Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.fadedpage.net FAMOUS FLYERS AND THEIR FAMOUS FLIGHTS By CAPT. J. J. GRAYSON [Illustration] THE WORLD SYNDICATE PUBLISHING COMPANY Cleveland, Ohio â New York, N. Y. ----- Copyright _by_ THE WORLD SYNDICATE PUB. CO. 1932 _Printed in the United States of America_ by THE COMMERCIAL BOOKBINDING CO. CLEVELAND, O. ----- CONTENTS PAGE CHAPTER IâExciting News CHAPTER IIâCaptain Bill CHAPTER IIIâThe Wright Brothers CHAPTER IVâSome War Heroes CHAPTER VâThe Eagle CHAPTER VIâMore About The Eagle CHAPTER VIIâA Close Shave CHAPTER VIIIâNorth Pole and South CHAPTER IXâFour Women Flyers CHAPTER XâHawks and Doolittle CHAPTER XIâHal Comes Through ----- FAMOUS FLYERS AND THEIR FAMOUS FLIGHTS CHAPTER IâExciting News Bob Martin stood outside the large red brick house and whistled. He whistled three notes, a long and two short, which meant to Hal Gregg inside that Bob wanted to see him, and to see him quickly. Something was up. At least, that was what it should have meant to Hal, but evidently it didnât, because no answering whistle came out to Bob, and no head appeared in any of the windows. Bob whistled again, this time a little more shrilly, and he kept on whistling until a pale, spectacled face appeared at an upstairs window. The window was thrown open, and Bob shouted up before Hal Gregg had a chance to speak. âHey, whatâs the idea of keeping me waiting? Hurry up, come on down, Iâve got something great to tell you.â âHold your horses. I didnât hear you whistle at first. I was reading,â called down Hal. Bob snorted. âPut it away and hurry up down. Books can wait. You should hear the news Iâve got to tell you.â âThe bookâs swell,â said Hal. âItâs that new book on aviation I got for my birthday. Is your news more important than that?â âYou bet it is,â yelled Bob. âAnd if you arenât down here in two seconds, Iâm going to keep it to myself. And wonât you be sorry!â Hal laughed. âIâll be down in one second. Iâm not going to have you knowing anything I donât know. Youâre too smart now.â The dark head disappeared from the window, reappeared atop the narrow shoulders of its owner at the front door within a few seconds, bobbing about as he leaped down the front steps two at a time. Hal Gregg joined his pal Bob under the maple tree on the Gregg front lawn. The two boys made a strange contrast as they flung themselves down in the shade of the tree. They were the same age, sixteen, with Hal having a little edge on his friend. But Bob could have passed for the other boyâs big brother. He was a full head taller, his shoulders were broader, his complexion ruddier. He was the typical outdoor boy, with tousled brown hair, a few unruly freckles, and a broad pleasant face. Hal Gregg was short and slight, with sloping narrow shoulders. His complexion was dark, and his large, serious eyes were hidden behind shell-rimmed eye-glasses. Yet though they were such a badly matched team, the two boys were fast friends. Their friendship had begun strangely. In the first place, they lived next door to each other, on a quiet, shady side-street in the large city of Crowley. Bob had lived there first, while the red brick house next to his had been empty for a long time. Nobody Bobâs age had ever lived in that house, and he had grown to look at it as an old fogey sort of a house, very dull, and fit only for grownups. It didnât seem as though young people could ever live in it. So heâd been pretty much excited when he found out that the house had been sold, and that a boy his own age was going to move in. But his first glimpse of Hal was a disappointed one. âOh, golly, just my luck,â he said to his mother. âSomebody my own age moves in next door at last, and look what he turns out to be.â Mrs. Martin had also caught a glimpse of Hal as he had got out of the automobile with his mother, and entered the house. âHe seems to me to be a very nice boy,â she said quietly. âNice! Thatâs just the point. He looks as though heâs so nice heâll be as dull as ditchwater. Iâll bet heâs the kind that canât tell one airplane from another, and buys his radio sets all made up, with twenty tubes and all kinds of gadgets. Lot of fun Iâll have with him!â Mrs. Martin smiled and said nothing. She was a wise mother. She knew that if she praised Hal too much he would seem just so much worse in her sonâs eyes. So she resolved to let him decide for himself, just as she always let him decide, whether he wanted Hal for a friend or not. For several days Bob saw nothing of Hal, but one day, as he rode his bicycle up the driveway that separated the two houses, he heard someone hail him. He looked over into the Gregg yard and saw Hal there, stretched out in a steamer chair, an open book in his lap. He looked very small and puny. Bob got down from his bike. He was embarrassed. Hal hailed him again. âCome on over,â he called. Bob got down and walked over to where the other boy was sitting. The meeting between two strange boys is usually a hard one, with suspicion on both sides. But Hal seemed surprisingly pleasant. âIâve seen you riding around,â he said, âbut I havenât had a chance to call you before. Iâm Hal Gregg. Youâre Bob, arenât you?â âSure,â grinned Bob. He was beginning to think that this Hal might not be such a bad sort. âHow did you know?â âOh, Iâm a Sherlock Holmes. Anyway, Iâve heard your mother calling to you. And if she calls you âBob,â that must be your name.â Bob laughed, âYouâre right, she ought to know,â he said. But he didnât know what to say next. Hal filled in the gap. âYou go swimming a lot, and bicycling, donât you?