Chapter Nine. I Take the Wings of a Dove

Mr. Standfast

by John Buchan

'Drive me somewhere to breakfast, Archie,' I said, 'for I'm
perishing hungry.'

He and I got into the tonneau, and the driver swung us out of
the station road up a long incline of hill. Sir Archie had been one
of my subalterns in the old Lennox Highlanders, and had left us
before the Somme to join the Flying Corps. I had heard that he had
got his wings and had done well before Arras, and was now training
pilots at home. He had been a light-hearted youth, who had endured a
good deal of rough-tonguing from me for his sins of omission. But it
was the casual class of lad I was looking for now.

I saw him steal amused glances at my appearance.

'Been seein' a bit of life, sir?' he inquired respectfully.

'I'm being hunted by the police,' I said.

'Dirty dogs! But don't worry, sir; we'll get you off all right.
I've been in the same fix myself. You can lie snug in my little log
hut, for that old image Gibbons won't blab. Or, tell you what, I've
got an aunt who lives near here and she's a bit of a sportsman. You
can hide in her moated grange till the bobbies get tired.'

I think it was Archie's calm acceptance of my position as
natural and becoming that restored my good temper. He was far too
well bred to ask what crime I had committed, and I didn't propose to
enlighten him much. But as we swung up the moorland road I let him
know that I was serving the Government, but that it was necessary
that I should appear to be unauthenticated and that therefore I must
dodge the police. He whistled his appreciation.

'Gad, that's a deep game. Sort of camouflage? Speaking from my
experience it is easy to overdo that kind of stunt. When I was at
Misieux the French started out to camouflage the caravans where they
keep their pigeons, and they did it so damned well that the poor
little birds couldn't hit 'em off, and spent the night out.'

We entered the white gates of a big aerodrome, skirted a forest
of tents and huts, and drew up at a shanty on the far confines of the
place. The hour was half past four, and the world was still asleep.
Archie nodded towards one of the hangars, from the mouth of which
projected the propeller end of an aeroplane.

'I'm by way of flyin' that bus down to Farnton tomorrow,' he
remarked. 'It's the new Shark-Gladas. Got a mouth like a tree.'

An idea flashed into my mind.

'You're going this morning,' I said.

'How did you know?' he exclaimed. 'I'm due to go today, but the
grouse up in Caithness wanted shootin' so badly that I decided to
wangle another day's leave. They can't expect a man to start for the
south of England when he's just off a frowsy journey.'

'All the same you're going to be a stout fellow and start in two
hours' time. And you're going to take me with you.'

He stared blankly, and then burst into a roar of laughter.
'You're the man to go tiger-shootin' with. But what price my
commandant? He's not a bad chap, but a trifle shaggy about the
fetlocks. He won't appreciate the joke.'

'He needn't know. He mustn't know. This is an affair between
you and me till it's finished. I promise you I'll make it all square
with the Flying Corps. Get me down to Farnton before evening, and
you'll have done a good piece of work for the country.'

'Right-o! Let's have a tub and a bit of breakfast, and then I'm
your man. I'll tell them to get the bus ready.'

In Archie's bedroom I washed and shaved and borrowed a green
tweed cap and a brand-new Aquascutum. The latter covered the
deficiencies of my raiment, and when I commandeered a pair of gloves
I felt almost respectable. Gibbons, who seemed to be a
jack-of-all-trades, cooked us some bacon and an omelette, and as he
ate Archie yarned. In the battalion his conversation had been mostly
of race-meetings and the forsaken delights of town, but now he had
forgotten all that, and, like every good airman I have ever known,
wallowed enthusiastically in 'shop'. I have a deep respect for the
Flying Corps, but it is apt to change its jargon every month, and its
conversation is hard for the layman to follow. He was desperately
keen about the war, which he saw wholly from the viewpoint of the
air. Arras to him was over before the infantry crossed the top, and
the tough bit of the Somme was October, not September. He calculated
that the big air-fighting had not come along yet, and all he hoped
for was to be allowed out to France to have his share in it. Like
all good airmen, too, he was very modest about himself. 'I've done a
bit of steeple-chasin' and huntin' and I've good hands for a horse,
so I can handle a bus fairly well. It's all a matter of hands, you
know. There ain't half the risk of the infantry down below you, and
a million times the fun. jolly glad I changed, sir.'

