Four-Fifty Miles to Freedom — Chapter 13, Part 2 - On the Coast

From now onwards, for the rest of our stay on the coast, we settled down to a new kind of existence--in fact we may be said to have _existed_, and nothing more.

Life became a dreary grind, both literally and metaphorically.

For the next few days, at any rate, we thought of nothing else but how to prepare and eat as much food as we could.

This was not greed: it was the only thing to do.

None of us wanted to lie a day longer than absolutely necessary in that awful ravine, but we were at present simply too weak to help ourselves.

To carry out a search for another boat was beyond the powers of any one.

Cochrane rigged up the coffee-grinder on the same afternoon as it had arrived--lashing the little brass cylinder to the branch of a tree at a convenient height for a man to turn the handle.

A rusty saw, cutting like all Oriental saws on the pull-stroke, had been discovered in the village and brought down by the last party, and this proved useful now and on subsequent occasions.

Whilst one of the party worked at the mill, and another supervised the cooking of the next dixieful of porridge, the rest were busy picking over the grain in the hopes of removing at any rate some small proportion of the empty husks and the bits of earth with which it was mixed.

Even so it was impossible to clean the dirt off the grains themselves.

Nothing, we thought, could be more wearisome than this never-ending task.

Our misery was aggravated by the swarms of flies which incessantly harassed us as we worked.

What right they had to be alive at all on such a deserted coast was never discovered.

He whose turn it was to cook found in the smoke from the fire a temporary respite from their attentions; but they took care to make up for lost time afterwards.

When the water was nearly boiled away, bits of porridge were wont to leap out of the pot and light on the cook's hands.

The ensuing blister did not last long, for within twenty-four hours the flies had eaten it all away.

We had no bandages left, and pieces of paper which we used to wet and stick on the blisters fell off as soon as they were dry.

It was not many days before Old Man's and Johnny's hands became covered with septic sores.

Unfortunately, too, most of us were out of 'baccy, as a means of keeping these pests away.

Some took to smoking cigarettes made from the dried leaves which littered the stony bed of our unhappy home.

Even the non-smoker of the party had to give way to the pernicious habit once, out of pure self-defence.

Nor at night was it easy to obtain peace.

The flies had no sooner gone to their well-earned rest than the mosquitoes took up the call with their high-pitched trumpet notes.

But of course it was not the noise which mattered, but their bites; and in the end most of us used to sleep with a handkerchief or piece of cloth over our faces, and a pair of socks over our hands.

Ravine life was most relaxing--partly owing to the stuffiness of the air in so deep and narrow a cleft, overgrown as it was with trees and scrub; but perhaps still more to reaction, after more than three weeks of strenuous marching.

So long as we had had the encouragement of being able to push on each day, and feel that we were getting nearer home, we had no time to think of bodily exhaustion: the excitement, mild though it was, kept us going.

Now, unable to do anything towards making good our escape, it required a big effort to drag oneself to one's feet for the purpose of fetching a mugful of porridge.

It required a still bigger one to go up in pairs to fetch water from the well, although it was essential for every one to do this at least once a day, merely to keep the pot a-boiling.

This, too, was the only way of obtaining a deep drink; except for half a mug of tea made from several-times stewed leaves, all the water brought down to the nullah each day was utilised for cooking the wheat.

Fortunately, to take us to the well there was the further inducement of a wash for both bodies and clothes.

The latter by this time were in a very dirty and also worn-out condition;

but thanks doubtless to our having spent no appreciable time inside villages actually occupied by Turks, they were not verminous.

On account of the washing, visits to the well were apt at times to develop into lengthy affairs--anything up to five or six hours, which did not help towards getting through the daily tasks necessary to keep ourselves fed.

Not only did this involve having reliefs at the mill for eight out of every twenty-four hours, but much work was necessary to keep up the supply of cleaned wheat to feed the machine.

Necessity, however, is the mother of invention, and from the 5th September, acting on a suggestion made by Looney, we used to take the next day's wheat up to the well and wash it there in a couple of changes of water.

There was a convenient stone trough on the spot.

The chaff floated to the surface, while the earth, whether in loose particles or clinging to the grains themselves, was dissolved.

After washing, the wheat was spread out in the sun on squares of cloth brought down from the village, and when dry was fetched back to the ravine by the next water-party.

Like most schemes, this one had its weak points.

It was very extravagant in water, and in a few days our well began to show distinct signs of being drained to emptiness; in fact, only a puddle could have existed to begin with, though a larger one than that in the well near the tower.

The second disadvantage was that the grain, while left out to dry, might be discovered and give away our presence; but, in any case, one pair or another of the party was so often up at the well that the risk was not greatly increased; besides, there was not much to induce a Turk from the camp below to visit the ruins.

