Part 16 (1/2)
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, s.h.i.+fty-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 relations.h.i.+p 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 relations.h.i.+p. 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 s.h.i.+p 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.