The interval between my escape from Germany, June 8th, 1917 and March 1918, when I had been for a couple of months in command of a squadron of bombing aeroplanes on the Palestine front, had been taken up with matters of great personal interest, of which I can give here only the barest outline. Things move so fast in modern war that after a year's absence I was as much out of date as Rip Van Winkle after his hundred years' sleep. There were new organizations, new tactics, new theories, and in my own department, new types of aeroplanes, of power and capabilities of which we had only dreamed in 1916. I had to learn to fly once more, and went through a course of artillery observation, for I had every reason to hope that I should be given command of an artillery squadron in France. However, this was forbidden. The powers that be decreed that no escaped prisoner might return to the same front from which he had been captured. This ruling was afterwards altered, but not before I had been captured by the Turks.

After some months spent in teaching flying in England and in Egypt at Aboukir, I was sent up to Palestine early in the year in command of a bombing squadron. I hated bombing, and knew nothing about it; and, though I was very pleased with my command, the fact that I had to deal in bombs and not wireless rather took the gilt off the gingerbread. However, after the experiences of a German prison, the spring weather of Palestine, the comparative peacefulness of our warfare, and an almost independent command were very, very pleasant.

The story opens on March 19th, 1918 with a flight of aeroplanes flying eastward on a cloudy day, at a height of some 4000 feet, over the Dead Sea. Our objective was the station of Kutrani, on the Hedjaz Railway. There were five or six single-seater aeroplanes, in one of which I was flying, escorted by a couple of Bristol fighters. It was a very unpleasant day for formation flying, for not only was it very bumpy as we came over the mountains, which border the Dead Sea, but the very numerous patches of cloud made it both difficult and dangerous to keep at the right distance from one's neighbor. We lost our way once, but eventually found the station which was our objective. A train was just leaving. So I came down rather low and let off two of my bombs unsuccessfully at it, and in doing so lost the rest of the formation. Close by the station there was a German plane standing on an aerodrome which I had a shot at, and I then unloaded the rest of the cargo on the station itself without, as far as I could see, doing much damage. By this time I was far below the clouds, and could see no signs of the rest of the squadron. After cruising about for a few minutes I headed for home, keeping just below the clouds, and very soon caught a glimpse of a Bristol fighter. He saw me at the same time, and for the next twenty minutes we flew side by side. The country below us was of a greeny-brown color in the sunlight, and had the appearance of a great plain bounded on the west by the mountains of the Dead Sea, which we had to cross. In reality it was far from flat, as could be guessed from the occasional zigzags in the white tracks which connected the widely scattered villages. Here and there were small brown patches which represented plough land, and black mounds, which were the tents of the desert Arabs.

I hated these long bomb raids, for the fear of recapture was always on me whilst I was over enemy territory. My nerves had suffered from the events of the previous three years, and it had been only by a great effort of will that I had forced myself to take part in expeditions far over the lines. Perhaps the majority of men are more afraid of being afraid than of anything else—and it may have been partly for this reason, but mainly for another more weighty reason, that I found myself alone in an aeroplane on the wrong side of the Dead Sea. However, in ten minutes we would cross the mountains and the Dead Sea, and be over comparatively friendly territory. I say "comparatively," because it was always a matter of some uncertainty whether the temptation to murder you and steal your kit would overstrain the good wishes of our noble allies. Through the clouds on my left I had just caught a glimpse of the ancient city of El Karak, when my engine sputtered badly, picked up again, and then banged and sputtered once more and half stopped. Owing to the clouds we were flying rather low, and would not cross the hills ahead by more than 1000 feet or so. I checked the instruments and pressure, closed and then slowly opened the throttle, dived with the throttle opened; but all to no purpose, for the engine banged and backfired, and we lost height and revolutions in an alarming way. It was an airlock or water in the petrol, and must be given time to clear itself. How I longed for a little more height. It seemed that the engine might pick up again at any moment, because, for a few seconds, it would give full power and then cut out again completely. Then I found myself a few feet from the ground, and had to land willy-nilly. The place was a ploughed field, almost flat and comparatively free from boulders. We did not sink in very much, but unfortunately the wheels came to rest in a little ditch a few inches deep.

