CHAPTER VIII
Waiting off Suez was the LAMA, a small converted liner; and in her we
left immediately. Such short voyages on warships were delicious
interludes for us pa**engers. On this occasion, however, there was some
embarra**ment. Our mixed party seemed to disturb the ship's company in
their own element. The juniors had turned out of their berths to give
us night space, and by day we filled their living rooms with irregular
talk. Storrs' intolerant brain seldom stooped to company. But to-day he
was more abrupt than usual. He turned twice around the decks, sniffed,
'No one worth talking to', and sat down in one of the two comfortable
armchairs, to begin a discussion of Debussy with Aziz el Masri (in the
other). Aziz, the Arab-Circa**ian ex-colonel in the Turkish Army, now
general in the Sherifian Army, was on his way to discuss with the Emir
of Mecca the equipment and standing of the Arab regulars he was forming
at Rabegh. A few minutes later they had left Debussy, and were
depreciating Wagner: Aziz in fluent German, and Storrs in German,
French and Arabic. The ship's officers found the whole conversation
unnecessary.
We had the accustomed calm run to Jidda, in the delightful Red Sea
climate, never too hot while the ship was moving. By day we lay in
shadow; and for great part of the glorious nights we would tramp up and
down the wet decks under the stars in the steaming breath of the
southern wind. But when at last we anchored in the outer harbour, off
the white town hung between the blazing sky and its reflection in the
mirage which swept and rolled over the wide lagoon, then the heat of
Arabia came out like a drawn sword and struck us speechless. It was
midday; and the noon sun in the East, like moonlight, put to sleep the
colours. There were only lights and shadows, the white houses and black
gaps of streets: in front, the pallid lustre of the haze shimmering
upon the inner harbour: behind, the dazzle of league after league of
featureless sand, running up to an edge of low hills, faintly suggested
in the far away mist of heat.
Just north of Jidda was a second group of black-white buildings, moving
up and down like pistons in the mirage, as the ship rolled at anchor
and the intermittent wind shifted the heat waves in the air. It looked
and felt horrible. We began to regret that the inaccessibility which
made the Hejaz militarily a safe theatre of revolt involved bad climate
and un-wholesomeness.
However, Colonel Wilson, British representative with the new Arab
state, had sent his launch to meet us; and we had to go ashore to learn
the reality of the men levitating in that mirage. Half an hour later
Ruhi, Consular Oriental a**istant, was grinning a delighted welcome to
his old patron Storrs (Ruhi the ingenious, more like a mandrake than a
man), while the newly-appointed Syrian police and harbour officers,
with a scratch guard of honour, lined the Customs Wharf in salutation
of Aziz el Masri. Sherif Abdulla, the second son of the old man of
Mecca, was reported just arriving in the town. He it was we had to
meet; so our coming was auspiciously timed.
We walked past the white masonry of the still-building water gate, and
through the oppressive alley of the food market on our way to the
Consulate. In the air, from the men to the dates and back to the meat,
squadrons of flies like particles of dust danced up and down the
sunshafts which stabbed into the darkest corners of the booths through
torn places in the wood and sackcloth awnings overhead. The atmosphere
was like a bath. The scarlet leathers of the armchair on the LAMA'S
deck had dyed Storrs' white tunic and trousers as bright as themselves
in their damp contact of the last four days, and now the sweat running
in his clothes began to shine like varnish through the stain. I was so
fascinated watching him that I never noticed the deepened brown of my
khaki drill wherever it touched my body. He was wondering if the walk
to the Consulate was long enough to wet me a decent, solid, harmonious
colour; and I was wondering if all he ever sat on would grow scarlet as
himself.
We reached the Consulate too soon for either hope; and there in a
shaded room with an open lattice behind him sat Wilson, prepared to
welcome the sea breeze, which had lagged these last few days. He
received us stiffly, being of the honest, downright Englishmen, to whom
Storrs was suspect, if only for his artistic sense: while his contact
with me in Cairo had been a short difference of opinion as to whether
native clothes were an indignity for us. I had called them
uncomfortable merely. To him they were wrong. Wilson, however, despite
his personal feelings, was all for the game. He had made preparations
for the coming interview with Abdulla, and was ready to afford every
help he could. Besides, we were his guests; and the splendid
hospitality of the East was near his spirit.
