Four-Fifty Miles to Freedom — Chapter 2, Part 2 - First Plans for Escape

By 6 A. M.

on each morning of the first fifteen days of May every one was to be dressed, but those who had no specific job to do were to get back into bed again in case suspicion should be caused in the mind of any one who happened to come round.

The aeroplanes, if they came, would arrive from the south.

Two look-out parties of three, therefore, were to be at their posts by 6 A. M.

, one in the officers' mess in the S. E.

, and the other in the Padre's room next to the chapel in the S. W.

corner of the barracks.

The staircases at these two corners of the square were to be watched by two officers told off for the purpose, one in each half of the north wing.

When the look-outs in the south wing had either distinctly heard or seen an aeroplane, they were to come to their staircase and start walking down it into the square.

Our look-outs in the north wing would warn the others in their rooms to get ready, and the officer who had the honour of doing verger to the Padre, and who used to ring a handbell before services, would run down the north-eastern staircase and walk diagonally across the square towards the chapel, ringing the bell for exactly thirty seconds.

The stopping of the bell was to be the signal for simultaneous action.

The sentry on the landing could be easily disposed of by three officers; most of the rest were to run down certain staircases, cross the archway, dash into the barrack room and get hold of all the rifles, a small party at the same moment tackling the sentry at the main entrance.

On seeing the rush through the archway the look-out parties from the south wing would overpower the sentry in the square.

The arms belonging to the three sentries and one other rifle were to be immediately taken to the corners of the barracks and the outside sentries covered.

The orderlies, under an officer, would meanwhile form up in the square as a reserve.

Surprise was to be our greatest ally, and we hoped that, within a minute of the bell stopping, the barracks would be in our hands.

Having herded our Turkish guard into a big cellar and locked them in, we would then signal to the aeroplanes that the barracks were in our possession by laying out sheets in the square; while small picquets, armed with Turkish rifles and ammunition, would see to it that the aeroplanes on landing would be unmolested from the village.

We are still convinced that the plan would have succeeded.

Even those in the know, however, put little faith in the probability of the aeroplane scheme being carried out, realising that the machines necessary for such an enterprise were not likely to be available from the main battle-fronts.

Preparations, therefore, continued for working out our own salvation, as though this plan for outside help had not entered our heads.

With the first signs of spring the tunnel scheme began to take concrete form.

As already mentioned in the description of the barracks, the ground to the west rose gently up to the Angora road.

In this slope was a shallow, cup-like depression at a distance of forty yards from the building.

If only a convenient point for starting a tunnel could be found in the nearest wall, the cup would form an ideal spot for breaking through to the surface.

A night reconnaissance was made in the downstairs room on the western side of the barracks.

As a result of this there seemed a likelihood that under the whole of the platform in this room we should find a hollow space varying from one to three feet in depth.

If the surmise were correct and a tunnel could be run out from here, there would be no difficulty in getting rid of all the excavated earth into this hollow space.

Unfortunately the lower room, though not in use, was kept locked.

It was discovered, however, that the walls of the barracks consisted of an outer and inner casing, each a foot thick, and built of large sun-dried bricks, the space between being filled up with a mixture of rubble, mortar, and earth, and a few larger stones.

This was in the bottom storey.

Above that the construction of the wall changed to two thicknesses of lath and plaster attached to either side of a timber framing, and the thickness of the wall diminished to only nine inches.

The total width of the wall below was five feet; therefore the lockers in the upper room were immediately above the rubble core of the heavier wall.

It would thus be possible to get down through the lockers and sink a shaft through the rubble to a trifle below the level of the ground, and from there to break through the inner casing and come into the empty space below the ground-floor.

Work was commenced in the middle of February 1918. For the next few weeks an officer was usually to be seen lolling about at either end of the first-floor rooms, and, on the approach of an interpreter or other intruder, would stroll leisurely down the passage, whistling the latest ragtime melody.

Within the room all would now be silent; but when the coast was again clear there could perhaps be seen in the barrack room a pair of weird figures, strangely garbed and white with dust.

Somewhere in the line of lockers was the entrance to the shaft-head.

