The short voyages gave us a delightful foretaste of what was
to come. We did them both one afternoon, and were at the hangars at five
o'clock on the following morning, ready to make an early start. A fresh wind
was blowing from the northeast, but the brevet moniteur, who went up for a
short flight to try the air, came back with the information that it was quite
calm at twenty-five hundred feet. We might start, he said, as soon as we liked.
Drew, in his joy, embraced the old woman who kept a
coffee-stall at the hangars, while I danced a one-step with a mechanician.
Neither of them was surprised at this procedure. They were accustomed to such
emotional outbursts on the part of aviators who, by the very nature of their
calling, were always in the depths of despair or on the farthest jutting peak
of some mountain of delight. Our departure had been delayed, day after day, for
more than a week, because of the weather. We were so eager to start that we
would willingly have gone off in a blizzard.
During the week of waiting we had studied our map until we
knew the location of every important road and railroad, every forest, river,
canal, and creek within a radius of one hundred kilometres. We studied it at
close range, on a table, and then on the floor, with the compass- points
properly orientated, so that we might see all the important landmarks with the
birdman's eye. We knew our course so well, that there seemed no possibility of
our losing direction.
Our military papers had been given us several days before.
Among these was an official- looking document to be presented to the mayor of
any town or village near which we might be compelled to land. It contained an
extract from the law concerning aviators, and the duty toward them of the
civilian and military authorities. In another was an itemized list of the
amounts which might be exacted by farmers for damage to growing crops: so much
for an atterrissage in a field of sugar-beets, so much for wheat, etc. Besides
these, we had a book of detailed instructions as to our duty in case of
emergencies of every conceivable kind among others, the course of action
to be followed if we should be compelled to land in an enemy country. At first
sight this seemed an unnecessary precaution; but we remembered the experience
of one of our French comrades at B, who started confidently off on his
first cross-country flight. He lost his way and did not realize how far astray
he had gone until he found him- self under fire from German anti-aircraft
batteries on the Belgian front.
The most interesting paper of all was our Ordre de Service,
the text of which was as follows:
It is commanded that the bearer of this Order
report himself at the cities of C and R, by the route of the air,
flying an avion Caudron, and leaving the Ecole Militaire d'Aviation at A
on the 21st of April, 1917, without passenger on board. Signed, LE CAPITAINE B Commandant de
l'Ecole.
We read this with feelings which must have been nearly akin
to those of Columbus on a memorable day in 1492. when he received his clearance
papers from Cadiz. "By the route of the air!" How the imagination lingered over
that phrase! We had the better of Columbus there, although we had to admit that
there was more glamour in the hazard of his adventure and the uncertainty of
his destination.
Drew was ready first. I helped him into his fur-lined
combination and strapped him to his seat. A moment later he was off. I watched
him as he gathered height over the aerodrome. Then, finding that his motor was
running satisfactorily, he struck out in an easterly direction, his machine
growing smaller and smaller until it vanished in the early morning haze. I
followed immediately afterward, and had a busy ten minutes, being buffeted this
way and that, until, as the brevet moniteur had foretold, I reached quiet air
at twenty-five hundred feet.
This was my first experience in passing from one air current
to another. It was a unique one, for I was still a little incredulous. I had
not entirely lost my old boyhood belief that the wind went all the way up.
I passed over the old cathedral town of B at fifteen
hundred metres. Many a pleasant afternoon had we spent there, walking through
its narrow, crooked streets, or lounging on the banks of the canal. The
cathedral too was a favorite haunt. I loved the fine spaciousness of it.
Looking down on it now, it seemed no larger than a toy cathedral in a toy town,
such as one sees in the shops of Paris. The streets were empty, for it was not
yet seven o'clock. Strips of shadow crossed them where taller roofs cut off the
sunshine. A toy train, which I could have put nicely into my fountain-pen case
, was pulling into a station no larger than a wren's house. The Greeks called
their gods "derisive." No doubt they realized how small they looked to them,
and how insignificant this little world of affairs must have appeared from high
Olympus.
There was a road, a fine straight thoroughfare converging
from the left. It led almost due southwest. This was my route to C. I
followed it, climbing steadily until I was at two thousand metres. I had never
flown so high before. "Over a mile!" I thought. It seemed a tremendous
altitude. I could see scores of villages and fine old chateaux, and great
stretches of forest, and miles upon miles of open country in checkered
patterns, just beginning to show the first fresh green of the early spring
crops. It looked like a world planned and laid out by the best of Santa Clauses
for the eternal delight of all good children. And for untold generations only
the birds have had the privilege of seeing and enjoying it from the wing. Small
wonder that they sing. As for non-musical birdswell, they all sing after
a fashion, and there is no doubt that crows, at least, are extremely jealous of
their prerogative of flight.
