The extraordinary thing is that one is so secluded. One seems on the other side of creation's wall—in the backwash of the waters. But we all know it only seems so. The stream of Time flows on, sweeping along with it great events in the changing scene from which we here are far removed. I have ever been of a restless nature, and I am told this may operate as a rest cure. One hundred and fifty miles from the nearest railway, and that far from anywhere, locked in by mountains bordering the Black Sea, cut off from papers and books and news, in a town that but awakes and sleeps, with no public institutions or even a picture theatre, one has left for a hobby only the delivery of direct interrogatories to oneself, and the supplying of answers thereto. I believe this is a supreme test of character, and may prove a strength to some and a ruination to others.
Sometimes an event overtakes us. For instance, I have been placed in "gaol" for a short time, and the incident was so funny I must set it down.
One day, while I was filling in notes of this diary, I observed one of the flimsy untied curtains was ablaze. How it started I can only conjecture. Either it blew on to the hot cigarette ash tray, or a hot part of a cigarette must have fallen down near the bed and caught in the curtain. These local cigarettes are wretched things and burn furiously, the head often falling off so that it is a common thing to find one's clothes alight. I ripped the curtain down and stamped it out. The two beds had caught, and the room filled with smoke. I stamped out the fire and doused the bed with water. As it still smouldered I flung it out of the door. And then they came, Turks, choushs, postas, Sheriff Bey, the kaimakam himself, and I began to expect the Sultan. They were very angry, a fire having occurred in the Gurkhas' quarters a few days previously. They persisted in saying I tried to burn the house down and to set fire to Kastamuni. That afternoon a sort of court-martial was made of it, and I was arraigned before the Turkish Commandant, thinking it a delightful joke. Their serious faces amused me. Itold them it was an accident, that I was sorry, that I would pay the damage, and after a debate of ordinary budget length, the kaimakam decided to let me off on my paying a lira. (The curtain would have cost about ten piastres, and the bed was only singed.) Then Sheriff Bey stormed and protested for more punishment, and I was sent under an escort after handing over all my smokes and matches, to a dirty iron-barred cellar room in a house used by the kaimakam as an office. It was full of paper, and there was no bed or chair. I had no supplies at all. When I was left in peace I took a copy of Robert Louis Stevenson's "Virginibus Puerisque" from my pocket, and sitting in a corner started to read. Presently I became aware of an eye watching me through the crack. In fact, I was just on the point of lighting up from a spare cigarette case and matches in my hip pocket. The eye changed. Still reading, I observed several peering and whispering, so taking a pencil and paper from my pocket I went through the form of writing a letter to our Foreign Minister via the American Ambassador, complaining of my treatment. Then pointing to the eye, I called for the interpreter, informing him that I wanted this letter to be shown to the kaimakam, and that even if he didn't send it I should take care that our Government took the matter up and dealt with those responsible when I was free. The result was he bolted from the room, and in ten minutes reappeared with a posta, and said I was free. Sheriff Bey met me at the top of the road, and proceeded to harangue me about wanting to frighten me only.
Bluff is the only thing, and their ignorance one's only chance. Since then, however, the kaimakam has treated me with extraordinary respect, so much so, that I have successfully refused to obey his order to pay for what I have not had,i.e.food in themektubfor all the time I was sick. The best way to treat these Turks is to be distantly polite. Much annoyance and trouble has been caused through some officers chumming up to them, plying them with drinks, and conducting them by the arm here and there. The next day there's a row about some point of pay or privilege, and the Turk thinks himself snubbed. The net result is that the Turk, being our captor, is in much the better position to hit back. This he does vigorously, with insulting titles and notices that make lifea great burden. Some of their notices posted up in themektubare screamingly funny. The following are actual samples, with spelling corrected—
1. "English imprisoned officers cannot only please themselves by disobeying the Turkish posta who have the order of them. Neither can they go past the posta or outside the door. In which case the posta can beat them with the stick or rough handle the officer or officers concerned."2. "English officers ought to pay their money willingly. Why do they have the trick of deceiving the peasants and poor Turkish subjects, which is dishonest?(Sd.) "Teufik,"Kaimakam."3. "Officers cannot talk to any one except themselves, strong punishments will pursue swiftly. What is the use of pouring dirty water into the street? Surely they need not chivvy 'bints' in the bazaar, and officers educated in London could know better. When officers go for a walk in charge of a posta they shall not go to the front or the posta gets behind in which case the posta has orders to shoot or remonstrate with the culprit. Let every one pay the price in the bazaar and let them pay all their money to Usnu, the contractor, who is not a robber.(Sd.) "Teufik,"Kaimakam."4. "It has been taken to my notice that English officers never stop kicking up a shinty (shindy) in their rooms. Cards will be stopped. Let us not play cards or kick up any more shindy. You shall behave civilized."5. "In future great supplies of liquor and cognac will not be drunk by our order as the floor of the school will go through. In which case the officers concerned cannot hold Turkish authorities responsible if they meet death. Also punishment must be given. Officers will be always tidy the room. Why choose the pig-stye? This is also a punishable affair.(Sd.) "Teufik,"Commandant."
1. "English imprisoned officers cannot only please themselves by disobeying the Turkish posta who have the order of them. Neither can they go past the posta or outside the door. In which case the posta can beat them with the stick or rough handle the officer or officers concerned."
2. "English officers ought to pay their money willingly. Why do they have the trick of deceiving the peasants and poor Turkish subjects, which is dishonest?
(Sd.) "Teufik,"Kaimakam."
