OVER THE LADDER OF TYRE
Behold us, then, once more on the high road--or, to be more accurate, the
broad firm sands leading to Acre. We were all mighty pleased to be on the
move again, partly because Haifa was not a deliriously exciting place to be
in, but chiefly because the neighbourhood of the famous river Kishon was
singularly uninviting, and when the rains came, would be a veritable
plague-spot of malaria and blackwater fever.
We did not need the history books to tell us that Acre was, and is, a
fortress; for the great battlements are still standing, and the massive
walls show little signs of decay. Magnificently situated on a promontory at
the northern end of the bay, it rears its head proudly, as becomes a city
that in twelve hundred years has withstood more sieges than almost any city
in Palestine. It is, too, essentially English in its associations: from the
time of the Crusaders, whose chief stronghold it was, down to within
hailing distance of our own day.
Except for an itinerant stone-merchant the country around has few
attractions; and as we proceeded it grew rougher and more difficult to
negotiate, until it reached a point where all progress seemed likely to
come to an abrupt end. A huge spur of rock, jutting far out into the sea
and shutting off the beach, completely blocked the way; it was as though we
had come to the limits of one country with this great sentinel to bar our
entrance into another. It was the Ladder of Tyre, the geographical barrier
between Palestine and the Land of Canaan; and we had to climb over it
somehow.
Having negotiated a small hill in the foreground we descended into a steep
gully with innumerable twists and turns, ever growing more difficult and
dangerous. As the place was strewn with boulders the camels had great
trouble in finding a foothold, particularly with the additional handicap of
two bales of tibben or sacks of grain, which oscillated dangerously with
the uneven movement. Presently the slope became more gradual, though not
less rough in surface, and finally the path began to ascend towards the
Ladder itself. Cut in the face of the rock were broad but shallow steps, in
some places worn almost flat by the passage of countless thousands of feet.
Indian pioneers were hard at work on the Ladder and had already, in the
short time at their disposal, done wonders in the way of removing the
litter of stones that covered the steps, blasting away portions of
overhanging rock, and building rough ramparts on the side nearest the sea.
The camels approached it very gingerly at first, but after one or two had
"refused," tackled the climb. About half-way up the cliff there was a sort
of platform which marked the turn in the Ladder; here a false step meant
destruction, for it was a sheer drop down to the sea three hundred feet
below.
A pioneer chose the precise moment at which I reached this platform to
touch off a small blasting charge, the noise of which so startled my mare
that she very nearly stepped off the edge; and a piece of rock hit a camel
and all but started a stampede. After that, being a person of small
courage, I dismounted and walked.
The descent was even worse than the ascent for the camels, for the steps
were not only broad but wide from back to front, and it needed a big stride
successfully to negotiate them. I found it difficult enough on foot; how
the camels accomplished it without mishap, carrying their heavy burdens,
will ever remain a mystery.
Eventually we reached the level ground on the other side, and continued
along the shore as far as Tyre, a town nowadays of poverty-stricken
fishermen, with scarcely anything visible of the ancient city. "I will make
thee a terror, and thou shalt be no more: though thou be sought for, yet
shalt thou never be found again, saith the Lord God"; thus spoke Ezekiel
the Prophet concerning the fate of Tyre, and his words are literally true
to-day.
[Illustration: THE VALLEY OF CHAOS--AFTER THE BOMBING RAID (see p. 255).
[_To face p. 272._]
We began shortly to come upon the real beauties of the Land of Canaan. The
road was bordered in many places by fruit trees of all kinds, overhanging
so far that you had only to reach out your hand to pick the fruit as you
rode along. Also, there were numerous orchards and kitchen-gardens with
whose owners we used to bargain for the produce. Curiously enough we had
extraordinary difficulty in persuading the people to take Egyptian money:
they would insist on having Turkish money in spite of our reiterated
assertions that it had suffered a serious slump in value. One old lady to
whom I showed a Turkish one pound note--worth about the cost of
printing--simply jumped at it, and immediately fished out an enormous bag
of small change. She was quite upset at my refusal to part with the note;
and we haggled for a quarter of an hour about whether she would give me,
roughly, sixteen shillingsworth of Turkish silver for a piece of worthless
paper, or whether she would accept five piastres Egyptian in exchange for a
hatful of limes.
