A FLYING VISIT
It was Friday morning. Groups of Turkish women, out for the day,
hastily veiled their faces and ran away, shrieking, "Aman! Aman! oh
dear! oh dear!" Swarms of children, clustering, like ants, about
nougat-sellers, fled in terror, screaming that it was the devil's
carriage, and the devil was in it. Two Greek teams playing at football
stopped their game and gazed open-mouthed; young naval cadets at
leapfrog rushed with shouts of excitement towards the aeroplane; and a
crowd of Jewish factory girls (for all races and classes use this
common playground), realizing with quick wit what it meant, flocked up
with shrill cries: "C'est un aviateur: allons voir!" A grave old Turk
mutters: "Another mad Englishman!" A Greek shouts: "Come on, Pericles,
and have a look"; and suddenly, amid the babel of unknown tongues
Smith hears an unmistakable English voice: "Oh, confound it all,
Crawford, I'm in the ravine."
Peering through the crowd of inquisitive faces, Smith sees two golfers
and hails them heartily. They elbow their way through, and Smith, who
has not yet dared to leave the machine lest the mob should invade it
and do it an injury, steps out and grasps the hand of a fellow
Englishman.
"Well, I'm hanged!" cried the new-comer; "Charley Smith, of all men in
the world."
"Hullo, Johnson!" said Smith, recognizing in the speaker a messmate of
his middy days, now a naval officer in the Sultan's service; "I say,
you can do something for me."
"I dare say I can," replied the other laughing, "but where do you
spring from? I didn't know you were in these parts."
"Only arrived five minutes ago, from London."
Johnson stared.
"Not in that machine?"
"Yes, certainly. Eight hours' run; a record, isn't it? But I'm short
of petrol. There's some ordered by wire from a man named Benzonana;
can you put me in the way of getting it quickly?"
"Of course. Benzonana's a Jew, with stores at Kourshounlou Han. But
there's no hurry. We'll get some one to look after your aeroplane, and
you'll come back with me to the club: this sort of thing doesn't
happen every day, old man. By Jove! Do you really mean to say you've
got here in eight hours from London?"
"I left there at 12.35 this morning. Barracombe--you remember him--saw
me off. But I'm sorry I can't come with you, Dick. I've only a couple
of hours to spare, and must get the petrol at once."
"My dear chap, are you mad? You can't go on at once, after eight hours
in the air. You'll crock up. Of course, if it's a wager--"
"It's a matter of life and death."
"Oh, in that case! But I'm afraid you won't get off in two hours.
Things go slow in this country, and here's the first obstacle."
He pointed beyond the crowd, and Smith saw a troop of cavalry
approaching at a hand-gallop. The throng of Turks, Jews, and
Armenians, who had all this time been volubly discussing the wonderful
devil machine, broke apart with shouts of "Yol ver! Yol ver!" (Make
way!) The troop of horsemen clattered up, and Smith saw himself and
his aeroplane surrounded by a cordon of soldiers.
The captain looked suspiciously from the two grimy travellers to the
spick-and-span Englishmen in golfing costume. He said something in
Turkish to his lieutenant.
"What does he say?" asked Smith in a whisper.
"He's telling the lieutenant they must draw up a _procès-verbal_.
Don't lose your temper, old man; he talks of putting you under arrest
as a Bulgarian spy. You'll have to be patient. I'll do what I can,
but if they make a diplomatic incident of it you'll be kept here a
week or more."
Johnson went up to the captain and addressed him politely in Turkish.
The officer looked incredulous, and said something to his lieutenant,
who trotted off across the field. In a few minutes Johnson returned to
Smith, who was walking up and down in agitation. Rodier was fast
asleep in the car of the aeroplane.
"I've given the captain the facts of the case," said Johnson, "and he
does me the honour to disbelieve me. The lieutenant has gone off to
the Ministry of War for instructions. Meanwhile, you are under arrest,
and they won't let you quit this spot without authority. If you really
mean that you must go at once----"
"I do indeed. The loss of an hour may ruin everything. My plan was to
leave here at 10.30."
"But, my dear fellow, it's that now, and past."
Smith drew out his watch: it indicated 8.50. "London time," he said.
"You're two hours in advance of it, aren't you?"
Johnson laughed.
