He set
off in search and I waited all day at his house, consumed with
impatience and anxiety. At last, toward evening, my friend returned,
but the news he brought was not cheering. He had found a passport,
indeed, but his report of the rigors of the inspection at the wharf was
such as to make it clear that the chances of my getting through on a
false passport were exceedingly slim, since I was well known in Jaffa.
If I were caught in such an undertaking, it might mean death for me and
punishment for the friends who had helped me.
Evidently this plan was not feasible. All that night I racked my brain
for a solution. Finally I decided to stake everything on what appeared
to be my only chance. The Tennessee was due on the next day but one,
early in the morning. I gave my friend the name of a boatman who was
under obligations to me and had sworn to be my friend for life or death.
Even under the circumstances I hesitated to trust a Mohammedan, but it
seemed the only thing to do; I had no choice left. My friend brought the
boatman, and I put my plan before him, appealing to his daring and his
sense of honor. I wanted him to take me at midnight in his fishing-boat
from an isolated part of the coast and wait for the appearance of the
Tennessee; then, on her arrival, amid the scramble of boats full of
refugees, I was to jump aboard, while he would return with the other
boats.
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