On approaching nearer to the Canal I came to a place opposite El
Kantara, where some English soldiers on the farther bank pointed their
rifles at me and forced me to stop. Away behind me, at the top of a
slope, were some Turkish patrols on horseback, and to my dismay I saw
that they were watching me closely. I had hoped to get near enough to
the British to open up communication with them, but this now seemed out
of the question; directly I made a move in that direction the horsemen
would swoop down upon me.
Evidently I should have to wait for a better chance, so with a
sinking heart I walked towards the Turks, thinking that by adopting
an indifferent attitude I could dispel any suspicions I might have
aroused. I sat down as they approached me, and when questioned by them
explained that I was a Bedouin woman going to Egypt. (I thought it
advisable on this occasion not to keep up my pretence of being deaf and
dumb.) They told me roughly that this was impossible; there was a war
on, and Egypt was closed to strangers.
Then came the bombshell; they ordered me to return whence I came, and,
to make my departure certain, conducted me away from the camps and told
me not to let them see me wandering about again.
I do not like to dwell upon my feelings at that awful moment. Here
had I risked my life to escape, and spent many weary, anxious days
in crossing the desert, only to be turned back when actually in
sight of my goal, and almost within hail of British soldiers! It was
heart-breaking, maddening. I could hardly control myself as I went
slowly back into the desert, and I dared not think of what lay in store
for me. I might perish miserably in the sand-wastes, or I might stagger
on till I fell once more into the hands of my late keepers, who would
punish me savagely for my abortive escape.
There is a bright lining to the darkest cloud, however, and so I
discovered. I had not proceeded very far on my return journey when
I came across a party of Bedouins who, as luck would have it, were
travelling in the same direction. I promptly made friends with them,
and for a small sum of money they allowed me to ride on camel-back with
their wives, the journey to Ber Sheba taking about six days. Never
once did any of them suspect me. Undoubtedly my disguise was well-nigh
perfect, but it must also be remembered that the Bedouins are a simple
people, and the reverse of cultured, so that my task was tolerably easy.
Arrived at Ber Sheba once again, I bade good-bye to my new friends and
sought out my old Bedouin acquaintance at the place where he lived.
He was amazed to see me back so soon, and told me that the Turkish
authorities had been greatly perturbed over my escape, and were still
searching for me. It would be unsafe to remain, he told me, so I only
stopped with him a very short time.
It was obvious to me that it would be of no use to try the desert route
again, so I evolved a new plan. Leaving Ber Sheba, I made for a place
called Gaza, some thirty miles away, proceeding immediately after to
Jaffa, where I managed to exchange my Bedouin dress for that of a
European lady. I should here explain that I have found it necessary
at several points in my story not to go into details, and I must
also suppress the names of the kind friends who provided me with the
disguise. Sundry good people who helped me are still in Palestine, and
it might go hard with them if I gave any clue to their identity.