"No objection; only a stipulation."
The showmanship began much sooner than I hoped. The following
day was Sunday, and I had an invitation to a sort of semi-public
tea given by the American Colony after their afternoon religious
service.
They received their guests in a huge, well-furnished room on the
upper floor of a stone house built around a courtyard filled with
flowers. I think they were a little proud of the number of
fierce-looking Arabs, who had traveled long distances in order to
be present. Ten Arab chieftains in full costume, with fifteen or
twenty of their followers, all there at great expense of trouble,
time and money, for friends sake, were, after all, something to
feel a bit chesty about. Every member of the Colony seemed able
to talk Arabic like a native and, as they used to say in the up-
state papers, a good time was being had by all. The Near East
adores ice-cream, and there was lots of it.
Two of the Arab chiefs were Christians; the rest were not. The
peace and war record of the Colony was what had brought them all
there. Hardly an Arab in the country was not the Colony's debtor
for disinterested help, direct or indirect, at some time in some
way. The American Colony was the one place in the country where
a man of any creed could go and be sure that whatever he might
say would not be used against him. So they were talking their
heads off. Hot air and Arab politics have quite a lot in common.
But there was a broad desert-breath about it all. It wasn't like
the little gusty yaps you hear in the city coffee-shops. A lot
of the talk was foolish, but it was all magnificent.
There was one sheikh named Mustapha ben Nasir dressed in a blue
serge suit and patent-leather boots, with nothing to show his
nationality except a striped silk head-dress with the camel-hair
band around the forehead. He was a handsome fellow, with a black
beard trimmed to a point, and perfect manners, polished no doubt
in a dozen countries, but still Eastern in slow, deferential
dignity. He could talk good French. I fell in conversation
with him.
The frankness with which treason is mooted, admitted and
discussed in the Near East is one of the first things that amaze
you. They are so open about it that nobody takes them seriously.
Apparently it is only when they don't talk treason openly that
the ruling authorities get curious and make arrests. To me, a
total stranger, with nothing to recommend me but that for an hour
or two that afternoon I was a guest of the American Colony,
Mustapha ben Nasir made no bones whatever about the fact that the
was being paid by the French to stir up feeling over Jordan
against the British.
"I receive a monthly salary," he boasted. "I am just from
Damascus, where the French Liaison-officer paid me and gave me
some instructions."
"Where is your home?" I asked him.
"At El-Kerak, in the mountains of Moab, across the Dead Sea. I
start this evening. Will you come with me?"
"Je m'en bien garderai!"
He smiled. "Myself, I am in favor of the British. The French
pay my expenses, that is all. What we all want is an independent
Arab government--some say kingdom, some say republic. If it is
not time for that yet, then we would choose an American mandate.
But America has deserted us. Failing America, we prefer the
English for the present. Anything except France! We do not want
to become a new Algeria."
"What is the condition now at El-Kerak?"
"Condition? There is none. There is chaos. You see, the
British say their authority ceases at the River Jordan and at a
line drawn down the middle of the Dead Sea. That leaves us with
a choice between two other governments--King Hussein's government
of Mecca, and Feisul's in Syria. But Hussein's arm is not long
enough to reach us from the South, and Feisul's is not nearly
strong enough to interfere from the North. So there is
no government, and each man is keeping the peace with his
own sword."
"You mean; each man on his own account?"
"Yes. So there is peace. Five--fifteen--thirty throats are cut
daily; and if you go down to the Jordan and listen, you will
hear the shots being fired from ambush any day."
"And you invite me to make the trip with you?"
"Oh, that is nothing. In the first place, you are American.
Nobody will interfere with an American. They are welcome. In
the second place, there is a good reason for bringing you; we
all want an American school at El-Kerak."
"But I am no teacher."
"But you will be returning to America? It is enough, then, that
you look the situation over, and tell what you know on your
return. We will provide a building, a proper salary, and
guarantee the teacher's life. We would prefer a woman, but it
would be wisest to send a man."
"How so? The woman might not shoot straight? I've some of our
Western women do tricks with a gun that would--"
"There would be no need. She would have our word of honour. But
every sheikh who has only three wives would want to make her his
fourth. A man would be best. Will you come with me?"
"On your single undertaking to protect me? Are you king of all
that countryside?"
"If you will come, you shall have an escort, every man of whom
will die before he would let you be killed. And if they, and
you, should all be killed, their sons and grandsons would avenge
you to the third generation of your murderers."
"That's undoubtedly handsome, but--"
"Believe me, effendi," he urged, "many a soul has been consoled
in hell-fire by the knowledge that his adversaries would be cut
off in their prime by friends who are true to their given word."
Meaning to back out politely, I assured him I would think the
offer over.
"Well and good," he answered. "You have my promise. Should you
decide to come, leave word here with the American Colony. They
will get word to me. Then I will send for you, and the escort
shall meet you at the Dead Sea."
