the Roman Empire, and ruins of an
ancient university life are found on the plain and along the
wall. It is frightfully hot. There is little food in the bazaar
and prices are the highest yet met, a handful of raisins being
about half a crown.
I set out yesterday for the hospital to recover a topee, as
I heard a British officer had died there. After many wanderings
through tiny streets and dark quarters and backyards
and many redirections, I was led through a doorway of
matting hanging from the mud-brick wall into a courtyard,
where through an opening in the wall I saw a sight that
staggered the imagination.
A bare strip of filthy ground ran down to the river some two
hundred yards off. Along the wall, protected by only a few
scanty leaves and loose grass flung over some tatti work of
branches through which the fierce sun streamed with unabated
violence, I saw some human forms which no eye but one
acquainted with the phenomenon of the trek could possibly
recognize as British soldiery. They were wasted to wreathes
of skin hanging upon a bone frame. For the most part they
were stark naked except for a rag around their loins, their
garments having been sold to buy food, bread, milk, and
medicine. Their eyes were white with the death hue. Their
sunken cheeks were covered with the unshaven growth of
weeks. One had just died and two or three corpses just been
removed, the Turkish attendant no doubt having heard of
the approach of an officers' column. But the corpses had
lain there for days. Some of the men were too weak to move.
The result of the collection of filth and the unsanitary state in
the centre of which these men lay in a climate like this can be
imagined. Water was not regularly supplied to them, and
those unable to walk had to crawl to the river for water.
One could see their tracks through the dirt and grime. Three
or four hard black biscuits lay near the dead man. Other
forms near by I thought dead, but they moved unconsciously
again. One saw the bee-hive phenomenon of flies which
swarmed by the million going in and out of living men's open
mouths. I was discovered talking to the men by a Turk and
"haideed" off to the Turkish officer. Having assured them of
doing all in my power, and having given them the two or three
poor useless little coins I could spare, I went to the Turk, having
got the topee of Lieutenant O'Donoghoe, who had died under
conditions little better, with no doctor, no medicine, and no
food but "chorba" (vegetable soup, practically water). He
had lingered in this awfully lonely place for weeks and no
transport had been offered him.
I talked long to the Turk, who understood some French,
and told him how this sort of thing was destroying the name
of Turkey and how for these things the day of reckoning must
come. He was more moved by the latter than the former,
knowing that in Turkey officials may be sacrificed for any
caprice of another person. An Armenian was there also, and
I much despised him for expressing horror to me of _les barbares_
when the Turk was outside, but obviously siding with him
when together. He then showed me the place of the men
in order to point out that I was wrong in not understanding
that Turkish kindness was proportionate to their mercy. He
was angry, however, when I tried to take him towards "the"
place, and more so when he heard that I had actually been
allowed to go. The case was taken up by our padre, Rev.
H. Spooner, and Father Mullan. What men could move,
came along with us. We have raised a subscription of some
£60 for the men. Then we heaped large curses on the Commandant
and vowed vengeance. The men's lot altered for
the better, and we promised to press Turkish authority to send
transport. The great pity is that General Melliss, who had
achieved miracles _en route_ in alleviating the sufferings of our
men, did not stop at Nisibin, the real state of the worst quarters
having been withheld from him.
Nisibin is halfway on the second trek, and the column is
getting decidedly weaker. At night, when the remorseless
sun is gone, we wander up and down our tiny front between
the sentries smoking what Arab tobacco we can get and
casting many an anxious glance towards the western horizon
over which far, far away lies Ras-el-Ain, the railway terminus.
Between this and that there are many marches throughout
long nights and days. Shall we reach it?
* * * * *
_Ras-el-Ain, July 4th._--I am thankful to Providence that
I am lucky enough to write this heading. At last we are
arrived in the wretched village, but as I write I hear a locomotive
puffing and puffing. We are on the railhead. No
sailor after being tossed amid shipwreck in a frantic ocean
ever felt happier to be in port than do we, to realize the long
march is done. There are other marches ahead over mountains,
but they are short, we hear. The desert is crossed.
We left Nisibin on June 29th at 6.30 p.m. with some very
unsatisfactory donkeys, taking with us all the sick we could.
One or two of these had slipped out from hospital unawares,
and joined us as we passed on. They begged to be allowed to
come, saying they preferred dying on the desert to going back
to the terrors of Nisibin. We put them up on every available
donkey, and some in our hospital cart, and our orderlies helped
the rest along. For the most part they did well, although,
as the trek wore on, one after another collapsed, and those
that did not die at once we left in the most congenial camp
we could. The first two nights were bad. The donkeys went
stubbornly, as they invariably did, before getting into the
swing of the trek.
The pace of the column was coming down to about two
miles and often less an hour. The local Arabs seemed wilder,
and we had to keep together, as one party of Turks had been
recently massacred outright.
We were reinforced with vigilant gendarmes. For the
stragglers it was certain death at the Arabs' hands. The tail
of the column was an awful place. Sometimes one got here
when one's donkey collapsed or kit fell off, or when one felt
too seedy to sit on one's donkey, or too tired to walk fast
when it was one's relay to walk. Four of us shared one
donkey, Stapleton and I and our orderlies. At the rear of
the column the mounted gendarmes, Turk and Arab, galloped
about, exhorting the sick and dying to hurry, almost riding
them down and driving them on with blows of sticks and their
rifle butts. We, of course, stopped this when we could. One
night I got badly left, and the column was miles off. My
donkey and orderly had collapsed at the same time, and
Stapleton was not available on this occasion, in fact he was
probably ill himself. A small band of us we were, and more
than once I was practically knocked over by the impetuous
horsemen.
The padre was awfully good and diligent in assisting men,
but, nevertheless, from out the night one heard the high Indian
wail, "murghaya, sahib," "dying, sahib, dying." For the most
part British soldiers stayed with their friends until they were
dead. I saw some of the finest examples history could produce
of the British soldier's self-sacrifice for and fidelity to his
friend. It was a grim reality for the sick of the column.
For those well, and many were comparatively so, it was
quite a different thing. I shall never forget one soldier who
could go no farther. He fell resignedly on to the ground, the
stump of a cigarette in his mouth, and with a tiredness born
of long suffering, buried his head in his arms to shut out the
disappearing column and smoked on. Night was around us
and Arab fires near. We were a half-mile behind the column.
I was quite exhausted. One sick soldier was hanging on to a
strap of my donkey. My orderly on another. His feet were
all blood, as his boots had been taken from him. A soldier
went to the sick man behind, but I did not see him again.
Shortly after, on the same awful night, I saw another man
crawling on all fours over the desert in the dark quite alone.
He said he hoped to reach the next halt, and get his promised
ride for half an hour, and by that time he might go on again
to the next place. We picked him up, and I gave him my
strap. Another sick orderly held him up. He was all bone,
and could scarcely lurch along. We eventually got him to the
halt, and gave him a place in a cart.
At another place we came across a British soldier whose
suffering had been so acute that he had gone out of his mind
and lost his memory. He had been left in a cave, and had
evidently eaten nothing for days, but had crawled down to
the water. He was delirious and jabbering, and thought he
was a dog. We carried him along in the cart to the next camp.
On another occasion our donkey bolted, and we were left
with no transport whatever, even for our blankets or water.
By the greatest good luck I hired a donkey for some of my kit
from a passing convoy, and the Arab followed me up for days,
getting all he could out of me. Our Commandant finally
thrashed him for charging too much, and gave us the donkey
henceforth for nothing. But it disappeared the same night,
and was probably stolen. I thought hard things of the
Commandant.
The column grew weak and slower, and at the end we had
to use three carts to move the sick on in relays.
The march to Tel Ermen was the worst. We were raided
by Turkish troops on the march, and lost our boots and lots
more. Above us the famous old town of Mardin lay perched
up on its altitude, a high-walled and ramparted city of the
Ancients looking over a waste of desert and enjoying a secluded
life. We wondered how many treks like ours it had seen.
We left more and more of the men and orderlies behind.
The last stage was terribly trying, and we were doing forced
marches by night and day. We were done to a turn. Only
the driving power of one's will made one press on to the magic
word "Ras-el-Ain." The future is doubtful enough. But we
are at least here. To-morrow we may leave for Aleppo or
Konia, no one knows which, least of all the Turk.
We found here most of the doctors, including Fritz and
Murphy, living in a wretched little mud-building on rotten
and stale eggs brought from Aleppo.
The Hindoos, less favoured than the Mohammedan
prisoners, are to remain here. We saw their gaunt skeletons
at work carrying baskets of gravel in constructing the railway
for the Turks back over the desert they had crossed. This
outlook seemed to me sufficiently appalling. They had very
little food. The British soldier was to move on. We were
glad he was spared this.
I have just visited secretly a German N.C.O. camp of
mechanical transport close by. They gave me coffee and
biscuits, and, in exchange for a khaki jacket and jodpurs, some
tins of bully, a bag of coffee, and some cheese. They were on
the point of giving me some more, but I had to go. They
told me a lot about Germany, and of the German victory at
Kattegat, of which I saw a description in a cutting just received
by one of them. We believed, nevertheless, the German had
in reality been well hammered on the sea. The Germans
couldn't understand my incredulity, and said they didn't see
why they shouldn't do on the sea what they had done on the
land. Verdun, they said, would be taken in two weeks.
They admitted the French defence was a surprise.
Lord Kitchener's death at sea I didn't believe.
Nevertheless, one feels one has reached partial civilization
to be able to speak of France and the fleet, even to a German.
We were huddled together near some stagnant water in
the village for some hours without cover in the heat of the
day. Then the sun went down behind the tiny collection of
mud huts. Our future was in doubt. We smoked for the
most part in silence, and watched the shadows lengthening
towards the Eastern desert over which we had managed to
survive. I can only record the dreadful aspect of the lot of
those unfortunate prisoners destined to remain here until the
end of the war.
* * * * *
I feel dreadfully ill and weak. The last spurt has drained
our remaining vitality.
CHAPTER VIII
BY RAIL AND TREK OVER THE TAURUS TO ANGORA--THE LAST
TREK TO KASTAMUNI
_En Route._
Suddenly, some time after sunset, we were just preparing
to settle down by the station for the night
when a train drew up. With some other subalterns
I found a small place for a bed in a truck. There was a space
of four feet by two for each of us. We stuffed our legs
anywhere and slept. The train started and we awoke. The
doors of the truck were open. We watched the desert go by,
thankful beyond expression, mystified at this extraordinary
change, the conveyance of dying men without their own effort.
The terrible bumps and the state of the trucks were nothing.
It was a train.
Some time in the early morning we crossed the Euphrates,
near where stood the site of ancient Jarabolis. The archæologist
of the party told of the excavations here, and, somewhere
to the north, of Karkemish the Hittite capital in the twilight
of history.
About 10 a.m. we arrived at Mouslemie, the junction of
Aleppo, some half-hour off by train from that city, whither
were sent most of the sick rank and file that had accompanied
us, including all our servants. Only one batman for four
officers was allowed us. To my dismay I had to part with
poor Graoul, otherwise Holmes, to whom I gave half my
rations the Germans had given me and my last kron. I found
afterwards more than one had "wangled" an extra servant.
Padre Spooner asked me to share with him and a subaltern
nicknamed Hummerbug, in order to keep a sick servant he
had with him. This meant we had to move our own luggage.
The prospect was appalling, as I was too sick and weak to
walk far without sitting down.
We had no food and no money, not having been paid since
Mosul. Father Mullan, our kind Catholic padre, gave me a
piastre. With it I bought a piece of bread, and shared it with
another subaltern. Other officers were too poor to pay the
small debts they owed.
At five we stopped near a German train bound for Ras-el-Ain.
A trooper aboard it was trying to buy gold signet rings
at a tenth of their value. He showed us several he had got
from other unfortunates. He advised our getting supplies at
once, as at the mountain stop there was nothing to be had.
An hour later we proved it true enough. The place was
called Islahie--merely a station with two or three new houses
where a German Staff dwelt, and some skin and brushwood
shelters where sick British soldiers lay--all under the shadow
of wooded heights. An awful Turkish brute followed me as I
tried to drag our kits over the country to the camping place.
Cholera was supposed to be raging here, and we were kept
apart from the others. Excellent water was brought us in a
water-cart. I missed my orderly Graoul. The padre and a
subaltern nicknamed Hummerbug and I now messed together.
His servant I afterwards found was too sick to do much.
We boiled the German ration, and I had some soup--besides
which we had the coffee. Some real tobacco had turned up,
and I remember sitting beside the fire smoking disconsolately
and missing Graoul. Graoul, too, would be lost without me.
Why, he had no sense of humour whatever!
I sat smoking, I say, disconsolately until the long shadows
lengthened along the hills of the Taurus and climbed higher
and higher upon the mountain sides. The last twilight left
little coppery patterns on the crest of the dark glens. The
white-washed houses on the lower slope reminded me forcibly
of Scotland. I felt I might hear the tinkle of a bell and expect
at any moment to see a brawny Scotch shepherd with his
shaggy dogs at his heels take the cottage path from the height
above. We made a jugga and slept. The next morning
early we came across a German Flying Corps officer, who
informed us he was engaged to some one in England, and proceeded
to help us. We raked up sardines, a little milk, and
small change. Also he promised to speak to a German
colonel arriving that day, about the way we were being
hustled.
We had a better breakfast, and being allowed to see the
now isolated patients, I went among the men's quarters and
found them in a shocking state. About thirty had died there.
They had money which had been given them by the Red Cross
people at Aleppo. In the course of the day the German
colonel turned up and walked into Fauad in true Prussian
style, the result being that carts were provided for us--four
to a cart, with kit, and, happy to the point of shouting, we
clambered into them. Two officers having to walk an inquiry
was made as to who had taken a cart for two only instead of
for four. Although they were asked they admitted nothing
until a tally of each cart being taken it was found that two
officers had bagged one cart to themselves so that they could
lie stretched out. This meant others walking. Without carts
we must have left half our number behind.
The Turkish method of driving a cart is to gallop 200
yards and then crawl. At 2 a.m. we stopped three-quarters
of the way up and, without unpacking our valises, slept on
the ground. Before dawn we were away again, and every one
had to walk except those crippled with sprained ankles and
so on. I found it a most dreadful climb in my condition. I
was trembling through weakness, and the well-belaboured
mules went at a very fast walk up the steep gradient, so that
I had to hustle to keep up. Deep ravines fell away from the
road, but the hills were not high enough to grow the mountain
fir. Other scrub and dwarf pines grew thickly. We walked
for two and a half hours, the perspiration dripping from our
clothes. I was in acute pain for some of the time with
ravages of old complaints. There were plenty of clear, running
streams from springs, and at each of these we soused our
hands and heads in the cool water. We walked up the steep
inclines. Near the top the wretched drivers galloped away to
prevent our getting in, but I caught a belated one after going
a mile farther, while some still toddled away astern. The
driver tried to turn me out, but his mules required most of his
attention, so I stayed up.
The whole trip was to be about twenty-four miles. These
mountains were being pierced by tunnels, as yet only recently
begun from the western slope, a switchback ride being nothing
to it. Without brakes of any kind, but only trusting to the
collars and pole chain of the mules, the drivers, with loud
shouts, galloped their animals down; now and again a wheel
going over the edge of the ravine or the pole fetching up in
the cutting, or in the back of some fellow sitting in the rear
of the cart ahead. The carts were the usual four-wheeled,
groggy thing we had got used to. Several times our cart got
away, we tipping another cart over into a hole, and on another
occasion we raced to pass another at awful speed before
reaching a narrow corner. We did it by inches, but hit the
corner, the second cart getting its pole into the kit I sat on,
and hoisting me feet uppermost into the air. One collision
happened, injuring a mule, smashing a cart, and just missing
Colonel Cummings, who said things in English to all whom it
might concern. As it was, his servant was sent flying over
the _khud_.
We arrived at the village of Hassan Beyli at 8.30 a.m. It
nestled in a pretty little wooded valley among orchards
clustering on the adjoining slopes. As we passed through the
main street I noticed that all the houses were closed with
shutters. We learned that their Armenian tenants had been
butchered _à la Turque_. We waited in the sun, and were moved
here and there, each time dragging our kits with us. I was
waiting beside mine in a stony field when suddenly I felt
extremely dizzy and faint with a feeling of nausea. I had to
abandon my kit, and I plodded over to some shelter, where I
lay down, and a cold perspiration broke out all over my body,
and I experienced the pains and vomitings of the enteritis
attack in Kut. At this moment the English padre appeared,
and suggested that to think one's self well is to be well. Here
I said something distressing, so he said. I am sure he meant
well. I had not felt so wretchedly sick since Kut fell, and
the doctor told me that evening that the chlorodyne I had
taken possibly prevented a collapse. We were on the verge of
cholera. In the evening after a sleep I gathered some sticks
and carried a little water, while the padre was meditating.
Then while our orderly made the stew and coffee I strolled away
to the stream and bathed. I dallied there quite a long time.
In the half light we had "dinner." The padre returned
from his soliloquy in a most obviously exemplary and virtuous
mood. Oh, to be able to accumulate virtue on such an occasion
like a shilling gas meter, and without warning, turn it on, even
if an hour after it has all gone. I suggest taps affixed to the
person with little black letters on ivory thereon to the effect:
"HUMILITY," "BALM," "PRECEPT," "PATIENCE,"
"MARTYRDOM," "ADVICE--On--Off." Hummerbug
annotated him. I encouraged both. I liked it.
We slept that night until about 1 a.m., and in the darkness
loaded up the carts and pushed off. All had to walk in turn
to give the orderly a lift also. We drove through a pleasing
country of green foothills covered by wandering pine and
beech. In taking short cuts from road to road to catch up
to the carts as we walked, we came across many Armenian
homes smashed in and corpses half-covered with soil or flung
down a hollow, where the Turk had passed. About six o'clock
we met a great crowd of Armenian and Greek peasants, with
old men and old grey-haired women and children carrying
small bundles or articles of cooking, all herded together _en
route_ for somewhere. They were guarded by askars (soldiers).
In this way they are moved from place to place, their number
dwindling until all have gone. At a tiny coffee-place here we
had coffee and lebon and then walked the remaining miles
into Marmourie as the carts had been ordered not to wait for
us. It was a long and hurried walk.
The country here looked quite pleasing to the eye. Fine
terraces, fringing woods that lined the slopes of moderate hills
and overlooking green valleys and splashing water-falls,
seemed to ask for a hydro and golf links. We reached
Marmourie about 8 o'clock, passing some Turkish soldiers
_en route_ over the Taurus, as also small ammunition transport.
Every bit of their ammunition for Mesopotamia has, it seems,
to go over these hills, as the other road, via Diabecca, is crossed
and occupied by the Russian troops. Near the top of the
Taurus we passed fittings for an aeroplane in huge cases that
had come all the way from Germany. These were for service
in Palestine obviously. Through some difference among the
Turkish officers we were not allowed to sit in the shade at
Marmourie while we awaited our train, but were made to sit
along a dirty wall in the fierce sun for hours like so many
convicts. We waited there in the sweltering heat, date the
8th July, from 8 a.m. until 1 p.m., drinking lebon every half-hour,
which we got from a shop near by.
The train accommodation was small carriages, and the
trucks were reserved for luggage. Only the orderlies were
allowed in them, so we sat packed upright, and couldn't sleep
a wink. The stations along this line were larger and busier
than those east of the Taurus. Only once since getting into
the train at Ras-el-Ain had Fauad Bey, our Turkish Commandant,
helped us in the way of food. On that occasion he
issued a ration of bread to every one. Here we persuaded
him to send a wire to Adana to have lunch ready for us, Adana
being a large town near Taurus. When we arrived at Adana
at 4.30 there was great excitement on the thronged platform.
Gorgeously-attired police and other petty officials buzzed
about. It appeared that some Turkish officer was passing
through. We jumped off and ran along on the edge of the
platform, when we were told we were too wild and unkempt-looking
to be seen by the high Turkish official. "Damn the
high Turkish official," said we, "we want yesterday's lunch."
Yes! the lunch was there all ready, but they couldn't allow
us in! Moreover, we were not allowed to fill our bottles. If
we had been fit I verily believe we would have taken our
lunch. I was hauled back. But, getting through my train
on the other side and the cordon of Turks, I got inside the
enclosure unperceived, filled the bottles, brought a loaf of
bread, and caught our train as it left. No! escape was useless
that way. Soldiers thronged around every station. We went
on our doleful way until 9 p.m., when we were pulled up short
by a German coffee-shop, to which we were not permitted to
go. This was Gulek bei Tarsus of St. Paul's memory.
After hauling our kits some distance we were pushed into
a square tent. We fell down and slept at once. It was an
awful jamb. My head was half outside the tent, and people
kept walking over it as if it were a cushion. Now I don't
mind sleeping in the horse lines a bit. But then horses are
so sensible. They know a head when they see it. People
were going in and out of the tent all night long, but I'm
glad to say I got a fair amount of sleep. One or two unfortunate
fellows had fever. Before the dawn I was up,
and went among the thick settlement of huts to the stream,
which I was threatened by the Turk sentry not to cross,
but I walked over before the Turk could say anything,
and started talking to some Germans there. Even to talk
to a German is a passport in this benighted land, so
thoroughly do they override their allies. I had a splendid
dip, while others looked enviously at me from the other
side. Recrossing I made the acquaintance of a spectacled
German doing Y.M.C.A. work among his own troops here.
He was a Biblical research student, and journeyed frequently
to Tarsus, some twelve miles off. This was called Gulek bei
Tarsus. Tarsus one could see in the distance. I thought of
St. Paul and Cleopatra, and hoped Tarsus had more trees
about it than this sandy plain, for their sakes. The German
seemed a very decent sort. We discussed Berlin. He had
been a visitor there once from Southern Germany. He asked
if we were short of money. When we started in motor-lorries
some hours later at 10 a.m. he came to my lorry and flung in
a bag of several liras from Red Cross Funds. This came to
about half a lira a piece. We thanked him sincerely, and he
wished us good luck.
He had told me in the morning to come to his quarters,
but I had no opportunity. Cholera was raging there, and the
Germans had a pumping water-distillery, from which I got
some extra water. I learned later that many of our troops
were working at a tunnel on the slope of the Anti-Taurus
mountain here, and were dying like sheep. We saw nothing
of them, nor were we allowed to inquire.
The _bandobast_ for this mountain was German, and we
were hustled off with commendable dispatch. At 9.45 a
dozen motor lorries drew up. At 10 we were off. They were
absolutely run by German officers and men. We swayed and
bounced about, quite reconciled to that, and thanking God it
wasn't a case of "leg it" again. These mountains are much
more barren than the others, being largely, on their eastern
slopes, white clay or lime-stone ravines and crags, with a few
shrubs here and there growing out of the stony ground. They
are also much wider. We passed some desolate Armenian
villages and tore along to the upper heights. At 11.30 we
stopped at a ruined mill by a fall to cool the hot engines, and
there had a drink and a piece of bread, also a slab of baked
meat, chiefly fat. It was a wild spot, great rocky crags falling
across the road. Another hour and we arrived at Park Taurus,
a German military halfway house, forty kilos from Gulek,
and thirty-two from Bozanti, whither we were going.
Park Taurus is situated on a small plateau leading down
into three or four valleys surrounded by hills of crumpled
granite dotted with pines. The valleys are now dry, but in
winter must be filled with racing torrents. It is absolutely
German, and evidently erected during the last eighteen months.
The enclosures easily accommodate over a hundred motor
lorries, besides which they have huge electrically-lighted
store sheds and depôt, where they accumulate stores _en
route_.
We were turned loose at 1.30 p.m. in a field where stood
a huge, empty tent. The Germans here were not so well
disposed towards us, and would not help us at all. Some
N.C.Os. who wanted to do a deal were hustled away. The
first arrivals bought out an Arab's tiny shop of honey and
raisins and potatoes, and there was little else to go round.
After a solid sleep, for our rest the previous night had been
very broken, we made a very bad meal. Our application
to bathe in an adjoining pool was not allowed. Then we all
sat around the side of the hill and smoked while once more
night floated down upon the world. The motors that had
been passing all day were now housed, and there was an
appreciable calm broken by falling streams and tumbling
brooks. Pale yellow stars burned passionately over the pine
tops; and once again here there was something in the far-away
spot that recalled the mountain forests of Thüringen.
There was less forest and more rock, but it served as another
span in that bridge we are all constructing back to old times--the
bridge that must span Kut and the trek....
At 4.15 the next morning, before it was light, we were
in the motors and away again. There followed, as usual, a
wild scramble and fearful scrumming around the lines, as we
were not awakened until five minutes before leaving. This
journey was decidedly bumpy, and we had to grip hard to
stick inside the four walls of the thing at times. The country
became wilder and rockier with only a few boulder pines
climbing up the heights. Along the face of these limestone
bluffs one observed a queer phenomenon of splashed yellow
rocks, seemingly spilled from some gigantic cauldron, dried
and hung out like blanketings in the morning sun. Then
there were caves and water-worn caverns, said to have been
once the homes of the Hittites. Many Turkish and others
worked on the road, and dishevelled troops passed us _en route_
for the Mosul or Palestine front, via Aleppo.
At last, two great tall upstretching tongues of rock, almost
meeting, filled the mouth of the converging valley, and rendered
any attempt to cross into that valley by any other way than
between them almost impossible, except for an Alpiner. These
were the famous Cilician Gates through which passed Alexander
in the fourth century, B.C., on his way to Syria. Darius
had lain in waiting somewhere near Islahie on the other side
of the Anti-Taurus mountains, and when Alexander had got
safely down between the seacoast and the Anti-Taurus,
Darius and his army scampered over the mountains, probably,
the very way we had come, and cut Alexander off from his
communications. But Alexander turned on the Persian
king and smashed him at Tarsus. Five hundred years before
that, Shalmanaser II., the great Assyrian king, had crossed
and recrossed this very pass on his way to and from his
victories. After Alexander, the hordes of Barbarossa, and
in fact, every ancient army on its way east had had to pass
through them.
Some old Hittite inscription was on the outer face of the
rock, and on either side of the road a Roman altar cut out
of the flat rock by the roadside testified to the military importance
conceded to this Gate by Roman Generals, locking
the way to the Orient. In those days the pathway was a
few feet wide only, and now cannot be more than five yards.
Heavy blasting, however, widened the way along which we
came.
A few miles further on we reached the rail-head again
at Bozanti from where they were tunnelling the Taurus.
Here we saw many British soldiers at work. They were
mostly from the Dardanelles and some of them seemed quite
fit, but the tunnelling was heavy work, and they said that the
men from Kut there could not stand it--and had died.
For some hours we were shoved in a stable with billions
of flies. Many officers were very indignant at being put
alongside horses. Being a field artilleryman it didn't worry
me in the least after what we had gone through. We bought
a few stores and a German presented me with a bottle of beer,
as he found I spoke German!
At 8 p.m. that night we left, packed in a train, all very
tired and weak. There were in the train some German
N.C.Os. and men all on their way back to Berlin, and in a
highly hilarious state at the prospect. Some of them were
the nasty sort, and they all told us of the English naval
disaster off the Skager Rack in which we had lost ten large
ships and so on. We knew this was an untruth and suspected
it was a fine victory for us, especially as the Boches ran back
to Kiel.
We travelled all night fearfully cramped up in carriages.
I managed to get two or three hours of restless sleep among
moving boots and feet on the floor, with my knees by my nose
and some one's boots in my face. At 12 noon we arrived at
Cognia or Konia, the Iconium of St. Paul, a large town with
a real hotel to which only a few of us were allowed to go,
and a plentiful array of shops. After the usual dozen moves
up and down the station, each time entailing carrying our
beds and kits, we were taken to a restaurant where our notes
were refused, but ultimately taken at a large discount. How
we carry on without money is really extraordinary! One
simply does not eat, but gets weaker and weaker. Acute
diarrhoea has broken out again with many of us, for we are
still on nuts and sour bread and water. That night, the
12th July, we slept in the station yard.
The next morning we were aroused at an unearthly hour,
and then did not leave until quite 11.15 a.m., the intervening
hours being employed by waiting in a queue to get water or
being moved first this way and then that. No Turk as yet
seems to know his own mind or any one else's apparently.
The country around Konia is very flat and more or less bare.
The Hindoo native officers remain in Konia, which should be
a good spot for them, and quite healthy. Konia appears to
be absolutely rebuilt and quite new. Two hours out of Konia
our engine broke down. We waited four hours for another
engine from Konia. I found a German doctor travelling on
our train, and from him I got some colitis and cholera powders.
He also was quite polite and anxious to help one. Then we
passed Kala Hissar, a lonely town on the plain with a fort
perched high up on a hill. Here a good many Russian, French,
and British prisoners are said to be placed, but we saw nothing
of any of them. We travelled all night over the plain, and
it was another wretched night for sleep, as we had to take
it in turns sleeping on the floor. We had by this time lost
a lot of our veneer of desert sunburn, and the pallor of sickness
stared out from our faces. Father Tim, our excellent
Catholic padre, told me this evening that I had appeared
twenty years older during the last few days. At 11, forenoon,
on the 13th, we arrived at Eski Chehir, a large town on the
junction of lines to Constantinople and Angora. Here, again,
the want of a servant made the immediate present a tragedy
of vile proportions. Thus we would get the order to move
at once, no one knowing where. Everything had to be moved
with you. So you gathered up water-bottle, haversack,
blankets and coat, and dragged your valise over lines and
other obstacles indefinitely. Then you sat on them until
you had to take them back, crossing trains and piles of luggage
and stores, a _posta_ or Turkish guard at your heels with a rifle
shouting, "Yallah" or "Haidee Git." We dropped Captain
Booth accidentally on the way from Konia. He was asleep
in a carriage which was taken off near Kala Hissar. Great
excitement prevailed as to whether he would take the branch
line to Smyrna and try to escape, but he turned up again
later. In the meantime, Fauad Bey thrashed every Turkish
official within reach.
At Eski Chehir we were allowed into an hotel restaurant
place near the station and forbidden to go outside. We saw
one or two Greek maidens, well on towards their prime, welcoming
us with smiles, but although the first of Eve's daughters
seen for a long time, one's heart did not flutter much. We
were so whacked that we wanted a meal and a bed on which
to sleep, sleep, sleep. So we fell to discussing what we would
do at Constantinople, whither both Fauad Bey and some
Germans at Konia had assured us we were being taken. The
prospect of seeing this famous city and especially of seeing
Europe again, and of having ambassadors and consuls to take
a friendly interest in us, cheered up our tired and sad hearts.
But by this time we knew the Turk well enough to doubt
all things. In the meanwhile we were shut up. We had a
decent meal or two at terrible prices, so we ate sparingly.
Some of the senior officers had wandered too far away at Konia
so Fauad said, and it was "Yesak"--forbidden. In fact,
just before leaving Konia he would not allow them to recross
for a final meal, but I bolted around the station over a fence,
and on his seeing me I humbly pretended I wanted to ask
his permission. To my surprise, he asked me if the colonel
and all had returned, and on my reassuring him he took me
to a restaurant and demanded meat and rolls and soup and
cheese. None appearing to be ready he created such a storm
in the place that the people evidently produced their own
meal. Moreover, he paid and would not take any money
from me; but then I have never quarrelled much with him,
and he knows he is to leave us and wants a good report.
I observe he is very nervous whenever I talk to a German,
and asks me to talk in French if at all. French he understands
a little.
At 10 p.m. the same day, as we arrived in Eski Chehir, we
were again packed frightfully close into carriages, and left
for where we did not know, but half expected to awake
beholding the minarets of Stambul. The Mohammedan native
officers had all been dropped at Eski Chehir, where from all
accounts they were to be done quite well. However, after
starting it proved that our destination was Angora. Our
hopes fell below zero. I clambered out of the carriage and,
worming my way into the luggage car, slept full length on a
blanket, or almost full length. Presently, other officers filled
the place up. I determined to sleep that night, and drinking
half a bottle of local cognac I had luckily procured for a debt,
I gave the other to the orderlies and slept. It was an uphill
climb, and we went very slowly. With the dawn we met a
startling rumour that some prisoners, having attempted an
escape, we were all being sent on to Kastamuni, a lonely town
on the edge of the hills, fringing the Black Sea, and 150 miles
distant from Angora--150 miles that had to be trekked!
This was just the last edge. One wondered whether the
journey would ever end or whether our kind protecting gods
would get tired of fathering our shattered and siege-battered
systems to the terminus.
If our health had been so good as even at the beginning
of the trek it would all have seemed very funny no doubt.
But people's nerves were shattered and ragged and tempers
raw, and our digestions quite gone.
The train climbed a gradient plain, treeless and lifeless,
until 10 a.m., when we arrived at Angora, a dilapidated old
town on undulating country. The station seemed the only
decent building in it. We seemed to be at the end of creation.
Everything was so quiet and sleepy. It is indeed a branch
line and one sees no Germans or Europeans. We were hustled
at once into two deep and marched half a mile to a wretched
low little eating restaurant place with some sleeping rooms
upstairs. Our luggage came in afterwards. Mine had been
looted, I found, quite considerably, two or three times since
the Aleppo change, but I don't know where. The hotel
promised us a gay time, as we saw battalions of bugs skirmishing
on the walls. We had marched up at a smart pace
and I felt like collapsing at every step. Then we were left
in the sun for hours outside the place, with the result that
I was soon pouring with the perspiration of fever. Then
ague succeeded. A Turk took my temperature as 102°, and
left me.
Six hours afterwards I got a bed on a landing and fell
into it, my temperature being over 103°.
There is no tea or coffee except the black smoky stuff.
The senior officers and those first to arrive, including the
padre and Hummerbug, went to another hotel somewhat
better, taking the one orderly with them, so I lost the only
servant who ever did a thing. No one else cared for the sick
or took any notice. I had a tiny bowl of rice soup. The
rest of the fatty fare I avoided. The next morning three-quarters
of us had collapsed. Colitis and fever were all
around, and the Turkish doctor inoculated those who were
well enough to be done, for cholera, of which Angora was full.
During the night a fearful itching broke out all over my body,
the most maddening itching imaginable. Spots and a red
flush followed. I thought I was in for scarlet fever or something.
It proved to be "hives," however, and others had
it at the same time in less degree. Reports from the hotel
were that most of them were in bed sick also. It seemed as
though we had forced ourselves on to the railways' end by
will power, and then, that being over, had collapsed.
_July 20th._--We are still in Angora, and are not allowed
to go outside the door, while for the first day or so they objected
to one's going downstairs. Sending out for supplies is also
forbidden, and we are thus forced to leave ourselves to the
mercy of the hotel-keeper, who, by the way he behaves, I
should say is a Young Turk. Hives leaves one a mass of
swellings that itch like a million chilblains, and is due, I hear,
to the impoverished nature of the blood and general want
of nourishment.
The time here is no rosy one, and although more comfortable
than in Mosul, the trek being mostly behind us,
still one's vitality is even worse.
