Threatened deportation, first by the German, then by the Turk, had been again and again postponed for the little group known as the American Colony but finally word came that in ten days all must go. The men of military age, though neutral, had been ordered away a week before and were expecting the arrival of a Turkish officer at any moment, to tell them the time had come. Food was very scarce, there was no sugar, little flour, and no fats. The woman who told us the story was herself doing all-day and sometimes all-night duty as a nurse in the Red Crescent Hospital which was our present hotel. Some of the letters she showed to us proved what a consolation she must have been to the young British soldiers, who lay with the Turks, prisoners, and sorely wounded. The thundering of the guns had been drawing nearer but, despite rumors that crept into the streets and the hospital wards that the Turks were slowly losing ground, they themselves reported progress. Great airplanes droned over the city, cannon roared in the hills. One afternoon there was unusual commotion in the open space before the hotel and, standing by the window, our friend saw the Germans making hurried preparations for leaving. Signal wires, telephone wires, rugs, removable furniture, tons of supplies, went out through the Jaffa Gate. The Turkish General visited her—he must leave the wounded in her care. The German doctors would go with the troops. He would leave two days’ provisions and medicines, after that— When he had gone, half afraid to believe it, she whispered the word to the British patients. They were nearly mad with joy, and there was little sleeping that night. “When? When?” they would whisper as she or her helper passed them. She could only answer, “I do not know. We have provisions for two days.” Very early in the morning, before it was fully light, the Mayor of the city, one of the direct descendants of Mohamet, sent her a message saying that he was about to surrender the city. At half-past eight that morning the outposts saw the white flag approaching. General Shea was the officer sent by General Allenby to accept the surrender of the city. At half-past twelve Jerusalem had passed into the hands of the British, guards were placed at all public buildings, and instructions given to the Chief of Police. The joy of the people—Jew, Christian, and Moslem—was shown in the crowds that filled the street, the tears and embraces, the shrill cries in many tongues. Even the Turkish sick and wounded in the hospital showed relief. For the twenty-third time in its history Jerusalem had surrendered. But this time there were no cries for mercy, no bitterness, no wailing, no terrible fear of the conqueror. Outside the walls the guns banged and hammered at the Turkish defences. Much had to be done before Jerusalem was safe from attack, but although, spurred on by advices from Germany, the Turks made an attempt to recapture the City, it was a disastrous failure.