Eastern Nights - and Flights Part 16

John Willie also procured for us a German staff-map, which included the countryside between Psamatia and San Stefano. White and I had decided, however, that our best plan would be to give the guards the slip during the daytime in one of the winding side streets of Stamboul, to buy tickets openly at the railway station, and to travel to San Stefano as ordinary pa.s.sengers. Using John Willie's pencilled map, we could then find the place of rendezvous and lie low in the wood until the following morning.

Meanwhile, now that Sunday visits to the city were forbidden, I employed the Bosnian as messenger for letters to Theodore. We had in mind the alternative plan of a stowaway voyage from Constantinople across the Black Sea, and we intended to carry it out if John Willie failed us. We could not altogether trust him, for he continued to demand small loans for preliminary expenses. He showed himself, besides, to be both careless and heedless, so that he seemed a far from desirable companion for a desperate adventure. We found that in conversation with some English Tommies, who were patients in another ward, he had boasted of his plan to take White and myself to Mudros; and we feared that any day, with so many people discussing it, the story might be overheard by an English-speaking doctor.

Possibly that is what happened, for I noticed that each time the Bosnian and I met in the garden we were watched closely. One of the patients--a bearded, shifty-looking Turk with one arm in a sling--made it his business to sit on the same bench, and to listen while I pretended to give instruction in the proper p.r.o.nunciation of English.

Although I warned John Willie to be very careful, he failed to realize the danger, and continued to make us all the more conspicuous by talking in a low voice.

One afternoon he approached me with the English grammar open in his hand, and pointed to a folded note which lay on one of its pages. Two Turkish nurses were pa.s.sing. Seeing that they looked at the book, I turned the page quickly to hide the note. But the nurses had apparently seen everything, for as they entered the door of the hospital they whispered and turned back. A few minutes later the doctor on duty joined us in the garden, and told John Willie that in future it would be forbidden to talk with British prisoners.

Yet we managed three further meetings, which took place at the wash-house in the evening. Then John Willie disappeared suddenly from the hospital, and we were left to our own resources.

We still had his maps of San Stefano; and when the period set for the escape arrived we should know by means of a pre-arranged signal if he was still prepared to take us to Mudros. This was that on the Sunday morning preceding the first date of rendezvous he was to fly over Psamatia in a Nieuport scout, and perform stunts.

Meanwhile, White and I now lacked a go-between. More than ever it was necessary that one or both of us should see Theodore, and try to get into touch with somebody on the Ukranian steamer _Batoum_, which I could see from our ward window, moored opposite the Sultan's Palace of Dolma Bagtche.

Every request that we might be permitted to visit the shops was refused, and when White asked to see a dentist in Constantinople he was referred to the military dentist in the hospital. We had almost decided to leave for Psamatia before our time, when chance provided a way out.

My fame as a teacher of English had spread through the hospital. Aziz Bey, a young Turkish doctor, arrived at my bedside one morning, with text-books and a request for lessons. I agreed willingly, and in a few days became quite friendly with him over conjugations, and references to the green socks worn by the son of the gardener.

At that time intelligent Turks, many of whom hated the Germans worse even than they hated the Armenians, were just beginning to realize that the Allies might well win the war. In a conversation Aziz Bey referred to this possibility, and expressed admiration for the British. In particular he praised a man named Meester Djavid Loijorge, who, it appeared, was the princ.i.p.al leader of the Allies. Djavid Loijorge, declared Aziz Bey, was a very great man indeed.

It was then that, without any forethought, an inspiration came to me.

Remembering the fear inspired in all Turks by such despotic ministers as Talaat Pasha and Enver Pasha, and realizing the consideration that would be paid to any connection of the British Prime Minister, whom Aziz Bey would regard as a kind of western Talaat Pasha, I announced:

"Mr. David Lloyd George is a very great man indeed, and I am his second cousin."

