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.