The camel-drivers thoroughly enjoyed this part of the trek; indeed, they
were in amazingly high spirits the whole way, despite the long daily march.
They had as much water as they could drink, a great thing for the Egyptian
native, there was fruit for the picking on the trees, and everything was
free! So they imagined, but the exasperated ladies who were continually
coming to complain that a sportsman in a blue galabeah was rifling their
orchards evidently thought otherwise.
All the camel-men had the predatory instinct strongly developed, and they
were adepts at concealing the "evidence," which sometimes was very much
more than fruit or eggs. On one occasion the convoy passed an old man
driving a flock of sheep, of which one mysteriously disappeared. I happened
to be riding immediately behind the flock and saw nothing unusual, yet some
time after the old man caught us up at the midday halt and complained that
one of the camel-men had stolen a sheep. We searched the convoy from end to
end and found no trace; we even went so far as to search the men's
clothing! and ultimately the old man had to go away without his sheep.
Curiously enough, a leg of mutton appeared in the mess that night; and a
very welcome change it was, too, from bully-beef.
I can offer no explanation of the phenomenon; I only know that we searched
the convoy conscientiously and thoroughly and there was no sign of mutton,
dead or alive. It must have needed marvellous sleight-of-hand to conceal a
full-grown sheep from view!
That was the reverse side of the medal: the obverse was much brighter. It
was impossible not to admire the extraordinary endurance of the camel-men.
They would march fifteen to twenty miles a day for days, and even weeks at
a time, provided only that they had enough water; and, well led, they
would go anywhere and do anything.
On the fifth day out from Haifa we marched into Sidon, whose inhabitants
turned out _en masse_ and welcomed the column with great and spontaneous
enthusiasm, which left no doubt as to its genuineness, though at times it
became a trifle embarrassing. On the surface the people looked little the
worse for four years' privations and ill-treatment at the hands of the
Turks, but a glance into the shops as we passed showed little else but
fruit in the shape of food; and this is not very satisfying as a sole diet.
In some parts of the town pinched faces and wan cheeks were frequent; and
one group consisting of an elderly man with his wife and two daughters
especially attracted my attention. Their faces were dead-white, as if they
had been living below ground for years, and the dull, stunned look of
misery in their eyes was terrible to see; obviously they had not yet fully
realised their deliverance. The old gentleman, a French Syrian, told me
that when, three years before, he had heard of the coming of German troops
to Sidon, he gave out to his neighbours that he and his family were going
to the north, leaving the empty house in charge of the native caretaker.
The family disappeared, and until the hurried departure of the Germans
nothing more was seen of them, when they--apparently--returned once more to
their home.
In reality, they had never left it. They had retired to a disused wing of
the house, barricaded themselves in so skilfully that no one but the old
caretaker who looked after the supplies suspected their presence; and there
they had lived for three years, never venturing out except to walk at night
in their extensive garden! On one occasion the house was occupied by a
German staff-officer, and their walks ceased for three weeks; but for the
greater part of the time it had remained untenanted. During the period
previous to our coming they had been almost entirely without food, other
than fruit and dried legumes.
That was the story told to me as nearly as I can remember it, and the
lifeless pallor of the old Frenchman's face and those of his family
certainly gave colour to the narrative. It is very hard to believe in
starvation when you are surrounded on all sides by beautiful gardens and
orchards abounding in fruit; and those at Sidon were surely the loveliest
on earth. All round the town stretched great masses of green, in the midst
of which, like diamonds in a sea of emeralds, were white cupolas and
summer-houses, with scores of fountains playing all day long. On the hills
behind the gardens were many modern houses admirably built after the
Italian fashion, whose mellow terra-cotta blended effectively with the
green mass below. Riding through the umbrageous lanes between countless
orchards you could believe anything but that people here were starving.
