But Bedri’s success was not so complete, after all. At my request Talaat had Dr. Mizzi sent to Konia, instead of to Angora. There one of the American missionaries, Dr. Dodd, had a splendid hospital. I arranged that Dr. Mizzi could have a nice room in this building, and here he lived for several months, with congenial associates, good food, a healthy atmosphere, all the books he wanted, and one thing without which he would have been utterly miserable—a piano. So I still thought that the honours between Bedri and myself were a little better than even.
When the English authorities arrested the Turkish Consul and his staff at Saloniki, the Turks promptly imprisoned nine leading members of the French colony. It took me nearly three weeks to have them released. Early in January, 1916, word was received that the English were maltreating Turkish war prisoners in Egypt. Soon afterward I received letters from two Australians, Commander Stoker and Lieutenant Fitzgerald, telling me that they had been confined for eleven days in a miserable, damp dungeon at the War Office, with no companions except a monstrous swarm of vermin. These two naval officers had come to Constantinople in submarines which had made the daring trip from England, dived under the mines in the Dardanelles, and arrived in the Marmora, where for several weeks they terrorised and dominated this inland sea, practically putting an end to all shipping.
The particular submarine in which my correspondents arrived, the E15, had been caught in the Dardanelles, and its crew and officers had been sent to the Turkish military prison at Afium Kara Hissar in Asia Minor. When news of the alleged maltreatment of Turkish prisoners in Egypt was received, lots were drawn among these prisoners to see which two should be taken to Constantinople and imprisoned in reprisal. Stoker and Fitzgerald drew the unlucky numbers, and had been lying in this terrible underground cell for eleven days. I immediately took the matter up with Enver and suggested that a neutral doctor and officer examine the Turks in Egypt and report on the truth of the stories. We promptly received word that the report was false, and that, as a matter of fact, the Turkish prisoners in English hands were receiving excellent treatment.
About this time I called on Monsignor Dolci, the Apostolic Delegate in Turkey. He happened to refer to a Lieutenant Fitzgerald, who, he said, was then a prisoner of war at Afium Kara Hissar.
“I am much interested in him,” said Monsignor Dolci, “because he is engaged to the daughter of the British Minister to the Vatican. I spoke to Enver about him, and he promised that he would receive special treatment.”
“What is his first name?” I asked.
“Jeffrey.”
“He’s receiving ‘special treatment’ indeed,” I answered. “Do you know that he is in a dungeon in Constantinople this very moment?”
Naturally M. Dolci was much disturbed, but I reassured him, saying that his protégé would be released in a few days.
“You see how shamefully you treated these young men,” I now said to Enver; “you should do something to make amends.”