A little later the sailors were
lined up in arms to salute the American flag when it was lowered for the
night. Moved by a powerful instinct of love and respect, all the
refugees jumped to their feet, the men bareheaded and the women with
folded hands, and in that moment I understood as I had never understood
before the real sacred meaning of a flag. To all those people standing
in awe about that piece of cloth bearing the stars and stripes America
was an incarnation of love universal, of freedom and salvation.
The cool Syrian night, our first night on the cruiser, was spent in
songs, hymns, and conversation. We were all too excited to sleep.
Friends discovered friends and tales of woe were exchanged, stories of
hardship, injustice, oppression, all of which ended with mutual
congratulations on escaping from the clutches of the Turks.
THE END
End of Project Gutenberg's With the Turks in Palestine, by Alexander Aaronsohn
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