Abdulla, on a white mare, came to us softly with a bevy of richly-armed
slaves on foot about him, through the silent respectful salutes of the
town. He was flushed with his success at Taif, and happy. I was seeing
him for the first time, while Storrs was an old friend, and on the best
of terms; yet, before long, as they spoke together, I began to suspect
him of a constant cheerfulness. His eyes had a confirmed twinkle; and
though only thirty-five, he was putting on flesh. It might be due to
too much laughter. Life seemed very merry for Abdulla. He was short,
strong, fair-skinned, with a carefully trimmed brown beard, masking his
round smooth face and short lips. In manner he was open, or affected
openness, and was charming on acquaintance. He stood not on ceremony,
but jested with all comers in most easy fashion: yet, when we fell into
serious talk, the veil of humour seemed to fade away. He then chose his
words, and argued shrewdly. Of course, he was in discussion with
Storrs, who demanded a high standard from his opponent.
The Arabs thought Abdulla a far-seeing statesman and an astute
politician. Astute he certainly was, but not greatly enough to convince
us always of his sincerity. His ambition was patent. Rumour made him
the brain of his father and of the Arab revolt; but he seemed too easy
for that. His object was, of course, the winning of Arab independence
and the building up of Arab nations, but he meant to keep the direction
of the new states in the family. So he watched us, and played through
us to the British gallery.
On our part, I was playing for effect, watching, criticizing him. The
Sherifs rebellion had been unsatisfactory for the last few months
(standing still, which, with an irregular war, was the prelude to
disaster), and my suspicion was that its lack was leadership: not
intellect, nor judgement, nor political wisdom, but the flame of
enthusiasm that would set the desert on fire. My visit was mainly to
find the yet unknown master-spirit of the affair, and measure his
capacity to carry the revolt to the goal I had conceived for it. As our
conversation continued, I became more and more sure that Abdulla was
too balanced, too cool, too humorous to be a prophet: especially the
armed prophet who, if history be true, succeeded in revolutions. His
value would come perhaps in the peace after success. During the
physical struggle, when singleness of eye and magnetism, devotion and
self-sacrifice were needed, Abdulla would be a tool too complex for a
simple purpose, though he could not be ignored, even now.
We talked to him first about the state of Jidda, to put him at ease by
discussing at this first of our interviews the unnecessary subject of
the Sherif's administration. He replied that the war was yet too much
with them for civil government. They had inherited the Turkish system
in the towns, and were continuing it on a more modest scale. The
Turkish Government was often not unkind to strong men, who obtained
considerable licence on terms. Consequently, some of the licensees in
Hejaz regretted the coming of a native ruler. Particularly in Mecca and
Jidda public opinion was against an Arab state. The ma** of citizens
were foreigners--Egyptians, Indians, Javanese, Africans, and
others--quite unable to sympathize with the Arab aspirations, especially
as voiced by Beduin; for the Beduin lived on what he could exact from the
stranger on his roads, or in his valleys; and he and the townsman bore
each other a perpetual grudge.
The Beduins were the only fighting men the Sherif had got; and on their
help the revolt depended. He was arming them freely, paying many of
them for their service in his forces, feeding their families while they
were from home, and hiring from them their transport camels to maintain
his armies in the field. Accordingly, the country was prosperous, while
the towns went short.
Another grievance in the towns was in the matter of law. The Turkish
civil code had been abolished, and a return made to the old religious
law, the undiluted Koranic procedure of the Arab Kadi. Abdulla
explained to us, with a giggle, that when there was time they would
discover in the Koran such opinions and judgements as were required to
make it suitable for modern commercial operations, like banking and
exchange. Meanwhile, of course, what townsmen lost by the abolition of
the civil law, the Beduins gained. Sherif Hussein had silently
sanctioned the restoration of the old tribal order. Beduins at odds
with one another pleaded their own cases before the tribal lawman, an
office hereditary in one most-respected family, and recognized by the
payment of a goat per household as yearly due. Judgement was based on
custom, by quoting from a great body of remembered precedent. It was
delivered publicly without fee. In cases between men of different
tribes, the lawman was selected by mutual consent, or recourse was had
to the lawman of a third tribe. If the case were contentious and
difficult, the judge was supported by a jury of four--two nominated by
plaintiff from the ranks of defendant's family, and two by defendant
from plaintiff's family. Decisions were always unanimous.
We contemplated the vision Abdulla drew for us, with sad thoughts of
the Garden of Eden and all that Eve, now lying in her tomb just outside
the wall, had lost for average humanity; and then Storrs brought me
into the discussion by asking Abdulla to give us his views on the state
of the campaign for my benefit, and for communication to headquarters
in Egypt. Abdulla at once grew serious, and said that he wanted to urge
upon the British their immediate and very personal concern in the
matter, which he tabulated so:--
By our neglect to cut the Hejaz Railway, the Turks had been able to
collect transport and supplies for the reinforcement of Medina.