"Of course, we get used to our own time, here. But I was saying, if
you _must_ go, this is what I suggest. You can't appear, and it's as
well, for you would certainly be delayed. I will go off to the Embassy
and hustle a bit. If the wheels can be hurried, they shall be, I
assure you. Then I'll go on to Benzonana, get your petrol, and come
straight back. Meanwhile take my advice and have a sleep, like your
man there. You look dead beat, and no wonder. Why, I suppose you've
had no breakfast?"
"I've had something, but not bacon and eggs, certainly. I shall do
very well. I will take your advice; sleep is better than food just
now. When you see Benzonana, ask if he has any addresses for me:
Barracombe was going to wire some from London. Many thanks, old man."
Johnson said a word or two to the captain, who nodded gravely as Smith
flung himself down beside the aeroplane, and, resting his head on his
arms, prepared to go to sleep.
The golfer knew the short cuts from the Ok Meidan to the city. He went
at a fine swinging pace through the hamlet of Koulaksiz, down Cassim
Pasha, up the steep hill through the cemetery, past the Pera Palace
Hotel. At that point he jumped into a carriage, and commanded the
driver to make all speed to the British Embassy. There he was lucky to
find a friend of his on the staff of the Embassy, a man well versed in
the customs and character of the Turks.
"The only thing to do," said the official, when Johnson had briefly
explained the circumstances, "is to get an order from the Minister of
War; but we shall have to hurry, as he may be attending a council, or
a commission, or something of the sort. What is your friend's hurry?"
"I don't know. He says it's a matter of life or death."
"I should say death if he goes at such a preposterous speed. It must
have been nearly two hundred miles an hour: the Brennan mono-rail is
nothing to it. At any rate, it's rather a feather in our cap--this
record, I mean, after so many have been made by the French and the
Americans--and if he has more recording to do we mustn't let Oriental
sluggishness stand in the way."
This conversation passed while they were making their way from an
upper room of the Embassy to the street. There they jumped into an
araba with a kavass on the box, dashed down Pera Street, past the
banking quarter, over the Galata bridge, up the Sublime Porte Road and
into the Bayazid Square, where they reached their destination. A crowd
of servants was grouped about the Grand Entrance, and as Johnson and
his friend Callard came up, the Turks flocked around them officiously,
assuring them with one voice that the Minister was attending a
commission. Callard took no notice of them, but passed on with Johnson
into the central hall, where, sitting over a charcoal brazier, they
found a group of attendants rolling cigarettes and discussing the
merits of the city's new water supply. Among them Callard spotted an
acquaintance, who rose and said politely, "Welcome, dragoman bey, seat
yourself."
Callard knew very well the necessity, in Turkish administrations, of
having a friend at court, and was aware, too, that where a high
official failed, a servant might succeed. But he was too well
acquainted with the customs of the country to attempt to hasten
matters unduly. He began to discuss the weather; he compared the
climate of his interlocutor's province with that of the city; he spoke
of the approaching Bairam festivities. Then, apparently apropos of
nothing, the man said, "I have been at the sheep-market to-day," a
remark which Callard took as a broad hint for bakshish: the Turk
wanted money to buy a fat sheep for the impending sacrifice. He
produced two medjidiés. The effect was magical. The two Englishmen
were guided to the small chamber where the Minister's coat hung, where
his coffee was prepared and his official attendants sat. From this
room access could be had to him without the knowledge of the hundreds
of people outside waiting for an audience: wives of exiled officers,
officials without employment, mothers come to plead for erring sons
who had been dismissed.
Introduced to the Minister's presence, Callard wasted no time. The
case was put to him; Johnson, whom he knew by sight, vouched for the
respectability and good faith of his old comrade; and the Minister,
apologizing for his subordinate's excess of zeal, scribbled an order
permitting Lieutenant Smith to pursue his business free of all
restrictions by the military authorities.
"But," he said, "I have no power to give him exemption from Custom
House control."
The Englishmen thanked him profusely, and with many salaams retired.
"We have succeeded better than I hoped," said Callard, as they passed
out; "but we are still only half way, confound it! We shall have to
hurry up if Smith is to get off in time. Arabadji," he cried to the
coachman awaiting them at the door, "the Direction-General of the
Custom House."
The driver whipped up his horse; they dashed down the Sublime Porte
Hill, and drew up at the entrance to the Custom House.
"Is the Director-General here?" Callard asked of the doorkeeper.
"He is a little unwell, but the English adviser is here."
