nt-
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 naivete 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