"Really?" said Aziz after a taken-aback pause, with credulity and obvious respect. "I never expected to learn English from a relative of Meester Loijorge."

I hastened to explain that the matter was confidential, and must not be talked about, as I did not wish the Turkish Ministry of War to know it.

I relied upon him, as a friend, to keep the relationship secret. He promised, and as far as I know only broke the promise to the extent of telling four or five or ten or twelve friends of his, all of whom treated me with the greatest consideration.

Now I am neither a second cousin of Mr. David Lloyd George nor anxious for such relationship. But in view of the curious circ.u.mstances, I was bold enough to believe that the statesman would not have objected to the claim. It needed little persuasion to induce Aziz Bey to take Mr.

Lloyd George's second cousin into Constantinople whenever he had a free afternoon; and the chief doctor, who was let into the secret, gave the required permission readily enough.

Aziz and another doctor, whose name I forget, invited me to tea at the Tokatlian Hotel and the Pet.i.ts Champs Gardens, took me for sails on the Bosphorus and the Sea of Marmora, and introduced me, after preliminary whisperings, to several of their friends.

Fortunately for me the news from the Western front was then taking a turn for the better. Hindenburg's great drive was expended, the Germans had been thrown back across the Marne. With each day's telegrams Mr.

Lloyd George's second cousin gained further respect; and finally he was given permission to visit the shops of Pera, escorted only by a guard.

I walked over the bridge across the Golden Horn to the Maritza restaurant, and there was fortunate enough to find Prince Constantine Avaloff. He was making inquiries, he said, among the officers of the _Batoum_, and he thought that, for a suitable bribe, they would be quite willing, when the ship left for Odessa, to take White and myself as stowaways. The _Batoum_ was expected to leave in about three weeks'

time.

From Avaloff, who was still in touch with Yeats-Brown and Paul, I heard of their adventures after escaping from Psamatia. Yeats-Brown was still at large in the city, dressed in girl's clothes lent him by Miss Whittaker. Paul, from whom Avaloff had just received a letter, was trekking toward the Gulf of Enos with a young Greek waiter from the Maritza as guide. They hoped to put to sea from near Enos, accompanied by a Greek boatman. Paul, who spoke Arabic fluently, was dressed as an Arab. I remembered the tuft of unkempt beard which he had been growing before his escape, and now saw the reason for it.

Meanwhile, a party that included Yeats-Brown and two Turkish officers was waiting in Constantinople on the result of Paul's attempt. If he succeeded, said Avaloff, they would follow in his tracks, and the Greek boatman would return to the Gulf of Enos for them.

White and I decided, out of consideration for Miss Whittaker, not to ask her for any help, as we heard that since the escape of Paul and Yeats-Brown she had been closely watched. The Turkish police suspected her connivance, especially when they learned that she had met them in the park at Stamboul on the day before they left Psamatia. On the following Sunday morning, when, for the first time in three weeks, we were allowed to attend service in the English Church at Pera, we took care never to look in her direction, not knowing whether one of Constantinople's myriad informers might be among the congregation.

For the moment our greatest problem was to obtain funds. We hoped to find a banker in Mr. S., the English merchant who, on his own responsibility and at great risk to himself, had several times cashed large cheques for officers who wanted to escape. We knew several Armenian and Greek merchants, but these we could not induce to supply us with money, as we had no orthodox cheque-books. Such cheques as we cashed on the Dutch Legation, or on Mr. S., were written on sheets of blank paper.

In those days British bombers from Mudros and Imbros were visiting Constantinople every fine moonlit night, and spreading great terror all over the city. Whenever an alarm, false or real, was given, we were wakened by the firing of scores of machine-guns planted on the near-by roofs. Turkish soldiers, who, next to food and wives, love fireworks better than anything on earth, would continue firing into the vacant air for hours, until all their ammunition was exhausted, merely for the pleasure of hearing the rap-rapping. Except on one occasion the bombs themselves did little damage; but many people were killed by the chance-falling bullets from the machine-guns.