We talked of Peter, and he put him about top. Voss, he thought,
was the only Boche that could compare with him, for he hadn't made up
his mind about Lensch. The Frenchman Guynemer he ranked high, but in
a different way. I remember he had no respect for Richthofen and his
celebrated circus.

At six sharp we were ready to go. A couple of mechanics had got
out the machine, and Archie put on his coat and gloves and climbed
into the pilot's seat, while I squeezed in behind in the observer's
place. The aerodrome was waking up, but I saw no officers about. We
were scarcely seated when Gibbons called our attention to a motor-car
on the road, and presently we heard a shout and saw men waving in our
direction.

'Better get off, my lad,' I said. 'These look like my
friends.'

The engine started and the mechanics stood clear. As we taxied
over the turf I looked back and saw several figures running in our
direction. The next second we had left the bumpy earth for the
smooth highroad of the air.

I had flown several dozen times before, generally over the enemy
lines when I wanted to see for myself how the land lay. Then we had
flown low, and been nicely dusted by the Hun Archies, not to speak of
an occasional machine-gun. But never till that hour had I realized
the joy of a straight flight in a swift plane in perfect weather.
Archie didn't lose time. Soon the hangars behind looked like a
child's toys, and the world ran away from us till it seemed like a
great golden bowl spilling over with the quintessence of light. The
air was cold and my hands numbed, but I never felt them. As we
throbbed and tore southward, sometimes bumping in eddies, sometimes
swimming evenly in a stream of motionless ether, my head and heart
grew as light as a boy's. I forgot all about the vexations of my job
and saw only its joyful comedy. I didn't think that anything on
earth could worry me again. Far to the left was a wedge of silver
and beside it a cluster of toy houses. That must be Edinburgh, where
reposed my portmanteau, and where a most efficient police force was
now inquiring for me. At the thought I laughed so loud that Archie
must have heard me. He turned round, saw my grinning face, and
grinned back. Then he signalled to me to strap myself in. I obeyed,
and he proceeded to practise 'stunts' - the loop, the spinning
nose-dive, and others I didn't know the names of. It was glorious
fun, and he handled his machine as a good rider coaxes a nervous
horse over a stiff hurdle. He had that extra something in his blood
that makes the great pilot.

Presently the chessboard of green and brown had changed to a
deep purple with faint silvery lines like veins in a rock. We were
crossing the Border hills, the place where I had legged it for weary
days when I was mixed up in the Black Stone business. What a
marvellous element was this air, which took one far above the
fatigues of humanity! Archie had done well to change. Peter had been
the wise man. I felt a tremendous pity for my old friend hobbling
about a German prison-yard, when he had once flown a hawk. I
reflected that I had wasted my life hitherto. And then I remembered
that all this glory had only one use in war and that was to help the
muddy British infantryman to down his Hun opponent. He was the
fellow, after all, that decided battles, and the thought comforted
me.

A great exhilaration is often the precursor of disaster, and
mine was to have a sudden downfall. It was getting on for noon and
we were well into England - I guessed from the rivers we had passed
that we were somewhere in the north of Yorkshire - when the machine
began to make odd sounds, and we bumped in perfectly calm patches of
air. We dived and then climbed, but the confounded thing kept
sputtering. Archie passed back a slip of paper on which he had
scribbled: 'Engine conked. Must land at Micklegill. Very sorry.'
So we dropped to a lower elevation where we could see clearly the
houses and roads and the long swelling ridges of a moorland country.
I could never have found my way about, but Archie's practised eye
knew every landmark. We were trundling along very slowly now, and
even I was soon able to pick up the hangars of a big aerodrome.