For a moment or two I sat in the machine altering the throttle, for the engine had not completely stopped. Then I heard a roar, and the Bristol fighter came by, flying a few feet from the ground, and I could see the observer waving to me. I jumped out and tried to wave them away. It was possible, but risky, for a machine to land and get off from that ground, and, with the hope that my engine would pick up again, I did not think the risk was justifiable. However, they had no intention of leaving me in the lurch, and after another turn round landed on the plough about 50 yards away. I got into my machine once more, and as they ran across towards me my engine started once more to give its full power; but I saw that I should have great difficulty in getting out of the ditch. When they came up I recognized them as two most stout-hearted Australians, Captain Austin and Lieutenant Lee, who had both gained the Military Cross, and made a considerable reputation for themselves on the Palestine front. They hauled on the machine whilst I roared the engine. All in vain, however; we could not shift her. I shouted to them that we must set this plane on fire and try to get away on theirs. "Ours is useless," they answered. "We broke a wheel on a boulder in landing." "Is it quite hopeless?" I said. "Yes, quite."

Leaving them to set my machine on fire, I took a revolver and a Verey's pistol and ran over to the Bristol. As I went I saw that, from some rising ground about 100 yards away, thirty or forty Arabs were covering us with rifles. Hoping they would not shoot, I went on and fired first the revolver and then the Verey's right into the petrol tank, and it burst into flame. We soon had the other machine on fire by the same means, and threw into the flames our maps and papers. A brief consultation decided us that escape was quite hopeless. The Arabs could travel over that country much faster than we could. There were very rugged hills between us and the Dead Sea, with possibly or probably an impassable precipice. We thought there was just a chance that the Arabs were friendly as they had not yet fired. At any rate, it was highly probable that they would be open to bribery. If they were definitely hostile it was a bad lookout, and a speedy death was about all we could hope for. It was disturbing to recall, as Lee did, in a grimly humorous tone, that we had dropped bombs on El Karak and done considerable damage there only the week before. However, to run was certain death, so we waved to the Arabs and walked towards them.

The Arabs rose with a shout, and brandishing their rifles rushed towards us. Several of them taking hold of us led us or rather dragged us along. Filthy, evil-looking, evil-smelling brutes they were. They were mostly clad in dirty white linen garments, with bandoliers and with belts stuck full of knives and revolvers. Some had German rifles, but most of them had old smooth bores which fire a colossal soft-lead bullet. To be man-handled by these savages was most repulsive. We kept together as far as possible and Lee, who knew a few words of Arabic, tried to make them understand that we could give them large sums of gold if they would take us to the English. Whether they intended to help us and whether they were friendly we could not make out, for they jabbered and shouted and pulled us along, so that we had little opportunity for making ourselves understood, though Lee kept hard at it. He gave a hopeful report, however, based on their constant repetition of the word "Sherif," and the fact that they had not yet cut our throats nor robbed us to any great extent. Lee had his wrist-watch stolen, and I think Austin lost a cigarette case. I produced a very battered old gun-metal case, and after lighting a cigarette handed the rest round to our escort, hoping this would help to create a benevolent atmosphere. After walking a couple of miles in this way, the Arabs keeping up a ceaseless and deafening chatter the whole time, we came to a tumbledown deserted mud and stone village. I found myself separated from the other two, and I and my escort came to a halt before a half-underground mud hovel with a black hole for an entrance, through which it would have been necessary to crawl. It was conveyed to me by signs that I was to enter, and they dragged me forward. I resisted, and heard Lee, who was about 30 yards away with his crowd of ruffians, shouting to me, "Don't let them get you in there, Evans; try and get back to us." The attitude of the brutes round me became very threatening, and one fellow made preparation to encourage me with a bayonet. Suddenly a horseman came galloping over the brow, and the horse putting his foot on one of the large flat stones which abound in this country came down with a crash and horse and rider rolled over and over like shot rabbits. As the horse rose the rider mounted him and again came on at full speed. Whether it was the appearance of this horseman, or whether, as I believe, a report of the approach of the Turks from El Karak, which caused the Arabs to change their tactics, I don't know, but they suddenly ceased trying to force me into the black hole, and we joined the others. I have never been quite sure whether they had intended to murder me for my kit, or to save me for ransom to the English. Lee had no doubts as to what my fate would have been, and thanked God for my escape.

