That little room in a mud hut was the home for ten days of seven British officers and two Turkish guards. Side by side, and with bodies touching each other, there was just space enough for eight people to lie on the floor. Already, when we arrived, one could sense the presence of Cuthbert and Alfonso without seeing or hearing them; and with each washless day their natural odour became more and more intensive.
We had nothing to read, and—worst misfortune of all—somebody had left our pack of playing-cards in the train. We wandered round the walls like beasts in a cage.
Nobody in the village knew or cared why we were there, or what was to happen to us. We could only surmise that this was the punishment for the plot to escape from Damascus.
Cuthbert took our papers into the village on the morning after arrival, but returned at midday with no information and many shoulder shrugs. Although none of us knew Turkish we understood enough to realize that if the matter of obtaining instructions were left to this stupid illiterate we might stay in the village for ever.
A council of war decided that I, as being the linguist, and W., as being the most imposing of us, with his bald head, his bushy moustache, and his South African ribbons, should drag Cuthbert into the presence of whatever officials we could find, and make ourselves a pluperfect nuisance until we were sent away.
"Commandant!" I said, going toward the door, this word being common to most languages.
"Yassak!" (forbidden) said Cuthbert, barring the way.
"Commandant! Come!" I insisted, brushing him aside.
He was ready to yell for help when Alfonso came forward as an unexpected ally, and persuaded Cuthbert that it would be better to let us try to clear up the situation. He led us to the station, where, with a French-speaking Armenian in tow as interpreter, we forced our way into the military commandant's office.
The commandant—a slight, dapper bimbashi—claimed to be desolated at our unfortunate position. But what could he do? he inquired. Only yesterday he had not heard of our existence, and then—clack!—we arrived without warning in this Anatolian village. Doubtless, if we waited a week or so, the authorities would send orders for a transfer to some prison camp. Meanwhile, he would gladly help us in any way possible, except give us food or allow us to take walks or move us into a better house or, in fact, do anything that I suggested. Twenty minutes of argument and bluster was necessary before W. and I could even induce the soft-spoken hypocrite to telegraph to Bosanti for instructions about our disposal.