We made Micklegill, but only by the skin of our teeth. We were
so low that the smoky chimneys of the city of Bradfield seven miles
to the east were half hidden by a ridge of down. Archie achieved a
clever descent in the lee of a belt of firs, and got out full of
imprecations against the Gladas engine. 'I'll go up to the camp and
report,' he said, 'and send mechanics down to tinker this darned
gramophone. You'd better go for a walk, sir. I don't want to answer
questions about you till we're ready to start. I reckon it'll be an
hour's job.' The cheerfulness I had acquired in the upper air still
filled me. I sat down in a ditch, as merry as a sand-boy, and lit a
pipe. I was possessed by a boyish spirit of casual adventure, and
waited on the next turn of fortune's wheel with only a pleasant
amusement.

That turn was not long in coming. Archie appeared very
breathless.

'Look here, sir, there's the deuce of a row up there. They've
been wirin' about you all over the country, and they know you're with
me. They've got the police, and they'll have you in five minutes if
you don't leg it. I lied like billy-o and said I had never heard of
you, but they're comin' to see for themselves. For God's sake get
off ... You'd better keep in cover down that hollow and round the
back of these trees. I'll stay here and try to brazen it out. I'll
get strafed to blazes anyhow ... I hope you'll get me out of the
scrape, sir.'

'Don't you worry, my lad,' I said. 'I'll make it all square
when I get back to town. I'll make for Bradfield, for this place is
a bit conspicuous. Goodbye, Archie. You're a good chap and I'll see
you don't suffer.'

I started off down the hollow of the moor, trying to make speed
atone for lack of strategy, for it was hard to know how much my
pursuers commanded from that higher ground. They must have seen me,
for I heard whistles blown and men's cries. I struck a road, crossed
it, and passed a ridge from which I had a view of Bradfield six miles
off. And as I ran I began to reflect that this kind of chase could
not last long. They were bound to round me up in the next half-hour
unless I could puzzle them. But in that bare green place there was
no cover, and it looked as if my chances were pretty much those of a
hare coursed by a good greyhound on a naked moor.

Suddenly from just in front of me came a familiar sound. It was
the roar of guns - the slam of field-batteries and the boom of small
howitzers. I wondered if I had gone off my head. As I plodded on
the rattle of machine-guns was added, and over the ridge before me I
saw the dust and fumes of bursting shells. I concluded that I was
not mad, and that therefore the Germans must have landed. I crawled
up the last slope, quite forgetting the pursuit behind me.

And then I'm blessed if I did not look down on a veritable
battle.

There were two sets of trenches with barbed wire and all the
fixings, one set filled with troops and the other empty. On these
latter shells were bursting, but there was no sign of life in them.
In the other lines there seemed the better part of two brigades, and
the first trench was stiff with bayonets. My first thought was that
Home Forces had gone dotty, for this kind of show could have no sort
of training value. And then I saw other things - cameras and
camera-men on platforms on the flanks, and men with megaphones behind
them on wooden scaffoldings. One of the megaphones was going full
blast all the time. I saw the meaning of the performance at last.
Some movie- merchant had got a graft with the Government, and troops
had been turned out to make a war film. It occurred to me that if I
were mixed up in that push I might get the cover I was looking for.
I scurried down the hill to the nearest camera-man.

As I ran, the first wave of troops went over the top. They did
it uncommon well, for they entered into the spirit of the thing, and
went over with grim faces and that slow, purposeful lope that I had
seen in my own fellows at Arras. Smoke grenades burst among them,
and now and then some resourceful mountebank would roll over.
Altogether it was about the best show I have ever seen. The cameras
clicked, the guns banged, a background of boy scouts applauded, and
the dust rose in billows to the sky.

