Adventure, December 1914 — page 199: what you’re looking at

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

The Sinews of War Kokalji, who drove his men headlong into the water and had them slowly swing the ’plane around so that its nose pointed out into the Straits. Then first Masoya and next myself were lifted up in the arms of two men and deposited gently in a long, boat- like compartment between the two wings of the machine, and directly behind the hunched form of the pilot. In the meantime guns had begun to mut- ter in the batteries that edged the Straits toward the Black Sea entrance, and several of the guard ships had weighed anchor and were steaming toward us, flashing their searchlights in every direction. In Hilmi Bagtchi all was silent, showing that our escape was still unknown. But it was obvious that if we hoped to get away there was no time to lose. As it was, the starting of the powerful motor would be the signal for a hail of shot hurled skyward from every corner of the earth beneath. For by this time the Turks must be satis- fied that the strange night-craft of the air was not a friend. Our pilot raised his hand. Kokalji and his men stepped back to shore; there was a sudden explosion of gas, and the next min- ute we were mounting into the air. All sounds were drowned by the turmoil of the engine and the constant threshing of the propeller, but below us I could see a rip- pling succession of flashes that I recognized for guns fired up at us. Simultaneously the searchlights swung upward and wavered backward and forward across the sky like huge pointers of radiance, trying to place us in the friendly darkness. But we were beyond chance of harm by them in a very few minutes. MHurtling through space at fifty miles an hour, lulled by a gentle rocking motion and shut off from the world by the racket of the engine, one felt remarkably safe and secure. A single rifle bullet, well-placed, would have sent us plunging headlong to destruction. But I _ never had any fear of such an untoward end- ing, and events justified my optimism. I soon noted that we were hugging the Black Sea coast. The splotches of light that were Constantinople were left far be- hind us to the left. We passed a few iso- lated villages that dotted the gloomy mass of the Forest of Belgrade, and a couple of cruisers and torpedo boats that patrolled the scant stretch of seaboard left to Turkey, extending as far as Cape Kara. For the 197 next few miles we were over water, but it seemed only a little while since we had started when we swung inland again, travel- ing at great height diagonally above Derkos, the right wing of the Turkish fortifications on the Tchataldja Lines. BENEATH us the country was grid- ironed from sea to sea by the camp- fires of the Turkish army. They made a broad band of light across the pen- insula, and beyond them lay a belt of un- broken darkness, accentuated by the glare that rose from the Bulgarian camp-firres just over the horizon. Crouched in the trembling body of the aeroplane, Masoya and I could map out the entire chain of Turkish fortifications from where Fort Amintchagir flashed its search- lights across Lake Derkos and the marshes that covered the Turkish right flank to Kuru Kavak Redoubt and the strong web of trenches that veiled the center between Tashlar Bajir and the twin Hamidieh Forts, and so on to where Baghchi Tasja and Giaur Bajir defended the railway-line and the head of Buyuk Chekmeje Bay. For some miles we hovered over the Bul- garian Position, looking for the railroad- line. Our pilot finally picked up the tracks by means of the station lamps at Kabakje, where, aS we swooped low, we saw long strings of baggage trucks being unloaded by lantern light. There was a hint of the dawn in the east- ern sky by now, and it was not so difficult to follow the dwindling perspective of the rails that traversed a countryside whence every peaceful, law-abiding man had fled. A ghastly gray light had begun to spread over the land when we soared over Mu- radli Station and dropped to earth in a meadow that was fringed with the tents of the headquarters staff. Early as it was, a crowd of officers and soldiers poured into the open space, and we alighted in the midst of a small ovation. The first man to reach the side of the aeroplane was Boris Kurtsky, thinned and weather-beaten by six months of Winter campaigning, and he helped me to lift Masoya out of the cramped space between the dragon-wings. Boris pumped my hand up and down un- til I had to wrench it away from him, and the bystanders gave several cheers that were hearty despite the fact that the rank and file did not know what it all meant. DOOLK C@