My biplane was flying Itself. I had nothing to do other than
to give occasional attention to the revolution counter, altimetre, and speed-
dial. The motor was running with perfect regularity. The propeller was turning
over at twelve hundred revolutions per minute without the slightest
fluctuation. Flying is the simplest thing in the world, I thought. Why doesn't
every one travel by route of the air? If people knew the joy of it, the
exhilaration of it, aviation schools would be overwhelmed with applicants.
Biplanes of the Farman and Voisin type would make excellent family cars, quite
safe for women to drive. Mothers, busy with household affairs, could tell their
children to "run out and fly" a Caudron such as I was driving, and feel not the
slightest anxiety about them. I remembered an imaginative drawing I had once
seen of aerial activity in 1950. Even house pets were granted the privilege of
traveling by the air route. The artist was not far wrong except in his date. He
should have put it at 1925. On a fine April morning there seemed no limit to
the realization of such interesting possibilities.
I had no more than started on my southwest course, as it
seemed to me, when I saw the spires and the red-roofed houses of C, and,
a kilometre or so from the outskirts, the barracks and hangars of the aviation
school where I was to make the first landing. I reduced the gas, and, with the
motor purring gently, began a long, gradual descent. It was interesting to
watch the change in the appearance of the country beneath me as I lost height.
Checkerboard patterns of brown and green grew larger and larger. Shining
threads of silver became rivers and canals, tiny green shrubs became trees,
individual aspects of houses emerged. Soon I could see people going about the
streets and laundry-maids hanging out the family washing in the back gardens. I
even came low enough to witness a minor household tragedy a mother
vigorously spanking a small boy. Hearing the whir of my motor, she stopped in
the midst of the process, whereupon the youngster very naturally took advantage
of his opportunity to cut and run for it. Drew doubted my veracity when I told
him about this. He called me an aerial eavesdropper and said that I ought to be
ashamed to go buzzing over towns at such low altitudes, frightening housemaids,
disorganizing domestic penal institutions, and generally disturbing the privacy
of respectable French citizens. But I was unrepentant, for I knew that one
small boy in France was thinking of me with joy. To have escaped maternal
justice with the assistance of an aviator would be an event of glorious memory
to him. How vastly more worth while such a method of escape, and how jubilant
Tom Sawyer would have been over such an opportunity when his horrified warning,
"Look behind you, aunt!" had lost efficacy.
Drew had been waiting a quarter of an hour, and came rushing
out to meet me as I taxied across the field. We shook hands as though we had
not seen each other for years. We could not have been more surprised and
delighted if we had met on another planet after long and hopeless wanderings in
space.
While I superintended the replenishing of my fuel and oil
tanks he walked excitedly up and down in front of the hangars. He was an
odd-looking sight in his flying clothes, with a pair of Meyrowitz goggles set
back on his head, like another set of eyes, gazing at the sky with an air of
wide astonishment. He paid no attention to my critical comments, but started
thinking aloud as soon as I rejoined him.
"It was lonely! Yes, by Jove! that was it. A glorious thing,
one's isolation up there; but it was too profound to be pleasant. A relief to
get down again, to hear people talk, to feel the solid earth under one's feet.
How did it impress you ? "
This was like Drew. I felt ashamed of the lightness of my
own thoughts, but I had to tell him of my speculations upon after-the-war
developments in aviation: nurses flying Voisins, with the cars filled with
babies; old men having after-dinner naps in twenty-three- metre Nieuports,
fitted, for safety, with Sperry gyroscopes; family parties taking comfortable
outings in gigantic biplanes of the R-6 type; mothers, as of old, gazing
apprehensively at speed-dials, cautioning fathers about "driving too fast," and
all of the rest.
Drew looked at me reprovingly, to be sure, but he felt the
need, just as I did, of an outlet to his feelings, and so he turned to this
kind of comic relief with the most delightful reluctance. He quickly lost his
reserve , and in the imaginative spree which followed we went far beyond the
last outposts of absurdity. We laughed over our own wit until our faces were
tired. However, I will not be explicit about our folly. It might not be so
amusing from a critical point of view.
After our papers had been viseed at the office of the
commandant, we hurried back to our machines, eager to be away again. We were to
make our second landing at R. It was about seventy kilometres distant and
almost due north. The mere name of the town was an invitation. Somewhere, in
one of the novels of William J. Locke, may be found this bit of dialogue:
"But, master," said I, "there is, after all, color in words.
Don't you remember how delighted you were with the name of a little town we
passed through on the way to Orleans? R? You were haunted by it and said
it was like the purple note of an organ.."
