The Road to En-dor

by E. H. Jones

  It amounts to this: the doctors in charge at Gumush Suyu took advantage of Hill’s sickness to try to break his spirit by maltreatment of what they knew was a genuine disease (dysentery) and by putting his life in danger. No British doctor – no doctor of any nationality worthy of the name of doctor – however much he suspected a man, would do such a thing. I believe a genuine melancholic would have died under their hands. Hill’s life was saved by the fact that he was not a melancholic and by the care taken of him by Captain T.W. White, a prisoner-patient in the ward. Hill confided in White, who smuggled medicine and milk to him, and helped him in many ways. It was not till after the worst of the dysentery had been mastered by these means that the Turks began to treat him for it. But even with White’s help, Hill only just got through alive. On reaching Psamatia after his terrible journey he nearly collapsed, but he set his teeth and carried on. He deceived not only the Turkish and the British doctor80 there (both of whom were intensely indignant at the treatment to which he had been subjected) but also the medical representatives of the Dutch Embassy at Constantinople,81 and was sent back to Gumush Suyu and thence a few days later to Haidar Pasha for ‘proper treatment by mental specialists’ and ‘to await the exchange boat’. For all their cruelty the Gumush Suyu doctors were fairly outwitted, and in sending Hill back for ‘proper treatment’ by mental specialists they admitted not only defeat but their own black ignorance.

  Hill and I blame no doctor for suspecting us of malingering. Every one of them had a perfect right to his own opinion. We expected to be ‘put through it’ and we bear no grudge against any of the doctors – and there were plenty of them who tried their legitimate tricks on us. Thus, when Hill was ‘fasting’, a thing he often did for days at a time, Mazhar Osman Bey instructed the attendants to leave his meals standing on the table by his bedside, and also drugged him to excite his appetite. What such temptation means to a starving man (even without the drugging) only those who have themselves starved can guess; but it was a fair, a perfectly fair and honourable trick. Or again, when Talha Bey offered to provide me with ‘an anti-toxin against the poison in my parcels’ and gave me a couple of ounces of ink to drink, I downed it with a smile and said ‘I liked it, for it tasted powerful’ – didn’t I, Talha? (And I overheard Talha tell a friend about the ‘experiment’ afterwards, and express his sorrow for doing it, like the good-hearted fellow he was.) These, and many things like them, were legitimate tests enough, and all ‘in the game.’ But to withhold medicine from a man in Hill’s state, to give him wrong diet, to turn him out of hospital on that wicked journey and to put his life in danger, as those disgraces to their profession undoubtedly did at Gumush Suyu – that was unfair and unpardonable. Hill is twelve stone again today. He is not a vindictive man, but I think it might be advisable for the Gumush Suyu doctors who ‘treated’ him to keep out of his reach.

  Had we known that our acting was to be kept up not for six weeks but for six months, I think we would have lain down and died. The delay was not due to any mistake on our part, but to a series of postponements of the arrival of the exchange ship, due, I believe, to Lord Newton’s inability to obtain from the Germans a satisfactory ‘safe conduct’ for the voyage. No doubt the British authorities were right to hold back until the safety of the ship was assured, but there was not a prisoner of war in Turkey, sound or sick, who would not have voted cheerfully for running the gauntlet of the whole German Fleet.

  To Hill and myself the wait seemed interminable. Each postponement was just short enough to encourage us to ‘carry on’, and somehow or another carry on we did. Indeed we had no choice. We dared not confess we were malingering, because it would have thrown added suspicion on any genuine cases of madness which might crop up amongst our fellow prisoners, and the one point in which O’Farrell had neglected to instruct us was how to ‘get better’ without rousing suspicion. But even had we known how to ‘recover’ I think we would still have kept it up, for Freedom was our lodestar.

