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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