by Jack Wright
CHAPTER V--The Eagle
"Well," began Bob, "I guess my story isn't going to be very new to anyof you. Gee, I know it almost by heart, and I suppose everybody elsedoes, too."
"Don't apologize," said the Captain. "We'll be only too glad to stop youif we've heard it before. I don't think that we will, though. It's astory that bears repeating."
Bob's eyes lighted up. "You bet," he said. "I never get tired of readingabout it." He plucked at the grass beside him. "Gee, it makes a fellowwant to do things. It makes him feel that the older folks don't knoweverything--"
"A-hem," interrupted Captain Bill.
Bob laughed. "You're not old folks, old bean. Don't flatter yourself.Anyway, they told Lindbergh that he couldn't do it. They told him thathis plane was carrying too much, and he'd never be able to make italone."
"Did he?" said Pat.
Bob looked at him disgustedly. "Did he! Don't make fun of me, you oldIrishman!"
The old Irishman looked grieved. "Well, I just wanted to know. I'malways willing to learn somethin' new. And you'd better get started, orwe'll never know. We'll be leaving the lad up in the air, so to speak."
"Ignore that ape," said Captain Bill, "and proceed."
"Lindbergh didn't listen to them. He just went ahead and did what hethought was right, and by golly, he was right. It makes a fellow feelthat even if he is young he can do things. He doesn't just have to sitaround and do what everybody else has done before. There's got to be afirst every time. Lindy wasn't afraid just because nobody had ever flownthe Atlantic alone before, and the wiseacres said that it couldn't bedone. He just went ahead and flew it."
"It wasn't as easy as all that," quietly remarked Hal.
Bob turned to him. "Of course not. Lindy had planned every move that hewas going to make. He was prepared for anything. That's why he's alwaysso successful. He has his plans all laid before he ever takes off. He'sgot all the courage in the world, but he's not reckless."
"Put that under your hat, my lad. It's a good lesson to know by heartwhen you're going into the flying game."
"You bet," said Bob. "Gee, it needed a lot of courage for him to makethat take-off. I've got the date down here. It was May 20, 1927, on aFriday. That must have been an exciting morning down at Roosevelt Field.He made up his mind on Thursday afternoon. They told him that theweather was all right over the North Atlantic, and that it would be bestif he started out the next morning.
"He didn't tell anybody about his plans. He never talks very muchanyway. Everybody found that out later. It was all sort of secret. Hejust told his mechanics to get the Spirit of St. Louis ready, and keeptheir mouths shut. I guess he didn't want everybody messing around withhis plans. But the men who delivered his gasoline weren't so secret, Iguess, and somehow his plans leaked out Thursday night.
"That Thursday night was pretty awful. It was raining, and the weathercould be cut with a knife. But once people found out that Slim was goingto start, they began to come around to Curtiss Field, and at two o'clockin the morning there was a big crowd of them standing around in the rainand mud. Slim wasn't leaving from Curtiss, though, and they towed hisplane by truck over to Roosevelt. They got there just about when it wasgetting light.
"There was a crowd over at Curtiss, too. But Slim didn't care. Crowdsnever mean much to him. He saw a whole lot more of them later on, too,but he never was one to strut or show off. He just got into hisfur-lined suit, and waited for the men to start his engine. Somebodyasked him if he had only five sandwiches and two canteens of water.'Sure,' he said. 'If I get to Paris, I won't need any more, and if Idon't get there, I won't need any more, either.' It was just like him tosay that, but the real reason he didn't take any more was because he hadtoo much weight already. He had over 200 gallons of gas, and the loadwas heavy. He had to cut down on everything that wasn't absolutelynecessary.
"Well, they started his motor for him. The plane was standing on theRoosevelt runway, which is pretty smooth, and five thousand feet long.The weather had cleared up a little. And there was the monoplane lookingall silver and slick, roaring away for all it was worth. Lindy saidgoodbye to his mother, and to Byrd and Chamberlin and Acosta, who wereplanning their own trips across the Atlantic, and then he stepped intothe cockpit, and closed the door.