Two days after we arrived another party that had been
waylaid at Kala Hissar came along with several officers I
knew, and some I didn't, Colonel Peacock amongst them. He
and I and another made tea between us, and then they were
moved to dingy quarters up the road, and the surplus fellows
without rooms were sent also. Trembling with weakness and
fever I stumbled into my clothes and found I could scarcely
walk; but the Turks were demonstratively insistent, and,
carrying a few things, I assisted an orderly to carry my bed
and kit. We hauled it upstairs, and then another Turkish
officer turned up and ordered me back as being sick. Leaving
my luggage I toddled back, but that kindly-hearted cavalry
giant, Captain Kirkwood, followed me with it, for which I
was more grateful than I can say.
We are still without money. One day some of those fit
enough were taken to a café near by, but as they had no money
"nothing happened," as they expressed it on returning.
Anyway we are running up a bill here, and unless they pay us
before leaving, the hotel walla will get nothing. I have a few
spoonfuls of fatty rice, and lebon, and marrow soup daily.
Stapleton and another officer share my room.
There is no news, except a reported Russian shove through
Roumania. It is also rumoured that we may move in a day
or two. A Turkish doctor has been round, and has ordered
me milk, etc., with medicine. I've sent frequently for both,
but neither has come so far--four days since.
And these bugs are the "Devil's own." I suggest the
Inns of Court Officers' Training Corps should have a bug
rampant as their crest.
Except the Bible, one has no books. I have now finished
the Psalms and Proverbs to-day, and am going on. They say
the second phase of the Titanic struggle (or Teutonic struggle)
is beginning in France. I wish nothing better than to be fit
again and in it.
_July 22nd._--Oh! This wretched confined bug-eaten little
café! They would not let us go to hospital, where one might
have got milk. They had no carts, they said, no medicine,
no room ..., and cholera was there, etc., etc. To-day the
doctor brought us black draughts for colitis, which we have
chanced taking, and it has already done us some good. I am
bitten red with bugs, and can feel at any moment several
on me at once. The bed is full. I must try to sleep
and forget them, as it is no use brushing them off. Temperature
100°.
_July 23rd._--We left Angora to-day in carts. Feeling a
little steadier, and the hospital being so inhospitable, I decided
to try and keep going with the same column, trusting my luck
once again. From the money they paid us I promptly kept
a lira, and left the hotel-keeper's account partly unpaid. We
promised him the money when we could cash cheques or get
our remittances. With some of the cash I got the interpreter
to buy two tins of milk and a little sugar and tea for the
journey. We did not, however, get clear of the hotel-keeper
and Commandant of Angora so easily. There was a riotous
scene, yelling and screaming, shaking of fists in one's face,
because we hadn't paid, when the Turks themselves had not
paid us since Mosul! What an awful brute that Commandant
of Angora was! A vicious, spiteful, selfish, callous savage.
We let him know it, too, by the time we had finished with him.
For instance, a lot of us were very ill and without money, and
although there were rooms full of parcels sent us from home
when Kut fell, he wouldn't even look to see. We saw some
marked for several officers through a chink in the door, but he
wouldn't shift himself an inch to see about anything. So we
had malaria without quinine, and drank wheat-coffee when
tea was lying in our parcels inside.
I am glad to have left that vile café.
We went on all day very cramped, in the same carts, and
that night slept in a stable full of bugs and fleas. I bought
some lebon and slept. At 4 a.m. we were away again through
hills and bare, treeless heights all day. The horses galloped
and walked, and one's back bounced on the side of the narrow
carts, which at the bottom were about two feet six inches wide,
with sides sloping outwards. There were the usual upsets,
and boltings, racing, and collisions. Twice our cart jambed
another over the edge of a cliff, and we got rammed. There is
nothing to eat except bread. It was an extra weary day.
For fourteen hours we jolted and jerked onwards, and then a
pretty little green village hove in sight. We saw geese and
ducks and fowls, which meant eggs, and a running stream,
and brushwood for fires. But we were driven on and past
this into the night. An hour and a half later we reached a
filthy Arab enclosure, inside which we were driven. There
was scarcely room for us to lie. One could not get water or
firewood or anything. There was no Turkish officer to appeal
to. We were all under the orders of a choush or sergeant.
The colonel was very indignant, but the choush seemed afraid
we might escape unless we were shut up. The place swarmed
with mosquitoes and fleas. This choush was taking no risks.
It was only after a long delay, when I found a Greek youth
who knew a little German, that arrangements were made for
one or two of us to go to a spring and get water. We had
some tea and tried to sleep. That, however, was out of the
question. For the last dozen miles one of the occupants of
our cart was taken suddenly ill and had to lie down, so we had
to break our backs under the driver's seat while the vehicle
galloped and jolted. To any one except those in our condition
this would have been merely inconvenience. It was an
exceptionally beautiful sunset, with pink-limbed baby clouds
resting on the rolling summits of soft grassy hills.
_July 25th._--We were up at 6 a.m. The horses were very
done, but their drivers goaded or thrashed them with thick
sticks and made them gallop, and there were no brakes to
help them. To pull up they ran into the bank, or into another
cart. We had, on the previous day, passed through hilly
country dotted with villages and fairly well cropped. Everywhere
we saw grazing the herds of Angora goats with their
gaily-dressed goatherd standing over them blowing his pipes.
The Angora goat is a most beautifully fleeced animal with
twisted horns and snow-white curly locks of fleece. The
animals are kept for their wool as well as milk, and often
supply the chief means of the people's subsistence in these
parts. Besides milk, butter, and cheese, and sometimes the
meat, the wool is woven into various garments, and the hide,
laced with string, forms their shoes. These goatherds are
very picturesquely dressed with coloured jackets and caps,
and a bright red-striped kummerbund, in which is stuck the
eternal Turkish knife. The arms and legs are criss-crossed
with coloured cord.
The hills here and there are covered with herds, and at the
head of these moving white dots moves their picturesque
goatherd, blowing quaint sounds from his pipes. We passed
lots of these fellows marching as impressed recruits between
Turkish soldiers, and shoved on to fight in the forlorn
hope.
We have left the peak El Divan far behind. It is 4900 feet,
so we must have climbed some 3000 feet above Angora. The
country has now changed again to the more barren higher
hills. A thunder shower surprised us on the top of one, but
it cleared the air immensely. Then our cart broke down, and
they repaired the pole with a pine tree growing near.
My wonder at these carts increases daily. Rattling and
loosely bolted and wobbling, they appear to be on the point
of breaking down every minute. Sometimes three of the tyres
of our cart simultaneously were almost off, and the pole hung
between the body of the cart and the tree often quite detached.
If the wheel slips off they bash it on with a rock or lump of
wood, and, like Turkey itself, it just goes on.
At 3 p.m. we reached the small town of Changrai, the only
place of any importance between Angora and Kastamuni.
We were frightfully done, but luck ordained it that we were
bivouacked by a stream and under some trees quite close to
the town.
Changrai is a pleasant little town with ten mosques on the
steep hillside, heights all round, and many green orchards all
about. We got honey, apples, and apricots, fairly cheap. I
saw the Angora goat at close quarters. He is a classy little
fellow, small, and prettily shaped, with fine bright eyes and
carrying the most spotless silken white fleece in the world.
_July 26th._--We left Changrai about 9 a.m. I had managed
to change to another broken cart which would support me. It
was more comfortable, and I travelled alone with the choush,
enjoying my own thoughts and amusing myself by watching
the antics of the goats or weaving romance around the feet of
every goatherd. I could stretch my limbs, and I thanked
God I was left to enjoy the peace of the mountain heights alone
with a pipe. My cart being broken we were far in the rear of
the column. At the hills I drove, and so escaped walking,
the driver, a huge fellow, walking to watch his cart, and
perhaps not unduly strain his repairs. As for me, my weight
had fallen from ten stone twelve pounds to considerably under
nine stone, so this came in convenient just now. In the afternoon
we followed a track fringed by deep precipices crossed
only by goat tracks. We camped in a gully near a village, to
which we were not permitted to go. A few loaves arrived for
us. We were very hungry in this spot, and the cold night
sharpened up one's craving for food. We made some cocoa
and soup, and after a spot of cognac like nothing quite else
on earth we slept--for a time--until we discovered we were on
ant-hills. I have since decided to back a squadron of red ants
on the war-path against two battalions of Angora bugs. It
was very cold, but the ants kept us moving.
_July 27th._--We made an early start just after the dawn.
We went down, down, down for 2000 feet, and then gradually
up again over hills and gullies. We passed some well-worn
Hittite caves, like watch-keepers of the valley below. These
quaint people that sprinted about among primæval dews, and
about whom so little is known, must have had a queer life of
it in those high detached and lonely caves. They selected
inaccessible places, like the eyrie of the eagle.
We rested at midday from eleven till one. Two goats were
killed, but as we had no money we did without. The note is
of no value in the country, and of little value in the town. No
change can be got for any, however big the note is. Two of
our officers we had to leave behind at Changrai sick with fever.
We subscribed some cash for them. I was glad to be able to
keep going still, although I often felt fearfully nauseous and
weak, with a thundering headache, at which time the cart
generally started some of its gymnastic tricks. Malaria was
still on me.
The big climb now lay ahead of us. We pushed on. The
scenery became much more interesting. The forest thickened,
and instead of chestnut and beech appeared the _pinus insignis_
and the mountain fir. We went up and up. Again I was
reminded of Thüringen in Germany, and this time it was much
more like it. The road grew steeper, the ravines larger, and
the courses of winter's mountain torrents were now dry rocky
boulder paths. The mountain fir with its drooping branches
stood erect in marshalled battalions on the mountain slopes
in the valleys, the tops swaying to the eternal music of the
mountains. We quenched our thirst at excellent falls and
springs on the way. It grew from chilly to very cold. Our
blood was in a very poor condition, and the biting wind bit
clean through one. We were now at the last climb of (Mount)
El Ghaz Dagh, 5481 feet high, the ridge of which we were to
cross being 4500. At five o'clock other horses gave out, and
ours were taken, so I cramped up in another vehicle with the
choush, from whom I understood by signs that we had in our
turn invested Kut. Our heavy guns will soon shake it to
pieces if we do invest it.
It was slow work to the top of the peak, but once over we
descended rapidly in the face of an icy wind for two hours.
Tiny log-built hamlets lay clustered up together for warmth
on the sides of the valleys. We followed the main valley until
the stream widened at a saw-mill. There we lit fires and made
ourselves warm and cooked some soup. We slept inside dark
empty rooms in the mill, and here struck a new pest. They
were swarms of lice and fleas, and we did a _shikar_ for them
most of the night. I arose early feeling a rhythm of returning
health. The cold bracing air of the mountains had undoubtedly
done me a lot of good, and I felt stronger, although
colitis and malaria still troubled me, and everything we ate
was followed by sharp abdominal pains--a legacy of the siege.
I washed in the icy stream by the light of dawn. What a
magnificent morning it was! The last mists of night floated
away, and left the terraces of bronze-green firs shimmering
in the morning sun and climbing up to the blue of heaven on
the white sheets of El Ghaz Dagh. This would make an
excellent trout stream. My last tin of milk and sugar which
had kept me going so far was finished. My own cart had
appeared in the night, and I left in it at 7 a.m. After a few
miles of fern-edged brooks that tumbled along quite New
Zealandy, we reached the plain again, and followed a road
among scantily cropped stretches until three o'clock, when
my driver pointed away to the right and said the one word.
"_Kastamuni!_" Turning around I beheld far away in a treeless
basin a reddish-brown patch which proved to be the clay tiles
of houses. In the distance it appeared as a brown-carpeted
dip sunk down beneath the almost treeless grassy plain. This,
then, was my first glimpse of our immediate bourne.
We were divided into two columns outside the town--evidently
intended for different houses. I now learnt that in
previous columns the officers of British regiments, including
the R.F.A., my own regiment, had gone to Yozgard, due east
from Angora. This was rather bad luck in a way, as among
them were most of the officers I knew best.
We strolled down into a town larger than Changrai, with
plentiful minarets arising above the brown roofs. The houses
line the sides of the basin, which is merely the broadening out
of a fertile little valley watered by a small stream that in the
town is crossed by an interesting looking old stone bridge.
In the background and overlooking the town is a picturesquely
situated fort, now in ruins.
We were rattled through the town, the people all gazing
at us very interestedly. The shops, we observed, actually had
in them such things as local tobacco (dreadful stuff, but better
than nothing), sugar, and rice, and even sardines. We walked
behind the carts that climbed and climbed to the further side
of the town, which was the Greek Christian quarter, and on
passing a long row of dirty houses saw some of the other officers
on the look-out, including Square-Peg. There were two groups
of houses, Upper and Lower. We were to occupy a new house,
the highest of all, attached to the Upper House. We swarmed
into a front door down along an alley flanked by a wall, and
found ourselves in what appeared a decent house for Turkey.
On going upstairs I found a landing, off which led four doors.
I opened one of them, and found myself inside a small room
fourteen feet by ten feet, containing two beds, and, on going
to the windows, saw a glorious view of the whole of Kastamuni
and of the valley reaching out to the blue ranges in
the distance, beyond which lay, somewhere near by, the Black
Sea. A fresh breeze, seemingly straight from the hidden sea,
drifted towards me as I stood by the open window. That
decided me. I slung my things down and fell on the bed
nearest the window, thanking God that the trek was done. I
am now writing at the corner facing the same hills. It seems
that here we must rest until we have done with these chains.
Our brother officers had put the Turks up to preparing a meal
for us. Heavens! how we ate! There was white bread,
boiled eggs, honey, butter, fresh milk. We ate and drank
and drank and drank. There was a hot competition now for
bedrooms, and as mine had to be shared, I was fortunate
enough to get a quiet stable companion to share with me.
We were not allowed out of the house until 7.30, when
we were taken to a large two-storied Upper House--Mektub
they called it, as it had previously been a school, and there
a large room had been turned into a restaurant, and was run
by a Turkish caterer. He gave us soup, and what we called
toad-in-the-cucumber, or tomato as it happened, rice _pilau_,
and a fried meat dish all heavily reeking with fat. A coffee
shop was opened, which ran extra supplies of butter and
honey, and also cognac, _mastik_ (the Turkish drink tasting of
aniseed), and local thin German beer at 5_s._ a bottle. We got
back after a lengthy wait, which we beguiled by comparing
our experiences with those of other officers, and then hastened
to bed. A few celebrated our arrival by a carousal, but I
slept. Oh! the ecstasy of that night with the breeze playing
over one's face--sleep that would not be broken at any unearthly
hour by a "_Yallah_" for donkeys or by dust-storms or
by a stampede.
At intervals in the night I awoke startled. Once I imagined
I had fallen asleep on my donkey again, that we were pressing
on in darkness over the desert, and, again, that an order had
been given to move. But each time I found myself in bed
beneath the cool night wind laden with scents of the mountains
and the sea, and heard above the deep silence the sound of
splashing water from some spring below. And I thought how
very life-like was the trek that had led we knew not whither,
and how, as in life also, we had craved for a sight beforehand
into the future for a glimpse at our destiny. But one sees
now the greater wisdom of God's plan that denied us a vision
into the future which might have lessened our motive power
and removed the need for trust or hope, but which demanded
of us instead the virtue of patience to await the evolution of
God's ways. And now more than that priceless perfect gift
of being able to say honestly, "Thy will be done," would I
desire to achieve the patience to overcome the difficult stretches
of any road, patience to wait and await. We are told that
whatever sorrow one has, it must exist in one's mind _only_ at
the present. In this sense only the Present can be sorrow,
and it is often a joy. But carrying us on from Present to
Present, from Sorrowful Present to Happy Present, be it near
or far, there is the Stream of Time, which the Divine Giver
has placed by us all. To await, then, is merely to make a
friend of this Stream of Time, the Happy Carrier, and pray
for the patience to endure until....
_July 29th._--No words could describe my unbounded joy at
receiving to-day news from the outside world. There was a
postcard from friends in Camberley, saying that our defence
has at last been understood, and asking what one wanted. It
was such a cheery word. There was also a tiny letter three
and three-quarter lines in length, which came many thousands
of miles congratulating us on the siege, and announcing that
parcels had already left for me. We hear they cannot arrive
for months. There is yet, however, no word from my dear
mother, or from home. I am now practically without socks,
shirt, vests, or anything else, my boots in ribbons, and with
one blanket.
We are to get seven liras a month, and our board and
lodging costs nine liras at the least, as we have to pay an
unjustified rent. What with tobacco and medicine, not to
mention English food with which we must reinforce this
Oriental provender, it will be at least fourteen liras and
possibly eighteen a month.
_July 30th._--The intervening hours we have slept. One
eats and then goes back to bed. We are all still extraordinarily
done. To-day we visited the Turkish bath. One enters a
large dilapidated vestibule with tiny sitting-up beds about
four feet long arranged around the room. One undresses and
wraps oneself up in a towel and shuffles in clogs into other
rooms where hot water pours from a jet. Here one douses
oneself, and then sweats heavily. A bucketful of cold water
completes the bath, and then arrayed in clean towels we
retreat to the bed, and over a cigarette and black coffee (awful
stuff) watch the spiders in the great dome of the roof, or by
counting the dozen layers of clothes with which the Turks
hide their iniquities. We lie at full length, letting our legs
stick out, feet beyond the beds, or cock them up on the
nearest wall.
All the people here seem well disposed towards us. They
know we represent cash to them. At least they think so.
After the bath we were allowed to visit the bazaar for a
few moments under the charge of a _posta_. There was an
awful climb back to our house, to which we shall no doubt
get accustomed in time.
We have written four postcards home, chiefly about what
to send us. I am anxious to hear from my parents and sisters.
Their letters must have been returned, and I suppose they
have had anxious times, not hearing from me for so long or
knowing whether I was still alive. The cheerful four-lined
letter I received from Camberley must have been written after
newspaper announcement of the fall of Kut.
CHAPTER IX
LIFE IN KASTAMUNI--THE FIRST SUMMER, 1916
_July 31st._--Yesterday was two months since leaving
Baghdad, a journey I shall always associate with
sorrow and fortitude. It was already a trail of dead
and dying from other columns, and we freshened it up with
contributions of our own. But time flies. It is already
three months since we left Kut. During that time I cannot
recall one Turkish promise that they have kept. This is a
performance, but for us to have so far survived it and also
their indifference, is an achievement.
After a time we hope news will leak through, but at
present there is none. We are to be allowed a German-inspired
daily written in French and published in Stamboul,
called the _Hillal_. According to it fighting still proceeds
in France in the same old zone, while in Mesopotamia the
front is near Amara--which one doubts. It is almost two
years since the war started. Great movements in the national
life of most European nations seem to be merging into international.
With peace, I believe fresh and wonderful Gulf
Streams will circulate in the new political world that must
arise.
_August 1st._--I have met Haig of the 24th, whom I knew
at Hyderabad, and whom I saw last in the retirement. We
have so far almost no liberty, not being allowed to go even
to the second part of the house. But we understand this
will change very soon. Once a week we are permitted to go
to the Turkish bath, and once a week to the bazaar, where
the prices are exorbitant. Butter or honey is 30 piastres an
oke, or 2_s._ 6_d._ a pound, sugar 40 to 50 piastres, or 4_s._ 6_d._ a
pound, and tea, bad tea at that, 10_s._ a pound. There is little
else to be had, and clothing is a fictitious price. However,
one's credit in the bazaar is practically unlimited. The shopkeepers
prefer to trust us rather than their own people, and
take cheques rather than paper money. Medicines are more
or less unprocurable.
_5 p.m._--Turned in with rising fever. Several officers in
our house have been down with it already, and I hoped I
was to have escaped. A strong physical reaction has set in
with many of our column, and all sorts of sicknesses are going
about. For one thing, we have practically starved for half
a year, and now these fatty foods of the Turks rather try
one's weakened digestion. We negotiate huge quantities of
fresh milk and lebon.
_August 2nd._--Lieut. Locke died in the Turkish hospital
last night, and, as a result, a scare started among the Turkish
officials. One of their doctors came around to see all those
in bed, and I was ordered, much against my will, to the
Turkish hospital. They don't understand malaria at all, or
that, for colitis, the only thing to do is to diet. And, from
what we hear, the last place for diet is a Turkish hospital.
However, one is in the hands of these interpreters, and for
the most part they are lying, frightened, Greek or Armenian
knaves. Ours required me to leave everything--even mere
requisites--and set out for the hospital a "few moments away."
Extraordinarily weak, I shambled off and followed him on
a considerable trek, for a sick man, all around the town.
Then he bolted for his dinner, leaving me in charge of the
soldier, who, poor chap, couldn't read his papers. On
arriving at the place we were refused admittance, and there
was no one there to read the admission paper. A wait of
hours I spent by sitting out on the roadside in the hot sun,
near a café; a delightful occupation for a man shivering with
ague and with a temperature of 103°. Then I discovered a
patient who spoke some French, and he got the only Turkish
orderly there to show me a bed. I was taken to the bed
whereon poor Locke had just died from enteritis and dysentery.
They had not even removed the sheets. How I loathed the
Turks at that moment. However, I was so tired that I got
into bed. In the same room were three Turkish civilians,
and two British officers I found next door.
No one appeared. I had left my room in the morning, but
by night I had only succeeded in getting some water. By
evening the ague had gone, and I wanted some nourishment,
and set to prowl around the place to get it. I had plenty of
violent scenes, but did not succeed in finding the pantry.
I began to believe that I had come to a huge automatic
healing establishment where by a series of Christian Scientific
brain waves one imagined oneself fed and convalescent. I
heard that Locke had been left unattended in his house, after
request, four or five days before he was even inspected by
the Turkish doctor, and then, on his moving to this hospital,
had a reception similar to mine. He died the same evening
as he entered.
After my unsuccessful shikar for food through the great
building I returned in no amiable mood, and it was then that
the humorous gods held high council, and, remembering my
opinion on Angora bugs, provided a little joke for themselves
afresh. These new bugs were for shock tactics. There was
no artillery preparation or demonstration from flank battalions,
but suddenly I was awakened from a doze by bitings in fifty
places. Leaping out of bed I gathered them up in threes
and fours. Tearing my clothes off I caught the rear files
before they could get to cover. Undismayed, they renewed
the attack as soon as I again tried to sleep. This became too
ridiculous. Finally, my language attracted a crowd of laughing
Turks, and one informed me in French that the hospital
was famous for bugs. The pillow and mattress I discovered
to be their first line, but their reserve lines were in the wooden
frieze. "Ye gods!" I thought, "this is too much. Here
am I starving and curing myself and doing my best to smile
over it when I'm expected to put up a regular hunt!" I
slung the mattress away and, seizing some clothes from a
wardrobe outside, with the orderly hanging on to me the
while, remade the bed. Still on they came. I decided that
if I were Napoleon I would change the Turkish crescent to
a bug passant, with that half-comical grin the lions passant
have, the near fore paw in the air and face screwed around at
you. I collapsed towards dawn with sheer irritation. But in
my sleep on they came, on from every wall, from every point
of the horizon, from the sky, from beyond the confines of the
universe--I myself was becoming a bug--when I awoke with
a roar, and saw the Turkish orderly standing beside me
grinning. I gave him cigarettes for appreciating a situation
I no longer could myself, and he taught me some more Turkish
"Zorari yok" (never mind), and "Yawash" (gently).
I awaited the dawn with an increasing hunger, having
now devoured about a handful of lump sugar I had put into
my pocket as an emergency ration. The hours crawled by
until eleven, when the visiting doctor came.
Now, by this time I had begun to find out a thing or two
about the Turk. Unless you ask, he never does anything;
if you do, he merely promises he will. Your only chance is
to be demonstrative and impress him. This fellow was a
robust, bouncing, overfed, callous, perpetual-smile-sort-of-fellow.
Waiting until he wished me good morning, I leaped
clean out of bed, with a frightful roar that brought a dozen
people into the room, and showed him pints of blood--mine
and the bugs'--all over the wall, bed, mattress, etc., etc.
Then I cursed the place in German, in English, and terrible
French, and applied my word, "fenner," vigorously, ending
up my objecting to my treatment with gestures, etc., etc.
For the first minute or two he laughed, and then he sat down
and mopped his forehead and explained he came only once
a day, and without an order from him it might have been
risky to give me any food, etc. He wrote out a beautiful diet
sheet, and sent me some medicine for the colitis. This did
me good, certainly, but I waited all day for the milk and
cornflour and soup. At five o'clock one small cup of the
weakest imaginable tea arrived. Nothing else. It now
appeared that an order by the doctor on one day did not take
effect until the following day, as they had to send out for
supplies. I was really terribly ravenous. That evening,
about 8 p.m., when two orderlies brought round a trench table
filled with loaves of bread and plates of soup, I waited until
they were gone a second and seized a loaf, which I plunged
in the soup, and returned to my bed, where I devoured most
of it. The other Turks in the room, I believe, informed the
orderly, who searched for the remainder of the loaf in my bag;
but we had a wrestle for it, and while he sent out for a posta,
I finished it. Later he appeared, laughing, and took some
more cigarettes.
The situation developed along these lines until the next
morning, when the doctor came again. This time I was
coldly indignant, and showed him a letter of complaint
to the American Ambassador at Stamboul, and requiring
to be sent back to my house. The result was he put
me on an enormous diet at once of bread and buffalo
meat that would have killed any Englishman, certainly a
siege-battered, starved, feverish, colitis-stricken sick man.
I distributed my rations among the two officers next door,
one of whom was a most congenial person, named Fox--an
officer I didn't know in Kut, as he had been in Woolpress
most of the time. We had long discussions on Turks and
bugs. The next morning another doctor came, and, seeing
my diet sheet full, evidently thought the Turkish commissariat
couldn't stand this, and discharged me from hospital.
The medicine had done me some good, but otherwise I
was weaker on leaving the hospital than entering it. Fox
and I trekked back. How glad we were to get out of it! I
had expected an interesting girl in a purdah to look after me,
and all kinds of delicacies. One learns apace in these days.
On the way we passed Captain Martin, I.M.S., recently
arrived, and he sympathized with us, and promised us that
in future he would look after us all. I was very glad to regain
my room once more. Another small party of relicts had
arrived from Angora, amongst whom were Blind Hookey,
who was at the Christmas dinner in Kut, and Young Lacy,
whom I had left at Samarra. He had had great luck. When
he was quit of the fever he had managed to join a small party
and was driven the whole way. Our column, including as
it did the native officers, and travelling in the wake of the
whole division, seems to have had probably the worst time
of any, and certainly one saw most of the tragedy of the trek.
Our whole house is now pretty full.
_August 7th._--Malaria returned. The ague was more severe
this time. Quinine we have at last procured in small quantities
at the rate of five piastres a cachet, which means that one's
malaria medicine bill will be fifteen shillings daily. A cold
snap in the weather has sent several others here down with
malaria. Kastamuni is said to have a cold winter, so we
hope to get this fever quite out of our system. It is raining
steadily--the first rain since arriving here.
We have no books as yet, but it is to be hoped the Turks
will allow them to come through later on. I have finished
the Bible--a complete reading now since Baghdad. What a
vigorous teacher is St. Paul. No mundane considerations
seemed to prevent his putting the true value on this transient
existence, and from that probably sprang the facility with
which he decided always for the Lord.
_August 17th._--The mornings continue fine and sunny, but
in the afternoons a sharp, shadowy wind springs up, and the
evenings are quite cold. We are anxiously awaiting the
parcels waylaid in Stamboul. The fever has largely gone,
but muscular rheumatism has taken its place. No one hears
from or is allowed to write to Yozgad or Kara Hissa.
The Turks here seem to have already settled on their plan
of campaign, which is to make us get into debt at huge prices,
which already are increasing. I am, however, assuming a
sublime indifference to money matters. The financial anxiety
of the trek was enough, and I have a long score to pay off
against the Turk in this respect, so once in his debt he will
have to facilitate our getting our money from home, or else
receive cheques.
_August 22nd._--On the 18th I attempted a long walk,
permission having been obtained for a party of us to go.
The direction led me over hills towards some pine woods--a
considerable climb for those in our condition. An extraordinary
phenomenon common to almost all Kut people,
young and old--but more especially to the young who had
starved on account of enteritis troubles--is their sudden
huge girth expansion. One's figure protrudes like any
Turk's. The fatty foods and weak state of the stomach are
said to be the cause of this.
Still, with fixed determination, the walk party pushed
on, blowing and perspiring. One remembered one's duty
to get fit. At the pine woods one longed to be alone for an
hour--a forgotten pleasure--but we were marshalled like
geese. It is a pleasant spot of young pines and pleasantly
murmuring grassy glades, strewn in places with pine needles,
that gave additional exercise by making one fight for a foothold.
Through the opening in the pine wood one saw the
mountainous horizon that ringed us round. Kastamuni
was out of sight somewhere beneath us.
The next day I actually turned out to rugger for our
house, as left wing three-quarter. The delight after all one's
sickness in feeling one's legs really attempting to run was
so encouraging that one Brabazon and I, for dinner, divided a
bottle of German beer. This is to become a custom. We played
three spells of ten minutes each, and quite enough too--with
a ball stuffed with wool, as we had no bladder. Kastamuni
is totally hilly, and the footer ground over a mile away, is
uneven and stony, but the best we can get. Correct collaring
is barred, but we go croppers just the same. On Sunday we went
bazaaring, and were allowed to attend church at 6.30, when we
sang hymns from memory. The text was: "You are sons of
God." We hope to make a little chapel here, by and by.
Hailstones as large as hazel nuts, but not so large as in
Kut, made merry music yesterday over the town. The
streets then become drains and gutters, as they are intended
to. Besides being an economy, it cleans the streets.
What a quaint town this is! All water is drawn from
springs or wells. There are no lights of any kind, except,
possibly, some faint glimmer burning from a police station.
There are no trams or much vehicular traffic, donkeys being
the chief transit. In the early morning one hears the ancient
Biblical solid-wheeled oxen cart groaning on its turning axle
beneath the weight of a huge tree trunk brought in for firewood.
At night the distant tinkling of bells sometimes reaches
one as the goats come back. And, later still, over the sheets
of darkness in deep, pulsing waves, like the voice of a dark
and mysteriously moving spirit, floats the muezzin, which is
taken up from mosque to mosque until the whole town echoes
with the cry.
I have had some rough chessmen made out of bits of
wood, and am settling down to discipline my mind again to
some sort of methodical thinking. One feels that some such
effort as this stands between us and oblivion.
_September 1st._--I am feeling very much better than I
have since those awful floods came in Kut that left me legacies
of rheumatics, and Heaven knows what else. We play
rugger three times weekly, and eat huge teas. One of us makes
cakes, another carpenters, another makes jam, and yet another
has started tailoring. My present hobby is to get fit and
clean my windows and "bazaar." I am putting on flesh, or
rather, fat, and must be now a half stone more in weight.
But my digestion is still weak, nerves bad, and a periodical
pain from my spine.
We have been to a Greek dentist (?) The awful stuff we
ate in Kut played havoc with my teeth, which were in rather
good condition before. This fellow proposes to crown about
half of the back ones, is willing to accept a cheque, and talks
frequently in French. These are his distinguishing qualities.
He seems everything. Moreover, he will take a live nerve
out and think nothing of it. Sometimes he pretends to kill
it by pushing in small supplies of something or other which
the nerve likes so much that it fattens on it, with the result
that it grows so rapidly that soon one's whole body exists as
an appendix of the particular nerve! The Turks looted his
rooms lately. He has now, in consequence, only a rickety,
straight-backed kitchen chair, two bottles, a wheel and string,
and about four picks, with which he is very adept, using both
ends of each. Altogether the Greeks here are a most disappointing,
shifty lot. Poor Greece! where Pericles once
lived, and which now exports currants--as they say.
Roumania is in the war at last. Turkey is pretty well on
her last legs; but then, like her carts and donkeys, she always
seems good for another few yards. With returning fitness I
begin to hate, loathe, detest, and abhor this soul-smothering
life. The way the Turk _in authority_ treats us, his ignorance
of his own mind, his partiality for intrigue and roguery and
robbery, as also the way he runs his country, proves him unworthy
of Empire. The brains and finance of this country
are absolutely Greek or Armenian. The Turk holds the
sword, and arrears of mismanagement he puts right by a
periodical massacre. He is barbarously ignorant and misinformed.
The most worthy fellow is the common soldier,
who has some idea of manliness and of service, but the officer
and official is a double-edged scoundrel, a smiling, dishonest,
lubricous sneak, and totally untrustworthy, also a bad soldier.
The Armenian I would describe as the Jew of Turkey,
hence his unpopularity. He hoards money, is indifferent to
the military needs or other aspect of the development of the
country, except the financial one, and is not without treachery.
The Greek is also more able and better educated than the
Turk. With the Armenian he does the penmanship of
Turkey. He supplies surveyors, artisans, architects; but
he, too, cannot go straight. In fact, I would rather trust a
Turkish soldier than any Greek or Armenian. Hundreds of
years of oppression have dried up their springs of independent
action, and the Armenian goes about in constant fear of
massacre; the Greek just escapes it. They have no thought
whatever of throwing off their yoke or leaving the country,
although they have nothing in common with their oppressors,
and their religious divergence is as wide as it can well be.
They hate the Turk, yet choose to suffer. Even among the
children we see the tyranny of the Turk. A diversion of ours
is to watch the children playing near here. Tiny Turkish
boys maltreat and bully big Greek boys and girls, who dare
not retaliate.
The explanation of the sorry state of Greece and of the
Greeks and Armenians here I believe to be the utter selfishness
of the people and their want of public-spirited men. But, if
only because they are less unenlightened than their oppressors,
reform should be possible to them, and although on looking
at the Greeks of the land from Aleppo to Kastamuni, they
seem an indifferent lot, still they have in them the seeds of
culture and the ardent wish for civilization. On this, then,
I believe we can build. The Turk is an interesting study.
He is half child and half savage. His predilection and habits
are like those of a child. He takes offence at small things,
like a child. Like a child, he responds to small favours.
And Germany is the last country to take the Turk successfully
under her wing. England, I believe, alone could do it. We
could utilize the Turkish talent for soldiering and practical
affairs, removing from their midst these over-corrupt officials
and Government, whom they detest. We should win their
confidence by applying rigid and accessible justice between
them and the Greek and Armenian, who would find unswerving
adherence to law and order unavoidable. Religious toleration
we could grant, and I believe that within a few years, Turkey
would settle comfortably under our influence, and learn to
trust us. But as it is, the country is rotten, the habits rotten,
and so many wretched corrupt Turks are in authority, that
one feels inclined to sweep them all away.
_October 1st._--Loud shouting and cheering and wild stampede
towards the restaurant dining-room announced that another
mail had come. We all go quite mad on these occasions, and
charge past postas, knocking over chairs or each other, and
crowd around the table while the letters are given out.
I have heard again from home, written before Kut fell.
I wonder what sort of a time they picture me having. Kut
still seems to have been kept dark from everybody, and
especially so the trek; but I shall always remember the great
thoughtfulness and affection of our friends reaching out to
our lonely life across thousands of miles of sea and land.
With these letters I am among the heath of Camberley, the
hills of New Zealand, and the 'buses of London, once again.
The commandant or kaimakam (colonel) is a foolish and
babyish fellow, and also a rogue; but I, for one, believe he
has less vice in him than the other junior officer, Sheriff Bey,
who is a dangerous and treacherous villain. The old kaimakam
does rake up a smile when we try to be happy, and
although the Tartar is often apparent, he has, on occasion,
given us such a privilege as a special walk.