â âSure,â Bob replied. âThatâs about all a fellow likes to do in summer. Donât you swim?â Halâs forehead wrinkled. âMy mother doesnât like me to go swimming,â he said. âIâve never had a bike, either. You see, my motherâs always afraid that somethingâll happen to me. She hasnât got anybody but me, you know. I havenât got a father, or any other family. I guess thatâs what makes Mother so anxious about me.â âMy mother never seems to worry very much about me,â said Bob. âAt least, she never shows it.â Hal looked at Bob enviously. âYou donât have to be worried about,â he said. âYouâre as husky as they come.â Bob felt himself getting warm. This wasnât the way for a fellow to talk. All of his friends called each other âshrimpâ or âsawed-off,â no matter how big and husky they might be. None of them ever showed such poor taste as to compliment a fellow. He guessed, and correctly, that Hal hadnât been with boys enough to learn the proper boy code of etiquette. But he just said, âAw, Iâm not so husky,â which was the proper answer to a compliment, anyway. âYou sure are,â said Hal. âYou see, I was a sickly child, and had to be taken care of all the time. Iâm all right now, but my mother doesnât seem to realize it. She still treats me as though I was about to break out with the measles any minute. I guess thatâs about all I used to do when I was a kid.â âWith measles?â laughed Bob. âI thought that you could get those only once.â âOh, if it wasnât measles, then something else. Anyway, here I am.â Bobâs opinion of the boy had sunk lower and lower. He saw that they werenât going to get on at all. Why, the boy was nothing but a mollycoddle, and not much fun. âWhat do you do for fun?â he asked, curiously. âOh, I read a lot,â said Hal, picking up the book in his lap. Bobâs mind was now more firmly made up. A fellow who spent all his time reading was no fun at all. And he neednât think that Bob was going to encourage any friendship, either. âWhatâs the book?â he asked. âA biography,â said Hal. âBiography!â thought Bob, but he looked at the title. It was a life of Admiral Byrd. Bobâs eyes lighted up. âOh, say,â he said, âis that good?â âItâs great,â said Hal. âYou know, I read every book on aviators that comes out. Iâve always wanted to be oneâan aviator, you know.â Bob sat up and took notice. âGee, you have? Why, so have I. My Uncle Billâs an aviator. You ought to know him. He was in the war. Joined when he was just eighteen. Iâm going to be an aviator, too.â âYou are? Have you ever been up?â âNo,â said Bob, âbut Iâm going some day. Billâs going to teach me how to pilot a plane. Heâs promised. Heâs coming to visit us some time and bring his own plane. Dad takes me out to the airport whenever he can, and we watch the planes. Iâve never had a chance to go up, though.â Halâs eyes clouded. âI hope you get to be an aviator,â he said, âI donât think that I ever shall. My motherâd never allow me to go up.â âOh, sure, she would,â consoled Bob, âif you wanted to badly enough. Have you ever built a plane? A model, I mean?â âHave I? Dozens. One of them flew, too. Youâve got to come up to my workshop and see them,â said Hal eagerly. âI read every new book that comes out. I think that airplanes are the greatest thing out.â âYouâve got to see my models, too. I made a _Spirit of St. Louis_ the year that Lindy flew across the Atlantic. Of course it isnât as good as my later ones. Say, weâre going to have a swell time, arenât we?â At that moment Bob knew that he and Hal were going to be good friends. And good friends they were. There were a great many things about Hal that annoyed Bob no end at first. Hal was, without a doubt, his motherâs boy. He was afraid of thingsâthings that the fearless Bob took for granted. He was afraid of the darkâafraid of getting his feet wetâafraid of staying too late and worrying his mother. And then he was awkward. Bob tried gradually to initiate him into masculine sportsâbut it irked him to watch Hal throw a ball like a girl, or swim like a splashing porpoise. But he had to admit that Hal tried. And when he got better at things, it was fun teaching him. Bob felt years older than his pupil, and gradually came to take a protective attitude toward him that amused his mother. Mrs. Martin smiled one day when Bob complained about Halâs awkwardness in catching a ball. âWell,â she said, âyou may be teaching Hal things, but heâs teaching you, too, and you should be grateful to him.â âWhatâs he teaching me?â asked Bob, surprised. âI notice, Bob, that youâre reading a great deal more than you ever have. I think that thatâs Halâs influence.â âOh, that,â said Bob, âwhy, we read the lives of the famous flyers, thatâs all. Why, thatâs fun. Thatâs not reading.â Mrs. Martin smiled again, and kept her customary silence. The strange friendship, founded on the love of airplanes, flourished. The boys were always together, and had invented an elaborate system of signals to communicate with each other at such times as they werenât with one another. Two crossed flags meant âCome over at once.â One flag with a black ball on it meant âI canât come over.â These flags, usually limp and bedraggled by the elements horrified the parents of both Bob and Hal when they saw them hanging in various intricate designs out of windows and on bushes and trees in the garden. But since they seemed necessary to the general scheme of things, they were allowed to go unmolested, even in the careful Gregg household. The friendship had weathered a summer, a school year, and was now entering the boysâ summer vacation again. It was at the beginning of this vacation that Bob whistled to Hal and called to him to come down to hear his wonderful news. âWell,â said Hal, âspill the news.