WITH THE TURKS INPALESTINE

BY

ALEXANDER AARONSOHN

[ILLUSTRATION: DJEMAL PASHA]

1916

TO MY MOTHER

WHO LIVED AND FOUGHT AND DIEDFOR A REGENERATEDPALESTINE

 _What have I done, or tried, or said In thanks to that dear woman dead_?

MASEFIELD

ACKNOWLEDGMENT

To the editors of the _Atlantic Monthly_, to the publishers, and to the manyfriends who have encouraged me, Iam and shall ever remain grateful

CONTENTS

 INTRODUCTION

 I. ZICRON-JACOB

 II. PRESSED INTO THE SERVICE

 III. THE GERMAN PROPAGANDA

 IV. ROAD-MAKING AND DISCHARGE

 V. THE HIDDEN ARMS

 VI. THE SUEZ CAMPAIGN

 VII. FIGHTING THE LOCUSTS

 VIII. THE LEBANON

 IX. A ROBBER BARON OF PALESTINE

 X. A RASH ADVENTURE

 XI. ESCAPE

ILLUSTRATIONS

DJEMAL PASHA _Photograph by Underwood & Underwood_

SAFFÊD _Photograph by Underwood & Underwood_

THE AUTHOR ON HIS HORSE KOCHBA _Photograph by Mr. Julius Rosenwald, of Chicago, in March, 1911_

SOLDIERS' TENTS IN SAMARIA

NAZARETH, FROM THE NORTHEAST _Photograph by Underwood & Underwood_

HOUSE OF THE AUTHOR'S FATHER, EPHRAIM FISHL AARONSOHN, IN ZICRON-JACOB

IN A NATIVE CAFÉ, SAFFÊD _Photograph by Mr. Julius Rosenwald_

A LEMONADE-SELLER OF DAMASCUS _Photograph by Mr. Julius Rosenwald_

RAILROAD STATION SCENE BETWEEN HAIFA AND DAMASCUS _Photograph by Mr. Julius Rosenwald_

CAMELS BRINGING IN NEWLY CUT TREES, DAMASCUS _Photograph by Mr. Julius Rosenwald_

THE CHRISTIAN TOWN OF ZAHLEH IN THE LEBANON _Photograph by Underwood & Underwood_

HAIFA _Photograph by Underwood & Underwood_

HAIFA AND THE BAY OF AKKA. LOOKING EAST FROMMOUNT CARMEL _Photograph by Underwood & Underwood_

THE BAZAAR OF JAFFA ON A MARKET DAY _Photograph by Underwood & Underwood_

STORMY SEA BREAKING OVER ROCKS OFF JAFFA _Photograph by Underwood & Underwood_

THE AUTHOR'S SISTER ON HER HORSE TAYAR _Photograph by Mr. Julius Rosenwald in March, 1914_

BEIRUT, FROM THE DECK OF AN OUTGOING STEAMER _Photograph by Underwood & Underwood_

INTRODUCTION

While Belgium is bleeding and hoping, while Poland suffers and dreams ofliberation, while Serbia is waiting for redemption, there is a littlecountry the soul of which is torn to pieces--a little country that is soremote, so remote that her ardent sighs cannot be heard. 

It is the country of perpetual sacrifice, the country that saw Abrahambuild the altar upon which he was ready to immolate his only son, thecountry that Moses saw from a distance, stretching in beauty andloveliness, --a land of promise never to be attained, --the country thatgave the world its symbols of soul and spirit. Palestine!

No war correspondents, no Red Cross or relief committees have gone toPalestine, because no actual fighting has taken place there, and yethundreds of thousands are suffering there that worst of agonies, theagony of the spirit. 

Those who have devoted their lives to show the world that Palestine canbe made again a country flowing with milk and honey, those who havedreamed of reviving the spirit of the prophets and the great teachers, are hanged and persecuted and exiled, their dreams shattered, their holyplaces profaned, their work ruined. Cut off from the world, with nobread to sustain the starving body, the heavy boot of a barbariansoldiery trampling their very soul, the dreamers of Palestine refuse tosurrender, and amidst the clash of guns and swords they are battling forthe spirit with the weapons of the spirit. 

The time has not yet come to write the record of these battles, nor evento attempt to render justice to the sublime heroes of Palestine. Thisbook is merely the story of some of the personal experiences of one whohas done less and suffered less than thousands of his comrades. 

ALEXANDER AARONSOHN

WITH THE TURKS IN PALESTINE. 

CHAPTER I

ZICRON-JACOB

Thirty-five years ago, the impulse which has since been organized as theZionist Movement led my parents to leave their homes in Roumania andemigrate to Palestine, where they joined a number of other Jewishpioneers in founding Zicron-Jacob--a little village lying just south ofMount Carmel, in that fertile coastal region close to the ancient Plainsof Armageddon. 

Here I was born; my childhood was passed here in the peace and harmonyof this little agricultural community, with its whitewashed stone houseshuddled close together for protection against the native Arabs who, atfirst, menaced the life of the new colony. The village was far moresuggestive of Switzerland than of the conventional slovenly villages ofthe East, mud-built and filthy; for while it was the purpose of ourpeople, in returning to the Holy Land, to foster the Jewish language andthe social conditions of the Old Testament as far as possible, therewas nothing retrograde in this movement. No time was lost in introducingprogressive methods of agriculture, and the climatological experimentsof other countries were observed and made use of in developing the amplenatural resources of the land. 

[ILLUSTRATION: THE CEMETERY OF ZICRON-JACOB]

Eucalyptus, imported from Australia, soon gave the shade of its cool, healthful foliage where previously no trees had grown. In the course oftime dry farming (which some people consider a recent discovery, butwhich in reality is as old as the Old Testament) was introduced andextended with American agricultural implements; blooded cattle wereimported, and poultry-raising on a large scale was undertaken with theaid of incubators--to the disgust of the Arabs, who look on suchusurpation of the hen's functions as against nature and sinful. Ourpeople replaced the wretched native trails with good roads, bordered byhedges of thorny acacia which, in season, were covered with downy littleyellow blossoms that smelled sweeter than honey when the sun was onthem. 

More important than all these, a communistic village government wasestablished, in which both sexes enjoyed equal rights, including that ofsuffrage--strange as this may seem to persons who (when they think ofthe matter at all) form vague conceptions of all the women-folk ofPalestine as shut up in harems. 

A short experience with Turkish courts and Turkish justice taught ourpeople that they would have to establish a legal system of their own;two collaborating judges were therefore appointed--one to interpret theMosaic law, another to temper it with modern jurisprudence. All Jewishdisputes were settled by this court. Its effectiveness may be judged bythe fact that the Arabs, weary of Turkish venality, --as open andshameless as anywhere in the world, --began in increasing numbers tobring their difficulties to our tribunal. Jews are law-abiding people, and life in those Palestine colonies tended to bring out the fraternalqualities of our race; but it is interesting to note that in over thirtyyears not one Jewish criminal case was reported from forty-fivevillages. 

Zicron-Jacob was a little town of one hundred and thirty "fires"--so wecall it--when, in 1910, on the advice of my elder brother, who was headof the Jewish Experiment Station at Athlit, an ancient town of theCrusaders, I left for America to enter the service of the United Statesin the Department of Agriculture. A few days after reaching this countryI took out my first naturalization papers and proceeded to Washington, where I became part of that great government service whose beneficentactivity is too little known by Americans. Here I remained until June, 1913, when I returned to Palestine with the object of takingmotion-pictures and stereopticon views. These I intended to use in alecturing tour for spreading the Zionist propaganda in the UnitedStates. 

During the years of my residence in America, I was able to appreciateand judge in their right value the beauty and inspiration of the lifewhich my people led in the Holy Land. From a distance, too, I saw betterthe need for organization among our communities, and I determined tobuild up a fraternal union of the young Jewish men all over the country. 

Two months after my return from America, an event occurred which gaveimpetus to these projects. The physician of our village, an old man whohad devoted his entire life to serving and healing the people ofPalestine, without distinction of race or religion, was driving home oneevening in his carriage from a neighboring settlement. With him was ayoung girl of sixteen. In a deserted place they were set upon by fourarmed Arabs, who beat the old man to unconsciousness as he tried, invain, to defend the girl from the terrible fate which awaited her. 

Night came on. Alarmed by the absence of the physician, we young menrode out in search of him. We finally discovered what had happened; andthen and there, in the serene moonlight of that Eastern night, withtragedy close at hand, I made my comrades take oath on the honor oftheir sisters to organize themselves into a strong society for thedefense of the life and honor of our villagers and of our people atlarge. 

These details are, perhaps, useful for the better understanding of thedisturbances that came thick and fast when in August, 1914, thewar-madness broke out among the nations of Europe. The repercussion wasat once felt even in our remote corner of the earth. Soon after theGerman invasion of Belgium the Turkish army was mobilized and allcitizens of the Empire between nineteen and forty-five years were calledto the colors. As the Young Turk Constitution of 1909 provided that allChristians and Jews were equally liable to military service, our youngmen knew that they, too, would be called upon to make the commonsacrifice. For the most part, they were not unwilling to sustain theTurkish Government. While the Constitution imposed on them the burden ofmilitarism, it had brought with it the compensation of freedom ofreligion and equal rights; and we could not forget that for six hundredyears Turkey has held her gates wide open to the Jews who fled from theSpanish Inquisition and similar ministrations of other civilizedcountries. 

Of course, we never dreamed that Turkey would do anything but remainneutral. If we had had any idea of the turn things were ultimately totake, we should have given a different greeting to the _mouchtar_, orsheriff, who came to our village with the list of mobilizable men to becalled on for service. My own position was a curious one. I had everyintention of completing the process of becoming an American citizen, which I had begun by taking out "first papers. " In the eyes of the law, however, I was still a Turkish subject, with no claim to Americanprotection. This was sneeringly pointed out to me by the American Consulat Haifa, who happens to be a German; so there was no other course butto surrender myself to the Turkish Government. 

CHAPTER II

PRESSED INTO THE SERVICE

There was no question as to my eligibility for service. I was young andstrong and healthy--and even if I had not been, the physical examinationof Turkish recruits is a farce. The enlisting officers have a theory oftheir own that no man is really unfit for the army--a theory which hasbeen fostered by the ingenious devices of the Arabs to avoidconscription. To these wild people the protracted discipline of militarytraining is simply a purgatory, and for weeks before the recruitingofficers are due, they dose themselves with powerful herbs and physicsand fast, and nurse sores into being, until they are in a reallydeplorable condition. Some of them go so far as to cut off a finger ortwo. The officers, however, have learned to see beyond these littletricks, and few Arabs succeed in wriggling through their drag-net. Ihave watched dozens of Arabs being brought in to the recruiting officeon camels or horses, so weak were they, and welcomed into the servicewith a severe beating--the sick and the shammers sharing the same fate. Thus it often happens that some of the new recruits die after theirfirst day of garrison life. 