  It would be easy to fill another volume with the things we saw and did and suffered during those six months in the mad wards at Haidar Pasha. My own task was hard enough. I had to be ready to ‘rave’ at a moment’s notice whenever anyone cared to bring up one of my half-dozen fixed delusions; I had to suspect poison in my food; get up at all times of the night to write the History of my Persecution by the English and my Scheme for the Abolition of England; form violent hatreds (Jacques, the unhappy Jew chemist at Haidar Pasha, used to flee from me in terror of his life), and equally violent friendships; be grandiose; sleep in any odd corner rather than in my bed; run away at intervals; be ‘sleepless’ for a week at a time; invent mad plans and do mad things without end. I refused to answer to my own name and became either ‘Hassan oghlou Ahmed’ (Hassan’s lad Ahmed) or ‘Ahmed Hamdi Pasha’, as the whim seized me. I wore a most disreputable fez, boasted of being a Turk, cursed the English, and ran away in terror from every Englishman who happened along. All the time I talked nothing but Turkish and to all appearance lived for nothing but to become a Turkish officer. The biggest criminal in Eastern Europe – Enver Pasha – was my ‘hero’, and I fixed a photograph of him above my bed.82 And every minute of the day or night I had to be ready for a trap, and have an answer pat on my tongue for any question that might be asked. Yes! I had a hard task and a wearing one.

  But hard as my task was it was nothing – it was recreation – compared to what Hill had to do. For all those terrible six months my companion in misery sat huddled up on his bed, motionless for hours at a time, crying if he was spoken to, starving (‘fasting’ he called it) for long periods, reading his Bible or his Prayer Book until his eyes gave out (as they used to do very badly towards the end), then burying his head on his knees, presenting to all comers a face of utter misery and desolation, and speaking not at all except to pray. By the end he had read through the Bible seven times, and could (and did) recite every prayer in the Prayer Book by heart. To him one day was exactly like another. The monotony of it was dreadful and his self-denial in the matter of food was extraordinary. Partly from this self-imposed starvation and partly from dysentery, ‘flu’ and maltreatment in Gumush Suyu hospital, he lost over five stone in weight. His emaciation was terrible to look upon, for he became a living skeleton; yet still he kept up his acting and his courage. It was the most wonderful exhibition of endurance, of the mastery of the mind over the body, I have ever seen. Many a time I have returned of an evening to the ward, worn out by the unending strain of my own heartbreaking foolery, and ready to throw up the sponge. Always I found Hill resolutely sitting in that same forlorn, woe-begone attitude in which I had left him hours before, and always the sight of him there renewed my waning courage and steadied me to face at least ‘one more day of it’.

  But our doings and sufferings as madmen, and the adventures, grave and gay, through which we passed when, under the cloak of insanity, we collected information of military and political interest in the hope that we would reach England before the end of the war – these things, and what we learned of the Turks and the Turkish character, are another story. I must return to the Spook and what happened at Yozgad after our departure.

  Chapter XXX

  In Which We Are Repatriated As Lunatics

  As has already been told, the War Office promised Moïse his commission as soon as we reached Constantinople. He asked for, and obtained, a month’s leave in order to return to Yozgad, nominally to collect his kit and settle his affairs there, really to find the treasure. He said goodbye to us about the middle of May. I did not see him again until July.

  Hill was then doing his month’s ‘penal servitude’ at Gumush Suyu, and I was alone at Haidar Pasha. Moïse took me out into the garden, where I was allowed to go with a responsible escort. The Spook had long since warned him never to talk to me about private matters in the presence of others.

  ‘Oh, Jones,’ he said as soon as we were alone, ‘I am distressed to see you like this. Why, I wonder, is the Spook still keeping you un
der control?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said.

  ‘Where is Hill?’

  ‘He’s dead,’ I said. (A visiting doctor had told me this lie, to see how I would take it, I suppose. I replied, ‘It was a good job, because Hill was always bothering me to pray with him,’ so he got ‘no change.’ But as Hill had been very ill when last I saw him I was not sure whether to believe the story or not, and spent several days in secret misery before discovering the truth.)

  Poor little Moïse wept.

  ‘Oh!’ he cried. ‘Everything is going wrong! The third clue is lost! Price found it – he dug it up in the garden as the Spook said – and he kept the gold lira (he showed it to me) but alas he dropped the paper of instructions somewhere.’

  ‘So he found it all right?’ I asked.

  ‘Oh yes. He found it. In a tin, just like the other clues. He told me it was written in characters that looked like Russian. But he lost it again. I spent days and days looking for it. I spent two days in the carpenter’s shop at Posh Castle, searching through the shavings and rubbish. Price helped me. Then the Cook and I looked through all the dustbins, and went carefully over the rubbish dump under the bridge. But it was gone! Gone! And now Hill is dead!’

  I began to twist my button.

  ‘Sir?’ said Moïse.

  ‘Hill is not dead,’ said the Spook. ‘Jones thinks he is because the doctor said so, but Hill is alive, in Gumush Suyu hospital.’