We are trying to erect some structure of habits wherein
to dwell until God's good time allows us to get away from
here. Thus we make cakes twice a week. This will last
a little longer until prices become too outrageous. Which
makes two events. Church and bazaar and Turkish bath
make three more, total of five altogether, and these, scarcely
incidents in another's life, but episodes in ours, punctuate
the vacuum of time in which we roll. At 6.30 a.m. there is
_chota haziri_, tea and toast, for which we have made private
arrangements.
Then one smokes or sleeps again. At 9 we have breakfast
of eggs and milk and butter and bread. With a posta at our
heels we return to our own house, 150 yards away. Then
some sleep, some play cards, some merely sit on a chair.
Others of us write diaries or re-read an old book. We have
lunch of fatty foods and smoke and sleep. We have tea (our
own _bandobast_ again) after which there may be a walk.
We all set off under a guard, and are trying to get farther
afield. Once a week a long walk is allowed. On returning
some of us change, even if it is to put aside one torn shirt
for another or a spare jacket. But in these times I jealously
guard every conventional cable that anchors one to the
decent life. There is a tendency to allow the coma to steal
over one's personality. This, I think, one should combat.
Dinner over, we have to wait in the _mektub_, a boresome hour.
We attempt bridge or chess. Back again in our room we
smoke awhile and sleep. It may read nicely, but in truth,
it is a sorry existence. Still, day by day, the structure grows,
and who knows, in a few months we may have a palace like
the pleasure dome of Kubla Khan!
The extraordinary thing is that one is so secluded. One
seems on the other side of creation's wall--in the backwash
of the waters. But we all know it only seems so. The stream
of Time flows on, sweeping along with it great events in the
changing scene from which we here are far removed. I have
ever been of a restless nature, and I am told this may operate
as a rest cure. One hundred and fifty miles from the nearest
railway, and that far from anywhere, locked in by mountains
bordering the Black Sea, cut off from papers and books and
news, in a town that but awakes and sleeps, with no public
institutions or even a picture theatre, one has left for a hobby
only the delivery of direct interrogatories to oneself, and the
supplying of answers thereto. I believe this is a supreme
test of character, and may prove a strength to some and a
ruination to others.
Sometimes an event overtakes us. For instance, I have
been placed in "gaol" for a short time, and the incident was
so funny I must set it down.
One day, while I was filling in notes of this diary, I observed
one of the flimsy untied curtains was ablaze. How
it started I can only conjecture. Either it blew on to the hot
cigarette ash tray, or a hot part of a cigarette must have fallen
down near the bed and caught in the curtain. These local
cigarettes are wretched things and burn furiously, the head
often falling off so that it is a common thing to find one's
clothes alight. I ripped the curtain down and stamped it
out. The two beds had caught, and the room filled with
smoke. I stamped out the fire and doused the bed with
water. As it still smouldered I flung it out of the door. And
then they came, Turks, choushs, postas, Sheriff Bey, the
kaimakam himself, and I began to expect the Sultan. They
were very angry, a fire having occurred in the Gurkhas'
quarters a few days previously. They persisted in saying
I tried to burn the house down and to set fire to Kastamuni.
That afternoon a sort of court-martial was made of it, and
I was arraigned before the Turkish Commandant, thinking
it a delightful joke. Their serious faces amused me. I
told them it was an accident, that I was sorry, that I would
pay the damage, and after a debate of ordinary budget length,
the kaimakam decided to let me off on my paying a lira.
(The curtain would have cost about ten piastres, and the
bed was only singed.) Then Sheriff Bey stormed and protested
for more punishment, and I was sent under an escort
after handing over all my smokes and matches, to a dirty
iron-barred cellar room in a house used by the kaimakam
as an office. It was full of paper, and there was no bed or
chair. I had no supplies at all. When I was left in peace
I took a copy of Robert Louis Stevenson's "Virginibus
Puerisque" from my pocket, and sitting in a corner started
to read. Presently I became aware of an eye watching me
through the crack. In fact, I was just on the point of lighting
up from a spare cigarette case and matches in my hip
pocket. The eye changed. Still reading, I observed several
peering and whispering, so taking a pencil and paper from
my pocket I went through the form of writing a letter to our
Foreign Minister via the American Ambassador, complaining
of my treatment. Then pointing to the eye, I called for the
interpreter, informing him that I wanted this letter to be
shown to the kaimakam, and that even if he didn't send it
I should take care that our Government took the matter
up and dealt with those responsible when I was free. The
result was he bolted from the room, and in ten minutes reappeared
with a posta, and said I was free. Sheriff Bey
met me at the top of the road, and proceeded to harangue
me about wanting to frighten me only.
Bluff is the only thing, and their ignorance one's only
chance. Since then, however, the kaimakam has treated me
with extraordinary respect, so much so, that I have successfully
refused to obey his order to pay for what I have not had,
_i.e._ food in the _mektub_ for all the time I was sick. The best way
to treat these Turks is to be distantly polite. Much annoyance
and trouble has been caused through some officers chumming
up to them, plying them with drinks, and conducting them by
the arm here and there. The next day there's a row about
some point of pay or privilege, and the Turk thinks himself
snubbed. The net result is that the Turk, being our captor,
is in much the better position to hit back. This he does
vigorously, with insulting titles and notices that make life
a great burden. Some of their notices posted up in the
_mektub_ are screamingly funny. The following are actual
samples, with spelling corrected--
* * * * *
1. "English imprisoned officers cannot only please themselves
by disobeying the Turkish posta who have the order
of them. Neither can they go past the posta or outside
the door. In which case the posta can beat them with the
stick or rough handle the officer or officers concerned."
2. "English officers ought to pay their money willingly.
Why do they have the trick of deceiving the peasants and
poor Turkish subjects, which is dishonest?
(Sd.) "TEUFIK,
"Kaimakam."
3. "Officers cannot talk to any one except themselves,
strong punishments will pursue swiftly. What is the use
of pouring dirty water into the street? Surely they need not
chivvy 'bints' in the bazaar, and officers educated in London
could know better. When officers go for a walk in charge
of a posta they shall not go to the front or the posta gets
behind in which case the posta has orders to shoot or
remonstrate with the culprit. Let every one pay the price
in the bazaar and let them pay all their money to Usnu,
the contractor, who is not a robber.
(Sd.) "TEUFIK,
"Kaimakam."
4. "It has been taken to my notice that English officers
never stop kicking up a shinty (shindy) in their rooms. Cards
will be stopped. Let us not play cards or kick up any more
shindy. You shall behave civilized."
5. "In future great supplies of liquor and cognac will
not be drunk by our order as the floor of the school will go
through. In which case the officers concerned cannot hold
Turkish authorities responsible if they meet death. Also
punishment must be given. Officers will be always tidy
the room. Why choose the pig-stye? This is also a punishable
affair.
(Sd.) "TEUFIK,
"Commandant."
6. "Officers are allowed the bath and bazaar and footer.
Why not go about properly dressed. Surely no hat or in the
hand is not properly dressed. Sticks are forbidden and officers
cannot walk with sticks. It is forbidden to get drunk or sing
as the noise stops the sleep of neighbours. If a fire starts
it goes. Therefore don't smoke in bedrooms for God sake.
(Sd.) "TEUFIK,
"Commandant,
"British Prisoners' Camp."
* * * * *
And so on. The explanation of these extraordinary
documents is that some of the postas (bluebottles we call
them) being old dug-outs, can't keep up with us when we walk,
and trail out behind. The people in the town do us down at
every turn, and we have to argue and bargain to get anything.
In fact, we enjoy it. As regards the noise, some of us have
a sing-song on every other Saturday in the _mektub_, and the
Turks fear our applause may be too much for the floor. Regarding
the "bints" we, not having spoken to the gentler
sex from periods ranging to two years, have taught some
Greek dreadnoughts to wish us good morning. The fire episode
was, of course, due to me. Their Captain, Sheriff Bey, is
the source of most of the trouble, and he stirs up the old
kaimakam. Sheriff Bey is captain of the guard, and is at
once treacherous and spiteful. To be sure he had for a time
captured the ear of a few of our officers who were misled by
his lubricity and perpetual smiles. He fawns upon them, defaming
his own country, which he predicts will be finished
in a few weeks, and has decided to leave Turkey after the
war. I loathed the man more than ever on hearing him
speak of his country so. They say he is spying on the kaimakam
in order to get his command.
On arriving here we all hoped to get away within a few
weeks, as there was rumour of an advance in the West. At
present, however, the indications are, at any rate, for a
winter campaign.
CHAPTER X
WINTER--OUR "SELF-MADE" ORCHESTRA
_February 1st, 1917._--Four months have gone. As I
write the earth is white with feet of snow. It is
a white world, the roofs no longer brown, the trees
no longer green, for even those few trees, like pines that have
not shed their verdure, have donned the white raiment of
winter's carnival. Snow! This pure and godly element,
silent and secretive, the _avant-courrier_ of the Ultimate, of
Things doomed, one day to be reclaimed by the once again
triumphant elements when, from the dome of the universe,
the last white great snow sheets shall fall, fall, fall--and this
universe, once again locked in the ice-grip of the Snow God,
shall drive forward mysteriously on its lonely way--lonely
for it shall have been separated from Life, and the Spirit, Man,
will have gone.
As I look out on the undulating expanse terraced down
to me from the mountain horizon to the northward, I am for
a minute tempted to believe that the Great Snow Deluge has
really come, and I alone am awake to behold it. But looking
still closer I see tiny windows peeping out from their white
frames, and I know the bees within that human hive are having
their winter sleep. With an effort I trace among the smothered
definition of the buildings, the snowed-up roads and alleys,
and rising above it all I see, scattered over the town, the
white upright minarets of the mosques. Kastamuni in wintertime
is a picturesque Turkish town, and has a character all
its own. The streets are deserted, but on the hill-path white-mottled
figures move slowly upwards. It is the hour of
prayer, and the _muezzin_ has just begun to swell out in icy
circles from the minarets, reaching out to the hearts of the
prayerful, and calling them to communion with Allah. _La
illaha, illa la._ There is but one God, and that is God. From
how many thousands of mosques, and for how many millions of
the followers of the prophet does the _muezzin_ cry at this hour?
And so I, too, find my silence unlocked after all these months
and am at last persuaded to throw off the coma that has
been stealing over us body and soul, that has buried beneath
its snow-drift our intentions one by one, and I am tempted
to jot down a few more notes to my reminiscences.
Sometimes, as the other day, we are allowed to take down
the bob-sleighs we have made to a hill about a mile away,
and pretend we are schoolboys again. After snowballing the
starters and getting snowballed ourselves, we shot down the
slope or over the bank, as the case occurred, and once or
twice we collided, but no one got seriously hurt. The hard
toiling uphill again, pulling the sleigh, proved how unfit we
were. On the way home we religiously snowballed every
fowl we passed, and the roads are full of them. The days
are dreadfully dreary, and it is only these events that seem
to lighten the monotonous gloom. Firewood is very scarce
and expensive, and only on rare occasions do we have a fire
worth anything. If we do by chance have wood it is often
wet, and the wretched tin stoves choke the place with smoke.
I half decided to have a stove in my bedroom, but, besides
that being fearfully small, the trouble is to get wood, which
comes in tiny donkey loads at fictitious prices. So we lie
in bed under the clothes, and with the intense cold sleep
steals over us. There is the same difficulty in getting kerosene,
now five shillings a bottle, and what one gets either
goes out, or splutters until you kick it out. We hibernate,
therefore. Once or twice it has been so cold that I have gone
down to the kitchen and sat by the smoke heap there. This
is very popular these days.
Letters are turning up more regularly. I am delighted
to have at last heard from home and several friends all over
the world, including the brilliant author of "Problems of
Philosophy." He has very kindly sent me some books and
recommends me to see Schiller on "Grumps." I also heard
from Wallace, from whom I have not heard for years and
years, and to whom I wrote in Kut along with people in the
neglected recesses of my memory, but the letter, of course,
was never sent. It must be eleven years since he and I sat
on the golden sand of a green-vestured island in that silvery
sea around Auckland--smoking our pipes as we lay on our
backs, and filling in with a wish what we wanted to complete
the scene. I remember wanting the suitable girl, but he
wanted books and debate. In between are my world travels,
and Cambridge, and Germany, and now I've been running
about in a war, and he, since a professor in Princetown,
writes to condole with me at being out of the war so early!
He ought to congratulate me on my luck in staying in it so
long. But then, of course, he can't know anything about Kut
yet.
It seems I have been reported dead in Kut, and again on
the trek, and in England they are only just hearing to the
contrary. What an unnecessary suspense for one's people!
Mine have been magnificent, even throughout the long period
of tragic rumour.
About my other friends at Cambridge, and in the regiment,
and in France, I never hear a word.
Parcels have arrived, thank Heaven, from several friends.
Sir Thomas Mackenzie has been a perfect trump, and the
most wonderful and thoughtful parcels from a very kind
heart in Australia. The first three or four have arrived. My
dear old friends, the Pallisers, remember me faithfully. And
Lord Grey, not forgetting the lonely subaltern in the middle
of Asia who once held forth on Imperial affairs sketched out
by the cloistered lawns of the Cam, has sent me kind messages
and a fortnightly parcel. One's emotions of thankfulness
and gratitude are infinite. I feel it is my duty to buck up
every ounce possible when one of the busiest and most over-worked
men in England, in indifferent health, too, finds time
to think of a worthless subaltern like me. My Camberley
friends also have sent me some parcels, and some wonderful
letters. These momentous things happen only once in a while,
but when they do they tell us that somewhere beyond these
snow-bound mountains are English hearts that are glad we
are come through so far, which means they know we have
tried and are chiefly sorry we are chained because we can't
try again.
Some few books have also arrived from time to time, but
only old ones are allowed through, though sometimes we
manage to conceal one or two. This, however, is very difficult,
as all parcels have to be opened before the Turkish authorities.
We have formed a library, and the indefatigable
librarian, Herepath, who catalogues the books and _shikars_
every one a moment overdue, caused us infinite delight
months ago by placing in the library most of Kipling's works
which he had miraculously brought through with him from
Kut. We devour anything in the reading line, especially now,
as bridge has fallen off.
None of the many books sent to me have turned up so
far, and have probably been intercepted at Constantinople,
whither even those that do arrive here have to be sent back
for censorship.
No games outside except an occasional soccer match are
played now as the ground is too hard. One highly interesting
tournament was, however, recently completed. Eight soccer
teams participated, and we ran two bookies on the field. I
have not played since Christmas Day when, in getting down to
a forward rush, I had several giants on top of me and twisted
my knee badly. Just before this, however, as left three-quarter
in a match against the Lower House I scored one of the hardest
tries since I was a boy. One can't run much these days, but
I did it diving for the line as a nailed fist left four ruddy tracks
from my neck down my back. Even then we lost the match
by two goals to a goal and a try. I came to the conclusion
that my conceit was excusable.
Christmas passed quietly enough. We consumed a
tremendous amount of cognac and mastik, and anything else
going, regardless of price, and for a few hours we quite took
charge of things. There was a concert of sorts with a few
banjo items and a farce at the end which was more ridiculous
than funny, but it served as well.
On Christmas Eve we eluded the postas, and about midnight,
while trying to correct my bearings for the house, for I had
somehow got downhill, I saw a figure of him we call the Admiral
(a naval paymaster), who evidently having wearied of trying
to discipline his legs had given it up and was crawling vigorously
on all fours in the dark. The sight of this white figure crawling
mysteriously along in the darkness, believing himself unobserved,
made me shout with laughter. The Admiral put on a
huge spurt when he heard it!
But the feature of Christmas was the children's party we
gave by special leave of the kaimakam. For days we had
been cooking tartlets and cakes and macaroons. They knew
it was on, and before breakfast a big crowd of children and
mothers had accumulated near our alley-way. We took our
long table and spread upon it "our events," as we called them,
including apples and special quantities of milk and nuts.
The poor little wretches are half-starved. For weeks previously
we had given them bits of bread, so that each one of us had
an "adopted" nipper. But besides our little pals--mostly
Greek, but some Turks--dozens of youngsters from far and
wide had turned up, some in their mothers' arms. Sam Mayo,
an ex-sergeant-major, took charge and formed them into
column of route, mothers and all. He did splendidly. There
was much crying and yelling, but he got them in order and
then made them file past. I don't think we had laughed so
much for many months. Each one of us soon found himself
administering milk to a monthling in one arm with half a
dozen brats into one's pockets or wrestling with one's legs at
the same time. Once there was a stampede set up by a
"Young Turk Party" (boys of eight and upwards), and we
each had to grab all the mites by a leg or an arm and hold
them up out of harm's way. One or two got a bit squashed
as it was. The supreme joke was when Sam was proudly
showing us how to coax a tiny infant to eat a macaroon; it
got so enthusiastic as to bite a half inch of his thumb nearly
off. "The little devil nipped like a mongoose," yelled Sam,
upsetting his second youngster into the sweet rock that stuck
_en bloc_ to its head. We enjoyed ourselves as much as they.
The postas, with one or two exceptions, helped us. The poor
little wretches ate and drank as if they hadn't for a week at
least. Then we had a scramble among the larger children
for the nuts and surplus, and when the fights had subsided
gave them some piastre notes. Altogether it was a great
show and made us very happy.
The people, we hear, couldn't understand at first how war
veterans could worry about children. But you require to
be a prisoner of war with no privilege of speaking to any one,
adult or child, to understand the meaning of children. The
after result was that for days and days a huge swarm of
youngsters followed us everywhere we went yelling "Backsheesh"
and "Ekmek" (bread) and "Chocolate."
Shortly after Christmas an Armenian turned up with a
violin of sorts. I had been on the look-out for one for months.
He wanted a fictitious price, and it wasn't a good one but fairly
loud. The strings were on the wrong pegs, and such strings
surely never existed before on any violin. The bow wanted
some hair restorer badly. I tuned it up and powdered the
few remaining hairs well on a lump of gummy resin, probably
off a pine-tree, and then, by the smoking stove of a Turkish
fire, I began to play--the first time for years and years. The
room was empty but every one came up from below to see
what on earth had happened. I found I had forgotten everything.
After a half-hour bits of Beethoven, Raff, Dvorak
and Vieuxtemps came back to me, but they wanted waltzes
and marches. The end of it was they persuaded me to buy
the thing. I practised assiduously for two or three hours a
day for weeks and then the bow began to collapse and the
strings gave out.
It was now dreadfully cold in one's room, but we managed
to have some cheery evenings. Banjos made of hide stretched
over tins purchased at the bazaar did quite well for an
accompaniment. One of our number, Lieutenant Munro,
has shown a deal of skill in cabinet making, and has turned
out a 'cello which is the queerest thing in the whole world,
looking rather like a dough roll squeezed considerably in the
middle by a small boy until its waist threatens to go altogether.
But it makes a noise. My violin is improving wonderfully,
and I have found some bad strings in an Armenian shop.
In other words, my violin has grown to a band composed
of two violins, a 'cello, a cracked flute, a clarionet, and banjos.
The Admiral plays a little, and having unearthed another fiddle
has come in as second violin. Major Davis plays the violin a
little, and we are going to fossick others out. Drums are under
construction, and another 'cello is to follow. Remains the
music. As none has ever been seen in Kastamuni probably
since the town existed, nor can be obtained anywhere or is
allowed through, we have to write our own. This involves
composition. There was luckily a volume of Prout's Harmony
that turned up at Christmas, so one or two with leisure hours
are working at it hard. We have had five practices. I
never could have believed I would endure such an offensive
noise, let alone help to make it! "Dreaming" and
"Destiny" and "The Girl on the Film" were the first things
we attempted. It was a thin stream of trickling melody
followed by the weirdest of side noises!
How dreadfully cold it is, and how interminably long the
winter seems! Malaria and colds have pursued us. Our
boots have collapsed everywhere, and the few pairs in the
bazaar cost over eight liras. Here, again, we have fallen back
on ourselves, and two officers started repairing in an institution
called the "Snob's Shop." They are now quite good at it, and
turn out really fine work. The only leather obtainable, however,
is rotten local stuff.
Other prices have risen steadily. The wretched tea
available is about two liras a pound, and there is little of that.
Sugar is ten shillings a pound, coffee dearer than tea, meat
two shillings a pound, and wood works out at about three-pence
a stick. The wonder is how all these people live. Many
are pinched and haggard, and funeral processions in the
snow are more frequent. The Turkish contractor at the
_mektub_ has been playing the extortionate _rôle_, and for weeks
we have threatened to strike and had meeting after meeting.
The net result has been to get the Turks' backs up against us,
and it seems evident enough that the military authorities
are in the financial swim with the fleecers. We have almost
decided to mess ourselves--the chief objection to this being
that every obstacle will be put in our way and prices will go
up accordingly in the bazaar.
The other day we were allowed our permitted long walk and
took the direction of the pine woods, away up the long ascent.
We trod in young snow a few inches deep. It was a glorious
walk with the tiny bronze pines peeping through the white
sheets that stretched from horizon to horizon over hill and
valley. We climbed until on a patch of upland from which
the sun had ousted the snow, thousands of tiny crocuses
invited us to stop and listen to their premature whispers of
spring. But since then winter seems to have fastened on us
another clutch of unmistakable proprietorship. On our way
back we stopped at our cemetery, which has gradually grown
larger since we came. Last November the survivors of the
unfortunate yacht _Nida_ reached us. She had struck a mine
near Alexandretta and lost half her crew. The commander
had a terribly rough trip here, and the disaster seemed to have
preyed upon his mind. He died in the hospital here, poor
fellow. Recently we buried a gunner orderly arrived from
Angora. He had belonged to the 82nd R.F.A., and came
with the last batch allowed us by the authorities as the result
of continuous applications. The reports they brought of the
men were simply terrible. Hundreds of them seem to have
perished in the cold. The sick were allowed to die without
any attention whatever. A daily loaf of bread and one blanket,
and often no medical care at all, had accounted for hundreds.
Whole regiments are wiped out. Father Tim and the Reverend
Wright, who were recently ordered to Kara Hissah for the other
officers, managed to get a line back to us to the effect that
the reports about the men were true. Rumours are in the
air that General Townshend has gone home on parole and is
arranging for us to be exchanged or go to a neutral country.
One can't hope for that. We have heard in the bazaar that
Kut once more is in our hands. Thank God!
_May 1st._--At last the winter has gone, but it went slowly
and fought a strenuous rearguard action up to quite recently.
How jolly it is to have dismantled those wretched tin stoves
and be able to write and read in one's room once more. Walks
have been resumed, and lead us even further and further
afield. Many changes have overtaken us--changes seemingly
insignificant and yet to us very momentous. We started to
run our own mess in February, the Turks taking away all our
Turkish and Greek servants and making us rely on our own
orderlies. They prove themselves more childish and more
babyish every week. An inquiry was held into affairs here,
and the old kaimakam was thrown out, but Sheriff Bey, the
worst of all, lied his way into remaining. Our new kaimakam
is a more decent fellow, speaks German, and has lived in Berlin
for four years. We have had him up to dinner, and it fell
to me to do all the talking to him about Berlin. He means
well, and has done all he can to help us, but he is so dreadfully
afraid of Sheriff Bey and his own restrictions.
The band has made great strides. I'm now first violin
and leader of the "Orchestra." We have five violins, two
'cellos and a double bass, besides the drums, two clarionettes,
flute, and banjo, and the Human Crochet has made commendable
progress in writing out our music from bits of anything
we got through the post, piano solos, and many we have
had to write from memory. We perform on Saturday evenings
alternately at either house. Sometimes we sound almost like
a seaside band at Home!!! I long for the old Queen's Hall
Concerts again. To attend even those, I would willingly
forget the London Symphony or Nikisch's at the Gewandhaus
in Leipsig. The band is almost the only live thing here. One
pines for music. Every evening I can get (so to speak) with
my violin beyond these forests and mountains. My window
overlooks the town and I have quite an audience of Turkish
heads listening. I am told the sound carries as far as the
muezzin. These people have not heard any music in their
lives, and think my crude efforts quite divine. Books arrive
slowly. Swinburne has never come. But we have Shakespeare
and some of Thackeray and a lot of cheap stuff.
With the advent of spring we all responded to the call and
took fresh hope and formed new resolves. Amongst them I
started a fortnightly paper called _Smoke_, the Kastamuni
_Punch_ and _Tatler_. In a rash moment I finally consented to
the "General's" request, the General being Captain Kirkwood,
our Mess-President. So far it has been a decided
success. Our artist was an officer from the Lower House
whose handy pen finished the cartoon and illustrated the serial
and verse. The paper was not wholly given to ragging and
joking, but in a serious corner we discussed aspects of Kut and
the Trek and Kastamuni and the war. We also ran fictitious
notes from Kara Hissa, Yozgad, Brusa (where the generals are),
and "Eve" of the _Tatler_ finally came to live in Kastamuni to
cheer us up with a certain famous chaperone called "The
Destroyer." The most popular article amongst our own mess
was the current one called "The Oblong Table," at which we
all sat--King Arthur, Sir John Happy Tight, Sir Saundontius
the Good, Sir Sulphurous Blears, Sir Bedevere le Géant, Sir
Leslie Bee de Canard, Sir Cliftus Smallkake, Sir Samuel
Longbow, Sir Carol le Filbert, Sir Richard Oldlace, Sir Pompous
Oldass, Sir Lancelot the Bard, Sir Galahad the Silent, and Sir
Rufus Appletree. And we lived well up to the best traditions
of the Round Table, and conversations and jests and challenges
flew to and fro. But altogether it is rather a sweat, as I have
to do the whole thing, and then it has to be copied out again
by some one with a decent caligraphy. Great care has to be
taken to keep it out of the Turks' hands.
I have also worked on a further constitutional study of
the possible Society of Nations or International Body, following
out constitutional developments and tendencies as revealed
by the war since my pre-war work "The Place of International
Law in Jurisprudence."
And so what with the band and _Smoke_ and this diary and
bits of French and my law work, I have plenty to do. I am
only wondering how long it will be before these, too, follow the
rest of our enterprises to oblivion. It is true that one's springs
of action seem almost run out, and that with leading this
dreary existence the iron of Kastamuni has already eaten into
the souls of many. The psychology of a captive is an extraordinary
one.
At night-time, when the last tremors of the muezzin have
died away and all is still, we sometimes fancy we can hear the
echoes of those great events that are rearranging the world,
the crashing of nations in mortal combat, the battle cries of
men fighting for their faith, the death cries of the fallen,
above all, the cannon cacophany of the fire deluge.
And from here in the backwater of the world, without
news or knowledge, our hearts go out to our countrymen on the
other front, and we pray to God that we may soon be amongst
them again.
CHAPTER XI
EXTRACTS AND PHOTOS FROM "SMOKE," THE KASTAMUNI
"PUNCH"
_Smoke_ was the Kastamuni _Punch_, which I edited. Its
existence became known to the Turks, who tried by
every means to discover it. When I escaped from the
prison in Stamboul, I had it around my waist. Unwilling to
risk its capture in my subsequent adventures, I entrusted it to
some one in Stamboul, from where it was safely recovered
after the entry of the British troops. The photos are of the
original copy and the extracts perpetrated by me.
* * * * *
(1) Letter from "Eve," whom to cheer our loneliness we
transported to live amongst us in Kastamuni.
201, Curzon Street,
Mayfair,
May 28th, '17.
DEAR MR. SMOKE,
Such wonderful news for you. I'm to leave for
Kastamuni in two days. Think of it, my dear. For Kastamuni
and all of you. Almost _too_ wonderful, isn't it? You
know by the time the third edition of _Smoke_ arrived home it
became quite well known that you were incorporated with the
_Tatler_, and, of course, you and I are naturally expected to
become awfully interested in each other. Also by a marvellous
bit of planning on the part of Providence at the same time
Mrs. Huntingdon-East received such an extraordinarily warm-hearted
letter from a Mr. Carol Manrow of Kastamuni (do
you know him?), begging her to visit Kastamuni and prescribe
for his (little Carol's, if you please) loneliness, and also--but
I mustn't tell you too much, must I?
[Illustration: LETTER FROM "EVE." PHOTOGRAPHED FROM "SMOKE,"
THE KASTAMUNI "PUNCH"]
Oh, and we just love _Smoke_. Well, you know, the next
day I met the Destroyer at tea, _i.e._ Mrs. H. E., because she's
always under full sail, or whatever you call it. She has
persuaded my friends to make me go with her. But, my dear,
I was only too _delighted_ to go, and I do so want to see all the
dear things in that wonderful little place. Oh, I'm so glad
you are incorporated with the _Tatler_, and that I am to tattle
for you. The Women War Workers' Association has arranged
for the Destroyer to look after me. Can you imagine that?
But I shan't stretch my reins until I am safe with you all, and
then we shall see what pace is to be set in Kastamuni.
I'm to send news to the _Tatler_ as ever, and a column for
you on local gossip or fashionable intelligence. The last sounds
the best. Our spare time you must make interesting for us,
and as we are to have _carte blanche_ from our funny old enemies,
we can promise you a terrific time. And such news I've got
for you--just _too_ exciting.
We leave in two days via Boulogne, Paris, Berne, Vienna,
Constanti, and Ineboli--and the Sultan has offered the
Destroyer the use of his private yacht, _Abdul Hamid Secundus_.
We _screamed_ when we got his wire. So nice of him, and he
hopes to find us "chic." Just fancy the Destroyer being
chic. And we are to remain with you all until you go away.
Isn't that splendid?
Thank you so much for your long wire. So _thoughtful_ of
you, but, my dear, I'm not a bit shy, and I've not forgotten
you. In fact, I have tried to dream about you quite often.
Please try to believe this. We are to have the Vali's old
house, whatever that means. The Destroyer is a dear old
thing, and, of course, I leave all the arrangements to her.
She sends a message. "Give the dear things my love, and
tell them to pray that the weather will be good and the Black
Sea smooth."
Well, I must away to pack. Such appalling weather here,
and we have no potatoes. But no one cares the tiniest bit,
as the news is dreadfully good. The one drawback is that the
war will be over before we have finished the wonderful time
we shall all have in Kastamuni.
Bye-bye, dear Mr. Smoke.
Yours with love,
EVE.
* * * * *
(2) Advertisement of Kuttites Klearout Kompany, Unlimited.
KASTAMUNI KUTTITES KLEAROUT KOMPANY,
UNLIMITED
OBJECT, To defray the expenses of constructing, furnishing,
and equipping
The "HOMEWARD BOUND" Airship.
PROPOSED CAPITAL, £2000 (Turkish).
Consisting of 1000 Fully-Paid Preference and 1000 Ordinary
Shares.
TERMS, Preference Fully Paid, Ordinary Five per cent, on
allotment.
Balance after the War.
CONDITIONS, The investment in twenty shares will carry
the privilege of one seat in the "Homeward Bound," to
leave Kastamuni at some date unknown.
N.B.--In the event of having to jettison ballast from the
airship, Preference Shareholders will not be rated as ballast
until Ordinary Shareholders have been thrown overboard.
ADVANTAGES, On the back of every coupon will be found a
policy of insurance with the Credit Ottoman Insurance
Company covering risks against (1) Recapture, (2)
Collision, (3) Fire, (4) Cherif Bey, (5) Drowning,
(6) Falling Overboard, (7) Landing in Enemy Country.
Last date of Application for Shares, May 10th, 1917.
Original Allottees: (Katronides) The Rt. Hon. Marquis-de-Quinine;
(Cloulourides) Vicomte-de-Moular and five
Field Officers.
Bankers: Kastamuni Providential Banking Co., Ltd.
Secretary: A. Fludd,
47.8.9 _Smoke_ Offices.
[Illustration: KASTAMUNI KUTTITES KLEAROUT KOMPANY
(AN ESCAPE ADVERTISEMENT FROM "SMOKE")]
* * * * *
(3) SATIRE'S MY WEAPON, BUT I'M TOO DISCREET
TO RUN AMOK AND TILT AT ALL I MEET
THE WINGS OF A DOVE (Leading Article)
Had I the wings of a dove, far, far would I fly--away from
this dove-cot--from the Mekhteb and memories of Huznu--from
the Turkish bath fond joy of earlier days, away from the
chapel that has so often seen me, but now to see me no more,
from the bazaar where in days of yore I visited Ekki Bachouk's,
from the postas and Turkish female delights untasted--from the
band--ah, band of memories--most of all from the Oblong Table--in
short, from the Flesh and the Devil far, far would I fly.
Ah, those wings. I feel them already upon me. Like a
bird I feel also my capacity for flight. Wings that lie closely
to my shoulders, white pinions the outer ribs in stiff strong
rows, beside them smaller ones lighter than air, stronger than
steel, folding like a fan, opening like an umbrella, locked and
fast. Wings flinging arced shadows, wings with which to
issue some early morn from my window, to cleave the air, to
mount up, up, up above these mosques, the river, the town,
until Kastamuni shall appear a wee pattern of dusky patchwork
crossed by a silver thread and dotted with woolly smoke.
Wings to lift me so high that even that shall disappear--and
beyond the ranges will gleam the sea. Ah, the sea. How
I long for thee also. Since when have I walked within range
of thy tossing spray, thou sea skirting the crimson battlefields
of Europe. Thee would I follow until in the last light of even
I beheld once more "that isle set in a silver sea----"
Oh, for the wings of a dove. Far, far would I fly. Oh,
to be a dove. I, too, would stop to pluck an olive leaf, and
on it would scratch with my beak, _Mene, Mene, Tekel, Upharsin_,
and then having reached Potsdam, would I drop it at the
Kaiser's feet as he strolls about the palace grounds of Sans-souci.
Sans-souci, forsooth!
Then would he not conquer the world any more, but wring
the necks of all his eagles.
And then on to other isles and scenes, whence the voices
are calling----
Oh, for the wings, those free white wings of a dove.
* * * * *
(4) A Prophecy as to the Fate of Turkey.
THE DEATH OF COCK TURKEY
(With apologies to Cock Robin)
"Who killed Cock Turkey?"
"I," said Bull Jack,
"With my usual knack--
I killed Cock Turkey."
"Who helped to do it?"
"I," said old Bruno,
"With my little U know--
I helped to do it."
"Who saw him die?"
"I," said her ally,
With perfectly dry eye--
"I saw him die."
"Who'll have his feathers?"
"I," said the Lion,
"With my usual try-on,
I'll have his feathers."
"Who'll dig his grave?"
"I," said the vulture,
An eagle plus culture--
"I'll dig his grave."
"Who'll grow on his grave?"
"I," said the Lily,
She spoke quite shrilly--
"I'll grow on his grave."
"Who'll write his epitaph?"
"I," said the Armenian,
With the help of the Athenian--
"I'll write his epitaph."
"Who's heir-apparent?"
"I," said Uncle Sam,
"I guess that I am
The heir-apparent."
"Who'll toll the knell?"
"I," said the Kangaroo,
"With the help of the Emu,
I'll toll the knell."
And the Things of the Earth danced in ecstasy--
When they heard of the death of the Cock Turkey--
When they heard of the death of the Cock Turkey.
PACIFIC BILLOW.
April, 1917.
* * * * *
(5) Breach of Promise Case.
KING'S BENCH DIVISION
Mr. Justice Owes-Leigh.
Sonia _alias_ the Fair Girl _v._ Bimbashi Stew-Hot.