The locker doors being only a foot square were too small to admit a man, and so the top planks at the place where we wished to work had been levered up and fitted with hinges to form a larger entrance.

To give additional room inside, the partition between two consecutive lockers was also removed; the floor of one locker and the joists supporting the platform at this point were then cut away, and we were free to commence the shaft.

For this job six officers were chosen, of whom three belonged to our escape party.

The six were divided into three reliefs, and each worked for two hours at a time.

The hole was of necessity only just large enough for one man to work there, so of the pair one did the digging, while his partner, when the shaft had progressed a little, sat inside the locker at the top of the hole.

When actually at work, the time went quickly enough; but sitting in the locker was very wearisome, as one's only duties were to pass on the alarm when the ragtime was whistled, and from time to time to draw up by a rope the small sacks filled by the digger.

When all the available sacks were full, work was stopped, and the two would emerge from the locker.

The sacks of rubbish were then carried a few yards along the room and emptied into a space underneath some planks which had been loosened in the platform.

At the end of their relief, the two would go off to change their clothes, leaving the work to be continued by the next pair.

During the time spent in the locker, one of the six learnt 'Omar Khayyám' by heart.

Reading a book was almost impossible owing to the lack of light; even if it had been permissible, in view of the risk of the reader becoming so interested as to miss the signal of the alarm.

'Omar,' however, was a different thing.

A verse could be read line by line at the streak of light entering by a chink in one of the ill-fitting locker doors, and then committed to memory--not a very engrossing task, but it helped to pass the time.

The working kit was a light one: a shirt and "shorts," sand-shoes, and a Balaclava cap.

Round his mouth the digger usually tied a handkerchief, so as not to swallow his peck of dust at one time, while the cap prevented his hair and ears getting quite full of rubbish.

Let us work for one relief.

You are dressed for the occasion.

The tools, consisting of two chisels, are at the bottom of the hole, which is, say, twelve feet deep.

A couple of candles and a box of matches is all you need take with you.

It is your turn to dig.

You get into the locker and climb down the rope-ladder as quickly as possible, but you must take care not to touch the outer casing of the wall as you go, or you may find yourself staring at an astonished sentry outside: there are already a few holes in the wall through which daylight can be seen.

The candle lighted, you have a look round: but this is absurd!

No one has done any work since you were down there yesterday morning.

That beastly stone in the corner looks as tightly embedded in the mortar as it was then.

You bend down to pick up a chisel and you bump your head against a projecting brick.

You try to sit down, but there is not enough room to sit and work at the same time.

You try kneeling, but it can't be done.

After twisting your limbs in a hitherto undreamt-of fashion you begin to chip away at the mortar round your old friend.

Nothing seems to happen; then suddenly your candle falls down and goes out, leaving your chamber of little ease in Stygian darkness.

You think you hear your partner say "Stop!"

and you look up just in time to get your eyes full of grit, for he has merely shifted his legs, which are dangling above you.

After untying yourself you relight the candle and again get down to the stone.

You pick and scrape and prise, and then as the chisel slips you bark your knuckles; and so you go on.

All sense of time is lost, and your one thought is to get that stone out.

Now it moves.

You work with redoubled energy, with the result that you break into a profuse perspiration.

How you hate that stone!

Finally up it comes when you don't expect it, and the bruise at the back of your head is nothing compared to the joy of the victor, which is equally yours.

The rock is too big, however, to go into a sack, so you shut your eyes and whisper to your partner above you.

He then lets down an old canvas bath kept in the locker for this purpose.

The periphery of the bath is attached to a rope by several cords, the resulting appearance as it is lowered towards you being that of an inverted parachute.

The stone is difficult to lift and your feet are very much in the way, but in the end the load is ready.

There is not enough room in the shaft for the stone and the bath to be pulled up past your body, so you climb up the ladder and help your partner to haul.

This done, work is resumed.

A small sack is filled with bits of mortar picked away from round the stone, and this too is pulled up the shaft, but the sack being small you need not leave the hole.

Now your partner tells you that it is time for the next shift.

You leave the chisels in an obvious place, blow out the candle, and climb to the locker.

Here your partner is tapping gently against the door.

If your look-out says "All safe!"

you push open the lid and emerge.