"He raced his motor a little bit. She must have sounded pretty sweet tohim, because he gave her the gun, and off he went. That start must havebeen one of the hardest parts of the whole trip. The Spirit of St. Louisbumped along that muddy runway, and the people watching thought she'd goover on her nose any moment. She was over-loaded. Her motor was pullingfor all she was worth, but it didn't seem as though they'd ever make it.She went off the ground a few feet, and bounced down again. But then thecrowd held its breath. She was leaving the ground. They were up aboutfifteen feet. And there were telegraph wires in their path. If they hitthose, the trip to Paris was over right then. But they didn't. Thelanding gear cleared by a few inches. That crowd simply roared. But Slimdidn't hear them. He was on his way to Paris."
Bob paused for breath. He had been talking very fast, carried away byhis story. The others did not speak, but sat waiting for him to go on.They had all heard the story before, but as the Captain had said, itbore repeating, and they could hear it again and again. There wassomething agelessly appealing in the tale of that young man's feat.
Bob was talking again. "I'm not much at poetry," he said.
"You bet you're not," said Captain Bill. "I've read some of yours."
Bob glared at him. "I never wrote a poem!" he said defensively.
The Captain looked contrite. "It must have been Hal," he said. "I begyour pardon. Go on with your story. Where does the poetry come in?"
"I was going to tell you, before you interrupted, so rudely, thatthere's somebody who's written a poem--a lot of poetry, to music--acantata I think they call it. It's about Lindy's flight, and it tellsthe story of the flight across the Atlantic. I guess it's prettythrilling. Maybe that's the only way the story can be told--in poetry andmusic, because it always sounds pretty flat when you just say Lindy flewacross the Atlantic in a monoplane. It needs music, with a lot oftrumpets--"
"Go on, go on, my lad. More words, less music." Pat seemed to be gettingimpatient. The sun was pretty high over their heads now, and bees werebuzzing drowsily in the tall grass all around them. Hal had stretchedout on his stomach, facing the little group, which was seated now in asemi-circle. "I'll be falling asleep if you don't get on."
Bob laughed embarrassedly. "All right, you just stop me if I get torambling. You keep me straight, Irish."
Captain Bill leaned back on a hummock of earth, his arms folded behindhis head. "I'm so comfortable, I could listen to anything, even to Bobtelling a story. Go on, Bob."
"One more crack, and you don't hear anything," said Bob. "Remember therules, no interruptions from the gallery."
"We stand corrected. Go on."
Bob settled himself once again into the grass. "Well, we've got Lindyinto the air. No sooner had he set out when people began reporting thatthey'd seen him. Some of them had. A lot of them were just excitedindividuals who'd heard a motorcycle back-firing. But somebody actuallydid see him flying over Rhode Island, and about two hours, nearly, afterhe had set out, they flashed back that he'd been seen at Halifax,Massachusetts. Then he dropped out of sight. Nobody reported seeing him.That was because he took an over-water route, and was out some distance,flying along the coast of New England.
"They saw him next over Nova Scotia, running along nicely, and thenSpringfield, Nova Scotia saw him. It was about one o'clock, and he wasgoing strong. But he was getting into a dangerous region, cold andfoggy. They had watchers looking for him everywhere. Lindy left NovaScotia at Cape Breton, headed for Newfoundland. It was pretty stiffgoing, about 200 miles without sight of land, and over a prettytreacherous sea. But at 7:15 they saw him flying low over St. John's, inNewfoundland. They could see the number on the wings, and sent back wordto the world that he had passed there. And that was t
he last word thatanybody received that Friday.
"The going had been pretty good until then. The weather was clear, andthe ceiling pretty high. But as soon as it got dark, Lindy and his planehit some pretty bad weather. It grew mighty cold, and a thick swirlingfog came up and swallowed up the plane. This was mighty tough, becauseif he flew low, he was bound to run into one of the icebergs that werefloating in the icy sea. So he climbed up to about 10,000 feet, andstayed there. Flying high was all right, but it added another danger.Ice was forming on the wings of the Spirit of St. Louis, and if it gotthick enough, it would break off a wing of the plane, and send the planeand Lindy into the sea.
"Lindy could have turned back, but he didn't. He kept right on, throughfog and sleet and rain. His motor never missed. It was a good pal, andno wonder he included it in his feat, and said later that 'we crossedthe Atlantic.'
"When morning came, a whole flock of cables came, too. It seems a wholelot of ships had sighted Lindy's plane, or somebody's plane, anywherefrom 500 to 100 miles off the coast of Ireland, where he was headed.Nobody knew who to believe, but at 10:00 o'clock came the real news,that he was over a place called Valencia, Ireland.
