to help Keeling's party out of the town, for the by-streets were better known to Prosser in the dark than they were to other prisoners by daylight. Accordingly he led the four officers out of Kastamoni. Some one, however, must have seen and suspected them, for less than three-quarters of an hour after their start the alarm was given. Shots were fired and the camp suddenly bristled with sentries. Through this oordon Prosser had to get back to his quarters. A Turkish sergeant, into whom he ran full tilt, was knocked over backwards. Followed by revolver shots from the angry chaouse, Prosser darted up one side street, doubled on his tracks by another, and by his own private entrance reached his quarters in safety. Here he disposed of his beard and fez, shaved off his moustache in the dark, and got into bed. When a few moments later Captain Sherif Bey came round to feel the hearts of all the orderlies, Prosser could hardly be roused from an innocent sleep, and his steady heart beats allayed all suspicion as to the part he had played.

The effect of the escape of these four officers on our camp was considerable. We were confined to our houses without any exercise for ten days; sentries were more than trebled, on the principle of looking the stable door. This, however, did not affeot Prosser, who took his nightly walks as usual. Our Commandant, Colonel Fettah Bey, was dismissed in disgrace and replaced by a Sami Bey, whose rank oorre

sponded with that of a Brigadier-General. Now came rumours of the closing down of the camp at Kastamoni and a move to Changri-a mere village about eighty miles due south of us. Keeling's party escaped on August 8, 1917. Each day that followed Sherif Bey brought us official news of their capture in different parts of Asia Minor. One was reminded of Mark Twain's stolen white elephant. The marching powers of the four officers must have been phenomenal, and sometimes they covered hundreds of miles in a few hours. Confined to our houses, we amused ourselves taking bets with the Turkish sentries, who were convinced that the fugitives would be brought back to Kastamoni within a week. In their opinion those who had escaped were madmen. What could be more delightful than the life they were running away from-one could sit quietly in a chair all day smoking oigarettes and drinking coffee, far away from the detested war,-assuredly they were quite mad! Now it was unwise to bet, because when we lost we paid up, and when the Turks lost they did not feel in any way bound to do so. Our first commandant, Colonel Tewfik Bey, betted heavily on the war ending before Christmas 1916. He went on the doubling system. On losing his bet he deferred payment and doubled his bet for a later date, till by the time he lost his job as commandant he had mortgaged most of Turkey..

One half of the prisoners at Kastamoni moved to Changri

front the ground rose a little to the main Angora road. As we neared the barracks we came across sixty graves, which looked fairly new. This gave a bad impression of the place at the start. On entering we were too dumbfounded to speak, and here it may be added that it took a lot to dumbfound us. The square inside the buildings was full of sheep and goats, and the ground was consequently filthy. The lowerstorey rooms, which were to be our mess-rooms, had been used for cattle, and the cellar pointed out to us as our kitohen was at least a foot deep in manure. Only one wing of the barracks had window panes, and these were composed of small bits of glass rudely fitted together-truly a depressing place.

Many of us elected to sleep that night in the square in preference to the filthier barrackrooms. The sanitary arrangements were beyond words. words. Next morning we set to work cleaning up, but it was weeks before the place was habitable. Another great inconvenience was that for many days drinking water had to be fetched in buckets from the village over a mile away, but for this the Turks finally provided a water

cart.

It was at Changri that most of the twenty-five officers who escaped from Yozgad on August 7, 1918, made up their parties. Our party, only six at that time, consisted of Captain A. B. Haig, 24th Punjabis, Captain R. A. P. Grant, 112th Infantry, Captain V. S. Clarke, 2nd Batt. Royal West Kent Regt., Cap

tain J. H. Harris, 1/4 Hampshire Territorials, and the two authors. Throughout the remainder of our narrative these six will be denoted by their respective nicknames: Old Man, Grunt, Nobby, Perce, Johnny, and Looney.

Roughly speaking, there were four alternative directions open to us. Northwards to the Black Sea, a distance of a hundred miles; eastwards to the Russian front, 250 to 350 miles; to the Mediterranean, 300 miles southward; or 400 miles westward. Compared to the others the distance to the Black Sea was small, but outweighing this advantage was the fact that Keeling's party had got away in that direction, and the coast would be carefully guarded if another escape took place. The position of the Russian front, so far as we knew, was anything up to 350 miles away, and the country to the east of us was very mountainous. In addition, an escape in that direction would entail getting through the Turkish fighting lines, which we thought would prove very difficult. The Salt Desert, at least 150 miles across, frightened us off thinking of the southern route. The remaining one was westward: it was the longest distance to go, it is true, but for this very reason we hoped the Turks would not suspect us of trying it. The valleys ran in the direction we should be travelling, and if we did reach the coast, it was possible that we might get in touch with one of the islands in Allied hands. Having made up our minds, we sent code messages home to find out which would be

the best island to make for in the following early summer. We also asked for reduced maps to cover our route from Changri to the island on which they deoided, and requested that lookouts should be posted on it in case we signalled from the coast.

