Famous Flyers Part 9

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 your story for just a minute and give you a few pointers? This is mostly for you and Hal. You'll never be able to fly unless you understand what the instruments on the dashboard are for. Of course a lot of the old flyers, like Patrick, here, flew just by instinct, and stuck their heads out over the c.o.c.kpit to see what was happening. A real pilot nowadays, though, can be sealed in his c.o.c.kpit and never see ahead of him from the time he takes off until he lands, just so long as his instruments are working. 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 the tachometer. This is the instrument that shows the number of revolutions per minute, or R. P. M.'s that the engine is making. A flyer must know how many R. P. M.'s his engine must make to maintain a correct flying speed, or he'll go into a stall, which is bad. I'll tell you more about stalls later. The altimeter registers the height at which the plane is flying. It isn't very accurate at low alt.i.tudes, but it's all right higher up. You soon learn by the feel and the lay of the land how high up you are. The exact height doesn't matter in ordinary flying, just so that you keep a good alt.i.tude. Then there's that most important instrument, the earth inductor compa.s.s. This is much more accurate than a magnetic compa.s.s, and it keeps the s.h.i.+p on its course. It operates in regard to the electro-magnetic reactions of the earth's field, and directions are indicated in reference to magnetic north. To steer by this compa.s.s, 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 you must bring your plane back to the right. When he changes his course, the pilot consults his maps and graphs, and makes a change in the indicator of the compa.s.s.

"Then there is the air speed indicator, which shows the speed of the plane in the air. This is necessary so that the engine is not over-speeded. A pilot never runs his plane at full speed as a general thing, because he'll wear out his engine. He keeps it at about 80 per cent of its potential speed, which is a good safe margin.

"The turn and bank indicator also reads from zero, and deviates from zero when the plane dips. The bubble rides up to the left when the plane banks right, and rides up to the right when the plane banks left. When the s.h.i.+p is again on an even keel, the indicator goes back to zero. The pilot, when he isn't flying blind, can keep his plane level by noticing the position of the radiator cap or top of the engine in respect to the horizon. But in a heavy fog, or if he can't see over his c.o.c.kpit, the horizon doesn't exist, and a bank and turn indicator is his instrument.

"The instruments that are no less important than these are the oil gauge, the gasoline pressure gauge, and the thermometer, which shows whether the motor is overheating. If the oil gauge shows that the oil is at a good cool temperature, and the gasoline pressure gauge shows that the gas pressure is up, the pilot knows that his motor is running nicely. The gas pressure gauge won't tell you how much gas you have left, though. It's always best to figure how much gas you're going to need on a trip, and then take some over for emergencies. Most planes also have an emergency tank, so that if one tank gives out, the other can be switched on, and will give the flyer time to maneuver about until he finds a landing place." Captain Bill paused. "Well, those are your instruments. I'll probably have to explain them all over to you again when 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. He had listened intently to the Captain's instructions, but there was an odd 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 a story being told? Get on with you."

"It's no fault of mine, Patrick," said Bob, looking meaningly at the Captain, who appeared as innocent as a lamb. "I'm always being rudely interrupted. But I'll go on. Where was I?"

"The Lindbergh lad was at Curtiss Field, waiting this long time to be off," said Pat.

"Oh, yes. Well, when he got word that the weather was O.K., he got his sandwiches, his canteens of water, and started off on the greatest flight in aviation history. And I've told you about that."

"We seem to be right back where we started from," the Captain said. "Is that the end of your story?"

Bob laughed. "By no means. You've got a lot to hear yet. What do you suppose I've been collecting dope for all these weeks? I've got a lot to tell you. Lindy wasn't satisfied with one great trip. He's been flying since, and has made some pretty important jaunts. Things happened to him after he got back to America loaded down with about every kind of medal that 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. "But not now, my lad." He rose stiffly from the gra.s.s. "You're mother will be looking for us, and wondering what's become of us. We'd better get for home."

"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 or not."

Hal looked up fervently at Bob. "Oh, we like it, Bob. I think it's a great 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, I don't see why anybody can't do great things if he's got grit enough.

That's what it takes-Grit."