"Lindy wondered where he was, himself. Flying blind as he had, he didn'tknow just where he had come out. So he decided to ask the first personhe met. Now you can imagine the air roads weren't full of planes flyingto Ireland, and Lindy had to wait until he sighted a fishing schooner.He swooped low and shouted out, 'Am I headed for Ireland?' The fishermenwere so astounded that they couldn't answer, so Lindy flew on hiscourse, depending as he had all night, on his compass. Pretty soon hecame in sight of land, and knew that it was Ireland."
"Because it was so beautiful," said Pat.
"No, because it was rocky, and his maps indicated that the land would berocky," said Bob.
"Oh, no doubt he could tell it was Ireland," insisted Pat. "His motherwas Irish, you know, and it needs mighty little Irish blood to make aman long for the ould sod."
"Well, anyway, there he was over Ireland," put in Bob, pointedly. "Andfrom Ireland, on to England, and from England, on to France. Along theSeine, and then Paris. They were waiting for him at Le Bourget, and sentup flares and rockets, long before he got there. Maybe they weren'texcited when he flew into range! It was about 8:30, that is, Frenchtime, but about 5:30 New York time, when Lindy and the Spirit of St.Louis circled around the landing field at Le Bourget and landed. Golly,I wish I'd been there. The first man in the world to fly the Atlantic,landing before my very eyes! He'd gone 3,640 miles, and had made it in33-1/2 hours. Some going!
"Well, he was there. And he got out of the plane. And you all know whathe said when he got out. I--"
"I am Charles Lindbergh," said Captain Bill and Pat, not quite inunison.
"Yup," said Bob, "'I am Charles Lindbergh.' He thought that theywouldn't know who he was. He'd been flying pretty low over Ireland andEngland, and so far as he could see, nobody had paid much attention tohim. So he introduced himself, just as though every man, woman and childin every civilized country wasn't saying that very name all through theday. Remember when we heard the news over the radio, Hal? We were soexcited we nearly upset the furniture. Golly, that was a day.
"Well, that was Slim Lindbergh's flight, and now about Slim himself. Hewas born in Detroit, Michigan, on February 2, 1902, and that means thathe was only twenty-five years old when he made his greatest flight,which is pretty young to become the most famous man in the world.
"His dad was Charles A. Lindbergh, and he died in 1924, when he wasrunning for governor of Minnesota on the Farmer-Labor ticket. He'd beena Representative in Congress before. Lindy and he were great pals, andplayed around together a lot. Lindy's mother was Irish, and taughtschool in Detroit.
"Lindy went to school in Little Falls, and to Little Falls High School.He graduated from there when he was 16. He was good in Math and in otherthings he liked, but not in grammar.
"Lindy didn't go right to college. In fact, he didn't go until threeyears after he'd graduated from high school, and then he went to theUniversity of Wisconsin, to take up mechanical engineering. He was goodat that. He'd always liked to tinker, and he got his chance there. Hedid at college just what you'd expect him to do. He had some friends andacquaintances, but mostly he kept to himself. He was the same quiet, shyperson that everybody got to know later, when he became famous.
"Slim didn't stay at Wisconsin very long, so we don't know what he wouldhave finally done there. He went over to Lincoln, Nebraska, where theyhad a flying school, and asked them to teach him to fly. They taught himthe beginnings of flying, and from the moment his hands touched thecontrols, he knew that this was what he was cut out for. He just tooknaturally to those levers and gadgets, and could handle his plane like atoy.
"It seems that Lindy was born to be a pilot. He's built for one, in thefirst place. Long and rangy, and slim. No extra weight, but plenty ofmuscle and endurance. He's got a lot of nerve and never gets excited Heshowed that when he got himself elected to the Caterpillar Club. ButI'll get to that later." Here Bob paused, and looked up at the sun,which was just slipping a little westward. "Say," he said. "Would youfolks mind if I continued my story later? I feel just a little empty.How about the food?"
"I've been thinking that for a long time," said the Captain. "But rulesare rules. I didn't want to interrupt you."
Bob snorted. "Say, for food you can interrupt me any time. Let's go."
He jumped up, stretched himself, and made for the car, to get out thehuge hamper of lunch. "Say," he called back, "Lindy may have beensatisfied with five sandwiches all the way to Paris, but darned if Icouldn't eat five right now." He carried the hamper over to the knollwhere the others were. They were all standing now, limbering up,stretching, sniffing the good air, and looking eagerly toward the food.