Damages for Breach of Promise.
Counsel for plaintiff, Mr. Wm. Sykes, K.C., of Dukes.
The defendant defended himself, and was assisted, where
necessary, by the learned judge.
Mr. Sykes, on traversing the Statement of Claim, alleged
that the plaintiff had been wrongfully deceived by certain
overtures and advances on the part of the defendant in that
he had, on many occasions, smiled at her, gesticulated towards
her, called her "choke guzelle," winked, and even kissed his
fingers at her when the postas were not looking. Moreover,
written evidence of a formal declaration of affection and
willingness to marry was in possession of the plaintiff. For
these reasons, submitted Mr. Sykes, an offer of the contract of
matrimony had been made by the defendant and accepted by
the plaintiff. The defendant was unwilling to fulfil--or at
least hung fire--plaintiff estimated her damages at piastres 500.
The defendant, who was evidently a humorist, was
understood to demur.
Mr. Sykes then called his chief witness, the plaintiff, the
Fair Girl herself. Her appearance caused a great sensation in
the court. There came a dream in daisy-patterned chintz,
the pattering of small red-stockinged feet, and a dainty whiff
of garlic streamed over the court as the fragile and closely-hooded
damsel clambered into the witness-box. Then, and
not till then, she threw back her veil, and the whole court
beheld, or rather heard, a tone poem of superlative beauty--a
song without words. Her striking looks affected the public
queerly, who fell to digging one another in the ribs, and the
learned judge had twice to threaten to clear the court.
She answered her counsel's questions firmly and sweetly.
The defendant then put her through the following cross-examination,
by the help of an interpreter.
"Sonia, do you love me?" (Violent nods.)
"How can you love me when I haven't talked to you?"
"You tried to kiss me."
"Who stopped me?"
"The postas."
"Do you want to marry everybody who kisses you?"
"Certainly not. Some kiss for fun, and some for love."
"How could I marry you when I am already married?"
The learned judge here intervened to the effect that in Turkey
a man might have several wives.
A question was now put by defendant to the witness with
reference to other affections, but was disallowed. Plaintiff
was now required to produce the written evidence, but counsel
for plaintiff, springing to his feet, opposed this proceeding as
violating the religious law of the plaintiff's sect. He was overruled
by the learned judge, and the witness produced from her
stocking a piece of crumpled paper. All eyes were turned on
the defendant, and it seemed now improbable that he could
win his case. However, after some delay, and much to the
embarrassment of plaintiff's counsel, and to the amusement
of the rest of the court, the paper was found to be an old
laundry list of the defendant, which he may or may not have
dropped accidentally.
At this point a startling revelation was made in Mr. Sykes'
re-examination of plaintiff to the effect that witness had been
twice actually kissed by the defendant, and a collar stud of
his, retained in plaintiff's possession, was produced in court.
The defendant, who had hitherto conducted an able defence,
was considerably put out by the last fact, and applied to the
learned judge for special permission further to question the
plaintiff. This being given, the Bimbashi severely taxed the
witness as to her means of support, and several times the
learned judge had to intervene on plaintiff's behalf. The
questions were satisfactorily answered, and the witness left
the box.
Mr. Sykes summed up in a manner so scathing that the
Bimbashi was heard to interrupt the court by saying that he
wished both Mr. Sykes and he himself had never been born.
Counsel was well into his final peroration, when he chanced to
refer to the plaintiff's "rosy innocence," which, on being
interpreted to the Fair Girl, caused her to burst out laughing.
On being admonished by the learned judge, she inquired of
Mr. Justice Owes-Leigh whether the picture of her counsel,
Mr. Sykes, talking of innocence, was not too funny even for
a Turk. This caused a counter-sentiment in favour of the
Bimbashi, and closed the case for the plaintiff.
The defendant, a man of mischievous disposition, and
inclined to be humorous, opened his defence by reciting
Wordsworth's "We are Seven," and had got well into Mrs.
Hemans' "The Graves of a Household," when the learned
judge asked what this had to do with the case.
"Nothing, my lord. I am merely making an impression."
Upon which the learned judge dropped on him like a chimney,
and Mr. Sykes suggested the defendant had tried to make an
impression on the Fair Girl.
Unabashed, the defendant proceeded with his case, which
was--
(1) That he had said or done nothing to encourage the
plaintiff.
(2) If he had done so he had not meant it.
(3) If he had meant to do so he had had no idea----
"You are wasting the time of this court," thundered the
learned judge, and demanded the line of defence.
"I have no defence, my lord."
"Then why on earth are you fighting the case?"
"I'm not fighting anybody. I am willing to marry her
on certain conditions."
The elucidation of these conditions necessitated the
clearance of the court, and for some time the case was heard _in
camera_. However, it is generally known that the learned judge
himself re-examined both parties, as a result of which the Fair
Girl admitted to being secretly in love with a gendarme, and
flatly declined to marry the defendant. The case was dismissed
without costs on either side. Counsel for plaintiff explained
that the officers of Kastamuni had subscribed the amount of
plaintiff's court costs. A question by the Bimbashi as to
whether plaintiff's counsel had received his professional costs
from the Fair Girl was disallowed by the learned judge.
Counsel for plaintiff, who became greatly heated, was distinctly
heard by some to say something about "a jealous counsel,"
but the remark evidently did not reach the ears of Mr. Justice
Owes-Leigh.
The court rose, and the Fair Girl, whose nerve possibly
failed at the last moment, went out on her counsel's arm.
* * * * *
(6) Knights of the Oblong Table.
THE OBLONG TABLE
KNIGHTS AT MESS (Subject: Pooling of Parcels)
KING ARTHUR (_a three-parcel wallah with designs on Sir
Saundontius the Good, a fourteen-parcel wallah_): Gentlemen,
I propose that in future all parcels are pooled in the mess.
(_Loud protests and uproar._)
SIR SAMUEL LONGBOW: No, I'm against that. Fancy
dividing two tins of sardines amongst fourteen.
SIR CLIFTUS SMALLKAKE: Well, I'll tell you this much, I
shan't give mine up. One cake wouldn't feed two knights.
SIR SULPHUROUS BLEARS: Blank your blankety blank.
I'm for pooling the blankety blanks, blank it.
SIR EDWARD LE FUMEUR: I've a chicken, that means a
bone each.
SIR POMPOUS OLDASS TO SIR S. BLEARS: How many
parcels have you received?
SIR SULPH. BLEARS: None, you blank-headed blankety
blank.
SIR LESLIE BEC DE CANARD: Very good idea. I've got
flea powders and thirst quenchers. Pool 'em, with pleasure.
[Illustration: "KING ARTHUR'S KNIGHTS OF THE OBLONG TABLE"
IN OUR MESS. THE HILLS OF KASTAMUNI IN THE DISTANCE!]
[Illustration: MERMAID READING "SMOKE"]
SIR RUFUS APPLETREE: I've had no parcels. Even if I
had I would have pooled them. (_Laughter and exclamations._)
SIR SHINYTOP STEWARTUS (_who sits next to King A. and knows
that in any case Royalty appropriates_): Hear, hear, let's pool
them.
SIR CAROL COEUR DE LION: I'm not afraid of speaking my
mind. I'm against it, as I don't approve of socialism or cheap
parcels.
SIR SAUNDONTIUS THE GOOD (_fourteen-parcel wallah, and
feeling under the circumstances that he had better go no further
than timidly venturing to agree with the last speaker_): I hardly
think so, Sir King, Old Thing. One tin of jam would last me
for a week, but the mess scarcely one minute. (_Storm grows
wilder, the only voices for the affirmative being those who up to
date have received no parcels._)
KING ARTHUR (_much annoyed, and seeing a way of retreat,
in a whisper to Sir Shinytop_): Pass the word it's only a ramp
against Saundontius. (_The murmur grows to one of general
accord and cry of "Pool 'em."_)
SIR SAUNDONTIUS (_an excellent thought-reader, aside to Sir
Sulph. Blears_): Pass the word the ramp is only an excuse of
King A. to get his point. Ramp or no ramp, the vote will
count.
KING ARTHUR (_not a good thought-reader, and believing all
well_): Gentlemen, the vote! Who's for pooling them?
(_Votes for, six, including Sir Saundontius (who has counted);
votes against, eight._)
* * * * *
(7) PARCEL DAY
(_Accele-rato, con moto, mysterioso_)
There's a murmur in the air--in the air--
There are ninety parcels there
Full of jams, anchovies rare
For the prisoners de guerre--
Bless their souls.
Hark! I hear him read the list--read the list--
Six for you--I do insist--
One for me is rather triste--
Though size counts too I wist--
Bless our souls.
At the room we breathless wait--breathless wait--
You must not risk being late,
It might change your parcel's fate,
So on our boldness do not prate.
Bless our souls.
All is o'er, they have them fast--have them fast--
There's some jam that will not last,
Some tongue for a repast--
Quenchers, shirts, and tea! avast!
Bless _their_ souls.
* * * * *
(8) LETTERS COME
(_Adagio_)
Letters come. Letters go.
Winter's gone. Gone the snow.
Gone the footer and toboggan,
Gone our erstwhile trick of hoggin,
And the price prevents our groggin,
Life is so.
Rumours come. Rumours go.
What's the truth?--we don't know.
In Kastamuni our hearts are breaking
And we fear the rude awaking
When from her tracks we'll be making,
Love is so.
* * * * *
(9) "Die Nacht"--an inversion of "Der Tag," a one-act
play of 1914.
DIE NACHT
(_A New Version of "Der Tag," all about Billy Primus,
June, 1917._)
SCENE I (AND ONLY).
(_Large room used as smoker-library with tall windows overlooking
the waters of Wandsee. The Kaiser in the uniform of the Death's
Head Hussars, seated behind a table-desk. A shaded lamp throws
the sharp silhouette of his features upon the wall, leaving him
mostly in shadow and the rest of the room in the light. He
presses a bell. Enters_ ZIMMERMAN, _Foreign Minister_.)
KAISER (_motioning Z. to be seated_): Before Talaat arrives
let me know briefly how the matter stands.
ZIM.: Turkey desires peace at once, but gives the last
possible date as three months. An immediate loan of
10,000,000 liras on mutual security is demanded.
KAISER: Is Enver in with this, or is it a feeler only?
Z.: I assure your Majesty, it requires urgent attention.
The whole of Turkey is behind it, led by the few vested and
private interests that remain. You remember my saying
that as soon as the private interests are hit the Turks will
murmur.
KAISER: What hold have they on the public?
Z.: According to Talaat, and privately confirmed, the
wealthy classes are heading the general dissatisfaction at the
famine prices and daily loss of territory. It is an ultimatum.
KAISER: What course do you propose for extending the
three months?
Z.: I suggest the situation would concern the War
Minister.
KAISER (_ringing_, HINDENBURG _appears_): The day, my
general, is nearer than we thought. Turkey pulls out in three
months. How will the map lie then?
H.: With Russia merely held, or, if necessary, by retiring
to our system of railways and carrying on with smaller forces
on our Eastern Front, we can intensify our shortened line in
the West and hold it against all odds until the autumn. This
is providing Holland remains neutral and the Turkish campaign
is pushed.
KAISER: What is your opinion of the news from Turkey?
H.: Palestine and Syria will go during the summer.
Possibly Russia will get astride the Baghdad Railway from
their Eastern push.
KAISER: Our connection to Constantinople?
H.: We can keep open for three or four months, when the
Western wastage will necessitate withdrawal of Mackensen's
forces and further concentration. Say four months, providing
Turkish wastages are replaced and she remains firm.
KAISER _to_ Z.: To what extent can you trust Turkey for
three months?
Z.: If the line is not cut she can be kept in by our military
dispositions, so my reports say. The Turkish forces are kept
in the out-field and German troops are fought nearer to the
Capital. Their staff is still wholly German, and reports give
no ground for uneasiness, except, of course, non-military riots.
In which case comes in our "Remedy" among the Ultimate
Provisions drawn up by your Majesty. We can seize and
garrison Stamboul within twenty-four hours.
KAISER (_turning over papers_): Hindenburg, is your opinion
still unaltered about our last stand there? Remember, it is
of the greatest consequence to the whole issue. For how long
can we hold Stamboul?
H. (_drawing himself up proudly_): Your Majesty, our plans
are perfect. On the dispositions made I will undertake to
hold Constantinople behind the Tchataldja lines and a south
trench for three years against the world.
KAISER: There is nothing overlooked? (_Rings, and_
BETHMAN-HOLLWEG _appears_.)
H.: Nothing. With our shore batteries we could outrange
any gun ashore or afloat, and as a submarine base it would
be excellent. Ammunition and food would last that time.
KAISER (_dreamily_): Three years. It would astonish
posterity.
BETH.-HOLLWEG: Magnificent, my Emperor, but more than
necessary.
KAISER: You mean England would be sickened out long
before then?
B.-H.: If the rest of the war-map could remain as it is,
it wouldn't be worth her while to insist on unconditional
terms. But gallery play in Stamboul is useless once our line
gives in the West.
KAISER (_to_ HINDENBURG): If we sacrifice the Roumanian
line and hold one across Austria instead, make a stand in
Constantinople, and concentrate all our forces on the Western
Front, how long can we go on for?
H.: To the autumn of 1918, when it will all collapse like
a house of cards.
KAISER (_to_ B.-H.): The siege of Constantinople then would
not be mere gallery play, Herr Chancellor?
[Illustration: "DIE NACHT," AN INVERSION OF "DER TAG," WRITTEN
JUNE, 1917, PROPHESYING THE DOOM OF GERMANY IN
AUTUMN OF 1918.--"SMOKE"]
[Illustration: AN ESCAPE STORY FROM "SMOKE." THE AIRSHIP ENTERING
THE BLACK SEA]
B.-H.: There is yet a more serious factor. We can crush
or sacrifice Turkey in revolution, but before a revolution in
Germany your Majesty's guns will melt like butter in the sun.
KAISER: Have you not quietened the National Liberals
by nominally conceding the constitutional point of veto, and
in assembling and proroguing the Reichstag?
B.-H.: It's not that. Neither is it the Socialists or the
Left Centre. It's the agrarian classes of the Out Provinces.
They already imagine that disaster has overtaken their absorption
by Prussia, and thought towards decentralization must
not be trusted too far. As they had least to win so they have
most to lose in a war of taxation and attrition. Moreover,
they fear the aftermath of fearful reprisals if the enemy
carries war into Germany.
KAISER: But my army, surely it can maintain its
supremacy?
B.-H.: We cannot spare troops to garrison railways, and
once the seed is sown lines will be cut, communications
interrupted, and the army--excepting the Prussians--which
is sick of fighting, will dissolve. I speak, your Majesty, from
a near view of facts. Three months may be short, but when
Turkey goes the terms will be harder.
KAISER: Turkey may go. Constantinople will not go.
(_Rings._)
B.-H.: The time to negotiate is now. We shall not
succeed in sickening England out, and if we wait until we are
right back before we ask peace, our enemies will push. (_Enter_
VON KAPELLAR.)
KAISER: Von Kapellar, First Sailor of the World, you are
our present hope. You have three months within which to
paralyse British shipping completely--there must not remain
one ship afloat. Everything comes back to this.
VON K.: My Emperor, in that time I can dismember, but
I cannot annihilate. Every submarine must consult opportunity.
Their chief boats are convoyed. If necessary, the
American and Japanese destroyer flotillas will be used against
us. It would take a year before we got at her throat. Besides,
she is building.
KAISER: It must be done. It shall be. We are working
against a time-table. With England cut off, and Turkey
remaining in, Germany is consolidated. Von Tirpitz was
right, after all. It is our chief weapon of parley. You must
smash every ship and redouble our submarine tactics ten times
from to-night--from this minute. I see it all plainly and all
will be well.
(VON KAPELLAR _withdraws_. KAISER _motions to the Chancellor, who
disappears through the door, to reappear immediately conducting_
TALAAT PASHA.)
B.-H.: I present to your Majesty our friend and Embassy
from Turkey--Talaat Pasha.
(_The_ KAISER _rises to his full height, silent and immovable,
for ten awful seconds. And during those ten seconds the heart of_
TALAAT, _humped violently, as he beheld, at last, beyond the
bowed heads of these grim men, the famous figure, strangely
terrible, of the Great War Lord standing there dark and silent as
Fate in the lamp shadow--the War Lord that had carpeted the earth
with blood_. TALAAT, _not being used to these things, bows low.
The_ KAISER _advances and takes him cordially by the two hands_.)
KAISER: Welcome, faithful friend of the Fatherland in
peace and war, and soon in victory. You see, I have just
been reviewing my sinews of war. A magnificent piece of
news has just arrived. We have smashed the Mistress of the
Seas. It but remains to sweep away the fragments. (_Enter_
VON KAPELLAR.) I will introduce to you Baron Von Kapellar,
the hero of the hour.
(_Introduces them to_ TALAAT, _and after a few moments'
conversation they withdraw, and_ TALAAT _is left alone with the_
KAISER, _who smokes_.)
KAISER: Your arrival, my friend Talaat, has been the
precursor of most wonderful news. I am happy to be able to
tell the distinguished leader of our brave and faithful ally
that the end of the war is a matter of a few weeks only. In
four days we have sunk seventy-two large boats. There is a
panic in England, and we have been touched about terms of
peace.
TALAAT: Oh, that is good. My mission was for ten
millions now, and to say we can't stand the strain for more
than three months.
KAISER: The strain? My generals will see to that. We
are at England's throat. You must press every ounce--her
terms depend on these blows. We could have peace to-night,
but the peace we want requires manoeuvring for. You remain
firm, do you not? (TALAAT _nods meekly_.) Our submarines
are supreme, and every day the position improves.
TALAAT: There are riots in Constantinople.
KAISER: I will arrange for sufficient policing of the place.
Now do not misunderstand me. The case for Turkey is everything
or nothing, and without Germany it will be nothing.
You are to dine with the Chancellor and me to-night. Is
there any question you would like to ask?
TALAAT: What is your plan of retirement in the West?
KAISER: To fall back to a line we can hold for years--to
prove to our enemies that at the rate of their advance it will
take them two years to get into Germany, which extra effort
will not mean so much gain to them more than they have at
present--but the expenditure of millions of lives and double
their war debt. That being so, we win. And now (_rising_)
it is my royal wish to distinguish this occasion by conferring
on you a Grand Duchy of the Fatherland. I have one vacant.
The revenues have accumulated since the war. We will
speak further of this at dinner.
(_The_ KAISER, _smiling at_ TALAAT, _shakes him by the hand. As
the Chancellor reappears for_ TALAAT, _the latter, pale with
excitement, bows himself out of the royal presence_.)
(_The_ KAISER _falls dejectedly into his chair and rings again_.
PROFESSOR ADAM LASSOON _enters--the arch-spy, Press gagger, and
confidential friend_.)
KAISER: Well, Adam. What news?
L.: There has been much public comment on the fact
that the Reichstag has even made it possible to demand
changes in the Constitution so openly. This has been dealt
with. There is also a growing tendency towards isolation.
Men sit in cafés and talk. The world is against us, and even
the entrance of Hayti has a bad moral effect. They hear the
hordes already thundering at our gates for vengeance. This
also has been dealt with and articles prescribed for it.
KAISER: Be extra vigilant about the provinces, and make
a submarine boom.
(LASSOON _disappears_.)
(KAISER, _now alone and smoking hard, walks to the window. He
looks out on the lake in silence. The moonlight streams in
across the room. As he watches, a black sailing cloud obscures
the moon, and the_ KAISER, _turning down the lights, sinks back
dreamily in his chair. The smoke from his cigar floats up in
thick clouds as he rests his haggard face in one hand. He sleeps.
Past the smothered light the mists grow thicker and in them
suddenly appears a form, a spectre--it is the_ SHADE OF BISMARK.
_With fearful voice it speaks._)
THE SHADE: It is true, Wilhelm. You have need for the
pilot, nicht wahr? The glorious empire I gave is on the brink
of an abyss. Colonies, commerce, shipping, armies, friends--all
are gone. The isolation of England has ended in the
isolation of Germany. The very cement with which I bound
State by State to Prussia is crumbling to dust. Germany is
sliding--soon she will be an avalanche charging to her doom.
Even now there is barely time to avert the catastrophe. You
dropped me. This is my revenge.
KAISER (_awakes with a start, and the_ SHADE _flees_): What a
fearful dream (_quotes_)--
"There is a tide in the affair of Nations,
Which, taken at the flood, leads God knows where."
On such a full sea are we now afloat, and we must take the
current when it serves or, like our submarines, go to the
bottom. I'll ring for wine....
(_Rings as the curtain falls._)
Written in June, 1917.
* * * * *
[Illustration:
_Photo from "Smoke"_
"THE SONG OF THE RAIN"]
[Illustration: BALLAD OF THE FALL OF KUT. ("SMOKE")
THIS SKETCH AS ALL OTHERS WAS DONE BY LIEUT. GALLOWAY]
(10) Ballad by a bombardier on night of Fall of Kut.
THE FALL OF KUT
_April 29th, 1916_
Crack me the last bottle of date-juice
And hand me some leaves of the lime--
For to-day falls Kut-el-Amarah,
And for us, God knows, it's time.
We're only a siege-battered army,
And most of us bones and skin;
And we thought that our troubles were over;
But we find they only begin.
For five months the might of the Turk
Tried to take this tiny Kut.
Now he says that we are devils--
And we know that he can loot.
We thrashed him at Shaiba and Kurna,
At Amarah we bluffed him to flight,
At Essin we grappled and threw him--
How we swore when he left in the night!
That gave us Kut-el-Amarah
Where runs in the Shat-el-Hai.
'Tis the key to Mesopotamia,
And surrounded by Arab canaille.
We were now a conquering army,
And we fought well and ate well and drank;
And though he'd retreated to Baghdad,
We followed for military swank.
The march was a long one and thirsty,
Still we thought of the Baghdad goal--
Till the Turk barred our way at Ctesiphon,
Thrice our force and entrenched like a mole.
But Townshend saw it all swiftly--
To him were all our wins due.
"I'll not fight without reinforcements--
There's my communications, too."
Now, it's a trick they have in the Army,
To ask you "What's absurd?"
So unsupported, Charlie T.
He took them--at their word.
"It's a risk, and I'm not for it;
But if fight it's got to be,
We'll fight like the Sixth Division,"
Quoth our General, Charlie T.
We found his flank and joined battle,
And held with a frontal attack.
Stormed his first line--he vacated his second,
Was reinforced, and we had to fall back.
A third of our force on the field;
But the Turk had suffered much more.
We knew that the game was up,
So retired with the honours of war.
Then came the wild hordes of Islam,
Hot-footed upon our track.
They caught us at Um-al-Tabul,
But in the open we flung them back.
Mars surely was in his chariot,
And smiled at Townshend then;
And Charles made good to the God of War,
And snatched from the grave dead men.
We hurled him back and held him,
And got our transport through--
It was a glorious gunner's show--
But that's 'twixt me and you.
For forty hours we marched on,
The nights were fearfully cold.
Men hungered and fainting, and men
That slept as they walked, I'm told.
But Townshend got us to Kut,
And the remnants stumbled in.
And Hunger and Death stared from our eyes,
But we counted it all a win.
We dug down deep and quickly--
Next day they were all around,
And our planes flew away to the southward.
We were alone and battle bound.
We fought them from the trenches--
We came to blows in the Fort.
We fought them and we fought the floods--
And then the food ran short.
Relief had been expected
In two weeks, or four, at the most.
So we starved, or we died by the hundred;
But we stuck each man to his post.
All this time the enemy, vengeful,
That ringed us tightly round,
Swept us with shell and rifle fire
That followed us underground.
Our front line gazed into the blue,
Where Formless Things rode by,
And followed the wake of sound and heard
Them burst in the old Serai.
Or sometimes it was the Hospital,
And sometimes anywhere,
And later came planes that bombed us--
'Twas only luck served you there.
So the months went by, and we ate husks,
Chupatties, and mule, and weeds.
We'd Divisional Orders for breakfast,
And ribs of the silent steeds.
And still the Relief kept coming--
The Staff nominated the day.
Twenty times they fixed it for certain,
And each time explained the delay.
So we swallowed disappointments,
Tommy only groused his share;
But one sad day the floods came,
And Destiny seemed unfair.
The trenches filled with water,
And the plain showed scarce a sod,
And we slithered and waded, or murmured--
"On top, for the love of God!"
And many's the unfortunate devil
Fell to the sniper's shot
Through "chancing his arm" in the open;
But the others heeded it not.
Once again, on that waste of waters,
I gaze from the gun-pit floor,
Where Tanks and I kept vigil
Through each hour of the twenty-four.
I see the maidan silvered
With waters in the dawn--
Dark lines of distant parapets.
Fresh earth against the morn,
With files of khaki turbans
Moving forward to relief--
I see the busy shovel,
Hear the cursings underneath.
Farther still, beyond the sand-hills,
The trenches of our foe,
Seeming silent and deserted--
But I know that they're below
In lines on lines encircling
Us, north, south, east, and west--
And if my glasses tell me true,
They're reinforcing for the test.
'Tis moonlight, and they're sleeping,
The detachments of my guns--
Here, just behind the limber,
These best of England's sons.
For the dug-outs are now flooded,
Washed by this muddy sea--
The gun-wheels half in water,
The breech-blocks scarcely free.
And parapets and sandbags,
Our trenches fallen, too--
There's room for ammunition,
But not for me or you.
Once more, from the mouth of my dug-out,
I smoke the leaves of the lime--
Sort the destinies of my shells,
"Percussion" and also "time."
There's a light in the telephone dug-out--
I think I'll have a peep,
For I'm half expecting a message--
Maybe the Bombardier's asleep.
Asleep! in the arms of Hunger;
But I'll report him not,
Though I "rounded" him well for his slackness,
And returned to my watery lot.
Past sheets of wintry moonlight
I see the drooping palm,
And the ribboned edge of the Tigris,
Dreaming of Eden's calm.
Hard by, in ghastly stillness,
His four feet toward the moon,
I see the corpse of a stricken horse,
Death-knelled by the shrapnel-tune.
A broken wagon there yonder--
A topee adrift in the flood--
Its owner was strafed in the trenches,
There's the case of the shell in the mud.
I hear the belated mule-carts
A-rumbling on to the Fort
Under the cover of night--
For so their provisions were brought.
I hear the jackals' chorus,
Athirst for expected prey,
Where the Arab tribes lie sleeping,
Patiently awaiting "the day."
Enough! these things are over,
The moon is on the wane,
And the palm-fronds' festooned shadows
I ne'er shall see again.
For Kut at last is fallen,
And more men have to die--
Our flag is down, and the Crescent
Waves o'er the old Serai.
God grant to us, now captives--
Who at Death's gate boldly dare
Boast we haven't succumbed to battle--
Grant us this fervent prayer--
That in our future cheerless,
We yet shall know o'er Kut
Our avengers see the Union Jack--
Tramp the Crescent underfoot.
To that, then, drink from this date-juice,
And fill up your pipe with the lime.
We have fought till the Great Gong sounded--
Till the Referee called out--"Time!"
SPARKLING MOSELLE.
* * * * *
(11) THE SILK GAUNTLET
OR, HOW WE ESCAPED FROM KASTAMUNI
By "A Kuttite."
I. THE SHIP.
The Kastamuni Kuttites Klearout Kompany was immediately
launched in accordance with the advertised prospectus
in _Smoke_, and the plans proceeded apace. Silently and
secretly the airship was constructed in the Rabbit Warrens of
the Lower House under the supervision of Captains Tipton
and Wells. The design, one of the simplest, consisted in the
usual vast air-chambers, and underneath a reinforced carrier
named the Raft guaranteed to contain two hundred men.
Beneath that ran the main shaft--a street tube bought at long
intervals in parts from the bazaar, and to it were fitted some
beechwood propellers, a special patent by Parsnip, and made
by Bamptarius and Munrati. As no engine was available,
the motor power was derived from treadles arranged in pairs
on either side of the main-screw shaft, and fitted thereto by
bevelled cogs turning in teethed collars along the screw. In
other words, twenty old bicycle pedals and cranks had been
stuck on to bevelled cogged collars along the shaft, and when
pedalled vigorously by twenty stalwart officers, it was calculated
by the designers that a speed of at least thirty knots
would be attained. A secret trial was out of the question,
but so great was the faith of every one in the abilities of our
members of the R.F.C. that parole was recalled in small
batches so as not to occasion suspicion. Then one day an
excited whisper spread from mouth to mouth. Although
officers lounged about as usual, and even played footer, or
smoked and read, the hearts of all beat high with hope, and
in every eye was the old look one remembers on the evening
of our intended debouch from Kut. The whisper was, "To-night's
the night."
II. THE ESCAPE.
There was no moon--only a faint starlight that seemed to
intensify the darkness. At 2 a.m. strange figures, some
hatless, all bootless, and some in pyjamas, flitted swiftly and
noiselessly through the empty streets. The rendezvous was
the large stone mosque in the grassy plot to the right flank
beneath Mr. Smoke's window, which had been selected as the
most suitable place for fitting the "Homeward Bound" together.
At this rendezvous the committee had been working
on it since midnight, and when the others arrived the "airship"
rode proudly in the air tethered to the minaret by a
cable. I am now writing on board, and the blue sea is far
beneath us....
In order to picture our embarkation, cast your mind back
to the sketch in a previous issue of _Smoke_ of a "Homeward
Bound" model riding anchored to the minaret, and dark
figures with monkey-like spasmodic movements crawling
along a rope ladder to the airship. Stores and water were
quickly got on board. There was a committee for everything,
and nothing had been forgotten. The organization was
wonderful. The bandsmen were privileged to bring their
instruments. In fifteen minutes we were all aboard, and even
with the extra weight she still strained upwards at the ropes.
The first fatigue took their places at the treadles, and the
propellers whirred. Crack! A shot rang sharply through the
night--another and another! It was the alarm being given
to Kastamuni. In thirty seconds it had grown to a fusillade.
Lights flashed here and there in the town, but the "Homeward
Bound" was in darkness....
"Cast off," shouted our Commander Tipton, and as the
ropes were cut the "ship" leaped to a height of 10,000 feet. "Ye
gods!" "Heavens!" "What's happened?" were heard on all
sides. What a leap at the heavens it was. We fell sprawling,
clutching at anything, but the caution we had previously
received saved us, and for the most part we held the guard-ropes.
You see, we had expected something, but scarcely
that. Yet the plans were perfect. The 10,000 feet had been
calculated to a pound of gas. "It's all right," yelled out
Tipton, no doubt accustomed to these stunts. The fatigue
party had been jerked half off their seats and couldn't pedal
as her bow tilted upwards. That was righted with the air
valves, and in a few seconds she brought up at dead level.
Then the fatigues started pedalling hard, and we waited--waited.
A cheer burst out as the "Homeward Bound"
slowly started forward, her pace increasing every second.
Then, overcome with joy, the band seized their instruments
and struck up an air. Away down in Kastamuni the people
awakened out of their sleep by the alarm, heard a soft whirring
high up in the sky, and then the strains of "Destiny Waltz"
came floating down to their astonished ears. This changed to
"Rule Britannia" and "God Save the King."
Bullets pished-pished past us, but as we got further away
we lit up, and all they probably saw was a light or two in the
sky, moving like stars towards the hills.
III. THE FLIGHT.
We now proceeded to make ourselves comfortable on the
raft. We rigged up sleeping corners, a reading corner, a band
corner, and storeroom--although many stores were suspended
from the airship by dangling ropes. Not the least feature
about the appointments was the coffee-shop and bar, presided
over by Sir Bedevere le Geant, King Arthur's henchman and
mastik drawer. The Oblong Table as the chief promoters,
with Mr. Smoke, of the scheme, rigged up an oblong table of
sorts, and kept up the old order of things, King Arthur being
in great form. Sir Shinytop regaled us all with humorous
lamentations for his lost love in Kastamuni. The consumption
of _mastik_ was limited to ten per man per night. Oh, the
sensation of those first starry hours of freedom, the exquisite
sensation of easy movement (it wasn't my fatigue) on a glorious
early summer's night, the thrill of joy after months of confinements,
the speeding on towards liberty! If you have been
a prisoner of war you will know the meaning of this. It was
exactly the reverse sensation to that we had on going upstream
as captives after Kut. So we drank, drank, drank mastik
after mastik and thanked the gods.
But I must hasten to repair an omission and say something
about the "Homeward Bound." Tipton was commander
and aeronaut wallah, assisted by Lieut. Nicholson, R.N.,
navigating officer. Captain Wells "repairs," and Sir Lancelot
le Fumeur as international lawyer in case of complications,
Lieut. Wulley, M.A. (Maiden Aunt), as Intelligence Officer, had
a little crow's-nest on top to which he pluckily scrambled by a
ladder. In an ingenious manner he had drawn maps all around
him on the silk cover of the ship. Major Syer had Supply, and
Captain Reyne did Sergeant-Major of Fatigues, as he got more
work out of the boys who went on in two-hour spells. The
"Admiral," our pilot, had much time to spare, and started a
book with Fludd and Hunger on the various risks uncovered,
also betting on where we should land and when. The tiny
bridge was forward in the bows, with a glass window that
looked out ahead. Some of the orderlies were on the after-part
of the raft and others on a trailer just below. Away
astern, and towed by a long tow-rope, was the dinghy, a contrivance
of King Arthur's by which punishments were inflicted,
the boat being hauled alongside, and after the delinquent being
placed therein, let out astern. The first offender was Sir
Pompous for _lèse majesté_, and as he drifted past he yelled--_quelle
politesse!_ Sir Sulphurous followed for "language,"
and Brabby for promoting a fight between two small gamecocks
he had smuggled on board, thus drawing a crowd and
tilting the "airship" at a dangerous angle. Hummerbug
came next for regretting the kaimakam was not with him.
Most mysterious of all was a buoyant canoe called the cradle,
also in tow, that floated high over the "Homeward Bound."
Great secrecy was maintained about this, but rumour had it
that Sir Lancelot le Fumeur and Sir Carol le Filbert had
worked this project for exploiting a new model in the London
music halls--in other words, that Sonia the Fair Girl was
in the cradle. In support of this theory it may be mentioned
that during the first night of the voyage each of these knights
was missing for a time, and could nowhere be found. We
averaged about twenty knots and soon passed over the dark
passage 7000 feet below us that stood for the ranges we had
so long beheld as the horizon of our imprisonment. Less
than three hours after leaving, as the dawn was breaking, we
saw far beneath us a silver feathery line.
"Gentlemen," said our genial commander, "Turkey is
behind you--behold the sea." A small wiry figure came
scrambling down the observation ladder in breathless excitement.
"It is the Black Sea," he said, and every one laughed,
and Le Fumeur, who sat writing in the corner, swore he would
shove that into _Smoke_ if he was hung for it. By the way, he
promised us a last edition of _Smoke en voyage_. It appeared
yesterday, but all in good time. We kept on this course for
an hour, and the mist prevented us seeing any shipping. In
the distance we had seen a few white dots--possibly Sinope.
"Head wind springing up. Storm ahead, sir," reported
the pilot to the commander. "Clap on pace," yelled old
Tipton. "Stick her at it, half-hour fatigues, band strike up,
emergency guard-ropes out, lash everything quick."