3. "Officers cannot talk to any one except themselves, strong punishments will pursue swiftly. What is the use of pouring dirty water into the street? Surely they need not chivvy 'bints' in the bazaar, and officers educated in London could know better. When officers go for a walk in charge of a posta they shall not go to the front or the posta gets behind in which case the posta has orders to shoot or remonstrate with the culprit. Let every one pay the price in the bazaar and let them pay all their money to Usnu, the contractor, who is not a robber.
(Sd.) "Teufik,"Kaimakam."
4. "It has been taken to my notice that English officers never stop kicking up a shinty (shindy) in their rooms. Cards will be stopped. Let us not play cards or kick up any more shindy. You shall behave civilized."
5. "In future great supplies of liquor and cognac will not be drunk by our order as the floor of the school will go through. In which case the officers concerned cannot hold Turkish authorities responsible if they meet death. Also punishment must be given. Officers will be always tidy the room. Why choose the pig-stye? This is also a punishable affair.
(Sd.) "Teufik,"Commandant."
6."Officers are allowed the bath and bazaar and footer. Why not go about properly dressed. Surely no hat or in the hand is not properly dressed. Sticks are forbidden and officers cannot walk with sticks. It is forbidden to get drunk or sing as the noise stops the sleep of neighbours. If a fire starts it goes. Therefore don't smoke in bedrooms for God sake.(Sd.) "Teufik,"Commandant,"British Prisoners' Camp."
6."Officers are allowed the bath and bazaar and footer. Why not go about properly dressed. Surely no hat or in the hand is not properly dressed. Sticks are forbidden and officers cannot walk with sticks. It is forbidden to get drunk or sing as the noise stops the sleep of neighbours. If a fire starts it goes. Therefore don't smoke in bedrooms for God sake.
(Sd.) "Teufik,"Commandant,"British Prisoners' Camp."
And so on. The explanation of these extraordinary documents is that some of the postas (bluebottles we call them) being old dug-outs, can't keep up with us when we walk, and trail out behind. The people in the town do us down at every turn, and we have to argue and bargain to get anything. In fact, we enjoy it. As regards the noise, some of us have a sing-song on every other Saturday in themektub, and the Turks fear our applause may be too much for the floor. Regarding the "bints" we, not having spoken to the gentler sex from periods ranging to two years, have taught some Greek dreadnoughts to wish us good morning. The fire episode was, of course, due to me. Their Captain, Sheriff Bey, is the source of most of the trouble, and he stirs up the old kaimakam. Sheriff Bey is captain of the guard, and is at once treacherous and spiteful. To be sure he had for a time captured the ear of a few of our officers who were misled by his lubricity and perpetual smiles. He fawns upon them, defaming his own country, which he predicts will be finished in a few weeks, and has decided to leave Turkey after the war. I loathed the man more than ever on hearing him speak of his country so. They say he is spying on the kaimakam in order to get his command.
On arriving here we all hoped to get away within a few weeks, as there was rumour of an advance in the West. At present, however, the indications are, at any rate, for a winter campaign.
February 1st, 1917.—Four months have gone. As I write the earth is white with feet of snow. It is a white world, the roofs no longer brown, the trees no longer green, for even those few trees, like pines that have not shed their verdure, have donned the white raiment of winter's carnival. Snow! This pure and godly element, silent and secretive, theavant-courrierof the Ultimate, of Things doomed, one day to be reclaimed by the once again triumphant elements when, from the dome of the universe, the last white great snow sheets shall fall, fall, fall—and this universe, once again locked in the ice-grip of the Snow God, shall drive forward mysteriously on its lonely way—lonely for it shall have been separated from Life, and the Spirit, Man, will have gone.
As I look out on the undulating expanse terraced down to me from the mountain horizon to the northward, I am for a minute tempted to believe that the Great Snow Deluge has really come, and I alone am awake to behold it. But looking still closer I see tiny windows peeping out from their white frames, and I know the bees within that human hive are having their winter sleep. With an effort I trace among the smothered definition of the buildings, the snowed-up roads and alleys, and rising above it all I see, scattered over the town, the white upright minarets of the mosques. Kastamuni in wintertime is a picturesque Turkish town, and has a character all its own. The streets are deserted, but on the hill-path white-mottled figures move slowly upwards. It is the hour of prayer, and themuezzinhas just begun to swell out in icy circles from the minarets, reaching out to the hearts of the prayerful, and calling them to communion with Allah.Laillaha, illa la.There is but one God, and that is God. From how many thousands of mosques, and for how many millions of the followers of the prophet does themuezzincry at this hour?
And so I, too, find my silence unlocked after all these months and am at last persuaded to throw off the coma that has been stealing over us body and soul, that has buried beneath its snow-drift our intentions one by one, and I am tempted to jot down a few more notes to my reminiscences.
Sometimes, as the other day, we are allowed to take down the bob-sleighs we have made to a hill about a mile away, and pretend we are schoolboys again. After snowballing the starters and getting snowballed ourselves, we shot down the slope or over the bank, as the case occurred, and once or twice we collided, but no one got seriously hurt. The hard toiling uphill again, pulling the sleigh, proved how unfit we were. On the way home we religiously snowballed every fowl we passed, and the roads are full of them. The days are dreadfully dreary, and it is only these events that seem to lighten the monotonous gloom. Firewood is very scarce and expensive, and only on rare occasions do we have a fire worth anything. If we do by chance have wood it is often wet, and the wretched tin stoves choke the place with smoke. I half decided to have a stove in my bedroom, but, besides that being fearfully small, the trouble is to get wood, which comes in tiny donkey loads at fictitious prices. So we lie in bed under the clothes, and with the intense cold sleep steals over us. There is the same difficulty in getting kerosene, now five shillings a bottle, and what one gets either goes out, or splutters until you kick it out. We hibernate, therefore. Once or twice it has been so cold that I have gone down to the kitchen and sat by the smoke heap there. This is very popular these days.