I talked it over with two or three members of the Colony, and
they assured me the promise could be depended on. One of
them added:
"Besides, you ought to see El-Kerak. It's an old crusader city,
rather ruined, but more or less the way the crusaders left it.
And that craving of theirs for a school is worth doing something
about, if you ever have an opportunity. They say they have too
much religion already, and no enlightenment at all. A teacher
who knew Arabic would have a first-class time, and would be well
paid and protected, if he could keep his hands off politics. Why
not talk with Major Grim?"
It was a half-hour's walk to Grim's place, but I had the good
fortune to catch him in again. He was sitting in the same chair,
studying the same book, and this time I saw the title of it--
Walter Pater's Marius the Epicurean--a strange book for a soldier
to be reading, and cutting its pages with an inlaid dagger, in a
Jerusalem semi-military boarding-house. But he was a man of
unexpectedly assorted moods.
He laughed when I told of ben Nasir. He looked serious when I
mooted El-Kerak--serious, then interested, them speculative.
From where I sat I could watch the changes in his eyes.
"What would the escort amount to?" I asked him.
"Absolute security."
"And what's this bunk about Americans being welcome anywhere?"
"Perfectly true. All the way from Aleppo down to Beersheba. Men
like Dr. Bliss* have made such an impression that an occasional
rotter might easily take advantage of it. Americans in this
country--so far--stand for altruism without ulterior motive.
If we'd accepted the mandate they might have found us out!
Meanwhile, an American is safe." [*President of the American
College at Beirut. Died 1920, probably more respected throughout
the Near East than any ten men of any other nationality.]
"Then I think I'll go to El-Kerak."
Again his eyes grew speculative. I could not tell whether he was
considering me or some problem of his own.
"Speaking unofficially," he said, "there are two possibilities.
You might go without permission--easy enough, provided you don't
talk beforehand. In that case, you'd get there and back; after
which, the Administration would label and index you. The
remainder of your stay in Palestine would be about as exciting
as pushing a perambulator in Prospect Park, Brooklyn. You'd
be canned."
"I'd rather be killed. What's the alternative?"
"Get permission. I shall be at El-Kerak myself within the next
few days. I think it can be arranged."
"D'you mean I can go with you?" I asked, as eager as a schoolboy
for the circus.
"Not on your life! I don't go as an American."
Recalling the first time I had seen him, I sat still and tried to
look like a person who was not thrilled in the least by seeing
secrets from the inside.
"Well," I said, "I'm in your hands."
I think he rather liked that. As I came to know him more
intimately later on he revealed an iron delight in being trusted.
But he did not say another word for several minutes, as if there
were maps in his mind that he was conning before reaching a
decision. Then he spoke suddenly.
"Are you busy?" he asked. "Then come with me."
He phoned to some place or other for a staff automobile, and the
man was there with it within three minutes. We piled in and
drove at totally unholy speed down narrow streets between walls,
around blind right-angle turns where Arab policemen stood waving
unintelligible signals, and up the Mount of Olives, past the
British military grave-yard, to the place they call OETA.* The
Kaiser had it built to command every view of the countryside and
be seen from everywhere, as a monument to his own greatness--the
biggest, lordliest, most expensive hospice that his architects
could fashion, with pictures in mosaic on the walls and ceilings
of the Kaiser and his ancestors in league with the Almighty. But
the British had adopted it as Administration Headquarters.
[*Headquarters: Occupied Enemy Territory Administration.]
All the way up, behind and in front and on either hand, there
were views that millions* would give years of their lives to see;
and they would get good value for their bargain. Behind us, the
sky-line was a panorama of the Holy City, domes, minarets and
curved stone roofs rising irregularly above gray battlemented
walls. Down on the right was the ghastly valley of Jehoshaphat,
treeless, dry, and crowded with white tombs--"dry bones in the
valley of death." To the left were everlasting limestone hills,
one of them topped by the ruined reputed tomb of Samuel--all
trenched, cross-trenched and war-scarred, but covered now in a
Joseph's coat of flowers, blue, blood-red, yellow and white. [*
This is no exaggeration. There are actually millions, and on
more than one continent, whose dearest wish, could they have it,
would be to see Jerusalem before they die.]
There were lines of camels sauntering majestically along three
hill-tops, making time, and the speed of the car we rode in, seem
utterly unreal. And as we topped the hill the Dead Sea lay below
us, like a polished turquoise set in the yellow gold of the
barren Moab Mountains. That view made you gasp. Even Grim, who
was used to it, could not turn his eyes away.
We whirled past saluting Sikhs at the pompous Kaiserish entrance
gate, and got out on to front steps that brought to mind one of
those glittering hotels at German cure-resorts--bad art, bad
taste, bad amusements and a big bill.
