masses beyond must be the Balkans. Crossing the Dragoman
Pass, they came into an upward current of air that set the machine
rocking, and Smith for the first time felt a touch of nervousness lest
it should break down and fall among these inhospitable crags. Rodier
planed downwards, until they seemed to skim the crests. The air was
calmer here: the aeroplane steadied; and when the mountains were left
behind they came still lower, following the railway line.

Here was Philippopolis, with its citadel perched on a frowning rock.
It seemed but a few minutes when Adrianople came into view, and but a
few more when, descending to within five hundred feet of the ground,
they raced over the plains of St. Stefano. Now Rodier checked the
speed a little, and steering past the large monument erected to the
memory of the Russians who fell in '78, came within sight of
Constantinople. Smith was bewildered at the multitude of domes,
minarets, and white roofs before him. It would soon be necessary to
choose a landing-place, and Rodier planed upwards, so that he could
scan the whole neighbourhood in one comprehensive glance.

"Slow down!" Smith shouted.

There was a large open space below him; it was the Hippodrome. He made
a quick calculation of its length, and decided not to alight. A little
farther on he came to the Ministry of War with its large square; but
there a regiment of soldiers was drilling. Rodier steered a point to
the north-west, and the aeroplane passed over the Galata bridge that
spans the Golden Horn. The bridge was thronged with people, who, as
they caught sight of the strange machine flying over their heads,
stood and craned their necks, and the airmen heard their shouts of
amazement. To the right they saw, beyond the hill of Pera, a stretch
of low open country. Passing the second bridge over the Horn, they
came to a broad green space just without the city. It was the old
archery grounds of the Sultans.

"Dive, Roddy!" Smith cried.

Rodier jerked the lever back: the humming clatter of the engine
ceased; and the aeroplane swooped down as gracefully as a bird,
alighting gently on the green sward.

CHAPTER IV

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 de