After we had walked for another mile or two we were met by two Turks, who had the appearance of military policemen, and another crowd of Arabs. In answer to a question, one of the Turks who spoke French said that we were prisoners of the Turks, and added that we need not now be frightened. From what the Turk said then, and subsequently, we began to realize how lucky we were still to be alive. However, there was still considerable cause for anxiety. All the Arabs and we three sat down in a ring, and one of the Turks addressed the assembly at length. There was a good deal of heckling, but at last they arrived at some decision, though by no means unanimously. We were mounted on horses, and, with the two Turks also mounted and a bodyguard of some thirty Arab horsemen, proceeded towards El Karak. All around were a mob of unpleasantly excited Arabs yelling and shouting and letting off their rifles. The Turk who spoke French told us to keep close to him, and hinted that we were not yet out of the wood.

El Karak is built on a pinnacle of rock which rises abruptly from the bottom of a deep gorge. To reach the town from any side it is necessary to descend nearly 400 feet into the gorge down a most precipitous path of loose stones, and then climb by a track even steeper and stonier in which there are seven zigzags to the citadel, which is almost on a level with the rim of the gorge. In the valley, at the foot of the pinnacle, there was a very heated dispute between the Turks and the Arabs. For ten minutes or more, whilst our fate hung in the balance, we sat on a boulder and watched. Once more the decision appeared to be in our favor; and, after a further dispute, this time rather to our dismay, between the two Turks, we climbed the path in the midst of a strong bodyguard of the least excitable of the Arabs. At the gates of the town we were met by a dense and hostile crowd and, at the bidding of one of the Turks, linked our arms and pushed our way through. One fellow clutched me and but for our linked arms would have pulled me into the mob, but with the help of Lee and Austin I got free from him, and with a push and a scramble we got into the citadel—the only solidly built building in the place. Here the two Turks heaved sighs of relief, mopped their brows, and congratulated us heartily on being in safety. It had been a very close thing they said.

To my astonishment we were treated with the greatest consideration. Food and coffee and cigarettes were brought to us, and shortly afterwards we were brought into the presence of Ismail Kemal Bey, the Turkish commandant and military governor of El Karak. In my life I have met with few people with whom, on so short an acquaintance, I have been so favorably impressed as I was with Ismail Kemal Bey. He was a finely built man, with a most intelligent face and a charming smile. He had been wounded thirteen times he told us, seven times in the Balkan wars and six times in this war, and had been a prisoner in the hands of the Greeks, by whom he had been disgracefully maltreated. His right arm was completely paralyzed. As had been agreed between us, I gave my name as Everard, for I feared that, if it was discovered that I had escaped from a German prison, a closer guard would be kept upon me, and life otherwise made more intolerable. I realized that this would lead to certain difficulties with regard to informing my people that I was still alive, and obtaining money by cheque or otherwise, as I selected a new name quite on the spur of the moment; but I had to take that risk, and henceforth for the rest of my captivity I was known as Everard.