We were haunted by it, too, for we were going to that very
town. We would see it long before our arrival a cluster of quaint old
houses lying in the midst of pleasant fields, with roads curving toward it from
the north and south, as though they were glad to pass through so delightful a
place. Drew was for taking a leisurely route to the eastward, so that we might
look at some villages which lay some distance off our course. I wanted to fly
by compass in a direct line, without following my map very closely. We had
planned to fly together, and were the more eager to do this because of an
argument we had had about the relative speed of our machines. He was certain
that his was the faster. I knew that, with mine, I could fly circles around
him. As we were not able to agree on the course, we decided to postpone the
race until we started on the homeward journey. Therefore, after we had passed
over the town, he waved his hand, bent off to the northeast, and was soon out
of sight.
I kept straight on, climbing steadily, until I was again at
five thousand feet. As before, my motor was running perfectly and I had plenty
of leisure to enjoy the always new sensation of flight and to watch the wide
expanse of magnificent country as it moved slowly past. I let my mind lie
fallow, and every now and then I would find it hauling out fragments of old
memories which I had forgotten that I possessed.
I recalled, for the first time in many years, my earliest
interpretations of the meanings of all the phenomena of the heavens. Two old
janitor saints had charge of the floor of the skies. One of them was a jolly
old man who liked boys, and always kept the sky swept clean and blue. The other
took a sour delight in shirking his duties, so that it might rain and spoil all
our fun. Perhaps it was Drew's sense of loneliness and helplessness so far from
earth, which made me think of winds and clouds in friendly human terms. However
that may be, these reveries, hardly worthy of a military air- man, were
abruptly broken into.
All at once, I realized that, while my biplane was headed
due north, I was drifting north and west. This seemed strange. I puzzled over
it for some time, and then, brilliantly, in the manner of the novice, deduced
the reason: wind. I was being blown off my course, all the while comfortably
certain that I was flying in a direct line toward R. Our moniteurs had
often cautioned us against being comfortably certain about anything while in
the air. It was our duty to be uncomfortably alert. Wind! I wonder how many
times we had been told to keep it in mind at all times, whether on the ground
or in the air? And here was I forgetting the existence of wind on the very
first occasion. The speed of my machine and the current of air from the
propeller had deceived me into thinking that I was driving dead into whatever
breeze there was at that altitude. I discovered that it was blowing out of the
east, therefore I headed a quarter into it, to overcome the drift, and looked
for landmarks.
I had not long to search. Wisps of mist obstructed the view,
and within ten minutes a bank of solid cloud cut it off completely. I had only
a vague notion of my location with reference to my course, but I could not
persuade myself to come down just then. To be flying in the full splendor of
bright April sunshine, knowing that all the earth was in shadow, gave me a
feeling of exhilaration. For there is no sensation like that of flight, no
isolation so complete as that of the airman who has above him only the blue
sky, and below, a level floor of pure white cloud, stretching in an unbroken
expanse toward every horizon. And so I kept my machine headed northeast, that I
might regain the ground lost before I discovered the drift northwest. I had
made a rough calculation of the time required to cover the seventy kilometres
to R at the speed at which I was traveling. The rest I left to Chance,
the godfather of all adventurers.
He took the initiative, as he so frequently does with
aviators who, in moments of calm weather, are inclined to forget that they are
still children of earth. The floor of dazzling white cloud was broken and
tumbled into heaped-up masses which came drifting by at various altitudes. They
were scattered at first and offered splendid opportunities for aerial
steeplechasing. Then, almost before I was aware of it, they surrounded me on
all sides. For a few minutes I avoided them by flying in curves and circles in
rapidly vanishing pools of blue sky. I feared to take my first plunge into a
cloud, for I knew, by report, what an alarming experience it is to the new
pilot.
The wind was no longer blowing steadily out of the east. It
came in gusts from all points of the compass. I made a hasty revision of my
opinion as to the calm and tranquil joys of aviation, thinking what fools men
are who willingly leave the good green earth and trust themselves to all the
winds of heaven in a frail box of cloth-covered sticks.
The last clear space grew smaller and smaller. I searched
for an outlet, but the clouds closed in and in a moment I was hopelessly lost
in a blanket of cold drenching mist.
I could hardly see the outlines of my machine and had no
idea of my position with reference to the earth. In the excitement of this new
adventure I forgot the speed-dial, and it was not until I heard the air
screaming through the wires that I remembered it. The indicator had leaped up
fifty kilometres an hour above safety speed, and I realized that I must be
traveling earthward at a terrific pace. The manner of the descent became clear
at the same moment. As I rolled out of the cloud-bank, I saw the earth jauntily
tilted up on one rim, looking like a gigantic enlargement of a page out of
Peter Newell's " Slant Book." I expected to see dogs and dishpans, baby
carriages and ash-barrels roll out of every house in France, and go clattering
off into space.
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