Sometimes the aeroplanes came during the daytime; and then, anxious to see some of our own machines, we would race into the garden while the Turks were scurrying from it into the shelter of the hospital. Once a very fat Turkish pasha, with paunch and dignity well to the fore, paid Gumuch Souyou a visit of inspection and happened to be in the middle of the garden when the anti-aircraft firing began. He cast off the dignity, and would doubtless have liked to cast off the paunch, as he raced for the hospital door and inquired for the underground baths.

The Turkish love of fireworks was useful to me during the Mohammedan month of Ramazan. At each sunset guns were fired and puff-b.a.l.l.s were exploded, at interval of a few seconds, all round Constantinople.

Whenever I went into the city with Aziz Bey I arranged that we should be at sunset near Taxim Gardens, opposite which some puff-b.a.l.l.s were exploded. On the first explosion I started violently and began to tremble, then continued to swerve and shiver at each subsequent noise.

Having returned to Gumuch Souyou I would demand aspirin and bromide to calm my nerves, which--as Azid Bey could bear witness--must still be in bad condition. This I did because a few days earlier it had been suggested that I was now in a fit state to return to a prisoners' camp; whereas we were still a fortnight from the opening date of rendezvous with John Willie the Bosnian, and from the time when the _Batoum_ might be expected to weigh anchor.

But ill-luck disbanded the queer company in the prisoners' ward of Gumuch Souyou Hospital early in the following week. On the Sunday afternoon, after our visit to the church, White, R., and I visited some of my newly made friends, in a street behind the Tokatlian. Our two guards, bribed for the purpose and placated with a promise that we would return to them in an hour's time, loafed outside the doorway. One of the city's innumerable police spies saw us handing over a fifty-piastre note, and having by inquiries discovered that we were British officers, reported the incident to the War Office. Next morning all but the two mad-men were ordered to Psamatia, at an hour's notice.

White and I were not disappointed at the change for it now wanted but a week to August the 7th, when at three o'clock in the morning we might expect to meet John Willie the Bosnian at the corner of a wood outside San Stefano aerodrome. Meanwhile, there remained the urgent necessity of cashing some cheques on Mr. S.; for only ready money could make possible our escape, whether we flew to Mudros or crossed the Black Sea as stowaways on the _Batoum_.

CHAPTER X

THE THIRD AND FOURTH FAILURES

"The clothes of the Capitaine Sir Paul," demanded with triumphant satisfaction Zikki Bey, the one-eyed Turkish officer at Psamatia prison. "The Capitaine Sir Paul needs the clothes he left here, because he finds that his Arab dress is unsuitable for the Ministry of War prison."

For the past two days we had heard rumours of Paul's recapture. Yet Zikki Bey's unwelcome confirmation, as he broke in upon a bridge party one evening, was a shock to us. The cards were abandoned as we prepared clothes and food to be sent to whatever cell of the infamous "Black Hole of Constantinople" Paul might have been taken, still dressed in the Arab disguise in which he tried to reach the Gulf of Enos.

The bad news was an especial blow to four of us--White, Fulton, Stone, and myself--for we ourselves were preparing to bolt within a few days.

Others regarded it more philosophically. Among the party was a certain Colonel who deprecated attempts to escape, because they reacted on one's fellow-prisoners. He also contended that it was impossible for a Britisher to escape from Turkey.

"I knew it, I knew it," he now said; "they've nabbed Paul, and soon they'll nab Yeats-Brown."

A few days later, having heard that certain others were ready to flit, the Colonel delivered an ultimatum. Already the restrictions at Psamatia were severe, because of the disappearance of Paul and Yeats-Brown. If others went, he contended, life would not be worth living, especially for middle-aged colonels who had prepared medical histories of well-imagined ailments and were hoping to see their names on the list of prisoners to be exchanged as unfit.