CHAPTER VI-More About The Eagle

It was after dinner at the Martin's. Captain Bill, Pat, and the two boys had gone out to the garden. The Captain and Bob were stretched out in two deck chairs, the Captain's long legs sticking out a long way past the end of the low foot-rest. Pat lay in the glider, swinging himself lazily, squeaking in a melancholy rhythm at each forward and back push, Hal, who had got permission from his mother to eat dinner with the Martin's, lay on a rug thrown down on the gra.s.s. The dusk was turning to dark, and the Captain's pipe was beginning to show up as a dull glow in the fading light.

For a while n.o.body spoke. Then Pat said, "Well, Robert, tell us the end of your story."

"I've been thinking of where to start. We left Lindy over in Europe, coming back to the United States. He didn't come right back, though. He had to tour about some of the foreign countries, as an amba.s.sador of good will, and get decorated with about every kind of medal that was ever made. It must have been pretty boring for him to go to banquet after banquet, and listen to all those speeches praising him. He must have blushed like anything at some of those flowery compliments. But he stayed calm, and didn't lose his head and get all swelled up over the receptions and cheers and everything. He knew that everybody meant every word he said, and that they were mighty pleased with him. They gave him all sorts of presents. He could have started a store with them. But I guess that most of them are in the Lindbergh museum now.

"Well, the honors they heaped on Lindy in France and England and Belgium were nothing to what was waiting for him when he got back to the United States. New York turned out, it seemed, to a man. They had a parade miles long, with Lindy the chief attraction, sitting on top of an open car, smiling at the mobs of screaming, shouting people all along the way. It rained ticker tape for hours, and people in offices tore up telephone books and added the bits of paper to the rainstorm. n.o.body could do enough for the Colonel." Bob looked around at the group. "He wasn't the Captain any more," he explained. "He was now Colonel Lindbergh. Well, anyway, there were banquets and parties, until Lindy had to leave. St. Louis started where New York left off. After all it was St. Louis where Lindy had found his backers, and naturally they were pretty proud of him there. Slim took it all smiling, just as modest as he'd been from the beginning. There was no fussing him. And the people loved it. Slim was the most talked-about hero the United States has ever adopted. Why, you remember that almost everything from candy-bars to swimming suits were named after him-and a whole lot of new babies, too.

All the kids in America were crazy about him, and they all wore aviator's helmets and made plans to become aviators as soon as they were old enough. It seems that Lindy's plan was pretty successful. He wanted to get people to talking and thinking about airplanes, and believe me, they didn't talk or think about much else from the time he set out from Roosevelt field."

"You'd think that he'd be tired and ready for a rest after his flight, and his receptions, but even though he may have been tired, he thought he'd strike while the iron was hot, and follow up his good work, this business of getting people aviation conscious. And I guess, too, he felt that he owed something to the people of the United States for being so kind to him, so Lindy set out on a trip around the country. He stopped at almost every important city, and covered every state in the union. He traveled almost 20,000 miles. And that's some traveling. Just think if he'd had to travel that distance in a train! He'd be going yet. Well, every place that he stopped gave him three rousing cheers, and then some. You'd think that by that time he'd be pretty tired. If it had been me, I'd have turned around and bitten some of the welcoming committee.

But not Lindy. He stuck it out, and smiled at them all.

"And after the country-wide tour was over, he took his Mexican and Central American and South American trip. It was this trip that clinched his name of 'Good Will Amba.s.sador,' although he'd been one to all of the European countries that he went to. In December, seven months after his famous flight, he pointed the nose of the old Spirit of St. Louis south, and lit out for Mexico City.

"They were pretty anxious to see him down there, and the Mexican National aviation field was crowded long before Lindy was due to get there. Everybody knew that this was one flyer who always got places when he said he'd get there. He was never off schedule. So imagine how everybody felt when the time set by him to reach Mexico City pa.s.sed, and no Lindy showed up. Well, they were all set to call out the reserves, when Slim Lindbergh winged into sight, and made a sweet landing on the Mexican field.

"There was some cheering-more, maybe than if he'd got there on schedule, although you don't see how that could be possible. They gave Lindy a chance to explain that he'd been lost in the fog, and then they went on with their entertaining and celebrating.