Feisal had been driven back from the town; and the enemy was preparing
a mobile column of all arms for an advance on Rabegh.
The Arabs in the hills across their road were by our neglect too weak
in supplies, machine guns and artillery to defend them long.
Hussein Mabeirig, chief of the Masruh Harb, had joined the Turks. If
the Medina column advanced, the Harb would join it.
It would only remain for his father to put himself at the head of his
own people of Mecca, and to die fighting before the Holy City.
At this moment the telephone rang: the Grand Sherif wanted to speak to
Abdulla. He was told of the point our conversation had reached, and at
once confirmed that he would so act in the extremity. The Turks would
enter Mecca over his dead body. The telephone rang off; and Abdulla,
smiling a little, asked, to prevent such a disaster, that a British
brigade, if possible of Moslem troops, be kept at Suez, with transport
to rush it to Rabegh as soon as the Turks debouched from Medina in
their attack. What did we think of the proposal?
I replied; first, historically, that Sherif Hussein had asked us not to
cut the Hejaz line, since he would need it for his victorious advance
into Syria; second, practically, that the dynamite we sent down for
demolitions had been returned by him with a note that it was too
dangerous for Arab use; third, specifically, that we had had no demands
for equipment from Feisal.
With regard to the brigade for Rabegh, it was a complicated question.
Shipping was precious; and we could not hold empty transports
indefinitely at Suez. We had no Moslem units in our Army. A British
brigade was a cumbersome affair, and would take long to embark and
disembark. The Rabegh position was large. A brigade would hardly hold
it and would be quite unable to detach a force to prevent a Turkish
column slipping past it inland. The most they could do would be to
defend the beach, under a ship's guns and the ship could do that as
well without the troops.
Abdulla replied that ships were insufficient morally, as the
Dardanelles fighting had destroyed the old legend of the British Navy
and its omnipotence. No Turks could slip past Rabegh; for it was the
only water supply in the district, and they must water at its wells.
The earmarking of a brigade and transports need be only temporary; for
he was taking his victorious Taif troops up the eastern road from Mecca
to Medina. As soon as he was in position, he would give orders to Ah'
and Feisal, who would close in from the south and west, and their
combined forces would deliver a grand attack, in which Medina would,
please God, be taken. Meanwhile, Aziz el Masri was moulding the
volunteers from Mesopotamia and Syria into battalions at Rabegh. When
we had added the Arab prisoners of war from India and Egypt, there
would be enough to take over the duties momentarily allotted to the
British brigade.
I said that I would represent his views to Egypt, but that the British
were reluctant to spare troops from the vital defence of Egypt (though
he was not to imagine that the Can*l was in any danger from the Turks)
and, still more, to send Christians to defend the people of the Holy
City against their enemies; as some Moslems in India, who considered
the Turkish Government had an imprescriptable right to the Haramein,
would misrepresent our motives and action. I thought that I might
perhaps urge his opinions more powerfully if I was able to report on
the Rabegh question in the light of my own knowledge of the position
and local feeling. I would also like to see Feisal, and talk over with
him his needs and the prospects of a prolonged defence of his hills by
the tribesmen if we strengthened them materially. I would like to ride
from Rabegh up the Sultani road towards Medina as far as Feisal's camp.
Storrs then came in and supported me with all his might, urging the
vital importance of full and early information from a trained observer
for the British Commander-in-Chief in Egypt, and showing that his
sending down me, his best qualified and most indispensable staff
officer, proved the serious consideration being given to Arabian
affairs by Sir Archibald Murray. Abdulla went to the telephone and
tried to get his father's consent to my going up country. The Sherif
viewed the proposal with grave distrust. Abdulla argued the point, made
some advantage, and transferred the mouthpiece to Storrs, who turned
all his diplomacy on the old man. Storrs in FULL blast was a delight to
listen to in the mere matter of Arabic speech, and also a lesson to
every Englishman alive of how to deal with suspicious or unwilling
Orientals. It was nearly impossible to resist him for more than a few
minutes, and in this case also he had his way. The Sherif asked again
for Abdulla, and authorized him to write to Ali, and suggest that if he
thought fit, and if conditions were normal, I might be allowed to
proceed to Feisal in Jebel Subh; and Abdulla, under Storrs' influence,
transformed this guarded message into direct written instructions to
Ali to mount me as well and as quickly as possible, and convey me, by
sure hand, to Feisal's camp. This being all I wanted, and half what
Storrs wanted, we adjourned for lunch.