70
CAIRO TO DAMASCUS
One speaker was a true firebrand. He was a thin wisp of a
man, with a small, thin, pointed beard. His long deep-coppercolored face glowed with religious frenzy. His eyes, long-lashed
and mystic, were half-shut when he spoke, the lids velvety as
if touched by purple eye-shadow. He made no gestures and
scarcely moved even his head. He mixed pure fire with his
words, and as he spoke he swayed slightly with the fluid
rhythm of his words, as a cobra sways, at times speaking in a
kind of hypnotic singsong—half prayer, half chant—then suddenly, his voice as brutal as a mailed fist, he exhorted, demanded, beat with the hammer of his eloquence on the ears
of his men to fight for Allah and His Prophet. His words were
like the thunder of a savage symphony, piercing the listeners
and the darkness beyond, awakening every ear that heard the
extraordinary virulence of his extraordinary passion. . . .
As he finished, the bowels of the earth seemed to explode.
The roar that came from the frenzied listeners is utterly undescribable to American ears. The least I can say is that it was
like the snarling of volcanic monsters, bloodcurdling, awesome. The white-turbaned faces, roasted under the Nile sun,
burned with the zealous fire of Islam; wherever I looked men
stood screaming, shouting, eyes bloodshot, ready at that moment to tear out the hearts of their foe with bare hands in the
name of Allah and the Holy War.
From the balcony an arm rose high, commanding silence.
In the hushed moment that followed, a voice crackled: "Ahmed Hussein!"
Hussein was an intense speaker. With powerful gestures
and deep emotion he reinflamed the religious frenzy of his
listeners.
"Death to Palestine's Jews!" he bellowed.
"Death to Palestine's Jews!" the mob roared back.
He exhorted them against British occupation of the Suez
and the Sudan. The mob thundered its approval. As Hussein
ended with the familiar words, Jehad, attl! attl! the same
vibrant voice in the rear called out in Arabic: