The Aeroplane Speaks [17]
as he climbs into the front seat from which he will command a good view over the lower plane; and the Pilot takes his place in the rear seat, and, after making himself perfectly comfortable, fixing his safety belt, and moving the control levers to make sure that they are working freely, he gives the signal to the Engine Fitter to turn the propeller and so start the engine.
Round buzzes the Propeller, and the Pilot, giving the official signal, the Aeroplane is released and rolls swiftly over the ground in the teeth of the gusty wind.
In less than fifty yards it takes to the air and begins to climb rapidly upwards, but how different are the conditions to the calm morning of yesterday! If the air were visible it would be seen to be acting in the most extraordinary manner; crazily swirling, lifting and dropping, gusts viciously colliding--a mad phantasmagoria of forces!
Wickedly it seizes and shakes the Aeroplane; then tries to turn it over sideways; then instantly changes its mind and in a second drops it into a hole a hundred feet deep, and if it were not for his safety belt the Pilot might find his seat sinking away from beneath him.
Gusts strike the front of the craft like so many slaps in the face; and others, with the motion of mountainous waves, sometimes lift it hundreds of feet in a few seconds, hoping to see it plunge over the summit in a death-dive--and so it goes on, but the Pilot, perfectly at one with his mount and instantly alert to its slightest motion, is skilfully and naturally making perhaps fifty movements a minute of hand and feet; the former lightly grasping the ``joy-stick'' which controls the Elevator hinged to the tail, and also the Ailerons or little wings hinged to the wing-tips; and the latter moving the Rudder control-bar.
A strain on the Pilot? Not a bit of it, for this is his Work which he loves and excels in; and given a cool head, alert eye, and a sensitive touch for the controls, what sport can compare with these ever-changing battles of the air?
The Aeroplane has all this time been climbing in great wide circles, and is now some three thousand feet above the Aerodrome which from such height looks absurdly small. The buildings below now seem quite squat; the hills appear to have sunk away into the ground, and the whole country below, cut up into diminutive fields, has the appearance of having been lately tidied and thoroughly spring-cleaned! A doll's country it looks, with tiny horses and cows ornamenting the fields and little model motor-cars and carts stuck on the roads, the latter stretching away across the country like ribbons accidentally dropped.
At three thousand feet altitude the Pilot is satisfied that he is now sufficiently high to secure, in the event of engine failure, a long enough glide to earth to enable him to choose and reach a good landing-place; and, being furthermore content with the steady running of the engine, he decides to climb no more but to follow the course he has mapped out. Consulting the compass, he places the Aeroplane on the A--E course and, using the Elevator, he gives his craft its minimum angle of incidence at which it will just maintain horizontal flight and secure its maximum speed.
Swiftly he speeds away, and few thoughts he has now for the changing panorama of country, cloud, and colour. Ever present in his mind are the three great 'cross-country queries. ``Am I on my right course? Can I see a good landing-ground within gliding distance?'' And ``How is the Engine running?''
Keenly both he and the Observer compare their maps with the country below. The roads, khaki-coloured ribbons, are easily seen but are not of much use, for there are so many of them and they all look alike from such an altitude.
Now where can that lake be which the map shows so plainly? He feels that surely he should see it by now, and has an uncomfortable feeling that he is flying too far West. What pilot is there indeed who has not many times experienced such unpleasant sensation? Few things in the air can create greater anxiety. Wisely, however, he sticks
Round buzzes the Propeller, and the Pilot, giving the official signal, the Aeroplane is released and rolls swiftly over the ground in the teeth of the gusty wind.
In less than fifty yards it takes to the air and begins to climb rapidly upwards, but how different are the conditions to the calm morning of yesterday! If the air were visible it would be seen to be acting in the most extraordinary manner; crazily swirling, lifting and dropping, gusts viciously colliding--a mad phantasmagoria of forces!
Wickedly it seizes and shakes the Aeroplane; then tries to turn it over sideways; then instantly changes its mind and in a second drops it into a hole a hundred feet deep, and if it were not for his safety belt the Pilot might find his seat sinking away from beneath him.
Gusts strike the front of the craft like so many slaps in the face; and others, with the motion of mountainous waves, sometimes lift it hundreds of feet in a few seconds, hoping to see it plunge over the summit in a death-dive--and so it goes on, but the Pilot, perfectly at one with his mount and instantly alert to its slightest motion, is skilfully and naturally making perhaps fifty movements a minute of hand and feet; the former lightly grasping the ``joy-stick'' which controls the Elevator hinged to the tail, and also the Ailerons or little wings hinged to the wing-tips; and the latter moving the Rudder control-bar.
A strain on the Pilot? Not a bit of it, for this is his Work which he loves and excels in; and given a cool head, alert eye, and a sensitive touch for the controls, what sport can compare with these ever-changing battles of the air?
The Aeroplane has all this time been climbing in great wide circles, and is now some three thousand feet above the Aerodrome which from such height looks absurdly small. The buildings below now seem quite squat; the hills appear to have sunk away into the ground, and the whole country below, cut up into diminutive fields, has the appearance of having been lately tidied and thoroughly spring-cleaned! A doll's country it looks, with tiny horses and cows ornamenting the fields and little model motor-cars and carts stuck on the roads, the latter stretching away across the country like ribbons accidentally dropped.
At three thousand feet altitude the Pilot is satisfied that he is now sufficiently high to secure, in the event of engine failure, a long enough glide to earth to enable him to choose and reach a good landing-place; and, being furthermore content with the steady running of the engine, he decides to climb no more but to follow the course he has mapped out. Consulting the compass, he places the Aeroplane on the A--E course and, using the Elevator, he gives his craft its minimum angle of incidence at which it will just maintain horizontal flight and secure its maximum speed.
Swiftly he speeds away, and few thoughts he has now for the changing panorama of country, cloud, and colour. Ever present in his mind are the three great 'cross-country queries. ``Am I on my right course? Can I see a good landing-ground within gliding distance?'' And ``How is the Engine running?''
Keenly both he and the Observer compare their maps with the country below. The roads, khaki-coloured ribbons, are easily seen but are not of much use, for there are so many of them and they all look alike from such an altitude.
Now where can that lake be which the map shows so plainly? He feels that surely he should see it by now, and has an uncomfortable feeling that he is flying too far West. What pilot is there indeed who has not many times experienced such unpleasant sensation? Few things in the air can create greater anxiety. Wisely, however, he sticks