The division had been promised a rest at Sidon for the remainder of the
day, but shortly after two o'clock in the afternoon an urgent message came
ordering us to make a forced march in order to reach Beyrout, thirty-five
miles away, the following night! At four o'clock we left the beach and
climbed steadily past those glorious gardens, until we struck the highroad.
A few miles outside Sidon, we passed an inn which could not have changed
much in character since the time of Christ. It formed a bridge across the
road, and thus gave shelter to the passer-by from the noonday heat in
summer and the torrential rains in winter; on one side there were the
living rooms for the traveller and on the other side the stables wherein
his ass or his horse could rest for the night. There were a few men lying
in the shade of the "bridge" as we passed, and, peering into the stable, I
could just see a donkey contentedly munching at the manger: the whole scene
seemed to have come straight out of the New Testament.
Later in the afternoon I noticed a beautiful little house standing in its
own garden, and rode over to examine it more closely. One thing only I saw;
the rest was blotted out. Nailed to his door was the body of the owner, and
beneath lay the charred--yes, charred--remains of what had once been his
legs. He had been crucified and burnt alive; the twisted body, and the
awful, tortured expression on the martyred man's face, left no room for
doubt.
After a halt for a couple of hours at midnight we began the final stage.
While it was yet dark we had tremendous difficulty with those camel-drivers
who were unable to see at night, the "mush-shuf-bi' leil's" ("can't
see-at-nights") we used to call them; and as we had a few blind camels as
well the situation called for some ingenuity. The only way to solve the
problem was to tie the men's wrists to the saddles of the camel immediately
in front of them. They then allowed themselves to be towed along, keeping
the rope just taut enough to act as a guide.
The blind camels were similarly treated, though even then there were
accidents. One came shortly before dawn as we were crossing a viaduct with
neither wall nor protection of any kind against a thirty-foot drop. A blind
camel blundered towards the edge, slipped, and crashed down into the
riverbed, and as he had 200 lbs. of biscuits on his back to speed his fall,
it looked like a certain casualty. With some difficulty we clambered down
to him, and found him not only alive but calmly grazing on the herbage
around! And when the biscuits were removed he got up, grunting and
snarling, but absolutely uninjured and ready to carry his load again.
As we approached Beyrout the signs of distress among the people grew more
and more pronounced. Along the route were several tiny villages whose
inhabitants gathered by the roadside to beg for food, and it was awful to
see the wolfish way they ate the biscuits we gave them. At many places
women stood with jars of water which they offered to the camel-drivers,
not, I am sure, as a _quid pro quo_, but because it was all they had to
offer.
Just at the entrance to the olive-groves, which extend for six miles out of
Beyrout, I saw a dead child lying by the roadside, and from that point the
journey became a succession of heartrending sights. Gaunt, lean-faced men,
women thin to the point of emaciation, and children whose wizened faces
made them look like old men, lined the route weeping for joy at their
deliverance. Every one of our men as he passed handed over his day's
rations of bully-beef and biscuits to the starving people; I saw one woman
hysterically trying to insert a piece of army biscuit into the mouth of the
baby in her arms, and groups of little boys fighting for the food thrown to
them. It was pitiful to see the gratitude of people who succeeded in
catching a biscuit or a tin of bully; and the way they welcomed our
camel-drivers, who, of course, spoke Arabic like themselves, was a
revelation.
A man, haggard with want, came out of his little wine-shop and offered me a
glass of aniseed, apologising courteously for its poor quality, and
explaining that it was the only drink he had been able to obtain for sale
during the War! A glance at the rows of empty bottles in his shop-window
confirmed the statement. God knows how he had earned his living during the
past three years.
Towards evening the head of the long column entered Beyrout: from miles
behind on the hills we could see the swinging kilts of the Highlanders,
while the sound of the bag-pipes floated faintly back to us. By eight
o'clock, we, too, were marching into the town through crowds of delirious
people, who clung to the troops as they passed and kissed the boots of the
mounted men; it was the most painful, pitiful experience of all. As we
swung down the hill towards the beach a man said: "You are just in time,
monsieur; in six days we should all have been dead."
That was the main thing: we had marched ninety-six miles in six days, we
were dog-tired after a last continuous trek of eighteen hours, but--we were
in time!