It has always been supposed that France supplied most of these munitions. But the Turks paid _us_ £5,000 sterling (at the present rate of exchange) for a load of their own munitions that we had “picked up,” and they bought arms from the English officers in Constantinople. Further supplies, of course, were obtained from Frenchmen, Italians, Russians, and, incredible as it may seem, from the Greeks themselves. Turkey bought arms wherever she could, and set herself the grim task of readjustment. * * * * * Meanwhile, the Governor had been telegraphing for us in all directions all day, for news of a train to take us on our way. All the services, of course, were disorganised, and the line cut—a message from Smyrna to Kassaba might take twelve days! We would not worry, or hope! At about 9.30, we hear of another luggage train! It is not a long journey from Ouchak to Afioun-Karahissar. We are now well supplied with food and candles, a dilapidated deck-chair has been dug out for me, and the cheik’s brilliant conversation will “make history” of the night. I had managed to have a few words with our host’s wife before we left the house. Her husband translating, she thanked me again and again for my visit, and then, asking me to excuse her going to see an ailing brother, she sailed away with her little babe in her arms. As she turned smiling on us from the big gateway, I could not resist blowing a kiss to the child-like and pathetic figure she made—for all the world like a schoolgirl and her doll! Towards evening, as we were preparing to leave our host, I caught sight of a few tears rolling down his cheeks. Like an Englishman, he quickly brushed them aside, and turned to me with a smile. What had I said, or done? We had been skating on thin ice all the time. I would never deliberately hurt anyone’s feelings, but I cannot resist a joke, and, in a foreign language, there is danger of misunderstanding. I found a chance of asking the cheik to tell me frankly if I had unwittingly given any offence, for which I would be only too eager to tender my sincere regret and apology. But he explained: Our host’s brother-in-law had died during the night, and, not wishing to disturb our entertainment, his wife had bravely set out alone to attend the funeral. So even the most intimate domestic sorrow was not permitted to interrupt our enjoyment; the intrusion, as it _must_ be felt, of an unknown woman from an enemy land! I have never met, even in Turkey, such a fine spirit of hospitality. _My_ tears could not be kept back. Here was a mere lad heaping coals of fire on my head. Again and again the words sternly echoed in my brain: “These things should never have been.” ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER XII A LUGGAGE TRAIN—THE WORST STAGE OF MY WHOLE JOURNEY