The wildest scrimmage took place. Sleepers were trodden
on, mastik bottles upset, and people sent sprawling as the
"first twenty," all fit as fleas, sprang to take a relief. How
those fellows pedalled. The propellers screamed a higher note,
and for a moment we swept along; but a second later, as the
tide of wind caught us, our pace slackened more and more
until we remained almost stationary. The wind whistled
through us, and the canvas screens on the raft reported like
cannon shots. Every one had hold of something, except the
band, who were in a sheltered corner. We played ragtime and
poppies to some purpose, but when we struck up the "Marche
aux Flambeaux" a miraculous thing happened. Scarcely had
we done ten bars when we bounded ahead as if we had cut a
tow-rope holding us back. We did ten knots in the teeth of
the gale. The fatigue pedalled six revolutions of a leg to every
note of the Marche, and The Crochet set the pace. The whole
ship cheered, and a solitary shout came from far behind.
This was from dear old Pompous in the dinghy, whom every
one had forgotten. We beheld the latter being twirled round
and round like a spinner, but now that we moved its occupant
shouted with glee to find himself on an even keel. This kept
on for two hours, and as man after man gave out or got cramp
another replaced him at the pedals. "Storm approaching,
portbow," yelled the pilot. "Emergency holds every man.
Prepare to mount," our commander yelled in a cavalry voice.
The band instruments were secured. We held tight. A lull
had succeeded the heavy wind, and somehow the sea was
much nearer.
"More speed, more speed, keep her head to it," was the
order.
Suddenly, without a second's warning, an avalanche of
wind swept down on us, and the shock of impact seemed to
hurl us a mile back. "Stick it, boys," yelled Captain Reyne.
"Splendid, splendid. Try a bit more, kick it in."
Stuff got swept overboard. We held like grim death.
The ship plunged and reared like a mad horse as we were
hurled from side to side, and the deck took every imaginable
angle. But Nicholson somehow managed to keep her nose
to it. Something snapped, and there was a wild beating and
creaking. The next moment the repair party, headed by
Captain Wells, all on life-lines, got to work, and one or two
who fell off were fished back. Then the propeller went, and
a violent controversy was waged between Parsnip and Bamptarius
on the matter. But a new one was fitted by Bamptarius
with extraordinary skill and daring. It was just in
time. The ship was bearing round, and once beam on she
would have gone smash. I remember looking astern the while
and seeing the dinghy playing high jinks and whizzing like a
ball. Then came the hail and lightning that played over the
steel ribs in an awful fashion. Something else gave on top,
and there was a wild fluttering of canvas.
"Hold tight," yelled Tipton. It happened the second
time, and this time much worse.
A man astride of a bullet couldn't have gone up faster than
we did. Something to do with exploding a gas charge--a
secret stunt of Tipton's own. We found ourselves gliding
along smoothly and evenly with incredible swiftness, possibly
doing eighty knots. The relief from the storm-tossing to the
thrill of racing smoothly was wonderful. Have you ever
while yachting beaten up in the teeth of a heavy gale round a
headland and had the sea sweeping over you and the boat
dancing and leaping like a mad thing, and then suddenly
found yourself gliding down a smooth channel with the wind
behind you? Then you will know what this was.
"Why on earth did not you do it before?" we all demanded.
Tipton laughed. "To lend colour to our enterprise, of
course, and then we have now left one emergency charge only."
Our first thought was to have the dinghy alongside and
rescue Sir Pompous. We found him very white. "Thank
God you are alive," we said.
"Seems so!" he answered sarcastically, a favourite phrase
of his.
"Fearful time, wasn't it?"
"No. I liked it, of course."
With that King Arthur clapped him on the shoulder and
poured half a bottle of mastik down his throat and shirt. Sir
Lancelot gingerly climbed along the ladder with a reviver for
Lieutenant Wully, expecting to see that officer in a faint,
instead of which he was quite cheery with an empty bottle of
mastik protruding from his pocket.
"How the devil did you stick on?"
"Stick on? Oh, eashy!"
"What's this?" asked Le Fumeur, producing the empty
mastik bottle from the pocket of our Intelligence Officer.
"Ohsh, thaths noshing. Nerve resthorah. Keep oush
cold, verish draftish ere. Donst shay anyshing to boysh.
Don't wansh go dingsh."
Sir Lancelot helped him down, and he slept.
IV. LOST.
The wind fell and the sun came out. The ship was put to
rights and, scarcely knowing where we were, we headed due
north. It seemed about midday. We had a full ration and
dosed away in a pleasant sunshine to the steady creaking of
some stay or rippling flutter of some loose ribbon in the air-chambers
above. We smoked and dreamed of home. A
little later our Intelligence Officer, now at his post again,
assured us he could tell from the birds beneath us that we
were near land.
"What land?" we all asked.
"I'll tell you at tea-time," he said. At tea-time he reappeared.
"Through a break in the mists below us I'm sure
I saw a town," he said, "white dots on green."
"Possibly sheep," said one.
"Or sea birds on a green sea," ventured another.
"Rot," replied he. "It is not green; why, it is the Black
Sea."
Two hours later, as the twilight fell around us, we saw, as
in a flash through a rent veil, the twinkling of a myriad lights.
Some one suggested fire-flies. "A mirage," said an orderly
from the stern raft.
Without doubt it was a town. Great excitement prevailed.
Our navigating officer believed it to be Odessa.
"I believe it's Constanty," declared Wully, and as the
lights grew nearer he became more insistent. "The sea is
beyond and around the lights, it must be Constanty." And
half an hour later, "I tell you I can see mosques and minarets;
besides, I know Constanty. I am absolutely----"
Boom! A dull billowy wave of sound reached us.
"That proves it," he said; "we are being fired at."
On this a council was held, and it was decided to steer due
N.W. We ran before a strong southerly wind that until now
had been on our port beam. We did about sixty knots, and
by fifty hoped to have reached Russian territory. But to be
quite sure we kept on until midnight, when we descended to
what we considered was 5000 feet. Suddenly a cry from the
pilot brought every one to his feet. There, not a 1000 feet
below us--a mere 300 yards--were the white-crested, creeping
waves towards which we were rushing.... "Hold on."
Boom! Swish! Our second barrel of gas was exploded and
we rushed up and up. But once there the "Homeward
Bound" began to sink again.
"Pedal, pedal, or we are lost," shouted Tipton. And they
_did_ pedal. But we still sank slowly....
"Lighten ship," he roared, as the repair party tackled a
huge rent in the side of the bag. Things were slung overboard
wholesale and the dinghy cut adrift. The ship then steadied
and gently rose, but not before a large volume of the _Mastik_
was hurled overboard by Blind Hookey.
"My poems, my precious poems," shouted Mr. Belton, as
he leaped to save them. He slipped, beat the air, and had
not Mr. _Smoke_ seized him by the coat tails and twirled himself
around a stanchion he had followed _Mastik_ into the abyss
of mist and cold grey sea. The gas generator was set going
and we gradually rose to 10,000 feet once more.
"Gentlemen," said our commander coolly, "we have been
under way twenty-four hours, and I beg to report we are lost
at sea."
Lost, lost, lost, the words echoed. A ringing cheer was
our only answer.
* * * * *
(12) FROM MY BEDROOM WINDOW
Spring has come. The tree I told you of is thick with
leaves. And so when as now the evening wind blows, a
changed music falls on my ear. Instead of the soft swish of
branches is the lisp of the young leaves, stirring in delight as
they listen to the story about the winter dreams of the old
tree. Birds are back once more, Old Jim Crow, the jackdaws
that awoke me early last summer, and a little fellow like a
wagtail who in his own fashion is accompanying the lyrics of
a thrush in the mosque garden close by. One and all they
have the look of adventurers thick upon them. "Happy to
meet, Sorry to part, Happy to meet again," is the leit-motif
of their song. Perhaps like birds we shall ourselves soon
return to English woods.
A great window is this of mine with its view from the
garden across the town to the distant hills. Now, to appreciate
a view fully, it is imperative that you shall have spent
just previously some considerable time in trenches and dug-outs
and gun-pits. No, it is not a view either, but rather a
stage. In the background is the drop-scene of mountainous
hills, dotted with villages and scored with paths and gullies.
It is a scene shadowed with forests and sprayed by the
advancing sunlight, or sometimes by this light misty rain.
Other drop-scenes are the mists that advance or retreat with
the rain, and sometimes a thunder blanket shuts off the stage
just outside the town. For the curtain there is the mantle
of night--when there is no moon.
An extraordinary stage. Let us look at it more closely.
I can promise you no set drama, but great entertainment if
you are the sort of fellow to enjoy sitting on a bit of a hill
above a winding river in the country--with a pipe and some
field-glasses wherewith to watch the affairs of the world
around you. No man-made drama, no plot, no prompter,
and not a cue. The players stray on to and off the stage,
and suggestion can do lots.
In the fowlyard below two cocks have renewed their battle
for the right to crow last. "Seems so," says Sir Pompous
beneath my window, as he watches them intently. The
youngest pullet, coy and not uncoquettish, withdraws from
the scene of combat to arrange her feathers in the far corner.
She, in any case, will have to abide by the decision of the
contest.
Cynically the old hens condescend to a dull interest only,
contrasting this sorry affair with the strenuous and gory
combats that waged over _them_ in _their_ day, when their hearts,
too, were young. Love's young dream long since awakened to
matter of factness and steady routine. But for an example
of love still dreaming observe the cocks themselves--the
younger lamenting his lack of experience, but game; the elder
no doubt regretting that his Virgil is not at hand to adorn
further Georgics with the account of his strenuous endeavours--to
point anew that old moral in the Battle of the Bulls.
A mate has joined the chirruping wagtail with many a
ship and twist of her small head. The cock-bird, prepared to
earn his amours, indulges in risky flights round the twigs and
back again, landing suddenly beside her with a little joyful
chirp. "In the spring a brighter crimson comes upon the
robin's breast--in the spring the wanton lapwing gets himself
another crest."
"The call of Spring," as Pacific Roller says in another
column, "announcing that the season of love is at hand and
inviting youth to put on his gayest apparel."
There has just appeared in the foreground of our stage the
wee bear Alphonse, delightful little fellow except when he
makes that awful noise--and why shouldn't he? 'Tis time,
he thinks, that he was on the warpath alongside his dam, for
it grows dark and the call of the wild rings out for him in
clarion notes, challenging him to fulfil his destiny. Manfully
the little fellow is trying to do so, roaring lustily and making
commendable attempts to stand on his hind legs and reach a
bough. As he thrusts his way through some _débris_ I can see
his woodcraft is coming on apace.
The first drops of rain are falling, and as they swish on to
him his wee heart, I've no doubt, throbs restlessly for
freedom once again. Freedom. Poor little lad, I sympathize
with him. Different from the cocks or the wagtail he, if he
could speak, would agree with me on this point at least. But
one thing he doesn't know, and that is the future, nor how
close the hand of Fate is to him even now. For it is as good
as decided to poison him for being in disposition incompatible
with all of us--to wit, that he is a bear and roars. As a matter
of fact, five grains of strychnine were given to him last night
and he survived.
And what could augur better for the normality of the
Knights of the Oblong Table than to say that some cheered
and all felt glad when, to-day, we saw Alphonse still going
strong, apparently overdosed. The iron of Kastamuni, that
rumour says has entered into more than one soul (and rusted,
too, withal in others), cannot have bitten so very deep into
King Arthur's Knights. And Alphonse the bear, innocent of
our design or of the attitude of Destiny, stands on his hind
legs like a wee man and chuckles. Is all this drama a tragedy,
or comedy, or what?
Please note there has been a duel over an _affaire de coeur_, a
love episode, a captive, with a great Fate of uncertain mood
flinging a dark shadow at the end....
Past the column of grey smoke thickly climbing through
the raining mist, a black speck moves down a white path. It
is a labourer returning from his fields beyond the town. To
the west is the smothered glow of the setting sun. In the
central background of the stage above the high lights, observe
a wee, grey coil of smoke twisting upwards from the shining
speck in the gully. I know the hut well, although never has
it appeared larger than the tiniest button. There is a romance
of an old man and woman, a son at the war, and a pretty girl
within, if you look closely!! Behind the house a long track
winds uphill to the pass. But the last light has left the hills
and I see only the dark patches of forest. Look carefully,
and, if I mistake not, you will see an advancing pair of darkly
burning orbs. They are the eyes of another Alphonse, luckier,
let us believe, on the warpath, traversing his domains, the
dusky fastnesses of the wild glens....
The sun has set and the rain falls more thickly on the
hills. Through the gossamer of moving mist fond fancies
steal to me. And so the last scene before this slowly falling
curtain sings of the Past.
What play does not? It is the song of the rain. Would
you like to hear it?...
* * * * *
THE SONG OF THE RAIN
Oh, I'm longing for the homeland way past the setting sun--
I'm yearning for old faces and for more sober fun;
But sometimes, as at even, my heart with pleasure fills,
While it drifts back to England--when the rain is on the hills.
Oh, I'm tired of the Orient, I want the old, old lanes.
I want the Dear Old Country--her pleasures and her pains.
I want the white-frilled hedgerows--the heather and the rills
That lift me back to England now the rain is on the hills.
Night's mantle softly falling o'er Kastamuni town,
The last dim colours flying, dark grey and dusky brown.
I hear the goatherd piping to the flock his good-night trills,
And my heart hies back to England--for the rain is on the hills.
Below me in its basin the old town dreams away--
I see the first light flicker that ends another day.
The distant bugles dying--the muezzin floats and stills
My heart to pray for England--when the rain is on the hills.
Oh, I'm longing for the homeland, my homefolk and my pals,
I know that some have fallen 'mid the bullets' madrigals;
But a memory's in her woodlands--a love no distance kills--
And to-night my heart's in England--for the rain is on the hills.
PACIFIC ROLLER.
CHAPTER XII
SPRING--PLOTS TO ESCAPE--BETRAYAL--ESCAPE OF OTHERS--I
AM SENT TO STAMBOUL FOR HOSPITAL
In this diary, notwithstanding it has been written in
the greatest secrecy and kept hidden, I have nevertheless
refrained from including any mention of a
subject that in my latter days in Kastamuni engaged almost
all my attention, _i.e._ escape. Besides being an unnecessary
risk, it would have been unfair to those concerned. I am
adding a note from Brusa.
* * * * *
After our first winter in Kastamuni, the warmth of April
stirred our blood to respond to the call of spring. I decided
to try every human device to get away.
The Turks asked us to give our parole not to escape. A
keen controversy sprang up in our midst. From the point of
view of some officers it meant a few more privileges and less
punishment, and escape was almost impossible anyway they
said.
Some senior officers were for giving orders forbidding the
whole camp individually to escape. Others, including myself,
considered this a private matter for the person concerned. I
refused my parole, and was down in a black list of the Turks.
It meant extra convoy and less privileges, but we asked for,
and were given, no facilities for escaping than what we could
make.
In the town some months before I had got to know a
Russian "runner," Kantimaroff by name, who was interned
in Kastamuni, but secretly in touch with the Russians. For
a heavy bribe he got me news of the Black Sea coast only
some forty kilometres to the north. So careful was I with
Kantimaroff that outside the Turkish baths I spoke to him
only once, and then in a shop.
It would take many chapters to set down all the many
changes of programme of increased and diminishing hope
according as the octroi posts between us and the ranges were
changed, or as the Black Sea patrol scoured this coast for
fishing-boats. Sometimes vigilance was so increased as to
terrify any one against helping us at all. This took months.
At last, by great good fortune, I discovered a Greek outlaw,
on whose head the Turks had put a price. He was in hiding,
and wanted to get away to Russia. He was in need of money,
and, provided he did not run too much risk, would meet us at
the Black Sea's edge, and take us with him.
Kantimaroff, who was practically free in Kastamuni, sent
him again and again to the coast, or said he did. The scheme
looked rosy enough. The main road to Ineboli was heavily
guarded, as was that to Samsun.
But between them was a track over the mountains known
only to a few. It led to a sacked village halfway to the coast.
Here, formerly, the Greek had lived. It was within ten miles
of the sea, and in case the coast were too crowded one might
rendezvous here in caves.
The boat problem was the most serious. All these had been
collected or destroyed by the German and Turkish authorities,
and only a few licensed ones were allowed at all. They were
simply not to be had for any money. The nearest coast of
Russia lay only 250 miles away.
The Greek, however, after collecting a considerable amount
of money for his trips to and from the coast, announced that
he had bought a boat, tested it, and buried it in the sand near a
creek. There were oars, but no sail. It was while waiting for
the return of the Greek on this occasion that Captain Ellis
of the Duke of Cornwall's Light Infantry asked to accompany
me, and Lieutenant Sweet of the Gurkhas also decided to come.
We had every detail ready, our kit and disguises and stores
and compass, and wanted to start that night. But Kantimaroff
said he could not agree to this. Suspicion might fall on him.
He must be given a few days to perfect his schemes. It was
now June, and the moon was rising too early. A later rising
about 11 p.m., while leaving us obscured in getting out of the
town, would enable us to negotiate the hills and rocky detours
we proposed to make, as quickly as possible. So we decided
to wait. In the meantime I reserved for myself the supreme
luxury of breaking bounds to test the feasibility of this part
of our programme. Just after dinner, when the other officers
were settling down to bridge, and before the postas had put
on their all-important "night" bearing, for at night they were
extra vigilant, I side-tracked the sentry downstairs and hid
in the woodshed. After waiting half an hour for exchange of
guard I got a tiny window open and hopped out into our back-yard.
I had to wait another hour before I could close it
behind me. Then I went through the yard, over a roof-top
and a high wall, and found myself half stunned at the bottom
of the wall on a side street, with some sleepy Turks near by
going to prayer.
The mischievous feeling of a schoolboy breaking bounds
for the first time was nothing to mine, although I had been
out on previous occasions. This time I felt that the first step
of the escape was feasible. I wandered around the town in
a fez and old clothes, shuffling a pair of dilapidated shoes _à la
Turque_, and coughing steadily. This because I had disguised
my face with a scarf as if I had a severe cold in the head. I
found out where the postas were, and where not, and after
more than one narrow squeak got back over the wall with the
greatest difficulty, pulling a part of it down in doing so. Some
days later, as the plan was being held up, it was necessary for
me to get out again. This time I slipped out in the afternoon
in uniform with a basket of purchases, ostensibly from the
bazaar. Now, sometimes our postas lagged behind us in the
town so that an officer walking apparently alone was no uncommon
sight. It worked beautifully. On being seen alone
with the purchases I imagined our own postas would think I
had outdistanced or lost my posta, and on this occasion I
merely walked boldly past all our sentries and into the front
door of our house. They were suspicious the second time.
Not a word of all this I said to any one. Experience was
dearly bought and precious.
Two days before we were to start I heard that somehow
or other Kantimaroff had been approached by a party from
the Lower House, and anxious to reap a double harvest, he had,
it appeared, taken money from them and divulged about the
boat. At this time any intercourse between the houses was
difficult, and I endeavoured to communicate with Keeling,
who was organizing the other escape. Ellis was less watched
than I was and asked the other party not to touch Kantimaroff
who was, it appeared, heavily suspected. We agreed to give
each other notice of our "bunk" so as to arrange to go the
same night. So soon as one party got away the other would
have little chance.
I now met Vicomte d'Arici, the Italian songster that had
lately come to Kastamuni, and who resided with the Italian
interned. I met him secretly in the castle above our house,
and he helped me with information considerably. I found
also that he was a political prisoner, and had done an amount
of political work before the war, and knew people I knew in
Berlin and on the Continent. He was a light-hearted and
plucky fellow, and except that it wouldn't suit him, would have
come himself. He told me to beware of Kantimaroff, who was
on the point of betraying us to the Turks. The Greek seemed
straight enough, and wanted to see us.
Later I took Ellis, and we both had a night "rehearsal."
Being two helped matters at the wall. We improved our
disguise, and even gave lights to unsuspecting Turks.
On the way back, however, we took a wrong corner and ran
into the arms of a sentry who challenged us. Ellis tried to
answer in Turkish, which was fatal. The sentry was obdurate.
He had hold of us lightly by the sleeve. Pushing some liras
into his hand we disengaged ourselves and took to our heels,
scrambled over the wall, and got back into bed by inches ahead
of the search party.
The next morning, to our secret amusement, and the wonder
of the camp, a certain major, who had given his parole, and
who used to walk about proudly without any postas at all,
was suspected by the Turks with having been "out at night."
The variations of the rumour were highly interesting. Who
were the two out? Every one good humouredly accused
every one else, and quite a number of officers decided to get
out as it now appeared that it could be done.
I supplied the other escape party with particulars of the
brigands with Cowi Bey in the valleys between us and the sea.
If one could get to them the chances were that for a ransom
they would assist one across the Black Sea with the extreme
chance of getting knocked on the head for one's boots.
I was now secretly informed by d'Arici that I was heavily
suspected. This made inter-communication between houses
most difficult. Sweet who was in the Lower House decided to
start with the other party, and Captain Ellis and Lieutenant
Taylor, I.A.R., who were in my house, to come with me. We
got everything ready, and on an evening in the third week in
July, we waited in our room ready to start with all our
disguises and equipment ready. At the last moment I got
an urgent message that Kantimaroff's house was picketed
by police, and the Greek had run away in fright to a house
near by. We made one more desperate effort to go and join
him and make our plans after getting out. I sent urgent
messages to Lieutenant Keeling through our trusty Sergeant
Britain not to try to see Kantimaroff openly, as he was suspected.
However, that day he and two members of the other
party went up to the Russians in the street, with the consequence
that I got a chit on a paper bag saying the Greek had
fled, and he was in danger of his life and that, for the money
we had given him, he could not do more than give us all the
information he had. The same night a posta was delegated
to watch me, and every half-hour he came to my bed. We
waited for an opportunity. None came. And our escape,
which had offered a most excellent chance of success, went
"phut" accordingly.
The other party duly informed us that they intended to
start. Three weeks afterwards they did. The posta had just
left me about eleven, when we heard a shot. Some excitement
occurred down below, and postas swarmed up to our house to
see if I was there. Search parties were out all night.
We were all confined to our house. Next day I heard that
at the last minute the escape was nearly nipped in the bud at
the start. This was prevented by our old Bombardier Prosser,
who did servant down there. One of the party forgot his
watch, and actually sent the bombardier, who was showing
them out, back for it. A posta accosted him. He knocked
the posta down, and rushing up to his room, shaved his
moustache off and got into bed. They had him out and
listened to his heart to see, as they did on such occasions, if
it was still beating quickly. This would have meant he had
just been out.
We remained under "bund" without incident. Hourly
reports came that the other party had been captured. But
they didn't return. The following notice appeared posted up
next day and signed by the commandant.
"_Possession of the offensives have been taken. Other officers
are requested not to escape, and will be surely shot in bunking.
Officers offensive in this fashion, giving their parole, are informed
they must be fired at in any case. All are requested to be happy.
Do not take rotten advantage of your old postas for God sake.
This is final notice before shooting. Let the special one note._"
I was voted the special one in my house.
We heard a rumour that the party while trying to avoid
the bandits in making for the coast had actually struck the
main band, and after getting away, tried to pass off as Germans.
They were discovered. I have no wonder--and a letter written
by an officer, amateur at Turkish, was taken.
Clumsy as the start was, they have done well, and we all
wish them the very best of luck.
So the days dragged on and the nights stood still. Once
more summer was over. Once more it seemed we were
entering the long stretch of autumn that led into the terrors
of winter, with its cold, and scarcity of food that our slender
means could not negotiate. But through the nights and days
always, always, there was the same range of hills dividing us
from the sea. In the first days of September there suddenly
appeared in Kastamuni a tall Turkish Mir Ali (full colonel),
named Zia Bey, the inspecting officer of the Government.
He came to hear our complaints. His visit last year had
been hailed with great glee, but we had since learned that
these events were shorn of possibilities of increase of liberty.
He came, no doubt, to inquire about the escape. We were
still heavily under "bund," and so he visited each house.
He had a pleasant appearance, was very quiet, and extraordinarily
polite, but he did nothing. We stood around his
chair while our spokesman told of our petty troubles, the large
ones we knew it useless to recount, so we asked for fresh air
and money and leave for our British servants to go to the
pump without a posta as they were few and we were often
thirsty. He noted our points, but promised nothing except
one or two.
I heard him ask which was I, and I could see I was still
under heavy suspicion about escaping, although my eyelids
were so swollen that I could not see at all out of one eye, and
only indifferently out of the other. But I was not so blind
that I could not see that Zia was the polite type of lazy Turk
that in the heart of him has fear. I said nothing of the scheme
that evolved itself as we all sat together. It was fatal to hand
over one's embassy to another. When he had gone I wrote a
letter to him.
My assets were that I had really been very ill from the
effects of a shell contusion in my spine for a very long time.
Of this I could show nothing except in two places, the vertebræ
were parted and irregular, and one had since grown
nearer. If one could refer to anything so damnable as captivity
being blighted, I might say that bruise has blighted
mine. Of the untold hours that I lie awake waiting, waiting,
for the roof, sky, and earth to stop pulsating to the pulsation
in my spine, no one can ever know. But the eye trouble,
originally strain from shell-shock and from grit, is now only
bad conjunctivitis, although it looks awfully serious. As first
violin of our band my bandaged eye, and, later, my absence,
had been conspicuous enough to the Turks. Moreover, I had
recently received word from the late Lord Grey and a letter
from some friends at the Foreign Office. In one letter a kind
inquiry existed about my health, noting the special treatment
our enemy prisoners were getting in cases like mine in
London, and saying medicine and glasses were being sent me
to save my eyes in the meantime. On this I made my case
without threatening the Turk, but indicating that they had
become aware of my case in London. That I had been so
neglected my eyes were imperilled, and that whatever had
happened in the past the inspecting officer, at all events, now
had the opportunity of giving me in Stamboul the treatment
that the Turks got in our best hospitals.
I terrified my interpreter into giving this application to
Zia Bey himself, as I could not trust Sheriff Bey. This I did
by showing him another letter to be delivered by another
source that night to Zia Bey, showing that as had happened
in previous cases applications were not allowed to reach him.
Ananias, as we called him, took my letter to Zia Bey. The
next morning I was summoned to the office. They led me
down. Several fat Turks stuck oily thumbs into my eyes.
The local doctor had to say what my complaint was, and
although they admitted that under him my eyes had got worse,
and he would not accept further responsibility, they allowed
him to say what the trouble was. It developed into a hot
discussion. I refused, point blank, to be diagnosed by a
doctor who wasn't a specialist. Had they no specialists?
Finally they produced a file of letters to me and extracts and
bad reports on "qatcheor" (escaping). They asked me if I was
willing to go to Angora for examination. Now I loathed this
place above all, but it was _en route_ to Constantinople. Here
I made the most important move of my captivity. Lieutenant
Greenwood, with a smashed shoulder from football, aggravated
by an old wound in Kut, was a dead certainty to go. I refused
unless I could go with him. They agreed.
On my return the whole camp was discussing "Mousley."
How the devil had he worked it! What a fool he was to go to
Angora! Others said I was going to escape _en route_ or at
Constantinople. I was told I was leaving the next day.
Oh, the delicious whirl of life again as I felt the first unloosening
of the chains. Only three officers at long intervals
have gone over the mountains from our camp to Constantinople.
Here in this basin by the Black Sea, buried from the
world, and far away from the great issue, one has been left
alone with one's inactivity, one's interrupted career, the
unaccepted portion of one's sacrifice, and has too much time
for morbidity. But now, to-day, the sun shines on Kastamuni
as it never did. The postas are more than kind. The castle
alone is green. I may be off to an indifferent fate, but I am
off. Munro our lightning carpenter has justified his reputation.
"A box, righto! This cupboard just it. Oh yes, about
twenty minutes." So he did. He kicked the lid off, closed
the sides, braced the back, and altered the hinges, and as we
looked there appeared the box good and strong. I have packed
a heavy accumulation of stores as belated parcels have
recently started to arrive in exciting quantities.
I have given away all my spare kit to my former companions.
In fact, with my good joy, I couldn't auction anything.
Every one has been very kind and given me odds and
ends for the journey, and the doctor has sent up special
packages of emergencies _en route_. I am told I am to leave
at dawn, but we are still under _bund_, and I can neither visit
the other houses nor see Greenwood to make a _bandobast_ for
the journey. It will mean our carrying two of some things
and nothing of others. The Round Table gave me a very
lively dinner. My box is ready with all my worldly possessions,
including my manuscript packed in below. I tried to get a
false bottom made to my box, but with the wood this is not
possible in time, although I expect a search, but rely on their
previous permission given to me to work at these.
_Angora._--We arrived here last night on foot in a battered,
lame, halting and blind condition in the dark. I must set
down how our gay cavalcade that left Kastamuni early on
September 3rd dwindled away to this. After my last entry
I did not leave the following morning, but waited in terrible
tension lest they should cancel the arrangement. But the
delay was the worst. One horse had just had a foal, and a
substitute could not be found. Another horse had gone sick
and had no shoes. The arabana or wagon was to cost us
twenty liras. This we refused to pay out of our funds, but
told them to cut it out of our pay. As a matter of fact, and by
a miracle, we got off paying, as, of course, we ought. They
found an old vehicle in some yard and put the commandant's
bodyguard on to it. They nailed up the wheels, put on a
cover, and in the early dawn Ananias, the interpreter, burst
into my room screaming "Haidee." This was the day after
my last entry. Sergeant Britain, our very estimable N.C.O.,
and another took my box and kettles downhill to the commandant.
Here I was made to sign my pay sheet. Then,
suddenly, Sheriff Bey entered the room, closed the door and
demanded to see all in my pockets. I had to produce them.
He took from me my private papers, including addresses, dates
of remittances received, numbers of cheques cashed, and private
accounts. Also my manuscript music in part. Then, tragedy
of tragedies, he demanded on my word of honour if I had
anything else written. One was by this time fairly sick of
giving one's word on nothing, but there was no way out. I
told him, however, that I had had permission to work on my
book, and on a law study, that I had given much time and
thought to this, that they knew in England I was working at
it, and that I would show him all I had if he promised to give
it me back on my assurance that it contained nothing against
the Turk or of military or political importance. His glee on
receiving a large book of manuscript was unbounded. The
interpreter read parts of this to him, anecdotes of captivity,
of the campaign and other selections on problems of the new
International State or Society. He assured me on his sworn
word of honour I should have them back at once after the
censor had seen them if they contained no plans of Turkish Forts,
and in any case on the signing of peace. (I subsequently heard
my book was found torn up in his office.) In vain I begged for
them. He felt that at last he had me at a disadvantage. I
appealed to Zia Bey. He was all politeness, and gave orders
my name should be carefully and legibly written on the book.
But my heart sank as I thought of the fate of such things on
former occasions, and of the many many hours I had worked
at it.
Our kit was put on board the wagon, a place made with
our rugs for Greenwood to rest his broken shoulder, and an
orderly named Mathews, who was being sent back to Angora
for breaking barracks repeatedly, was to do servant for us.
This was untold luxury compared with our trip to Kastamuni
eighteen months before, but I was terribly depressed over my
book and parts of this diary. Valuable or worthless, it stood
in any case for a part of my life, and I felt as though something
very close to me had been snatched away. For many months
here and there I had written this. It was a history written
among dying men, not of them, but of many things, and such
that I can never reproduce. On many a night in winter, by
a black smoky oil light bought with money saved from my
tobacco or mastik money, I had worked with the flickering
wick near my bandaged eyes, my two worn blankets wrapped
around my legs and feet, stockings around my head and neck
to keep out the paralysing cold. Outside was three feet of
snow, and sleet and wind from the Russian waste blew icily
over the Black Sea straight to my window. Ours was the
highest and coldest house in camp, and faced the north high
on the bluff above the town. And so I wrote and re-wrote
until often only my writing hand remained unfrozen.
Before leaving Kastamuni we had to wait two or three hours
for the gendarmes that were to accompany us. I was not allowed
to visit the two shops to rectify my accounts, so carefully did they
watch any one leaving lest any communication should be set up
for those left behind. I went to the Lower House to say good-bye
to some friends, including Square Peg, at work on law. His
friend, whom we called the Count (Horwood), was most
sympathetic over my book, and took me to the bar to have a
last bottle of beer (so-called) that had arrived. This beer, to
me so long estranged, was so good that I bucked up to a
degree, and decided, as I have always tried to do since in
moments of catastrophe, to merely suspend judgment and my
grief. At the time it is too much deliberately not to care or
to try to diminish the size of the catastrophe.
At last we were rushed off, crowds of people following us,
and small boys wanting tips, and many peasants whose faces
one knew were honestly grieved to lose us, and possibly our
money as well. Last of all Sonia, our Sonia, who had on
occasion had quite an amount to do with me, and had danced
to my fiddle and carried notes for me, and decoyed the postas
from my rendezvous in the castle, followed us for miles with
her basket, crying bitterly. She was a case-hardened daughter
of Eve, a wild little untamed savage, but pretty and entrancing
and very daring. She waved to me, and threw many kisses
with lightning rapidity when the gendarmes were not looking,
then followed the river bank to her destiny, and we rounded
a bend towards ours.
The first time in one and a half years of restriction, that
seemed one and a half centuries, we wound up the eastern
road back on to the plateau, and the brown roofs of "Kastamuni
the Terrible" fell beneath the brow.
It was a beautifully soft morning. Our cavalcade scattered
themselves out on the flanks to scour for brigands. Besides
the _arabanchi_ (driver), there was our excellent sentry Mustapha
and his _choush_, a sergeant, from the Lower House, who was
reported rather treacherous, also a wretched little officer cadet
fellow named Ali, and about three or four _askars_ and eight
gendarmes mounted. We halted for lunch among some trees
in a delightful glade between two hamlets. In the evening
we walked to get over the jolting of the springless cart, which
bumped and bounced over every rut. My travelling companion
had a bad time on occasions with his fracture, although
it was better than we had hoped. We reached the region of
pines and ravines, and in the dusk pulled up at a grimy and
dirty Serai a few miles short of the old saw-mill where we had
stopped on our way out.
We were bundled into a tiny room filled with smoke and
all sorts of travellers. We emptied this room after much
argument, and allowed in two or three of our postas only.
This was my first scrap with Ali. He was afraid, as Zia Bey
had arrived at the Serai just after. Zia was off to Angora,
but travelling in luxury in a landau. We had a good supper
after paying huge amounts for water and firewood, and to the
owner of the wretched _khan_ or shed. The place teemed with
fleas and bugs. In the early dawn we had breakfast of Cambridge
sausage, biscuits, tea, and jam, from our parcels. My
travelling companion likewise had a large box full of stores
just arrived, and I should think ours was the best supplied
caravan that ever crossed that mountain.
We walked along beside the wagon up the incline. The
horses were so poor that they could scarcely pull the empty
wagon. The route led among pine woods and water-falls
alongside a sparkling brook. I exchanged a few words with
Zia, who was also walking, but he soon passed us. He had
seen service in the Dardanelles and at Sivas.
Slowly we climbed, sometimes walking, sometimes riding.
The great forests of fir with tiny log houses perched among
the heights on every clearance, were above us as we started.
By three o'clock we were on the summit above them. Al
Ghaz Dhag, a fine peak, lay alongside us wreathed in mists.
