XXI
The weather had broken now finally and the Turks in Palestine were safe until the following year. Lawrence remained at Azrak with Ali ibn el Hussein and the Indians, and sent to Feisal for a caravan of winter supplies. It was a good place for preaching the Revolt and comfortable for the winter, once the ruined fort had been cleaned out and in part re-roofed. The Indian, Hassan Shah, took charge of the defence of the fort, mounting machine-guns in the towers and placing a sentry, an unheard-of thing in Arabia, at the postern gate. They settled down here with coffee-fires and story-telling, and Ali and Lawrence daily entertained the many visitors who came in to swear loyalty to the Revolt—Arab deserters from the Turks, Bedouin chiefs, head-men of peasant villages, Syrian-Arab politicians, Armenian refugees. There were also traders from Damascus with presents of sweetmeats, sesame, caramel, apricot paste, nuts, silk clothes, brocade cloaks, headcloths, sheepskins, patterned rugs and Persian carpets. In return the traders were given coffee, sugar, rice and rolls of cotton-sheeting, necessities of which the war had deprived them. The tale of plenty at Azrak would have a good political effect on Syria.
During this wet weather an opportunity came to Lawrence for having a look at the Hauran and in particular the Deraa district, the inevitable scene of the next Arab advance. For Tallal, the head-man of Tafas, a village in the Hauran, rode in one morning and consented to act as his guide. Tallal was a famous fighter, outlawed by the Turks, of whom he had killed twenty-three with his own hands. There was a price on his head but he was so powerful that he rode about as he pleased. He carried richly ornamented arms and wore a green cloth coat with silk frogs and a lining of Angora sheepskin. His other clothes were silk, his saddle was silver-mounted and he wore high boots. Under such guidance Lawrence had a safe and interesting trip round the vital railway junction which was to be the scene of heavy fighting in September, 1918. He seems, though, to have got into trouble on the return journey, after he had parted with Tallal, for he records his arrest by the Turks (who took him for a deserter from their army) and his punishment in custody for his refusal to obey an order given him by the military governor, a Turkish major. This incident, apparently, did permanent damage to his nerve, coming as it did after the grave disappointments of the bridge and train failures and the exhaustion of the last few months.
Back at Azrak, he heard the story of Abd el Kader. The mad fellow, after his desertion of the Yarmuk party, had gone in triumph to his villages, flying the Arab flag, his men firing joy shots behind him. The people were astonished and Jemal, the Turkish governor, went to him protesting against the insult. Abd el Kader received Jemal in pomp, remarking that the whole country was now under the rule of the Sherif of Mecca, who graciously, however, confirmed all the existing Turkish officials in their appointments! Next morning he made a second progress through the district. Jemal complained again and Abd el Kader drew his gold-mounted Meccan sword and swore to cut off his head. The Turks saw that he was quite mad and so disbelieved his story that a raid was intended that night on the Yarmuk bridge. Later they employed him again, as before his ride to Mecca, to have secret dealings with the Syrian Arab nationalists and then to betray them.
The weather was now worse than ever, with sleet, snow and continual gales. It was obvious that there was nothing but talking to be done in Azrak. Lawrence felt himself a fraud, teaching and preaching armed revolt to this foreign people while knowing the whole time that it was unlikely that they would ever benefit by their strongest efforts. And he disliked the Syrian townsmen with their compliments and servility as they came ‘craving an audience’ with their ‘Prince and Lord and Deliverer.’ He preferred the simple desert manners of men who would come bluntly up to him with their requests, shouting: ‘Ho, Aurans! Do this for me.’ He decided to go off again to see if he could do anything active against the Turks on the Dead Sea. He handed over his remaining money and the care of the Indians to Ali ibn el Hussein. They took an affectionate farewell, exchanging clothes in sign of intimate friendship, and on November twenty-third Lawrence rode off south, alone except for Rahail, the strongest of his followers.
