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 s.p.a.ce. 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."
CHAPTER V
THE TOMB OF UR-GUR
Charles Thesiger Smith was not one of the romantic, imaginative order of men. Even if he had been, the speed at which he travelled over the Bosphorus gave scant opportunity for observation of the scenes pa.s.sing below. He had no eye for the tramps, laden with grain from Odessa, coming down from the Black Sea; for the vessels of ancient shape and build, such as the Argonauts might have sailed in when questing for the Golden Fleece; for the graceful caiques rowed by boatmen in zouaves of crimson and gold, in the sterns of which the flower of Circa.s.sian beauty in gossamer veils reclined on divans and carpets from the most famous looms of Persia and Bokhara. These visions touched him not: he was crossing into Asia Minor, a country of which he knew nothing, and his attention was divided between the country ahead and the map with which Barracombe had nefariously provided him.
The next stage of his journey, the first place where a fresh supply of petrol awaited him, was Karachi, in the north-west corner of India. It was distant about 2,500 miles. A gallon of petrol would carry him for forty-five miles, and his tank had a capacity of eighty gallons, so that with good luck he would not need to replenish it until he reached Karachi. Though he hoped that his own endurance and the engine"s would stand the strain of the whole distance without stopping, he had chosen his course so that, if he felt the necessity of alighting for brief intervals, he might at least find pleasant country and amicable people.
His aim was to cross the Turkish provinces in Asia and strike the Persian Gulf, a slightly longer route than if he had gone through central Persia, but having the great advantage of affording a possible half-way house at Bagdad, Basra, or Bushire, in each of which towns he would almost certainly find Europeans. It had the further advantage that, when he had once sighted the Gulf, he would have no anxiety about the accuracy of his course, since by keeping generally to the coastline of Persia and Baluchistan he could not fail to arrive at Karachi. It was a great thing to be independent of nautical observations, for as he approached the sh.o.r.es of India it might be difficult to take his bearings by his instruments, this being the season of the monsoon.
When he left Constantinople his anemometer indicated a velocity of eighteen miles in the south-west wind, which, as he was steering south-east, was partly in his favour. One of the disabilities which he, in common with all airmen, suffered, was the impossibility of ascertaining the velocity of the wind when he was fairly afloat. He had to make allowance for it by sheer guesswork, unless he was prepared to slow down or even to alight. He had reckoned that, even with the slight a.s.sistance of the wind, he could hardly hope to reach the head of the Persian Gulf before six o"clock, which would be past nine by the sun; but he thought he might reasonably expect to reach the Euphrates before sunset; and since the map a.s.sured him that that river ran a fairly direct course to the Gulf, he might follow it without much difficulty if the night proved clear, and so a.s.sure himself that he was not going astray.
The country over which he was now flying was hilly, and he kept at a fairly high alt.i.tude. The map showed him that the great Taurus range lay between him and the eastern extremity of the Mediterranean. Within an hour and a half after leaving Constantinople he came in sight of its huge bleak ma.s.ses stretching away to right and left, but still a hundred miles or more distant, although, on the right, spurs of the Cilician part of the range jutted out much nearer to him. On the right, too, he descried from his great height a broad and glittering expanse of water, which the map named Lake Beishehr. Making for the gap in the mountains near the Cilician coast he found himself pa.s.sing over a comparatively low country, and soon afterwards descried the blue waters of the Mediterranean and the island of Cyprus rising out of it a hundred miles away.
Setting now a more easterly course, he pa.s.sed over an ironbound coast, its perpendicular cliffs fringed with dwarf pines; and then over a large town which could be none other than Antioch. Half-an-hour more brought him within sight of another city, doubtless Aleppo. He still steered almost due east, though a point or two southward would be more direct, because he wished to avoid the Syrian desert; a breakdown in such a barren tract of country would mean a fatal delay. Soon afterwards he reached a broad full river, flowing rapidly between verdant banks.
"The Euphrates," he shouted to Rodier.
"Ah! I wish we had time for a swim," replied the man.
