Beirut is a city of about two hundred thousand inhabitants, half of whom are
Christians and the rest Mohammedans and Jews. The pinch of hunger was
already felt there. Bread was to be had only on tickets issued by the Government,
and prices in general were extremely high. The population were discontented
and turbulent, and every day thousands of women came before the governor's
residence to cry and protest against the scarcity of bread.
The Allies' warships often passed near the town, but the people were not afraid
of them, for it was known that the Allies had no intention of bombarding the
cities. Only once had a bombardment taken place. Toward the end of March,
1915, a French warship approached the bay of Haifa and landed an officer with a
letter to the commandant of that town giving notice 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 the grave of Bonaparte's soldiers. The consul had time to pack up
his archives and valuables, and he left his house before three. The bombardment
began exactly at three. Fifteen shells were fired with a wonderful precision. Not
one house in the neighborhood of the consulate was touched, but the consulate
itself was a heap of ruins after a few shells had struck it. The population was
exceedingly calm. Only the German colony was panic-stricken, and on every
German house an American flag was raised. It was rather humorous to see all the
Germans who were active in the Turkish army in one capacity or another seek
safety by means 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 on in the
country and that they could retaliate, and safety for the non-Mohammedans
increased accordingly.
In general Beirut was a rather quiet and safe place. The presence of an American
cruiser in the port had much to do with that. The American sailors were allowed
to come ashore three times a week, and they spent their money lavishly. It was
estimated that Beirut was getting more than five thousand dollars a week out of
them. But the natives were especially impressed by the manliness and quick
action of the American boys. Frequently a few sailors were involved in a street
fight with scores of Arabs, and they always held their own. In a short time the
Americans became feared, which in the Orient is equivalent to saying they were
respected. The Beirut people are famous for their fighting spirit, but this spirit
was not manifested after a few weeks of intimate acquaintance with the
American blue-jackets.
My inspection of the devastation caused by the locusts completed, I returned
home. The news that greeted me there was alarming. I must narrate with some
detail the events which finally decided me to leave the country. About one hour's
ride on horseback from our village lives a family of Turkish nobles, the head of
which was Sadik Pasha, brother of the famous Kiamil Pasha, several times
Grand Vizier of the Empire. Sadik, who had been exiled from Constantinople,
came to Palestine and bought great tracts of land near my people. After his death
his sons—good-for-nothing, wild fellows—were forced to sell most of the estate
—all except one Fewzi Bey, who retained his part of the land and lived on it.
Here he collected a band of friends as worthless as himself and gradually
commenced a career of plundering and "frightfulness" much like that of the
robber barons of mediaeval Germany. Before the outbreak of the war he
confined his attentions chiefly to the Arabs, whom he treated shamefully. He
raided cattle and crops and carried off girls and women in broad daylight. On
one occasion he stopped a wedding procession and carried off the young bride.
Then he seized the bridegroom, against whom he bore a grudge, and subjected
the poor Bedouin to the bastinado until he consented to divorce his wife by
pronouncing the words, "I divorce thee," three times in the presence of
witnesses, according to Mohammedan custom. This Bedouin was the grandson
of the Sheikh Hilou, a holy man of the region upon whose grave the Arabs are
accustomed to make their prayers. But we villagers of Zicron-Jacob had never
submitted to Fewzi Bey in any way; our young men were organized and armed,
and after a few encounters he let us alone.
After the mobilization, however, and the taking away of our arms, this outlaw
saw that his chance had come. He began to send his men and his camels into our
fields to harvest our crops and carry them off. This pillage continued until the
locusts came—Fewzi, in the mean while, becoming so bold that he would gallop
through the streets of our village with his horsemen, shooting right and left into
the air and insulting old men and women. He boasted—apparently with reason—
that the authorities at Haifa were powerless to touch him.Haifa and the Bay of Akka. Looking East from Mount Carmel
There was one hope left. Djemal Pasha had boasted that he had introduced law
and order; the country was under military rule; it remained to see what he would
say and do when the crimes of Fewzi Bey were brought to his notice.
Accordingly, armed with my boyouroulton, or passport, of a locust-inspector, I
rode to Jerusalem, where I procured, through my brother, who was then in favor,
an interview with Djemal Pasha. He received me on the very day of my arrival,
and listened attentively while for a whole hour I poured out the story of Fewzi
Bey's outrages. I put my whole heart into the plea and wound up by asking if it
was to the credit of the progressive Young Turks to shelter feudal abuses of a
bygone age. Djemal seemed to be impressed. He sprang from his chair, began
walking up and down the room; then with a great dramatic gesture he exclaimed,
"Justice shall be rendered!" and assured me that a commission of army officers
would be sent at once to start an investigation. I returned to Zicron-Jacob with
high hopes.
Sure enough, a few days later Fewzi Bey was summoned to Jerusalem; at the
same time the "commission," which had dwindled to one single officer on secret
mission, put in an appearance and began to make inquiries among the natives.
He got little satisfaction at first, for they lived in mortal terror of the outlaw; they
grew bolder, however, when they learned his purpose. Complaints and
testimonies came pouring in, and in four 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 their
utmost to stem the tide of accusations. The Kaimakam (lieutenant-governor) of
Haifa came in person to our village and threatened the elders with all sorts of
severities if they did not retract the charges they 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 should have redress?
We were soon shown the depth of our naïveté in fancying that justice could 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 him as an outlaw; now we had to submit to him as an
officer. He came riding into our village daily, ordering everybody about and
picking me out for distinguished spitefulness.
My position soon became unbearable. I was, of course, known as the organizer
of the young men's union which for so long had put up a spirited resistance to
Fewzi; I was still looked upon as a leader of the younger spirits, and I knew that
sooner or later Fewzi would try to make good his threat, often repeated, that he
would "shoot me like a dog." It was hardly likely that an open attempt on my life
would be made. When Ambassador Morgenthau visited Palestine, he had stayed
in our village and given my family the evidence of his sincere friendship. These
things count in the East, and I soon got the reputation of having influential
friends. However, there were other ways of disposing of me. One evening, about
sunset, while I was riding through a valley near our village, my horse shied
violently in passing a clump of bushes. I gave him the spur and turned and rode
toward the bushes just in time to see a horseman dash out wildly with a rifle
across his saddle. I kept the incident to myself, but I was more cautious and kept
my eyes open wherever I went. One afternoon, a fortnight later, as I was riding
to Hedera, another Jewish village, two hours' ride away, a shot was fired from
behind a sand-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 doubt whatever in his
mind that I should try to leave the country, while I, on the contrary, could not
bear to think of deserting my people at the crisis of their fortunes. It was a
beautiful night, such a night, I think, as only Palestine can show, a white, serene,
moon-bathed night. The roar of the Mediterranean came out of the stillness as if
to remind us that help and salvation could come only from the sea, the sea upon
which 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.
The Bazaar of Jaffa on a Market Day.