"Here, lend a hand," said Bob. He plumped down the basket so that theycould hear the rattle of forks and tin cups within, and sat down besideit.
"You're the host," said Hal, seating himself comfortably on the grassand looking on. "It's your party. We have to listen to your story, sothe least you can do is feed us."
Bob had opened the hamper, and was viewing its contents eagerly. Hedived into the basket. "Say, anybody who doesn't help himself, doesn'teat. Fall to."
They fell to, doing much eating but little talking. Finally Bob satback, a sandwich in one hand, a cup of steaming coffee out of thethermos bottle in the other. "I have a suspicion," he said, "that youdon't like my story."
"Don't get ideas like that, Bob, my lad," said Pat. "We love your story.We just like sandwiches better."
"All right, then I won't finish," said Bob. "I'm going to beindependent."
Hal looked up. "Not finish? You've got finish any story you start."
"One of the rules? There aren't any rules. You just made that up."
Hal was cajoling now. "Aw, come on, Bob. We want to hear the end. Comeon, tell us the rest."
Bob bit into a huge slice of cake. He shook his head. "Nope, no end."
"Well, at least about the Caterpillar Club. At least you'll tell us howLindy saved his life by bailing out. We've got to hear that."
But Bob was adamant. "I've been insulted. I'm not going on. Anyway,Lindy didn't save his life once by bailing out of a plane."
"He didn't? You said a little while ago that he did."
"I didn't say once. He became eligible to the Caterpillar Club fourtimes."
Hal looked at Bob with disgust. "I must say that you're being verydisagreeable."
Captain Bill, who had been looking on in amusement, suddenly laughedvery loudly. "Don't coax him, Hal. He doesn't need coaxing. He's goingto tell the rest of the story, don't you worry. Wild horses couldn'tkeep him from finishing the tale. Could they, Bob, old man?"
Bob looked over at his uncle and grinned. "Why, you old sinner. What away to talk about your favorite nephew. But now that you mention it,maybe I did intend to finish the story, seeing that I'd started it. Now,where was I?"
&nb
sp; Pat was clearing up the debris made by four men eating a picnic lunch."You've got Lindbergh at the Nebraska flying school for a long time."
"Oh, not very long," said Bob. "You see, he stayed there really a shorttime. In fact, he never did any solo flying there."
"Well, why not?" asked Hal.
"They asked for a five-hundred dollar bond from every student before hewent up on his first solo flight. This seemed silly to Lindy, and heleft the school.
"When he left, he did what so many of the flyers were doing then. Hewent out west, and did stunting, risking his neck at county fairs andair circuses to give the people a thrill. He did, too. He handled hisplane like a toy, doing rolls, tail spins, and every kind of stuntimaginable. But the most exciting thing that he did, and it usuallyisn't an exciting thing at all, was landing his plane. He could land ona dime, and as lightly as a feather. That's really piloting, isn't it,Bill?"
"You bet," said the Captain. He was sprawled out on his back, enjoyinghis after dinner rest. "A landing will show you your flyer's abilityevery time. Provided, of course, that he has a fairly decent landingfield. Did I ever tell you the story that Hawks tells in hisautobiography? Do you mind if I interrupt for just a minute, Bob?"
"Oh, no, go right ahead," said Bob, witheringly. "Go right ahead. I wasjust telling a story."
"Thanks," said Captain Bill with a grin. "I will. Well, it seems thatHawks was stunting down in Mexico, and doing quite a bit of privateflying. He got a commission to fly a Congressman and a General, I thinkit was, back to their home town of Huatemo. Have you ever heard ofHuatemo? I thought not. Well, Huatemo had never seen an airplane closeup, and the two high muckamucks decided that they'd give the natives athrill by coming back via plane. Hawks had them wire ahead to have alanding field prepared. The native officials wired that they had a finefield, clear of all obstructions, but dotted with a few small trees.'Fine, says Hawks, but have them remove the trees immediately.' Thenatives said that this had been done, and the party started out.
"After several adventures, Hawks flew over Huatemo, and prepared tospiral down to the landing field. Imagine his chagrin and surprise, mydear boys, when he discovered, that the officials of Huatemo had indeedcut down the Huateman trees, but had left the stumps standing!"
"Whew," said Bob. "What did he do, turn around?"