We were kept together, and quite an army of gendarmes
convoyed us. Recently the brigands who swarmed in these
hills had robbed the mails and repeatedly held up passengers
for tribute.
My eyes became troublesome, and Greenwood's arm
inflamed. However, we made a good halt and lunch in the
summit among pines, and here met our old good Commandant,
Fatteh Bey, who was storming against Enver Pasha and Sheriff
Bey. He had had some difference at last with Sheriff Bey,
whom he was too weak to restrain. This led to Fatteh's
getting removed to Eski Chehir. He had had so many contradictory
orders to go that at last he set off without them.
While he was away the escape occurred, and he was interrupted
at Changrai and ordered to return. Sheriff, the nominal
commandant when the affair occurred, accused Fatteh of
conniving. He caused Fatteh's kit to be searched secretly at
Changrai, and a letter, really innocent, was found from an
officer in Kastamuni to a friend at another camp. So Fatteh
got in disgrace, and was now pensioned off. It was all worked
by Sheriff. Fatteh told us he wanted to leave Turkey and
go to England to live. Every now and then he produced a
Cook's English-Turkish. He has already learned the money
quite well!
That night we reached another wretched _khan_, and slept
on the roof. We smoked a little while the drivers slept, and
the gates being well secured we could not escape. Ali became
obstreperous and obstinate, and wished to show his authority
even in the matter of our walking or riding or getting firewood
or procuring water to wash. He wants us to get it from the place
where we must, of course, pay for it. But these have been wonderful
days of movement, a voyage of rediscovery of the
world, a passing from sleep to dreamland, from death to life.
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.
D'Arici's wife had been stranded in Panderma, where all
her goods were searched. I managed to get through to her
some letters from d'Arici, and to effect her transfer to Stamboul.
Moreover, d'Arici, sport that he was, had still with
him some valuable plans of mines, and much secret information
about politics with reference to Bulgaria. These he wanted
to get rid of to his wife, and not to destroy. Having satisfied
myself with his outline of defence in case things went wrong,
I hunted and found his wife, after many adventures, in the
heart of Pera. The guard followed, believing her the proprietress
of a therapeutic bath. We had arranged a rendezvous
in the waiting-room. I had to bring the packet back, as no
chance offered for giving it, and it was, of course, certain
death for her and for him, if not for me, to have been in possession
of such interesting documents. I felt my weight of
responsibility, but resolved to try again. The second time
she was dressed quite differently. I found her flat, and racing
up the stairs ahead of the posta, burst in and gave her the
packet. She pushed this down her blouse, and the next
second the posta very angrily forced the door open. While he
was suspiciously looking around I bolted off again, and, of
course, he had to follow me. My excuse that I was hungry
was fairly feeble. Anyway he was appeased with a good meal,
and I intended not to have him again if I could help. D'Arici
was delighted, and I, on the other hand, now relied on getting
away politically without escaping. The next day I got a
private message from Ismid Bey, a tall, smart, and very
modernized Turk doing A.D.C. to Djemal Pasha. He was
very occupied with keeping up the importance of his chief,
whose influence on the Triumvirate wavered at times. He
had just returned from a voyage on the Black Sea, and in his
cute Turkish way was most interesting as well as eager for
news. He was half French. On entering he barked at my
posta, who, startled and terrified beyond words at my claiming
acquaintance with so august a person, literally cowed down,
and waited outside.
We were in the Florence Restaurant, and had more or less
privacy. There I learned for the first time of the outer expression
of Bolshevism. Everywhere around the Black Sea where
he had been, murders had just taken place on a wholesale
scale. He told me a story of his difficulty in getting an interview
with people in the southern ports. They were invariably
killed just before, the reason, he was told, being that any one
who wanted to interview a man wearing a collar must be anti-Bolshevik.
Ismid showed me excellent and recent photos of
the French front, and assured me that from personal inspection,
he thought the German _bandobast_ so gigantic and their defences
so colossal that we could never get through. It was, however,
all to an end. He wanted me to interpret to him the British
official attitude to Turkey, and gave me to understand that
for himself he wanted peace; in fact, he had just come from a
peace meeting, but Enver was against all this. We had as
yet no big victory in the West that might justify a Turkish
_bouleversement_. He spoke of financial difficulties, and how
much depended on a new arrangement of parties immediately.
Djemal had quarrelled with the German commander
in Palestine, and wanted Turkey to seize the whole of the
Adrianople _vilayet_. In fact, against German orders he had
insisted on a full Turkish Army Corps being stationed there,
and he disliked the German military preponderance in the
capital.
As for the Russian Fleet, Ismid indignantly denied that
they were German, and said the Turks had seized them on
threat of engagement, as the Germans had hoisted the German
flag on the fleet after putting German crews aboard. He
despised the German as being too stolid to understand Turkish
mentality. This bore out what he had told Newcombe, that
the Germans imposed tactics of too high a tactical standard
on the Turkish forces after Gaza. I got a good deal more
information, which I hoped Newcombe and I might turn to
account.
D'Arici was amused at all this. We played bridge and
plotted for more news. In the meantime I had visited Forkheimer's
home, and persuaded the posta to remain downstairs.
My life now was as different as possible from what it had been
during all the preceding years.
I cashed £50 in cheques a month, and got out twice or
three times a week. Turks began to know me in the street.
Forkheimer and I, seated on his balcony overlooking the
Bosphorus, sometimes snatched a few short minutes from
captivity. We both wondered what our mutual acquaintance,
Goodhart, an American we knew at Cambridge, was now
doing. His people gave me most excellent tea. I was much
interested in the pertinacity of these good people in believing
Germany was absolutely right in the war, and we quite wrong.
One avoided as much politics as possible, but they were
rather keen.
About this time Colonel Newcombe and I formulated a
scheme by which the British Government and our brother
officers might be saved a considerable amount of money. The
exchange at this time with the Dutch Embassy was 130, and
in the bazaar privately as much as 200 could be got. These
cheques could be exchanged again at a huge profit in Switzerland,
and a great deal went into the pockets of foreign changers.
Our plan was to get a loan of 10,000 liras a month, or 50,000
in a lump sum from the Ottoman Bank on the security of
British officers and approved of by the senior British officer,
at the rate of 250.
[Illustration: DJEMAL PACHA, ONE OF THE TRIUMVIRATE WHOSE A.D.C.,
ISMID BEY, MET ME SECRETLY IN STAMBOUL]
The _Chef de Renseignement_ of the Ottoman Bank was
agreeable. In fact, the bank would have made largely on the
transaction, and, while helping us by ready money, and saving
the Home Government over 100 per cent. on the exchange,
have kept it out of Germany's hands, and would not have got
any meantime advantage, as repayment of the loan would
have been delayed until after the war. Every one was most
enthusiastic. Senior officers at Brusa were willing to support
the scheme, but the Turks wanted General Townshend's
signature. We drafted a letter from our prison asking for his
support and approval, and, if possible, to enlist the sympathies
of the Dutch Embassy where English cheques were paid only
at market rate, British officers getting about one-third to a
quarter value (exchange was 500 at the armistice). The general
frequently dined in Stamboul, and had a launch at his disposal,
so I was informed by a Turkish naval officer, who had been
with him for some time, and although no doubt considerably
watched, would have many more opportunities than
any one else.
After considerable trouble I managed to get a letter
through to the general, with a covering one to be given to him
at a dinner in Pera. The reply was long in forthcoming, and
was most disappointing.
General Townshend wrote through his A.D.C., pointing
out that the Turks weren't philanthropists, and if the scheme
had been thought practicable it would have been tried before.
Still, one must suppose the general knows best, as he dines out
frequently and sees quite an amount of Stamboul personages.
I understand from de Nari, however, that General Townshend
is more stalked than stalking. In a small photo of the
general, with his A.D.C., Mrs. Forkheimer, and a young
Austrian lady, taken on the rocks at Principo, we saw the first
of our general for years. He looked extraordinarily fit and
well. Some weeks later I passed him in Galata with an officer,
and he looked exceptionally fit then. We envied him his
opportunities, even if he were closely watched. Of one thing
I was certain, that he either did not or could not know of the
appalling sufferings and mortality of his division.
About this time I received a kind letter from Lord Islington
in reply to the letter I had sent in the water-bottle. It contained,
to my joy, the signal I had asked him to put if the
letter was ever received and dealt with, and contained also
some personal inquiries about my health. This letter landed
me in for another inquiry, which I survived all right. In fact,
I pointed out that it was known in London I had been neglected,
and so I was allowed to visit Dr. König again and extend my
visit to the baths. The German doctor was now quite angry
with the Turks. I got my bi-weekly bath at Pera, and built
up a regular visit to certain places. De Nari and I were now
well acquainted. He was a very able and strenuous worker,
and although keen on Turkish affairs, and fond of Turks even
to the point of being hand in glove with the Union and Progress
party, he was a keen and loyal Italian from all I saw of him.
Politics progressed rapidly. The second German offensive
was well under way. So successful was it that, according to
de Nari, my chance of going home on a special embassy grew
less. The Turk in victory does not do himself bare justice.
He revives instincts from his uplands in Central Asia. The
Germans would be in Paris in two weeks, and Turkey would
have back Egypt! etc., etc.
This man, de Nari, was a type to admire. An adventurer,
brave, fearless, able, far-seeing, yet with much of the gambler
in his nature, he belonged to the strain of Italy's brightest
history. I remember one day having left the posta downstairs,
and I came up by another door. De Nari's tall figure entered
the room where a piano and 'cello lay amongst his papers and
plots. He pulled his small black beard, and said with an
anxious sigh, "Eh, bien! Un jour plus!"
I noticed a revolver in his hip pocket. This man had just
been to a meeting with the chief spirits of the Union and
Progress Committee, and had had to talk around the big
heavy Telaat.
Apart from our political moves I tried to the very best of
my powers to persuade him to get d'Arici out of prison. But
d'Arici's machiavellian spirit had so many ramifications that
I think he was commonly feared by all parties. I knew him,
however, as a brave and reliable man once one understood his
code. He was still within measurable distance of death, yet
he dared to give me written information to carry outside.
This would have completed the noose, and I was fully conscious
of it when I carried the packet around. In fact, the day I
took it I had resolved that at any cost I wouldn't allow the
posta to get it.
[Illustration: GENERAL TOWNSHEND ON HIS ISLAND (PRINCIPO)
WITH VISITORS]
Great days. De Nari brought me messages from this Turk
and that. I told nothing, but waited. I felt that with a very
little the Turks could be persuaded to give in, and said I was
ready to take their suggestions and to promise to return to
captivity if nothing happened. But against all that the set
Government party wanted, or that the Union and Progress
wanted, was the solid rebellious faction without a head, some
against the Germans, some against the cost of living, some for
the old regime, some for Bouharneddin, and some for the new
party. Turkey in faith and tradition is too disciplined to be
Bolshevik. Otherwise her rebellious factions would have
united and hurled out the war cabinet in twenty-four hours.
It was on one of these factions I had stumbled through the
old Arab in the prison. Their scheme had now grown to
blowing up Bilijik Viaduct, thus stopping the German offensive
against Baghdad, a wholesale slaughter in Stamboul (d'Arici
and I resolved how in this case we would floor postas and escape
in their kit), and the opening of the Dardanelles. The police
were seething with disaffection. The garrison at the Dardanelles
had quarrelled with the Germans there, and a hundred
or so of the latter had become casualties. This was confirmed
from several sources. We began to hope for a sortie of the
Dardanelles Turkish Garrison. But the success of the German
offensive nullified this. Then came more quarrelling about the
Black Sea Russian Fleet. The Turks insisted on taking it
from the Germans. The latter had long since altered their
cry from Berlin to Baghdad into Baku-Bokhara, and here
got at loggerheads with the Turkish advertised programme.
Turkish finance was in a deplorable state. Everything pointed
to peace. But the German management that had kept Turkey
in so long was efficient beyond words. A little opening, a
little altering of the disposition of troops, and Turkey was
out. Such was the state of Stamboul in May, 1918. I went
to tea on more than one occasion at my friend Forkheimer's
home. We talked Cambridge and the phenomenon of war as
if we had been back among the cloistral stillnesses beside the
Cam. He told me frankly what state Austria was in.
In the middle of all this political welter I was suddenly
summoned to the court-martial. Arrived there one morning
with my guard, I was shown into a passage, and the first
person's head I saw among those peering around the corner
was Castell's. He was heavily guarded. The place swarmed
with sentries and spies. By making several requests in
English and French I soon found no one there understood
these languages. A little kitten had been playing in the room.
I enticed it to come and talked to it and played with it with a
piece of string. The Turks all became most interested, and
thus talking to the little kitten I informed Castell exactly as
to the stage of the case, and what was not known. I told
him that it was my opinion nothing was known of the actual
attempt, and that he must give guarded answers and evade
every question that might divulge this. Our procedure was
to avoid implicating the restaurant, who had had little or
nothing directly to do with us. This I had purposely arranged
beforehand. Also I wanted our stories to agree in evasion,
as it was useless for me to evade one question, if he
did not.
He had, it appeared, been transported to Angora, and had
been kept under the closest confinement there, until one day,
when he was informed he was to go to the war prison at
Stamboul for court-martial for assisting British officers to
escape. He was thus dreadfully in the dark, and had an idea
the whole scheme was out. The other officer had kept inside
the margin of my statement, and I intended Castell to do
the same.
While keeping strictly to the truth in any statement, I
intended to block and confuse their prosecution as much as
possible. I now ordered Castell to abandon a scheme for
hiding his identity which he had made months before. He
was from Smyrna, and very little proof of his identity seemed
forthcoming. He had intended taking the name of a British
officer who had died on the trek. This was to save his neck,
if imperilled, as he had some doubts whether, in spite of his
British nationality, the Turks would not hang him without
further ado as a Turkish subject. Much of Turkish justice
depended on the state of the German offensive, which now
seemed to have partly fizzled out. The Turks appeared to
know it was the last bolt.
I was taken into a room with even more officials present
than before. The court arose and bowed, and I saluted them.
They gave me cigarettes, and inquired of my bath. I thanked
them, and pointed out that this happened to be a bath day.
An old judge smiled amusedly, as if I had already been ordered
to be shot and tendered a petition for reprieve on account of
its being my bath day.
They took particulars, and, showing me the letter, asked
many questions at once. I informed the court, through Ali
Bey, that I would do my best not to waste these gentlemen's
time if they first allowed me to ask a question or two. After
some discussion they agreed. Pointing to the letter, I asked
if this, and this alone, was the only matter in issue, and if all
questions and answers were to be concerned with it, or did they
want to go into Gelal Bey's inquiry, and many other letters I
had written? They looked puzzled, and would not commit
themselves. However, after an hour of futile questioning
about something or other in the letter, I gave them all kinds
of contradictory statements and meetings with other persons,
and about a dozen plans of escape, as if I were keen on making
a clean breast of all my delinquencies. This they took down
letter by letter, and, of course, actually found out on cross-examining
me that these things related to other letters and
other individuals, and led us into most interesting sidelights
about our earlier letters to Bach Pacha, and Heaven knows
what, but did not advance the case in hand. At last, mopping
their brows--it was a hot day, and we had been at it over two
hours--they said very severely that the trial was only concerned
with the attempt to escape, and with the particular
letter. This eased my conscience, as it cut out the actual
attempt, and confined matters to the Black Sea affair. Except
when they grew tired (I sympathized with them), they were
quite pleasant, and my eyes pouring with water, an old colonel
examined them, and went into an account of how his eyes
had been similar once in the Caucasus. This I made lead to a
digression on the war in the Caucasus and German propaganda
there. (Germans were in hospital at Haida Pacha, with bad
eyes, had they come from there?) We got on to the French
Front, and the whole court crowded around to hear my opinion
of the situation there.... I quoted the generals from Brusa,
that they predicted an early dislocation of the German push.
We got on to politics, and, later in the afternoon, after a most
enjoyable day, marred only by the proximity of certain
questions to embarrassing ones, I had managed to explain that
the letter had been sent to Castell, c/o. the Embassy, as I
didn't know his address. I had first seen him in church holding
the plate. I didn't say where I had last seen him, which had
been in the boat. Also I managed to save Doust, who had
been a starter in the original scheme, although his name wasn't
mentioned, by not answering, saying it was not decided as to
who would go, but we had left a place for a spare passenger.
As a matter of fact, one officer had changed his mind at the
last moment. The Turks got to this point before at Psamatia,
but instead of sending for officers concerned, they sent for
Lieutenant Galloway, an officer who had given his parole, and
was sunning himself pleasantly at the parole camp at Gedos.
But as it was merely his travelling a few miles against a
chance of Doust's neck, we three in the know were inwardly
conscience easy.
The Turks congratulated me on my statement and one
called me a _shaitan_ (devil) to his colleague. I was to return
to Brusa shortly, provided I answered the most important
question. What matter? said I. Having answered so many,
what was one extra for so great a boon? In fact, if they
offered to return me to England I wouldn't mind repeating
the whole performance. They clapped me on the shoulder,
and then, amid a deathly silence, asked me to explain how it
was the rope was actually seen down the wall. (They had
evidently mixed up the occasion.) I said if they would produce
the person who saw it I would endeavour to extract the reason
from him, the wisdom of putting down a rope to escape when
the plan had not only not been delivered, but, on the
contrary, discovered.
This answer delighted the old judge, who said I was
_birinji_ (first-class), and wouldn't have me hectored further.
I have forgotten to record that early in the trial they had
admitted that Fauad, the interpreter, had played a most
villainous game, that the letter had never been to the censor,
that he had stamped it, taken it to a post-office to have a post-mark
put on it, and then, tearing it open, had reappeared with
it days later, saying it had cost him so many hundreds of
pounds, etc. I now congratulated myself on having been so
circumspective about the case, and that my opinions and
theory had been so extraordinarily correct.
A door opened, and then, after some shuffling, question
two was put to some one: "Do you know who this is?" A
screen was suddenly moved, and there I saw Castell, looking
white and scared. They had got very little out of me as to
our meetings, etc., and I had said that he was the man who
took the plate round in church, and had been unknown to me
before, and that I had been informed that he was anxious
to escape.
He looked helpless at being asked who I was, but the screen
was hardly removed, when _I_ said aloud for Castell to hear,
"Why, that's the man at the church; I didn't know him before
then." The court jumped up, and guards came over to seize me;
I hadn't been meant to speak, as they had intended asking
Castell who I was, etc. But the opportunity was too good to
be missed. Castell was much relieved at this satisfactory
announcement, showing how little the court-martial had
progressed with the escape proceedings. The old judge roared
with delight, and altogether we were quite entertained.
The proceedings had not stated what offence had been
committed, although it seemed to embrace:--
(1) My intention to escape with news, general spying, and
"undermining the fidelity of Turkish guards" (?).
(2) Castell's guilt in helping me to escape. He was
technically a civil prisoner himself.
(3) Fauad's guilt as a Turkish posta. He was wearing
uniform.
It began by my informing them these were not offences
for which an officer, who had refused his parole, could be
punished. It ended by my giving a general tirade on international
law as regards prisoners of war, and showing that
there were certain acts from which a prisoner of war could be
restrained from committing, but for which he could not legally
be punished. For instance, I might be much more useful to
my country as a prisoner propagandist, and that with a
sufficient audience of postas I might start a revolution. They
were amused at this, and asked me what, from my point of
view, would be a remedy for this? I suggested exchanging
me!
I had been asked by Gelal Bey to pay for the replacement
of two of Fauad's teeth that I had knocked out. I agreed
willingly, and now suggested that I would like him to carry
this souvenir of his treachery. The court, however, said they
would not require this, provided I did not regard him as a
Turkish soldier, although he was in uniform.
They shook hands with me. I had much cause to be
thankful that the inquiry had been so unsuccessful in finding
out more.
I now returned to prison pending trial of the others. Castell
was moved near me. This meant he was acquitted. A day
or two afterwards the state of our rooms was so unsanitary
that we feared an outbreak of fever. Castell left for hospital
with typhus, and another man died. The smell from the
drains and lavatories was overpowering. We were between
this and the stench from the prisoners in the cellars beneath
our window.
Colonel Newcombe now went sick. His skin broke out
into a fiery rash, which increased, and he felt unwell. I tried
daily for three or four days to get some one to see him, but the
commandant took no notice. At last one doctor came and
said it was merely bug-bites. By dint of perseverance we got
another Turkish doctor who ordered him to hospital, it being
actually smallpox. The colonel went off very depressed at
our dividing, as we had all sorts of plans on foot for an escape
from Brusa. He hoped, however, to get to the hospital where
his lady friends might be permitted to visit him.
D'Arici and I now got down to work. I collected a complete
compendium of news about the state of Turkey, statistics of
the army, shipping, transport, exchange, loans, and especially
inside politics. Dissensions between party and party were
increasing daily, and now that the offensive, wonderful as it
had been, was held up, the Turks on all sides were for peace.
Yet the official hold continued.
By intelligence of this nature, carefully corroborated and
up to date, I hoped to be able to render some service to our
authorities when, as I fully believed, we should come to enter
Stamboul. As yet no Turk can believe this will happen.
The others were sent to Afion. I continued on for a week
or two. D'Arici and I had made great progress with our
Intelligence. I loved to listen to his adventures and travels
and his light-hearted view of life, including as it had for him
great danger, varying discomfort, and uncertain rewards.
Yet whether on a duel or trying to raise the wind, the artist
was not far beneath, and he often treated us to selections
from grand opera. His voice was an excellent baritone of
great purity and power.
With the other officers removed, I was now more free, and
got into touch with two well-known English Levantines,
Hadkinson, father and son, who were in the next room to ours.
The former was a fine type of manhood, white-haired, and
approaching seventy-five. They had been confined for over
eighteen months as suspects in spying at Smyrna for our
fleet. Young Hadkinson, the son, was much _au fait_, and helped
me gather many facts about the course of Turkish politics
during the war, and the many factions working secretly for
the overthrow of Enver. We hatched all kinds of plots, and
finally adopted a scheme fitting in with the old Arab's, by
which a certain Turk was to be sent to Brusa to act as our
messenger to and from Stamboul (it was only six hours'
journey). Thus we could perfect our scheme. There are
parts of these schemes and plots which it may be early to
publish, but one startling proposition was for a certain powerful
faction to open the Dardanelles to our fleet by a revolution
among the Fort garrisons. It was amusing to think of me, a
prisoner, carrying answers from and to Turkish generals at
the head of many thousands of Turks in all the services, for
a conspiracy to open the Dardanelles. Nor was this so unfeasible
as it appeared. The army of the Dardanelles was
anti-Enver. It was the Union and Progress Party alone that
prevented every move. The movement wanted money, and
was going to commence with a general massacre of the
Turkish Cabinet. At this stage I left for Brusa again, the
capital where many prominent Turks even then were in
hiding!
CHAPTER XV
BRUSA AGAIN--CHANGE ON WESTERN FRONT--STAMBOUL
BEFORE THE END--POLITICAL MANOEUVRING--THE PRINCE
SUBAHEDDINE--THE UNION AND PROGRESS PARTY
Arrived I found my room next General Delamain
had been pounced upon, and I took up my quarters
with the other officers at a building known as the
American School, in a garden high up above the town. Here
some of the senior officers from other camps had arrived.
They included Colonel Lethbridge, Colonel Lodge, Colonel
Broke-Smith, who for a time had commanded the 10th Field
Artillery Brigade in Kut. He was just the same cheery good
fellow as when I had first seen him under fire, wearing a tam-o'-shanter
in his bivouac at Azizie, seated alongside his slowly
dwindling "peg." He grew more interesting as he got into
the night, and the more interesting he grew the nearer his
nose sank towards his glass resting always on the table.
About 4 a.m., towards the end of his anecdotes, his nose
generally peeped over the rim.
I was severely watched, and not allowed much freedom.
We had less restrictions in some ways, and some officers were
actually allowed to fish. Most of us took to making rods and
lines and flies. General Smith, easily the best fisherman
there, made most beautiful flies, some of which he gave me.
Major Hibbert and I shared a primitive rod I had brought
back from Stamboul. I was allowed to go fishing once by
mistake. Postas _shikared_ me so severely that I had little fishing,
but my brother officers were most sporting and kind in not
minding a little inconvenience. They, too, however, went not
to fish so much as to get a walk three miles outside the limits
tramped over for so long.
We went to see the football twice a week, and on these
occasions General Delamain and I sometimes exchanged
political notes on Europe. The third offensive had begun,
but changed immediately into a counter-offensive. I shared
a room with a Major Julius, a staff officer of considerable
reputation in India. It is significant that from some meagre
news of cavalry and artillery movement on the French front,
he calmly and deliberately prophesied that the great day had
come, and an offensive would follow. It did. In a few days
we had got Peronne, and went on and on.
Colonel Newcombe arrived two weeks after me, and now
came to my house. We worked letters to Stamboul, and I
kept privately in touch with de Nari. This was expensive, as
we paid a person's passage weekly, there and back, with a
reward. The colonel now proceeded to lose his heart to the
young lady who had nursed him in hospital.
Communication to Stamboul from Brusa remained difficult,
owing to the risk. Forkheimer had kindly written a note to
the Consul at Brusa, and through this channel I managed, once
or twice, to get communication through to de Nari about
money and news, although I did not send any intelligence
matter through this channel, as being unfair to the other side;
and in fact I promised to that effect. The Consul's daughters
were most sporting and kind. We met them, on occasion, in
the bazaar, and Greenwood, who had now turned up at Brusa,
and who had made much progress as a disciple, frequently
did sleight of hand tricks over a basket of apples in some one's
stall with one of them, thus getting a note through about
Embassy money or something. I managed to get letters
through to Forkheimer to recover for me a medical certificate
which Dr. König had formerly written me, but which had gone
astray, except one piece perfectly undecipherable.
A Committee of Prisoners' Exchange now arrived, and
we all fortified ourselves with statements of our cases. I
knew they would prevent my going for political reasons,
unless and until de Nari's schemes were ready.
More and more I saw only too clearly how all other schemes
and policies came back to the U. & P.'s programme. That
notorious party, bad as it was, remained the one strong faction
with anything like a programme or that knew what it wanted.
It retained the reins of government merely because everything
outside it was vacillating, indefinite, inarticulate; because the
policy of parties that revolved around it was either tyrannized
by intrigue or hampered by personal jealousies. And so these
parties made no progress towards translating their general
ideals into realities, but vaporized over their respective
watchwords. For instance, the Itihad or Union faction was
for bridging the artificial distinction of Young and Old Turk.
They wanted a Turkey for all Turks. Another faction, rather
a lesser circle enclosed by the last, was the Peace and Salvation
Society which was for immediate cessation of hostilities,
abandoning the scimitar for the wheels of industry and general
social development. These dreamed of the Prince Subaheddine
and wanted his recall. The Prince had had to leave Turkey
at the peril of his life, and after doing useful work for
us in Greece went to Switzerland. He seems an idealist of
good intentions, and with a love of his country, but, unless
under the shelter of our guns, to lack both the vigour, nerve
and determination necessary to cope with such as Enver a soldier
of fortune, Telaat a promoted telegraph clerk, Djemal a throwback
to the primitive Tartar, all enjoying a snatched executive
authority at the point of a revolver. There had been with me
in the prison in Stamboul a Turkish major brought up for
appropriating goods. From him I learned something of the
appalling nature of the corruption in Turkey. Take Giahid
Bey, for example, who was appointed to stop profiteering. He
merely steered profits into his own pocket and that of Enver
& Co. I heard from a first-hand source that on the second
sack of Erzerum, property worth three million liras was
divided between the triumvirate and remains invested in
various countries against an international finance débacle
later on.
Take Jemal, the Governor of Stamboul (Commandant de la
Place), formerly Enver's A.D.C., a man in whose hands rested
the lives of practically all the political prisoners of Turkey.
Not one spark of justice remains to such. Not only had he
to fulfil the mandates of the triumvirate, but, outside that, he
utilized every opportunity for his own advancement. That
is possible in Stamboul probably more than anywhere in
Europe, not even excepting Russia. To seek advancement at
the expense of the public weal and justice, it is only necessary
to enter the arena of intrigue boldly, and, armed with the
possession of as many facts as possible of other intrigues, by
a general compromise of blackmail, to retain this advancement.
Added to which there is the difficulty of foreign policy, left as
a most tangled legacy of personal intrigue by Abdul Hamid.
The problem of Russia, Turkey's external fear both for Constantinople
and her eastern flank, of the Balkans with their
vulture propensities awaiting the fall of Turkey, and the
necessity of Turkey having at least one friend in Europe,
are a sufficient handful without the increased embarrassment
she gets from internal questions like that of the Armenians
and the Arabs. And over all these problems, without and
within, mined like high explosives around every important
structure of the State, there is usually flung the shadow of
some daring ambassador presiding by intrigue and threat of
application of the match. Wangenheim was such a one.
One heard it said on every hand that our ambassadorial
representation before the war was so weak that it flung Turkey
into the arms of Germany. There must be some truth in this
from the universality of its utterance, and yet imagine to what
state a country, as seething with intrigue and corruption as is
Turkey, must be reduced by being bombarded with the courtship
of the leading Powers?
The third German offensive now became our offensive, and
once more the tide of battle ended in our favour. Once more
on the French front we redug our trenches among the earlier
dead. We seemed still far from getting back to England.
The exchange that should have happened two years before
has been held up partly by the instigation of Germany, and
partly by the weakness of our own delegates on the Prisoner
of War Committee in Switzerland, two or three years before.
Eighteen months after Turkish prisoners in Egypt had got
their treatment agreed upon, we were left _in statu quo_, and
when we saw for the first time the regulations to which both
England and Turkey were bound, there were outbursts of
indignation on every hand. If our representatives on the
Prisoner of War Committee had included some efficient
soldier, who had known, by practical dealings, the methods and
delays and subterfuges of the Turks, we would have had some
safeguards, and it would not have been possible to keep
British officers in underground typhus cells for nine months,
awaiting trial for an offence of escaping, the penalty of which
was only two weeks, and the inspection of camps would
not have been a farce. For instance, a list was allowed to be
presented by the Turks saying all camps had no complaints,
when we had not even been visited up to date (July, 1918).
At times I have imagined that the lot of imprisonment,
such as ours, must have a purifying influence and help one to
see beneath the surface of the passing show into the deeper,
eternal currents that flow along translucently below.
Sometimes, if rarely, I had managed to entice my posta
above Brusa town and from a hill beheld the rising beauty of
Olympus. Going to my bath on one occasion in the hot
month of August, I was too tired and seedy to get there in
time, and so, sitting down by the roadside where the more
fortunate were allowed to walk daily, I wrote these lines--
SONNET
CAPTIVITY
One day I sought a tree beside the road
Sad, dusty road, well known of captive feet--
My mind obedient but my heart with heat
Rebelled pulsating 'gainst the captor's goad.
So my tired eyes closed on the 'foreign field'
That reached around me to the starlight's verge,
One brief respite from weary years to urge
Me to forget--and see some good concealed.
But skyward then scarred deep with ages long
I saw Olympus and his shoulders strong
Rise o'er the patterned destinies of all the years
Marked with God's finger by the will of Heaven--
Tracks men shall tread, with only Time for leaven--
That we might see with eyes keen after tears.
_Brusa, July 16th, 1918._
But these moments were few, and the pressure of existence
and shikar for food and money, and general bandobast of
plots and plans and pots and pans engrossed much attention.
The Austrian Consul's house I visited for a few seconds through
the posta confusing it with the council offices. I usually
arranged not to go to the house, but after I had built up a
system Colonel Newcombe over used it. His young lady
friend, who had nursed him in Stamboul, came on a visit to
Brusa, and rendezvoused him once too often here. They
confused him with me and I got punishment for both. This
left Colonel Newcombe free still to carry on our plans, although
he was very averse to letting me pay his penalty. Any other
proceeding was, of course, futile for both of us.
We had several plans, all of which failed. Then we
decided to get back to Stamboul once again. So changed was
the political outlook for Turkey that escape from there was now
much easier, and to live in hiding was possible. He arranged
to get there by the help of this young lady.
The exchange selections of officers were made and remade,
and finally all kinds of people were put down including one
colonel who was hard of hearing, which he described as
gun deafness. He managed to be deaf while his examination
was on, but forgot not to hear when they said
he was to go. We all did this more or less. However, I
realized the board was all a hoax and insisted on going back
to Stamboul for treatment to my spine, as there was no
specialist in Brusa. By dint of great persistence I managed
this. An interpreter, Zia Effendi, from the American College,
Smyrna, I found deeply versed in politics, and although he
was not reliable, was undoubtedly in touch with some movements
and was useful to a degree.
It was now August, 1918. The faster the Germans went
back, the more the German alliance was criticized and the
Government openly attacked. A financial panic occurred in
Stamboul. Jealousies raged over the Doubrouja, half of
which Germany gave to Bulgaria leaving the rest in abeyance.
And Turkey wanted the Maritza even if Bulgaria had the half
of the Doubrouja. Germany used this fact as a bribe. Then
trouble commenced over Batum. Germany, in seizing Odessa,
indicated her independence of Turkey on her way to the East.
Popular feeling, that had only wanted a leading motive, now
became articulate over this. Feeling ran high. Telaat went
to Berlin, collecting souvenirs and welcomes from Bulgaria
and Austria _en route_. There, as had been expected, Turkish
claims were admitted after a theatrical tussle put up by Germany,
on the condition that Turkey remained in the war.
In the meantime Bulgaria began to plot to be the first
rat from the sinking ship. The first rat has the best chance.
Meanwhile Newcombe's plan to escape to Stamboul was
difficult owing to the extra posta in the garden. This was due
to the Consular affair. He disguised himself as an Arab, and,
except that he walked as if in Regent Street, did not make a
bad one. The plans he left largely to me. On my suggestion
he kept to his bed for some days beforehand on pretence of
being ill. Then, on the night, I rushed down to one posta and
sent him off with a letter to the commandant. The other was
suspicious, but after some scene I managed to cajole this
fellow, Abdul Khadir by name, whom we all detested, and
made my peace with him. Sincere acting was necessary as
we heard the cracks of a tile, and I knew Newcombe would be
caught if Abdul went another yard. I shook him by both
hands and prevented him from going, telling him that now I
had forgiven him. This was true. The man was a sneak in
many ways and I took delight in thinking how I was enabling
Newcombe to get away even as we spoke, and that it was this
posta of all who should be on guard. Then Greenwood and I
decoyed with several drinks of mastik, the curious people,
including a colonel, who wanted to see Newcombe. I lay in
Colonel Newcombe's bed at night. The next day I told the
old Turkish officer in charge of the place that Newcombe did
not want to see any one, which was probably true. (He was
by this time well on his way to Stamboul.) I then got into
his bed knowing the Turk, being suspicious, would come.
Greenwood made me look like Newcombe's figure. Meals,
half-eaten, lay by the bedside. I had eaten them so as not
to let even the orderlies know. I heard the door open and the
Turk peep in. A few groans sent him out again.
The next night we had much to do with keeping abreast
of the general curiosity. But it was essential to give him a
good start. Then, the following morning, I took in to Colonel
Lethbridge, our C.O., a letter of explanation that Colonel
Newcombe had left with me for the purpose.
Of all people it was I who was delegated to tell the Turk.