  ‘Oh, thank you, Sir!’ said Moïse. ‘And may we still find the treasure? Is the promise for the future still secure?’

  ‘Everything’s all right,’ said the Spook, ‘and all is my doing. I am punishing the Commandant – that is why I made Price lose the paper.’

  ‘What are you punishing him for, Sir?’ asked Moïse.

  ‘For greed and disobedience.’

  ‘I know!’ the Pimple cried. ‘I thought it might be that as soon as I heard he had disobeyed instructions. I suppose you are referring to his digging?’

  ‘Yes,’ said the Spook. ‘Tell Jones about it, I’m busy.’

  I let go of the button and the Pimple told me of the communication which had just been received.

  ‘You know,’ he said, ‘as soon as the Commandant got my letter telling him the position of the third clue, he decided to dig for it without waiting for me. The letter said he was to wait for me, by the Spook’s orders, but he sent the Cook to dig at once. The Cook pretended to the prisoners in Posh Castle that he was making a drain, and he dug very hard, but he found nothing.’

  (I could imagine the delight with which Doc., Price, and Matthews had watched the Cook dig!)

  ‘Has anything else happened at Yozgad?’ I asked. I was wondering if the Kastamouni Incorrigibles had escaped yet.

  ‘The Commandant is being very kind to the camp,’ Moïse said. ‘And they are enjoying much hunting and freedom. Miller sends his love to you. O’Farrell is very angry because you are in a madhouse, and says you have nothing but neurasthenia, if that. The Dutch Embassy wrote to Maule asking for the cause of your illnesses, and a short history of them, and Maule has replied to them. Would you like to know what he said?’

  ‘Very much,’ I said.

  Here is the letter – the italics are my own, and I have added some footnotes.

  To HIS EXCELLENCY, THE NETHERLANDS AMBASSADOR,

  YOZGAD, 31.5.18.

  SIR,

  With reference to your No. 2396 S.P.; dated 15th May, 1918, I have the honour to report that Lt. Hill and Lt. Jones were placed in arrest by the Commandant on March 7th, 1918, for a breach of the regulations.83 They were confined in a two-storeyed house formerly occupied by Colonel Chitty’s mess and now Lt.-Col. Moore’s mess. They had the run of the house but were not allowed to leave it, except to go for a walk if they wished to,84 but I believe they only once took advantage of this. They were allowed to take up all their belongings but were allowed no orderly. Up to March 17th85 their meals were sent over from the School House86 opposite, but after that date they cooked for themselves. After March 26th87 when they were allowed to see him, they were visited every day by Captain O’Farrell, R.A.M.C. They were also seen by the Chaplain on four occasions. They made no complaint as to their treatment. I saw Lt. Hill and Lt. Jones on the morning of March 7th88 and enquired into the case, and as in my opinion the Commandant was perfectly justified in his action89 I took no steps in the matter.90 They both then appeared to be perfectly sane. For the last year both these officers have been going in strongly for mental telepathy, and I believe after being placed in arrest they continued to do so.

  On April 5th91 the Commandant sent to inform me they were released, but as far as I know they never left the house though free to do so. Those officers who went to see them came away with the impression that they would rather not be visited, and on April 24th92 I found a notice93 to this effect pinned to their front door, presumably placed there by them. The general impression of the camp was that they felt aggrieved at not being looked upon as martyrs.94

  On April 26th Lt. Hill and Lt. Jones left for Constantinople and on April 27th the Commandant sent to inform me 95 that having come to the conclusion that they had been mentally affected by their confinement for two years as Prisoners of War he had reported the case to Constantinople and had received orders to send them there.

  ‘(Signed) N. S. MAULE,

  ‘Lt.-Col.’

  ‘How did you come to see the letter?’ I asked.

  ‘Col. Maule showed it to the Commandant,’ said the Pimple, ‘and the Commandant desires to thank the Spook for controlling Maule into writing in these terms, and for supporting his action in imprisoning the mediums. Kiazim and Maule are now on a more friendly footing.’

  ‘Splendid!’ I said. ‘Now tell me about yourself.’

  ‘I obey the Spook,’ said the Pimple. ‘I am living very austerely. I do not even go to the theatre or the cinema. All my leave I have been studying languages as ordered by the Control. I am studying German, Spanish, and Arabic. I know already French and Turkish, also Hebrew and some English. Do you think that is enough?’