In the end we were seen, the first occasion being on the 6th September.

That evening, Cochrane, Old Man, and Looney were up at the well, when an old fellow with a dyed beard--a Turk, as far as they could say--suddenly appeared, and eyed their water-bottles very thirstily.

He accepted with readiness the drink they offered to him, but appeared to be nothing of a conversationalist.

He was indeed almost suspiciously indifferent who the three might be.

There was a mystery about that man which we never entirely solved.

From then onwards, almost to the end of our stay on the coast, not a day passed without his seeing one or other of the party.

To explain _our_ presence at the well, the water-parties pretended they were German observation posts sent up to watch the sea, over which, as a matter of fact, one could obtain a very fine view from that place.

We usually carried up the field-glasses to have a look round, and these perhaps helped out our story.

To live up further to our Hun disguise, we once told the man that really the place was "yessak."

This is the Turkish equivalent to "verboten," and, to judge from our experiences in the camps, is about as frequently used.

On another occasion it was sunset when some of us saw him.

After his usual drink he washed his hands and face and said his prayers Mohammedan-wise.

After his prayers he said he had seen two boats go past coming from the east and disappearing to the west.

Little remarks like this made us think at one time that he might possibly be a British agent, landed to get information, or possibly for the express purpose of helping escaped officers like ourselves: for there had been plenty of time for the news of our escape from Yozgad to reach the Intelligence Department in Cyprus.

One day Grunt and Nobby deliberately went up to try to get into conversation with the mysterious individual.

In the end they came to the conclusion that he must be some kind of outlaw.

He told them that a friend and he had come from a place far inland to sell something or other to a coastal village, and he himself was now awaiting the other's return.

They were going to take back with them a load of carobs, of which he already had been making collections under various trees.

The beans seemed to be his only food, and he was obviously half-starving.

This, combined with the fact that he relied on us to draw up water for him when there must be good water near the Turkish tents below, showed that he was in hiding for some cause or other.

This was as well for us, as, if he had thought at all, he could not for a moment have been deceived by our story.

Even if we were on watch, we should hardly trouble to bring up not only our own, but a lot of other men's water-bottles to fill with muddy water at a disused well.

Whatever the explanation, the great thing was that he did not interfere with us.

Two evenings before our final departure from the ravine, he told us that his donkeys would be coming back next morning, and that was the last time that he was seen.

A few extracts from diaries may serve to convey some idea of our feelings during these earlier days in the ravine:-- "_2nd Sept.

_--Struggled up to well at 8 A. M.

Had wash in mugful of water: temporarily refreshing, but exhausted for rest of day, and feeling weaker than ever before in spite of five brews of boulgar" (each brew was at this time about the half of a pint mug all round) "and one small chupattie each, made by Nobby.

Flour for last made with much hard grinding after mill had been readjusted.

Readjustment alone took two hours to do....

Flies awful all day...."

"_3rd Sept.

_--Locust beans quite good toasted over ashes, and make sweet syrup if first cut up and then boiled, but this entails a lot of work.

Every one cleaning and grinding wheat all day.

As now set, grinder produces mixture of coarse flour and boulgar.

Tried unsuccessfully to simmer this into a paste and then bake into thick chupatties."

(All our efforts at this stage were directed towards producing something digestible with the minimum of work.

) "Day passed very slowly, with occasional trips for water."

"_4th Sept.

_--Most of us rather doubtful whether we shall be able to get back our strength on a boulgar diet, and flour takes more grinding than we have strength for at present--rather a vicious circle."

Another diary for the same date says--"Feeling weaker now than I did when we first arrived; no energy for anything."

Next day the tide seems to have been on the turn.

"_5th Sept.

_--Most of us slightly stronger, but held back by chronic lethargy.

Continuous brewing all day.

To save interruptions at the grinder we now feed in two parties of four, taking alternate brews: this means we get nearly a big mugful at a whack, at intervals of about three hours....

Most of us fill in gaps eating burnt beans.

Charcoal said to be good for digestion!...

One thing is, our feet are rested here, and blisters healed.

We are also undoubtedly putting on flesh again, and if we can get rid of this hopeless slackness shall be all right....

Grunt, working from 1 P. M.

onwards, made 1 large and 4 small chupatties each, so we are coming on."

It was something to feel full again sometimes.

"_6th Sept.

_--My energy as well as my strength returning a bit now....

Mill hard at it all day....

4½ mugfuls boulgar (1 pint each) and 6 chupatties (4½ inches diameter and fairly thick) the day's ration."

CHAPTER XIV.