"No, he couldn't. And anyway, there was no other place to land. Thefield was surrounded by dense forests. He had to make it. He brought hisplane down without hitting a stump, and then zig-zagged wildly fromstump to stump like a croquet ball trying to miss wickets. And he missedthem all, too, except one. The wheel hit it an awful smack, andcollapsed. The plane tilted up on its nose, and came to rest with itspropeller in the ground and its tail waving gayly in the air, not at alllike a proper plane should."
"And killed them all," said Pat.
"Who, Hawks? Not on your life. He's a lucky fellow. Not one of them washurt. They climbed out of the plane, and were greeted by the natives,joyously and with acclaim. And not one of the natives seemed to suspectin the least that this wasn't the way a plane should land. Or at leastthe way a crazy American would land a plane." The Captain finished hisstory, and paused.
"Well," said Bob grudgingly, "that was a good story, too. But, as I wassaying, Lindy was a good stunter, and a good flyer. He decided that hewanted a plane of his own. He heard that there was going to be a sale ofarmy planes down in Georgia, and he went down and bought a Curtiss Jennywith the money that he had saved from his stunting work. He fixed it up,and was soon off barnstorming again. But I guess the Jenny was tooclumsy a boat for Lindy. He wanted to fly the newer, better planes thatthe army had. So he joined the army's training school at Brook Field,San Antonio. This was when he was 22 years old.
"I guess he got along pretty fine at San Antonio, and he was sent downto the pursuit school at Kelly Field. He joined the Caterpillar Clubthere. It was the first time that he had to jump from a moving plane andget down with his parachute. I guess it was a pretty close shave."
"Gee, how did it happen?" said Hal, his eyes wide.
"Wait a second, I'm coming to it," said Bob. "He and another officerwere to go up and attack another plane that they called the enemy. Itwas a sort of problem they had to work out. Well, Slim dove at the enemyfrom the left, and the other fellow from the right. The enemy planepulled up, but Lindy and the other officer kept on going, dead towardeach other. There was an awful crack, and their wings locked. The twoplanes began to spin around and drop through the air. Lindy did the onlything there was to do. He kept his head, stepped out on one of thedamaged wings, and stepped off backwards. He didn't pull the rip-corduntil he had fallen quite a way, because he didn't want the ships tofall on him. When he'd gone far enough, he pulled the cord, and floatedgently down. That was the first."
"And the second?" said Hal.
"The second," went on Bob, "happened in 1927, just about a year beforeLindy flew the Atlantic. He took a new type of plane up to test her. Heput her through all the stunts that he could think of, and she stoodthem all right. It seemed as though she was going to come through thetest O.K., when Lindy put her into a tail spin. They spiraled down for awhile, and Lindy tried to pull her out of it. She wouldn't respond andwent completely out of control. Lindy tugged and yanked at the controls,but he couldn't get that bus to go into a dive. He did his best to savethe ship, but it was no use. He didn't give up until they were about 300feet from the ground, which is a mighty short distance to make a jump,if you ask me. But Lindy made it, and landed in somebody's back yard,the wind knocked out of him, but otherwise all right. That was thesecond."
"And the third?" asked Hal.
"We're getting ahead of the story. In fact, we're ahead of the storyalready. Before he made his second jump, Lindy had joined the MissouriNational Guard, and was promoted to a Captaincy in the Reserve andFlight Commander of the 110th Observation Squadron. That's how he got tobe a Captain, you know how he got to be a Colonel.
"Then Lindy joined the Robertson Aircraft Corporation, at St. Louis.While he was with them, he helped map out the first mail route from St.Louis to Chicago, and was the first pilot to carry mail along thisroute. Slim had a habit of starting things off. He was the first to do alot of things. No sitting back and waiting for others to start things.It was first or nothing for him. Maybe it was his Viking ancestors, Idon't know.
"It was while he was flying this route that Lindy had his thirdinitiation into the Caterpillars. He took off one September afternoonfrom Lambert Field, in St. Louis, on his way to Maywood. Just outside ofPeoria a fog rolled in, so thick you could cut it with a knife, Lindycould climb up over it for flying, but he couldn't land blind. Hedropped a flare, but it only lit up a cloud bank. He saw lights, then,through the fog, and knew that he was around Maywood, but couldn't getthe exact location of the field. He'd circled around for two hours, whenhis engine sputtered and died. The tank was dry. Lindy quickly turned onthe reserve gravity tank. There was twenty minutes of flying in thattank, and Lindy had to think fast.