Whilst we were Kemal Bey's prisoners we were his honored guests, and he treated us with the tactful courtesy of a well-educated gentleman. That evening we dined with him, and were given under the circumstances a most remarkably good dinner. He spoke both German and French fluently, and I talked with him for two hours or more on a great variety of topics. He told us we owed our lives to two things. Firstly, a reward of 50 gold pieces which was offered by the Turkish Government to the Arabs for live English officers, and secondly, to the fact that the Arabs knew that he (Kemal Bey) would certainly have hung half a dozen of them if they had murdered us. Even so, although he had sent his men with all speed he had scarcely hoped to bring us in alive.

That afternoon we watched two of our aeroplanes searching for us. Kemal Bey was much impressed by the loyalty of the Flying Corps to one another, especially when I told him that Lee and Austin had been captured only because they had descended, most gallantly, to rescue me.

Next morning we left El Karak with a small escort and rode to Kutrani, the town which we had bombed the day before. The distance is about 45 kilometres. It was a most tedious and boring journey, and we were very tired when we got in. We slept that night in a tent, and next day departed by train for Aman. We were traveling in a closed cattle truck, and, as it was a hot night, our guards left the door open a foot or two. From the time it was dusk till midnight, when the opportunity had passed, I waited in a state of the highest tension for a reasonable chance to jump from the train and make my way to our forces in the neighborhood of Jericho. Though several times I was on the point of going, a real chance never came. Although I pretended to sleep, one or other of my guards, usually only one, was always awake and watching me. We reached Aman in the early morning. During the day we were cross-questioned by a German Intelligence officer. I had told Austin and Lee what to expect, and I don't think he got much change out of any of us. I was surprised at his knowledge of our forces, and especially when he showed that he knew or guessed of the presence of two divisions which had lately come from Mesopotamia.

That night the Turks took special precautions to prevent us from escaping, but nevertheless treated us quite well, giving us overcoats and at our request a pack of cards.

At Aman we learnt that we were to be sent to the German aerodrome at El Afule. The journey lasted, as far as I remember, four or five days, as the route is a most circuitous one and brought us across the Jordan to within about 40 miles from our lines and the same distance from the coast. As soon as we learnt where we were going we made up our minds that it must be from Afule we would make our attempt to escape. We left Aman in a comparatively clean cattle truck, but the conditions gradually became worse, and we finished the journey in a truck filled to the roof, all but 2 feet, with vermin-infested maize. We were consequently covered with lice. The food consisted of a very small portion of poor bread, olives, and semi-raw meat which the Turkish N.C.O. who was in charge of us tore in pieces for us with his dirty hands. Owing to the food and to lack of exercise we suffered severely from indigestion and diarrhoea, so that when we arrived at El Afule we were a pretty miserable trio.

In the red crescent tent, where we were deposited with a sentry to guard us, there were 6 inches of liquid mud on the floor, for there had been heavy rain lately, and it started to rain again once more. So we sat on the beds to keep out of the mud; and in that dripping tent, for it leaked in innumerable places, cursed the Turks and their damnable inefficiency. We had been sitting there half an hour or so, very miserable, when several German flying officers entered the tent. After rather formal salutations we told them what we thought of their allies the Turks, and of our treatment by them. One of the Germans then told me that they were going to try and rescue us from the Turks and take us up to their mess for a feed and a bath, and we felt much cheered at the thought. Through an interpreter they tackled the Turkish sentry; but, as he had had his orders that we were not to move, arguing with him was just waste of time. The next move amused us a great deal. One of the Germans wrote a note and, without the sentry noticing, gave it to his orderly, who departed. Ten minutes later the orderly reappeared and, saluting violently, handed the note to our would-be rescuers. The note purported to come from the German Headquarters, I think, and was an order for us to be handed over to the Germans. This was explained at great length to the sentry, but made no impression on him whatever. Quite rightly he refused to let us go. However, the Germans motioned us to come too, and we all moved out of the tent in a body. The sentry was in two minds as to whether to shoot or not, but he could not hit us without shooting a German, so he just followed after. From the station we walked about 2 miles up to a farmhouse, and were introduced into the mess, the faithful sentry taking up his watch outside the door, disregarding the jeers of the German orderlies and hints that his presence was undesirable. I still feel a great admiration for that sentry. His blind adherence to the letter of his orders under most testing circumstances is typical of the best breed of Turkish soldier. In the mess, the Germans, who were mostly quite young and seemed a very nice lot of fellows, were extremely hospitable and kind. We begged for a bath, but they said a bath would be no use to us. We were "verloust," and would be introduced to a de-lousing machine the next day. The commander of the squadron was Hauptmann Franz Walz, who for a long time had been a fighting pilot on the West front and had been O.C. Boelche's circus after the latter's death. He had a great admiration for the R.F.C., but thought that we had lost a great many machines from recklessness, and owing to mad expeditions on bad machines. In answer to a question as to which was the most dangerous front on which to fight, he said that the English front was vastly more dangerous than any other. The English and French were alone worth consideration as enemies in the air. The French fought well, with many tricks, but it was seldom that a Frenchman would fight if outnumbered or at a disadvantage, or over German lines. For an Englishman to refuse a fight, however, was almost unknown. If a German wished for a fight he had only to approach the British lines, when he would be attacked by any and every British pilot who happened to catch sight of him.