Together with twenty of my comrades, I presented myself at therecruiting station at Acco (the St. Jean d'Acre of history). We had beengiven to understand that, once our names were registered, we should beallowed to return home to provide ourselves with money, suitableclothing, and food, as well as to bid our families good-bye. To ourastonishment, however, we were marched off to the Hân, or caravanserai, and locked into the great courtyard with hundreds of dirty Arabs. Hourafter hour passed; darkness came, and finally we had to stretchourselves on the ground and make the best of a bad situation. It was anight of horrors. Few of us had closed an eye when, at dawn, an officerappeared and ordered us out of the Hân. From our total number aboutthree hundred (including four young men from our village and myself)were picked out and told to make ready to start at once for Saffêd, atown in the hills of northern Galilee near the Sea of Tiberias, whereour garrison was to be located. No attention was paid to our requeststhat we be allowed to return to our homes for a final visit. That samemorning we were on our way to Saffêd--a motley, disgruntled crew. 

[ILLUSTRATION: SAFFÊD]

It was a four days' march--four days of heat and dust and physicalsuffering. The September sun smote us mercilessly as we straggled alongthe miserable native trail, full of gullies and loose stones. It wouldnot have been so bad if we had been adequately shod or clothed; but soonwe found ourselves envying the ragged Arabs as they trudged alongbarefoot, paying no heed to the jagged flints. (Shoes, to the Arab, arearticles for ceremonious indoor use; when any serious walking is to bedone, he takes them off, slings them over his shoulder, and trusts tothe horny soles of his feet. )

To add to our troubles, the Turkish officers, with characteristicfatalism, had made no commissary provision for us whatever. Any food weate had to be purchased by the roadside from our own funds, which werescant enough to start with. The Arabs were in a terrible plight. Most ofthem were penniless, and, as the pangs of hunger set in, they beganpillaging right and left from the little farms by the wayside. Frommodest beginnings--poultry and vegetables--they progressed to largergame, unhindered by the officers. Houses were entered, women insulted;time and again I saw a stray horse, grazing by the roadside, seized by acrowd of grinning Arabs, who piled on the poor beast's back until he wasalmost crushed to earth, and rode off triumphantly, while their comradesheld back the weeping owner. The result of this sort of"requisitioning, " was that our band of recruits was followed by anincreasing throng of farmers--imploring, threatening, trying by hook orby crook to win back the stolen goods. Little satisfaction did they get, although some of them went with us as far as Saffêd. 

Our garrison town is not an inviting place, nor has it an invitingreputation. Lord Kitchener himself had good reason to remember it. As ayoung lieutenant of twenty-three, in the Royal Engineering Corps, he wasnearly killed there by a band of fanatical Arabs while surveying for thePalestine Exploration Fund. Kitchener had a narrow escape of it (one ofhis fellow officers was shot dead close by him), but he went calmlyahead and completed his maps, splendid large-scale affairs which havenever since been equaled--and which are now in use by the Turkish andGerman armies! However, though Saffêd combines most of the unpleasantcharacteristics of Palestine native towns, we welcomed the sight of it, for we were used up by the march. An old deserted mosque was given usfor barracks; there, on the bare stone floor, in close-packedpromiscuity, too tired to react to filth and vermin, we spent our firstnight as soldiers of the Sultan, while the milky moonlight streamed inthrough every chink and aperture, and bats flitted round the vaultingabove the snoring carcasses of the recruits. 

Next morning we were routed out at five. The black depths of the well inthe center of the mosque courtyard provided doubtful water for washing, bathing, and drinking; then came breakfast, --our first governmentmeal, --consisting, simply enough, of boiled rice, which was ladled outinto tin wash-basins holding rations for ten men. In true Easternfashion we squatted down round the basin and dug into the rice with ourfingers. At first I was rather upset by this sort of table manners, andfor some time I ate with my eyes fixed on my own portion, to avoidseeing the Arabs, who fill the palms of their hands with rice, pat itinto a ball and cram it into their mouths just so, the bolus making agreat lump in their lean throats as it reluctantly descends. 

In the course of that same morning we were allotted our uniforms. TheTurkish uniform, under indirect German influence, has been greatlymodified during the past five years. It is of khaki--a greener khakithan that of the British army, and of conventional European cut. Spiralputtees and good boots are provided; the only peculiar feature is theheadgear--a curious, uncouth-looking combination of the turban and theGerman helmet, devised by Enver Pasha to combine religion andpracticality, and called in his honor _enverieh_. (With commendablethrift, Enver patented his invention, and it is rumored that he hasdrawn a comfortable fortune from its sale. ) An excellent uniform it is, on the whole; but, to our disgust, we found that in the great olive-drabpile to which we were led, there was not a single new one. All were old, discarded, and dirty, and the mere thought of putting on the clothes ofsome unknown Arab legionary, who, perhaps, had died of cholera at Meccaor Yemen, made me shudder. After some indecision, my friends and Ifinally went up to one of the officers and offered to _buy_ new uniformswith the money we expected daily from our families. The officer, scenting the chance for a little private profit, gave his consent. 

The days and weeks following were busy ones. From morning till night, itwas drill, drill, and again drill. We were divided into groups of fifty, each of which was put in charge of a young non-commissioned officer fromthe Military School of Constantinople or Damascus, or of some Arab whohad seen several years' service. These instructors had a hard time ofit; the German military system, which had only recently been introduced, was too much for them. They kept mixing up the old and the new methodsof training, with the result that it was often hopeless to try and makeout their orders. Whole weeks were spent in grinding into the Arabs thenames of the different parts of the rifle; weeks more went to teachingthem to clean it--although it must be said that, once they had masteredthese technicalities, they were excellent shots. Their efficiency wouldhave been considerably greater if there had been more target-shooting. From the very first, however, we felt that there was a scarcity ofammunition. This shortage the drill-masters, in a spirit ofcompensation, attempted to make up by abundant severity. The whip ofsoft, flexible, stinging leather, which seldom leaves the Turkishofficer's hand, was never idle. This was not surprising, for the Arab isa cunning fellow, whose only respect is for brute force. He exercises ithimself on every possible victim, and expects the same treatment fromhis superiors. 

So far as my comrades and I were concerned, I must admit that we weregenerally treated kindly. We knew most of the drill-exercises from thegymnastic training we had practiced since childhood, and the officersrealized that we were educated and came from respectable families. Thesame was also true with regard to the native Christians, most of whomcan read and write and are of a better class than the Mohammedans of thecountry. When Turkey threw in her lot with the Germanic powers, theattitude toward the Jews and Christians changed radically; but of this Ishall speak later. 

It was a hard life we led while in training at Saffêd; evening wouldfind us dead tired, and little disposed for anything but rest. As thetremendous light-play of the Eastern sunsets faded away, we would gatherin little groups in the courtyard of our mosque--its minaret toweringblack against a turquoise sky--and talk fitfully of the littlehappenings of the day, while the Arabs murmured gutturally around us. Occasionally, one of them would burst into a quavering, hot-bloodedtribal love-song. It happened that I was fairly well known among thesenatives through my horse Kochba--of pure Maneghi-Sbeli blood--which Ihad purchased from some Anazzi Bedouins who were encamped not far fromAleppo: a swift and intelligent animal he was, winner of many races, andin a land where a horse is considerably more valuable than a wife, hisownership cast quite a glamour over me. 

[ILLUSTRATION: THE AUTHOR ON HIS HORSE KOCHBA]

In the evenings, then, the Arabs would come up to chat. As they speakseldom of their children, of their women-folk never, the conversationwas limited to generalities about the crops and the weather, or to therecitation of never-ending tales of Abou-Zeid, the famous hero of theBeni-Hilal, or of Antar the glorious. Politics, of which they haveamazing ideas, also came in for discussion. Napoleon Bonaparte and QueenVictoria are still living figures to them; but (significantly enough)they considered the Kaiser king of all the kings of this world, with theexception of the Sultan, whom they admitted to equality. 

Seldom did an evening pass without a dance. As darkness fell, the Arabswould gather in a great circle around one of their comrades, whosquatted on the ground with a bamboo flute; to a weird minor music theywould begin swaying and moving about while some self-chosen poet amongthem would sing impromptu verses to the flute _obbligato_. As a rule thethemes were homely. 

"To-morrow we shall eat rice and meat, " the singer would wail. 

"_Yaha lili-amali"_ (my endeavor be granted), came the full-throatedresponse of all the others. The chorus was tremendously effective. Sometimes the singer would indulge in pointed personalities, withanswering roars of laughter. 

These dances lasted for hours, and as they progressed the men graduallyworked themselves up into a frenzy. I never failed to wonder at thesepeople, who, without the aid of alcohol, could reproduce the variousstages of intoxication. As I lay by and watched the moon riding serenelyabove these frantic men and their twisting black shadows, I reflectedthat they were just in the condition when one word from a holy man wouldsuffice to send them off to wholesale murder and rapine. 

It was my good fortune soon to be released from the noise and dirt ofthe mosque. I had had experience with corruptible Turkish officers; andone day, when barrack conditions became unendurable, I went to theofficer commanding our division--an old Arab from Latakieh who had beencalled from retirement at the time of the mobilization. He lived in alittle tent near the mosque, where I found him squatting on the floor, nodding drowsily over his comfortable paunch. As he was an officer ofthe old régime, I entered boldly, squatted beside him and told him mytroubles. The answer came with an enormous shrug of the shoulders. 

"You are serving the Sultan. Hardship should be sweet!"

"I should be more fit to serve him if I got more sleep and rest. "

He waved a fat hand about the tent. 

"Look at me! Here I am, an officer of rank and"--shooting a knowinglook at me--"I have not even a nice blanket. "

"A crime! A crime!" I interrupted. "To think of it, when I, a humblesoldier, have dozens of them at home! I should be honored if you wouldallow me--" My voice trailed off suggestively. 

"How could you get one?" he asked. 

"Oh, I have friends here in Saffêd but I _must_ be able to sleep in anice place. "

"Of course; certainly. What would you suggest?"

"That hotel kept by the Jewish widow might do, " I replied. 

More amenities were exchanged, the upshot of which was that my fourfriends and I were given permission to sleep at the inn--a humble place, but infinitely better than the mosque. It was all perfectly simple. 

[ILLUSTRATION: SOLDIERS' TENTS IN SAMARIA]

CHAPTER III

THE GERMAN PROPAGANDA

So passed the days of our training, swiftly, monotonously, until thefateful December morning when the news came like a thunderbolt thatTurkey was about to join hands with Germany. We had had reports of thewar--of a kind. Copies of telegrams from Constantinople, printed inArabic, were circulated among us, giving accounts of endless Germanvictories. These, however, we had laughed at as fabrications of aPrussophile press agency, and in our skepticism we had failed to givethe Teutons credit for the successes they had actually won. To us, bornand bred in the East as we were, the success of German propaganda in theTurkish Empire could not come as an overwhelming surprise; but itsfullness amazed us. 