â It must be said of Hal that he tried even to master the language of the real boy in his education as a good sport. âBillâs coming,â said Bob, trying to hide his excitement, but not succeeding very well. âWhat?â shouted Hal. âSure, Captain Billâs coming to spend the summer with us. Heâs flying here in his own plane.â âOh, golly,â said Hal, and could say no more. Captain Bill was the boysâ patron saint. It had been through his uncle Bill that Bob Martin had developed his mania for flying. Captain Bill Hale was Bobâs motherâs youngest brother, the adventurous member of the family, who had enlisted in the Canadian army when he was eighteen, at the outbreak of the war. When the United States joined the big battle, he had gone into her air corps to become one of the armyâs crack flyers, with plenty of enemy planes and blimps to his credit. A crash had put him out of commission at the end of the war, but had not dulled his ardor for flying. For years he had flown his own plane both for commercial and private reasons. As Bobâs hero, he had always written to the boy, telling him of his adventures, encouraging him in his desire to become an aviator. He had never found the time actually to visit for any length of time with his sister and her family, but had dropped down from the sky on them suddenly and unexpectedly every so often. But now, as Bob explained carefully to Hal, he was coming for the whole summer, and was going to teach him, Bob, to fly. âOh, boy, oh, boy, oh, boy,â Bob chortled, âwhat a break! Captain Bill here for months, with nothing to do but fly us around.â Hal did not seem to share his friendâs enthusiasm. âFly us around? Not us, Bob, old boyâyou. My mother will never let me go up.â Halâs face clouded. Bob slapped him on the back. âOh, donât you worry. Your mother will let you fly. Sheâs let you do a lot of things with me that she never let you do before. Weâll get her to come around.â But Hal looked dubious. âNot that, Iâm afraid. Sheâs scared to death of planes, and gets pale if I even mention flying. But thatâs all right. Iâll do my flying on the ground. You and Bill will have a great time.â âBuck up,â said Bob. âDonât cross your bridges until you come to them. Weâll work on your mother until she thinks that flying is the safest thing in the world. And it is, too. Weâll let Captain Bill talk to her. He can make anybody believe anything. Heâll have her so thoroughly convinced that sheâll be begging him to take you up in the air to save your life. See if he doesnât! Bill is great!â Hal was visibly improved in spirits. âWhenâs Bill coming in?â he asked. âSix tonight,â said Bob. âDown at the airport. Dad says that heâll drive us both out there so that we can meet Captain Bill, and drive him back. Gee, wouldnât it be great if he had an autogyro and could land in our back yard?â âMaybe heâll have one the next time he comes. What kind of plane is he flying?â âHis new Lockheed. Itâs a monoplane, he says, and painted green, with a reddish nose. Itâs green because his partner, Pat, wanted it green. Patâs been his buddy since they were over in France together, and anything that Pat says, goes. Itâs got two cockpits, and dual controls. Itâs just great for teaching beginners. That means us, Hal, old boy. Listen, youâd better get ready. Dad will be home soon, and will want to start down for the port. Say, does that sound like thunder?â The boys listened. It did sound like thunder. In fact, it was thunder. âGolly, I hope it doesnât storm. Mother wonât let me go if it rains.â Bob laughed. âI wouldnât worry about you getting wet if it stormed,â he said. âWhat about Bill, right up in the clouds? Of course, he can climb over the storm if itâs not too bad. But you hurry anyhow. Weâll probably get started before it rains, anyway.â At ten minutes to six Hal, Bob and Bobâs father were parked at the airport, their necks stretched skyward, watching the darkening, clouded skies for the first hint of a green monoplane. No green monoplane did they see. A few drops of rain splattered down, then a few more, and suddenly the outburst that had been promising for hours poured down. Bobâs father, with the aid of the two boys, put up the windows of the car, and they sat fairly snug while the rain teemed down about them. The field was becoming sodden. Crashes of lightning and peals of thunder seemed to flash and roll all about them. All of the airplanes within easy distance of their home port had come winging home like birds to an enormous nest. The three watchers scanned each carefully, but none was the green Lockheed of Captain Bill. The time passed slowly. Six-thirty; then seven. Finally Mr. Martin decided that they could wait no longer. âHeâs probably landed some place to wait for the storm to lift,â he said. âHe can take a taxi over to the house when he gets in.â Reluctant to leave, the boys nevertheless decided that they really couldnât wait all night in the storm for Captain Bill, and so they started for home. Very wet, and bedraggled, and very, very, hungry, they arrived. Halâs mother was practically hysterical, met him at the door, and drew him hastily into the house. Mr. Martin and his son ran swiftly from the garage to the back door of their house, but were soaked before they got in. Entering the darkened kitchen, they could hear voices inside. âDoesnât that sound likeâwhy, it isâthatâs Billâs voice,â shouted Bob. The light switched on, and Bill and Mrs. Martin came into the kitchen to greet their prodigal relatives. âHello,â said Bill, âwhere have you people been? You seem to be wet. Shake on it.