He was making by night for Akaba across the wet plain and the going was fearful. The camels were continually falling with their riders until, after some hours, Lawrence halted in despair and they lay down in the mud and slept till dawn. They rode on the next day, caked with mud. About noon, to the north of Bair, they were suddenly fired at by four men who rushed shouting from ambush. They asked Lawrence’s name, saying that they were Jazi tribesmen. It was a plain lie, for Lawrence saw that their camel-brands were of the Faiz tribe. They covered Lawrence and Rahail with their rifles at four yards’ range and, jumping off their own camels, told them to do the same. It was to be murder, but Lawrence kept his head. He just laughed in their faces and remained in the saddle. This puzzled them. Then he asked the man who appeared to be their leader whether he knew his name. The Arab stared, thinking Lawrence mad, but came nearer, his finger on the trigger. Lawrence, covering him with a pistol under his cloak, bent down and whispered: ‘It must be Teras’ (that is, Seller of Women), for no other tradesman could be so rude.’ It was an insult which in the desert meant instant death for the man who uttered it, but the Arab was too astonished to shoot. He took a step back, looking round to see if Lawrence had a large armed party near; for otherwise he could never have dared so to provoke an armed man. Then Lawrence turned slowly, calling to Rahail to follow, and rode off. The Arabs stood and watched them go and only recovered their senses when they were a hundred yards away. Then they fired and charged in pursuit, but Lawrence and Rahail were well mounted and escaped. The Faiz were a very shifty tribe. On one of Lawrence’s rides in the previous summer—I believe the Damascus ride—he had been given hospitality by their chief, a prominent member of the secret freedom society. Asleep on the rich rugs of the guest-tent, he had been roused by a whispered warning under the tent-flap. It was one of the chief’s brothers, telling him that messengers had been sent by his host to the nearest Turkish garrison. Lawrence only just escaped in time: the traitor died shortly afterwards, probably murdered by his own people for disgracing them.
They passed Bair the next night and reached Jefer at dawn, having come a hundred and thirty miles in thirty hours over bad country. Lawrence had fever heavy on him and kept going at this pace because he wanted to reach Akaba before a caravan, that had gone there from Azrak to bring back stores, started back again. He had long ceased caring what happened to his own body and was resolved to humble Rahail, who had for months been aggressively boasting of his strength and endurance, by riding him to a standstill. Before they passed Bair Rahail was begging for a halt; before they reached Jefer he was crying with self-pity, but softly lest Lawrence should hear him. Beyond Jefer they came on Auda’s tents, stopping only for a greeting and a few dates, and then on again. Rahail was past protest and riding white-faced and silent. They continued all that day and all the next night on their weary camels, crossing the railway. Lawrence’s fever was dying down now and he fell into a trance in which he saw himself divided into different persons, one riding the camel, the others hovering in the air and discussing him. Rahail roused him at dawn, shouting that they had lost direction and were riding towards the Turkish lines at Aba el Lissan. They changed direction and reached Akaba by way of Rumm the following midnight.
To him at Akaba came urgent message from Allenby who had beaten the Turks in a series of battles, capturing Jaffa and the outskirts of Jerusalem, to report to him at once. Lawrence went by air, and arrived just in time to hear of the fall of Jerusalem. Allenby was too busy with news of victories to wish to hear details of the failure at the Yarmuk bridge, or to mind very much; a simple statement was enough. He kindly invited Lawrence to take part in the official ceremony of entry into Jerusalem and Lawrence accepted, with a quick-change into British staff-officer’s uniform with brass-bound hat and red tabs.
For the Akaba success, by the way, Lawrence had been made a major and gazetted a Companion of the Bath, but steadfastly refused to wear the ribbons and has never accepted these or any other decorations. He was recommended by the High Commissioner of Egypt for the Victoria Cross, instead, but the recommendation was, much to Lawrence’s relief, refused. The Victoria Cross is not given for good staff-work or brainy leadership but for courage of the fighting sort. This courage was of course not admitted by Lawrence in his official report—he has never admitted it since—and the Victoria Cross could not in any case have been awarded, on technical grounds: ‘No senior officer was present as witness.’ The nearest senior officer was several hundreds of miles away on the right side of the Turkish lines. Lawrence’s lieutenant-colonelcy came early in 1918, to put him on the same level as Lieutenant-Colonel Joyce who was graded as General Staff Officer, First Class, for liaison with the Arab Regular Army; Lawrence was General Staff Officer, First Class, for liaison with the Bedouin Arabs. It would not be correct to say that Lawrence accepted this rank; he just went on working, whatever they called him. The Distinguished Service Order to which he was gazetted was a present for the Tafileh battle of which an account is given a few pages ahead. His full-colonelcy Lawrence applied for himself (just after the capture of Damascus), much to the surprise of General Headquarters where his indifference to rank and awards was a standing joke. But he explained that he wanted the rank (special, temporary, acting and with all other possible qualifications) merely to secure for himself a berth on the staff-train through Italy which accepted no officers of lower rank than full colonels. He got his way. He called it his ‘Taranto rank.’
