And so the terrible news was brought to us one morning that we were
free. Personally, I felt much happier on the day I was put in prison
than when I was released. I had often wondered how our people had been
able to bear the rack and thumbscrew of the Spanish Inquisition; but
when my turn and my comrades' came for torture, I realized that the same
spirit that helped our ancestors was working in us also.

Now I knew that our suffering had been useless. Whenever the Turkish
authorities wished, the horrors of the Armenian massacres would live
again in Zicron-Jacob, and we should be powerless to raise a hand to
protect ourselves. As we came limping home through the streets of our
village, I caught sight of my own Smith & Wesson revolver in the hands
of a mere boy of fifteen--the son of a well-known Arab outlaw. I
realized then that the Turks had not only taken our weapons, but had
distributed them among the natives in order to complete our humiliation.
The blood rushed to my face. I started forward to take the revolver away
from the boy, but one of the old men caught hold of my sleeve and held
me back.

[ILLUSTRATION: IN A NATIVE CAFÉ, SAFFÊD/A LEMONADE-SELLER OF DAMASCUS]




CHAPTER VI

THE SUEZ CAMPAIGN