â âWell, how in theâhow did you get in?â shouted Mr. Martin, pumping Billâs hand. âWe were waiting in the rain for you for hours.â âI know,â said Bill, contritely, âwe tried to get in touch with you, but we couldnât. You see, I came in by train.â âBy train!â exclaimed Bob. âBy train!â âWhy, sure,â laughed the Captain, âWhy, arenât you glad to see me without my plane? Thatâs a fine nephewly greeting!â âOh, gee, Bill, of course Iâm glad to see you, butâwell, Iâve sort of been counting on your bringing your plane.â Bill laughed. âThe planeâs coming all right,â he said. âWe had a little accident the other day, and the wing needed repairing. I decided not to wait for it, but to come in on the train to be with you. So Pat McDermott is bringing the plane in in a few days. Is that all right? May I stay?â âYup, you can stay,â said Bob. âBut I want something to eat!â âEverythingâs ready,â said Mrs. Martin. âYou change your clothes, and come right down to dinner.â âSure thing,â said Bob. But he did not change immediately. He stopped first to put two crossed flags in the window, which meant to Hal, âCome right over.â CHAPTER IIâCaptain Bill Hal couldnât come right over. He had to be fussed over, steamed, dosed, and put to bed so that he would suffer no ill effects from his soaking that evening. But he was over bright and early the next morning. It had rained all night, and was still raining in a quiet, steady downpour, when Hal appeared at the Martin home, dressed in rubbers, raincoat, muffler, and carrying an umbrella to protect him on his long trek from his own front door to his friendâs. Captain Bill would have been startled at the strangely bundled figure of Hal, but he had been warned, and greeted Hal without a blink of an eyelash. In fact, as soon as Hal had been unwrapped from his many coverings, and had spoken to them all, Captain Bill discovered that he was probably going to like this boy after all, and was pleased that his nephew had such good judgment in choosing a friend and companion. They talked that morning, of course, about airplanes, and the boys told how they had been reading about the famous flyers, and of their hopes to be flyers themselves some day. Bill had been a good listener, and had said very little, but after lunch Hal said what had been on his chest for a long time. âCaptain Bill, weâve been doing all the talking. Why donât you tell us a story?â The Captain laughed. âI think that Bobâs heard all my stories. Iâm afraid that theyâre a little moth-eaten now. But how about the two of you telling me a story? Some of the things that youâve been reading so carefully. How about it?â âWe canât tell a story the way you can, old scout,â said Bob. âAnyway, we asked you first.â âAll right, Iâm caught,â said the Captain. âBut Iâll tell you a story only on one condition. Each of you has to tell one too. Thatâs only fair, isnât it?â Bob and Hal looked at each other. Hal spoke. âIâm afraid I wonât be able to,â he said, blushing. âI canât tell stories, Iâm sure I canât.â Captain Bill knew that it would be tactless at that moment to try to convince Hal that he could tell a story. It would only increase the boyâs nervousness, and convince him only more of the fact that he could not spin a yarn. So he said, âWell, weâll tell ours first, and you can tell yours later. After you hear how bad ours are, youâll be encouraged.â Then Bill had an idea. âHow about having a contest?â he said. âThe one who tells the best story gets a prize.â âWhat prize?â asked Bob quickly. âNow, you take your time. Weâll decide on the prize later. Weâll have to let Pat in on this, too, I suppose, but heâs going to give us some competition. Patâs a great story teller. Iâll tell my story first. Then Bob can tell his, after heâs had some time for preparation; then Pat will probably want to get his licks in; and Hal will come last. Heâll have the benefit of our mistakes to guide him. How about it?â âAll right with me,â said Bob, eagerly. He was keen about the idea. But Hal seemed less enthusiastic. His natural reticence, he felt, would make it torture for him to tell a story. It would be all right just for Bobâand he was even getting well enough acquainted with Captain Bill to tell his story in front of himâbut this Pat McDermottâeven his name sounded formidable. Captain Bill didnât give him a chance to say aye, yea, or nay, but went on talking. âI think that we ought to choose subjects that you two know about,â said Bill. âHow about stories of the aviatorsâof Famous Flyers and their Famous Flights?â âGreat!â said Bob. âGee, I want Lindbergh.â âLindbergh you shall have,â said Captain Bill. âWhatâs yours Hal?â âI donât know,â said Hal. âIâll have to think it over. ButâI think that Iâd like to take the life of Floyd Bennettâif I may.â âOf course,â said Bill. âI think that Iâll tell about Admiral Byrdâdo you think heâd make a good story?â âMarvelous!â said Bob, with his usual enthusiasm. âWhatâll we leave for Pat?â âPat can take whomever he wants to take,â the Captain said. âHeâll have to take whatâs left. Thatâs what he gets for coming late. But what do you say we wait to start the contest when Pat comes?â âYes, oh, yes, I think that that would be much better,â said Hal, relieved that the ordeal would at least be postponed, even if it could not be avoided altogether. âI think that we ought to wait until Mr. McDermott comes.