But inside, in the echoing stone corridors that opened through
Gothic windows on a courtyard, in which statues of German super-
people stared with blind eyes, there was nothing now but bald
military neatness and economy. Hurrying up an uncarpeted stone
stairway (Grim seemed to be a speed-demon once his mind was set)
we followed a corridor around two sides of the square, past
dozens of closed doors bearing department names, to the
Administrator's quarters at the far end. There, on a bare bench
in a barren ante-room, Grim left me to cool my heels. He
knocked, and entered a door marked "private."
It was fully half an hour before the door opened again and I was
beckoned in. Grim was alone in the room with the Administrator,
a rather small, lean, rigidly set up man, with merry fire in his
eye, and an instantly obvious gift for being obeyed. He sat at
an enormous desk, but would have looked more at ease in a tent,
or on horseback. The three long rows of campaign ribbons looked
incongruous beside the bunch of flowers that somebody had crammed
into a Damascus vase on the desk, with the estimable military
notion of making the utmost use of space.
Sir Louis was certainly in an excellent temper. He offered me a
chair, and looked at me with a sort of practical good-humour that
seemed to say, "Well, here he is; now how shall we handle him?"
I was minded to ask outright for what I wanted, but something in
his attitude revealed that he knew all that already and would
prefer to come at the problem in his own way. It was clear,
without a word being said, that he proposed to make some sort of
use of me without being so indiscreet as to admit it. He
reminded me rather of Julius Caesar, who was also a little man,
considering the probable qualifications of some minor spoke in a
prodigious wheel of plans.
"I understand you want to go to El-Kerak?" he said, smiling as if
all life were an amusing game.
I admitted the impeachment. Grim was standing, some little way
behind me and to one side; I did not turn my head to look at
him, for that might have given a false impression that he and I
were in league together, but I was somehow aware that with folded
arms he was studying me minutely.
"Well," said Sir Louis, "there's no objection; only a
stipulation: We wouldn't let an Englishman go, because of the
risk--not to him, but to us. Any fool has a right to get killed,
but not to obligate his government. All the missionaries were
called in from those outlying districts long ago. We don't want
to be held liable for damages for failure to protect. Such
things have happened. You see, the idea is, we assume no
responsibility for what takes place beyond the Jordan and the
Dead Sea. Now, if you'd like to sign a letter waiving any claim
against us for protection, that would remove any obstacle to your
going. But, if you think that unreasonable, the alternative is
safe. You can, stay in Jerusalem. Quite simple."
That had the merit of frankness. It sounded fair enough.
Nevertheless, he was certainly not being perfectly frank. The
merriment in his eyes meant something more than mere amusement.
It occurred to me that his frankness took the extreme form of not
concealing that he had something important in reserve. I rather
liked him for it. His attitude seemed to be that if I wanted to
take a chance, I might on my own responsibility, but that if my
doing so should happen to suit his plans, that was his affair.
Grim was still watching me the way a cat watches a mouse.
"I'll sign such a letter," said I.
"Good. Here are pen and paper. Let's have it all in your
handwriting. I'll call a clerk to witness the signature."
I wrote down the simple statement that I wished to go to El-Kerak
for personal reasons, and that I waived all claim against the
British Administration for personal protection, whether there or
en route. A clerk, who looked as if he could not have been hired
to know, or understand, or remember anything without permission,
came in answer to the bell. I signed. He witnessed.
Sir Louis put the letter in a drawer, and the clerk went
out again.
"How soon will you go?"
I told about the promised escort, and that a day or two would be
needed to get word to ben Nasir. I forgot that ben Nasir would
not start before moonrise. It appeared that Sir Louis knew more
than he cared to admit.
"Can't we get word to ben Nasir for him, Grim?"
Grim nodded. So did Sir Louis:
"Good. There'll be no need, then, for you to take any one into
confidence," he said, turning to me again. "As a rule it isn't
well to talk about these things, because people get wrong ideas.
There are others in Jerusalem who would like permission to go
to El-Kerak."
"I'll tell nobody."
He nodded again. He was still considering things in the back
of his mind, while those intelligent, bright eyes smiled so
disarmingly.
"How do you propose to reach the Dead Sea?" he asked. "Ben
Nasir's escort will probably meet you on the shore on this side."
"Oh, hire some sort of conveyance, I suppose."
"Couldn't we lend him one of our cars, Grim?"
Grim nodded again.
"We'll do that. Grim, can you get word to ben Nasir so that when
the escort is ready he may send a messenger straight to the hotel
with the information? D'you get my meaning?"
"Sure," said Grim, "nobody else need know then."
"Very well," said Sir Louis. He rose from his chair to intimate
that the precise moment had arrived when I might leave without
indiscretion. It was not until I was outside the door that I
realized that my permission was simply verbal, and that the only
document that had changed hands had been signed by me. Grim
followed me into the ante-room after a minute.
"Hadn't I better go back and ask for something in writing from
him?" I suggested.
"You wouldn't get it. Anyhow, you're dealing with a gentleman.
You needn't worry. I was afraid once or twice you might be going
to ask him questions. He'd have canned you if you had. Why
didn't you?"