The big stone is hastily carried to an empty locker and the rubbish from the sack disposed of as already described.

The plank in the platform is replaced, the bath and sack returned to the locker, the lid closed, and the place once more assumes its normal aspect.

You then nip along to the nearest inhabited room, where you find your relief waiting for you.

One of these two is almost certain to greet you with the words: "I suppose you got that stone in the corner out straight away.

I practically finished it off last night.

It only wanted a heave or two."

It is useless to point out that, had it not been for the masterly manner in which you had worked, the stone would still be firmly embedded there.

You merely bide your time, certain that within a few days you will be in a position to make a similar remark to him.

Work was now being carried on continuously throughout the day.

Besides the diggers, there were 24 officers who took their turn as look-outs.

It was not possible to keep the work going at night, for from time to time the sentries outside would patrol this wing of the barracks.

In the daytime, when they approached the point where we were at work, our look-outs could stop the diggers, but this would have been impossible after dark.

Moreover, light from a candle would then have been visible from outside through the cracks in the outer casing.

At this stage our plans received a rude shock.

We were suddenly informed that we were to be moved to the Prisoner-of-War Camp at Yozgad (pronounced Useguard), eighty miles south-east of us.

We were to be ready, said Sami Bey, to start within a week.

After our experience of the departure from Kastamoni, we came to the conclusion it might equally well be a month before the necessary transport was collected.

We determined, therefore, to push on with the tunnel at high pressure, and if necessary to bring it out to the surface short of the spot originally intended, and then one dark night to make a bolt for it.

So the work went on.

For the first three feet of the shaft we had found merely loose rubble and stones easily excavated, for the next thirteen we had had to dig out stones embedded in very hard mortar.

Here we progressed only a few inches a day.

Below this there was solid concrete.

Every few feet we came to wooden ties holding the inner and outer casings together; but fortunately these were on one side of the hole, and we did not have to cut through them.

At the time the move was announced we were at a depth of 16 feet, just entering the concrete.

Here we were below the level of the lower storey, so we broke through the inner casing into the space beneath the platform.

We now found, to our disgust, that the ground was on an average barely a foot below the joists, and the surface, being composed of dust which had been falling for eighty years between the boards of a Turkish barrack-room floor, was very unpleasant.

Our disappointment, however, was counteracted by a stroke of good luck.

At each end of the barrack room above there was an alcove, and we found beneath the nearer of the two alcoves an empty space 8 feet by 6 by 5. In this we could dispose of a good deal of the spoil from the tunnel.

To get rid of the rest we should have to make a main burrow below the floor, filling up the remaining space on either side between the ground and the floor, and eventually packing the burrow itself with earth excavated from the mine.

Should this again not suffice, the surplus earth would have to be pulled up by way of the shaft, and distributed under the boards of the upper-room platform.

All that now remained for us to do before actually starting on the tunnel itself was to sink a secondary shaft about 6 feet deep, so as to get below the level of the concrete foundations.

After this we could strike horizontally towards the Angora road.

The method of moving about in the confined space was that employed by the caterpillar that loops its back, draws its hind legs under it, and then advances with its forefeet; and we found it a slow means of locomotion.

The burrow to the hollow under the alcove was completed, and another in the opposite direction to the farther alcove was well on its way when we started to work on the second shaft.

Three feet down we came to water.

It was a great blow to us; and although with unlimited time at our disposal the difficulty might have been overcome, under present circumstances we had to consider ourselves defeated in that direction, especially as we heard, a few days later, that transport was already on its way from Angora.

The early move would also, of course, upset the aeroplane scheme, and we sincerely hoped that the authorities at home would hear that we had left Changri in time to prevent aeroplanes being sent.

Although the scheme sent to them had provided somewhat for this contingency by arranging that the aeroplanes were not to land till they saw the special signal from us, it was not pleasant to think that we might be the cause of risk to valuable pilots and machines, and all to no purpose.

Apart from the move, however, it eventually turned out that the scheme could not be entertained at home, as in April and May 1918 every available machine was being urgently required for making things unpleasant for the Germans behind the main battle-front.

FOOTNOTES:

[5] = soldier.

[6] = code in this letter.

CHAPTER III.