certificate declaring me unfit for service.

This was arranged in short order, although I am healthy-looking and the
doctor found some difficulty in hitting on an appropriate ailment.
Finally he decided that I had "too much blood"--whatever that might
mean. With his certificate in hand, I paid the regular price of two
hundred dollars from funds which had been sent me by my family, and
walked out of the barracks a free man. My happiness was mingled with
sadness at the thought of leaving the comrades with whom I had suffered
and hoped. The four boys from my village were splendid. They felt that I
was right in going home to do what I could for the people, but when they
kissed me good-bye, in the Eastern fashion, the tears were running down
their cheeks; and they were all strong, brave fellows.

On my way back to Zicron-Jacob, I passed through the town of Sheff'amr,
where I got a foretaste of the conditions I was to find at home. A
Turkish soldier, sauntering along the street, helped himself to fruit
from the basket of an old vender, and went on without offering to pay a
farthing. When the old man ventured to protest, the soldier turned like
a flash and began beating him mercilessly, knocking him down and
battering him until he was bruised, bleeding, and covered with the mud
of the street. There was a hubbub; a crowd formed, through which a
Turkish officer forced his way, demanding explanations. The soldier
sketched the situation in a few words, whereupon the officer, turning to
the old man, said impressively,--"If a soldier of the Sultan should
choose to heap filth on your head, it is for you to kiss his hand in
gratitude."