Part 7 (1/2)

”Wouldn't you like,” said M., ”to be away from this nightmare of a life and in a peaceful country like Egypt?”

”I guess yes, my dear,” said George. ”But I desire to quit the East and live among English.”

”Well,” said C., ”I could find you a comfortable job in Australia.”

”Very obliged. I take your address and write when war shall finish.”

”That's no good. None of us may be alive when the war is over. How would you like to take the job now?”

”What can you desire to say, my dear?”

There was an awkward pause. We were shy of carrying the matter further; for chance-met Levantines, like politicians, do not as a rule inspire confidence.

Yet it had to be done. I continued the conversation in French, George's weird English not being a good medium for the discussion of secrets.

”If,” I promised, ”you help us to escape and come with us, we will give you not only money, but a job for life in Australia.”

George's face whitened suddenly, and for the rest of that evening his hands shook with excitement.

”There is nothing I wish so much, _mon cher_” he said, ”as to escape to the British. But it is very difficult and would need much money. Also I have so little courage.”

George went into the corridor to see if the guard showed suspicions.

But the sentry--a black Sudanese--was sitting on the floor, gazing at and thinking of nothing, after his usual stupid fas.h.i.+on.

George returned, and for half an hour we discussed and rediscussed possibilities. He p.r.o.nounced the scheme of walking to the coast in a series of night marches, and then stealing a boat, to be impossible.

The idea of joining a caravan to Akaba he judged more hopeful, but that would mean hiding in Damascus until the next party was ready to start.

Hiding in Damascus would be not only highly dangerous but highly expensive. Anyhow, the Armenians who organized the secret caravans must be shy of adding immensely to their risks by taking British officers, and if they did take such risks they would expect to receive more ready money than we possessed.

George was silent for several moments, and then announced that he would try to find an Arab, from among his acquaintances, who would lead us to Deraa, and thence through the mountains to the Dead Sea regions. For this also, he pointed out, money would be necessary--and gold, not paper. We could change our paper notes only at the rate of four and a half paper pounds for one in gold; and the sum obtained by this means would be too little.

”But,” I pointed out, ”if we go below the Dead Sea to the country occupied by the Hedjaz army, we can get gold enough. Haven't you heard of the gold at 'X', of a certain Arab emir and of certain British officers?”

”_Mon cher_, I have heard a lot of this gold, and so have many of the Bedouins around here. But perhaps I shall not be able to convince my friend that you could obtain money from it.”

I gave George arguments enough to convince his friend, and made him swear by his professed Christianity that he would keep secret our conversation. Soon afterward he left us, still trembling with excitement.

Full of renewed hope, I looked out of the window into the Eastern evening, and speculated on what the G.o.d of chance might do for us. To be effective he would have to do a lot. There was, for example, the Austrian sentry whom I could see below, leaning against a motor lorry.

If he were about, on whatever night we fixed for our escape, how could we climb down to the ground un.o.bserved? The window itself offered no difficulties, for it was above the street and on the first floor, so that a few bedclothes tied together would suffice to lower a man out of the barracks.

Then, while I was still watching the sentry, a different G.o.d intervened. A hooded girl sidled up to him, and after looking around to see that n.o.body was watching, he crossed the road, and disappeared with her into the meadow to the left of the camp. An omen, I thought. If, on escape-night, chance spirited away obstacles as easily as that, all would be well.

Meanwhile the flat, gray houses whitened in the light of the young moon, and the river Abana radiated soft s.h.i.+mmerings. In this respect, also, chance should favour us. About a week later, when we hoped to leave, the moon would not rise until after midnight; so that darkness would help us to slip from the barracks, and moonlight would help us as we moved across open country. Just then my meditations were chased away by a fantastic, far-away sound. Somewhere in the maze of streets a wheezy barrel organ was playing--playing _Funicul, Funicula_! How a barrel organ found itself in Damascus, and in war-time Damascus, I did not try to guess. All I knew, or wanted to know, was that across the warm, sensitive night air there floated the lively old tune: and if you are away from Europe take it from me that nothing will bring you to the back streets of London, of Paris, of Naples as quickly as a barrel organ playing _Funicul, Funicula_. For long after the barrel organ had become silent, and only the moonlight and the stillness remained, I was back in England.

Late next morning George burst into the room, with a beaming face and a palpable desire for news telling.

”_Mon cher_,” he said to me, ”I have found a Druse who will guide you.

He knows about the gold, and although not quite sure, he thinks he can trust you, as British officers, to see that he gets paid. He demands two hundred pounds in gold when you reach 'X', and fifty pounds in paper now, for the hire of horses.”

I was overjoyed at this new prospect of a road to liberty; but when I had translated George's French for the benefit of the Australians, M.