pushing wheelbarrows and handling spades, by grinning Arabs, rifle on
shoulder. We were set to building the road between Saffêd and Tiberias,
on the Sea of Galilee--a link in the military highway from Damascus to
the coast, which would be used for the movement of troops in case the
railroad should be cut off. It had no immediate strategic bearing on the
attack against Suez, however.

From six in the morning till seven at night we were hard at it, except
for one hour's rest at noon. While we had money, it was possible to get
some slight relief by bribing our taskmasters; but this soon came to an
end, and we had to endure their brutality as best we could. The
wheelbarrows we used were the property of a French company which,
before the war, was undertaking a highway to Beirut. No grease was
provided for the wheels, so that there was a maddening squeaking and
squealing in addition to the difficulty of pushing the barrows. One day
I suggested to an inspection officer that if the wheels were not greased
the axles would be burned out. He agreed with me and issued an order
that the men were to provide their own oil to lubricate the wheels!

I shall not dwell on the physical sufferings we underwent while working
on this road, for the reason that the conditions I have described were
prevalent over the whole country; and later, when I had the opportunity
to visit some construction camps in Samaria and Judaea found that in
comparison our lot had been a happy one. While we were breaking stones
and trundling squeaking wheelbarrows, however, the most disquieting
rumors began to drift in to us from our home villages. Plundering had
been going on in the name of "requisitioning"; the country was full of
soldiery whose capacity for mischief-making was well known to us, and it
was torture to think of what might be happening in our peaceful homes
where so few men had been left for protection. All the barbed-wire