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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 figure seems to be hopping down the mountains, about 800 metres in height, which proves to be the Commandant de la Place. He had arrived at our tent very late the night before, and left me a “message of welcome.” Is he now bringing the terrible news the war has begun? No. Only offering us hospitality.