But all the same something was wrong. I could imagine that this
kind of business took a good deal of planning from the point of view
of the movie-merchant, for his purpose was not the same as that of
the officer in command. You know how a photographer finicks about
and is dissatisfied with a pose that seems all right to his sitter.
I should have thought the spectacle enough to get any cinema audience
off their feet, but the man on the scaffolding near me judged
differently. He made his megaphone boom like the swan-song of a
dying buffalo. He wanted to change something and didn't know how to
do it. He hopped on one leg; he took the megaphone from his mouth to
curse; he waved it like a banner and yelled at some opposite number
on the other flank. And then his patience forsook him and he skipped
down the ladder, dropping his megaphone, past the camera-men, on to
the battlefield.

That was his undoing. He got in the way of the second wave and
was swallowed up like a leaf in a torrent. For a moment I saw a red
face and a loud-checked suit, and the rest was silence. He was
carried on over the hill, or rolled into an enemy trench, but anyhow
he was lost to my ken.

I bagged his megaphone and hopped up the steps to the platform.
At last I saw a chance of first-class cover, for with Archie's coat
and cap I made a very good appearance as a movie-merchant. Two waves
had gone over the top, and the cinema-men, working like beavers, had
filmed the lot. But there was still a fair amount of troops to play
with, and I determined to tangle up that outfit so that the fellows
who were after me would have better things to think about.

My advantage was that I knew how to command men. I could see
that my opposite number with the megaphone was helpless, for the
mistake which had swept my man into a shell-hole had reduced him to
impotence. The troops seemed to be mainly in charge of N.C.O.s (I
could imagine that the officers would try to shirk this business),
and an N.C.O. is the most literal creature on earth. So with my
megaphone I proceeded to change the battle order.

I brought up the third wave to the front trenches. In about
three minutes the men had recognized the professional touch and were
moving smartly to my orders. They thought it was part of the show,
and the obedient cameras clicked at everything that came into their
orbit. My aim was to deploy the troops on too narrow a front so that
they were bound to fan outward, and I had to be quick about it, for I
didn't know when the hapless movie-merchant might be retrieved from
the battle-field and dispute my authority.

It takes a long time to straighten a thing out, but it does not
take long to tangle it, especially when the thing is so delicate a
machine as disciplined troops. In about eight minutes I had produced
chaos. The flanks spread out, in spite of all the shepherding of the
N.C.O.s, and the fringe engulfed the photographers. The cameras on
their little platforms went down like ninepins. It was solemn to see
the startled face of a photographer, taken unawares, supplicating the
purposeful infantry, before he was swept off his feet into
speechlessness.

It was no place for me to linger in, so I chucked away the
megaphone and got mixed up with the tail of the third wave. I was
swept on and came to anchor in the enemy trenches, where I found, as
I expected, my profane and breathless predecessor, the movie-
merchant. I had nothing to say to him, so I stuck to the trench till
it ended against the slope of the hill.

On that flank, delirious with excitement, stood a knot of boy
scouts. My business was to get to Bradfield as quick as my legs
would take me, and as inconspicuously as the gods would permit.
Unhappily I was far too great an object of interest to that nursery
of heroes. Every boy scout is an amateur detective and hungry for
knowledge. I was followed by several, who plied me with questions,
and were told that I was off to Bradfield to hurry up part of the
cinema outfit. It sounded lame enough, for that cinema outfit was
already past praying for.

We reached the road and against a stone wall stood several
bicycles. I selected one and prepared to mount.

'That's Mr Emmott's machine,' said one boy sharply. 'He told me
to keep an eye on it.'

'I must borrow it, sonny,' I said. 'Mr Emmott's my very good
friend and won't object.'