Letters are turning up more regularly. I am delighted to have at last heard from home and several friends all over the world, including the brilliant author of "Problems of Philosophy." He has very kindly sent me some books and recommends me to see Schiller on "Grumps." I also heard from Wallace, from whom I have not heard for years and years, and to whom I wrote in Kut along with people in the neglected recesses of my memory, but the letter, of course, was never sent. It must be eleven years since he and I saton the golden sand of a green-vestured island in that silvery sea around Auckland—smoking our pipes as we lay on our backs, and filling in with a wish what we wanted to complete the scene. I remember wanting the suitable girl, but he wanted books and debate. In between are my world travels, and Cambridge, and Germany, and now I've been running about in a war, and he, since a professor in Princetown, writes to condole with me at being out of the war so early! He ought to congratulate me on my luck in staying in it so long. But then, of course, he can't know anything about Kut yet.
It seems I have been reported dead in Kut, and again on the trek, and in England they are only just hearing to the contrary. What an unnecessary suspense for one's people! Mine have been magnificent, even throughout the long period of tragic rumour.
About my other friends at Cambridge, and in the regiment, and in France, I never hear a word.
Parcels have arrived, thank Heaven, from several friends. Sir Thomas Mackenzie has been a perfect trump, and the most wonderful and thoughtful parcels from a very kind heart in Australia. The first three or four have arrived. My dear old friends, the Pallisers, remember me faithfully. And Lord Grey, not forgetting the lonely subaltern in the middle of Asia who once held forth on Imperial affairs sketched out by the cloistered lawns of the Cam, has sent me kind messages and a fortnightly parcel. One's emotions of thankfulness and gratitude are infinite. I feel it is my duty to buck up every ounce possible when one of the busiest and most over-worked men in England, in indifferent health, too, finds time to think of a worthless subaltern like me. My Camberley friends also have sent me some parcels, and some wonderful letters. These momentous things happen only once in a while, but when they do they tell us that somewhere beyond these snow-bound mountains are English hearts that are glad we are come through so far, which means they know we have tried and are chiefly sorry we are chained because we can't try again.
Some few books have also arrived from time to time, but only old ones are allowed through, though sometimes we manage to conceal one or two. This, however, is very difficult,as all parcels have to be opened before the Turkish authorities. We have formed a library, and the indefatigable librarian, Herepath, who catalogues the books andshikarsevery one a moment overdue, caused us infinite delight months ago by placing in the library most of Kipling's works which he had miraculously brought through with him from Kut. We devour anything in the reading line, especially now, as bridge has fallen off.
None of the many books sent to me have turned up so far, and have probably been intercepted at Constantinople, whither even those that do arrive here have to be sent back for censorship.
No games outside except an occasional soccer match are played now as the ground is too hard. One highly interesting tournament was, however, recently completed. Eight soccer teams participated, and we ran two bookies on the field. I have not played since Christmas Day when, in getting down to a forward rush, I had several giants on top of me and twisted my knee badly. Just before this, however, as left three-quarter in a match against the Lower House I scored one of the hardest tries since I was a boy. One can't run much these days, but I did it diving for the line as a nailed fist left four ruddy tracks from my neck down my back. Even then we lost the match by two goals to a goal and a try. I came to the conclusion that my conceit was excusable.
Christmas passed quietly enough. We consumed a tremendous amount of cognac and mastik, and anything else going, regardless of price, and for a few hours we quite took charge of things. There was a concert of sorts with a few banjo items and a farce at the end which was more ridiculous than funny, but it served as well.
On Christmas Eve we eluded the postas, and about midnight, while trying to correct my bearings for the house, for I had somehow got downhill, I saw a figure of him we call the Admiral (a naval paymaster), who evidently having wearied of trying to discipline his legs had given it up and was crawling vigorously on all fours in the dark. The sight of this white figure crawling mysteriously along in the darkness, believing himself unobserved, made me shout with laughter. The Admiral put on a huge spurt when he heard it!
But the feature of Christmas was the children's party wegave by special leave of the kaimakam. For days we had been cooking tartlets and cakes and macaroons. They knew it was on, and before breakfast a big crowd of children and mothers had accumulated near our alley-way. We took our long table and spread upon it "our events," as we called them, including apples and special quantities of milk and nuts. The poor little wretches are half-starved. For weeks previously we had given them bits of bread, so that each one of us had an "adopted" nipper. But besides our little pals—mostly Greek, but some Turks—dozens of youngsters from far and wide had turned up, some in their mothers' arms. Sam Mayo, an ex-sergeant-major, took charge and formed them into column of route, mothers and all. He did splendidly. There was much crying and yelling, but he got them in order and then made them file past. I don't think we had laughed so much for many months. Each one of us soon found himself administering milk to a monthling in one arm with half a dozen brats into one's pockets or wrestling with one's legs at the same time. Once there was a stampede set up by a "Young Turk Party" (boys of eight and upwards), and we each had to grab all the mites by a leg or an arm and hold them up out of harm's way. One or two got a bit squashed as it was. The supreme joke was when Sam was proudly showing us how to coax a tiny infant to eat a macaroon; it got so enthusiastic as to bite a half inch of his thumb nearly off. "The little devil nipped like a mongoose," yelled Sam, upsetting his second youngster into the sweet rock that stucken blocto its head. We enjoyed ourselves as much as they. The postas, with one or two exceptions, helped us. The poor little wretches ate and drank as if they hadn't for a week at least. Then we had a scramble among the larger children for the nuts and surplus, and when the fights had subsided gave them some piastre notes. Altogether it was a great show and made us very happy.
