Our Young Aeroplane Scouts in Russia; or, Lost on the Frozen Steppes

by Horace Porter

  CHAPTER XXVIII.

  IN THE GROVES OF DAMASCUS.

  "They might as well be tied to a post for all the gain they are making,"gleefully proclaimed Macauley, looking backward at the pursuingaircraft, which even then were rapidly fading in the rear distance.

  "And I thought I had patched up the junk they are driving in pretty goodshape," laughingly remarked Billy, turning his head to see the last ofthe winged fleet of the Turks.

  Canby, in the other war-plane, had just been asking Henri if he had anyidea where he was going. The pilot strained his voice in telling thesoldier that he "didn't know," and at the moment "didn't care much."

  It was strictly the truth, this assertion as to lack of knowledge of anyfixed route to follow, and equally hazy any idea as to where thewar-planes were going to stop.

  With the balmy air blowing full in their faces, and clear sailing undera sun-lit sky, the young aviators were living in the present--a presentwherein for the first time in many a day the alarms of war were notresounding. Trouble was behind them, and very likely in front of them,but sufficient this little respite.

  The compass showed that they were traveling in direction southwest, andfar to the left could be seen a line of railway, on which, reduced bydistance, a toy-sized locomotive was speeding in front of a miniaturetrain of cars.

  To the right was unrolled afar a real surface picture of the ancientland of the nomads--the land from which come dates, galls, gum, mohairand carpets, where the camel cushion-foots the deserts and lies down torest in the generous shade of the oasis.

  It was a vast and fertile area over which the warplanes were sailing,and as their rapid transit carried the machines further south, thesilver threading of rivers of names unknown to the air travelers crossedand recrossed the green expanse of the glorious panorama.

  Fleas and flies and locusts and plagues do not rise to aeroplanestrata--so it all looked wholly good then to the aviators.

  Thirsty and hungry, Billy concluded to chance a descent, and nearing theground, saw several muffled figures hastening away from thestone-bordered brink of a well, followed by a number of smaller shapesnot muffled at all. Goatskin water pouches were abandoned and gourddrinking vessels scattered when the scared water-bearers made theirbolt. They had, perhaps, learned not to shy at a locomotive, but abuzzing aeroplane suddenly flapping down from above was a differentproposition.

  "It looks like taking candy from the children," said Henri, picking upone of the gourds dropped by a little bronze cupid, now kiting across agrassy slope not far from the well.

  "Better drink your fill before some of the tribesmen come and poke youwith a scimitar," advised Macauley, who was already setting example.

  "I don't believe they will bother us with these aeroplanes showing theirteeth," asserted Billy, "and what's more, I am going to chance it,anyhow."

  With this declaration, the Bangor boy plumped himself down on rudelyconstructed stone settee alongside the well and contentedly munched someof the cakes that had been stored against an hour of hunger in thewar-plane lockers.

  In a land of prophets, Billy was not the least. The aviation party wasnot "bothered," and even indulged in slumber, without sentinel, forabout the whole night.

  "The only thing that is of serious outlook," declared Billy the nextmorning, "is just how long the petrol is going to hold out. We can pickup enough to eat, at least enough to keep our bones from showing, butI'll be blessed if we can run these machines with anything like oliveoil."

  "Where are we bound for, anyhow?"--the second or third time that Canbyhad put the same question.

  "'Ask of the winds that far around with fragments strewed the sea,'"recited Henri, who had never forgotten his original attempt to set the"boy stood on the burning deck" verse to the French language.

  "'I don't know where I'm going, but I'm on the way,'" sang Billy, with amixture of flat notes.

  "You are not the only clown in this company, it seems, Canby," chuckledMacauley.

  "Couldn't aspire with you present," was Canby's retort.

  The petrol question was not settled by this hilarity, and as to thedestination of the war-planes, only time could settle that.

  "There certainly must be some big towns in this region," argued Henri,thinking of the railway they had seen, "and I'll warrant we can get atank supply with the exercise of a little nerve and diplomacy."

  "That is just what you will have to use, and, I might say, all you haveto use to get it," put in Billy. "You and I haven't a red cent betweenus, and I doubt if our friends here transferred their gold and silver tothe new, or, rather, old clothes they are wearing."

  "We didn't," exclaimed Macauley, "but I could tell you to whose clothesthe few shillings we carried were transferred: Abou, peace be withhim--not."

  "Yet we have Billy's watch," advanced Henri, with a grin; "heirloomthough it is, the sacrifice must be made."

  The Bangor boy cast a rebuking glance at his chum, for that battered"turnip" had outworn long-continued fun-making, as well as any value forexchange it had ever possessed.

  "What's that saying, Billy, that you sprung on us the other day, 'luckis stuck on the efficient,' or something like that? Maybe it will workif you hustle right on the petrol trail."

  Canby was the speaker, and he owed Billy one for the way the latter hadlaughed when Macauley and himself made their debut as Turks.

  Seeing that he was getting the worst of it, Billy crossed in with:

  "Too much talk; we'd better be pulling out."

  There was no dissent to this, and after Macauley and Canby hadappropriated and filled two of the goatskin water pouches, the aviationparty took to the air.

  The pilots had made up their minds to keep up a high rate of speed, andtake the chances of running into or near a populous city, where by somehook or crook the waning supply of petrol could be replenished.

