"One day we shall have peace," said I to our carriers, and they murmured "Inch Allah!" Turning my wish to prayer, I could only repeat, "We shall have peace."
As often as I can persuade them to rest, I seize the chance of telling them about England. When I mention our great Moslem King George they naturally confuse him with Lloyd George. And, later, "if your King loves his Moslem subjects, as you say he does, why does he permit his Minister to remain?" I assure them that he will not, and their faces brighten as they cry: "There will be peace, then."
As we plunge into the tunnel, about a kilometre long, our men raise strange howls which echo around us with the most weird effect; but we are in darkness that can be felt, and anyone coming unwarned in an opposite direction, which is downhill, could scarcely avoid a crash. As it happens, there is an engineer on the line. Our men lift off his wagonette and replace it, further down, than ours.
I marvelled that they had sufficient strength for the job, living on coffee and bread. Meanwhile, our flashlight revealed Turkish ladies walking along the tunnel without a glimmer of light to guide them, who made their way by a continuous beating of sticks upon the wall.
In this strange land, one is not afraid! I think of all the alarm my journey excited in Smyrna, and am more than ever convinced that I only need an interpreter. If I knew the language, I would go alone and without fear! Primitive people in Turkey have a high code of honour. They would not steal a penny, they will not even accept what I offer to pay. Though he would tear to pieces an enemy of his country, the Turk would stand between me and danger, for he knows I am a friend.
At last we are out of the tunnel, stretching our legs with relief in the open air. Suddenly a strange sound breaks on our ears from the mountains. As we stop to listen, we hear someone calling upon us to "Halt! You must go no further!" I remember—this day, they had told me, there would be "war"! A strange
