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 manœuvring 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 manœuvring 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.