For some time Smith followed the general course of the river, avoiding the windings. Severely practical as he was, he could not pa.s.s through this seat of ancient civilizations without letting his mind run back over centuries of time, recalling the names of Sennacherib, Cyrus and Alexander; and how Cyrus had not shrunk from drying up the bed of this very river in his operations against Babylon. On the ground over which he now flew mighty armies had fought, kingdoms had been lost and won, four or five thousand years ago. The pa.s.sage of so modern a thing as an aeroplane seemed almost a desecration of the spirit of antiquity, an insult to the _genius loci_.
Hitherto the weather and the conditions for flying had been perfect.
The wind had dropped, the sun shone brilliantly, but its heat was tempered to the airmen by the very rapidity of their flight. At length, however, about two hours before sunset, Smith noticed a strange wobbling of the compa.s.s needle. It swung this way and that with rapid gyrations, its movements becoming more violent every moment. Suddenly the aeroplane reeled; the sky seemed to become black in one instant; there was a vivid flash of lightning, followed by a tremendous thunder-clap and a flood of rain.
Smith was desperately perturbed. He had run straight into an electric storm. It was hopeless to attempt to make headway against it; the strain upon the planes would certainly prove more than they could stand. He had already slackened speed and planed downwards, so as to be able to alight if he must, with the result that the machine became more subject to vertical eddies of the wind, that continually altered its elevation, now hurling it aloft, now plunging it as it were into an abyss. Once or twice he tried to rise above the storm, but abandoned the attempt when he saw how great an additional strain it placed upon the planes. It seemed safer to keep the engine going steadily and make no attempt to steer. He was no longer over the river, and the ground below was comparatively flat, presenting many a clear spot suitable for alighting; but with the wind blowing a hurricane a descent might well prove disastrous. The worst accidents he had suffered in the early days of his air-sailing had always happened near the ground, when there was no way on the machine to counteract the force of the wind.
All that he could do was to cling on and do his best by quick manipulation of the levers to keep the machine steady. After fifteen very uncomfortable and, indeed, alarming minutes, the violence of the wind abated, and the rain became intermittent, instead of pouring down in a constant flood. The compa.s.s was oscillating less jumpily, and it was now possible to see some distance ahead. Owing to the extraordinary behaviour of the compa.s.s, the baffling gusts of wind, and the necessity of keeping his whole attention fixed on the machinery, he had lost all idea of direction and even of time, and he began to be anxious lest darkness should overtake him before he had regained his course. But guessing that the area of the storm was of small extent, he hoped to run out of it, and increased his speed, expecting in a few minutes to discover the Euphrates again, when all would be well.
Unhappily, though the wind had dropped, the sky became blacker than ever, and another deluge of rain fell, so densely that at a distance of a few yards it seemed to be an opaque wall. Coming to the conclusion that he had better take shelter until he could at least see his way, he planed downwards, calling to Rodier to keep a sharp look-out for a landing place. Suddenly, in the midst of the downpour, a huge dark shape loomed up ahead, appearing to rise almost perpendicularly above the plain. For a few seconds it seemed to Smith that he was dashing into a solid wall of rock. Luckily he had checked the speed of the engine. He now stopped it altogether, but the aeroplane glided on by its impetus, and he felt, with a sinking of the heart, that nothing could save it.
All at once the ma.s.s in front seemed to open. Instinctively Smith touched his steering lever; the aeroplane glided into the fissure; in two or three seconds there was a b.u.mp and a jolt; it had come to a stop, and was resting on an apparently solid bottom.
Monsieur Alphonse Marie de Montause, a distinguished member of the Academy of Inscriptions, a pillar of the Societe d"Histoire diplomatique, and a foreign member of the Royal Society, had been for nearly a year engaged at Nimrud in the work nearest to his heart, the work of excavation. It was a labour of love for which he was very jealous. He believed it was his mission to reveal to an astonished world the long-buried secrets of ancient civilizations; he could not bear a rival near the throne of archaeological eminence; and in this exclusive att.i.tude of mind he had undertaken this expedition without the companionship of a fellow-countryman, or even of any white man, devoting himself to his patient and laborious toil, a.s.sisted only by an Egyptian cook, a number of Arab labourers, and such natives of Babylonia as he had attracted to his service by the promise, faithfully kept, of good and regular pay.
