CHAPTER XXVII.
OUT OF THE TOILS.
It is doubtful if the chief Turk and the lesser Moslem who rode with the young aviators from Marmora to Constantinople had ever before had a flying experience, but they sat like wooden images in the observers’ places, impassive and silent. Their watchword was “kader”—which means that their fate is in the hands of a superior force, and that what is going to happen will happen anyway.
If the pilots, in a spirit of mischief, put the war-planes through some fancy paces, they wholly failed to disturb the composure of the Osmanlis.
As Billy remarked later, “the chap with me was like ‘a painted ship upon a painted ocean,’ and I couldn’t shake him out of his trance to save my neck.”
Sailing into the Golden Horn, and alighting on a quay pointed out by the Turks, the boys found shelter for the war-planes in a covered bazaar condemned for military purposes, and located near the artillery barracks. To the great delight of the lads, they found Macauley and Canby sitting in front of the last named building, complacently puffing cheroots and seemingly with the least worry in the world.
“Who comes here?” hailed Canby. “Advance and say ‘how-de-do.’”
The young aviators gave the demanded countersign with a will, and two-handed emphasis.
“They have not put us under parole yet, I’m thankful to say,” stated Macauley in an undertone, “and I hope they won’t for a week at least. I see you brought up the war-planes, and, blame me, if I don’t believe there is some show of a get-away if we work it right.”
“S-sh,” warned Canby, “the boss Turk has an eye on us.”
The quartette bunked together that night, though the Turkish officer at first insisted that the boys should accept quarters to themselves, the honor of that palace visit still clinging to them. Billy and Henri very promptly protested against separation from their comrades, and finally had their way.