The people, we hear, couldn't understand at first how war veterans could worry about children. But you require to be a prisoner of war with no privilege of speaking to any one, adult or child, to understand the meaning of children. The after result was that for days and days a huge swarm of youngsters followed us everywhere we went yelling "Backsheesh" and "Ekmek" (bread) and "Chocolate."
Shortly after Christmas an Armenian turned up with a violin of sorts. I had been on the look-out for one for months. He wanted a fictitious price, and it wasn't a good one but fairly loud. The strings were on the wrong pegs, and such strings surely never existed before on any violin. The bow wanted some hair restorer badly. I tuned it up and powdered the few remaining hairs well on a lump of gummy resin, probably off a pine-tree, and then, by the smoking stove of a Turkish fire, I began to play—the first time for years and years. The room was empty but every one came up from below to see what on earth had happened. I found I had forgotten everything. After a half-hour bits of Beethoven, Raff, Dvorak and Vieuxtemps came back to me, but they wanted waltzes and marches. The end of it was they persuaded me to buy the thing. I practised assiduously for two or three hours a day for weeks and then the bow began to collapse and the strings gave out.
It was now dreadfully cold in one's room, but we managed to have some cheery evenings. Banjos made of hide stretched over tins purchased at the bazaar did quite well for an accompaniment. One of our number, Lieutenant Munro, has shown a deal of skill in cabinet making, and has turned out a 'cello which is the queerest thing in the whole world, looking rather like a dough roll squeezed considerably in the middle by a small boy until its waist threatens to go altogether. But it makes a noise. My violin is improving wonderfully, and I have found some bad strings in an Armenian shop.
In other words, my violin has grown to a band composed of two violins, a 'cello, a cracked flute, a clarionet, and banjos. The Admiral plays a little, and having unearthed another fiddle has come in as second violin. Major Davis plays the violin a little, and we are going to fossick others out. Drums are under construction, and another 'cello is to follow. Remains the music. As none has ever been seen in Kastamuni probably since the town existed, nor can be obtained anywhere or is allowed through, we have to write our own. This involves composition. There was luckily a volume of Prout's Harmony that turned up at Christmas, so one or two with leisure hours are working at it hard. We have had five practices. I never could have believed I would endure such an offensive noise, let alone help to make it! "Dreaming" and"Destiny" and "The Girl on the Film" were the first things we attempted. It was a thin stream of trickling melody followed by the weirdest of side noises!
How dreadfully cold it is, and how interminably long the winter seems! Malaria and colds have pursued us. Our boots have collapsed everywhere, and the few pairs in the bazaar cost over eight liras. Here, again, we have fallen back on ourselves, and two officers started repairing in an institution called the "Snob's Shop." They are now quite good at it, and turn out really fine work. The only leather obtainable, however, is rotten local stuff.
Other prices have risen steadily. The wretched tea available is about two liras a pound, and there is little of that. Sugar is ten shillings a pound, coffee dearer than tea, meat two shillings a pound, and wood works out at about three-pence a stick. The wonder is how all these people live. Many are pinched and haggard, and funeral processions in the snow are more frequent. The Turkish contractor at themektubhas been playing the extortionaterôle, and for weeks we have threatened to strike and had meeting after meeting. The net result has been to get the Turks' backs up against us, and it seems evident enough that the military authorities are in the financial swim with the fleecers. We have almost decided to mess ourselves—the chief objection to this being that every obstacle will be put in our way and prices will go up accordingly in the bazaar.
The other day we were allowed our permitted long walk and took the direction of the pine woods, away up the long ascent. We trod in young snow a few inches deep. It was a glorious walk with the tiny bronze pines peeping through the white sheets that stretched from horizon to horizon over hill and valley. We climbed until on a patch of upland from which the sun had ousted the snow, thousands of tiny crocuses invited us to stop and listen to their premature whispers of spring. But since then winter seems to have fastened on us another clutch of unmistakable proprietorship. On our way back we stopped at our cemetery, which has gradually grown larger since we came. Last November the survivors of the unfortunate yachtNidareached us. She had struck a mine near Alexandretta and lost half her crew. The commander had a terribly rough trip here, and the disaster seemed to havepreyed upon his mind. He died in the hospital here, poor fellow. Recently we buried a gunner orderly arrived from Angora. He had belonged to the 82nd R.F.A., and came with the last batch allowed us by the authorities as the result of continuous applications. The reports they brought of the men were simply terrible. Hundreds of them seem to have perished in the cold. The sick were allowed to die without any attention whatever. A daily loaf of bread and one blanket, and often no medical care at all, had accounted for hundreds. Whole regiments are wiped out. Father Tim and the Reverend Wright, who were recently ordered to Kara Hissah for the other officers, managed to get a line back to us to the effect that the reports about the men were true. Rumours are in the air that General Townshend has gone home on parole and is arranging for us to be exchanged or go to a neutral country. One can't hope for that. We have heard in the bazaar that Kut once more is in our hands. Thank God!
May 1st.—At last the winter has gone, but it went slowly and fought a strenuous rearguard action up to quite recently. How jolly it is to have dismantled those wretched tin stoves and be able to write and read in one's room once more. Walks have been resumed, and lead us even further and further afield. Many changes have overtaken us—changes seemingly insignificant and yet to us very momentous. We started to run our own mess in February, the Turks taking away all our Turkish and Greek servants and making us rely on our own orderlies. They prove themselves more childish and more babyish every week. An inquiry was held into affairs here, and the old kaimakam was thrown out, but Sheriff Bey, the worst of all, lied his way into remaining. Our new kaimakam is a more decent fellow, speaks German, and has lived in Berlin for four years. We have had him up to dinner, and it fell to me to do all the talking to him about Berlin. He means well, and has done all he can to help us, but he is so dreadfully afraid of Sheriff Bey and his own restrictions.
