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
D'Arici's wife had been stranded in Panderma, where all
her goods were searched. I managed to get through to her
some letters from d'Arici, and to effect her transfer to Stamboul.
Moreover, d'Arici, sport that he was, had still with
him some valuable plans of mines, and much secret information
about politics with reference to Bulgaria. These he wanted
to get rid of to his wife, and not to destroy. Having satisfied
myself with his outline of defence in case things went wrong,
I hunted and found his wife, after many adventures, in the
heart of Pera. The guard followed, believing her the proprietress
of a therapeutic bath. We had arranged a rendezvous
in the waiting-room. I had to bring the packet back, as no
chance offered for giving it, and it was, of course, certain
death for her and for him, if not for me, to have been in possession
of such interesting documents. I felt my weight of
responsibility, but resolved to try again. The second time
she was dressed quite differently. I found her flat, and racing
up the stairs ahead of the posta, burst in and gave her the
packet. She pushed this down her blouse, and the next
second the posta very angrily forced the door open. While he
was suspiciously looking around I bolted off again, and, of
course, he had to follow me. My excuse that I was hungry
was fairly feeble. Anyway he was appeased with a good meal,
and I intended not to have him again if I could help. D'Arici
was delighted, and I, on the other hand, now relied on getting
away politically without escaping. The next day I got a
private message from Ismid Bey, a tall, smart, and very
modernized Turk doing A.D.C. to Djemal Pasha. He was
very occupied with keeping up the importance of his chief,
whose influence on the Triumvirate wavered at times. He
had just returned from a voyage on the Black Sea, and in his
cute Turkish way was most interesting as well as eager for
news. He was half French. On entering he barked at my
posta, who, startled and terrified beyond words at my claiming
acquaintance with so august a person, literally cowed down,
and waited outside.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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