  I don’t know,’ I said doubtfully. ‘The Incas of Peru were great magicians and some of the indigenous American languages might help. I could teach you some Choctaw later on – there’s a lot of Choctaw incantations you should learn some day.’

  ‘What’s Choctaw like?’ Moïse asked.

  ‘Hwch goch a chwech o berchill cochion bychain bach,’ I said. (Which is ‘Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled pepper,’ in Welsh.)96

  ‘Mon Dieu!’ said Moïse. ‘But tell me, how can I study the Art of Government?’

  ‘Read Aristotle’s Politics and Plato’s Republic,’ I said.

  Then I began twisting my button.

  ‘Sir?’ said Moïse.

  ‘Good advice,’ said the Spook. ‘But don’t forget Punch – add Punch to the list.’

  I let go the button again.

  ‘The Spook was talking,’ Moïse explained. ‘He said to read Punch. But surely that is what you call a “comic paper”?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ I sighed wearily. ‘I know all our British Statesmen read it. It seems to be part of their work.’

  ‘I see,’ said the Pimple. ‘Now, when do you think we can try the Four Point Receiver?’

  ‘If Hill were only alive –’ I began.

  ‘But he is! The Spook told me he is in the Gumush Suyu hospital. The doctor told you a lie.’

  ‘Good!’ I cried. ‘We’ll try it when Hill comes back.’ But when some three weeks later the Gumush Suyu doctors tired of their experimenting and Hill did come back, he was too weak to walk a hundred yards.

  Moïse had an uncle who was a patient – a malingering one – in the eye ward of Haidar Pasha; he was trying to get his discharge. The Pimple used to come and see him every visiting day (Friday). By this time I had acquired the run of the hospital. It was a simple matter to meet Moïse ‘accidentally’ in the corridor and to get him to take me into the garden. On one of
these occasions the Spook said:

  ‘I am going to punish the Commandant still more.’

  ‘What for, Sir?’ the Pimple asked.

  ‘For digging without orders and trying to find the treasure before you got back so as to cheat you of your share.’

  ‘The devil!’ said the Pimple. ‘I never before realized that that was his object.’

  ‘Of course it was,’ said the Spook.

  ‘Punish him, Sir!’ Moïse cried. ‘Punish him hard, the dirty pig! Here am I, suffering at the military school, while he rolls in luxury at Yozgad! Oh, Sir, punish him!’

  ‘I will,’ said the Spook.

  About the middle of August Moïse came again. He was much excited, for he had just been to the War Office, and learned some news through a friend there.

  ‘There has been a big escape from Yozgad,’ he told me; ‘twenty-six officers have run away. Only a few have been caught so far.’

  The Kastamouni Incorrigibles! – I thought to myself. I could have shouted with joy.

  ‘I’ve seen the telegrams,’ Moïse went on, ‘and neither Kiazim nor the War Office can make out how they got away. But I know. The Spook did it! This must be the Spook’s attempt to get Kiazim punished, but I fear it cannot succeed.’

  ‘Why not?’ I asked.

  ‘Because the Commandant has much influence at Headquarters, and it will all be hushed up.’

  The Pimple did not come back again until well on in September – he could not get away from his training school. In the interval Hill came back from Gumush Suyu and we carried on as usual.

  Suddenly, for no reason at all as far as we could see, the whole atmosphere of the hospital seemed to change towards us. Turkish officers among the patients, who had always been friendly, suddenly began to cold-shoulder me. The attendants seemed to be watching us with added care. I was forbidden to go into the garden at all, whether with or without an attendant, and as I had not been detected in an escape97 for some time previously I could not understand it. A Turkish patient in a ward upstairs hung about me for three or four days, pretending to be very friendly towards me, but obviously putting me through my paces. He said he was an Armenian, and informed me I ‘was very clever but would have to be careful’. I replied, like a good G.P., that I ‘was the cleverest man in the world’. That evening, by sheer good luck, I saw this man leaving the hospital for a stroll. He was dressed in the uniform of a Turkish doctor! Next day he was back in hospital, dressed as a patient. ‘Keep it up,’ he said to me, ‘always keep it up.’ (He should have followed his own advice, I thought to myself, and not gone for that stroll.) ‘I want to see you get away and I think you’ll do it. Flatter them – bribe them, if you have the money.’