The Secrets of a Kuttite: An Authentic Story of Kut, Adventures in Captivity and Stamboul IntrigueMousley, Edward O. (Edward Opotiki)
History
The Secrets of a Kuttite: An Authentic Story of Kut, Adventures in Captivity and Stamboul Intrigue
Mousley, Edward O. (Edward Opotiki)
Al Kut (Iraq) -- History -- Siege, 1915-1916; World War, 1914-1918 -- Prisoners and prisons, Turkish
I was almost two stone underweight, and very unwell
from the long bout of colitis, my digestion quite out of gear,
weak from want of nourishment and my shell-bruise, not to
mention continual pain from my eyes. Yet with all the
exertion and sleepless nights, so fascinating was movement
after long inaction that I managed to go along quite well, and
at times felt my legs swinging rhythmically along in the night
and believed it possible to be well one day again. One donkey
I managed to get for my baggage and that of my fellow
voyager, Lieutenant Stapleton, I.A.R., who was an official "of
important dimensions" in the I.C.S., and although not much _au
fait_ with knots and donkeys, made a most excellent purchasing
officer, as his Arabic was so doubtful that the Arabs, being at a
loss to know his wants, had to produce all their possessions,
and in this way we ended up more than once in having a
goat's head when he had set out to describe the more expensive
chicken. He was keen on ologies, and we called him the
Ologist. One tried to extract humour out of our incongruous
situations, but getting tired of being humorous we ended by
examining things from the resigned angle of the fatalist.
Each day before the dawn broke we were up, and after a
breakfast of tea, black bread, a small piece of cheese and two
figs, or generally only raisins, we prepared to leave. Then the
camel pantomime started afresh, and it was no uncommon
sight to see half our convoy of camels bolting headlong in
the wrong direction before a crowd of galloping gendarmes and
Turks, their uplifted tails disappearing over a sand-ridge
against the rising sun and their kit distributed at intervals on
the plain.
On this trek we lost the sense of time. Sometimes we
marched by day, but generally in the evening and well on into
the night. But for us time was not. I knew two seasons
only: when we walked and when we did not. I did not always
sleep. We have had to rely on provisions we brought with us
and live chiefly on raisins. Sometimes one was on foot,
sometimes one rode, and a broken-down wagon or two offered
a fraction of a seat to any one that collapsed up to the number
of six. But so many from one cause or another got sick
or footsore that the extra had to hang on to the wagon.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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