From the place where we stood I overlooked the back of the
battle-field and could see an anxious congress of officers. I could
see others, too, whose appearance I did not like. They had not been
there when I operated on the megaphone. They must have come downhill
from the aerodrome and in all likelihood were the pursuers I had
avoided. The exhilaration which I had won in the air and which had
carried me into the tomfoolery of the past half-hour was ebbing. I
had the hunted feeling once more, and grew middle-aged and cautious.
I had a baddish record for the day, what with getting Archie into a
scrape and busting up an official cinema show - neither consistent
with the duties of a brigadier-general. Besides, I had still to get
to London.

I had not gone two hundred yards down the road when a boy scout,
pedalling furiously, came up abreast me.

'Colonel Edgeworth wants to see you,' he panted. 'You're to
come back at once.'

'Tell him I can't wait now,' I said. 'I'll pay my respects to
him in an hour.'

'He said you were to come at once,' said the faithful messenger.
'He's in an awful temper with you, and he's got bobbies with him.'

I put on pace and left the boy behind. I reckoned I had the
better part of two miles' start and could beat anything except
petrol. But my enemies were bound to have cars, so I had better get
off the road as soon as possible. I coasted down a long hill to a
bridge which spanned a small discoloured stream that flowed in a
wooded glen. There was nobody for the moment on the hill behind me,
so I slipped into the covert, shoved the bicycle under the bridge,
and hid Archie's aquascutum in a bramble thicket. I was now in my
own disreputable tweeds and I hoped that the shedding of my most
conspicuous garment would puzzle my pursuers if they should catch up
with me.

But this I was determined they should not do. I made good going
down that stream and out into a lane which led from the downs to the
market-gardens round the city. I thanked Heaven I had got rid of the
aquascutum, for the August afternoon was warm and my pace was not
leisurely. When I was in secluded ground I ran, and when anyone was
in sight I walked smartly.

As I went I reflected that Bradfield would see the end of my
adventures. The police knew that I was there and would watch the
stations and hunt me down if I lingered in the place. I knew no one
there and had no chance of getting an effective disguise. Indeed I
very soon began to wonder if I should get even as far as the streets.
For at the moment when I had got a lift on the back of a fishmonger's
cart and was screened by its flapping canvas, two figures passed on
motor-bicycles, and one of them was the inquisitive boy scout. The
main road from the aerodrome was probably now being patrolled by
motor-cars. It looked as if there would be a degrading arrest in one
of the suburbs.

The fish-cart, helped by half a crown to the driver, took me
past the outlying small-villadom, between long lines of workmen's
houses, to narrow cobbled lanes and the purlieus of great factories.
As soon as I saw the streets well crowded I got out and walked. In
my old clothes I must have appeared like some second-class bookie or
seedy horse-coper. The only respectable thing I had about me was my
gold watch. I looked at the time and found it half past five.

I wanted food and was casting about for an eating-house when I
heard the purr of a motor-cycle and across the road saw the
intelligent boy scout. He saw me, too, and put on the brake with a
sharpness which caused him to skid and all but come to grief under
the wheels of a wool-wagon. That gave me time to efface myself by
darting up a side street. I had an unpleasant sense that I was about
to be trapped, for in a place I knew nothing of I had not a chance to
use my wits.

I remember trying feverishly to think, and I suppose that my
preoccupation made me careless. I was now in a veritable slum, and
when I put my hand to my vest pocket I found that my watch had gone.
That put the top stone on my depression. The reaction from the wild
burnout of the forenoon had left me very cold about the feet. I was
getting into the under-world again and there was no chance of a
second Archie Roylance turning up to rescue me. I remember yet the
sour smell of the factories and the mist of smoke in the evening air.
It is a smell I have never met since without a sort of dulling of
spirit.

Presently I came out into a market-place. Whistles were
blowing, and there was a great hurrying of people back from the
mills. The crowd gave me a momentary sense of security, and I was
just about to inquire my way to the railway station when someone
jostled my arm.

A rough-looking fellow in mechanic's clothes was beside me.

'Mate,' he whispered. 'I've got summat o' yours here.' And to
my amazement he slipped my watch into my hand.

