Part 16 (1/2)
”Let their cla.s.sification go. When we cla.s.sify now we cla.s.sify nothing less than armies. Do you think the _Arrow_ has had sufficient rest?”
”A plenty. It's a staunch little flying machine.”
”Then we'll start again, and I think we'll have an easy trip, save for the currents which are numerous and varied in high mountains.”
”What country are we in now?”
”A corner of Switzerland, and I mean for us to descend at a neat little hamlet I've visited before. They don't know war has begun yet, and we can get there provisions and everything else we need.”
They launched the Arrow, and once more took flight, now into the maze of mountains. Their good craft frequently rocked and swayed like a s.h.i.+p at sea and John remembered Lannes' words about the currents. Reason told him that intervening peaks and ridges would make them break into all forms of irregularity, and he was glad when they hovered over a valley and began to descend.
He saw about half a mile below them a small Swiss village, built on both sides of a foaming little river, and, using the gla.s.ses as they dropped down, he also saw the whole population standing in the streets, their heads craned back, staring into the skies. The effect was curious, that of the world turned upside down.
”The place has four or five hundred inhabitants, and it is a good village,” said Lannes. ”I have been here four times before, and they know me. Also they trust me, though through no merit of mine. They have seen flying machines often enough to know that they are not demons or monsters, but not often enough to lose their curiosity concerning them.
We shall descend in the midst of an audience, inquisitive but friendly.”
”Which you like.”
Lannes laughed.
”You judge me right,” he said. ”I do love the dramatic. Maybe that's one reason why I'm so fond of flying. What could appeal to the soul more than swimming through the air, held up on nothing, with a planet revolving at your feet? Why a man who is not thrilled by it has no soul at all! And how grand it is to swoop over a village, and then settle down in it softly and peacefully like some magnificent bird, folding its wings and dropping to the ground! Isn't it far more poetical than the arrival of a train which comes in with a clang, a rattle, and smoke and soot?”
John laughed in his turn.
”You do put it well for yourself, Philip,” he said, ”but suppose our machine broke a wing or something else vital. A mile or a half mile would be a long drop.”
”But you'd have such a nice clean death. There would never be a doubt about its completeness.”
”No, never a doubt. Have you picked your port?”
”'Port' is a good enough place. We'll land on that little park, squarely in the center of the population.”
”You're truly in love with the dramatic. You want an audience whenever it's safe.”
”I admit it. There is something about the old Roman triumph that would have made a mighty appeal to me. Think of a general, young, brilliant, garlanded, coming into Rome along the Appian Way, with the chariots before him, the captive princes behind him, miles of beautiful young girls covered with roses, on either side, and then the n.o.ble villas, and the patricians looking down from the porticoes, the roar of Rome's thunderous million acclaiming him, and then the Capitoline with the grave and reverend senators, and the vestals and the pontifex maximus, and all the honors for the victory which his brain and courage have won for the state.”
”I'm not so sure that I'd like it, Philip.”
”'De gustibus non disputandum,' as somebody wrote, John. Well, here we are, settling down gently in the place something or other, and just as I told you all the people are around it, with their eyes and mouths wide open.”
The aeroplane settled softly upon the gra.s.s amid great and sincere cheers, and John looked about curiously. He had returned to the world from s.p.a.ce, a s.p.a.ce inhabited only by Lannes, himself and the two Germans, one of whom was now dead. That pocket in the mountain had not counted. It was like a bird's nest in a tree, and this was the solid, planetary world, upon which he had once dwelled.
An elderly man of fine appearance, and with a long brown beard, reaching almost to his waist, stepped forward. Lannes lifted the cap and gla.s.ses that hid his head and face and greeted him in French.
”It is I, Philip Victor Auguste Lannes, Heir Schankhorst,” he said politely. ”You will remember me because I've dropped out of the skies into your village before. The young gentleman with me is one of those strange creatures called Yankees, who come from far across the ocean, and who earn money by the sweat of their brows in order that we may take it from them.”
There was such a mellow tone in his voice, and the friendly gleam in his eyes was so wonderful that neither Herr Schankhorst nor his people could resist him. It seemed that most of them understood French as they raised another cheer, and crowded around the two men of the sky, plainly showing their admiration. None mentioned the war, and it was clear that the news of it had not yet penetrated to that remote valley in the high mountains. Lannes introduced John by his right name and description to Herr Schankhorst who was the burgomaster and then, still followed by the admiring crowd, they hurried away to the little inn, two stalwart youths being first detailed to keep watch over the Arrow.
”They're proud of their trust and they'll guard it as they would their lives,” said Lannes in English to John. ”Meanwhile we'll have dinner in this inn, which I know from experience to be the best, and we'll have the burgomaster and the Protestant clergyman to dine with us. This is German-speaking Switzerland, but these people fear the Germans and they don't fear us. So, we're welcome.”
The inn was small, but the food and drink were of the best. John was well supplied with gold, and he did not hesitate to spend it for the burgomaster, the Lutheran clergyman, Lannes and himself.