After this he spoke in Turkish at some length to the commandant, while the latter interjected that wonderful word yok at intervals.
Yok, I must explain, signifies "No" in its every variation, and is probably the most popular word in Turkish. It is crystallised inhibition, the negation of all energy and enthusiasm, the motto of the Ottoman Dilly and Dallys. Its only rival in the vocabulary is yarin, which means "to-morrow."
"Yok, yok, yok," said the commandant, and I gathered that he was displeased.
That night I made my plans, and when summoned to the office next day I was armed with three documents. The first was a private letter of thanks to Baron Mumm for his generous and kindly loan. The second was a suggestion that the International Red Cross should immediately send out a commission to look after our prisoners at Mosul. And the third was a detailed list of articles required by our men, with appropriate comments. Items such as this figured on the list:
Soap, for two hundred men, as they had been unable to wash for months.
Kerosene tins, to hold drinking-water, which was denied to our prisoners.
Blankets, as over 50 per cent. had no covering at all.
These screeds startled the company greatly. The Consul stared and the commandant glared, for the one hated fuss and the other hated me. I was delightfully unpopular, but when an Ambassador telegraphs in Turkey, the provinces lend a respectful ear. My voice, crying in the wilderness, must needs be heard.
Summoning an interpreter, the commandant demanded whether I had any cause for complaint; whereupon the following curious three-cornered conversation took place—so far as I could understand the Turkish part:
"The men must be moved to better quarters," said I. "Until this is arranged nothing can be done."