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.