Adventure, December 1914 — page 187: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

The Sinews of War I’ve improved considerably upon the orig- inal proposition.”’ And laughing boisterously at some hid- den joke which gave him much satisfaction, he betook himself off. At noon we started again. Several times we hid in clumps of woodland when distant bodies of men were seen on the horizon. Along toward evening we began to meet Turkish patrols and cavalry posts, and at sunset we glimpsed the long motionless line of sentinels, five or six hundred yardsa part, that stretched from the shore of Marmora across the peninsula which is the termina- tion of Europe, to the Black Sea. That night we camped in the village of Tchataldja, just outside the famous lines, which was held in force as an advance post by a brigade of Syrians. In the morning we rode through the lines of fortifications, where thousands of men were toiling with shovel and pick, building new redoubts, dig- ging connecting lines of trenches woven to- gether by a network of traverses, and mounting big guns many of which evidently had been taken from the useless men-of-war blockaded in the Marmora by the Greek fleet. I mentally registered a note that it would be no easy task to carry these lines. Von Griffenstein must have appreciated my observations, for presently he dropped back to my side. “‘Look your fill, Blair,” he said sneeringly. “You'll have no chance to tell your friends about it.”’ “I’m not a spy,” I answered—a bit rude- ly, [ am afraid. Anyhow, he rode ahead with a curse. w fe escaping was abandoned in the course of that morning’s ride. The country swarmed with soldiers. They bob- bed up everywhere, and sentries and patrols were scattered thickly along the roads. At the same time, I kept wondering what had become of Stoyan. Since he leaped clear of the mélée in the forest the night before I had not caught a single glimpse of the hound, although I had a feeling that he was always somewhere near. It would have been comparatively easy for him to trail us through the broken coun- try up to the Lines, but how was he going to pass that barrier of men and: earthen walls without being seen and captured? So large a dog would attract attention, and ANY thought I ever entertained of 185 some shrewd askar might be relied upon to perceive the possibilities of a sale in the Pera quarter where foolish Unbelievers paid equally foolish prices for unusual animals. We rode southward, skirting the shore of the Bay of Buyuk Chekmeje, across the tongue of land intervening between it and Kuchuk Chekmeje, picked up the railroad at the head of the second body of water and followed that until we struck the road which enters Stamboul by way of San Ste- fano, where the victorious Russians halted in ’78 and dictated terms of peace at‘ the muzzles of their cannon. This was as short a road to the capital as any other, and it did not excite any un- easiness in me. I was glad to have the ride draw to an end, for no matter what dispo- sition was to be made of me, I could not conceive of one which would not be pref- erable to the company of von Griffenstein. So I was thinking as we halted on the brow of a low hill above San Stefano, and somewhat to my surprise the young lieu- tenant in command rode back to where I was placed in the center of the column. “‘T wish to tell you, sir,’ he said in French, “that my disposition of you is not made on my own responsibility. My instructions place me absolutely under the orders of this man who is with me.” He was a smart-looking youngster of the Young Turk stamp, and in those few words he made it distressingly plain that some- thing mighty unpleasant was going to hap- pen to me. But his interest could not have been very personal, for he turned his back as soon as he had spoken, muttered an or- der to the sergeant commanding the squad that surrounded me and returned to the head of the column. Without a word to me the sergeant took the bridle of my horse, growled at the men in his squad and led us off across fields to- ward the hills beyond San Stefano. The rest of the troop stood motionless on the hilltop, most of them looking out over the Marmora at a squatty little cargo-boat that was wallowing toward Silivri, probably bound to pick up refugees. Not even von Griffenstein watched my exit. He was en- gaged in a heated discussion with the Turk- ish officer, in which, judging by his flurried gestures and the other man’s cold manner, he was coming off second best. In ten minutes we had dropped into a gulley and they were out of sight. Presently DOOLK (C©