Four-Fifty Miles to FreedomJohnston, Maurice Andrew Brackenreed
History
Four-Fifty Miles to Freedom
Johnston, Maurice Andrew Brackenreed
Prisoner-of-war escapes; World War, 1914-1918 -- Prisoners and prisons, Turkish
At this stage we seriously thought of dropping one of our packs, in the
hope that the Turks might delay their pursuit to look at their loot,
but the suggestion was not entertained for more than a moment. So we
carried on, doubling for a hundred yards in every three. With these
loads it was impossible to keep running continuously.
The shots were now beginning to follow one another at longer intervals.
Looking back, we found to our joy that we were actually outdistancing
our pursuers. This seemed almost too good to be true. We began to look
round anxiously in case they might perhaps have something else in
store. One armed man sent round on a pony or donkey would be enough to
cut us off; we accordingly kept a sharp look-out to right and left.
No one, however, appeared, and after a precipitate flight of over two
miles, and the creation, if there had been some one to time us, of a
world's record for speed under novel conditions, we found that our
pursuers had abandoned the chase. Probably those imaginary revolvers of
ours had still kept them in check, for we noticed that they followed
us over each little rise with considerable circumspection, as though
fearing we might be lying up for them.
We had come through with the loss of the water in the chargals and of
Ellis's water-bottle. The later had jumped out of its sling at the
hottest stage of the pursuit, and had to be left where it fell. May its
new owner find it always as empty as it seemed to be with us!
It was now about 12.20 P.M. and the heat at its worst. It
was no time, however, to rest or even to slacken our pace more than
we could help: and we did in fact carry on at well over four miles an
hour until 2.30 P.M. Then seeing no further signs that we were
followed we allowed ourselves a short halt.
By this time our throats were parched with thirst and our clothes
saturated with perspiration; but worst discomfort of all was the
pain of our feet. The violent running and marching, the fiery heat
of the sun above, and the radiation from the glowing earth beneath,
had combined to reduce them to bits of red-hot flesh, and we longed
for water to cool them. But everywhere stretched the desert, dusty
and bare, bordered by naked barren hills. To avoid approaching those
immediately S. of us, we had latterly altered our course rather to
the S.E.; for we were developing an unholy and not unnatural dread of
brigands, and imagined that every hill was infested with them.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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