ou 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

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