"We will see him," returned Callard; adding to Johnson, "We are in
luck's way; the English adviser does his best to lessen the
inconveniences of the Circumlocution Office."
They went up-stairs, and were met by an attendant who showed them into
an unpretentious room, where an Englishman, wearing a fez, was seated
at a table covered with papers and surrounded by a crowd of merchants
and officials. Questions of infinite variety were being submitted to
him.
"Excellence, are we to accept as samples two dozen left-hand gloves?
This merchant brought two dozen right-hand gloves last week."
Then the merchant and the official began to wrangle. For some minutes
Callard in vain tried to get a word in edgeways; then at last the
Councillor, pushing back his fez with an air of weary patience, turned
to the newcomers and asked their business. A few words sufficed; the
Councillor rang a bell on the table, and when his secretary appeared,
ordered him to make out a _laissez-passer_ for Lieutenant Smith for
all the Custom Houses of the Empire. This done, he turned once more to
listen to the interminable dispute about the left-hand gloves.
"We are doing well," said Callard, as the two left the Custom House.
"There's still nearly an hour to spare. Now for the petrol."
They drove across the Galata bridge to the district of Kourshounlou
Han, and found that Benzonana had had the petrol ready at early
morning, and, what was more, had it at that moment in a conveyance for
transport. Johnson asked him if he had received any addresses from
London, and the man handed him a folded paper. Then, asking him to
send the petrol and some machine oil at once to the Ok Meidan, the two
Englishmen reentered their carriage, dashed up the Maltese Street,
past the Bank and the Economic Stores, up the Municipality Hill, and
again down by a short cut to the Admiralty. It was an hour and a half
since Johnson had set forth on his errand.
They found Smith and Rodier talking to the second golfer, boiling
coffee in a little portable stove, and eating a kind of shortbread
they had purchased of one of the simitdjis or itinerant vendors of
that article who had been doing a roaring trade with the children, and
even the elders, among the sightseers.
"Don't taste bad, spread with Bovril," said Smith, as Johnson and
Callard alighted from their carriage.
The crowd had grown to immense proportions. Smith said they had been
clamouring ever since Johnson had been gone, and he would rather like
to know what they said.
"Probably discussing whether the Commander of the Faithful won't order
you to be flung into the Bosphorus," said Callard.
The soldiers were still on guard round the aeroplane. Johnson
approached the captain and showed him the Minister of War's order.
Almost at the same moment an aide-de-camp came galloping up from the
Minister himself to assure the officer that all was right.
"But don't go yet, captain," said Johnson anxiously. "My friend will
require a clear space for starting his aeroplane, and without your men
we shall never get the crowd back."
The officer agreed to wait until the Englishman departed, and Johnson
returned to Smith to give him the paper he had received from
Benzonana. Callard had already related their experiences at the
Ministry of War and the Custom House.
"But what about the petrol?" asked Smith. "Time's getting on."
"He said he had it all ready to send. Ah! I guess this is it coming."
A way was parted through the crowd, and there came up with great
rattling and creaking a heavy motor omnibus of the type that first
appeared on the streets of London. It was crowded within and without
with Turks young and old.
"Where did you get that old rattler?" asked Smith, laughing.
"Oh, several came out here a year or two ago; bought up cheap when the
Commissioner of Police couldn't stand 'em any longer. They're always
breaking down. No doubt your petrol is inside, and you may think
yourself lucky it has got here."
The car came to a stand: the Turks on the roof retained their places;
those within lugged out the cans of petrol and oil, and placed them in
the aeroplane at Rodier's direction. Smith meanwhile was chatting with
the Englishmen, fending off their questions as to his destination.
"I may send you a wire from my next stopping-place," he said. "That
reminds me. Will you send a wire to Barracombe for me, Johnson? You
know his address. And one to my sister at home. I promised I would let
her know. Simply say 'All well.' Now can you get the captain to clear
the course for me?"
The captain and his men took a long time over this business, and Smith
longed for a few London policemen to show them how to do it. But the
excited crowd was at length forced back so far as to allow a
sufficient running-off space. Smith shook hands warmly with the
Englishmen; with Rodier he took his place in the car; then at a jerk
of the lever the aeroplane shot forward, and, amid cries of "Good
luck!" from the Englishmen, clapping of hands and loud "Mashallahs!"
from the excited mob, it rose gracefully into the air.
"Only five minutes late, mister," said Rodier. "All goes well."