In as many words I merely said the Colonel had fled. The old
Turk screamed with rage and terror, seized his sword, put on
his fez and jacket, and, forgetting his trousers, rushed outside
screaming to his postas and looking under every bush.
This continued at intervals all day. We all were locked
up, but this only lasted a day or two. A few days later I got
permission to go to Haida Pasha Hospital in Constantinople,
and heard privately that Newcombe had arrived in Stamboul,
and was in hiding through the assistance of his lady friend.
Meeting General Delamain on the football ground, I said that
I believed this was my _Heimkehr_, or in other words, that in
any case hostilities were near an end. He thought so too. I
listened to him on the military situation in France and Bulgaria
and we discussed the emergence of new political formations
in Europe, the new distribution of the balance of power
necessitated by the hiatus of Russia, of the Balkans, possibly
of Austria.
We talked of the tendency of small movements to merge
into large, of the awakening of similar thought in all men, of
chaos revolving around chaos that could not become cosmos
before the centre of political gravity were ascertained, and
equilibrium adjusted once more. Looking back on captivity
one felt that the change in one had become spiritual even more
than physical. The pattern of destiny stood out very plainly
for us all.
We said "Good-bye," and that night my brother officers
gave me an awfully good send off, and Colonel Broke-Smith
produced an extra bottle of mastik. I had a long talk with
our senior officer, Colonel Lethbridge of the Oxfords, whose
quiet, restful attitude was still undisturbed. I left before the
dawn in an arabana, some of my friends coming to the wagon.
I felt certain this was the last occasion of my departing from
Brusa.
Except for one old Jew and a very pretty daughter on
board the boat, the voyage was without incident. She sat by
me, and after waiting an hour I managed to put a letter into
her pocket when the posta turned away. She was to deliver
it to Colonel Newcombe. Much depended on this.
We arrived at Galata Bridge, and this time, different from
the last, excited crowds were reading news of the victorious
arms of the Entente. _Le Journal d'Orient_ spoke out plainly
and bitterly against Germany, and was for a separate peace
at once. Everything had changed.
I was hustled to Haida Pasha Hospital and went through
the same performance as of old, having my clothes taken from
me with all my kit and food I had brought with me, and
spending the first night in a bathroom. The noise was
maddening and I could not sleep.
The whole hospital talked of one, Jones, an officer of the
Volunteer Battery whose guns I had brought back from the
front line in Kut, at night, on a momentous occasion. I had
heard before that he had pretended he was mad so enthusiastically,
that he had gone mad in fact. He was now here
hating Englishmen hard, and in fact it was dangerous for him
to meet them. Most of the Turks said he was mad. I woke
after a troubled sleep to the startling announcement by a
Turk, from an adjoining bed, that during my sleep Jones had
been standing over me silently for a long time. The repetition
of this got on my nerves. He wouldn't sleep in the same room
with an Englishman, so I moved to a large ward, where I was
quite alone.
In the middle of the night I saw a ghoulish figure, wearing a
large, black mantle and with stark, staring eyes, stalking me
from bed to bed. With all the uncanny anticipation of one's
every movement that usually happens only in a nightmare
he divined my every move, for I also tried to get to the door.
Then I started to talk German. At this an attendant came
for him. I breathed freely as he left. I thought what a pity
it was after all my experiences to meet my end from a mad
fellow-prisoner. After this he fled on seeing me, although I
kept up the German identity. Then I got a note written to
me from him, a veritable mad document assuring me he
hated the English and that he feared I was going to kill him.
This arrived just after I had met him in daylight. He wore a
black overall, a yard of which he had picked into threads,
which his busy fingers did incessantly. His hair was long, he
wore a beard, and his white, sunken cheeks gave him a ghastly
appearance.
I had wished him a polite "Good evening" in Turkish, and
then the note had arrived. I replied to it in German, and he
replied again that he didn't know German, and if I didn't
promise not to kill him he would kill himself. We met alone,
and, in an extraordinary way, with some postas looking on, I
discovered Jones to be quite sane.
It is a wonderful story. I refer only casually to it here.
From this moment we acted consistently when together, he
pretending he hated all of us except me, and at periods even
me, if postas were difficult. He had had a most lonely time
for months. The strain had been awful. He had heard of
my adventures and regretted, he said, that we had not been
together in a camp to try some escape. He told me of his
long story, commencing with spiritualistic séances at Yozgad,
which the commandant attended, and how he had almost
persuaded the commandant to take him to the Black Sea in
search of treasure, the whereabouts the spook had revealed to
Jones. The fate of the Turk before the treasure was found
seemed to have promised to be a watery grave or bondage.
That fizzled out, and then he and another subaltern named
Hill, also pretending he was mad, acted with such persistence
that they were finally sent for medical treatment to Stamboul.
On the way they were spied on and Jones, besides pulling out
all his teeth, had, with Hill, pretended to hang himself, kicking
off from a table as they heard the guard entering. This, he
explained, was necessary to convince the Turk. They had
arrived in Stamboul a few months before. On the preceding
Monday Hill had left on exchange and Jones, who had had
to act he didn't want to go to England as he was a Turk, had
either overdone it or else one or two Turkish doctors believed
him more or less sane. There can be little doubt that more
than one medical officer and possibly the commandant of the
hospital, saw through Jones' pretence, excellent as it was.
Some Turk suggested to me, with a most confiding smile, that
Jones, in pretending for so long he was mad, was actually
going mad, and by the armistice would be so mad then that
he would have to be exchanged!! The _Chef d'Hôpital_, a
very decent fellow, discussed Jones at great length with me.
Jones, he said, would not return because he feared a court-martial,
as one mule had had a grudge against him for getting
his guns in a mess at Kut, and that as I had rescued him I was
the only Englishman Jones would tolerate. The commandant
was quite baffled about the mule, which, on inquiry, turned
out to be Colonel Maule. On the plea that I was also down
for exchange, in fact had passed both examinations for this
in the hospital, and that I believed I could get Jones along
with me if I said I would defend him and get him off at the
court martial, the commandant asked permission from headquarters
for us to go. Jones continued to make himself so
troublesome through the whole hospital, knocking people into
wells and doing and undoing jobs, that they allowed us
together on the plea that we were to concoct a defence. Jones
had already purposely written about twenty volumes of
rubbish on this. He was a daring actor but not quite finished,
and more than once I thought just overdid it before the
commandant. Once alone over our law books, with a huge
kettle of tea and some food from parcels that now were
arriving, we talked of our plans and of his great loneliness for
months. I knew more than he did of local politics, but he was
very useful and altogether a first-rate companion.
Mademoiselle X, Colonel Newcombe's friend, now visited
me in hospital with another lady who had been kind on
occasion. She showed me her engagement ring, and told me
how the Colonel had turned up with a basket of fish after
getting across the Marmora in a fishing boat, and had gone
into hiding there. He seems to have had a sporting time of
it and displayed considerable daring. I had posted him pretty
well up to date with news for de Nari, and I now heard he had
more or less supplanted me as to going home, owing to my
disinclination to support any party programme of Turks or
any one else.
The next day I got out to Pera for my baths. To accomplish
this takes hours of patient waiting for a chance to remind
the commandant, and heavy bribery inside the hospital. I
found that the city was seething with intrigue, that I was
watched, that Enver and Telaat were preparing to flee, that
Rahmi Bey, a clever but notorious Albanian at Smyrna, was
trying to commence _pourparlers_. General Townshend who
had, so the papers said, become Turcophile, and had frequently
acknowledged his good treatment by the Turks, was now
rumoured to be enthusiastic to go out with the terms of peace.
His agent, the lady who had visited me in hospital, had now
got more or less in touch with de Nari, _i.e._ my line of communications.
I was sorry so many things did not seem understood
by well-meaning senior officers in captivity. After some
hours with my friend de Nari, the posta being outside, and
reading between the lines, it appeared that certain parties were
stalking Enver and Telaat, who now resigned. That these
parties were stalked by General Townshend, and he, in turn, was
stalked by de Nari representing the U. and P. and Italy.
Some one was required to stalk him.
The U. and P. were most immensely unpopular. Marshal
Izzet Pasha, a soldier of standing, became Grand Vizier after
Tewfiq Pasha, the friend of England and ambassador in
London before the war, had refused. But while the U. and P.
was supposed to be definitely ousted from the war cabinet
that has brought and kept Turkey in the war, I found that
their elaborate spy system had definitely obscured the political
identity of certain politicians until then. These, wearing no
outward badge but secretly U. and P., now had a preponderance
in the cabinet, although not a heavy one. The _Journal
d'Orient_ (run by Carossa, the millionaire) and the _Ak Sham_
spoke out strongly for peace.
We were now on the Somme and the Bulgarians were
being hammered back. The dying cries of the _Osmanisher
Lloyd_, a blatant Prussian paper that had crowed over Stamboul
all the war, were very humorous.
I went into town day after day. Regulations were relaxed,
and although I had a posta, I was more free. The universal
ruin that threatened seemed to invite every one to make a
little backsheesh first. Day after day I saw Forkheimer, who
was as kind and sporting as ever. He seemed to have no idea
of the extent of the calamity that must threaten his country
and Germany if, as it seemed, this was the end. He was
disgusted at the state of Turkish policy and put me _au courant_
with much news that helped me and could not damage them.
They had seen a lot.
It is now October 20th. Exchange is panicking, politics
in a frightful tangle. The exchange of prisoners is hung up.
Marshal d'Esperey, with British and French forces, is still
thrashing the Bulgarians, who are reported likely to make
peace at any moment. Other political parties here want to
forestall them. Zia Bey, the interpreter from Brusa, has
helped me to get in touch with the Prince Subaheddine's party,
whose chief virtue is that it is opposing political profiteers.
_October 21st._--I have seen Newcombe with his _fiancée_, and
de Nari in the Petit Champs in Pera. The colonel came out
of hiding and walks about free. I have seen a note in the
_Journal d'Orient_ describing him as a Turcophile (at which he
would be most annoyed) and saying that he had escaped to
Stamboul from Brusa, and would follow General Townshend
on a political mission. I now saw de Nari every day and
realized one thing very surely, viz. that he stood to represent
the interests of the U. and P. and particularly Italy. I saw
most of his private communications from Shefkut Pasha and
Midhat Chukri Bey (the able secretary of the U. and P.). He
was more than ever concerned lest the _pourparlers_ should get
out of his hand. He engaged the ear of the U. and P. in the
cabinet, yet as an Entente subject resident in Turkey during
the war, his path was more or less difficult. It seemed
to me he was sending Colonel Newcombe with his, de Nari's,
wishes, put as representing the Turkish Cabinet. He was
largely interested in Adalia, the Italian settlement, and wanted
at all costs to get that for Italy. We crossed swords in a
friendly way over methods, and he realized I wouldn't carry
his representation, which seemed to me unofficial and unauthorized.
Nevertheless, Colonel Newcombe has an excellent
understanding of the position here, and he does know what
few British officers know, what is in the mind of the Turks.
Turkey is outflanked. The Chatalja lines that held up the
Bulgarian forces are useless against the concentration of
modern artillery fire, and most Turks realize this. I knew
from d'Arici who was there on the occasion of that battle, how
easily the Bulgarians could have entered behind a heavy
moving barrage.
_October 23rd._--Townshend left a few days ago for Smyrna.
De Nari assured me the public wanted to know what chance
his terms had, and questioned me about the possibility of my
taking other terms through after Newcombe had left on his
errand. I pointed out for his sense of humour that in this way
the whole remnant of the prisoners might ultimately get out
of Turkey. He was a delightful man, and, with all his arduous
schemings, had a large margin for laughter. I informed him
that I had no desire to take through his suggestions without
adding my own notes. I had now got in touch with the
Prince Subaheddine's Party. They were sending a delegate
to the fleet to try and get permission to send him to Switzerland
for the Prince. I assured them that all their influential
following would avail them nothing, but that on one condition
I would get his embassy put before the fleet, and possibly
take their delegate to London. Also that I was the only one
who could do it. The delegate was to meet me in Smyrna in
case I left first for there, which I expected to do any day with
Jones.
My condition was that complete intelligence on all matters
financial, economical, political, naval and military be collected
on the heads I gave them. The English governess of the Prince's
daughter, Fatteh, unfortunately, I did not meet through
posta difficulties. De Nari knew I was in touch, and
hurried Colonel Newcombe off. I tried to put the latter
_au courant_, but he was too much elated at his embassy to
think of what it contained, and, after all, as he said, de Nari's
party was a very real one, and a factor to be reckoned with.
_October 26th._--I have omitted to note an excellent air-raid
over Stamboul, the second of two attacks in the same week.
About 2 p.m. from the hospital I heard the sound of explosions
in Stamboul. People were running on all sides to get a good
view of the attack, and the Turkish officers of the hospital,
many of whom had not seen a shot fired during the war,
rushed down below to their basement floors. They came on,
a flight of seven very fast machines, and were met by a steady
barrage, which began at San Stephano, and continued across
Stamboul.
Their bombing could be located by the white bursts. To
my delight they seemed quite close to the Ministry of War.
As they swept towards Pera, they bombed Galata Bridge,
and the German Embassy. The sky was thick with artillery
bursts, but the machines were very fast. As they circled
around, keeping a beautiful line, and came towards Haida
Pasha, heavy German guns opened on them vigorously. This
hospital, the largest in Turkey, has a big white crescent
painted on the roof, but as German artillery was close by, a
mitrailleuse alongside in the Crimean Veterans' garden, and
the Haida Pasha Station yard about two hundred yards off
our boundary, we saw quite an amount of bombing. The
hospital was spared, but a bomb got the barracks close by.
The Turks in the hospital pointed with pride to a Turkish
aeroplane which got up to attack our planes. It was a
glorious opportunity for a spectacular event such as the Turks
love.
Above the silver sea there appeared seven shivering planes,
flying in formation like sand-grouse across a blue sky dotted
by the white puffs of artillery fire. As the Turk arose the
fire ceased. Two of our fellows detached themselves to beat
him off. He came down wounded a few moments later.
A good deal of propaganda has been dropped, showing
the precise position of the Entente and Allied Armies. From
all reports the bombing was not good. They got very few
soldiers. One colonel was killed. But as Stamboul is
heavily armed and protected, according to the development
in practice of modern war it seems justifiable.
The moral effect was the most wonderful imaginable. The
_Chef d'Hôpital_ asked our advice. For the first time in its
history the sacred city of Stamboul, sheltering with all its
intrigue behind the locked gates of the Bosphorus and Dardanelles,
is no longer inviolate, but assailable from the skies.
It is ten thousand pities we did not resort to this a year before.
When one realizes how slender was the official hold that kept
Turkey in the war over many crises, how indifferent provincial
Turkey was about entering, and how averse to continuing
for the sake of Germany, one can realize how air propaganda
and attacks would have brought before them the meaning of
this war.
I pointed out that they had to thank the Germans for the
bombing, firstly, in that she had commenced to break the
rules of war, and secondly, that she was their ally. To bomb
Germany it was necessary to risk hitting the Turks. The
Germans--not the Turks--had used this warfare from the
first. This I circulated to the Press, and it reached a good
many channels, besides some prominent members of Parliament.
The passions of the Turks came uppermost. The
next morning I was in Pera. Many Germans had been
assaulted, and more than one Turkish woman had flourished
her knife at German officers.
I saw instances of sharp expression of feeling myself. The
planes came again, dropping propaganda this time, and not
bombing. The propaganda notified that German armies
are surrendering wholesale, and we have more than reached
the original point whence the great German offensive started,
and are still thrusting them back; that Bulgarian armies are
broken, and communication between Germany and Turkey
cut; and that, unless all Germans have orders to move out
of Stamboul at once, bombing will continue. I had ascertained
the extreme importance and likelihood of advantage
in this propaganda, and had asked a captured R.A.F. officer
with me in prison months before to get it through at once.
He had a code, and the first letters of new prisoners were now
expedited. He sent it. This time public rage and dissatisfaction
was more intensified than ever, and the Press was
outspoken.
General Townshend's offers of mediator, as advertised by
certain political parties, no one takes seriously who is
acquainted with the political manoeuvring of Turkish parties
for position. They are prepared to use his "good graces," as
they put it, just so far and no more as he can recommend
leniency for them, or rather, give to the fortunate parties,
successful in manoeuvring for the privilege of commencing
_pourparlers_, the chance of having first word.
Moreover, the Turks refer in the Press to their excellent
treatment of the General as giving them a sort of right to
expect his "good graces." One is tempted to ask, like the
soldier in _L'Aiglon_, what about the rank and file?
It is the Entente thrust towards Nish, the rumour that
we have flying columns near Lala Burgas, and that, failing
a surrender, a landing will be made at Dedogatch, that is
making up the Turkish mind. It is the collapse of Germany
on the western front, the decision in the main theatre of war,
that has crumpled up Turkey. In other words, there can
be no mediation here any more than there was when Kut
fell.
_October 31st._--I have been too busy to write my notes.
Jones and I have worked very hard for hours a day with an
inexhaustible patience to try to prove his insanity. It is
now admitted that he is insane and believes he is to go home
to be court-martialled for some offence, and I am to take him
away on the pretext of defending him. It would take many
hundreds of pages to write down the history of these four
weeks. I have the offer of living freely with de Nari, but I
do not care to accept a semi-freedom. Nor do I want to stay
here until the fleet enters, as it must. I want to get down to
Smyrna. By then, if the delegate from the Prince's party
arrives, I can take him to the fleet, or otherwise go alone.
I became acquainted the other day with de Nari's terms and
suggestions carried by Newcombe, who is to have direct
communication with Turkey, but only through de Nari by a
code. I have a letter from de Nari to Newcombe, saying I
am also to use the code and to have access to his channel of
communication, if necessary. After Colonel Newcombe had
gone, de Nari's scheme did not appear to him so rosy, and he
realized how the situation was getting out of his hand.
The Germans have been pouring into Stamboul from
Anatolia and Syria. I have heard of their stand alone against
Allenby's forces when the Turks were demoralized and the
Arabs attacked them as anti-Islam.
Conflicts are frequent between the Germans and Turks in
Stamboul. The German troops are ransacking the houses,
and removing everything, from locks, windows and telephones,
to motor-cars and vehicles. They move about in bodies. A
number of German privates besieged by some Turks near here,
put up an excellent defence, fought their way to a ship, captured
her, and steamed out to the Black Sea.
We were to have left to-day, but final receipts and passports
were overlooked until the last moment, and Jones' was
a difficult case. I wouldn't go without him. He thanked
me again and again, and assured me, "Mousley, but for you
I should be left here possibly weeks after the fleet enters."
Everything is excitement and disorder. Centuries of captivity
are falling from me every second. I am outwardly
calm, and too busy to psychologize much on the great end of
this awful eternity. This may be because I am busy. But
in odd moments I realize that vision in Mosul, seemingly so
many millions of years ago, was true, and that given enough
patience, the stream of Time must carry us away past even
the most terrible moment.
CHAPTER XVI
I LEAVE STAMBOUL ON A MISSION EN ROUTE FOR THE FLEET--MEET
THE PRINCE'S DELEGATE AT SMYRNA--FREE!--WITH
THE ENTENTE FLEET AT MUDROS BEFORE ENTERING THE
DARDANELLES
_Smyrna, November 4th._--Thank God! After colossal
trouble and planning to bring Jones along, we were
allowed to go on the evening of November 3rd, having
been delayed just enough to miss the boat of several days
earlier--I believe purposely.
Exquisite joy and suspense of that last night! I had
seen Gelal Bey recently in Stamboul, and he spoke kindly to
me. It brought my terrible Psamatia days back, and I fled.
Jones and I arrived at the quay by Galata Bridge in the afternoon
with a guard. I got leave to take farewell of de Nari.
Before the boat left I was overjoyed to see aboard d'Arici, who
had been freed a few days before, and had sought me everywhere.
With all his delightful light-heartedness he expressed
his profound gratitude for the services I had done him. He
gave me advice, very useful, about Rahmi Bey, the prominent
ex-Governor of Smyrna, to whom I had a letter from de Nari,
and who was leaving by the same boat. A sharp and polished
Oriental, he appeared to me, but well equipped with cunning
and Eastern dalliance. Ali Bey, who had been sympathetic
at my court-martial, was there also to say farewell, and bid
me back to Stamboul as soon as possible. We all drank
German beer obtained in the saloon at a lira a bottle.
I met Hadkinson the son, of prison memories, having heard
much news about his plans from d'Arici. He was also
travelling to Smyrna. I procured for Jones and myself a
tiny double-berth cabin, where he was permitted to cease
playing he was mad, poor fellow! and we had a glorious meal
of tinned meats, and cake and tea.
We saw the last of Stamboul from the deck after our
affectionate farewells were over, when we had got under way.
As the blanket of Night wrapped Stamboul from our view, we
saw disappear first the outlines of the great mosques, and then
the minarets. It was still too close to watch.... We adjourned
to our cabin with a pipe each and a brandy, luxury of luxuries!
Jones and I sat side by side on the bunk, listening to the
splash of waves outside the porthole. We went on deck. Far
away in our wake a few lights flickered upon the waves. It
was Stamboul: the City of the Eternities, the Beautiful, the
Terrible.
Jones was a philosopher. We were silent, or swore beneath
our breath.
I left him to see Rahmi, who had sent me a message. We
had a long conversation in French. For some reason he did
not want to talk English. He believed Turkey would do best
if given great chances. He admitted they were finished. All
depended on England. He would assist me in getting away
if he could.
Hadkinson and I then made some plans. He was a man of
forty, had lived in Smyrna all his life, would also help me to
get away, and, in fact, contribute himself to the information
I had. He had also got in touch with Satvet Lutfi, the friend
and confidential adviser of the Prince Subaheddine, the patron
of the Peace and Salvation Society, who was to leave Stamboul
in two days' time, and had not already left, as I had heard.
We planned deep into the night, then Jones and I slept.
We awoke lying alongside the jetty among the rocky hills
of Panderma. I took Jones on to a train for which we waited
an hour or two. He still acted all he could that he was mad,
and would, until he got on board, so he said. We got into a
crowded carriage, and after a journey lasting all day, reached
Smyrna the next morning without mishap from bandits,
who had been stopping many trains and holding prominent
citizens to ransom. The country was uncultivated, and had
been left to run wild. The people remaining were Turks and
Greeks. At Smyrna the Dutch Consulate assisted and gave
us money. One batch of prisoners had left that morning,
and another would leave in two or three days.
Jones and I found apartments along the bay where General
Melliss had been. The generals had come straight from Brusa
here, and some already had departed. I had got the local
operator to repair the wireless station that had been closed
down for years. We got into touch with one Commander
Heathcote-Smith, formerly Consul at Smyrna, now at Mytilene,
and through him we got into communication with the fleet
at Mudros. For permission to use this wireless I found de
Nari's letter very useful. Mr. Whitall offered me a launch,
which, however, would have meant getting to Mytilene, and
no further.
The moments of waiting for the reply to our wireless were
exquisite. At last, in direct touch with the outside world!
Newcombe had been hung up for days here, and had left a
few hours only before we arrived. Our wireless answer said
that a gunboat was to arrive, and I would then be enabled
to get in touch with naval circles direct. That day, Hadkinson
invited us out to his father's suburban villa perched high on
a hill overlooking a wonderful harbour. One or two officers
were here I had known in Kut. They had found their way
to Smyrna unassisted in the general chaos.
That afternoon the Monitor 29 entered Smyrna. The once
familiar grey of England's Navy--for us a very strange sight
indeed--filled us with feelings indescribable. Her two 6-inch
guns were elevated. She was spick and span. As the blue
uniforms appeared we beheld our first sight as free men. We
went on board for a moment. I learned that the captain had
very strict instructions that no one was to leave Smyrna
without orders. He was there to stand by. He would go to
the vacant British Consulate.
I returned at a more leisurely moment, hours later, and
in the wardroom had my first respectable whisky. The
officers were inordinately kind to all of us, told us news for the
twentieth time, and gave us of their best. One of them, a
Mr. Underwood, I found knew some friends of mine. He came
to dine with Jones and me in the town.
That night a telegram reached us from Constantinople that
Satvet Lutfi Bey--the personal friend and secretary of the
Prince Subaheddine before the war, during most of which he
had been in various prisons, and now hoped to rejoin the
Prince and to bring him back as the light of Turkey--would
arrive at dawn. Satvet had collected first-rate matters of
intelligence from the actual sources, and owing to the
duplicity of the police, had got first-hand information of all
descriptions.
Before the dawn Hadkinson and I went together to see
Lutfi. Our postas we had now shaken off for good. We
refused to recognize them. Satvet was a well-bred, well-dressed
Turk. His quietness and pale face impressed me.
He was a serious and earnest man. We took him along
to the Military Governor, who turned out to be Nureddin
Pasha, the general who had unsuccessfully tried to take
Kut early in the siege. He was delighted to meet me,
and delayed a whole queue of Turks and Greeks who were
waiting to see him while he described to me what happened
on December 25th, 1915. I got his permission to leave the
harbour with Satvet. Armed with this I saw Commander
Dixon of the Monitor 29 at the Consulate. Dixon was a
typical naval officer, physically and mentally robust. He
literally pulled me to pieces and my intentions, or as much as
he could get out of me, and finally allowed me to send some
wireless messages to Mudros, and, if satisfactory replies were
forthcoming, to send us there himself. He came to tea with
us that night, and told us the reply had come, and that it
was fixed that we should leave at dawn in a captured Turkish
gunboat manned by officers and crew off the M. 29.
Commander Dixon was a most entertaining and entertainable
person. He was delighted to get away from Mudros,
which he described as "Fleet, fleet, fleet, with bare hills all
around." I was very elated as this was my last night in
Turkey. We crowded around the piano and sang glees and
songs. I drove back with Dixon to the Consulate to get some
directions. As we went along, the town stood at attention,
so great was the prestige of the fleet even through this diminutive
representative, the monitor.
The scene when the M. 29 entered was one of the greatest
enthusiasm imaginable. Crowds jammed the quays and waited
there hours. All around the ship the sea was black with boats
loaded with people anxious for a glimpse. The Greeks, however,
seized the opportunity of getting their own back on the
Turk, and made attacks largely unprovoked. They hoisted
huge Greek flags over many public buildings, including the
hotel where Commander Dixon was staying. This led to
blows, and it looked like a general riot.
[Illustration: THE FIRST WARSHIP IN TURKISH WATERS. H.M.S. MONITOR 29,
WHICH DESPATCHED PRINCE'S DELEGATE WITH AUTHOR TO THE FLEET]
Dixon, however, with commendable promptness, had a
manifesto printed in about six languages, and posted up by
daybreak, warning any one against making any demonstrations
whatever.
That night Jones assumed partial sanity among some
British officers. This was necessary, as some recent prisoners
seemed in a hurry to supplant those of long standing. I had
tried to take him with me, but this was not permitted. But it
was agreed at the Consulate he was to go with the first batch.
On this condition I felt my convoy of him was at an end,
especially as I was travelling on duty. We had a cheerful
last evening, and on our way to the town met some of the
officers we had known in Kut, separated from us by years of
captivity. Major Harvey, our adjutant, was among them.
Prisoners now began to flock into the town every hour. I
was under orders of secrecy, and managed to slip away quietly
with Satvet Lutfi. A party of prominent Turkish supporters
with him, Hadkinson and I, all lunched together.
Further delay was necessary, as the heavily-mined harbour
had been only partially swept, and a few mines had got loose.
We waited on the gunboat till about 4 p.m. Commander
Dixon came and wished us good luck, and that I might be found
useful to the Staff at Mudros. A brisk and simple good-bye,
and we got on board. The officer accompanying us saluted
his commander, the engines started, a rope fell, we were under
way. I gazed with the intoxication of a mysterious ecstasy
at the widening strip of green water between us and the quay,
where, in white uniforms, Commander Dixon and his officers
and one or two officials of Smyrna waved us good-bye.
* * * * *
The Lieut.-Commander clapped me on the back and asked
me to have a drink as a free man on board a British ship. I
drank deep and prayerfully!
Later, we went on deck. It was a wintry evening, but the
sky was very clear and the harbour magnificent. We followed
the golden path westward towards the setting sun. Here and
there we saw some sunken ships that had been mined, and
others that had been used to block the channels. A small
detail was the discovery by our skipper that this old Turkish
gunboat had been wrongly described. We drew eight feet
instead of six, and mines lay at nine!
Who cared? One would have been free! And that drink!
Satvet Lutfi, immersed in gloom, sat in a heap in the tiny
cabin eyeing the coast. I spoke to him. He replied to me
very sadly. Pointing to the sunset, he said the sun was setting
on Turkey, and he believed one hope only remained. That
was his Prince. From politics we passed to his experiences.
He located, far away to the south-west, an old stone prison
quite alone on the rocks. There he had been a prisoner for
years before the war and years during the war.
He told me how he had been intended to die there. They
had no water, only a central pool in a dungeon collected from
the rain, thick with slime and teeming with insects and worms.
There he had got his pale cheeks and left his constitution.
And yet, after all his sufferings, he never had hesitated to
pronounce what he believed was for the good of Turkey,
regardless of cost. I know enough of his history to know he
spoke the bare truth. However, his eloquence about ideals
for Turkey grew less as, on emerging from the entrance, we
entered an increasing swell. A few moments before he had
declaimed passionately about the sea, its freedom and beauty.
He now became silent, and, like many a better man, evidently
felt seasick.
The naval lieutenant and I talked long. The night
swallowed us up. I slept on the floor of the cabin. It grew
more rough and the wind increased to a steady roar.
At about midnight we reached a point where an armed
"Drifter" was waiting to take us further on; but the sea was so
rough that we had to stand by until the dawn before we could
tranship our small cargo or come alongside.
As it grew light I discovered us to be alongside a North Sea
whaler, with a great, rising bow, fast engines, besides mast and
sails, and armed with 3-inch guns, anti-aircraft guns, and
loaded up with deep-sea charges. The skipper was a very
rough but efficient and kind man from North Scotland, who
swore lustily at all things. He related interesting experiences
about submarines he had got rid of with his last depth
charge. The sea grew worse. It was impossible to tranship
the cargo, so we proceeded to Mytilene, where we arrived
about 8 a.m., and immediately went on board another monitor.
Her commander and officers had heard of our coming, and had
everything ready--a bath and breakfast. Sweet nectar of
the gods this to me! Privilege to meet freely again cheerful
and free men, to move about the polished decks, handle
a knife and fork once more. I had breakfast on deck. The
wardroom amused me. These lonely officers had cut out from
home papers various pictures of the _Stage_ and the _Field_.
These they had shaved down to the actual figures and pasted
on the walls in all kinds of glorious dresses and attitudes.
It seemed as if they were all alive and just arrested midway
in some pose or movement. My naval friends saw me regarding
them in silence.
"Well, what do you think of them?"
"I wasn't thinking, but wishing they were all alive."
Heathcote-Smith, wearing a commander's uniform of the
R.N.V.R., came to see me. We had a long talk. He was _au
courant_ with local affairs, but much in the dark as regards
Stamboul. I answered a good many inquiries of his, and told
him a good deal that surprised him. He took a few notes, and
thought I should push on at once to the Admiral, which I was
under orders to do. Hadkinson stayed here, as he had some
important local business to settle, and the delegate and I left
in the armed drifter about nine-thirty.
* * * * *
_Mudros, Nov. 15th._--We left the island bay with the
monitor scintillating in the wintry sun, and got at once into
a heavy swell. I was still among the realities of a dream. As
we headed for the open sea, now full of strange, new knowledge
of the great things that had been away from us so long, one fact
impressed itself in my mind. It was that there was no precise
outside information of facts political and otherwise in Turkey,
and particularly in Constantinople.
In other words, in my first contact with the outside world
I had not known for so long, I began to realize that this world
was totally out of touch with the inside (Turkey) from which
I had just emerged. I was making for the fleet with a
Turkish delegate of good standing, straight and loyal, who had
suffered severe imprisonment for his opinions and fidelity to
England. This fleet, for the first time for ages, was now unlocking
the Middle East, and when it entered the Dardanelles
would enter a sea of problems and difficulties--some existing
since Islam, some invented and concocted for the occasion.
I hoped Satvet and I would be able to be of use. Lutfi
became more discursive as we went on, and gave me his files
to read and his papers to see. He offered to do all I wanted.
It was terrible weather, and we were both seedy. About
dark, however, we reached the entrance of the great harbour
of Mudros, heavily boomed and mined. We sped by a lightship,
the drifter having only one dim glim at her masthead.
One heard submarines were still on the look-out.
It was too dark to see anything except here and there red
or green lights at intervals. We went dead slow. The lights
grew thicker. Suddenly, on rounding a bend we saw before
us thousands of lights, many of them twinkling with the Morse
code, messages from ship to ship. They were the lights of
the Entente fleet. We were swept by a searchlight, and got
into touch with H.M.S. _Europa_, the depôt ship that had
called up our wireless at sea, and ordered us to report there.
We were taken on board, where we met Captain Pearce, R.N.,
Commandant of the Base. After some inquiries he communicated
with the flagship.
The admiral (Sir Arthur Calthorpe) wanted to see us. We
went, accordingly, to H.M.S. _Superb_, a spick and span battleship
of the _Temeraire_ class, carrying 12-inch guns. We were taken
down to the wardroom to wait a few moments, as Admiral
Calthorpe had just got into wireless communication with
London on some urgent matters. Here officers swarmed
around us. Some asked for news of their friends, a few of
whom had been captured in flights from Mudros to Stamboul,
or who had been taken down the coast years before. They
gave us news of home, and all seemed very keen on getting
into Stamboul and rounding up the Turk, as they put it. The
while we drank whiskies and soda. They liked Satvet Lutfi,
who was quiet and collected in the face of what he called
"_Quelle destinée!_"
The admiral sent his flag-lieutenant, saying he was
suddenly urgently engaged. I was to go to Admiral Seymour
and Captain Burmester, R.N., Chief of Staff. I presented
Satvet and his embassy, as I had promised. He spoke indifferent
French, which was indifferently understood. I
assisted in indifferent French and Turkish. The admiral
supplemented his French with English, and Satvet his Turkish
with French. He produced letters from many Turks, including
the Grand Vizier and from the ex-Ambassador Tewfik Pasha.
He wanted permission to go to Switzerland to bring the Prince
Subaheddine back, or failing that, to be allowed to meet him
in London on the approval of our Foreign Office, or, failing
that, permission to make communication to our Foreign Office
for transmission to the Prince. Permission for this was
necessary from our Foreign Office. Having heard his
credentials, the admiral agreed to wire.
Among letters for the Prince Subaheddine is the following
from Marshal Izzet Pasha, the last Grand Vizier of Turkey
before the fleet entered. It fell to the lot of this patriot and
renowned soldier, after the flight of Telaat and Enver, to
survey the ruins of the Ottoman Empire.
* * * * *
_Translation._--Letter from the Grand Vizier, Ahmed Izzet
Pasha, to Prince Sabah-ed-Din Bey.
Respectfully submitted:
Under physical and moral suffering, I write to your
Highness from the bed to which I am confined by sickness.