"Mexico City was pretty important to Lindbergh, although n.o.body knew it then. Dwight Morrow was Amba.s.sador to Mexico then, and he had a daughter named Anne. Well, I don't like to get sentimental-I guess I can't tell romantic stories-well, anyway, that part comes later."

Captain Bill saw fit to interrupt the story here. He saw that Bob was embarra.s.sed, and saw an opportunity to rub it in. "What part?" he asked, innocently, knocking the heel of ash from his pipe as he did so.

"Oh, you know, Lindy's marrying Anne Morrow, and that."

"Well, we certainly demand the whole thing. You can't leave anything out," insisted Bill.

"Aw, all right, but it doesn't come in now."

"We can wait," said Bill, and settled back satisfied.

"From Mexico City," went on Bob, grateful that his ordeal bad been put off, "Lindy flew off down to Central America. First he zig-zagged a bit to get in all of the little countries, and went from Guatemala City to Belize in British Honduras, and then back again to San Salvador, and from then on straight down the narrow isthmus to Teguci-Teguci-well, that place in Honduras."

"Tegucigalpa," said Pat.

"That's it," said Bob. "And from Teguci-and from there, he went on to Managua, and then to Costa Rica-San Jose. Now he was just about three hundred and twenty-five miles from the Panama Ca.n.a.l, as the crow flies-or rather, as Lindy flies, which is much better than any crow I've ever seen. He didn't have any trouble making the flight, and say that they weren't glad to see him down there, especially in the Ca.n.a.l Zone, where the Americans lived. They entertained him royally, and he went into the jungles of Panama for a hunting trip, which must have been great. They have all sorts of wild hogs, deer and pheasants, and it must have made grand hunting.

"But after all, Lindy couldn't stay anyplace very long. South America was waiting for him. So he packed himself off, and flew to Cartagena, in Colombia, adding another continent to his list. From Cartagena he flew to Bogota, and then straight across the top of South America to the east coast. He stayed at Maracay, Venezuela. I never heard of it before, did any of you?" Bob paused dramatically for a reply.

There was only a dead silence for a second, and then, since none else spoke, Hal felt called upon to confess his ignorance, "I never did," he said. "And gee, Bob, how do you remember all these places that Lindbergh stopped at? I never would in a hundred years."

"Oh, it's easy," said Bob airily. He did not tell them of the long hours that he had spent memorizing the towns and cities that Lindbergh had stopped at in his good will tour, nor the hundreds of times that he had wished that Lindy had flown to some easy place like Canada, where the names were all p.r.o.nounceable. But then, Lindy might have flown to Wales, and Bob, having seen Welsh names, thanked his lucky stars for such places as Tegucigalpa and Bogota. And now, having at least impressed Hal, he went on with renewed enthusiasm.

"Maracay," he said, "was the jumping off place for the thousand-mile jump to the Virgin Islands. You see, Lindy was on his way back to the United States. He hopped from island to island in the Caribbean Sea, stopping at San Juan, Porto Rico; Santo Domingo; Port-au-Prince in Hayti; and then to Havana. From Havana he made the biggest hop of all, and landed smack in St. Louis without sitting down once along the way.

He made some twelve hundred miles in about fifteen and a half hours.

"Somebody figured up how long he had flown, and how long he took for the whole 'good will' trip, and found out that he'd made sixteen flights to fifteen countries, and had gone 8,235 miles in one hundred and a half hours. Of course, that was actual flying time. The trip had taken him just two months, because he got back to St. Louis on February 13th, and he'd left Boiling Field at Was.h.i.+ngton on December 13th. But in those two months Lindy accomplished a great deal. He'd made friends with all the little countries down to our south, and with Mexico, too. They understood us better, and we got to understand them better. Gee, wouldn't it be great if airplanes would make people friendlier? I mean, we're so close to each other now, it seems as though we ought to know more about each other, and like each other better. I may not be saying that so well, but you fellows know what I mean, don't you?"

"That's a very good philosophy," said Captain Bill, and Bob beamed as broadly as the moon that had risen over the trees and was s.h.i.+ning over the little group in the garden. "Let's hope that you're right."