His excavations had been, on the whole, disappointing. He had unearthed specimens of pottery and metal-work, tradesmen"s tablets of accounts, seals, bas-reliefs, differing little from those which could be found in many a European museum; but he had not for many months lighted upon any unique object, such as would open a new page in the history of archaeological research, and make Europe ring with his name.
His money was nearly all expended; his permit from the Ottoman Government was on the point of expiring; he was sadly contemplating the necessity of leaving this barren field and returning to France; he had, indeed, already despatched a portion of his caravan to begin its long journey to the coast, remaining with a few men to finish the excavation of the _tell_--the mound covering the remains of a Babylonish city--on which he was engaged, in the hope of discovering something of value, even at the eleventh hour. He had almost completed it, and he could easily hurry after the slow-moving caravan, and overtake it in a day or two.
One Friday, to his great joy, he came across, in the wall of the _tell_, a large inscribed ma.s.s of brickwork, weighing, perhaps, half-a-ton, which, from the cursory inspection he was able to make of it in the semi-darkness, he believed might prove sufficiently valuable to compensate all the disappointments of the weary months. In his enthusiasm he had no more thought of his caravan, and though a terrific thunderstorm burst over the place just as his men were getting into position the rude derrick by means of which they would lower the masonry into the trench cut in the side of the _tell,_ his ardour would suffer no intermission in the work. It is true that in the trench they were in some measure protected from the storm. The lashings had been fixed on the brickwork under his careful superintendence; the men were on the point of hauling on the ropes, when a thing of monstrous size and uncouth shape glided silently into the opening of the trench, and came to rest there.
Instantly the men gave a howl of terror, released the ropes, and took to their heels. Monsieur Alphonse Marie de Montause was left alone.
Remembering that he was an explorer, an enthusiast, and a Frenchman, the reader will hardly need to be told that Monsieur de Montause was beside himself with fury. The dropping of the ropes had caused the masonry to fall against one of the feet of the derrick, and it came down with a crash. But this was not the worst. In the semi-darkness, the nature of the intruder could not have been clear to Monsieur de Montause; but he heard a voice calling in some unknown tongue; some human being had dared to interlope upon his peculiar domain; and the wrathful explorer did only what might have been expected of him: he began to pour forth a torrent of very violent reproof and objurgation, to which the sober English tongue can do scant justice.
"Ah! scelerats!" he cried. "What do you mean? De quoi melez-vous? You are rogues: you are trespa.s.sers. Know you not that I--oui, moi qui vous parle--have alone the right of entry into this _tell_? Has not the administration of the French Republic arranged it?
Allez-vous-en, allez-vous-en, coquins, scelerats!"
"Mais, monsieur--" began Rodier, stepping out of the car.
The sound of his own language only added fuel to Monsieur de Montause"s wrath. Had some rival appeared on the scene at the very moment when he saw the crown of his long toil? Had some overeager compet.i.tor obtained a permit, come before his time, and arrived to enter upon the fruits of his predecessor"s labours and rob him of half his glory? "Mais, monsieur," said Rodier, but the explorer fairly shrieked him to silence, approached him, smote one fist with the other, and hurled abuse at him with such incoherent volubility that Smith, whose French was pretty good, could not make out a word of it, and held on to the levers in helpless laughter.
"Mais, monsieur, je vous a.s.sure--" began Rodier again, when he thought he saw a chance; but the explorer shouted "Retirez-vous! J"insiste que vous vous en lliez, tout de suite, tout de suite!" And then he began over again, abuse, recrimination, expostulation, entreaty, pouring in full tide from his trembling lips. More than once Rodier tried to stem the flood, but finding that it only ran the faster, he resigned himself to listen in silence, and stood looking mournfully at his ireful fellow-countryman until he at length was forced to stop from sheer lack of breath.
"Mais, monsieur," Rodier"s voice was very conciliatory--"I a.s.sure you that our visit is purely accidental. My friend and myself desire only too much to quit the scene. But you perceive, monsieur, that our aeroplane--"
"Ah, bah! aeroplane! What have I to do with aeroplanes? You interrupt my work, I say: the aeroplane is a thing of the present; I have to do only with the past; there were no aeroplanes in Babylonia. Once more I demand that you withdraw, you and your aeroplane, and leave me to pursue my work in tranquillity."