â The Captain laughed. âDonât let him hear you call him âMr. McDermottââ he said. âHeâs Pat to everybody, and to you, too.â âIâll try to remember,â said Hal, miserably, thinking of what a complicated world this was. It was still raining outside. The boys and the Captain, seated in the library, or rather, sprawled in the library, could see the streams of rain splash against the windows and run down in little rivers until they splashed off again at the bottom of the pane. Captain Bill yawned and stretched. âNot much to do on a day like this. Iâm mighty anxious to get out to the airport as soon as it clears up. Whatâll we do?â Bob had an idea. âCouldnât we sort of sneak one over on Pat?â he said. âCouldnât we have a story, one not in the contest, now? It wouldnât count, really, and it would give us a little rehearsal before Pat gets here.â âWhoâs going to tell this story?â asked Captain Bill, looking just a bit suspiciously at his nephew. Bob grinned. âWell, I thought that maybe you would. Seeing that youâre the best story-teller anyway.â âGo long with your blarney. But I guess I will tell you one. It will be a sort of prologue to the rest of our stories. Itâs about the very first flyers and the very first famous flight.â âThe Wrights?â asked Hal. âThe Wrights,â said the Captain. âWilbur and Orville, and their first flight at Kitty Hawk, North Carolina.â CHAPTER IIIâThe Wright Brothers The Captain had first to fill his pipe, and stretch his legs before he began his story. âOf course,â he said, âwe canât really say that the Wrights were the first men to fly, or to build a machine that would fly. Even in the middle ages Leonardo da Vinci drew up plans for a flying machine. Just before the Wrightâs experiment Langley had stayed up in the air in a machine invented and built by himself. If he had not died at so unfortunate a period in his experimental life, perhaps he might have been the inventor of the airplane. âThe Wrights invented the airplane in the same degree that Thomas Edison invented the electric light. Men had experimented with both inventions for many years. But it took the genius of the Wrights, the genius of an Edison to bring together these experiments, to think through logically just wherein they were right and where they were wrong, and to add the brilliant deductions that brought their experiments to a practical and successful end. Edisonâs discovery was dependent upon the finding of the proper filament for his bulb; the Wrightsâ success hinged upon their discovery of the warped wing, which gave them control over their plane. âThe fact that the Wrights were not the first to fly does not detract from the thing that they actually did. At the time that they were making their first flying machine, any man who tampered with the subject of flying through the air was looked upon as crazy. And this was not more than a quarter of a century ago. Seems funny, doesnât it? But they were not to be discouraged. They knew that they were right, and they went ahead. They had many set-backs. Their planes were wrecked. What did they do? They just built them over again, and were glad that they had learned of some new defect that they could re-design and correct. âYou notice that I always talk of âthe Wrightsâ as though they were one person; everybody does. In fact, they almost were one person. They were always together; lived together, played together, although they didnât play much, being a serious pair, and worked together. They never quarreled, never showed any jealousy of each other, never claimed the lionâs share of praise in the invention. They were just âthe Wrights,â quiet, retiring men, who did much and talked little. âFrom early childhood it was the same. Wilbur Wright, the elder of the two, was born in Milville, Indiana, and lived there until he was three years old with his parents, Milton Wright, bishop of the United Brethren Church, and Susan Katherine Wright. In 1870 the family moved to Dayton, Ohio, and in 1871 Orville Wright was born. From a very early age the two were drawn to each other. Their minds and desires were similar. âWhen Wilbur decided that he would rather go to work after being graduated from High School, Orville decided that he, too, would give up his formal education, and devote himself to mechanics. âThey were born mechanics, always building miniature machines that actually worked. They did not stop studying, but took to reading scientific works that were of more help to them than formal education. In this way they learned printing, and built themselves a printing press out of odds and ends that they assembled. On this they began to publish a little newspaper, but they gave this up when another opportunity presented itself. âBicycles were coming in at that time, and the Wright brothers set up a little shop to repair them. From the repair shop they developed a factory in which they manufactured bicycles themselves. Their business was very successful, and they were looked upon as young men who were likely to get along in the world. This was in 1896. âThat year Otto Lilienthal, a famous German experimenter, was killed in his glider, just at the peak of his career. Wilbur read an account of his death in the newspaper, and discussed it with his brother. The event renewed the interest that they had always had in flying, and they set about studying all of the books that they could find on the problem of flight. They soon exhausted all that they could get, and decided that their groundwork had been laid. From then on their work was practical, and they