rushed, feeling chill in the morning air at the height of nearly five
thousand feet. Lifting his binocular, Smith saw a railway train
running in the same direction as themselves, and though from the line
of smoke it was going at full speed, it appeared to be crawling like a
worm, and was soon left far behind. Now they were in Bulgaria: those
grey crinkly 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