"Mais, monsieur, il s"agit precis.e.m.e.nt de ca! Withdraw: yes, certainly, at the quickest possible: but how? You perceive that our aeroplane is so placed that one cannot extricate it without a.s.sistance. If monsieur will be so good as to lend us his distinguished help, so that we may remove it from this hole--"
"Hole! Mille diables! It is a trench; a trench excavated with many pains in this _tell_. As for a.s.sistance, I give you none, none absolutely. You brought your aeroplane here without a.s.sistance: then remove it equally without a.s.sistance; immediately: already you waste too much time."
"Mais, monsieur, our mission is of life or death."
"N"importe, n"importe. I tell you I am quite unmoved. No interest is superior to that of science--the science of archaeology. I tell you I have just made a discovery of the highest importance. I have but a short time left; you, you and your ridiculous machine, have scared away my imbeciles of workmen; they will not return until you have gone away; the leg of my derrick is smashed; I demand, I beseech, I implore--"
"Pardon, monsieur," said Smith, coming forward, and courteously saluting the stout, spectacled little Frenchman, whom he could just see in the growing darkness. "We regret extremely having put you to this trouble and inconvenience, and I a.s.sure you that but for the storm we should never have dreamed of entering here, and interrupting the great work on which you are engaged."
Smith"s quiet voice and slow, measured utterance made an instant impression. A man can hardly rave against a person who remains calm.
Moreover, the Frenchman was mollified by the speaker"s evident appreciation of the value of his work.
"Eh bien, monsieur?" he said courteously.
"I am a seaman, monsieur," proceeded Smith; "my friend here is an engineer, and between us I have no doubt that we can repair the leg of your derrick and a.s.sist you to place the masonry where you will. All that I would ask is that you in return will help us to remove our aeroplane from your trench into the open plain."
"Certainly, certainly; with much pleasure," said the Frenchman eagerly; "I will light my lantern, so that we may see what we are about."
Smith and Rodier stripped off their drenched coats, and by the light of Monsieur de Montause"s lantern soon spliced up the broken leg of the derrick, set the contrivance in a stable position, and lowered the ma.s.s of brickwork to the spot the explorer pointed out. It was no sooner safely settled than Monsieur de Montause, oblivious of everything else, bent over it, and, holding one of the lanterns close to the inscription, began to pore over the fascinating hieroglyphics.
Smith could not help smiling at the little man"s enthusiasm: but it was necessary to remind him of his share of the compact.
"Ah, oui, oui," he said impatiently; "in a few moments. This is a magnificent discovery, monsieur; your aeroplane is completely uninteresting to me. This is nothing less than a portion of the tomb of Ur-Gur; see, the inscription: "The tomb of Ur-Gur, the powerful champion, King of Ur, King of Shumer and Akkad, builder of the wall of Nippur to Bel, the king of the lands." This was written nearly five thousand years ago; what is the aeroplane, a thing of yesterday, in comparison with this glorious relic of antiquity?"
"Precisely, monsieur; beside it the aeroplane sinks into insignificance; yet, as a man of honour--"
"Ah, oui!" cried the Frenchman, starting up. "Let us be quick, then; you take one end, I the other. You push, I pull; voila!"
"It is perhaps not so simple, monsieur," said Smith; "we must first see that there is no obstruction, and then if you could persuade some of your men to come back, we should be able to remove the aeroplane more quickly. I fear we could hardly do it alone."
Monsieur de Montause was so anxious to get rid of his visitors that he a.s.sented eagerly to this course. Four or five of the men, drawn back by the light of the lantern, were hovering at the end of the trench; the explorer hailed them, and a.s.suring them that they would suffer no harm, persuaded, them to lend a hand. Rodier, meanwhile, had walked through the trench to see that the course was clear, and shoved aside with little ceremony some of the objects Monsieur de Montause had unearthed. With the aid of the Frenchman himself and his men the aeroplane was carefully dragged out into the open.