The band has made great strides. I'm now first violin and leader of the "Orchestra." We have five violins, two 'cellos and a double bass, besides the drums, two clarionettes, flute, and banjo, and the Human Crochet has made commendable progress in writing out our music from bits of anything we got through the post, piano solos, and many we havehad to write from memory. We perform on Saturday evenings alternately at either house. Sometimes we sound almost like a seaside band at Home!!! I long for the old Queen's Hall Concerts again. To attend even those, I would willingly forget the London Symphony or Nikisch's at the Gewandhaus in Leipsig. The band is almost the only live thing here. One pines for music. Every evening I can get (so to speak) with my violin beyond these forests and mountains. My window overlooks the town and I have quite an audience of Turkish heads listening. I am told the sound carries as far as the muezzin. These people have not heard any music in their lives, and think my crude efforts quite divine. Books arrive slowly. Swinburne has never come. But we have Shakespeare and some of Thackeray and a lot of cheap stuff.
With the advent of spring we all responded to the call and took fresh hope and formed new resolves. Amongst them I started a fortnightly paper calledSmoke, the KastamuniPunchandTatler. In a rash moment I finally consented to the "General's" request, the General being Captain Kirkwood, our Mess-President. So far it has been a decided success. Our artist was an officer from the Lower House whose handy pen finished the cartoon and illustrated the serial and verse. The paper was not wholly given to ragging and joking, but in a serious corner we discussed aspects of Kut and the Trek and Kastamuni and the war. We also ran fictitious notes from Kara Hissa, Yozgad, Brusa (where the generals are), and "Eve" of theTatlerfinally came to live in Kastamuni to cheer us up with a certain famous chaperone called "The Destroyer." The most popular article amongst our own mess was the current one called "The Oblong Table," at which we all sat—King Arthur, Sir John Happy Tight, Sir Saundontius the Good, Sir Sulphurous Blears, Sir Bedevere le Géant, Sir Leslie Bee de Canard, Sir Cliftus Smallkake, Sir Samuel Longbow, Sir Carol le Filbert, Sir Richard Oldlace, Sir Pompous Oldass, Sir Lancelot the Bard, Sir Galahad the Silent, and Sir Rufus Appletree. And we lived well up to the best traditions of the Round Table, and conversations and jests and challenges flew to and fro. But altogether it is rather a sweat, as I have to do the whole thing, and then it has to be copied out again by some one with a decent caligraphy. Great care has to be taken to keep it out of the Turks' hands.
I have also worked on a further constitutional study of the possible Society of Nations or International Body, following out constitutional developments and tendencies as revealed by the war since my pre-war work "The Place of International Law in Jurisprudence."
And so what with the band andSmokeand this diary and bits of French and my law work, I have plenty to do. I am only wondering how long it will be before these, too, follow the rest of our enterprises to oblivion. It is true that one's springs of action seem almost run out, and that with leading this dreary existence the iron of Kastamuni has already eaten into the souls of many. The psychology of a captive is an extraordinary one.
At night-time, when the last tremors of the muezzin have died away and all is still, we sometimes fancy we can hear the echoes of those great events that are rearranging the world, the crashing of nations in mortal combat, the battle cries of men fighting for their faith, the death cries of the fallen, above all, the cannon cacophany of the fire deluge.
And from here in the backwater of the world, without news or knowledge, our hearts go out to our countrymen on the other front, and we pray to God that we may soon be amongst them again.
Smokewas the KastamuniPunch, which I edited. Its existence became known to the Turks, who tried by every means to discover it. When I escaped from the prison in Stamboul, I had it around my waist. Unwilling to risk its capture in my subsequent adventures, I entrusted it to some one in Stamboul, from where it was safely recovered after the entry of the British troops. The photos are of the original copy and the extracts perpetrated by me.
(1) Letter from "Eve," whom to cheer our loneliness we transported to live amongst us in Kastamuni.
201, Curzon Street,Mayfair,May 28th, '17.Dear Mr. Smoke,Such wonderful news for you. I'm to leave for Kastamuni in two days. Think of it, my dear. For Kastamuni and all of you. Almosttoowonderful, isn't it? You know by the time the third edition ofSmokearrived home it became quite well known that you were incorporated with theTatler, and, of course, you and I are naturally expected to become awfully interested in each other. Also by a marvellous bit of planning on the part of Providence at the same time Mrs. Huntingdon-East received such an extraordinarily warm-hearted letter from a Mr. Carol Manrow of Kastamuni (do you know him?), begging her to visit Kastamuni and prescribe for his (little Carol's, if you please) loneliness, and also—but I mustn't tell you too much, must I?
201, Curzon Street,Mayfair,May 28th, '17.Dear Mr. Smoke,
Such wonderful news for you. I'm to leave for Kastamuni in two days. Think of it, my dear. For Kastamuni and all of you. Almosttoowonderful, isn't it? You know by the time the third edition ofSmokearrived home it became quite well known that you were incorporated with theTatler, and, of course, you and I are naturally expected to become awfully interested in each other. Also by a marvellous bit of planning on the part of Providence at the same time Mrs. Huntingdon-East received such an extraordinarily warm-hearted letter from a Mr. Carol Manrow of Kastamuni (do you know him?), begging her to visit Kastamuni and prescribe for his (little Carol's, if you please) loneliness, and also—but I mustn't tell you too much, must I?
