World War, 1914-1918 -- Prisoners and prisons, Turkish
The Commandant, in his wriggles to avoid
punishment, did a most dastardly thing, a typically Turkish thing: for
he reported officially that the officers who had escaped had been on
parole and had broken it. This was a downright lie. One of the fugitives
had been senior British officer in the camp, and the Commandant had
asked him to give a parole for the whole lot of us; but he had
immediately and unhesitatingly refused to do anything of the kind. This
lie was calculated to put the prisoners who had escaped in a very
perilous position if recaptured, and I have no doubt at all that it
affected the treatment meted out to the rest of us.
When we had hastily packed up we were mustered in a street in the
desolate Armenian quarter. Not only the British, but all the other
nationalities too, including a large number of Russian merchant sailor
men whom we had never seen before. Here we were carefully counted, and
were then marched away in the direction of the Kara-Hissar, the wise
among us carrying everything we could. It is folly to be separated from
one’s baggage in Turkey.
Right under the Kara-Hissar, so close that a stone thrown strongly out
from above might crash through its roof, was an Armenian church. A
fairly large building of grey stone with iron-barred windows and an
iron door. Outside the door was a very small courtyard paved with rough
slabs of stone, and along one side of the church ran a stone-flagged
pathway, flanked by a narrow strip of ground on which grew two pear
trees and an acacia. Opposite to the church, on the other side of the
tiny courtyard, was a tall white building which had been an Armenian
school. This church was selected as our prison. It was the only place in
the town which could have held us, except the Medrisseh.
As we approached the church, up a steep street and a flight of steps, we
passed a number of unfortunate Armenian women and children who had been
turned out to make room for us. They sat by the road with their little
bundles, looking very miserable indeed, and I am sure we did not want to
rob them of their refuge.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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