'It was took by mistake. We're friends o' yours. You're right
enough if you do what I tell you. There's a peeler over there got
his eye on you. Follow me and I'll get you off.'

I didn't much like the man's looks, but I had no choice, and
anyhow he had given me back my watch. He sidled into an alley
between tall houses and I sidled after him. Then he took to his
heels, and led me a twisting course through smelly courts into a
tanyard and then by a narrow lane to the back-quarters of a factory.
Twice we doubled back, and once we climbed a wall and followed the
bank of a blue-black stream with a filthy scum on it. Then we got
into a very mean quarter of the town, and emerged in a dingy garden,
strewn with tin cans and broken flowerpots. By a back door we
entered one of the cottages and my guide very carefully locked it
behind him.

He lit the gas and drew the blinds in a small parlour and looked
at me long and quizzically. He spoke now in an educated voice.

'I ask no questions,' he said, 'but it's my business to put my
services at your disposal. You carry the passport.'

I stared at him, and he pulled out his watch and showed a white-
and-purple cross inside the lid.

'I don't defend all the people we employ,' he said, grinning.
'Men's morals are not always as good as their patriotism. One of
them pinched your watch, and when he saw what was inside it he
reported to me. We soon picked up your trail, and observed you were
in a bit of trouble. As I say, I ask no questions. What can we do
for you?'

'I want to get to London without any questions asked. They're
looking for me in my present rig, so I've got to change it.'

'That's easy enough,' he said. 'Make yourself comfortable for a
little and I'll fix you up. The night train goes at eleven-thirty.
... You'll find cigars in the cupboard and there's this week's Critic
on that table. It's got a good article on Conrad, if you care for
such things.'

I helped myself to a cigar and spent a profitable half-hour
reading about the vices of the British Government. Then my host
returned and bade me ascend to his bedroom. 'You're Private Henry
Tomkins of the 12th Gloucesters, and you'll find your clothes ready
for you. I'll send on your present togs if you give me an
address.'

I did as I was bid, and presently emerged in the uniform of a
British private, complete down to the shapeless boots and the
dropsical puttees. Then my friend took me in hand and finished the
transformation. He started on my hair with scissors and arranged a
lock which, when well oiled, curled over my forehead. My hands were
hard and rough and only needed some grubbiness and hacking about the
nails to pass muster. With my cap on the side of my head, a pack on
my back, a service rifle in my hands, and my pockets bursting with
penny picture papers, I was the very model of the British soldier
returning from leave. I had also a packet of Woodbine cigarettes and
a hunch of bread-and-cheese for the journey. And I had a railway
warrant made out in my name for London.

Then my friend gave me supper - bread and cold meat and a bottle
of Bass, which I wolfed savagely, for I had had nothing since
breakfast. He was a curious fellow, as discreet as a tombstone, very
ready to speak about general subjects, but never once coming near the
intimate business which had linked him and me and Heaven knew how
many others by means of a little purple-and-white cross in a
watch-case. I remember we talked about the topics that used to be
popular at Biggleswick - the big political things that begin with
capital letters. He took Amos's view of the soundness of the British
working-man, but he said something which made me think. He was
convinced that there was a tremendous lot of German spy work about,
and that most of the practitioners were innocent. 'The ordinary
Briton doesn't run to treason, but he's not very bright. A clever
man in that kind of game can make better use of a fool than a
rogue.'

As he saw me off he gave me a piece of advice. 'Get out of
these clothes as soon as you reach London. Private Tomkins will
frank you out of Bradfield, but it mightn't be a healthy alias in the
metropolis.'

At eleven-thirty I was safe in the train, talking the jargon of
the returning soldier with half a dozen of my own type in a smoky
third-class carriage. I had been lucky in my escape, for at the
station entrance and on the platform I had noticed several men with
the unmistakable look of plainclothes police. Also - though this may
have been my fancy - I thought I caught in the crowd a glimpse of the
bagman who had called himself Linklater.