LETTER FROM "EVE."PHOTOGRAPHED FROM "SMOKE," THE KASTAMUNI "PUNCH"
Oh,and we just loveSmoke. Well, you know, the next day I met the Destroyer at tea,i.e.Mrs. H. E., because she's always under full sail, or whatever you call it. She has persuaded my friends to make me go with her. But, my dear, I was only toodelightedto go, and I do so want to see all the dear things in that wonderful little place. Oh, I'm so glad you are incorporated with theTatler, and that I am to tattle for you. The Women War Workers' Association has arranged for the Destroyer to look after me. Can you imagine that? But I shan't stretch my reins until I am safe with you all, and then we shall see what pace is to be set in Kastamuni.I'm to send news to theTatleras ever, and a column for you on local gossip or fashionable intelligence. The last sounds the best. Our spare time you must make interesting for us, and as we are to havecarte blanchefrom our funny old enemies, we can promise you a terrific time. And such news I've got for you—justtooexciting.We leave in two days via Boulogne, Paris, Berne, Vienna, Constanti, and Ineboli—and the Sultan has offered the Destroyer the use of his private yacht,Abdul Hamid Secundus. Wescreamedwhen we got his wire. So nice of him, and he hopes to find us "chic." Just fancy the Destroyer being chic. And we are to remain with you all until you go away. Isn't that splendid?Thank you so much for your long wire. Sothoughtfulof you, but, my dear, I'm not a bit shy, and I've not forgotten you. In fact, I have tried to dream about you quite often. Please try to believe this. We are to have the Vali's old house, whatever that means. The Destroyer is a dear old thing, and, of course, I leave all the arrangements to her. She sends a message. "Give the dear things my love, and tell them to pray that the weather will be good and the Black Sea smooth."Well, I must away to pack. Such appalling weather here, and we have no potatoes. But no one cares the tiniest bit, as the news is dreadfully good. The one drawback is that the war will be over before we have finished the wonderful time we shall all have in Kastamuni.Bye-bye, dear Mr. Smoke.Yours with love,Eve.
Oh,and we just loveSmoke. Well, you know, the next day I met the Destroyer at tea,i.e.Mrs. H. E., because she's always under full sail, or whatever you call it. She has persuaded my friends to make me go with her. But, my dear, I was only toodelightedto go, and I do so want to see all the dear things in that wonderful little place. Oh, I'm so glad you are incorporated with theTatler, and that I am to tattle for you. The Women War Workers' Association has arranged for the Destroyer to look after me. Can you imagine that? But I shan't stretch my reins until I am safe with you all, and then we shall see what pace is to be set in Kastamuni.
I'm to send news to theTatleras ever, and a column for you on local gossip or fashionable intelligence. The last sounds the best. Our spare time you must make interesting for us, and as we are to havecarte blanchefrom our funny old enemies, we can promise you a terrific time. And such news I've got for you—justtooexciting.
We leave in two days via Boulogne, Paris, Berne, Vienna, Constanti, and Ineboli—and the Sultan has offered the Destroyer the use of his private yacht,Abdul Hamid Secundus. Wescreamedwhen we got his wire. So nice of him, and he hopes to find us "chic." Just fancy the Destroyer being chic. And we are to remain with you all until you go away. Isn't that splendid?
Thank you so much for your long wire. Sothoughtfulof you, but, my dear, I'm not a bit shy, and I've not forgotten you. In fact, I have tried to dream about you quite often. Please try to believe this. We are to have the Vali's old house, whatever that means. The Destroyer is a dear old thing, and, of course, I leave all the arrangements to her. She sends a message. "Give the dear things my love, and tell them to pray that the weather will be good and the Black Sea smooth."
Well, I must away to pack. Such appalling weather here, and we have no potatoes. But no one cares the tiniest bit, as the news is dreadfully good. The one drawback is that the war will be over before we have finished the wonderful time we shall all have in Kastamuni.
Bye-bye, dear Mr. Smoke.
Yours with love,Eve.
(2)Advertisement of Kuttites Klearout Kompany, Unlimited.
KASTAMUNI KUTTITES KLEAROUT KOMPANY, UNLIMITED
OBJECT, To defray the expenses of constructing, furnishing, and equipping
OBJECT, To defray the expenses of constructing, furnishing, and equipping
The "HOMEWARD BOUND" Airship.
PROPOSED CAPITAL, £2000 (Turkish).
Consisting of 1000 Fully-Paid Preference and 1000 OrdinaryShares.TERMS, Preference Fully Paid, Ordinary Five per cent, onallotment.Balance after the War.
CONDITIONS, The investment in twenty shares will carry the privilege of one seat in the "Homeward Bound," to leave Kastamuni at some date unknown.N.B.—In the event of having to jettison ballast from the airship, Preference Shareholders will not be rated as ballast until Ordinary Shareholders have been thrown overboard.ADVANTAGES, On the back of every coupon will be found a policy of insurance with the Credit Ottoman Insurance Company covering risks against (1) Recapture, (2) Collision, (3) Fire, (4) Cherif Bey, (5) Drowning, (6) Falling Overboard, (7) Landing in Enemy Country.Last date of Application for Shares, May 10th, 1917.Original Allottees: (Katronides) The Rt. Hon. Marquis-de-Quinine; (Cloulourides) Vicomte-de-Moular and five Field Officers.Bankers: Kastamuni Providential Banking Co., Ltd.Secretary: A. Fludd,47.8.9SmokeOffices.
CONDITIONS, The investment in twenty shares will carry the privilege of one seat in the "Homeward Bound," to leave Kastamuni at some date unknown.