At dinner that night Walz asked us whether we would mind giving our parole not to escape for so long as we were actually guests of his mess, as, if we would do so, it would be much more comfortable both for them and for us. We agreed to this, and consequently were not guarded in any way whatever. As we were having dinner an orderly told Walz that the Turkish officer who had brought us from Aman, and from whom we had been stolen, was waiting outside for us. Walz, to our great amusement, told the orderly to give the Turk a glass of wine and a seat in the corner. After dinner Walz spoke to him and refused to give us up; so the Turk retired, taking the faithful sentry with him. As we had given our parole, I asked the Germans as a matter of courtesy not to try and "pump" us on military subjects, and on the whole they were very decent about this. They left me alone, but put a certain number of leading questions to Lee and Austin. These two, however, either referred the question to me for interpretation, or drew without stint on exceptionally fertile imaginations. They found there were several of the Germans with whom Lee or Austin had had encounters in the air during the preceding twelve months, and this led to some most interesting and friendly discussion of these fights.

The next day was spent in bathing and having our clothes completely disinfected. Lee and Austin were suffering from stomach trouble and were rather weak, and it was many days before they recovered. Two days of good food and rest with the Germans put me quite right again, and when on the afternoon of the third day we left the German mess and became once more wretched prisoners in the hands of the Turks, I felt quite fit for anything and made up my mind to escape on the first opportunity.

Whilst in the German mess we had written notes which the Germans promised to drop over the lines for us. In them we merely stated that we were safe and well, and asked that small kits might be dropped over to us, and signed them Lee, Austin, and Everard. Some months later, while prisoners at Afion-Kara-Hissar, we all three received bundles of clothes and necessaries, which were dropped from British planes and they forwarded to us. How valuable those clothes were to us when they came, only those who have been prisoners in Turkish hands can understand.

The night after leaving the German mess we were imprisoned in one room of a wooden hut, in which were three beds, a table, and a couple of rickety chairs. The window was barred, and outside the door three Turkish sentries squatted over a small fire and smoked cigarettes. Our hut was one of several which stood in a large compound bordered with prickly pears. There were several tents dotted about, and here and there little groups of men sitting or sleeping round fires. Around us was that untidiness and irregularity which is characteristic of a Turkish encampment. Austin, Lee, and I had already discussed the direction in which to escape, and we decided that it would be best to make for the coast in a southwest direction. Once on the coast we believed there would be little difficulty in making our way either through the lines or round them by means of wading or swimming. If we went by the more direct route south it would be necessary to cross several very precipitous ranges of hills, and the going would be very bad. Towards the coast there was only one range to cross, if we hit the right route, and after that it would be more or less flat walking—a great consideration for tired men.