There was nothing for it but to extract ourselves and sit upon instead of beneath the shelter that had been found for us. The cheik bravely proceeded to delight me with all the wisdom of his religious philosophy while the officer went in search of help. I have done strange things in strange lands, but I wonder what would British “authority” say to this? An unarmed, but fearless, Englishwoman in the damp, cold mists, waiting through the dark night for her “discomfort to become history,” amidst an army of supposed savage fanatics, and debating the greatness of God! Truly, the Unknown bears strange offspring.
Little darts of light, no bigger than glowworms, are now everywhere moving up and down the steep paths through the black mist.
It is not easy for the swiftest of native messengers to track the “hidden” official of the mountains. Yet they seem to slip over the dark ways like birds, carrying their message and returning while you are wondering if they have yet started upon the road. Men have been despatched, like carrier-pigeons, in all directions, and we soon hear that the commandant, two hours away, has set out to find us, and we are to walk as far as we can to meet him.
Once more the long procession, carrying its shawls and cushions, bags and water-pots, is marching in hope of a night’s repose. In a little, however, from somewhere, “orders” come in to “halt, and prepare the lady a bed.”
Behold, it is done. Two boxes are found to support a wooden plank, beneath which the cheik will find some measure of rest for his weary limbs, though he has given me his prayer-mat for mattress, his attaché-case for a pillow and, against my express command, nearly all the wraps in his possession. Under such conditions one does not “undress” for the night; but rather contrives every possible addition to the number of thick woollen garments normally required in these climes. The officer has not even a rug to protect him from the damp earth, and I find words strong enough to resist the loan of his coat.
Alas! I am not, after all, a true Eastern. My philosophy will not bring sleep. Never since the days when the awful stream of gassed men were being carried into the hospital, have I listened to such a terrible chorus of coughs. There is little enough “quiet in sleep” on these saturated clay mounds, although I no longer hear the Nationalist Anthem and other patriotic strains, to the accompaniment of a piping flute, which had been rising about me in the evening air.
Probably the cold that seemed almost beyond endurance, did not really master me for long, as all these numbing horrors were lost in unconsciousness before the dawn.
I am awakened at last by the officer who ventures to “shake the sleeper,” being seriously alarmed, he tells me, by my pale looks. There is a most welcome glass of hot tea, and a fire! A mingling of German and Turkish assail my ears, while from the distance I hear a silver voice calling the “faithful” to prayer. Here is a free translation from the cheik, of the muezzin’s words: “Get up, you lazy fellows, rise, make your ablutions, and praise God for His goodness.”
I can only repeat “praise God,” though in face of what we have seen even these words seem almost mockery.
“God is great,” said the holy man, “but man will not understand His greatness. God loves the East, whence came thought, philosophy, and faith. The Christ we, too, venerate, came from the East. Yet the West has given us nought but injustice. You who love the East, pray for tolerance and understanding between all peoples.”