THE Ballast in the back seat was nozzling over the edge of his cockpit. The folds of the rocky country below looked like crumpled brown paper that had been ineffectually smoothed out, very different from the flat blankness of the plain to plain to which he was accustomed, where the trench lines showed up as clear as print on a page, and there was nothing except the river and an occasional canal-out.

He was interested in trying to spot trenches and sangars in these wrinkles, in watching the stone weirs which combed the looping river at frequent intervals, and in the movements of the small groups running about below. The crackling alongside of him must have been going on for some time before he notioed it. He looked round carefully for the broken stay or loose end which was making the noise. Everything seemed all right. Then he suddenly realised the noise must be the striking of bullets. In this machine he was not sitting as usual so close over the engine that nothing was audible. Here he was well away from the roar. He looked the back of the

Pilot's head. This had no effect. People who use aeroplanes lose their belief in telepathy.

The Pilot was reflecting what a poisonous country it would be for a forced landing, when the movement of the water-gauge caught his eye. It ran rapidly up to the top, boiling. He swung the machine at once, banking sharply round to to the left. The pointer of the watergauge fell back to zero. Empty radiator. Must have been hit. The machine had its nose towards home now, but the question was how long would the engine last. He looked round at the Ballast, still nozzling eagerly, but could not catch his eye. All that fatuous ass seemed to be concerned with was whether to open with the machinegun on the scattered targets below; he was apparently irritated by the increased volume of fire from the ground, and engrossed with the idea of hitting back.

The engine stopped. Pilot glanced round. Ballast looked up. This time their eyes met. Telepathy was unnecessary. In the sudden silence the air all round seemed to be crackling with musketry. The

machine was sweeping down on to & most uninviting stretch of rocky wrinkles.

The Ballast stood up for a good look over, saw evasion impossible, and landing apparently hopeless. He wendered if it were worth while opening fire. He felt ouriously impersonal; merely hoped hard that he wouldn't be only badly smashed up and left alive. The Pilot was busy with all his faculties. Just in time he saw in the broad nala bottom a little smooth stretch at the foot of a cliff, wheeled sharp, and made a perfect landing with the nose of the machine not twenty yards from the rook face.

"Shall I let 'em have it?" shouted Ballast, fingering the gun and eyeing the recks. "Give me your matches," snapped Pilot. The matches were in an inner pocket, and took some finding. The nala was two or three hundred yards wide, and both rooky edges were lined with exoited Turks wildly discharging their rifles. Others in extended order were hurrying up the nala bunching temptingly.

Bullets were hitting the machine. The cockpit seat splintered suddenly; Ballast yapped out a damn as his leg was grazed; Pilot was busy wrenching at the petrolpipe, muttering imprecations. In the hearts of both men was blackness unspeakable. The advancing groups were hesitating now, approaching uncertainly, less than a hundred yards away. Not without reason indeed: the fire of their fellows on the banks was heavy, promiscuous, and wild to a degree, coming from all points of the compass. It was hardly worth while walking into that criss-cross barrage. Ballast was standing up with his hand on machine-gun. He could make certain of a dozen of them anyway. anyway. Pilot got the feedpipe broken at last, and called out, "Right; she's alight." Ballast looked round and held up his hands. Both men began slowly to climb out of their seats. In a few seconds the volume of musketry slackened and died away as the embarrassed figures in the nala ran

up.

the

The first officer to arrive seized our hands, and, pumphandling vigorously, burst out with the astounding remark, "Don't be frightened; put yourselves at ease; you are quite safe now." He was followed by a string of other Turks triumphant, all congratulating either themselves

on being in command of the particular party that had actually brought down the plane, or congratulating us on being alive. Our state of mind, needless to say, was not exactly congratulatory nor triumphant.

We found we had landed within a quarter of a mile of

the front line, and right in the thick of a battalion reserve. The battalion headquarters were only three or four hundred yards away, and to these we were led-a small square shelter of waterproof sheets. Some handshaking and interrogation followed, whilst half a dozen eager officers of various grades, squatting outside, all joined in exposing the depth of their sympathy and the badness of their French.

It was hot in the little tent, and overcoats became burdensome. Their removal caused considerable excitement, as the Pilot's exalted rank was thereby made evident; whilst the Ballast had the misfortune to carry on his lapels the most unpopular blazon in the British Army. Coffee was produced, and excellent coffee it was; the Battalion Commander dashed constantly from telephone to table, where, with the assistance of the Battalion Doctor's knowledge of French, he was writing an elaborate report of the capture; every one chattered and laughed; the sun shone; and Pilot and Ballast sat opposite one another and and glowered gloomily at the ground.

Soon a party arrived with all the movable gear from the aeroplane, which was spread out for inspection. Fortunately neither of us had any maps or papers of importance. The Turks, both at this time and subsequently, were most scrupulous about all one's private effects except arms and papers. One was

permitted to keep all other personal property-including even the emergency rationbag, which contained a tin of bully and two biscuits. All money was returned at once. A search party was even sent to look for one of Ballast's gloves which he had dropped. Report-writing and exultation was resumed. The part we took in the conversation was not very active; we were hardly in the mood for it. And on their part, such of it as was addressed to us in French consisted mostly of olumsy attempts to elicit information, or else of still more olumsy attempts at consolation. The main refrain of this was: "Well, anyway, the war is over for you; and you will be alive at the end!"