"He tried flares again, but it was no use. When he had just a fewminutes of gas left, he saw the glow of a town. He didn't want to take achance on landing in a town and killing somebody, so he headed for opencountry. In a few minutes his engine died. Lindy stepped out into theblind fog and jumped. After falling a hundred feet, he pulled therip-cord, and left the rest to chance. Every once in a while his shipappeared, twirling away in spirals, the outside of the circle about 300yards away from Lindy. He counted five spirals, and then lost sight ofthe bus. He landed in a corn field, shaken, of course, but all right. Hefound his way to the farm house, and told the farmer who he was. Thefarmer, who had heard the crash of the plane as it smashed to earthwouldn't believe that this safe and sound man was the pilot of it.Finally Lindy convinced him, and they went in search of the plane, whichthe farmer was sure had landed close to his house. They found it twomiles away, looking not much like a plane, but a heap of rubbish. Themail wasn't hurt. They got it to a train for Chicago, and t
he mail wentthrough. It always does, you know."
"Yup, it always does," said Captain Bill.
"That reminds me of a story," said Pat.
"Hold it," said Bob. "I've got another parachute for Lindy."
"Fire away," said Pat. "But remember to remind me not to forget to tellyou my own story."
"All right," Bob put in. "Now the fourth time Lindy jumped was not longbefore his big flight. He was still flying for Robertson's, carryingmail to Chicago. Just south of Peoria he ran into rain that changed tosnow. Lindy flew around, waiting for the fog to lift, until he heard hismotor sputter and die. He was up about 13,000 feet when he stepped outof the cockpit and jumped into the air. He landed on a barbed wirefence. Tore his shirt, but the plane was pretty much of a wreck. Hegrabbed the air mail; hurried to a train for Chicago, got another plane,and flew the mail through. A little late, but still, it got through. Andhe didn't bat an eye. Not one of the jumps fazed him a bit.
"But it wasn't as though Lindy jumped at the slightest sign of anythinggoing wrong. He stayed with his plane until the very last minute, doingeverything he could to save it. He hated worse than anything to have aplane smashed up. Look how long he stayed with that new plane he wastesting out--until he was just 300 feet above the ground.
"Well, Lindy was one of the best mail pilots that the Robertsoncorporation had, in fact, he was their chief pilot. They could depend onhim to go out in weather that no other pilot would think of bucking. Hedidn't show off. Just knew that he could fly through anything, and hedid.
"At this time there was a lot of excitement in the air. Orteig wasoffering his $25,000 prize for the first man to cross the Atlantic, andthere were a lot of aviators who would have liked the prize, and weretrying for it. Of course, the money wasn't the whole thing. There wasthe honor attached to it. And besides, there was the fact that crossingthe Atlantic would make people sit up and take notice that flying wasn'tas dangerous as they thought. If a man could fly all that distance in aplane, maybe planes weren't the death traps that some people had an ideathey were. Lindy must have been thinking of this when he first decidedthat he'd like to try for the Orteig prize. Because everything that he'sdone since his flight has been to get people interested in aviation.
"But it takes money to fly across the ocean. You've got to get a specialplane and all that. Lindy had to have backers. He couldn't get them atfirst. Everybody tried to discourage him. In the first place, he lookedsuch a kid. He was twenty-five, and that's young, but he didn't evenlook twenty-five. The men he asked to back him all but told him to runhome and wait until he had grown up.
"Then Major Robertson, Lindy's Big Boss, tried to get backers for him.He knew that Lindy could fly and finally got some influential men to putup $15,000 for his flight. Maybe Lindy wasn't glad! He tucked his checkin his pocket and went on a shopping trip for a plane. He tried theBellanca people in New York, but they didn't have what he wanted, so heskipped to San Diego to the Ryan Airways, Inc., and told them what hewanted. They put their engineers to work on his specifications, anddesigned him a Ryan monoplane, the neat stream-lined job that waschristened the Spirit of St. Louis. It's a graceful bird--but you've allseen so many pictures of it, you know what it looks like. It has a wingspan of 46 feet, and an overall length of over 27 feet. They put in aWright engine--a Whirlwind, 200 horsepower. It's a radial engine. You twoprobably know what a radial engine is, but Hal here doesn't." Bob pausedand turned to Hal. "Do you?"