It may be of timely interest to say a few words here regarding thispropaganda as I have seen it in Palestine, spreading under strong andefficient organization for twenty years. 

In order to realize her imperialistic dreams, Germany absolutely neededPalestine. It was the key to the whole Oriental situation. No merecoincidence brought the Kaiser to Damascus in November, 1898, --the samemonth that Kitchener, in London, was hailed as Gordon's avenger, --whenhe uttered his famous phrase at the tomb of Saladin: "Tell the threehundred million Moslems of the world that I am their friend!" We haveall seen photographs of the imperial figure, draped in an amazingburnous of his own designing (above which the Prussian _Pickelhaube_rises supreme), as he moved from point to point in this portentousvisit: we may also have seen Caran d'Ache's celebrated cartoon (asubject of diplomatic correspondence) representing this same imperialfigure, in its Oriental toggery, riding into Jerusalem on an ass. 

The nations of Europe laughed at this visit and its transparent purpose, but it was all part of the scheme which won for the Germans theconcessions for the Konia-Bagdad Railway, and made them owners of thedouble valley of the Euphrates and Tigris. Through branch linesprojected through the firman, they are practically in control of boththe Syrian routes toward the Cypriotic Mediterranean and the Lebanonvalleys. They also control the three Armenian routes of Cappadocia, theBlack Sea, and the trans-Caucasian branch of Urfa, Marach, and Mardine. (The fall of Erzerum has altered conditions respecting this last. ) Theydominate the Persian routes toward Tauris and Teheran as well; and last, but not least, the Gulf branch of Zobeir. These railways delivered intoGerman hands the control of Persia, whence the road to India may be madeeasy: through Syria lies the route to the Suez Canal and Egypt, whichwas used in February, 1915, and will probably be used again this year. 

To make this Oriental dream a reality, the Germans have not relied ontheir railway concessions alone. Their Government has done everything inits power to encourage German colonization in Palestine. Scattered allover the country are German mills that half of the time have nothing togrind. German hotels have been opened in places seldom frequented bytourists. German engineers appeared in force, surveying, sounding, noting. All these colonists held gatherings in the Arab villages, whenthe ignorant natives were told of the greatness of Germany, of her goodintentions, and of the evil machinations of other powers. What I statehere can be corroborated by any one who knows Palestine and has lived init. 

About the time when we first knew that Turkey would join the Germanicpowers came the news that the "Capitulations" had been revoked. As isgenerally known, foreigners formerly enjoyed the protection of theirrespective consuls. The Turkish Government, under the terms of theso-called Capitulations, or agreements, had no jurisdiction over anAmerican, for instance, or a Frenchman, who could not be arrestedwithout the consent of his consul. In the Ottoman Empire, where law andjustice are not at a premium, such protection was a wholesome andnecessary policy. 

The revoking of the Capitulations was a terrible blow to all theEuropeans, meaning, as it did, the practical abolition of all theirrights. Upon the Arabs it acted like an intoxicant. Every boot-black orboatman felt that he was the equal of the accursed Frank, who now had noconsul to protect him; and abuses began immediately. Moreover, as if bymagic, the whole country became Germanized. In all the mosques, Fridayprayers were ended with an invocation for the welfare of the Sultan and"Hadji Wilhelm. " The significance of this lies in the fact that thetitle "Hadji" can be properly applied only to a Moslem who has made thepilgrimage to Mecca and kissed the sacred stone of the Kaaba. Instantdeath is the penalty paid by any Christian who is found within thatenclosure: yet Wilhelm II, head of the Lutheran faith, stepped forwardas "Hadji Wilhelm. " His pictures were sold everywhere; German officersappeared; and it seemed as if a wind of brutal mastery were blowing. 

The dominant figure of this movement in Palestine was, without doubt, the German Consul at Haifa, Leutweld von Hardegg. He traveled about thecountry, making speeches, and distributing pamphlets in Arabic, in whichit was elaborately proved that Germans are not Christians, like theFrench or English, but that they are descendants of the prophetMohammed. Passages from the Koran were quoted, prophesying the coming ofthe Kaiser as the Savior of Islam. 

CHAPTER IV

ROAD-MAKING AND DISCHARGE

The news of the actual declaration of war by Turkey caused a tremendousstir in our regiment. The prevailing feeling was one of greatrestlessness and discontent. The Arabs made many bitter remarks againstGermany. "Why didn't she help us against the Italians during the war forTripoli?" they said. "Now that she is in trouble she is drawing us intothe fight. " Their opinions, however, soon underwent a change. In thefirst place, they came to realize that Turkey had taken up arms againstRussia; and Russia is considered first and foremost the arch-enemy. German reports of German successes also had a powerful effect on them. They began to grow boastful, arrogant; and the sight of the plunderingof Europeans, Jews, and Christians convinced them that a very desirablerégime was setting in. Saffêd has a large Jewish colony, and it wastorment for me to have to witness the outrages that my people sufferedin the name of "requisitioning. "

The final blow came one morning when all the Jewish and Christiansoldiers of our regiment were called out and told that henceforth theywere to serve in the _taboor amlieh_, or working corps. The object ofthis action, plainly enough, was to conciliate and flatter theMohammedan population, and at the same time to put the Jews andChristians, who for the most part favored the cause of the Allies, in aposition where they would be least dangerous. We were disarmed; ouruniforms were taken away, and we became hard-driven "gangsters. " I shallnever forget the humiliation of that day when we, who, after all, werethe best-disciplined troops of the lot, were first herded to our work ofpushing wheelbarrows and handling spades, by grinning Arabs, rifle onshoulder. We were set to building the road between Saffêd and Tiberias, on the Sea of Galilee--a link in the military highway from Damascus tothe coast, which would be used for the movement of troops in case therailroad should be cut off. It had no immediate strategic bearing on theattack against Suez, however. 

From six in the morning till seven at night we were hard at it, exceptfor one hour's rest at noon. While we had money, it was possible to getsome slight relief by bribing our taskmasters; but this soon came to anend, and we had to endure their brutality as best we could. Thewheelbarrows we used were the property of a French company which, before the war, was undertaking a highway to Beirut. No grease wasprovided for the wheels, so that there was a maddening squeaking andsquealing in addition to the difficulty of pushing the barrows. One dayI suggested to an inspection officer that if the wheels were not greasedthe axles would be burned out. He agreed with me and issued an orderthat the men were to provide their own oil to lubricate the wheels!

I shall not dwell on the physical sufferings we underwent while workingon this road, for the reason that the conditions I have described wereprevalent over the whole country; and later, when I had the opportunityto visit some construction camps in Samaria and Judaea found that incomparison our lot had been a happy one. While we were breaking stonesand trundling squeaking wheelbarrows, however, the most disquietingrumors began to drift in to us from our home villages. Plundering hadbeen going on in the name of "requisitioning"; the country was full ofsoldiery whose capacity for mischief-making was well known to us, and itwas torture to think of what might be happening in our peaceful homeswhere so few men had been left for protection. All the barbed-wirefences, we heard, had been torn up and sent north for the constructionof barricades. In a wild land like Palestine, where the native has norespect for property, where fields and crops are always at the mercy ofmarauders, the barbed-wire fence has been a tremendous factor forcivilization, and with these gone the Arabs were once more free to sweepacross the country unhindered, stealing and destroying. 

The situation grew more and more unbearable. One day a little Christiansoldier--a Nazarene--disappeared from the ranks. We never saw him again, but we learned that his sister, a very young girl, had been forciblytaken by a Turkish officer of the Nazareth garrison. In Palestine, thedishonor of a girl can be redeemed by blood alone. The young soldier hadhunted for his sister, found her in the barracks, and shot her; he thensurrendered himself to the military authorities, who undoubtedly put himto death. He had not dared to kill the real criminal, --the officer, --forhe knew that this would not only bring death to his family, but wouldcall down terrible suffering on all the Christians of Nazareth. 

[ILLUSTRATION: NAZARETH, FROM THE NORTHEAST]

When I learned of this tragedy, I determined to get out of the army andreturn to my village at all costs. Nine Turkish officers out of ten canbe bought, and I had reason to know that the officer in command atSaffêd was not that tenth man. Now, according to the law of the country, a man has the right to purchase exemption from military service for asum equivalent to two hundred dollars. My case was different, for I wasalready enrolled; but everything is possible in Turkey. I set to work, and in less than two weeks I had bought half a dozen officers, rangingfrom corporal to captain, and had obtained consent of the higherauthorities to my departure, provided I could get a physician'scertificate declaring me unfit for service. 

This was arranged in short order, although I am healthy-looking and thedoctor found some difficulty in hitting on an appropriate ailment. Finally he decided that I had "too much blood"--whatever that mightmean. With his certificate in hand, I paid the regular price of twohundred dollars from funds which had been sent me by my family, andwalked out of the barracks a free man. My happiness was mingled withsadness at the thought of leaving the comrades with whom I had sufferedand hoped. The four boys from my village were splendid. They felt that Iwas right in going home to do what I could for the people, but when theykissed me good-bye, in the Eastern fashion, the tears were running downtheir cheeks; and they were all strong, brave fellows. 

On my way back to Zicron-Jacob, I passed through the town of Sheff'amr, where I got a foretaste of the conditions I was to find at home. ATurkish soldier, sauntering along the street, helped himself to fruitfrom the basket of an old vender, and went on without offering to pay afarthing. When the old man ventured to protest, the soldier turned likea flash and began beating him mercilessly, knocking him down andbattering him until he was bruised, bleeding, and covered with the mudof the street. There was a hubbub; a crowd formed, through which aTurkish officer forced his way, demanding explanations. The soldiersketched the situation in a few words, whereupon the officer, turning tothe old man, said impressively, --"If a soldier of the Sultan shouldchoose to heap filth on your head, it is for you to kiss his hand ingratitude. "

CHAPTER V

THE HIDDEN ARMS

When I finally reached Zicron-Jacob, I found rather a sad state ofaffairs. Military law had been declared. No one was supposed to be seenin the streets after sundown. The village was full of soldiers, andcivilians had to put up with all kinds of ill-treatment. Moreover, ourpeople were in a state of great excitement because an order had recentlycome from the Turkish authorities bidding them surrender whateverfire-arms or weapons they had in their possession. A sinister command, this: we knew that similar measures had been taken before the terribleArmenian massacres, and we felt that some such fate might be inpreparation for our people. With the arms gone, the head men of thevillage knew that our last hold over the Arabs, our last chance fordefense against sudden violence, would be gone, and they had refused togive them up. A house-to-house search had been made--fruitlessly, forour little arsenal was safely cached in a field, beneath growing grain. 

It was a tense, unpleasant situation. At any time the Turks might decideto back up their demand by some of the violent methods of which theyare past masters. A family council was held in my home, and it wasdecided to send my sister, a girl of twenty-three, to some friends atthe American Syrian Protestant College at Beirut, so that we might beable to move freely without the responsibility of having a girl at home, in a country where, as a matter of course, the women-folk are seized andcarried off before a massacre. At Beirut we knew that there was anAmerican Consul-General, who kept in continual touch with the battleshipanchored in the harbor for the protection of American interests. 

