The Pimple translated to the caretaker, and asked if he had no better rooms. That worthy closed his eyes, tossed back his head, and clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. We knew the gesture well, as does every prisoner of war from Turkey. It is the most objectionable, irritating and insulting negative in the world. Then he pocketed his keys and walked away.
We went down into the courtyard. The drivers had already unharnessed. Bekir and Sabit had taken the luggage off the carts, and as the Pimple’s belongings included 500 lbs. of butter which he was taking to Constantinople in the hope of selling it at a profit, unloading was no light task. When the Pimple told them we had refused to stay there, sentries and drivers alike were furious. I added to the hub-bub by dancing about the yard in a frenzy and ordering them to harness up at once. Bekir, his face red with anger, took me roughly by the shoulder and growled at me in Turkish. I pushed him off, and foaming with rage informed him that he was reduced from Lieutenant-Colonel (to which rank I had promoted him that very morning) to a common ‘nefer’ (private) again, and if he didn’t load up at once I’d have him shot, I’d report him to the Sultan, I’d tell Enver about him and blow him from the cannon’s mouth. The Pimple translated. It was a very pretty little scene, and quite a crowd gathered in the gateway. In the end we had our way. The horses were harnessed, the carts were loaded, and we bumped over the cobbles to another caravanserai. It was no better than the first. My wrath reached boiling point: Hill became almost grotesquely mournful. The sentries and the drivers were on the point of mutiny. I nearly twisted off the coat-button getting Moïse to move them on. We crossed the square to the third, last and best caravanserai in Mardeen. The sentries and drivers began unloading as soon as they got into the courtyard. Their patience was at an end and it was obvious they would humour us no longer. Besides, there was nowhere else to go. The hotel-keeper (I dignify him thus, though he was a lousy rascal enough, because the place was a little more pretentious than the ordinary serai) told us he had only one room unoccupied. Everything looked very hopeless as we watched him fumble at the lock. Then he threw open the door. It was a narrow room, about fifteen feet long by ten wide, and contained two beds. In the wall opposite the door was a small barred window, too low down to be of any use. I glanced at the ceiling. It was high—a good 11 feet above ground level—and directly overhead, close to the door and about three feet apart from one another, were four solid rings, fastened by staples to the woodwork, that looked strong enough to hold an ox. Our luck had changed. Things could not have been better had we ordered them specially.
I turned to the hotel-keeper.
“We would prefer a larger room, with ten beds, if you have it.”
He said he had no other room. I bowed profoundly and indicated our willingness to make the best of a bad job. Hill was already sitting on the floor reading the Bible.
Bekir and Sabit brought up the luggage and proceeded to make themselves comfortable. An attempt to get them to take up their quarters on the veranda failed. My simulated rage at the first two hotels had frightened them. They thought I was in one of my dangerous moods, and stuck to their posts. But there was still plenty of time, as it was not yet sunset.
Opposite the door of our room, on the other side of a small narrow passage, was the coffee-shop of the hotel. It was full of a motley crowd of drovers and shepherds. At my suggestion Bekir, Moïse and I entered it, leaving Hill at his religious duties in the corner and Sabit to watch him. Before Moïse could stop me I had ordered and paid for coffee all round—it cost a shilling a cup! While this was being drunk I went amongst the drovers and asked confidentially if there were any English in the town, and if any of them knew Major Baylay. There were no English in Mardeen, and Baylay was utterly unknown. In my joy at the news I ordered ten cups of coffee for each guest and threw a pile of bank-notes on the counter. Moïse grabbed it, explained to the crowd that I was mad, and amid much sympathetic murmuring and “Allah-Allah-ing” from the drovers I was hustled back into my own room. In preparation for what was coming later, the hotel habitués had been given a hint of our mental state, and I had seen what we wanted in the coffee-room—a small table, by standing on which we could reach the rings. As an excuse for getting it brought in we ordered a meal.
The next problem was to get rid of the sentries. While Moïse was out of the room ordering our dinner, Hill (pretending to be reading his Bible aloud) suggested that after the meal I should invite the sentries and Moïse to step across the passageway and have a cup of coffee with me. They would probably accept the invitation because they regarded Hill as harmless. While they were away Hill would fix the ropes to the rings. I would excuse myself for a moment and return to the room, the door of which they could see from the coffee-room. We would jam the table against the door, stand on it, get the nooses round our necks, blow out the light and swing off. I agreed.
Moïse came back with the table and the food. We all had dinner (Bekir and Sabit were fed at our expense as a mark of their return into favour). Under pretence of doing something to the luggage, Hill tied nooses on our two ropes. The sentries did not notice what he was doing. Then he began to read his Bible again. I invited the party to coffee. All accepted, except Hill, who paid no attention. We opened the door: the coffee-room was shut. The “café-jee” had gone away! Our plan had failed. Bekir offered to get a bottle of cognac if we would provide the money. I had a momentary idea of making the men drunk enough to sleep soundly, but it would be too dangerous. Besides, the Turks would expect us to drink level, and we needed clear heads if we were to make no mistakes. So we vetoed the cognac and I voted for tea. Sabit went out and boiled some water over a fire in the yard. I tried to get Bekir to go and see why he was so long about it, but Bekir had taken his boots off and couldn’t be bothered. Sabit came back with the hot water. I had failed again.
As we drank the tea I began to make myself as interesting as I could, and told tales current among Welsh country folk that appealed to the bucolic minds of our escort. I spoke of things seen in the East, and especially of crops and harvests in distant lands. Moïse interpreted. The sentries listened intently, for they were small farmers themselves, and asked intelligent and endless questions. Thus they forgot their fears about us, and ten o’clock arrived. But we were no nearer our objective. Sabit began to spread his bedding in his customary place—across the door.