I have obeyed the desire of his Imperial Majesty by accepting
the offer of the Grand Vizierate, in the hope that I may be
able to render some service, however small, to my country, in
the appalling straits into which it has fallen, and to relieve
the painful trials now come upon us. At this time, the
assurance of future existence depends upon whether every
man will labour for the common cause in a spirit of patriotism
and self-sacrifice, with one mind and purpose, and divesting
himself of all personal feeling. Most earnestly I beg for the
favour and support of your Highness, who has so great a
share in the welfare of the country. As for a long while past
you have been in political relations with the statesmen of the
Great Powers of Europe, I trust that you may be able to
render valuable services in that direction. A communication
on this subject will be sent to the Minister at Berne.
The moment that the state of the country is somewhat
more normal, steps will be taken to carry out perfectly
independent elections, and it is hoped that, under God's
favour, we may be successful in forming a Government--no
matter who may be its head--on right lines and of a natural
character.
Again assuring your Highness of my entire devotion and
loyal friendship, I have, etc.
(_Signed_) AHMED IZZET.
4th November, 1918.
On being asked why it was so necessary that the Prince
should return, the Turk became most illuminative. The
admiral and his Chief of Staff were most interested, and heard
some startling information. Satvet told them of the hopeless
chaos politically, and how the Prince would unite enough
parties to form a strong, reconstructive Government. He
explained such a Government would be most useful to the
Allies, that unless Stamboul politics were rescued from the
adventurers who had manoeuvred themselves even into the
new Cabinet, the Allies would find that nothing short of a
great army would keep Stamboul. Captain Burmester, R.N.,
a most penetrating questioner, cross-examined Satvet, and
made some notes. The admiral promised to wire London.
Useful as was the information that was forthcoming, I do
not think half the available use was made of Satvet's possibilities.
Matters of intelligence concerning plots, flooding of
mines, issue of false notes, and German spies were really much
less important than the gambits of political tricksters. Afterwards,
I had a talk with Captain Burmester, and gave him
some details of the intelligence I had collected, and of some
which had been added by Satvet. It included the circulation
of false issues of notes, the plot to deposit fresh mines in the
Dardanelles and Bosphorus from vessels, the intended flooding
of the Aregli coal mine and others near the Black Sea, the
removal of property by the Germans still in Stamboul, above
all, the secret machinations of the U. and P. for a pan-Islam
propaganda in Egypt, Palestine, India, Mesopotamia, Persia,
and their machinations with Bolshevism. The latter, incredible
as it may seem, was quite true, and could be located in
various committees and agencies of U. and P.
Russia, it is true, has always been, and is still, the eternal
_bête noir_ and dread of the Ottomans; but certain of their
political tricksters hope, by a spread of the Bolshevik contagion,
to undo the victory of the Allies. The world is tired. If
Russia and Central Europe and the Ottomans require not
only to be beaten in the field, but to be conquered and
subdued, is there the wherewithal to do it in the Entente?
Whether the success of Russia would mean the annexation of
Turkey the Turks would, they say, ignore, for Turkey is very
deep in the mud; just as Enver, Midhat and Co. ignored the
fact that the success of Germany meant the ultimate erasion
of Turkey.
The gambit of Italy in requiring the Adalia coast without
much justification, the gambit of forcing the issue about
Smyrna and the Levant by Greece, the so-called competition
between England, France, and America for the economic
control of the Dardanelles, make the situation ripe with
possibilities of intrigue. To solve the Turkish problem, in my
opinion, it would be necessary to give first place to it, to treat
it as a single issue. It is a situation that cannot admit of
compromise. America is rumoured as being out to capture the
trade resources of the Black Sea empires, in so far as it leaves
her Monroe doctrine intact, which seems to mean privileges
without duties. The French are not so popular as they were,
although French traditional popularity is reviving in Constantinople
just now. And most Turks are convinced that
an international policy of Stamboul would be impracticable.
It would go to the nation with most trade, the biggest fleet of
warships and mercantile marine, _i.e._ England or America. If
_not_ internationalized, the financial basis, which is mostly
French, would give France the lead. But while this process
of "becoming" goes on, Turkey will be left to her own devices
with direful results to the world.
The admiral and his Chief of Staff were most kind to me,
and, busy as they were, found time to inquire about our
captivity. General Townshend had been through just before.
I was asked to see the Director of Naval Intelligence, Colonel
Temple, on shore, whither I went with Satvet, after enjoying
some conversation and drinks provided for us by the "Flag,"
whom the admiral ordered to take us to the wardroom for
some refreshment, of which mine was chiefly whisky, and
Satvet's port. He kept looking around at the excellent
furnishings, and saying "_quelle destinée!_"
Every one was busy, and the fleet was evidently sailing very
soon. We went ashore to some naval officers' quarters, where
a most excellent mess, full of all good fellows and good things,
entertained us. I had very little kit, and was short of blankets.
My tiny room was very cold, but we borrowed what we wanted.
Officers crowded around us in the mess, and asked us questions.
It was, however, very late, but I didn't go to bed until I had
arranged a room for Satvet. My room I shared with a war
correspondent from London, who was much on the _qui vive_
for news. I told him very little, and ordered Satvet not to
speak to him except in my presence. This correspondent was
very grateful for such news as we had to give, and by permission
I drafted for him the first cable concerning Stamboul,
for the Associated Press, which duly passed the censor. He
gave me much news of home, and wanted my experiences,
which I didn't care to say much about just then. I remember
that my first night on shore, outside Turkey, was so cold that
I couldn't sleep very well in my tiny bunk. The next day
I inspected the harbour and surrounding hills, where circular
marks left on the black hillsides showed the site of the great
camp of New Zealanders and Australians for the Gallipoli
operations.
The giant fleet, including over forty first-class fighting
ships alone, lay silent and still below me. One distinguished
the peculiar turrets of the American ships, the line of the
Italian, and two big clumsy Greek cruisers. One's feelings
of thankfulness of release were overwhelming. The vast
assembly of ships stood for victory; but they were also
invested to a great degree with a fascinating political significance
that only one versed in Stamboul intrigue during the
war could appreciate. Here was I with a long pilgrimage of
loneliness, forced inaction, suffering, and sickness behind me,
at last free. Yet, instead of rushing away home by the first
boat, I found myself content to wait here at the door of the
Dardanelles, fascinated with the phenomenon of the Iron Key
about to open the gate of Constantine. Released from the
perpetual convoy of postas, and paralysis, mental and physical,
that is consequent on captivity, one might imagine I would
be eager to look only forward. And yet, even before being
re-introduced to the old world, I found myself taking an all-absorbing
interest in the problem that I had just left behind.
That morning I made another long report to Colonel
Temple, who was supervising Naval Intelligence, and I gave
him the piecemeal information he sought, to the best of my
ability. Enver and Telaat had left for Germany. A double of
the former had cleverly put quite a number off the scent.
Many Turkish officials who were to meet the fleet and
accuse the U. and P. as the source of the downfall of Turkey,
were themselves sleeping partners of the U. and P. opposition
to the Entente that had continued the murder of Armenians,
sheltering of spies, even refusal to say who and where were the
chief delinquents. This was all proceeding apace, _sub rosa_.
From what I had seen in Stamboul just before leaving, I
thought the Turks there preparing for the arrival of the fleet
much like a very naughty lower fourth form at school, hatching
all kinds of devilries for the arrival of their new master.
Satvet and I had lunch in H.M.S. _Europa_ with Captain
Pearce, who was exceedingly kind to us, and very sympathetic
with Satvet's impatience in awaiting the reply cable from
the Foreign Office. It was a very cheerful meal, and even
Satvet bucked up, and eventually said he would hand over
to me his embassy and all his papers if it would help the
fleet to find out who was who.
Colonel Temple sent for me that night and afterwards had
another interview with Satvet for Intelligence. He then
kindly wrote me a letter saying I was proceeding home on
urgent political matters, and immediate passage was requested.
He asked with a smile if I would care to return to Stamboul
with the fleet. I found that prospect, however, rather too
exacting, and, besides, I seemed to promise more usefulness by
going home at once. He informed me confidentially that the
fleet would sail that night for Constantinople, and was very
anxious to know what was the feeling there about the Greeks.
At Smyrna the Greeks had certainly sought to make trouble,
what with their gigantic Greek flags and public demonstration.
That night the gigantic fleet prepared to move. In the
early dawn of the 12th one heard answering signals. Their
lights moved out to sea. When we awoke not a sign was to
be seen of them. Only H.M.S. _Europa_ and a few dozen
gunboats, with a cruiser or two, and some old ships remained.
The next day there was still no reply. I went out to dine
with the officers of the Air Force, which was very strongly
represented there. They were very eager to hear an account
of their recent bombing raids on Stamboul. All the machines
had flown from here. Afterwards I saw some of the wonderful
developments in the plane of modern war. That evening
some ships arrived from Dedogatch, and I heard much of the
preparations for landing here in case the Turks further delayed
surrender. And heavily as the place is fortified there is no
doubt but that we could easily land and, with a march or two,
cut off the Gallipoli peninsula, so depleted are the Turkish
forces.
On the 13th Satvet went sick and was removed to a
hospital boat. He sent in a short letter in French to the
Grand Vizier, explaining how he had been held up. The next
day he was better and got discharged. He was chafing about
the delay of his embassy to the Prince. I now got a room
for us both. There had been a tremendous amount of influenza
in the fleet and I was not certain I hadn't got it myself.
I got permission for him to wire the Commander-in-Chief
of the fleet in Stamboul for immediate leave, either to come
to London or to return to Stamboul. In the meantime we
made ourselves useful to Captain Pearce, now S.N.O.A., who
requested us to visit a large camp of Turkish prisoners. Their
work was to paint and clean the fleet with a host of other
minor fatigues. They wanted to return to Turkey, as English
prisoners, they said, were returning home. They wouldn't
work, so we harangued them, and Satvet told them plainly
what a state their country was in, how short of food the
capital was, and what was more, how they had been betrayed.
They were sullen but ultimately agreed to work for a time.
They certainly looked fighting fit and fat, and well-clothed.
I couldn't help comparing their lot with that of our own poor
fellows. Satvet then communicated with Tewfik Pasha, who
now replaced Izzet Pasha as Grand Vizier, informing him that
he had handed over to me the letters from Izzet Pasha for our
Foreign Office, and for the Prince, and letters from a score or
so of leading men in Stamboul to the Prince with other matters
for the perusal of our Foreign Office and wrote that he would
return to Stamboul. A telegram from the Foreign Office
confirmed this.
CHAPTER XVII
I LEAVE MUDROS WITH DESPATCHES FOR ROME, PARIS,
AND LONDON--ENGLAND!
_Mudros, Nov. 20th, 1918._--Two days ago we lunched
again with the Commandant of the Base on board the
_Europa_. The commander of the _Sikh_, one of the
fastest T.B.D.'s in the fleet, was there also. He left Portsmouth
the evening of the armistice and declared how England
had gone quite mad on armistice night. It was wonderful
to meet some one so fresh from home. He had now been to
the fleet and returned. The entry had been magnificent. In
battle line ahead it had passed through the Dardanelles,
sweepers in front, without mishap through the mine-fields,
although two or three sweepers had been blown up previously
in sweeping and the survivors of the crew of one had just
before reached Mudros. The fleet passed on to Stamboul in
a solemn procession of battleships, cruisers, and light craft in
line ahead reaching 16-1/8 miles. First came the British, then
the French, the Italian, and Greek. The Greeks had most
tactlessly hoisted huge flags but were promptly dealt with.
Then a detachment went to the Bosphorus while the main
fleet went to their prepared anchorage at Ismid some miles off.
They are now preparing to enter the Black Sea.
I equipped Satvet with a few local luxuries and he went
on board a steam yacht. At the last moment, however,
owing to mines breaking away, he could not sail, and lay in
harbour when Heathcote-Smith came from Mytilene _en route_
for Stamboul to assist the Commander-in-Chief. By this time
it was beginning to be realized in Stamboul what were the
difficulties, and Heathcote-Smith was glad to find out all he
could about partisans there, and how few people were sincere.
The first Press reports were certainly misleading. Fitzmaurice,
whose name was more than a terror to the Turks, ought
to have been sent back at once. He had been First
Secretary to the Embassy preceding hostilities, and knew a
good deal of Turkish under-currents. On our entry, there
was too much disposition to listen to Turks on the spot instead
of sorting them out. Turkish exchange, so far from
falling, is rising, and although we have landed a heavy force
at the Dardanelles, the Turks seem all out for a "try-on."
Heathcote-Smith left that night, but Satvet's small yacht was
still weather-bound. I have definitely taken over his mission
and said "Good-bye" to him.
* * * * *
_RETURN_--On the 23rd I boarded H.M.S. _Rowan_, an armed
charge-layer captained by the ex-chief officer of the _Mauretania_.
We were weather-bound for two days further. Then the
weather suddenly cleared, although the seas were still heavy.
We arrived at Malta, where I had to report to General Temple,
Director Intelligence Mediterranean Naval Squadron. He
gave me a through pass to press on urgently to Rome and
Paris, then on to the Admiralty and Foreign Office with a
letter saying I was carrying urgent despatches and required
urgent passage. I took some despatches for him also. I
dined that night with an officer of the Intelligence Department
named Latouche, who afterwards played the piano to me
in his rooms above the moonlight waters of Valetta, dotted
with lights of warships. Then we saw part of La Traviata,
made a final report to General Temple, and I slept in the
Orontes with my despatches from Mudros and Malta, besides
all Satvet's affair. A number of kind invitations reached
me but I regretted I had no time to stay. One was from an
old friend of Newcombe's who wanted news. I wrote to the
colonel, who had evidently abandoned his mission at Mudros
and gone to Egypt. I was extremely lucky in getting my
passage at once, as the gunboat to have taken us had to go
elsewhere. We left at dawn. It was a stormy passage. We
arrived at Taranto across the barrage on the 30th, where
an exceedingly kind letter and telegram from Lord Islington
awaited me, congratulating me on being free and hoping to
see me in a few days. At Taranto I found heavy blockage
of officials, troops, and ex-prisoners of war, arriving from all
quarters, all held up here in camps. Some had been here weeks.
I went on board H.M.S. _Queen_, where Admiral Hannay,
having considered my papers, told me that he with his Staff
was leaving that night for Rome direct and Paris. He offered
to make room for me. We left that night about eight o'clock.
A great crowd of naval and military people, both British and
Italian, came to say good-bye to the admiral. I was fortunate
to secure half the compartment of the King's Naval Messenger,
who proved a most useful companion. His frequent journeys
had acquainted him with all the stopping places and cafés.
That night Admiral Hannay and several of his officers came
into our coupé. We made a most excellent meal from various
baskets and bottles, and they asked me an account of my
travels in Turkey. I found it impossible to talk of any but
the humorous side of it all, the serious history of these long,
shadowy years being like night-mists over tideless marshes,
silent, lifeless and secret. The admiral laughed gaily at the
idea of generals getting C.B. (confined to barracks), and said
I had had a most unique experience. We had quite a night
of it. At dawn we were running through that delightful
country of Southern Italy, of pleasant semi-wooded plains,
dotted every now and then with abrupt little hills on the top
of each of which stands a village crowned by an ancient castle,
walled and steepled. The sight of these hilltop villages,
familiar to every traveller in Italy, catching the rays of the
morning sun I thought most wonderful. We ran past them
for hours, dazzling like bright coins on a green carpet.
About 10 a.m. we arrived at Rome. The hotel accommodation
was overcrowded. I had a bath and meal at the
Continental Hotel near the station, for which I paid the best
part of a sovereign. Then I visited the Excelsior Hotel with
my papers, and later went to the British Embassy with some
papers for Commander de Grey of the English Mission there.
He had just left for England, but I enjoyed a most pleasant
hour or so there in conversation with some English ladies
from the mission. Rome was delightful. I drove and drove
and drove to feel myself free once again. I had tea at an
extraordinary little cake-shop, where pretty women like
butterflies came and went. I smoked from my cab in the
gardens. In the early moonlight I drove past the Coliseum,
but quickly. It stood for history. I didn't want history
just then. In a freakish moment I visited the Forum again.
That was history to be sure. But more so it was philosophy.
It invited one to peer into the Future. This spot that once
ruled the world. This world now at sixes and sevens, that
owned no dominion....
So far as Rome went, I quickly noticed a Bolshevist element
in the Press, in the street, at the station. The nation was
strung up and some were getting out of hand. In one quarter
a fire appeared to be proceeding and some people obstructing
the firemen, although I didn't verify what was the real cause
of the violent rioting in so prominent a street.
I was now beginning to shake off the coma that had
undoubtedly settled upon me. Of one thing I am sure.
Rip van Winkle, after his twenty years of sleep, felt much less
strange than I after my two and a half years.
The station porters were all on strike, so Major Molson
and I wheeled our barrows ourselves. He also was an old
Emmanuel man and going home to stand for Parliament.
We travelled together on the same train as the admiral's suite.
At Genoa and Turin we got in touch with soldiers returning
from other fronts. The latter place was feet deep in snow,
and icicles hung from the verandahs. At Modan we had to
change, and in the restaurant I found myself sitting opposite
a face I knew well, and was very troubled at not knowing who
it was. I had forgotten much. It was a Major Murray,
from one of the batteries at Hyderabad, who had been with
me before leaving India. I learned from him that a good
many of my friends were casualties, the survivors all over the
world, and that few had counted me as alive. He had been
badly knocked about by a shell himself.
We arrived at Paris in early morning and again wheeled our
kit. I learned here that General Cox, to whom also I was to
report, had been accidentally drowned just before. He was one
of the most brilliant Intelligence Officers of the Entente, and
every one was deploring his loss. He had been a close friend
of Colonel Newcombe, and apart from my intelligence duties,
I had looked forward to giving him an account of the colonel,
who had asked me to do so the first moment possible. This
was only the prelude to many rude shocks I was to get. One
might say that for me the casualties had happened in one
night, for I heard news now for the first time of casualties
that had happened in early 1915, and casualties had been
going on ever since. The first thing I saw in _Le Temps_ was
that Rostand, the great French writer, had died. Like
Cyrano, he had left, so he said, to carry word of victory to the
great French dead.
I finished my duties at Paris and left that evening. For
a meal at the Café Amercain I paid a gold sovereign. The
place was full of Americans, and all other places were also
crowded. France was tired. Since I had left there in
November, 1914, she had aged and the last of her pretty frocks
had been put away.
As I was travelling on a naval pass they read me for
Captain, R.N., instead of R.F.A., the former ranking as a
brigadier in the army. This meant a seat in a packed train.
Molson and I left for Boulogne that night and arrived at dawn.
Other politicians were _en route_. The magic word was to be
"Coalition." We had a long discussion as to the merits of
coalition, I holding that in time of war it was good, as in
home politics there was only the question of union. But when
peace comes the international or foreign policy becomes
constructive, and criticism in the ascertainment of the centre
of political gravity is necessary. To me it seems true that
many of the ideals of the war already have to be exchanged
for the hard fact of compromise. Compromise is always bad
and weak and muddlesome beyond a certain point. But the
problems of the world I have recently left can admit of no
compromise! The Turkish problem must be solved or left!
Boulogne also has changed a great deal. Hotels have
become hospitals and it seems very English.
We left by boat in the fogs at early dawn, a number of
senior officers returning on short leave being on board. I was
astonished at the youth of many of them. It told me of the
drainage of the war.
About ten o'clock I saw again the thin line of white cliffs--England.
A few quick moments and I stood on the quay at
Folkestone. An hour later in a refreshment car! It was a
carriage for the most part of silent men from all fronts. Out
of the window, hedges, fields, crows, trees, England flew by.
I had a desire to get out and walk every yard. I had an
impulse. No, it is too private to record.
I was free. England, England, England.
EPILOGUE
_Oxford and Cambridge Club, March, 1921._--The publication
of the foregoing, which awaited the recovery of
some of the manuscript from Turkey, has been still
further delayed owing to my having been cut off from communications
in Persia last year.
Several months after the Armistice I married, and with my
wife returned to Baghdad, where I took up the post of Chief
Legislative Draftsman to the Judicial Department. To have
returned to the past scene of the events of my captivity is an
odd experience, and my friends have asked me for a recent
impression. This, however, might lead to controversial
matters, and for such there is here neither place nor room.
However! On our return in November last year we
stopped at Kut for two days. I add a last note from my diary.
_P.O.'s Quarters, Kut, November 8th, 1920._--We left Baghdad
by train about 7 a.m. on November 6th, day travelling being
necessary on account of the recent revolt. The whole line is
heavily blockhoused. It lies along the route of our historic
retreat after Ctesiphon back to Kut. Somewhere beneath the
desert dust is the double trail of bones; bones of the men
who fell in the retreat, and bones of the men who fell or
crawled six months later in the captive columns.
We are staying with the Political Officer, a tremendously
kind and interesting fellow. My wife was most curious to
behold first hand the precincts of our doings in the siege, some
of which I had described to her from my captivity. The
foreshore has quite changed. My artillery observation posts
of sandbags, that once, tattered and battered with shell fire,
defied the Turkish marksmanship to the end, has given
place to a fine street, and this house stands where the garrison
gunners kept a similar vigil, and where our flag, shot into
ribbons, was hauled down on the fateful day. I had no
difficulty, however, in locating many familiar scenes. We
visited General Townshend's house, where, as the Jewish
occupant explained, "the General issued his communiqués!"
It suffered from our own guns after the Turks entered, and the
minaret also was damaged by some accidental shot.
My wife knew several of our garrison when her father's
regiment, the 24th S.W.B.'s, was in India years ago. I entertained
her with stories of the amusing side of Kut. She was
highly delighted at the little Arab boy's question as to whether
she also had been in the siege!
We climbed the roof. The pattern of the shell burst that
killed poor Colonel Courtenay and Garnett and Begg is still
there. Then we visited the horse lines and took a car over
the crumbling trenches to the Brick Kilns, where General
Smith and I had our first dug-out. It seemed strange, indeed,
to go along "on top" in a car where for so long to show even
a _topee_ was to offer a dead mark to the Turks over the river.
The Brick Kilns most of all retain and impart to one again
the spirit of Kut. The dug-out is still dug out, and bits of
blown-up guns all round about. The position of Colonel
Broke-Smith's Battery (63rd R.F.A.) I located near by. One
seemed to hear his genial voice as he stumped along these very
trenches to see if his guns were on their night lines. He was a
magnificent gunner, and neither the siege nor captivity sapped
far into his joyous indifference. I remember delivering a
message to him under a sharp fire in the action of Um-al-Tabul,
glorious to Townshend's memory. Shells were bursting
all around as he sat up his limber pole. I should think it
impossible for any voice to sound more gleeful and exhilarating,
and at the same time with more whip in it than his. He had
got the precise range of that glorious target of crowded Turks,
surprised at 1000 yards. Under each burst of his shrapnel I
saw the running figures suddenly changed to flat black patches.
In fact, we could distinguish bursts by gaps suddenly appearing
in the black horde. He came to lunch at my club on our
meeting in the War Office after the Armistice, and admitted that
when the Turks were particularly troublesome in his captivity,
he used to recall with much satisfaction that glorious target.
As we walked to position after position, incidents long
forgotten came up to the surface of my mind. Here was
where we made the ramp for the debouch, there where poor
Bombardier X was sniped. This was where the floods burst
in over the bank and flooded us out. That where we made
our last line. We came across a patch on the _maidan_, thick
with shell cases and pieces of segment. This to my delight I
located as the position of my old battery, the 76th R.F.A.
The six gun emplacements are clearly discernible, and my
dug-out, in which I had spent so many weird hours, gaped
eloquently before me. Grass grew on the walls.
The picturesque position of 86th R.F.A. in the palms is
overgrown, but the smashed trees and shell-pierced wall and
dug-outs gave me my bearings. The fort has been erased.
Last of all I succeeded in finding in the town the billet of
the Sixth Divisional Ammunition Column, which later on I
had shared with Tudway and Mellor. The upper story that
had been partly demolished by the shell which occasioned
the bruise to my back has now been cut away. The front
door was barred and the billet vacant. By entering through
an adjoining house, and scaling the wall on top over which
the Turks had swarmed, I got down and forced the door for
my wife and Major Jeffery to enter. The cupboard which I
had filled with bricks was still there, as also the room in which
the shells had entered four and a half years before. Only
four and a half years, and yet how far had I walked and seen
since then! The back wall over which we used to peep at
the Tigris is smashed down by bombardment, and the whole
place bespattered with bullet marks.
The last glimpse I had had here was of my poor Don Juan's
black tail on the verandah post, and of triumphant Turks
kicking our orderly. To stand here once again, but as a free
man accompanied by my wife and a Political Officer in that
fire-changed scene, in that spot of long-enforced soliloquy, was
surely more wonderful than coincidence. Cocky would have
called it Destiny, and Tudway, "Outside chance."
While we were talking, an Arab from next door burst in,
greatly excited. "Sahib chunet hina fil mahassere?" ("Was
Sahib here in the siege?") I answered him: "Naam. Kasr
mali fil mahassere." ("Yes--my palace of the siege.") He
laughed. Kasr means palace. We remembered each other
perfectly. He continued to salaam at my feet as something
too wonderful. He said he remembered selling us some date
juice (at an enormous figure, by the way).
He was surprised I had learned to speak to him in Arabic,
and we had a long talk on old days. He recounted their
troubles and persecutions after the Turks entered. A small
Arab boy here at the P.O.'s house remembers me up in my
observation post. An excellent little fellow, he has followed
me about everywhere, or waited at my door--"Arid ashuf
Sahib. Ma'arid backsheesh." "I want to see Sahib. I do
not want backsheesh."
_10 p.m._--An hour ago I was about to go to bed, but the
moon was floating on the Tigris. Two moons; one in the
sky, one in the water, just as of old. It was irresistible, so I
went forth with a pipe.
Once again Kut is asleep. Over the river Woolpress
throws its familiar shadow, only a little more dilapidated and
shattered. Beyond that, beyond the palms and the town, all
around, skirting the desert, encircling--the trenches are falling.
History fades. The desert encroaches once more.
Since last here I have lived centuries of time, at no moment
very far from, and in some precious moments very close to, the
silent Heart of the East. Silent yet not inaudible its murmurs
can reach a patient and humble listener. And into two or
three years of captivity "from within" may be crowded the
revelation of the experience of many years. In these precious
moments the whisperings remain largely inarticulate, and then
in our difficulty we mistakenly identify the desert with its
effect on us. Robert Hichens clothes it with mystery, and
Chu Chin Chow with the transmutability of bright colours.
Here in this very spot, the first British army of history to
do so, its dauntless heroism and sacrifice unavailing, succumbed
to the finiteness of mortals. From this spot the survivors
were trailed in dying columns across the ancient routes of the
East, an object-lesson of the assailability of our prestige. It
will take more than a successful campaign to erase that
memory. The moral is we should not attempt what we are
not prepared to carry through.
To-night, then, in this moment of a complete cycle in my
history, I would like to think the advancement we have made
in this country is consolidated and permanent. Is it? Apart
from the fact that the arrangements for this country exist
under the Treaty of Versailles, a treaty largely inoperative
on account of divergence in the Entente, do we yet realize
that a good deal of the recent rebellion is a national movement
in a country extraordinarily hard to contain with a depleted
army? Is it yet fully realized that for the first time in the
history of an Empire we have in this country--mandate though
it be--a nursling territory with every flank, except a mile or
two of sea, politically open?
On one side awakened Russia, adjoining Persia of grandee
or gentleman bandit government; on the north, the hornet's
nest of the Highlands of Kurdistan; on the west, the illimitable
eternity of the Arab's desert.
Adequate garrisoning is out of the question for financial
reasons, and we are just realizing here, as in Ireland, that to
conquer a country is one thing and to police it another.
General Townshend's advance represented the high-water
mark of his conquest--until he was cut off! But now "they
are all about us." To impose any programme on these people--as
is the case also with the Turks--which they do not
absolutely endorse, must involve policing. How earnestly did
people at the Armistice, who knew Turkey and Turkish
intrigues, urge this fact on our advisers at home! And
now, two years afterwards, I see that the Treaty of
Sèvres is to be modified in favour of the Turks. How very
clearly this was foreseen as inevitable by some of us! The
desert and Mohammedan question must be examined _ab initio_.
It should not be contingent on or sequential to other matters
of European politics--because it is of a different world.
The fact is that, in the desert, nature is at a minimum.
There is no mountain ravine, no forest to determine the path
of man. Here are the Great Silence, the Great Solitude,
Illimitable Space, and a Sea of Time. Here introspection is
at a premium, the mind is unfettered and chainless. Perhaps
it is free. And in this world of Stillness and Emptiness man
moves as a considerable object. From the desert came all
the prophets. Cities and customs arise and disappear into the
sand. Dynasty succeeds dynasty, as conquest succeeds conquest.
In the end you have the sand and the horizon as at first.
Can it be wondered at, therefore, that in such soil a transplanted
mushroom of civilization cannot be expected to
flourish? In 1914 Mesopotamia was much as two thousand
years ago. An advanced civilization with elaborate impedimenta
is deposited on to it. This civilization, then, must either
have an army adequate to protect it or it must conform to
whatever standard of efficiency, to whatever degree of perfection,
the local inhabitant will tolerate.
This cardinal fact has been obscured by a mass of controversy
and interesting side issues, _e.g._ to what extent the
possibilities of this country can ever be realized unless we
enter on a gigantic irrigation scheme and plug up the hills
at the source of these rivers. But the farther afield and the
more elaborate our development, the more this cardinal fact
holds good.
Goethe tells us to take the duty nearest to us. But this
is precisely what the hard-working officials of the Civil Administration
have done. We went from commitment to commitment,
and this duty led to that, this problem to the one
adjoining. Which may make for good progress in war, but
for a programme of peace it overlooks the cardinal principle.
Nor do I think that the Arab can be expected to appreciate
the fact that pending the arrival of a definite Treaty with
Turkey, the spirit of government and development must be
expected to be arbitrary--for we declared otherwise in our
proclamation to them. Greater clairvoyance and experience
in the direction of policy might have borne steadily in view
this cardinal fact instead of relentlessly pursuing the god
Efficiency. The god Efficiency was invented by Prussia, and
with all its completeness and perfection the war found it to
be only a machine. It overlooked human factors; it missed
cardinal facts.
Yet, coming back to Kut once more! None of our beleaguered
garrison on this Babylonian plain could have believed
it humanly possible to effect such a metamorphosis in this
land in so short a space of time. Wharves, shipping, and
railway systems, electric light and fans, Courts of Justice,
Revenue, Agricultural and Finance Departments, Government
Press, British and Arab daily papers--it has been built
up by great and unsparing effort, and so far as earnestness
and will to succeed went, the officers of the Civil Administration
have worked tremendously hard. My own chief, Sir
Edgar Bonham-Carter, I have known work continuously all
through the heat from early morning until late into the night.
* * * * *
It was from this bank in December, 1915, that, previous
to his arrival recently as a High Commissioner, I last saw
Sir Percy Cox, then Chief Political Officer, as he left by
the last boat for downstream. I talked with him this
week before leaving Baghdad, and found him much older.
He must have had a long spell of work without leave. The
Persian Treaty which he made for us at Teheran is, I hear,
moribund, and this must have been a great disappointment to
him.
Nevertheless, he has undertaken the enormous responsibility
and difficulties here most courageously. The Arab
welcome to him on his arrival the other day was little short
of homage to a king. It has changed the situation a good deal.
To-morrow we go from here by paddle-boat to Basra, en
route for home on leave.
Bacon tells us that writing maketh an exact man. Perhaps
to know when one has said enough is to be exact.
Let us then away from Kut at once and for ever.
* * * * *
_London, March, 1921_ (_continued_).--Kuttavi!--I have cut.
Or rather, Kuttaverunt, the doctors have, as they think I
should not return to the climate of Mesopotamia.
I am back in this dear sweet land, beautiful even in all
her sorrows. Back, round the pivot of palm trees to where I
was before the war, behind me the eloquent vacuum through
which the world has rolled. It is almost a complete vacuum,
as _Punch_ might say, a host of flitting, fading shadows.
But at times I see a long, wide river winding over endless
plains, with here and there a solitary palm. And I hear the
long cry proceeding from the dark figure crouching in the bows
as he takes the soundings, "Bahout pa-a-ni!"--the long, lone
cry that ever and anon by day and night floats intermittently
to the ears of the traveller in that ancient land.
It, too, has borrowed from the desert something that is
deterministic and ineffaceable.
Back to this window. And so, "Another cycle is
complete!"
THE END
FOOTNOTES:
[1] Lieut. Matthews, R.E., and Lieut. Sweet, 2 7 Gurkhas.
[2] Col. Newcombe, Captain Gardiner and I received mention in the
post-war despatch "for gallantry in escaping or attempting to escape
while prisoners of war" (5.5.19).
[Illustration: MAP OF TREK
(including plan of escapes)
CONSTANTINOPLE
and the Bosphorus]
Transcriber's Notes
Obvious errors of punctuation and diacritics repaired.
The following alternate spelling appear and have not been changed:
"arabanchi" / "arabunchi", "camphoradine" / "camphoradyne", "Chupattis"
/ "Chupatties", "d'Arici" / "D'Arici", "Erzerum" / "Erzeroum", "juls" /
"juals", "Kut-el-Amara" / "Kut-el-Amarah", "Modarnia" / "Modernia",
"Pasha" / "Pascha", "Rumanian" / "Roumanian", "Shalmanaser" /
"Shalmaneser", "Sunaiyat" / "Sunnaiyat", "Teufik" / "Tewfik".
Hyphen removed: "sandbags" (p. 77), "foothills" (p. 189), "upstream" (p.
6).
Hyphen added: "dust-storms" (p. 175), "far-away" (p. 146), "re-named"
(p. 97), "saw-mill" (p. 277), "water-falls" (p. 278).
The following words appear both with and without hyphens and have not
been changed: "cliff-side", "lime-stone", "mid-stream", "nick-named",
"out-distanced", "rail-head", "sea-sick", "war-path".
P. 23: "Um-ul-Tabul" changed to "Um-al-Tabul".
P. 34: duplicate "in" removed (to where I was in the trenches).
Pp. 46, 53: "Essinn" and "Es-sin" changed to "Essin".
P. 57: "packal" might be a typo for the old word "packald" or the word
"pack" but has been left unchanged.
P. 93: added "a" (in a successful operation).
P. 98: "blurr" changed to "blur" (the only blur on the silvery
brightness).
P. 99: "entritis" changed to "enteritis" (the increasing cases of
enteritis).
P. 172: "abominally" changed to "abominably (treated our men
abominably).
P. 189: "Hammerbug" changed to "Hummerbug".
P. 199: "clink" changed to "chink" (through a chink in the door).
P. 222-3: space removed (La illaha, illa la).
P. 241: "to" added (who sits next to King A.).
P. 274: "companion" changed to "companions" (to my former companions).
P. 314: "satantic" changed to "satanic" (a satanic beast).
Caption of illustration facing p. 326: "CAPITIVITY" changed to
"CAPTIVITY".
P. 357: "saw" changed to "was" (The noise was maddening).
P. 379: "oppositon" changed to "opposition" (the U. and P. opposition).
P. 381: "CHAPTER XVIII" changed to "CHAPTER XVII".
End of Project Gutenberg's The Secrets of a Kuttite, by Edward O. Mousley
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