discovered principles that had never been written, and which resulted in the first flight. âThe first things that they built were kites, and then gliders that were flown as kites. The Wrights were after the secret of the birdsâ flight, and felt that they could apply it to manâs flight. Their next step was the construction of a real glider. But the country around Dayton was not favorable for flying their craft. They wrote to the United States government to find a region that had conditions favorable to their gliding. That is how the obscure Kitty Hawk, North Carolina, came to be the famous place that it is. It happened to have just south of it three hills, Kill Devil Hill, Little Hill, and West Hill. Between the hills was soft drifting sand, that would provide a better landing place than hard earth in case of a spill. The winds were steady and moderate. âTo Kitty Hawk the Wrights went. Here they glided to their heartâs content, until they decided that they had learned to control their flights, and were ready to build a plane with power. They went back to Dayton in 1902. They designed and supervised the building of the motor themselves, one that would generate twelve horsepower. Satisfied, they set out once more for Kitty Hawk, with the motor and parts of their plane carefully stowed away. âThey got down there in the early autumn, but found so many difficulties to overcome, that they could not make the first tests until December. In the first place, they discovered that a storm had blown away the building which they had built to work in when they first got to Kitty Hawk. However, everything was at last ready, the weather favorable, and the plane was hauled up Kill Devil Hill, and guided toward the single track of planks that had been laid down the hill. âWho was going to get the first chance to pilot the plane? Who was going to be the first man to fly? Orville insisted that Wilbur be the one; Wilbur insisted that Orville should be the first. They decided it by flipping a coin. Wilbur won. He got into the plane, unfastened the wire that held the plane to the track, and started down. He ended in a heap at the bottom of the hill, uninjured, but with several parts of the plane damaged. âThe Wrights were nothing daunted. They repaired the plane as quickly as possible, and on December 17, they were ready for the second trial. It was Orvilleâs turn, of course. He unloosened the wire; the plane started down the hill; at the end of a forty-foot run it rose into the air. It kept on going, in a bumpy, irregular course, now swooping up, now diving down, for 120 feet, then darted to earth. The flight had taken in all just twelve seconds, but the Wrights had flown. âI suppose youâve seen pictures of that first plane. It wasnât much more than a box in shape, a biplane, with no cockpit at all, just the wings held together by struts, and a seat in the center for the pilot. A man had to be tough to fly one of those planes. The wonder is that any of them escaped with their lives. They had to sit up there exposed to all the elements, and pilot the clumsy planes. And yet they grew into skilful and expert pilots, and could loop the loop and figure eight in them! The Wrights themselves were excellent flyers. This seems only natural, with their natural born gift for mechanics. It was well that they were good flyers, because it was up to them to prove to the world that their craft was safe, and practical. âIt was hard at first. People were skeptical as to whether the Wrights really had a ship that flew. Some of their tests were unsuccessful, and they were laughed to scorn. However, France, who had been more advanced than the United States in the matter of experimentation in flying, became interested in the new flying machine, and sent representatives over to the United States to inspect it. With the French approving of it, the United States became more interested. The government offered a prize of $25,000, for anyone who would build a plane that would travel 40 miles an hour, carry enough fuel and oil to cruise for 125 miles, and fly continuously for at least an hour, with two persons weighing together 350 pounds. The Wrights built such a machine, and the government not only gave them the $25,000, but an additional $5,000 besides. âIn the meanwhile Wilbur Wright had gone to France, where he participated in many flights, and won the hearts of the French people by staying in the air for an hour and a half. At the end of the year, 1908, he stayed in the air over two hours. âThe Wrights were showing what they could do. Flying became the rage. Society took it up, and traveled to the Wrights to see their planes. But the Wrights, no more impressed by this than they were by anything else, kept right on working. They were financed by a group of able financiers in the United States, and founded the Wright Aeroplane Company for the manufacture of planes, and they were content. âAfter 1909, their point proved, the Wrights did very little flying. They spent their time in engineering problems, making improvements on the planes that they were designing and manufacturing. âThey did some more experimenting with gliders, but this was in order to perfect the art of soaring. âIn May, 1912, Wilbur Wright died, and broke up the famous partnership that had existed for so many years. Since his death his brother has lived quietly. He has not flown, and has acted as advisor to his company as they turn out more and more modern planes. He is one man who has lived to see a thing that he started himself grow into a blessing to mankind. And if the airplane isnât that, Iâd like to know what is.