My sister got away none too soon. One evening shortly after herdeparture, when I was standing in the doorway of our house watching theever fresh miracle of the Eastern sunset, a Turkish officer came ridingdown the street with about thirty cavalrymen. He called me out andordered me to follow him to the little village inn, where he dismountedand led me to one of the inner rooms, his spurs jingling loudly as wepassed along the stone corridor. 

I never knew whether I had been selected for this attention because ofmy prominence as a leader of the Jewish young men or simply because Ihad been standing conveniently in the doorway. The officer closed thedoor and came straight to the point by asking me where our store ofarms was hidden. He was a big fellow, with the handsome, cruel featuresusual enough in his class. There was no open menace in his firstquestion. When I refused to tell him, he began wheedling and offeringall sorts of favors if I would betray my people. Then, all of a sudden, he whipped out a revolver and stuck the muzzle right in my face. I feltthe blood leave my heart, but I was able to control myself and refusehis demand. The officer was not easily discouraged; the hours I passedin that little room, with its smoky kerosene lamp, were terrible ones. Irealized, however, how tremendously important the question of the armswas, and strength was given me to hold out until the officer gave up indisgust and let me go home. 

[ILLUSTRATION: HOUSE OF THE AUTHOR'S FATHER, EPHRAIM FISHL AARONSOHN, INZICRON-JACOB]

My father, an old man, knew nothing of what had happened, but the restof my family were tremendously excited. I made light of the wholeaffair, but I felt sure that this was only the beginning. Sure enough, next morning--the Sabbath--the same officer returned and put three ofthe leading elders of the village, together with myself, under arrest. After another fruitless inquisition at the hotel, we were handcuffed andstarted on foot toward the prison, a day's journey away. As our littleprocession passed my home, my father, who was aged and feeble, cametottering forward to say good-bye to me. A soldier pushed him roughlyback; he reeled, then fell full-length in the street before my eyes. 

It was a dismal departure. We were driven through the streets shackledlike criminals, and the women and children came out of the houses andwatched us in silence--their heads bowed, tears running down theircheeks. They realized that for thirty-five years these old men, mycomrades, had been struggling and suffering for their ideal--aregenerated Palestine; now, in the dusk of their life, it seemed as ifall their hopes and dreams were coming to ruin. The oppressive tragedyof the situation settled down on me more and more heavily as the daywore on and heat and fatigue told on my companions. My feelings musthave been written large on my face, for one of them, a fine-lookingpatriarch, tried to give me comfort by reminding me that we must notrely upon strength of arms, and that our spirit could never be broken, no matter how defenseless we were. Thus he, an old man, was encouragingme instead of receiving help from my youth and enthusiasm. 

At last we arrived at the prison and were locked into separate cells. That same night we were tortured with the _falagy_, or bastinado. Thevictim of this horrible punishment is trussed up, arms and legs, andthrown on his knees; then, on the bare soles of his feet a pliant greenrod is brought down with all the force of a soldier's arm. The pain isexquisite; blood leaps out at the first cut, and strong men usuallyfaint after thirty or forty strokes. Strange to say, the worst part ofit is not the blow itself, but the whistling of the rod through the airas it rushes to its mark. The groans of my older comrades, whose gaspsand prayers I could hear through the walls of the cell, helped me bearthe agony until unconsciousness mercifully came to the rescue. 

For several days more we were kept in the prison, sick and broken withsuffering. The second night, as I lay sleepless and desperate on thestrip of dirty matting that served as bed, I heard a scratch-scratchingat the grated slit of a window, and presently a slender stick wasinserted into the cell. I went over and shook it; some one at the otherend was holding it firm. And then, a curious whispering sound began tocome from the end of the stick. I put my ear down, and caught the voiceof one of the men from our village. He had taken a long bamboo pole, pierced the joints, and crept up behind a broken old wall close beneathmy window. By means of this primitive telephone we talked as long as wedared. I assured him that we were still enduring, and urged him on noaccount to give up the arms to the Turkish authorities--not even if wehad to make the ultimate sacrifice. 

Finally, when it was found that torture and imprisonment would not makeus yield our secret, the Turks resorted to the final test--the ordealwhich we could not withstand. They announced that on a certain date anumber of our young girls would be carried off and handed over to theofficers, to be kept until the arms were disclosed. We knew that theywere capable of carrying out this threat; we knew exactly what it meant. There was no alternative. The people of our village had nothing to dobut dig up the treasured arms and, with broken hearts, hand them over tothe authorities. 

And so the terrible news was brought to us one morning that we werefree. Personally, I felt much happier on the day I was put in prisonthan when I was released. I had often wondered how our people had beenable to bear the rack and thumbscrew of the Spanish Inquisition; butwhen my turn and my comrades' came for torture, I realized that the samespirit that helped our ancestors was working in us also. 

Now I knew that our suffering had been useless. Whenever the Turkishauthorities wished, the horrors of the Armenian massacres would liveagain in Zicron-Jacob, and we should be powerless to raise a hand toprotect ourselves. As we came limping home through the streets of ourvillage, I caught sight of my own Smith & Wesson revolver in the handsof a mere boy of fifteen--the son of a well-known Arab outlaw. Irealized then that the Turks had not only taken our weapons, but haddistributed them among the natives in order to complete our humiliation. The blood rushed to my face. I started forward to take the revolver awayfrom the boy, but one of the old men caught hold of my sleeve and heldme back. 

[ILLUSTRATION: IN A NATIVE CAFÉ, SAFFÊD/A LEMONADE-SELLER OF DAMASCUS]

CHAPTER VI

THE SUEZ CAMPAIGN

I have already spoken of the so-called "requisitioning" that took placeamong our people while I was working at Saffêd. This, of course, reallyamounted to wholesale pillage. The hand of the Turkish looters hadfallen particularly heavy on carts and draught animals. As the Arabsknow little or nothing of carting, hauling, or the management of horsesand mules, the Turks, simply enough, had "requisitioned" many of theowners--middle-aged or elderly men--and forced them to go south to helpalong with the tremendous preparations that were being made for theattack on Suez. Among these were a number of men from our village. Inthe course of time their families began to get the most harrowingmessages from them. They were absolutely destitute, no wages being paidthem by the Turks; their clothes were dropping off them in rags; manywere sick. After much excited planning, it was decided to send anotherman and myself down south on a sort of relief expedition, with asubstantial sum of money that had been raised with great difficulty byour people. Through the influence of my brother at the AgriculturalExperiment Station, I got permission from the _mouchtar_ to leaveZicron-Jacob, and about the middle of January, 1915, I set out forJerusalem. 

To Western minds, the idea of the Holy City serving as a base for modernmilitary operations must be full of incongruities. And, as a matter offact, it _was_ an amazing sight to see the streets packed withkhaki-clad soldiers and hear the brooding silence of ancient wallsshattered by the crash of steel-shod army boots. Here, for the firsttime, I saw the German officers--quantities of them. Strangely out ofplace they looked, with their pink-and-whiteness that no amount of hotsunshine could quite burn off. They wore the regular German officer'suniform, except that the _Pickelhaube_ was replaced by a khakisun-helmet. I was struck by the youthfulness of them; many were nothingbut boys, and there were weak, dissolute faces in plenty--a fact thatwas later explained when I heard that Palestine had been thedumping-ground for young men of high family whose parents were anxiousto have them as far removed as possible from the danger zone. Fast'sHotel was the great meeting-place in Jerusalem for these young bloods. Every evening thirty or forty would foregather there to drink and talkwomen and strategy. I well remember the evening when one of them--aslender young Prussian with no back to his head, braceleted andmonocled--rose and announced, in the decisive tones that go with acertain stage of intoxication: "What we ought to do is to hand over theorganization of this campaign to Thomas Cook & Sons!"

However, the German officers were by no means all incompetents. Theyrealized (I soon found out) that they had little hope of bringing a bigarmy through the Egyptian desert and making a successful campaign there. Their object was to immobilize a great force of British troops aroundthe Canal, to keep the Mohammedan population in Palestine impressed withTurkish power, and to stir up religious unrest among the natives inEgypt. It must be admitted that in the first two of these purposes theyhave been successful. 

The Turks were less far-sighted. They believed firmly that they weregoing to sweep the English off the face of the earth and enter Cairo intriumph, and preparations for the march on Suez went on with feverishenthusiasm. The ideas of the common soldiers on this subject wereamusing. Some of them declared that the Canal was to be filled up by thesandbags which had been prepared in great quantities. Others held thatthousands of camels would be kept without water for many days precedingthe attack; then the thirsty animals, when released, would rush into theCanal in such numbers that the troops could march to victory over thepacked masses of drowned bodies. 

The army operating against Suez numbered about one hundred and fiftythousand men. Of these about twenty thousand were AnatolianTurks--trained soldiers, splendid fighting material, as was shown bytheir resistance at the Dardanelles. The rest were Palestinian Arabs, and very inferior troops they were. The Arab as a soldier is at oncestupid and cunning: fierce when victory is on his side, but unreliablewhen things go against him. In command of the expedition was the famousDjemal Pasha, a Young Turk general of tremendous energy, but possessingsmall ability to see beyond details to the big, broad concepts ofstrategy. Although a great friend of Enver Pasha, he looked withdisfavor on the German officers and, in particular, on Bach Pasha, theGerman Governor of Jerusalem, with whom he had serious disagreements. This dislike of the Germans was reflected among the lesser Turkishofficers. Many of these, after long years of service, found themselvessubordinated to young foreigners, who, in addition to arbitrarypromotion, received much higher salaries than the Turks. What is more, they were paid in clinking gold, whereas the Turks, when paid at all, got paper currency. 

Beersheba, a prosperous town of the ancient province of Idumea, was thesouthern base of operations for the advance on Suez. Some of ourvillagers had been sent to this district, and, in searching for them, Ihad the opportunity of seeing at least the taking-off place of theexpedition. Beyond this point no Jew or Christian was allowed to pass, with the exception of the physicians, all of whom were non-Mohammedanswho had been forced into the army. 

Beersheba was swarming with troops. They filled the town and overflowedon to the sands outside, where a great tent-city grew up. And everywherethat the Turkish soldiers went, disorganization and inefficiencyfollowed them. From all over the country the finest camels had been"requisitioned" and sent down to Beersheba until, at the time I wasthere, thousands and thousands of them were collected in theneighborhood. Through the laziness and stupidity of the Turkishcommissariat officers, which no amount of German efficiency couldcounteract, no adequate provision was made for feeding them, andincredible numbers succumbed to starvation and neglect. Their greatcarcasses dotted the sand in all directions; it was only the wonderfulantiseptic power of the Eastern sun that held pestilence in check. 