"Uh-uh," grunted Hal. "Do you?"
"Of course I do. It's one in which the cylinders aren't in a straightline or in a V, but arranged around an axis, like the spokes of a wheel.Lindy's plane had two spark plugs for each cylinder, so that in case onemissed, there was another one ready. She could carry 450 gallons of gasand twenty gallons of oil, and she was loaded to the gills when Lindytook her off the ground at the Field.
"Suppose Lindy wasn't anxious about that plane. He hung around thefactory all the time that it was being built, and made suggestions tohelp along Hawley Bowlus, who built the thing. You know Hawley Bowlus.The fellow who held the glider record until Lindy took it away fromhim--but that's later. Bowlus knows how to build planes, and Lindy swearsby him.
"Well, they got the plane finished in 60 days, which isn't bad time. Outin New York, Byrd and Chamberlin and the others were getting ready tofly the Atlantic. It's wasn't really a race to see who would be first,but of course, there's no doubt that each one was anxious to be thefirst man to cross the Atlantic. Because after all, nobody likes to besecond. So Lindy had to get out to the east coast as fast as he could.He could hardly wait for the plane to be finished. But at last it was,and all the equipment in place. Lindy climbed into the cockpit to testher out. The cockpit was inclosed. I don't know whether I told thatbefore or not. Anyway, he could see out little windows on each side, buthe couldn't see ahead, or above him. So it was really flying blind allthe time, except for a sliding periscope that he could pull in or out atthe side, in case he had to see straight ahead. But Lindy doesn't mindblind flying. He's a wonderful navigator.
"Well, Lindy turned over the motor of his new plane, and it soundedsweet. He hadn't got it any more than off the ground when he realizedthat this was the plane for him. It responded to every touch, althoughit was a heavy ship, and not much good for stunting. But Lindy didn'twant to stunt. He wanted to fly to Europe.
"It was on May 10, I think, that he left San Diego. It was in theevening, not quite six o'clock. The next morning, a little after eight,he got into St. Louis. Took him just a bit over fourteen hours, thewhole trip. It was the longest cross-country hop that any one man hadmade up to that time. His old pals at Lambert Field were pretty glad tosee him, and he spent the night at his old stamping grounds. But hedidn't stay long. Early in the morning he got on his way, and made NewYork in the afternoon, in not quite seven and a half hours. Prettyflying.
"Nobody much had heard of Lindy until he started from San Diego. Ofcourse, he'd been a dandy mail pilot, but they're usually unnamedheroes. Nobody hears about them, and they never get their names in thepaper unless they crash. Not that they care. They've got their jobs todo, and they do them. But when Lindy flew that grand hop from San Diegoto St. Louis to New York, people began to sit up and take notice. Hedidn't say much after he got to the Curtiss Field.
"Out at Curtiss he spent his time seeing that everything was ready, andall his instruments O.K. He had a lot of confidence in himself--he alwayshas--but there was no use in taking chances. In back of the pilot's seatwas a collapsible rubber boat, that he could blow up with two tanks ofgas that he carried with him. It had light oars, and was supposed to beable to float him for a week in case he decided suddenly to come down inthe middle of the Atlantic instead of flying all the way across. Thenthere were his regular instruments. He had a tachometer, and analtimeter, an earth inductor compass, a drift indicator, and--"
Captain Bill interrupted. "Just a minute, just a minute. You say thosethings pretty glibly. Do you know what they mean? What's a tachometer?Pat here doesn't know."
Bob looked embarrassed. "Well, they're all pretty necessary instruments.I've been meaning to look them up, that is, Gee, I really ought to know,oughtn't I?"
"You ought," said the Captain severely. "Do you mind if I interrupt yourstory for just a minute and give you a few pointers? This is mostly foryou and Hal. You'll never be able to fly unless you understand what theinstruments on the dashboard are for. Of course a lot of the old flyers,like Patrick, here, flew just by instinct, and stuck their heads outover the cockpit to see what was happening. A real pilot nowadays,though, can be sealed in his cockpit and never see ahead of him from thetime he takes off until he lands, just so long as his instruments areworking. He can keep his course over any country, no matter how strange.You've got to know your instruments."
"Well, tell us," said Bob.