â âI think so,â said Bob. âWho are you to think so?â asked Bill, sitting up very suddenly. Bob was non-plussed for a moment, but then saw that his uncle was joking, and laughed. They were interrupted by the ringing of the doorbell. âWell,â said the Captain, âwho could be out in weather like this?â They heard the front door open, voices, and then the closing of the door. In a short while the footsteps of Mrs. Martin sounded on the steps, and she entered the library. âA telegram for you, Bill,â she said, and handed it to him. âMy, you three look cozy up here. I suppose youâve been yarning, havenât you?â She gave her brother a playful poke. Captain Bill, who had risen when his sister came in, offered his chair before he opened the telegram. âJoin us, wonât you, Sis?â His sister laughed. âI really canât go before I see what is in the telegram,â she said. âOf course, I suppose I should be polite and pretend not to be interested in it, but I am. We all are, arenât we, boys?â Bob and Hal grinned. âWell, then,â said Bill, âI guess Iâll have to see whatâs in it.â He opened the telegram, and glanced hurriedly over it. âPatâs landing tomorrow,â he said. âHe wants us to be out at the airport to see the _Marianne_ come in.â âHurray!â shouted Bob, and went into a war dance. His mother looked at him tolerantly. She was used to Bobâs antics. âWhat time is Pat coming in?â she asked. âHe didnât say. In fact, thatâs all he didnât say in this telegram. But I guess heâll start out about dawn and get here around noon. Anyway, weâll be going down to the airport tomorrow morning to look around. Weâll stay there until that Irishman rolls in.â âWhat will you do about lunch?â asked the practical Mrs. Martin. âWhy, weâll eat at the airport restaurant,â said Bill. âDonât worry about us, Sis.â Mrs. Martin looked dubious. She glanced at Hal. She knew that Halâs mother liked to supervise her sonâs meals, and did not care to have him eat at strange places. Mrs. Martin felt that it would be a shame to spoil the expedition for such a trivial reason, so she said, âI have an idea. Iâll pack a lunch for all of you tonight, and you can take it with you tomorrow. How will that be? You can eat it anyplace around the airport. Itâll be a regular picnic. There are some nice places around the port that you can go to. How about that?â Bob answered for them. âThat will be great. Gee, Bill, do you remember the picnic baskets that Mom can pack? Weâre in luck.â âDo I remember?â said Bill. âHow could I forget? You fellows had better be up pretty early tomorrow.â âYou bet we will, Captain,â said Bob. Then Hal said, âI guess Iâd better be going. My mother will be wondering if Iâm never coming home. I hope that I can come with you tomorrow.â âHope you can come with us? Why, of course youâre coming with us. We wonât go without you,â Captain Bill said explosively. âIâll see,â said Hal. âIâll ask Mother. Maybe sheâll let me go. But anyway, Iâll let you know. Iâll put up the flags in the workshop window. All right?â âSure,â said Bob, and walked out with Hal. He saw the boy to the door, and warned him again to be sure to come. When the two boys had left the room, Captain Bill turned to his sister. âSay,â he said, âdo you think that Halâs mother really wonât let him come, or is the boy looking for a way out?â âWhy, what do you mean?â asked Mrs. Martin. âJust this,â said Bill, and puffed vigorously on his pipe. âIâve been watching the boy, and I think that heâs afraid.â âAfraid of what?â âAfraid of actually going up in an airplane. I feel that a change has come over him since there has been an actual chance of his learning to fly,â explained the Captain. His sister looked pensive. âBut heâs always been so interested in flying. Thatâs all the two of them ever talk about.â âPerhaps. When there was no immediate chance of his going up in a plane. Now that there is, I think heâd like to back out.â âThere is his mother to consider, of course,â said Mrs. Martin. âShe would undoubtedly object very strenuously if he merely went to the airport. You must remember that heâs all she has. Sheâs always so careful of him.â The Captain snorted. âToo careful,â he said. âSheâs made the boy a bundle of fears. Bob has helped him get over some of them, but I think that theyâre cropping out now. It will be very bad for Hal if he funks this. I think that it will hurt him a great deal. If he succeeds in overcoming his fears now for once and for all, if he learns to go up in a plane, even if he may never fly one himself, he will be a new boy. Heâll never be afraid again. But one let-down now, and he will be set way backâeven further back than when Bob first met him.â âI think youâre right, Bill,â said his sister. âBut what are we going to do about it?â The Captain shrugged his shoulders. âI think the best thing to do with the boy is not to let him know that we know heâs afraid. Treat him just as if he were the bravest lad in the world. Iâll take care of that. But I canât take care of his mother. I never was a ladyâs man,â smiled Captain Bill. âYouâll have to attend to that.â Mrs. Martinâs brow wrinkled. âI think youâve taken the easier task,â she said with a wry smile. âIâd much rather teach a boy to overcome his fears than teach a mother to overcome hers. But Iâll try,â she added, and hoped against hope for success. Bob burst into the room. âHow about something to eat?â he said. âIâm starved!â âAs usual,â said his mother. âI would like to hear you just once complain about being not hungry.