  Over 200 miles had been covered that day before any of the four in thewar-planes raised a cry of "found," and it was Canby who had the honorof making the loud announcement:

  "Look, sports; look away to the right!"

  The vision to which the soldier called attention were towering domesglittering with the crescent, rising out of a sea of foliage; whitebuildings shining with ivory softness through bordering clumps of darkverdure, and flat roofs resembling miniature lakes in the distance.

  As the war-planes swung around and were sent, nose on, straight at thispoint of lovely vista, the aviators faced breezes laden with the odorsof roses and jasmine.

  This wilderness of gardens and scented thickets was encircled by baremountain walls, piercing the azure sky above.

  The war-planes settled in a clearing between two orchards, and near abubbling spring, shaded by olive trees and vines.

  "Let the petrol question go on the table for an hour or two, anyway,"pleaded Henri, entranced by the appeal of this earthly paradise.

  "So be it," agreed Macauley, "and while we are resting I mean to communewith nature, including the fruit that yonder tempts me."

  "I'm with you," cried Canby, rising from a kneeling position at thespring, in which he had buried his face from chin to eyebrow.

  Billy, ever practical, turned to the work of gauging the war-planetanks.

  "Down to bed-rock, Buddy," he reported ruefully. "Twenty-five miles morewould finish us."

  "You're a regular vandal, pard," dreamily protested Henri, backstretchedon the grass, his head pillowed on his hands.

  The dreamer, however, in the next moment was sitting up and takingnotice, for majestically approaching from the shady recesses of thenearest orchard was the grand figure of a man, under turban and swathedin flowing, loose-sleeved gown, a veritable patriarch, white-bearded andbenign of countenance.

  The newcomer, whose eyesight was evidently not of the best, for hejudged the staring lads by their garb, spoke the familiar greeting inArabic: "Peace be with you."

  Drawing nearer, though, and perceiving that the invade
rs were of anothertype than Turk, he astonished the boys by speaking in perfectly goodEnglish.

  "How came you to Damascus?" was his first query.

  "Damascus!" exclaimed Henri. "Is this Damascus?"

  "So; and the oldest city in the world," gravely replied the patriarch.

  "Where the swords come from!"

  This from Billy, whose great-grandfather had handed down a Damascusblade, and which still hung over the family fireplace back in the OldBay state.

  Macauley and Canby by this time had come up from the rear, and listeningin wonder to the plain English from the oriental mouth.

  The old man seemed to appreciate that he was causing a bit of a stir bythe fluent use of a foreign language.

  Waving his hands, palms upward, he explained:

  "I am one of the Jews who immigrated back from Europe--and I havememories; oh, so many; but how long ago; how long ago."

  The wisdom of ages was on his brow, and treasured memories in his heart.

  "How came you here?" he repeated; "I have listened and heard no answer."

  Billy simply pointed to the war-planes, resting on the sward.

  "But once have I seen the like, and on high, above the Mediterranean.Will wonders never cease?"

  The old man curiously paced the length of the machines, and peeredthrough the rigging, lightly touching the various exposed parts, all thewhile talking softly to himself.

  Finally he again directly addressed the aviation party.

  "What is your will?" he asked, the soul of hospitality in his eyes."Food? More than a plenty you shall have. Shelter? It is yours for theword, but in these divinely beautiful days, no four walls for me. Heardye ever the cry of the desert, and 'the house not made with hands'?"

  "So far, so good, kind sir, but have you in the town any of the stuffgenerally called 'petrol'?"

  The patriarch hesitated at the term of general classification of fueloils. "Maybe it is there," he replied uncertainly.

  Henri jumped into the breach by setting forth that what they wanted was"just oil to burn."

  The face of the graybeard flashed a look of comprehension.

  "It is not the impossible that you request; in the manufactures there isuse for the mineral fluid, and for you it shall be found."

  "We haven't the price of it about us," confessed Billy.

  The patriarch shrugged his shoulders. "I am making no measure of shekelsfor the stranger at my door. In my groves take your ease until themorrow, and all these things I have promised will be delivered untoyou."

  With these words, spoken like a benediction, the old man departed in thedirection of the splendid terraces of level roofs.

  "If this isn't a rum go, count me a goat," remarked Canby, in his breezyway, when the four resumed easy attitude on the green carpet of theglade. "Young men, you have saved the day, more power to you!"

  "And Billy has saved his watch," teased Henri, and for which his chumhanded him a rousing slap on the back.

  With the coming of the swarthy servitor, whom Macauley promptly named"Mustapha," hunger was routed without benefit of surrender. Theplatter-bearer brought a delicious service of cereals, grapes, figs,oranges and apricots, and coffee as thick as syrup. To crown it all, forthe soldiers, "Mustapha" also produced some fragrant tobacco, rolled inhusks.

  "I think I will register for a month," enthusiastically advised Canby;"if this isn't going on the sunny side of the street I will never stealanother umbrella."

  His comrade, flat on his back, was blowing smoke rings at the birds.

  "I guess these are private preserves," sleepily commented Billy, "for noother foot has trailed us but the boss and the black. There is nonecessity of locking up the diamonds and plate to-night."

  And so the four dreamed in a valley of Lebanon.