World War, 1914-1918 -- Personal narratives, English; World War, 1914-1918 -- Prisoners and prisons, Turkish
On going a little way down the hill I saw a man whom I at first thought
to be the chaoush, but as he beckoned to me saying "Venez, venez," I saw
that this was one of the new arrivals. He wanted me to go off down the
hill with him, but after descending a little way I explained there were
other officers on the road and I must go back to them. In the meantime,
he was very voluble and excited, but I could not gather who they were or
what had brought them. On arriving back on the road I found K. and Tip;
the fighting was now over, and three of the brigands were collecting the
askars' rifles and ammunition. The guard had put up no show at all and
the nine of them were all disarmed and standing like sheep within two
minutes, thanks almost entirely to the efforts of the three now
collecting their arms, since my friend had been too far down the bank to
have done much firing himself. The question now was whether we were to
go with these fellows. K. was all for going off at once, but Tip and I
hesitated as to the position we should be in, if caught again by the
Turks before getting away. Our new friends would, of course, have been
shot as outlaws, and we should very likely have shared the same fate. We
took them aside and at length made out that they were adherents of the
old Turk party and had no use whatever for Enver and his Government.
They said they had come specially to rescue us, and had a boat ready to
put off for either Trebizond of Sevastopol in three or four days' time.
After realizing this, a process which took some time, as our knowledge
of the language was very sketchy, we decided to throw in our fortunes
with our new friends, as it seemed a heaven-sent chance of getting out
of the country and almost too good to be true. We had seen nothing of
Sweet since the firing started and now began to shout for him and search
on each side of the road. Our new friends set the old guard on to look
for him, but not a sign of him could we see and no response came to our
calls. After searching and shouting for an hour, we finally had to give
it up, and leaving the guard in the road set off with our new
acquaintances, whom we will now style the "akhardash"--or comrades--as
that was the name they always used for themselves and their supporters.
As far as we could see, Sweet must have dashed away when the first shots
rang out, thinking no doubt that this was a splendid opportunity of
getting free again. It was very hard luck for him, especially as he had
all along been one of the keenest and most energetic of the party. The
old guard watched us go without emotion; they were apparently used to
surprises of this sort. The chaoush remarked that we should now go to
our homes, and we often wondered what happened to him when he got back
to the barracks and reported.
[Illustration: MAP (REDUCED) SHOWING ROUTE OF ESCAPE]
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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