ESCAPE
The failure of my attempt to leave the country only sharpened my desire
to make another trial. The danger of the enterprise tended to reconcile
me to deserting my family and comrades and seeking safety for myself. As
I racked my brain for a promising plan, a letter came from my sister in
Beirut with two pieces of news which were responsible for my final
escape. The American College was shortly to close for the summer, and
the 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. It
was out of the question to permit my sister to come home alone, and it
was impossible for any of us to get leave to go after her; nor did we
want to have her at home in the unsettled condition of the country. I
began wondering if I could not possibly get to Beirut and get my sister
aboard the Chester, which offered, perhaps, the last opportunity to go
out with the refugees. It would be a difficult undertaking but it might
be our only chance and I quickly made up my mind to carry it out if it
were a possible thing. I had to act immediately; no time was to be
lost, for no one could tell how soon the Chester might sail.
My last adventure had been entered upon with forebodings, but now I felt
that I should succeed. To us Orientals intuition speaks in very audible
tones and we are trained from childhood to listen to its voice. It was
with a feeling of confidence in the outcome, therefore, that I bade this
second good-bye to my family and dearest friends. Solemn hours they
were, these hours of farewell, hours that needed few words. Then once
more 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 uniform
and driving a donkey before me. I traveled only by night and spent each
day in hiding in some cave or narrow valley where I could sleep with
some measure of security. For food I had brought bread, dried figs, and
chocolate, 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 and
pursued by his enemies. How well I could now understand his despairing
cry: "How long wilt thou forget me, O Lord? for ever?... How long shall
mine enemy be exalted over me?"
Five nights I journeyed, and at last one morning beautiful Beirut
appeared in the distance and I found myself in the forest of pines that
leads into the city. The fresh dawn was filled with the balmy breath of
the pines and all the odors of the Lebanon. Driving my donkey before me,
I boldly approached the first picket-house and saluted the
non-commissioned officer in military fashion. He stopped me and asked
whence I came and where I was going. I smiled sweetly and replied that I
was the orderly of a German officer who was surveying the country a few
hours to the south and that I was going to Beirut for provisions. Then I
lighted a cigarette and sat down for a chat. After discussing politics
and the war for a few minutes, I jumped up, exclaiming that if I didn't
hurry 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 purpose
for which I had brought him, was speedily abandoned, and I hurried to a
friend'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 walking
into her room, and, when I told her that I wanted her to go with me on
the Chester, she thought me crazy, for she knew that hundreds of persons
were trying in vain to find means of leaving the country and it seemed
to her impossible that we, who were Turkish subjects, could succeed in
outwitting the authorities. Even when I had explained my plans and she
was willing to admit the possibility of success, she still felt doubts
as to whether it would be right for her to leave the country while her
friends were left behind in danger. I assured her, however, that our
family would feel relieved to know that we were in safety and could come
back fresh and strong after the war to help in rebuilding the country.
Having gained her consent, I still had the difficult problem of ways and
means before me. The Chester had orders to take citizens of neutral
countries only. Passports had to be examined by the Turkish authorities
and by the American Consul-General, who gave the final permission to
board the cruiser. How was I to pass this double scrutiny? After long
and arduous search, with the assistance of several good friends, I at
last discovered a man who was willing to sell me the passports of a
young couple belonging to a neutral nation. I cannot go into particulars
about this arrangement, of course. Suffice it to say that my sister was
to travel as my wife and that we both had to disguise ourselves so as to
answer the descriptions on the passports. When I went to the American
Consulate-General to get the permit, I found the building crowded with
people of all nations,--Spanish and Greek and Dutch and Swiss,--all
waiting for the precious little papers that should take them aboard the
American cruiser, that haven of liberty and safety. The Chester was to
take all these people to Alexandria, and those who had the means were to
be charged fifty cents a day for their food. From behind my dark goggles
I recognized many a person in disguise like myself and seeking escape.
We never betrayed recognition for fear of the spies who infested the
place.
After securing my permit, I ran downstairs and straight to "my" consul,
whose dragoman I took along with me to the _seraya_, or government
building. Of course, the dragoman was well tipped and he helped me
considerably in hastening the examination I had to undergo at the hands
of the Turkish officials. All went well, and I hurried back to my sister
triumphant.
The Chester was to sail in two days, but while we were waiting, the
alarming news came that the American Consul had been advised that the
British Government refused to permit the landing of the refugees in
Egypt and that the departure of the Chester was indefinitely postponed.
With a sinking at my heart I rushed up to the American Consulate for
details and there learned that the U.S.S. Des Moines was to sail in a
few hours for Rhodes with Italian and Greek refugees and that I could
go on her if I wished. In a few minutes I had my permit changed for the
trip on the Des Moines and I hurried home to my sister. We hastily got
together the few belongings we were to take with us, jumped into a
carriage, and drove to the harbor.
We had still another ordeal to go through. My sister was taken into a
private room and thoroughly searched; so was I. Nobody could leave the
country with more than twenty-five dollars in cash on his person. Our
baggage was carefully overhauled. No papers or books could be taken. My
sister's Bible was looked upon with much suspicion since it contained a
map of ancient Canaan. I explained that this was necessary for the
orientation of our prayers and that without it we could not tell in
which direction to turn our faces when praying! This seemed plausible to
the Moslem examiners and saved the Bible, the only book we now possess
as a souvenir from home. Now our passports were examined again and
several questions were asked. My sister was brave and self-possessed,
cool and unconcerned in manner, and at last the final signature was
affixed and we jumped into the little boat that was to take us out to
the ship.
At this moment a man approached, a dry-goods dealer of whom my sister
had made some purchases a few months before. He seemed to recognize her
and he asked her in German if she were not Miss Aaronsohn. I felt my
blood 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!" He
must have felt that I meant exactly what I said, for he walked off
mumbling unintelligibly.
At last the boat got away, and five minutes later we were mounting the
side of the Des Moines. Throngs of refugees covered the decks of the
cruiser. Their faces showed tension and anxiety. Their presence there
seemed too good to be true, and all awaited the moment when the ship
should heave anchor. A Filipino sailor showed us about, and as he spoke
Italian, I told him I wanted to be hidden somewhere till the ship got
under way. I felt that even yet we were not entirely safe. That my fears
were justified I discovered shortly, when from our hiding-place I saw
the shopkeeper approaching in a small boat with a Turkish officer. They
looked over all the refugees on the deck, but searched for us in vain.
After a half-hour more of uncomfortable tension the engines began to
sputter, 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 the
Lebanon and the houses of Beirut. The Mediterranean lay quiet and
peaceful around us, and the healthy, sturdy American sailors gave a
feeling of confidence. As the cruiser drew out of the harbor, a great
cry of farewell arose from the refugees on board, a cry in which was
mingled the relief of being free, anguish at leaving behind parents and
friends, fear and hope for the future. A little later the sailors were
lined up in arms to salute the American flag when it was lowered for the
night. Moved by a powerful instinct of love and respect, all the
refugees jumped to their feet, the men bareheaded and the women with
folded hands, and in that moment I understood as I had never understood
before the real sacred meaning of a flag. To all those people standing
in awe about that piece of cloth bearing the stars and stripes America
was an incarnation of love universal, of freedom and salvation.
The cool Syrian night, our first night on the cruiser, was spent in
songs, hymns, and conversation. We were all too excited to sleep.
Friends discovered friends and tales of woe were exchanged, stories of
hardship, injustice, oppression, all of which ended with mutual
congratulations on escaping from the clutches of the Turks.
THE END
End of Project Gutenberg's With the Turks in Palestine, by Alexander Aaronsohn