More coffee was produced at intervals, until at length a clatter in the nala outside heralded the arrival of a Divisional Staff Officer - a stately young man who could speak no French.

Riding ponies with Arab saddles were awaiting us, surrounded by an escort of flattering magnitude.

We travelled about forty minutes in this way, passing a good many parties of men resting in caves or in little shelters of stones. All were well turned out in German infantry kit, complete down to the crowned buttons and the red piping. The only artiole of Turkish kit that was in evidence was the Enveri topi. The Division seemed well provided with travelling kitchens, where soup

was being made as we passed. But we found later that rations were very short. Men were issued with one loaf of black bread every two days, soup once daily, and sometimes fish or dates or a little meat. It was astonishing how fit they seemed to be, and how cheerful. The officers had ample coffee and a certain amount of sugar and tea; but even they were not nearly so well off either in quality or quantity as a man on our own full-scale standard ration.

As far as equipment went, they were better provided than any Turkish troops previously encountered by us in Mesopotamia.

As we went along, Turkish officers were constantly coming to converse with our escort and shake hands with us. One of these, a dapper little man in a great state of excitement, danced up all aglow, and wrung us repeatedly by the hand as he cried in French: "I brought you down! I brought you down! It was me. I am the machinegun officer. See that hill? On that alone I have eighteen mitrailleuses; all were direoted on you - all. I arranged the barrage. I brought you down. Tell me where my guns hit you. You are not wounded? No-good! The radiator-ah, perfectly! But nowhere else? You do not know! Doubtless your machine was hit many times. It must be riddled without doubt. You are very lucky to have escaped unhurt. It

was a very good barrage. I arranged it. You had no chance no chance at all. But you are yourselves unhurt. I am very glad of that. No, I am a Turk, Yes, there is a German, but he is only a corporal. We do not require German assistance. No! I arrange it all myself,- I arrange everything!" When he had got over his exultation a little he proved interesting enough. The Division had lately come from Europe, was well found, and had a much bigger proportion of machine-guns than we had been accustomed to expect. Rations scanty, but ammunition plentiful.

We knew of a recent change in command of this Division, and ascertained that the late Divisional Commander had left about ten days previously. "Recalled for another appointment," as our polite little informant put it; actually, as we happened to know, Stellenbosched for a withdrawal,

All this time we were moving through rocky hills and along stony nalas till, rounding a shoulder, we found another assemblage gathering in groups in the proximity of a very English-looking bell-tent.

At the door of the bell-tent we were received by a charming spare old gentleman with the most expansive smile imaginable. Every tooth appeared to be gold orowned. In excellent French, and in the suavest manner, he poured forth his sympathy and his philosophic condolence. "Gentlemen, you are sad. There is

no reason. You have battled gallantly. You have done your duty; more than duty. It is the chance of war. Why this sadness, then? You will now remain in safety and some degree of comfort till the end of the war. That end cannot now be far off. Why be sad? In a little time the war will be over and you will be restored safely to your families, in full knowledge that you have done all that was possible."

Coffee was produced. The golden-mouthed Brigadier continued his philosophy on the theme of captivity. He desoanted at large on the attitude of mind of British officer prisoners in a way that indicated infinite experience. We happened to know, however, that he could not by any possibility have met more than four at most. He discussed the use and abuse of aeroplanes, and was very explicit in his dislike of our bombing and machine-gunning enterprises.

He found the situation in Europe interesting. The Germans were advancing. They were already bombarding Paris. Very soon the war would be over. And then- then we should meet again happily in Paris? or London? yes.

We exchanged addresses, drank more coffee, and proceeded on our journey. The path now descended from the bare broken country into the narrow strip of grassy plain which borders the river. This prevented us seeing the surrounding country at all. The

utmost one could do was to mark the shapes of hills, the mouths of particularly big nalas, and the positions of any landmarks that were passed.

We were able to talk together, and agreed that we must play for delay in every way possible. We both had a general idea of the intentions of the British force, and knew that the nearer we could keep to the front, the more movement back could be postponed, the better.

After about five miles going, we turned off from the river, and soon afterwards saw group of tents in a nala. This proved to be the oamp of the Divisional Commander, a tall thin man of forty-five, with an intelligent face and thick gold-rimmed glasses. He reeeived us politely outside his bell-tent, and ushered us in. We sat down, and coffee was produced at once. The Divisional Commander did not feel much at home in French, and told us that he would summon one of his men who could speak English excellently. A goodlooking boy of eighteen appeared shortly after at the tent door, saluted smartly, and opened on us in faultless American. Most of the conversation after this was carried on through his interpretation; though occasionally the General, when very interested, would burst into execrable French, search wildly for the required word, stammer unintelligibly, come to a halt, and then have recourse to the interpreter once more.

After a polite expression of