Here there were no Germans to worry them with shrapnel and bullets, but calmly and serenely they sailed over huge forests and deserts, swamps and islands, which studded the deep blue sea far below them, like gems set in emerald. Now they were in the tropics, skimming along over huge palm trees, and lagoons that opened out into the sea. Great monsters basked in the sunlight on the banks of the rivers and lagoons, and on the shores of the sea. They were in an unknown land discovering strange places. Just such a trip it was as Jock and he had often talked about, when, the day's work done, they had settled in the comfortable arm-chairs in the officers' mess at the aerodrome near Contalmaison.
Often they had talked of these things, and the trips they were going to make in the happy years to come, when the fighting was all over, and the smoke of battle had blown away, and the liberties of mankind had been won back from the tyrants of these latter days.
Thus he dreamt, for he was feverish, while over him the shells burst, and the great guns thundered, and all around, upon the wide-stretched battlefields, the dead and the dying lay. And always he was parched and thirsty, and sometimes he would turn and say to Jock:
"There, far below us in the desert, Jock, I can see an oasis, with pools of cold refreshing water, and a cluster of tall trees, where we shall find dates and figs. Let us go down, Jock."
But the vision would fade before he reached the promised land, and the cup of water was dashed from his lips, and the goblet broken. Again he would see across the desert, which now seemed interminable, mystic and wonderful lakes of fresh water. But always he was mocked, and again and again those horrid German guns would thunder out from far below and forbid them to land.
Suddenly from out of the midst of his dream, he heard some one calling his name.
"Dastral! Lieutenant Dastral!"
He turned uneasily in his sleep; then he woke with a start, and looked about him. His brow was flushed, his head burned as though it were on fire, and his eyes glittered. All seemed dark, for the landscape was blotted out by a dark cloud.
Half regaining consciousness he murmured:
"Where am I? Who called me?" But while he wondered, his hand touched something, and he shrank back startled. It was Jock's poor wounded and bruised body that he had touched. Then he remembered it all. The flight over the German lines; the attack which had been made upon them by a whole German squadron; the fierce fight and the dash back, followed by a cloud of Fokkers and Aviatiks. Then the crash----. Yes he remembered it all now, and Jock, poor Jock must be dead, for he had not moved, and they must have been there for hours, days perhaps--at least, it seemed so, for it was dark as night, and it was morning when they crashed.