"After the war I'll heng, draw, and quarter the next fellow who clears off from Psamatia while I'm here," he told Fulton, Stone, and myself, slapping a knee that rested on the garden wall. "A successful escape can't be done in Turkey, and it's futile to try."

Five days later four of us did clear off from Psamatia. The war is over long since; but for some reason or other we remain unhenged, undrawn, and unquartered. As for the p.r.o.nouncement that to escape from Turkey was impossible, within six weeks no less than ten men proved the contrary.

White and I had been at Psamatia for ten days. Although expeditions to Stamboul were now forbidden, we managed to go there three times, on the pretence of seeing a dentist. We visited Theodore, and through him received from Mr. S. about three hundred Turkish pounds in return for foolscap-paper cheques.

After very careful consideration we had chosen the plan of crossing the Black Sea as stowaways, in preference to that of trusting John Willie the Bosnian aviator to fly us out of the country. Since his sudden disappearance from the hospital we had heard no definite word of him; unless, indeed, a rumour that a Bosnian officer was in the Ministry of War Prison as a political suspect applied to him.

Moreover, he either failed to give us the signal that he was ready, or gave it otherwise than according to plan. On the Sunday morning preceding the first date of the rendezvous outside San Stefano aerodrome he was to have flown over Psamatia on a Nieuport scout and performed stunts to attract our attention. An aeroplane did fly over Psamatia, and even looped the loop several times; but it was a big two-seater instead of a little Nieuport. Under the circ.u.mstances we decided not to risk losing the comparative certainty of a slow journey to freedom via Russia for the dubious uncertainty of a quick flight to Mudros.

Fulton and Stone were glad enough to inherit our arrangements with John Willie, and to take the chance of meeting him at San Stefano. Now that Paul was captured they were at a loose end, for if he had succeeded they would have followed in his footsteps by joining the second party that was to make for the Gulf of Enos. I gave them my map of the aerodrome, showing the place of rendezvous, and also a non-committal note, scribbled in German, which would explain their ident.i.ty if they met the Bosnian.

For White and myself a pa.s.sage on the tramp steamer _Batoum_ was definitely arranged. Prince Avaloff had shown himself to be a too-talkative intermediary; but White met a more useful man in one Lieutenant Vladimir Stepanovitch Wilkowsky, a Polish aviator whom he had known at Afion-kara-Hissar, and who was also planning an early escape. Unlike us, the Russians were still allowed into Stamboul with their guards. Having placated his own particular guard with a bribe, Wilkowsky often crossed the Golden Horn alone. Several times he met t.i.toff, the _Batoum's_ chief engineer, in cafes at Galata; and finally, after much bargaining, completed arrangements whereby White and I were to travel as stowaways. He himself was also planning an escape to Odessa.

Zikki Bey warned us that everybody at Psamatia would be sent into Anatolia very shortly. White, Fulton, Stone, and I went into conference, and decided to forestall the removal by making our dash two days later, on August the twenty-first. This suited Fulton and Stone, for it would bring them to the period named by the Bosnian aviator. As for White and myself, a hiding-place in Pera, where we could remain until the _Batoum_ sailed, had been arranged by t.i.toff. A Russian civilian was to conceal us; and, after giving our guards the slip, we were to meet him by appointment at a beerhouse in the Rue de Galata.

On the morning of July the twenty-first all four of us left Psamatia by the ten o'clock train on the little suburban railway that runs between Stamboul and San Stefano. It would be less difficult to dodge the guards if we were in two parties, so Fulton and Stone chose an optician as their excuse for a trip to Stamboul, while White and I were to visit our old friend the dentist. Our real destination was the beerhouse in the Rue de Galata, that of the other pair being the small wood outside San Stefano.

We split up into twos as the train steamed up, Fulton's farewell being "Good-bye, old man. See you in the Ministry of War to-morrow!" He and Stone went into a compartment near the engine, while White and I chose the rear end of the train. All of us hoped to lose our guards among the crowd at Stamboul station.