N.B.—In the event of having to jettison ballast from the airship, Preference Shareholders will not be rated as ballast until Ordinary Shareholders have been thrown overboard.
ADVANTAGES, On the back of every coupon will be found a policy of insurance with the Credit Ottoman Insurance Company covering risks against (1) Recapture, (2) Collision, (3) Fire, (4) Cherif Bey, (5) Drowning, (6) Falling Overboard, (7) Landing in Enemy Country.
Last date of Application for Shares, May 10th, 1917.
Original Allottees: (Katronides) The Rt. Hon. Marquis-de-Quinine; (Cloulourides) Vicomte-de-Moular and five Field Officers.
Bankers: Kastamuni Providential Banking Co., Ltd.
Secretary: A. Fludd,47.8.9SmokeOffices.
KASTAMUNI KUTTITES KLEAROUT KOMPANY(AN ESCAPE ADVERTISEMENT FROM "SMOKE")
(3)SATIRE'S MY WEAPON, BUT I'M TOO DISCREET TO RUN AMOK AND TILT AT ALL I MEET
The Wings of a Dove(Leading Article)
Had I the wings of a dove, far, far would I fly—away from this dove-cot—from the Mekhteb and memories of Huznu—from the Turkish bath fond joy of earlier days, away from the chapel that has so often seen me, but now to see me no more, from the bazaar where in days of yore I visited Ekki Bachouk's, from the postas and Turkish female delights untasted—from the band—ah, band of memories—most of all from the Oblong Table—in short, from the Flesh and the Devil far, far would I fly.Ah, those wings. I feel them already upon me. Like a bird I feel also my capacity for flight. Wings that lie closely to my shoulders, white pinions the outer ribs in stiff strong rows, beside them smaller ones lighter than air, stronger than steel, folding like a fan, opening like an umbrella, locked and fast. Wings flinging arced shadows, wings with which to issue some early morn from my window, to cleave the air, to mount up, up, up above these mosques, the river, the town, until Kastamuni shall appear a wee pattern of dusky patchwork crossed by a silver thread and dotted with woolly smoke. Wings to lift me so high that even that shall disappear—and beyond the ranges will gleam the sea. Ah, the sea. How I long for thee also. Since when have I walked within range of thy tossing spray, thou sea skirting the crimson battlefields of Europe. Thee would I follow until in the last light of even I beheld once more "that isle set in a silver sea——"Oh, for the wings of a dove. Far, far would I fly. Oh, to be a dove. I, too, would stop to pluck an olive leaf, and on it would scratch with my beak,Mene, Mene, Tekel, Upharsin, and then having reached Potsdam, would I drop it at the Kaiser's feet as he strolls about the palace grounds of Sans-souci. Sans-souci, forsooth!Then would he not conquer the world any more, but wring the necks of all his eagles.And then on to other isles and scenes, whence the voices are calling——Oh, for the wings, those free white wings of a dove.
Had I the wings of a dove, far, far would I fly—away from this dove-cot—from the Mekhteb and memories of Huznu—from the Turkish bath fond joy of earlier days, away from the chapel that has so often seen me, but now to see me no more, from the bazaar where in days of yore I visited Ekki Bachouk's, from the postas and Turkish female delights untasted—from the band—ah, band of memories—most of all from the Oblong Table—in short, from the Flesh and the Devil far, far would I fly.
Ah, those wings. I feel them already upon me. Like a bird I feel also my capacity for flight. Wings that lie closely to my shoulders, white pinions the outer ribs in stiff strong rows, beside them smaller ones lighter than air, stronger than steel, folding like a fan, opening like an umbrella, locked and fast. Wings flinging arced shadows, wings with which to issue some early morn from my window, to cleave the air, to mount up, up, up above these mosques, the river, the town, until Kastamuni shall appear a wee pattern of dusky patchwork crossed by a silver thread and dotted with woolly smoke. Wings to lift me so high that even that shall disappear—and beyond the ranges will gleam the sea. Ah, the sea. How I long for thee also. Since when have I walked within range of thy tossing spray, thou sea skirting the crimson battlefields of Europe. Thee would I follow until in the last light of even I beheld once more "that isle set in a silver sea——"
Oh, for the wings of a dove. Far, far would I fly. Oh, to be a dove. I, too, would stop to pluck an olive leaf, and on it would scratch with my beak,Mene, Mene, Tekel, Upharsin, and then having reached Potsdam, would I drop it at the Kaiser's feet as he strolls about the palace grounds of Sans-souci. Sans-souci, forsooth!
Then would he not conquer the world any more, but wring the necks of all his eagles.
And then on to other isles and scenes, whence the voices are calling——
Oh, for the wings, those free white wings of a dove.
(4)A Prophecy as to the Fate of Turkey.
THE DEATH OF COCK TURKEY(With apologies to Cock Robin)
"Who killed Cock Turkey?""I," said Bull Jack,"With my usual knack—I killed Cock Turkey.""Who helped to do it?""I," said old Bruno,"With my little U know—I helped to do it.""Who saw him die?""I," said her ally,With perfectly dry eye—"I saw him die.""Who'll have his feathers?""I," said the Lion,"With my usual try-on,I'll have his feathers.""Who'll dig his grave?""I," said the vulture,An eagle plus culture—"I'll dig his grave.""Who'll grow on his grave?""I," said the Lily,She spoke quite shrilly—"I'll grow on his grave.""Who'll write his epitaph?""I," said the Armenian,With the help of the Athenian—"I'll write his epitaph.""Who's heir-apparent?""I," said Uncle Sam,"I guess that I amThe heir-apparent.""Who'll toll the knell?""I," said the Kangaroo,"With the help of the Emu,I'll toll the knell."And the Things of the Earth danced in ecstasy—When they heard of the death of the Cock Turkey—When they heard of the death of the Cock Turkey.Pacific Billow.April, 1917.
