a of winning the Druses for
England to counteract the influence of the French Maronites. He went
back to London, where he succeeded in impressing his views upon the
Foreign Office, and he returned to Syria charged with a secret mission.
Before long he persuaded the Druse chieftains to address a petition to
England asking for British protection.

British protection was granted, and for over thirty years Richard Wood,
virtually single-handed, shaped the destiny of Syria. It was he who
broke the power of Ibrahim Pasha, the son of Mehemet Ali; it was he who
guided Admiral Stopford in the bombardment of Beirut; it was he, again,
who brought about the landing of English troops in Syria in 1841; we
find him afterwards in Damascus as British Consul, and wherever he went
he was always busy spreading English power and prestige. He understood
the East thoroughly and felt that England must be strong in Syria if she
wished to retain her imperial power. It is very unfortunate that the
policy of Sir Richard Wood was not carried out by his nation.

It was with high hopes and expectations that I approached the Lebanon.
I was looking forward to the moment when I should find myself among
people who were free from the Turkish yoke, in a country where I should
be able to breathe freely for a few hours.

But how great was my consternation, when, on entering the Lebanon, I
found on all the roads Turkish soldiers who stopped me every minute to
ask for my papers! Even then I could not realize that the worst had
happened. Of course, rumors of the Turkish occupation of the Lebanon had
reached us a few weeks before, but we had not believed it, as we knew
that Germany and Austria were among those who guaranteed the autonomy of
the Lebanon. It was true, however; the scrap of paper that guaranteed
the freedom of the Lebanon had proved of no more value to the Lebanese
than had that other scrap of paper to Belgium. As I entered the
beautiful village of Ed-Damur, one of the most prosperous and enchanting
places on earth, I saw entire regiments of Turkish troops encamped in
and about the village.

While I was watering my horse, I tried to ask questions from a few
inhabitants. My fair hair and complexion and my khaki costume made them
take me for a German, and they barely answered me, but when I addressed
them in French their faces lit up. For the Lebanon, for all it is
thousands of miles away from France, is nevertheless like a French
province. For f