CHAPTER | PAGE |
I. CAPTURE | 1 |
II. A SHADOWLAND OF ARABESQUES | 25 |
III. THE TERRIBLE TURK | 42 |
IV. "OUT OF GREAT TRIBULATION" | 56 |
V. THE LONG DESCENT OF WASTED DAYS | 75 |
VI. THE PSYCHOLOGY OF PRISON | 95 |
VII. THE COMIC HOSPITAL IN CONSTANTINOPLE | 102 |
VIII. OUR FIRST ESCAPE | 122 |
IX. A CITY OF DISGUISES | 140 |
X. RECAPTURED | 159 |
XI. THE BLACK HOLE OF CONSTANTINOPLE | 172 |
XII. OUR SECOND ESCAPE | 198 |
Half an hour before dawn on November the thirteenth, 1915. . . .
We were on an aerodrome by the River Tigris, below Baghdad, about tostart out to cut the telegraph lines behind the Turkish position.
My pilot ran his engine to free the cylinders from the cold of night,while I stowed away in the body of the machine some necklaces ofgun-cotton, some wire cutters, a rifle, Verey lights, provisions, andthe specially prepared map—prepared for the eventuality of its fallinginto the hands of the Turks—on which nothing was traced except ourintended route to the telegraph lines west a