“Well, anybody still alive?”
“Rather,” I called out, “but hurry up, or we shall suffocate in here.”
We heard the machine being lifted, then the grating of spades, and at last a current of fresh air blew in on us.
“Hold hard!” shouted Strehle. “Try the other way round or you’ll break my arm.”
Our helpers followed my instructions, and at last I was lifted clear from my seat, and I lay softly and at ease on an odorous manure heap. Long-legged Strehle promptly clambered out of the debris, and I have rarely shaken hands with more pleasure than with my faithful observer.
Dash it all! Things did look bad. The machine had completely toppled over, and was deeply embedded in the soft manure. The fuselage was broken in three places; the planes had turned into a tangled mass of wood, fabric and wire.
But we two were safely out of it. Strehle had sprained his back slightly, and I had only broken two ribs. That was all. Never again have I despised a manure heap. May that one and its like flourish for ever. Sadly and limpingly we covered the rest of the return journey by train. After that, however, we enjoyed many days of sunshine and light, full of happy doings and happier memories, which we collected like flowers of rare beauty and bloom.
And then duty called, and the real voyage began.