â âAll right, mother,â said Bob. âIf you want to hear me complain about that, you just feed me a good dinner now, and Iâll do my best to complain about being not hungryâafter I finish it.â âYouâre an impossible son,â said his mother, but smiled fondly at him. She really didnât believe it. CHAPTER IVâSome War Heroes Whether secret springs were put into operation by Mrs. Martin that afternoon or not, nevertheless Hal was able to join the party going to the airport early the next morning. It was a beautiful morning. It had stopped raining, and the sun, coming out strong and bright, had dried everything so thoroughly that only an occasional puddle here and there on the road showed that it had rained at all. The drive to the port was pleasant, too; the port being about a mile out of town, and at least five miles from the Martin home. When they arrived, the dayâs program was in full sway. A huge tri-motored plane was loading passengers for a cross-country trip. As the three approached the port, they saw the great plane rise into the air and take off exactly on schedule. Smaller planes were flying about above the airport, and on the ground mechanics were working over several planes that needed overhauling. Captain Bill wanted to go first to the administration building, a large white brick structure, modern as any office building in appearance. He wanted to see the head of the airport, an old friend of his, and make the final arrangements for the care of his plane when it came in. As they were about to enter the building, a tall, heavy-set man passed them, on his way out. Captain Bill started, and half turned. âWell, if that didnât look likeââ he began, then turned and went on into the building. âLooked like an old flying buddy of mine. But of course, it couldnât be. Old Hank never was that fat. Never had an ounce of fat on him. All skin and bone. But you never can tell, eh, boys?â âYouâll be getting there yourself, some day, be careful,â laughed Bob. John Headlund, delighted to see Captain Bill, jumped up from his desk, and pumped his hands up and own. âIf it isnât the Captain! Man, itâs great to see you again!â Headlund and Bill had flown together in France, and although they had kept in touch with each other a few years after they had returned to America, the press of business had kept them apart, and they had not seen each other for years. Captain Bill presented the boys. âTheyâre going to bring new business for you, Headlund,â said Bill. âHere are two of Americaâs future flyers.â The boys grinned. Headlund, after wishing them success, turned again to Bill. âDo you see any of the old boys?â he asked. âPat McDermottâs my partner,â said Bill. âHeâs flying the old boat in this afternoon sometime.â âHe is! Thatâs great! And quite a coincidence, too. Do you know who was hereâleft just before you came in?â âNot Hank Brown!â shouted Bill. âBy golly, I thought I recognized that face! Old Hank! What was he doing here?â âHeâs got a ship down here in one of our hangars. Itâs a beautyâa four passenger cabin plane, with the pilotâs seat up frontâa beautiful job. Listen, Hankâs gone down to the hangar now to look it over. Maybe you can catch him down there. Itâs Avenue B, the last hangar in line.â âGreat. Iâd like to see Hank. Last time I saw him he was in an English hospital, eating porridge and not liking it at all. Who would have thought that the old skinny marink would have put on all that poundage? Old Hank fat! And flying in a cabin plane. Come on, fellows, weâve got to go down there and see him.â He turned to Headlund. âIâm going to be in town all summer, Heady, and I guess youâll be seeing plenty of me. What street did you say? Avenue B?â Captain Bill and the boys hurried out, found the right road, and walked along it until they came to the last hangar. A beautiful plane, black and aluminum, stood outside. But as they approached, there was nobody to be seen. âAhoy, there!â shouted Bill. âAnybody here know Hank Brown?â Hank himself appeared from the other side of the plane, where he had been conferring with a mechanic. âIâm Henry Brown,â he said, peering from behind gold-rimmed glasses at Bill and the boys. His face registered no sign of recognition at first. Then suddenly it lighted up, he rushed forward, and gripped Captain Billâs hand in his, slapping him heartily on the back with the other. âWell, Bill! You old sock! Where on earth did you come from? What are you doing here? Where have you been?â Bill, delighted to see his old buddy, laughed at him, and poked him in his now well-padded ribs. âOne question at a time, Hank. What are you doing here? And how come youâve got this grand ship?â asked Bill. âI asked you first,â laughed Hank. They spent the next ten minutes telling each other just what they had been doing since their last meeting. They spared the details, but each was satisfied with the otherâs story. Hank had done well as the manager and later as president of his fatherâs steel plant. Prosperity had ironed out the wrinkles that had always twinkled around his steely grey eyes, and contentment had added inches to his waistline, but he was still the same generous, fun-loving Hank that the boys had known in France. âListen,â said Hank. âCome on in and try the plane. See how comfortable it is. Say, this is some different from the old rattletraps we used to fly, isnât it?â âBut we had some good thrills in them, didnât we,â said Bill. This meeting with Hank was bringing
{'title': 'Famous Flyers and Their Famous Flights by Jack Wright', 'source': 'Project Gutenberg', 'lang': 'en'}