After some indefinite period he suddenly caught sight of a long
strip of land. Was this a foreign country, or were they returning?
He had by this time lost all feeling of fear. He became interested
and almost disappointed. The “airyplane” was not such a fool as it
looked. It was very wonderful to be right up in the sky like this.
His dreams were suddenly disturbed by a fearful noise. He thought
the machine was blown to pieces. It dived and ducked through the
air, and things were bursting all round it and making an awful din,
and then it went up higher and higher. After a while these noises
ceased, and he felt the machine gliding downward. They were really
right above solid land—trees, fields, streams, and white villages.
Down, down, down they glided. This was a foreign country. There were
straight avenues of poplars and canals. This was not Halvesham. He
felt the thing glide gently and bump into a field. Some men ran
forward and approached them, and the mad aviator called out to them.
They were mostly fat men in gray uniforms, and they all spoke this
foreign gibberish. Some one came and unstrapped him. He was very
stiff and could hardly move. An exceptionally gross-looking man
punched him in the ribs and roared with laughter. They all stood
round and laughed at him, while the mad aviator talked to them and
kept pointing at him. Then he said:
“Old Grandfather, you must come with me.”
He was led to an iron-roofed building and shut in a little room.
There were guards outside with fixed bayonets. After a while the mad
aviator appeared again, accompanied by two soldiers. He beckoned him
to follow. They marched through a quadrangle and entered another
building. They went straight into an office where a very
important-looking man, covered with medals, sat in an easy-chair.
There was a lot of saluting and clicking of heels. The aviator
pointed at Sam and said something, and the man with the medals
started at sight of him, and then came up and spoke to him in
English.
“What is your name? Where do you come from? Your age? The name and
birthplace of your parents?”
He seemed intensely interested, and also pulled his hair and beard
to see if they came off. So well and naturally did he and the
aviator speak English that after a voluble examination they drew
apart, and continued the conversation in that language. And the
extraordinary conversation was of this nature:
“It is a most remarkable resemblance,” said the man with medals.
“_Unglaublich!_ But what do you want me to do with him, Hausemann?”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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