So far as I know, he only once used the privileges of his rank for other than travelling. Once at a rest-camp he stopped to watch a bullying officer bawling at two wretched privates, battle-wearied men, who were passing on the far side of the barrack square: ‘Come here, you two loungers! Take your hands out of your pockets! Why the hell didn’t you salute me? Don’t you know I’m a Major?’ The poor fellows mumbled something. ‘Now stand over there,’ said the major, ‘and let me see you march past and salute.’ They obeyed and were walking off hurriedly when the major recalled them. ‘Now come back and do it again properly.’ They did it again. ‘One moment, Major,’ said a voice behind him; ‘there is something you have forgotten.’ The major wheeled round and saw a rather haggard-looking bareheaded boy in a tunic starred and crowned, on the shoulders, with badges of rank: Lawrence. The major saluted in confusion; the soldiers, happier now, were shuffling off, but Lawrence beckoned them to stop. ‘The thing that you have forgotten, Major,’ Lawrence went on gently, ‘is that in this army the salute is paid not to the man but to the rank, and the officer saluted is ordered by the King, whom he represents, to return the salute. But of course you know that.’ The major was speechless. ‘You will therefore salute those men,’ said Lawrence, ‘whose salutes just now you failed to return.’ The major saluted, choking with rage. But the merciless Lawrence continued: ‘Major, those private soldiers saluted you twice. You will therefore return their salutes a second time.’ And the Major had to obey.... This story recalls another: Lawrence, shortly after the War ended, was in Oxford Street, London, one night, walking head-down in the drizzling rain. He was pulled up by a lieutenant-colonel for not saluting him. The lieutenant-colonel was accompanied by a woman, obviously a new acquaintance. Lawrence slowly peeled off the badgeless rain-coat that he was wearing and showed his rank. The lieutenant-colonel grew red in the face. Lawrence said, ‘You can go away.’ ... The woman went a third way.
To return. Allenby and Lawrence exchanged news and plans together. Allenby would be kept inactive until February, when he intended to push down to Jericho, which lies just north of the Dead Sea. Lawrence said that the Arab army could link up with him there if the daily fifty tons of supplies that were usually landed at Akaba were sent to Jericho instead. Akaba could be abandoned as a base now that there was no more danger from the Turks in that quarter (they had soon to withdraw from Aba el Lissan to trenches just outside Maan). Allenby agreed gladly. It was important for the Arabs to move up to Jericho, for on the way they could stop the food that was reaching the Turkish army from villages south of the Dead Sea, being taken up to the north end in boats from a little below Kerak in the south.
Back in Akaba with a month to wait before the move could begin, Lawrence decided to try the armoured cars in an experimental raid on the railway. They were now in Guweira, to which a motor-road had been built from Akaba by Egyptian labourers and the cars’ crews; from thence it was an easy run across dry mud-flats to the railway near Mudowwara. The trip was a holiday for Lawrence; there was little danger because the cars were proof against machine-guns and rifles and went very fast. The expedition consisted of three armoured Ford cars mounted with machine guns, a half-battery of two ten-pounder guns carried by three more cars, Talbots, and open Rolls-Royces for scouting. The crews were all British and there was bully-beef, biscuit and tea, with two warm blankets for each man at night. Lawrence, with no Arabs about, was content to be as English as ever he had been and enjoyed for once being present at a fight in which he had not to take the leading part; he could stand on a hill watching through field-glasses. It was these friendly outings with the Armoured Car and Air Force fellows that persuaded him, even then, that his best future, if he survived the War, was to enlist. The cars came up close to a Turkish post at the station next above Mudowwara and shelled and machine-gunned the trenches, but since the Turks did not surrender and there was no Arab force handy for charging, went off again to do the same at another station higher up. Lawrence only wanted to test the possibility of using the cars against the railway and as they were clearly a success came home to Guweira the same day.
The siege of Medina was still maintained in Central Arabia by Feisal’s brothers, Abdulla and Ali; Yenbo was being used again as a base. Lawrence could not persuade the British advisers there, who were still under the High Commissioner of Egypt and not, like him, under Allenby, that there was no point in making Medina surrender. And when they asked him to cut the railway permanently at Maan because it was difficult for them to cut it where they were, he had to pretend that the troops with him were too cowardly to attempt the operation.