The soldiers themselves suffered much hardship. The crowding in thetents was unspeakable; the water-supply was almost as inadequate as themedical service, which consisted chiefly of volunteer Red Crescentsocieties--among them a unit of twenty German nurses sent by theAmerican College at Beirut. Medical supplies, such as they were, hadbeen taken from the different mission hospitals and pharmacies ofPalestine--these "requisitions" being made by officers who knew nothingof medical requirements and simply scooped together everything in sight. As a result, one of the army physicians told me that in Beersheba he hadopened some medical chests consigned to him and found, to his horror, that they were full of microscopes and gynecological instruments--forthe care of wounded soldiers in the desert!

Visits of British aeroplanes to Beersheba were common occurrences. Longbefore the machine itself could be seen, its whanging, resonant humwould come floating out of the blazing sky, seemingly from everywhere atonce. Soldiers rushed from their tents, squinting up into the heavensuntil the speck was discovered, swimming slowly through the air; thenfollowed wholesale firing at an impossible range until the officersforbade it. True to the policy of avoiding all unnecessary harm to thenatives, these British aviators never dropped bombs on the town, but--what was more dangerous from the Turkish point of view--they wouldunload packages of pamphlets, printed in Arabic, informing the nativesthat they were being deceived; that the Allies were their only truefriends; that the Germans were merely making use of them to furthertheir own schemes, etc. These cleverly worded little tracts cameshowering down out of the sky, and at first they were eagerly picked up. The Turkish commanders, however, soon announced that any one foundcarrying them would pay the death penalty. After that, when the littlebundles dropped near them, the natives would, run as if from highexplosive bombs. 

All things considered, it is wonderful that the Turkish demonstrationagainst the Canal came as near to fulfillment as it did. Twenty thousandsoldiers actually crossed the desert in six days on scant rations, andwith them they took two big guns, which they dragged by hand when themules dropped from thirst and exhaustion. They also carried pontoons tobe used in crossing the Canal. Guns and pontoons are now at rest in theMuseum at Cairo. 

Just what took place in the attack is known to very few. The Englishhave not seen fit to make public the details, and there was little to begot from the demoralized soldiers who returned to Beersheba. Piece bypiece, however, I gathered that the attacking party had come up to theCanal at dawn. Finding everything quiet, they set about getting across, and had even launched a pontoon, when the British, who were lying inwait, opened a terrific fire from the farther bank, backed by armoredlocomotives and aeroplanes. "It was as if the gates of Jehannum wereopened and its fires turned loose upon us, " one soldier told me. 

The Turks succeeded in getting their guns into action for a very shortwhile. One of the men-of-war in the Canal was hit; several houses inIsmaïlia suffered damage; but the invaders were soon driven away inconfusion, leaving perhaps two thousand prisoners in the hands of theEnglish. If the latter had chosen to do so, they could have annihilatedthe Turkish forces then and there. The ticklish state of mind of theMohammedan population in Egypt, however, has led them to adopt a policyof leniency and of keeping to the defensive, which subsequentdevelopments have more than justified. It is characteristic of England'sfaculty for holding her colonies that batteries manned by Egyptians didthe finest work in defense of the Canal. 

The reaction in Palestine after the defeat at Suez was tremendous. Justbefore the attack, Djemal Pasha had sent out a telegram announcing theoverwhelming defeat of the British vanguard, which had caused wildenthusiasm. Another later telegram proclaimed that the Canal had beenreached, British men-of-war sunk, the Englishmen routed--with a loss tothe Turks of five men and two camels, "which were afterwards recovered. ""But, " added the telegram, "a terrible sand-storm having arisen, theglorious army takes it as the wish of Allah not to continue the attack, and has therefore withdrawn in triumph. "

These reports hoodwinked the ignorant natives for a little while, butwhen the stream of haggard soldiers, wounded and exhausted, beganpouring back from the south, they guessed what had happened, and afierce revulsion against the Germano-Turkish régime set in. A few weeksbefore the advance on Suez, I was in Jaffa, where the enthusiasm andexcitement had been at fever-pitch. Parades and celebrations of allkinds in anticipation of the triumphal march into Egypt were takingplace, and one day a camel, a dog, and a bull, decorated respectivelywith the flags of Russia, France, and England, were driven through thestreets. The poor animals were horribly maltreated by the natives, whorained blows and flung filth upon them by way of giving concreteexpression to their contempt for the Allies. Mr. Glazebrook, theAmerican Consul at Jerusalem, happened to be with me in Jaffa that day;and never shall I forget the expression of pain and disgust on his faceas he watched this melancholy little procession of scapegoats hurryingalong the street. 

Now, however, all was changed. The Arabs, who take defeat badly, turnedagainst the authorities who had got them into such trouble. Rumorscirculated that Djemal Pasha had been bought by the English and that thedefeat at Suez had been planned by him, and persons keeping an ear closeto the ground began to hear mutterings of a general massacre of Germans. In fact, things came within an ace of a bloody outbreak. I knew someGermans in Jaffa and Haifa who firmly believed that it was all over withthem. In the defeated army itself the Turkish officers gave vent totheir hatred of the Germans. Three German officers were shot by theirTurkish comrades during the retreat, and a fourth committed suicide. However, Djemal Pasha succeeded in keeping order by means of sternrepressive methods and by the fear roused by his large body-guard offaithful Anatolians. 

[ILLUSTRATION: RAILROAD STATION SCENE BETWEEN HAIFA AND DAMASCUS/CAMELSBRINGING IN NEWLY CUT TREES, DAMASCUS]

We felt sure that the Turkish defeat would put a damper on the arroganceof the soldiery. But even the Mohammedan population were hoping that theAllies would push their victory and land troops in Syria and Palestine;for though they hated the infidel, they loved the Turk not at all, andthe country was exhausted and the blockade of the Mediterranean by theAllies prevented the import and export of articles. The oranges wererotting on the trees because the annual Liverpool market was closed toPalestine, and other crops were in similar case. The country was short, too, of petroleum, sugar, rice, and other supplies, and even of matches. We had to go back to old customs and use flint and steel for fire, andwe seldom used our lamps. Money was scarce, too, and, Turkey havingdeclared a moratorium, cash was often unobtainable even by those who hadmoney in the banks, and much distress ensued. 

As the defeated army was pouring in from the south, I decided to leaveBeersheba and go home. The roads and the fields were covered with deadcamels and horses and mules. Hundreds of soldiers were straggling indisorder, many of them on leave but many deserting. Soon after thedefeat at the Canal several thousand soldiers deserted, but an amnestywas declared and they returned to their regiments. 

When I arrived at Jerusalem I found the city filled with soldiers. Djemal Pasha had just returned from the desert, and his quarters wereguarded by a battery of two field guns. Nobody knew what to expect; somethought that the country would have a little more freedom now that thesoldiery had lost its braggadocio, while others expected the lawlessnessthat attends disorganization. I went to see Consul Glazebrook. He is atrue American, a Southerner, formerly a professor of theology atPrinceton. He was most earnest and devoted in behalf of the Americancitizens that came under his care, rendering at Jerusalem the same sortof service that Ambassador Morgenthau has rendered at Constantinople. Hewas practically the only man who stood up for the poor, defenselesspeople of the city. He received me kindly, and I told him what I knew ofconditions in the country, what I had heard among the Arabs, and of myown fears and apprehensions. He was visibly impressed and he advised meto see Captain Decker, of the U. S. S. Tennessee, who was then in Jaffa, promising to write himself to the captain of my proposed visit. 

I went to Jaffa the same day and after two days' delay succeeded inseeing Captain Decker, with the further help of Mr. Glazebrook, who tookme with him. The police interfered and tried to keep me from goingaboard the ship, but after long discussions I was permitted to take myplace in the launch that the captain had sent for the consul. 

Captain Decker was interested in what I had to say, and at his request Idictated my story to his stenographer. What became of my report I do notknow, --whether it was transmitted to the Department of State or whetherCaptain Decker communicated with Ambassador Morgenthau, --but at allevents we soon began to see certain reforms inaugurated in parts of thecountry, and these reforms could have been effected only throughpressure from Constantinople. The presence of the two American cruisersin the Mediterranean waters has without any doubt been instrumental inthe saving of many lives. 

CHAPTER VII

FIGHTING THE LOCUSTS

While I was traveling in the south, another menace to our people'swelfare had appeared: the locusts. From the Soudan they came intremendous hosts--black clouds of them that obscured the sun. It seemedas if Nature had joined in the conspiracy against us. These locusts wereof the species known as the pilgrim, or wandering, locust; for fortyyears they had not come to Palestine, but now their visitation was likethat of which the prophet Joel speaks in the Old Testament. They camefull-grown, ripe for breeding; the ground was covered with the femalesdigging in the soil and depositing their egg-packets, and we knew thatwhen they hatched we should be overwhelmed, for there was not a foot ofground in which these eggs were not to be found. 

The menace was so great that even the military authorities were obligedto take notice of it. They realized that if it were allowed to fulfillitself, there would be famine in the land, and the army would sufferwith the rest. Djemal Pasha summoned my brother (the President of theAgricultural Experiment Station at Athlit) and intrusted him with theorganization of a campaign against the insects. It was a hard enoughtask. The Arabs are lazy, and fatalistic besides; they cannot understandwhy men should attempt to fight the _Djesh Allah_ ("God's Army"), asthey call the locusts. In addition, my brother was seriously handicappedby lack of petroleum, galvanized iron, and other articles which couldnot be obtained because of the Allies' blockade. 

In spite of these drawbacks, however, he attempted to work up ascientific campaign. Djemal Pasha put some thousands of Arab soldiers athis disposition, and these were set to work digging trenches into whichthe hatching locusts were driven and destroyed. This is the only meansof coping with the situation: once the locusts get their wings, nothingcan be done with them. It was a hopeless fight. Nothing short of thecoöperation of every farmer in the country could have won the day; andwhile the people of the progressive Jewish villages struggled on to theend, --men, women, and children working in the fields until they wereexhausted, --the Arab farmers sat by with folded hands. The threats ofthe military authorities only stirred them to half-hearted efforts. Finally, after two months of toil, the campaign was given up and thelocusts broke in waves over the countryside, destroying everything. Asthe prophet Joel said, "The field is wasted, the land mourneth; for thecorn is wasted: the new wine is dried up, the oil languisheth. . . . Theland is as the garden of Eden before them, and behind them a desolatewilderness. "

Not only was every green leaf devoured, but the very bark was peeledfrom the trees, which stood out white and lifeless, like skeletons. Thefields were stripped to the ground, and the old men of our villages, whohad given their lives to cultivating these gardens and vineyards, cameout of the synagogues where they had been praying and wailing, andlooked on the ruin with dimmed eyes. Nothing was spared. The insects, intheir fierce hunger, tried to engulf everything in their way. I haveseen Arab babies, left by their mothers in the shade of some tree, whosefaces had been devoured by the oncoming swarms of locusts before theirscreams had been heard. I have seen the carcasses of animals hidden fromsight by the undulating, rustling blanket of insects. And in the face ofsuch a menace the Arabs remained inert. With their customary fatalismthey accepted the locust plague as a necessary evil. They could notunderstand why we were so frantic to fight it. And as a matter of fact, they really got a good deal out of the locusts, for they loved to feastupon the female insects. They gathered piles of them and threw them uponburning charcoal, then, squatting around the fire, devoured the roastedinsects with great gusto. I saw a fourteen-year-old boy eat as many as ahundred at a sitting. 

