It was all very well to decide to leave the country; to get safely away was a
different matter. There were two ways out. One of these—the land route by
Constantinople—could not be considered. The other way was to board one of the
American cruisers which, by order of Ambassador Morgenthau, were
empowered to assist citizens of neutral countries to leave the Ottoman Empire.
These cruisers had already done wonderful rescue work for the Russian Jews in
Palestine, who, when war was declared, were to have been sent to the
Mesopotamian town of Urfa—there to suffer massacre and outrage like the
Armenians. This was prevented by Mr. Morgenthau's strenuous representations,
with the result that these Russian Jews were gathered together as in a great drag-
net and herded to Jaffa, amidst suffering unspeakable. There they were met by
the American cruisers which were to transport them to Egypt. Up to the very
moment when they set foot on the friendly warships they were robbed and
horribly abused by the Jaffa boatmen. The eternal curse of the Wandering Jew!
Driven from Russia, they come to seek shelter in Turkey; Turkey then casts them
from her under pretext that they are loyal to Russia. Truly, the Jew lifts his eyes
to the mountains, asking the ancient and still unanswered question, "Whence
shall come my help?"
The Turkish Government later repented of its leniency in allowing these Russian
Jews to escape, and gave orders that only neutrals should leave the country—and
then only under certain conditions. I was not a neutral; my first papers of
American citizenship were valueless to further my escape. I had heard, however,
that the United States cruiser Tennessee was to call at Jaffa, and I determined to
get aboard her by hook or by crook. One evening, as soon as darkness had fallen,
I bade a sorrowful farewell to my people, and set off for Jaffa, traveling only by
night and taking out-of-the-way paths to avoid the pickets, for now that the
locust campaign was over, my boyouroulton was useless. At dawn, two days
later, I slipped into Jaffa by way of the sand-dunes and went to the house of a
friend whom I could trust to help me in every possible way, and begged him to
find me a passport for a neutral. He set off in search and I waited all day at his
house, consumed with impatience and anxiety. At last, toward evening, my
friend returned, but the news he brought was not cheering. He had found a
passport, indeed, but his report of the rigors of the inspection at the wharf was
such as to make it clear that the chances of my getting through on a false
passport were exceedingly slim, since I was well known in Jaffa. If I were
caught in such an undertaking, it might mean death for me and punishment for
the friends who had helped me.
Evidently this plan was not feasible. All that night I racked my brain for a
solution. Finally I decided to stake everything on what appeared to be my only
chance. The Tennessee was due on the next day but one, early in the morning. I
gave my friend the name of a boatman who was under obligations to me and had
sworn to be my friend for life or death. Even under the circumstances I hesitated
to trust a Mohammedan, but it seemed the only thing to do; I had no choice left.
My friend brought the boatman, and I put my plan before him, appealing to his
daring and his sense of honor. I wanted him to take me at midnight in his
fishing-boat from an isolated part of the coast and wait for the appearance of the
Tennessee; then, on her arrival, amid the scramble of boats full of refugees, I was
to jump aboard, while he would return with the other boats. The poor fellow
tried to remonstrate, pointing out the dangers and what he called—rightly
enough, doubtless—the folly of the plan. I stuck to it, however, making it clear
that his part would be well paid for, and at last he consented and we arranged a
meeting-place behind the sand-dunes by the shore.
I put a few personal belongings into a little suit-case and had my friend give it to
one of the refugees who was to sail on the Tennessee. If I succeeded, I was to
recover it when we reached Egypt. The only thing I took with me was the paper
which declared my "intention of becoming an American citizen," the "first
paper." From this document I was determined not to part. I shall not tell how I
kept it on me, as the means I used may still be used by others in concealing such
papers and a disclosure of the secret might bring disaster to them. Suffice it to
say that I had the paper with me and that no search would have brought it to
light.
Arrived next morning at the appointed place, I gave the signal agreed upon, the
whine of a jackal, and, after repeating it again and again, I heard a very low and
muffled answer. My boatman was there! I had some fear that he might have
betrayed me and that I should presently see a soldier or policeman leap out of the
little boat, but my fears proved groundless, the man was faithful.
Stormy Sea Breaking over Rocks off Jaffa
We rowed out quietly, our boat a little nutshell on the tossing waves. But I was
relieved; the elements did not frighten me; on the contrary, I felt secure and
refreshed in the midst of the sea. When morning began to dawn, scores of little
boats came out of the harbor and circled about waiting for the cruiser. This was
our chance. I crouched in the bottom of our boat and to all appearances my
boatman was engaged merely in fishing. After I had lain there over an hour with
my heart beating like a drum and with small hopes for the success of my
undertaking, I heard at last the whistle of the approaching cruiser followed by a
Babel of mad shouting and cursing among the boatmen. In the confusion I felt it
safe to sit up. No one paid the slightest attention to me. All were engaged in a
wild race to reach and mount the Tennessee's ladder. I scrambled up with the
rest, and when, on the deck, an officer demanded my passport, I put on a bold
front and asked him to tell Captain Decker that Mr. Aaronsohn wished to see
him.
Ten minutes later I stood in the captain's cabin. There I unfolded my story, and
wound up by asking him if, under the circumstances, my "first papers" might not
entitle me to protection. As I spoke I could see the struggle that was going on
within him. When he answered it was to explain, with the utmost kindness, that
if he took me aboard his ship it would be to forfeit his word of honor to the
Turkish Government, his pledge to take only citizens of neutral countries; that he
could not consider me an American on the strength of my first papers; and that
any such evasion might lead to serious complications for him and for his
Government. Well, there was nothing for me to do but to withdraw and go back
to Jaffa to face trial for an attempt to escape.
When I reached the deck again I found it swarming with refugees, many of
whom knew me and came up to congratulate me on getting away. I could only
shake my head and with death in my heart descend the Tennessee's ladder. It did
not matter now what boat I took. Any boatman was eager enough to take me for
a few cents. As I sat in the boat, every stroke of the oars bringing me nearer to
the shore and to what I felt was inevitable captivity, a great bitterness swelled my
heart. I was tired, utterly tired of all the dangers and trials I had been going
through for the last months. From depression I sank into despair and out of
despair came, strange to say, a great serenity, the serenity of despair.
On the quay I ran into Hassan Bey, commandant of the police, who was
superintending the embarkation of refugees. I knew him and he knew me. Half
an hour later I was in police headquarters under examination by Hassan Bey. I
was desperate, and answered him recklessly. A seasick man is indifferent to
shipwreck. This was the substance of our conversation:—
"How did you get aboard the ship?"
"In a boat with some refugees. A woman hid me with her skirts."
"So you were trying to escape, were you?"
"If I had been, I shouldn't have come back."
"Then what did you do on the cruiser?"
"I went to talk to the captain, who is a friend of mine. My life is in danger. Fewzi
Bey is after me, and I wanted my friends in America to know how justice is done
in Palestine."
"Who are your friends in America?"
"Men who could break you in a minute."
"Do you know to whom you are speaking?"
"Yes, Hassan Bey. I am sick of persecution. I wish you would hang me with your
own hands as you hanged the young Christian; my friends would have your life
for mine."
I wonder now how I dared to speak to him in this manner. But the bluff carried.
Hassan Bey looked at me curiously for a moment—then smiled and offered me a
cigarette, assuring me that he believed me a loyal citizen, and declaring he felt
deeply hurt that I had not come to him for permission to visit the cruiser. We
parted with a profusion of Eastern compliments, and that evening I started back
to Zicron-Jacob.
The Author's Sister on Her Horse Tayar.