The Captain sat up. "I guess the first thing that Lindy watched was thetachometer. This is the instrument that shows the number of revolutionsper minute, or R. P. M.'s that
the engine is making. A flyer must knowhow many R. P. M.'s his engine must make to maintain a correct flyingspeed, or he'll go into a stall, which is bad. I'll tell you more aboutstalls later. The altimeter registers the height at which the plane isflying. It isn't very accurate at low altitudes, but it's all righthigher up. You soon learn by the feel and the lay of the land how highup you are. The exact height doesn't matter in ordinary flying, just sothat you keep a good altitude. Then there's that most importantinstrument, the earth inductor compass. This is much more accurate thana magnetic compass, and it keeps the ship on its course. It operates inregard to the electro-magnetic reactions of the earth's field, anddirections are indicated in reference to magnetic north. To steer bythis compass, you have to set your desired heading on the controller,and then steer to keep the indicator on zero. If you veer to the left,the indicator will swing to the left, and to keep on your course youmust bring your plane back to the right. When he changes his course, thepilot consults his maps and graphs, and makes a change in the indicatorof the compass.
"Then there is the air speed indicator, which shows the speed of theplane in the air. This is necessary so that the engine is notover-speeded. A pilot never runs his plane at full speed as a generalthing, because he'll wear out his engine. He keeps it at about 80 percent of its potential speed, which is a good safe margin.
"The turn and bank indicator also reads from zero, and deviates fromzero when the plane dips. The bubble rides up to the left when the planebanks right, and rides up to the right when the plane banks left. Whenthe ship is again on an even keel, the indicator goes back to zero. Thepilot, when he isn't flying blind, can keep his plane level by noticingthe position of the radiator cap or top of the engine in respect to thehorizon. But in a heavy fog, or if he can't see over his cockpit, thehorizon doesn't exist, and a bank and turn indicator is his instrument.
"The instruments that are no less important than these are the oilgauge, the gasoline pressure gauge, and the thermometer, which showswhether the motor is overheating. If the oil gauge shows that the oil isat a good cool temperature, and the gasoline pressure gauge shows thatthe gas pressure is up, the pilot knows that his motor is runningnicely. The gas pressure gauge won't tell you how much gas you haveleft, though. It's always best to figure how much gas you're going toneed on a trip, and then take some over for emergencies. Most planesalso have an emergency tank, so that if one tank gives out, the othercan be switched on, and will give the flyer time to maneuver about untilhe finds a landing place." Captain Bill paused. "Well, those are yourinstruments. I'll probably have to explain them all over to you againwhen the plane comes, and I start to teach you to fly."
"Oh, no, not to me, you won't," Bob said.
Hal sat quietly looking out over the valley below, saying nothing. Hehad listened intently to the Captain's instructions, but there was anodd expression on his face.
Finally Pat snorted. Bob and the others jumped.
"Hi, what's the idea. Is there a story being told, or isn't there astory being told? Get on with you."
"It's no fault of mine, Patrick," said Bob, looking meaningly at theCaptain, who appeared as innocent as a lamb. "I'm always being rudelyinterrupted. But I'll go on. Where was I?"
"The Lindbergh lad was at Curtiss Field, waiting this long time to beoff," said Pat.
"Oh, yes. Well, when he got word that the weather was O.K., he got hissandwiches, his canteens of water, and started off on the greatestflight in aviation history. And I've told you about that."
"We seem to be right back where we started from," the Captain said. "Isthat the end of your story?"
Bob laughed. "By no means. You've got a lot to hear yet. What do yousuppose I've been collecting dope for all these weeks? I've got a lot totell you. Lindy wasn't satisfied with one great trip. He's been flyingsince, and has made some pretty important jaunts. Things happened to himafter he got back to America loaded down with about every kind of medalthat one man can get. And I'm going to tell you all of them."
"I suppose we'll have to listen. It's part of the game," Pat said. "Butnot now, my lad." He rose stiffly from the grass. "You're mother will belooking for us, and wondering what's become of us. We'd better get forhome."
"How about continuing in the next issue?" laughed the Captain.
"O.K." said Bob. "You get the rest of it tonight, whether you like it ornot."
Hal looked up fervently at Bob. "Oh, we like it, Bob. I think it's agreat story. A great story." The boy's eyes shown in his pale face."Golly, Bob, it must be wonderful to be able to do things like that."
Bob looked uncomfortable as they walked over to the car. "Well, kid, Idon't see why anybody can't do great things if he's got grit enough.That's what it takes--Grit."