Adventure, December 1914 — page 198: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

196 nothing men or women can not do in the face of such circumstances. Spurred on by the icy cold, we swam at a racing clip, aid- ed by the fact that it was just between tides, with what little set there was drift- ing us down toward a point which project- ed out into the water and made our course all the shorter. And after the first ten minutes our efforts began to tell on our circulations; the blood commenced to course faster and faster un- der the spur of abnormal conditions, and the distress of the cold was diminished. I was really surprised when we discerned the overhanging trees of the opposite shore. ‘“‘Almost there,’ panted Masoya. Her face, wet and white, slid up beside my shoulder. Her lips were drawn tight, but there was a smile in her eyes. ‘You are the bravest girl in the world— and the sweetest,’ I found myself saying without any premeditation. She rested one hand on my shoulder by way of answer, and at the same instant I kicked down and struck the shelving beach. It was a strange enough setting for lover’s talk—and it became stranger. “T am what you ”” she started to say; then exclaimed, ‘‘Hark!”’ : I listened, and from somewhere in the darkness overhead came the whirring and drumming of a powerful engine. CHAPTER XVIII THE SINEWS OF WAR *@ \UICK!”’ she exclaimed. time to lose.”’ Breathless from our swim, we plunged through the shallows and scrambled up the bank. But before we were half way to the protecting belt of trees a knot of men swarmed out to meet us. I was holding Masoya by the hand, and without any hesitation I swung her behind me and squared off to meet the rush I expected. To my surprise, however, the newcomers seemed to be disgruntled at my challenge and stopped irresolutely in their tracks. It was Masoya who grappled with the situation. “It’s all right; he doesn’t know,” she cried, slipping around in front of me. And to me she added: “It is Kokalji and his men. They have warm clothing for us. We must hurry. The ’plane is almost here.”’ “We have no Adventure “The what?” I stammered in surprise. She fairly pushed me toward the trees. “The hydroplane. How did you think we were going to get away—by motor? Now hurry. The forts and ships will have heard the engine and we shall barely have time to climb aboard.” The roar of the hydroplane’s engine was deafening as I stumbled after one of the Gipsies, who led me by the hand, into a cor- ner of the thicket above the beach. Here he handed me a bottle of raw cognac, and then set to work to unpack a bundle of clothing. Presently I had stripped off my wet clothes, and was arrayed anew in thick, heavy woolens, with an ear-tabbed cap pulled down over my face and mittens on my hands. The cognac was coursing through my veins and I felt for [the first time like a free man who is ready to sell his freedom at only one price. When I regained the beach I saw that Kokalji was standing just above the water’s edge with a lighted lantern in his hand. Overhead the pounding of hard-driven cylinders sounded nearer, although less vig- orous, and the acrid odor of ‘‘cooked’’ oil struck my nostrils. Gradually I made out a flat, bird-shaped thing that was soaring down in concentric circles, dropping toward the surface of the Straits a couple of hundred yards off shore. While I watched it seemed to slide out of the air and come to rest on the water. Then the propellers began to revolve again, and it glided, ghostlike and effortless, to- ward where Kokalji stood with his gleaming lantern. Masoya’s hand pressed my arm. I turned to find her dressed as I was, in long, heavy trousers, coat and cap. ‘‘We had to send to Paris for him,”’ she murmured, indicating the shadowy bulk of the aeroplane. ‘“That was why it took so long. I would not trust to any of our army aviators or to an ordinary machine.” She told me the man’s name, but I will not mention it here. It 1s one of those best-known in the world of aviation, and when next I stop in Paris I intend to hunt him up and tell him over again how much I owe him for that midnight ride. Of what followed I have only the haziest recollection. I remember a voice, speaking French, that croaked from amid the meshed wires and struts of the floating hydroplane, and that Masoya swiftly translated to MICLOOOK (C@ in