CHAPTER VIII

THE LEBANON

During the locust invasion my brother sent me on an inspection tour toinvestigate the ravages of the insect in Syria. With an official_boyouroulton_ (passport) in my pocket, I was able to travel all overthe country without being interfered with by the military authorities. Ihad an excellent opportunity to see what was going on everywhere. Thelocusts had destroyed everything from as far south as the Egyptiandesert to the Lebanon Mountains on the north; but the locust was not theonly, nor the worst, plague that the people had to complain of. Theplundering under the name of "military requisitions, " the despotic ruleof the army officers, and the general insecurity were even moredesolating. 

As I proceeded on my journey northward, I hoped to find consolation andbrighter prospects in the independent province of the Lebanon. FewAmericans know just what the Lebanon is. From the repeated allusions inthe Bible most people imagine it to be nothing but a mountain. The truthis that a beautiful province of about four thousand square miles bearsthat name. The population of the Lebanon consists of a Christian sectcalled Maronites and the Druses, the latter a people with a secretreligion the esoteric teachings of which are known only to theinitiated, and never divulged to outsiders. Both these peoples aresturdy, handsome folk. Through the machinations of the Turks, whosepolicy is always to "divide and rule, " the Maronites were continuallyfighting against the Druses. In 1860 Turkish troops joined with theDruses and fell upon the Maronites with wholesale massacres that spreadas far south as Damascus, where ten thousand Christians were killed intwo days. 

[ILLUSTRATION: THE CHRISTIAN TOWN OF ZAHLEH IN THE LEBANON]

The European powers were moved at last. Fifty warships were sent toBeirut, and ten thousand French troops were landed in the Lebanon, tocreate order. Under the pressure of the European powers the SublimePorte was forced to grant an autonomy for the province of the Lebanon. The French, English, German, Russian, Austrian, and, a year later, theItalian, Governments were signing the guaranty of this autonomy. 

Since then the Lebanon has had peace. The Governor of the province mustalways be a Christian, but the General Council of the Lebanon includesrepresentatives of all the different races and religions of thepopulation. A wonderful development began with the liberation fromTurkish oppression. Macadamized roads were built all over the province, agriculture was improved, and there was complete safety for life andproperty. There is a proverb now in Palestine and Syria which says, "Inthe Lebanon a virgin may travel alone at midnight and be safe, and apurse of gold dropped in the road at midday will never be stolen. " Andthe proverb told the literal truth. 

When one crossed the boundary from Turkish Palestine into the Lebanonprovince, what a change met his eyes!--peaceful and prosperous villages, schools filled with children, immense plantations of mulberry trees andolives, the slopes of the mountains terraced with beautiful vineyards, ahandsome and sturdy population, police on every road to help thestranger, and young girls and women with happy laugh and chatter workingin the fields. With a population of about six hundred thousand thisprovince exported annually two million dollars' worth of raw silk, silkworm-raising being a specialty of the Lebanon. 

When autonomy was granted the Lebanon, French influence becamepredominant among the Maronites and other Christians of the province. French is spoken by almost all of them, and love for France is adeep-rooted sentiment of the people. On the other hand, the Druses feelthe English influence. For the last sixty years England has been thefriend of the Druses, and they have not forgotten it. 

It may be worth while to tell in a few words the story of one man whoaccomplished wonders in spreading the influence of his country. SirRichard Wood was born in London, a son of Catholic parents. From hisearly boyhood he aspired to enter the diplomatic service. The Eastattracted him strongly, and in order to learn Arabic he went withanother young Englishman to live in the Lebanon. In Beirut they soughtthe hospitality of the Maronite patriarch. For a few days they weretreated with lavish hospitality, and then the patriarch summoned thembefore him and told them that they must leave the city withintwenty-four hours. The reason for their disgrace they discovered later. Not suspecting that they were being put to the test, they had eaten meaton a Friday, and this made the patriarch think that they were not trueCatholics, but were there as spies. 

Leaving Beirut in haste, Wood and his friend sought shelter with theDruses, who received them with open arms. For two years Wood livedamong the Druses, in the village of Obey. There he learned Arabic andbecame thoroughly acquainted with the country and with the ways of theDruses, and there he conceived the idea of winning the Druses forEngland to counteract the influence of the French Maronites. He wentback to London, where he succeeded in impressing his views upon theForeign Office, and he returned to Syria charged with a secret mission. Before long he persuaded the Druse chieftains to address a petition toEngland asking for British protection. 

British protection was granted, and for over thirty years Richard Wood, virtually single-handed, shaped the destiny of Syria. It was he whobroke the power of Ibrahim Pasha, the son of Mehemet Ali; it was he whoguided Admiral Stopford in the bombardment of Beirut; it was he, again, who brought about the landing of English troops in Syria in 1841; wefind him afterwards in Damascus as British Consul, and wherever he wenthe was always busy spreading English power and prestige. He understoodthe East thoroughly and felt that England must be strong in Syria if shewished to retain her imperial power. It is very unfortunate that thepolicy of Sir Richard Wood was not carried out by his nation. 

It was with high hopes and expectations that I approached the Lebanon. I was looking forward to the moment when I should find myself amongpeople who were free from the Turkish yoke, in a country where I shouldbe able to breathe freely for a few hours. 

But how great was my consternation, when, on entering the Lebanon, Ifound on all the roads Turkish soldiers who stopped me every minute toask for my papers! Even then I could not realize that the worst hadhappened. Of course, rumors of the Turkish occupation of the Lebanon hadreached us a few weeks before, but we had not believed it, as we knewthat Germany and Austria were among those who guaranteed the autonomy ofthe Lebanon. It was true, however; the scrap of paper that guaranteedthe freedom of the Lebanon had proved of no more value to the Lebanesethan had that other scrap of paper to Belgium. As I entered thebeautiful village of Ed-Damur, one of the most prosperous and enchantingplaces on earth, I saw entire regiments of Turkish troops encamped inand about the village. 

While I was watering my horse, I tried to ask questions from a fewinhabitants. My fair hair and complexion and my khaki costume made themtake me for a German, and they barely answered me, but when I addressedthem in French their faces lit up. For the Lebanon, for all it isthousands of miles away from France, is nevertheless like a Frenchprovince. For fifty years the French language and French culture havetaken hold of the Lebanon. No Frenchman has more love for and faith inFrance than lie in the hearts of the Lebanese Christians. They havenever forgotten that when massacres were threatening to wipe out all theChristians of the Lebanon, ten thousand French soldiers swept over themountains to spread peace, life, and French gayety. 

And when the poor people heard the language they loved, and when theyfound out that I too was the son of an oppressed and ruined community, all the sadness and bitterness of their hearts was told me, --how theTurkish soldiers had spread over the beloved mountains of Lebanon; howthe strong, stalwart young Lebanese had been taken away from themountains and forced into the Turkish army; how the girls and women werehiding in their homes, afraid to be seen by the soldiers and theirofficers; how the chieftains were imprisoned and even hanged; and howviolence and pillage had spread over the peaceful country. [Footnote:Since the above was written the American press has chronicled manyatrocities committed in the Lebanon. The execution of leaders and thecomplete blockade of the mountains by the Turkish authorities resultedin the starving of eighty thousand Lebanese. The French Government haswarned Turkey through the American Ambassador that the Turks will beheld accountable for their deeds. ]

I could not help wondering at the mistakes of the Allies. If they hadunderstood the situation in Palestine and Syria, how differently thiswar might have eventuated! The Lebanon and Syria would have raised ahundred thousand picked men, if the Allies had landed in Palestine. TheLebanon would have fought for its independence as heroically as did theBelgians. Even the Arab population would have welcomed the Allies asliberators. But alas!

With a saddened heart I pursued my journey into Beirut. My coming was ajoyful surprise to my sister. Many sad things had happened since she hadlast seen me. During my imprisonment she had suffered tortures, notknowing what would happen to me, and now that she saw me alive she criedfrom happiness. She told me how kindly she had been treated by PresidentBliss, of the Syrian Protestant College, and of all the good things thecollege had done. 

What a blessing the college was for the people of Beirut! Manyunfortunate people were saved from prison and hardships through theintervention of President Bliss. He never tired of rendering service, wonderful personal service. But alas, even his influence and power beganto wane. The American prestige in the country was broken, and theTurkish Government no longer respected the American flag. An orderissued from Constantinople demanded that the official language of thecollege be Turkish instead of English, and Turkish officers even daredto enter the college premises to search for citizens belonging to thebelligerent nations, without troubling to ask permission from theAmerican Consul. 

[ILLUSTRATION: HAIFA]

CHAPTER IX

A ROBBER BARON OF PALESTINE

Beirut is a city of about two hundred thousand inhabitants, half of whomare Christians and the rest Mohammedans and Jews. The pinch of hungerwas already felt there. Bread was to be had only on tickets issued bythe Government, and prices in general were extremely high. Thepopulation were discontented and turbulent, and every day thousands ofwomen came before the governor's residence to cry and protest againstthe scarcity of bread. 

The Allies' warships often passed near the town, but the people were notafraid of them, for it was known that the Allies had no intention ofbombarding the cities. Only once had a bombardment taken place. Towardthe end of March, 1915, a French warship approached the bay of Haifa andlanded an officer with a letter to the commandant of that town givingnotice of his intention to bombard the German Consulate at 3 P. M. Sharp. This was in retaliation for the propaganda carried on by the consul, Leutweld von Hardegg, and chiefly because of his desecration of thegrave of Bonaparte's soldiers. The consul had time to pack up hisarchives and valuables, and he left his house before three. Thebombardment began exactly at three. Fifteen shells were fired with awonderful precision. Not one house in the neighborhood of the consulatewas touched, but the consulate itself was a heap of ruins after a fewshells had struck it. The population was exceedingly calm. Only theGerman colony was panic-stricken, and on every German house an Americanflag was raised. It was rather humorous to see all the Germans who wereactive in the Turkish army in one capacity or another seek safety bymeans of this trick. 

This bombardment had a sobering effect upon the Mohammedan population. They saw that the Allies were not wholly ignorant of what was going onin the country and that they could retaliate, and safety for thenon-Mohammedans increased accordingly. 

In general Beirut was a rather quiet and safe place. The presence of anAmerican cruiser in the port had much to do with that. The Americansailors were allowed to come ashore three times a week, and they spenttheir money lavishly. It was estimated that Beirut was getting more thanfive thousand dollars a week out of them. But the natives wereespecially impressed by the manliness and quick action of the Americanboys. Frequently a few sailors were involved in a street fight withscores of Arabs, and they always held their own. In a short time theAmericans became feared, which in the Orient is equivalent to sayingthey were respected. The Beirut people are famous for their fightingspirit, but this spirit was not manifested after a few weeks of intimateacquaintance with the American blue-jackets. 