Shortly after we had made our decision the question of giving parole cropped up. To any one who gave it the Turks offered a better camp and more liberty. It was a question for each to decide for himself, and we did so. On the 22nd November 1917, therefore, seventy-seven officers went off to Geddos. It was very sad parting from many good friends, and when the last cart disappeared round the spur of the hill, one turned away wondering if one would ever see them again. There were still forty-four officers and about twenty-eight orderlies in Changri. These officers were moved into the north wing of the barracks, and there they remained for the next four and a half months. At this period we had a great financial crisis-none of us had any money, prices were very high, and it came to tightening our belts a little. Our long and badly-built barrack-rooms were very draughty, and as we had no money, there was not much likelihood of getting firewood. Some cheerful Turk kindly told us that the winter at Changri was intensely cold, and that the temperature often went below zero. Altogether the prospect for the next few months was anything but pleasant.

Daring our most depressed moments, however, we could always raise a smile over the thought that we were "the honoured guests of Turkey." Enver Pasha himself had told us so at Mosul, where we halted on our 400-mile march across the desert after the fall of Kut-el-Amarah. So it must have been true.

At the time we write this unsorupulous adventurer, Envera man of magnetic personality and untiring in his energy to further his personal schemes— has but lately fled to Caucasia. He is a young man, and having held a position of highest authority in Turkey for some years, presumably a rich one. Doubtless he will lead a happy and prosperous existence for many years to come.

There are thousands of sad hearts in England and in the Indian Empire to-day, and hundreds of thousands in Turkey itself, as a result of the utter disregard for human life entertained by this man and a few of his colleagues. Of the massacre of Armenians we will not speak, although we have seen their dead bodies, although we have met their little children dying of starvation on the roadsides, and have passed by their silent villages; but we should fail in our duty to the men of the British Empire who died in captivity in Turkey did we not appeal for a stern justice to be meted out to those responsible for their dying.

It may perhaps be said with truth that it was no studied cruelty on the part of the Turkish authorities that was

many brave men who had given themselves to the work of their country: yet with equal truth it may he said that it was the vilest form of apathy and of wanton neglect. Where the taking of a little trouble by the high officials at Constantinople would have saved the lives of thousands of British and Indian soldiers, that trouble was never taken. Weak with starvation and sick with fever and dysentery (we speak of the men of Kut), they were made to march five hundred miles in the burning heat across waterless deserts without regular or sufficient rations and without transport -in many cases without boots, which had been exchanged for a few mouthfuls of food or a drink of water.

We officers, who had not such a long march as the men, and who were given a little money and some transport, thought ourselves in a bad way-what of the men who had none? There were no medical arrangements, and those who could not march fell by the desert paths and died. The official White Book gives the number 65 as the percentage of deaths amongst British soldier prisoners taken at Kut, a figure which speaks for itself.

civilisation that if a man take the life of another, except in actual warfare, he must pay forfeit with his own life. Take away bribery and corruption and that law holds good in Turkey. Now when a soldier is taken prisoner he ceases to be an active enemy, and the country of his captors is as responsible for his welfare as for that of her own citizens. What if that country so fails to grasp the responsibility, that its prisoners are allowed to die by neglect? Should not its rulers be taught such a lesson that it will be impossible for the rulers of its future generations to forget that lesson?

It is no real use to obtain evidence of a cruel corporal at that prisoners' camp or bestial Commandant at this, and to think that by punishing them we have avenged our dead. These men are underlings. The men we must punish first are those few in high authority, who by an inattention to their obvious duty have made it possible for their menials to be guilty of worse than murder.

We pride ourselves on the fact that we are citizens of the most just country of the earth. Let us see to it that justice is not starved.

With the departure of the party for Geddos, the camp at Changri did what little they could to render the long bare barrack-rooms somewhat more endurable as winter quarters.

Each room was about 80 feet in length, and consisted of a central passage bordered on either side by a row of ugly timber posts supporting the roof. Between the passage