Pacific Billow.April, 1917.
(5) Breach of Promise Case.
KING'S BENCH DIVISIONMr. Justice Owes-Leigh.Soniaaliasthe Fair Girlv.Bimbashi Stew-Hot.Damages for Breach of Promise.
Counsel for plaintiff, Mr. Wm. Sykes, K.C., of Dukes. The defendant defended himself, and was assisted, where necessary, by the learned judge.
Mr. Sykes, on traversing the Statement of Claim, alleged that the plaintiff had been wrongfully deceived by certain overtures and advances on the part of the defendant in that he had, on many occasions, smiled at her, gesticulated towards her, called her "choke guzelle," winked, and even kissed his fingers at her when the postas were not looking. Moreover, written evidence of a formal declaration of affection and willingness to marry was in possession of the plaintiff. For these reasons, submitted Mr. Sykes, an offer of the contract of matrimony had been made by the defendant and accepted by the plaintiff. The defendant was unwilling to fulfil—or at least hung fire—plaintiff estimated her damages at piastres 500.
The defendant, who was evidently a humorist, was understood to demur.
Mr. Sykes then called his chief witness, the plaintiff, theFair Girl herself. Her appearance caused a great sensation in the court. There came a dream in daisy-patterned chintz, the pattering of small red-stockinged feet, and a dainty whiff of garlic streamed over the court as the fragile and closely-hooded damsel clambered into the witness-box. Then, and not till then, she threw back her veil, and the whole court beheld, or rather heard, a tone poem of superlative beauty—a song without words. Her striking looks affected the public queerly, who fell to digging one another in the ribs, and the learned judge had twice to threaten to clear the court.
She answered her counsel's questions firmly and sweetly. The defendant then put her through the following cross-examination, by the help of an interpreter.
"Sonia, do you love me?" (Violent nods.)
"How can you love me when I haven't talked to you?"
"You tried to kiss me."
"Who stopped me?"
"The postas."
"Do you want to marry everybody who kisses you?"
"Certainly not. Some kiss for fun, and some for love."
"How could I marry you when I am already married?" The learned judge here intervened to the effect that in Turkey a man might have several wives.
A question was now put by defendant to the witness with reference to other affections, but was disallowed. Plaintiff was now required to produce the written evidence, but counsel for plaintiff, springing to his feet, opposed this proceeding as violating the religious law of the plaintiff's sect. He was overruled by the learned judge, and the witness produced from her stocking a piece of crumpled paper. All eyes were turned on the defendant, and it seemed now improbable that he could win his case. However, after some delay, and much to the embarrassment of plaintiff's counsel, and to the amusement of the rest of the court, the paper was found to be an old laundry list of the defendant, which he may or may not have dropped accidentally.
At this point a startling revelation was made in Mr. Sykes' re-examination of plaintiff to the effect that witness had been twice actually kissed by the defendant, and a collar stud of his, retained in plaintiff's possession, was produced in court.The defendant, who had hitherto conducted an able defence, was considerably put out by the last fact, and applied to the learned judge for special permission further to question the plaintiff. This being given, the Bimbashi severely taxed the witness as to her means of support, and several times the learned judge had to intervene on plaintiff's behalf. The questions were satisfactorily answered, and the witness left the box.
Mr. Sykes summed up in a manner so scathing that the Bimbashi was heard to interrupt the court by saying that he wished both Mr. Sykes and he himself had never been born. Counsel was well into his final peroration, when he chanced to refer to the plaintiff's "rosy innocence," which, on being interpreted to the Fair Girl, caused her to burst out laughing. On being admonished by the learned judge, she inquired of Mr. Justice Owes-Leigh whether the picture of her counsel, Mr. Sykes, talking of innocence, was not too funny even for a Turk. This caused a counter-sentiment in favour of the Bimbashi, and closed the case for the plaintiff.
The defendant, a man of mischievous disposition, and inclined to be humorous, opened his defence by reciting Wordsworth's "We are Seven," and had got well into Mrs. Hemans' "The Graves of a Household," when the learned judge asked what this had to do with the case.
"Nothing, my lord. I am merely making an impression." Upon which the learned judge dropped on him like a chimney, and Mr. Sykes suggested the defendant had tried to make an impression on the Fair Girl.
Unabashed, the defendant proceeded with his case, which was—
(1) That he had said or done nothing to encourage the plaintiff.
(2) If he had done so he had not meant it.
(3) If he had meant to do so he had had no idea——
"You are wasting the time of this court," thundered the learned judge, and demanded the line of defence.
"I have no defence, my lord."
"Then why on earth are you fighting the case?"
"I'm not fighting anybody. I am willing to marry her on certain conditions."
The elucidation of these conditions necessitated theclearance of the court, and for some time the case was heardin camera. However, it is generally known that the learned judge himself re-examined both parties, as a result of which the Fair Girl admitted to being secretly in love with a gendarme, and flatly declined to marry the defendant. The case was dismissed without costs on either side. Counsel for plaintiff explained that the officers of Kastamuni had subscribed the amount of plaintiff's court costs. A question by the Bimbashi as to whether plaintiff's counsel had received his professional costs from the Fair Girl was disallowed by the learned judge. Counsel for plaintiff, who became greatly heated, was distinctly heard by some to say something about "a jealous counsel," but the remark evidently did not reach the ears of Mr. Justice Owes-Leigh.
The court rose, and the Fair Girl, whose nerve possibly failed at the last moment, went out on her counsel's arm.
(6) Knights of the Oblong Table.