My inspection of the devastation caused by the locusts completed, Ireturned home. The news that greeted me there was alarming. I mustnarrate with some detail the events which finally decided me to leavethe country. About one hour's ride on horseback from our village lives afamily of Turkish nobles, the head of which was Sadik Pasha, brother ofthe famous Kiamil Pasha, several times Grand Vizier of the Empire. Sadik, who had been exiled from Constantinople, came to Palestine andbought great tracts of land near my people. After his death hissons--good-for-nothing, wild fellows--were forced to sell most of theestate--all except one Fewzi Bey, who retained his part of the land andlived on it. Here he collected a band of friends as worthless as himselfand gradually commenced a career of plundering and "frightfulness" muchlike that of the robber barons of mediaeval Germany. Before theoutbreak of the war he confined his attentions chiefly to the Arabs, whom he treated shamefully. He raided cattle and crops and carried offgirls and women in broad daylight. On one occasion he stopped a weddingprocession and carried off the young bride. Then he seized thebridegroom, against whom he bore a grudge, and subjected the poorBedouin to the bastinado until he consented to divorce his wife bypronouncing the words, "I divorce thee, " three times in the presence ofwitnesses, according to Mohammedan custom. This Bedouin was the grandsonof the Sheikh Hilou, a holy man of the region upon whose grave the Arabsare accustomed to make their prayers. But we villagers of Zicron-Jacobhad never submitted to Fewzi Bey in any way; our young men wereorganized and armed, and after a few encounters he let us alone. 

After the mobilization, however, and the taking away of our arms, thisoutlaw saw that his chance had come. He began to send his men and hiscamels into our fields to harvest our crops and carry them off. Thispillage continued until the locusts came--Fewzi, in the mean while, becoming so bold that he would gallop through the streets of our villagewith his horsemen, shooting right and left into the air and insultingold men and women. He boasted--apparently with reason--that theauthorities at Haifa were powerless to touch him. 

[ILLUSTRATION: HAIFA AND THE BAY OF AKKA. LOOKING EAST FROM MOUNTCARMEL]

There was one hope left. Djemal Pasha had boasted that he had introducedlaw and order; the country was under military rule; it remained to seewhat he would say and do when the crimes of Fewzi Bey were brought tohis notice. Accordingly, armed with my _boyouroulton_, or passport, of alocust-inspector, I rode to Jerusalem, where I procured, through mybrother, who was then in favor, an interview with Djemal Pasha. Hereceived me on the very day of my arrival, and listened attentivelywhile for a whole hour I poured out the story of Fewzi Bey's outrages. Iput my whole heart into the plea and wound up by asking if it was to thecredit of the progressive Young Turks to shelter feudal abuses of abygone age. Djemal seemed to be impressed. He sprang from his chair, began walking up and down the room; then with a great dramatic gesturehe exclaimed, "Justice shall be rendered!" and assured me that acommission of army officers would be sent at once to start aninvestigation. I returned to Zicron-Jacob with high hopes. 

Sure enough, a few days later Fewzi Bey was summoned to Jerusalem; atthe same time the "commission, " which had dwindled to one single officeron secret mission, put in an appearance and began to make inquiriesamong the natives. He got little satisfaction at first, for they livedin mortal terror of the outlaw; they grew bolder, however, when theylearned his purpose. Complaints and testimonies came pouring in, and infour days the officer had the names of hundreds of witnesses, establishing no less than fifty-two crimes of the most serious nature. Fewzi's friends and relatives, in the mean while, were doing theirutmost to stem the tide of accusations. The Kaimakam (lieutenant-governor) of Haifa came in person to our village and threatened theelders with all sorts of severities if they did not retract the chargesthey had made. But they stood firm. Had not Djemal Pasha, commander-in-chief of the armies in Palestine, given his word of honor that we shouldhave redress?

We were soon shown the depth of our naïveté in fancying that justicecould be done in Turkey by a Turk. Fewzi Bey came back from Jerusalem, not in convict's clothes, but in the uniform of a Turkish officer!Djemal Pasha had commissioned him commandant of the Moujahaddeen(religious militia) of the entire region! It was bad enough to stand himas an outlaw; now we had to submit to him as an officer. He came ridinginto our village daily, ordering everybody about and picking me out fordistinguished spitefulness. 

My position soon became unbearable. I was, of course, known as theorganizer of the young men's union which for so long had put up aspirited resistance to Fewzi; I was still looked upon as a leader of theyounger spirits, and I knew that sooner or later Fewzi would try to makegood his threat, often repeated, that he would "shoot me like a dog. " Itwas hardly likely that an open attempt on my life would be made. WhenAmbassador Morgenthau visited Palestine, he had stayed in our villageand given my family the evidence of his sincere friendship. These thingscount in the East, and I soon got the reputation of having influentialfriends. However, there were other ways of disposing of me. One evening, about sunset, while I was riding through a valley near our village, myhorse shied violently in passing a clump of bushes. I gave him the spurand turned and rode toward the bushes just in time to see a horsemandash out wildly with a rifle across his saddle. I kept the incident tomyself, but I was more cautious and kept my eyes open wherever I went. One afternoon, a fortnight later, as I was riding to Hedera, anotherJewish village, two hours' ride away, a shot was fired from behind asand-dune. The bullet burned a hole in the lapel of my coat. 

That night I had a long talk with my brother. There was no doubtwhatever in his mind that I should try to leave the country, while I, onthe contrary, could not bear to think of deserting my people at thecrisis of their fortunes. It was a beautiful night, such a night, Ithink, as only Palestine can show, a white, serene, moon-bathed night. The roar of the Mediterranean came out of the stillness as if to remindus that help and salvation could come only from the sea, the sea uponwhich scores of the warships of the Allies were sailing back and forth. We had argued into the small hours before I yielded to his persuasion. 

[ILLUSTRATION: THE BAZAAR OF JAFFA ON A MARKET DAY]

CHAPTER X

A RASH ADVENTURE

It was all very well to decide to leave the country; to get safely awaywas a different matter. There were two ways out. One of these--the landroute by Constantinople--could not be considered. The other way was toboard one of the American cruisers which, by order of AmbassadorMorgenthau, were empowered to assist citizens of neutral countries toleave the Ottoman Empire. These cruisers had already done wonderfulrescue work for the Russian Jews in Palestine, who, when war wasdeclared, were to have been sent to the Mesopotamian town of Urfa--thereto suffer massacre and outrage like the Armenians. This was prevented byMr. Morgenthau's strenuous representations, with the result that theseRussian Jews were gathered together as in a great drag-net and herded toJaffa, amidst suffering unspeakable. There they were met by the Americancruisers which were to transport them to Egypt. Up to the very momentwhen they set foot on the friendly warships they were robbed andhorribly abused by the Jaffa boatmen. The eternal curse of theWandering Jew! Driven from Russia, they come to seek shelter in Turkey;Turkey then casts them from her under pretext that they are loyal toRussia. Truly, the Jew lifts his eyes to the mountains, asking theancient and still unanswered question, "Whence shall come my help?"

The Turkish Government later repented of its leniency in allowing theseRussian Jews to escape, and gave orders that only neutrals should leavethe country--and then only under certain conditions. I was not aneutral; my first papers of American citizenship were valueless tofurther my escape. I had heard, however, that the United States cruiserTennessee was to call at Jaffa, and I determined to get aboard her byhook or by crook. One evening, as soon as darkness had fallen, I bade asorrowful farewell to my people, and set off for Jaffa, traveling onlyby night and taking out-of-the-way paths to avoid the pickets, for nowthat the locust campaign was over, my _boyouroulton_ was useless. Atdawn, two days later, I slipped into Jaffa by way of the sand-dunes andwent to the house of a friend whom I could trust to help me in everypossible way, and begged him to find me a passport for a neutral. He setoff in search and I waited all day at his house, consumed withimpatience and anxiety. At last, toward evening, my friend returned, but the news he brought was not cheering. He had found a passport, indeed, but his report of the rigors of the inspection at the wharf wassuch as to make it clear that the chances of my getting through on afalse passport were exceedingly slim, since I was well known in Jaffa. If I were caught in such an undertaking, it might mean death for me andpunishment for the friends who had helped me. 

Evidently this plan was not feasible. All that night I racked my brainfor a solution. Finally I decided to stake everything on what appearedto be my only chance. The Tennessee was due on the next day but one, early in the morning. I gave my friend the name of a boatman who wasunder obligations to me and had sworn to be my friend for life or death. Even under the circumstances I hesitated to trust a Mohammedan, but itseemed the only thing to do; I had no choice left. My friend brought theboatman, and I put my plan before him, appealing to his daring and hissense of honor. I wanted him to take me at midnight in his fishing-boatfrom an isolated part of the coast and wait for the appearance of theTennessee; then, on her arrival, amid the scramble of boats full ofrefugees, I was to jump aboard, while he would return with the otherboats. The poor fellow tried to remonstrate, pointing out the dangersand what he called--rightly enough, doubtless--the folly of the plan. Istuck to it, however, making it clear that his part would be well paidfor, and at last he consented and we arranged a meeting-place behind thesand-dunes by the shore. 

I put a few personal belongings into a little suit-case and had myfriend give it to one of the refugees who was to sail on the Tennessee. If I succeeded, I was to recover it when we reached Egypt. The onlything I took with me was the paper which declared my "intention ofbecoming an American citizen, " the "first paper. " From this document Iwas determined not to part. I shall not tell how I kept it on me, as themeans I used may still be used by others in concealing such papers and adisclosure of the secret might bring disaster to them. Suffice it to saythat I had the paper with me and that no search would have brought it tolight. 

Arrived next morning at the appointed place, I gave the signal agreedupon, the whine of a jackal, and, after repeating it again and again, Iheard a very low and muffled answer. My boatman was there! I had somefear that he might have betrayed me and that I should presently see asoldier or policeman leap out of the little boat, but my fears provedgroundless, the man was faithful. 

[ILLUSTRATION: STORMY SEA BREAKING OVER ROCKS OFF JAFFA]

We rowed out quietly, our boat a little nutshell on the tossing waves. But I was relieved; the elements did not frighten me; on the contrary, Ifelt secure and refreshed in the midst of the sea. When morning began todawn, scores of little boats came out of the harbor and circled aboutwaiting for the cruiser. This was our chance. I crouched in the bottomof our boat and to all appearances my boatman was engaged merely infishing. After I had lain there over an hour with my heart beating likea drum and with small hopes for the success of my undertaking, I heardat last the whistle of the approaching cruiser followed by a Babel ofmad shouting and cursing among the boatmen. In the confusion I felt itsafe to sit up. No one paid the slightest attention to me. All wereengaged in a wild race to reach and mount the Tennessee's ladder. Iscrambled up with the rest, and when, on the deck, an officer demandedmy passport, I put on a bold front and asked him to tell Captain Deckerthat Mr. Aaronsohn wished to see him. 

