ummer, 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 w