At Beirut we knew that there was an
American Consul-General, who kept in continual touch with the battleship
anchored in the harbor for the protection of American interests.
My sister got away none too soon. One evening shortly after her
departure, when I was standing in the doorway of our house watching the
ever fresh miracle of the Eastern sunset, a Turkish officer came riding
down the street with about thirty cavalrymen. He called me out and
ordered me to follow him to the little village inn, where he dismounted
and led me to one of the inner rooms, his spurs jingling loudly as we
passed along the stone corridor.
I never knew whether I had been selected for this attention because of
my prominence as a leader of the Jewish young men or simply because I
had been standing conveniently in the doorway. The officer closed the
door and came straight to the point by asking me where our store of
arms was hidden. He was a big fellow, with the handsome, cruel features
usual enough in his class. There was no open menace in his first
question. When I refused to tell him, he began wheedling and offering
all sorts of favors if I would betray my people. Then, all of a sudden,
he whipped out a revolver and stuck the muzzle right in my face. I felt
the blood leave my heart, but I was able to control myself and refuse
his demand.
Pages:
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41