Ten minutes later I stood in the captain's cabin. There I unfolded mystory, and wound up by asking him if, under the circumstances, my "firstpapers" might not entitle me to protection. As I spoke I could see thestruggle that was going on within him. When he answered it was toexplain, with the utmost kindness, that if he took me aboard his ship itwould be to forfeit his word of honor to the Turkish Government, hispledge to take only citizens of neutral countries; that he could notconsider me an American on the strength of my first papers; and that anysuch evasion might lead to serious complications for him and for hisGovernment. Well, there was nothing for me to do but to withdraw and goback to Jaffa to face trial for an attempt to escape. 

When I reached the deck again I found it swarming with refugees, many ofwhom knew me and came up to congratulate me on getting away. I couldonly shake my head and with death in my heart descend the Tennessee'sladder. It did not matter now what boat I took. Any boatman was eagerenough to take me for a few cents. As I sat in the boat, every stroke ofthe oars bringing me nearer to the shore and to what I felt wasinevitable captivity, a great bitterness swelled my heart. I was tired, utterly tired of all the dangers and trials I had been going through forthe last months. From depression I sank into despair and out of despaircame, strange to say, a great serenity, the serenity of despair. 

On the quay I ran into Hassan Bey, commandant of the police, who wassuperintending the embarkation of refugees. I knew him and he knew me. Half an hour later I was in police headquarters under examination byHassan Bey. I was desperate, and answered him recklessly. A seasick manis indifferent to shipwreck. This was the substance of ourconversation:--

"How did you get aboard the ship?"

"In a boat with some refugees. A woman hid me with her skirts. "

"So you were trying to escape, were you?"

"If I had been, I shouldn't have come back. "

"Then what did you do on the cruiser?"

"I went to talk to the captain, who is a friend of mine. My life is indanger. Fewzi Bey is after me, and I wanted _my friends in America_ toknow how justice is done in Palestine. "

"Who are your friends in America?"

"Men who could break you in a minute. "

"Do you know to whom you are speaking?"

"Yes, Hassan Bey. I am sick of persecution. I wish you would hang mewith your own hands as you hanged the young Christian; my friends wouldhave your life for mine. "

I wonder now how I dared to speak to him in this manner. But the bluffcarried. Hassan Bey looked at me curiously for a moment--then smiledand offered me a cigarette, assuring me that he believed me a loyalcitizen, and declaring he felt deeply hurt that I had not come to himfor permission to visit the cruiser. We parted with a profusion ofEastern compliments, and that evening I started back to Zicron-Jacob. 

[ILLUSTRATION: THE AUTHOR'S SISTER ON HER HORSE TAYAR]

CHAPTER XI

ESCAPE

The failure of my attempt to leave the country only sharpened my desireto make another trial. The danger of the enterprise tended to reconcileme to deserting my family and comrades and seeking safety for myself. AsI racked my brain for a promising plan, a letter came from my sister inBeirut with two pieces of news which were responsible for my finalescape. The American College was shortly to close for the summer, andthe U. S. S. Chester was to sail for Alexandria with refugees aboard. Beirut is a four days' trip from our village, and roads are unsafe. Itwas out of the question to permit my sister to come home alone, and itwas impossible for any of us to get leave to go after her; nor did wewant to have her at home in the unsettled condition of the country. Ibegan wondering if I could not possibly get to Beirut and get my sisteraboard the Chester, which offered, perhaps, the last opportunity to goout with the refugees. It would be a difficult undertaking but it mightbe our only chance and I quickly made up my mind to carry it out if itwere a possible thing. I had to act immediately; no time was to belost, for no one could tell how soon the Chester might sail. 

My last adventure had been entered upon with forebodings, but now I feltthat I should succeed. To us Orientals intuition speaks in very audibletones and we are trained from childhood to listen to its voice. It waswith a feeling of confidence in the outcome, therefore, that I bade thissecond good-bye to my family and dearest friends. Solemn hours theywere, these hours of farewell, hours that needed few words. Then oncemore I slipped out into the night to make my secret way to Beirut. 

It was about midnight when I left home, dressed in a soldier's uniformand driving a donkey before me. I traveled only by night and spent eachday in hiding in some cave or narrow valley where I could sleep withsome measure of security. For food I had brought bread, dried figs, andchocolate, and water was always to be found in little springs and pools. In these clear, warm nights I used to think of David, a fugitive andpursued by his enemies. How well I could now understand his despairingcry: "How long wilt thou forget me, O Lord? for ever?. . . How long shallmine enemy be exalted over me?"

Five nights I journeyed, and at last one morning beautiful Beirutappeared in the distance and I found myself in the forest of pines thatleads into the city. The fresh dawn was filled with the balmy breath ofthe pines and all the odors of the Lebanon. Driving my donkey before me, I boldly approached the first picket-house and saluted thenon-commissioned officer in military fashion. He stopped me and askedwhence I came and where I was going. I smiled sweetly and replied that Iwas the orderly of a German officer who was surveying the country a fewhours to the south and that I was going to Beirut for provisions. Then Ilighted a cigarette and sat down for a chat. After discussing politicsand the war for a few minutes, I jumped up, exclaiming that if I didn'thurry I should be late, and so took my departure. It was all so simple, and it brought me safely to Beirut. My donkey, having served the purposefor which I had brought him, was speedily abandoned, and I hurried to afriend's house, where I exchanged my uniform for the garb of a civilian. 

My sister was the most surprised person on earth when she saw me walkinginto her room, and, when I told her that I wanted her to go with me onthe Chester, she thought me crazy, for she knew that hundreds of personswere trying in vain to find means of leaving the country and it seemedto her impossible that we, who were Turkish subjects, could succeed inoutwitting the authorities. Even when I had explained my plans and shewas willing to admit the possibility of success, she still felt doubtsas to whether it would be right for her to leave the country while herfriends were left behind in danger. I assured her, however, that ourfamily would feel relieved to know that we were in safety and could comeback fresh and strong after the war to help in rebuilding the country. 

Having gained her consent, I still had the difficult problem of ways andmeans before me. The Chester had orders to take citizens of neutralcountries only. Passports had to be examined by the Turkish authoritiesand by the American Consul-General, who gave the final permission toboard the cruiser. How was I to pass this double scrutiny? After longand arduous search, with the assistance of several good friends, I atlast discovered a man who was willing to sell me the passports of ayoung couple belonging to a neutral nation. I cannot go into particularsabout this arrangement, of course. Suffice it to say that my sister wasto travel as my wife and that we both had to disguise ourselves so as toanswer the descriptions on the passports. When I went to the AmericanConsulate-General to get the permit, I found the building crowded withpeople of all nations, --Spanish and Greek and Dutch and Swiss, --allwaiting for the precious little papers that should take them aboard theAmerican cruiser, that haven of liberty and safety. The Chester was totake all these people to Alexandria, and those who had the means were tobe charged fifty cents a day for their food. From behind my dark gogglesI recognized many a person in disguise like myself and seeking escape. We never betrayed recognition for fear of the spies who infested theplace. 

After securing my permit, I ran downstairs and straight to "my" consul, whose dragoman I took along with me to the _seraya_, or governmentbuilding. Of course, the dragoman was well tipped and he helped meconsiderably in hastening the examination I had to undergo at the handsof the Turkish officials. All went well, and I hurried back to my sistertriumphant. 

The Chester was to sail in two days, but while we were waiting, thealarming news came that the American Consul had been advised that theBritish Government refused to permit the landing of the refugees inEgypt and that the departure of the Chester was indefinitely postponed. With a sinking at my heart I rushed up to the American Consulate fordetails and there learned that the U. S. S. Des Moines was to sail in afew hours for Rhodes with Italian and Greek refugees and that I couldgo on her if I wished. In a few minutes I had my permit changed for thetrip on the Des Moines and I hurried home to my sister. We hastily gottogether the few belongings we were to take with us, jumped into acarriage, and drove to the harbor. 

We had still another ordeal to go through. My sister was taken into aprivate room and thoroughly searched; so was I. Nobody could leave thecountry with more than twenty-five dollars in cash on his person. Ourbaggage was carefully overhauled. No papers or books could be taken. Mysister's Bible was looked upon with much suspicion since it contained amap of ancient Canaan. I explained that this was necessary for theorientation of our prayers and that without it we could not tell inwhich direction to turn our faces when praying! This seemed plausible tothe Moslem examiners and saved the Bible, the only book we now possessas a souvenir from home. Now our passports were examined again andseveral questions were asked. My sister was brave and self-possessed, cool and unconcerned in manner, and at last the final signature wasaffixed and we jumped into the little boat that was to take us out tothe ship. 

At this moment a man approached, a dry-goods dealer of whom my sisterhad made some purchases a few months before. He seemed to recognize herand he asked her in German if she were not Miss Aaronsohn. I felt myblood leave my face, and, looking him straight in the eye, I whispered, "If you say one word more, you will be a dead man; so help me God!" Hemust have felt that I meant exactly what I said, for he walked offmumbling unintelligibly. 

At last the boat got away, and five minutes later we were mounting theside of the Des Moines. Throngs of refugees covered the decks of thecruiser. Their faces showed tension and anxiety. Their presence thereseemed too good to be true, and all awaited the moment when the shipshould heave anchor. A Filipino sailor showed us about, and as he spokeItalian, I told him I wanted to be hidden somewhere till the ship gotunder way. I felt that even yet we were not entirely safe. That my fearswere justified I discovered shortly, when from our hiding-place I sawthe shopkeeper approaching in a small boat with a Turkish officer. Theylooked over all the refugees on the deck, but searched for us in vain. After a half-hour more of uncomfortable tension the engines began tosputter, the propellers revolved, and--we were safe!

[ILLUSTRATION: BEIRUT, FROM THE DECK OF AN OUTGOING STEAMER]

The day was dying and a beautiful twilight softened the outlines of theLebanon and the houses of Beirut. The Mediterranean lay quiet andpeaceful around us, and the healthy, sturdy American sailors gave afeeling of confidence. As the cruiser drew out of the harbor, a greatcry of farewell arose from the refugees on board, a cry in which wasmingled the relief of being free, anguish at leaving behind parents andfriends, fear and hope for the future. A little later the sailors werelined up in arms to salute the American flag when it was lowered for thenight. Moved by a powerful instinct of love and respect, all therefugees jumped to their feet, the men bareheaded and the women withfolded hands, and in that moment I understood as I had never understoodbefore the real sacred meaning of a flag. To all those people standingin awe about that piece of cloth bearing the stars and stripes Americawas an incarnation of love universal, of freedom and salvation. 

The cool Syrian night, our first night on the cruiser, was spent insongs, hymns, and conversation. We were all too excited to sleep. Friends discovered friends and tales of woe were exchanged, stories ofhardship, injustice, oppression, all of which ended with mutualcongratulations on escaping from the clutches of the Turks. 

THE END