The Aeroplane Speaks [22]
its soft dark blue shadows; the beautiful contrasts of unusual shades of colour which are always differing and shifting with the changing sunshine and the ever moving position of the aerial observer. Ah! for some better pen than mine to describe these things! One with glowing words and a magic rhythm to express the wonders of the air and the beauty of the garden beneath--the immensity of the sea--the sense of space and of one's littleness there--the realization of the Power moving the multitudes below--the exaltation of spirit altitude produces--the joy of speed. A new world of sensation!
Now the bay is almost crossed and the Aerodrome at B can be distinguished.
On the Aerodrome is a little crowd waiting and watching for the arrival of the Aeroplane, for it is of a new and improved type and its first 'cross-country performance is of keen interest to these men; men who really know something about flight.
There is the Squadron Commander who has done some real flying in his time; several well-seasoned Flight- Commanders; a dozen or more Flight-Lieutenants; a knowledgeable Flight-Sergeant; a number of Air Mechanics, and, a little on one side and almost unnoticed, the Designer.
``I hope they are all right,'' said someone, ``and that they haven't had difficulties with the fog. It rolled up very quickly, you know.''
``Never fear,'' remarked a Flight-Commander. ``I know the Pilot well and he's a good 'un; far too good to carry on into a fog.''
``They say the machine is really something out of the ordinary,'' said another, ``and that, for once, the Designer has been allowed full play; that he hasn't been forced to unduly standardize ribs, spars, struts, etc., and has more or less had his own way. I wonder who he is. It seems strange we hear so little of him.''
``Ah! my boy. You do a bit more flying and you'll discover that things are not always as they appear from a distance!''
``There she is, sir!'' cries the Flight-Sergeant. ``Just a speck over the silvery corner of that cloud.''
A tiny speck it looks, some six miles distant and three thousand feet high; but, racing along, it rapidly appears larger and soon its outlines can be traced and the sunlight be seen playing upon the whirling propeller.
Now the distant drone of the engine can be heard, but not for long, for suddenly it ceases and, the nose of the Aeroplane sinking, the craft commences gliding downwards.
``Surely too far away,'' says a subaltern. It will be a wonderful machine if, from that distance and height, it can glide into the Aerodrome.'' And more than one express the opinion that it cannot be done; but the Designer smiles to himself, yet with a little anxiety, for his reputation is at stake, and Efficiency, the main reward he desires, is perhaps, or perhaps not, at last within his grasp!
Swiftly the machine glides downwards towards them, and it can now be seen how surprisingly little it is affected by the rough weather and gusts; so much so that a little chorus of approval is heard.
``Jolly good gliding angle,'' says someone; and another, ``Beautifully quick controls, what?'' and from yet another, ``By Jove! The Pilot must be sure of the machine. Look, he's stopped the engine entirely.''
Then the Aeroplane with noiseless engine glides over the boundary of the Aerodrome, and, with just a soft soughing sound from the air it cleaves, lands gently not fifty yards from the onlookers.
``Glad to see you,'' says the Squadron Commander to the Pilot. ``How do you like the machine?'' And the Pilot replies:
``I never want a better one, sir. It almost flies itself!''
And the Designer turns his face homewards and towards his beloved drawing-office; well satisfied, but still dreaming dreams of the future and . . . looking far ahead whom should he see but Efficiency at last coming towards him! And to him she is all things. In her hair is the morning sunshine; her eyes hold the blue of the sky, and on her cheeks is the pearly tint of the clouds as seen from above. The passion of speed, the lure of space, the sense of power, and the
Now the bay is almost crossed and the Aerodrome at B can be distinguished.
On the Aerodrome is a little crowd waiting and watching for the arrival of the Aeroplane, for it is of a new and improved type and its first 'cross-country performance is of keen interest to these men; men who really know something about flight.
There is the Squadron Commander who has done some real flying in his time; several well-seasoned Flight- Commanders; a dozen or more Flight-Lieutenants; a knowledgeable Flight-Sergeant; a number of Air Mechanics, and, a little on one side and almost unnoticed, the Designer.
``I hope they are all right,'' said someone, ``and that they haven't had difficulties with the fog. It rolled up very quickly, you know.''
``Never fear,'' remarked a Flight-Commander. ``I know the Pilot well and he's a good 'un; far too good to carry on into a fog.''
``They say the machine is really something out of the ordinary,'' said another, ``and that, for once, the Designer has been allowed full play; that he hasn't been forced to unduly standardize ribs, spars, struts, etc., and has more or less had his own way. I wonder who he is. It seems strange we hear so little of him.''
``Ah! my boy. You do a bit more flying and you'll discover that things are not always as they appear from a distance!''
``There she is, sir!'' cries the Flight-Sergeant. ``Just a speck over the silvery corner of that cloud.''
A tiny speck it looks, some six miles distant and three thousand feet high; but, racing along, it rapidly appears larger and soon its outlines can be traced and the sunlight be seen playing upon the whirling propeller.
Now the distant drone of the engine can be heard, but not for long, for suddenly it ceases and, the nose of the Aeroplane sinking, the craft commences gliding downwards.
``Surely too far away,'' says a subaltern. It will be a wonderful machine if, from that distance and height, it can glide into the Aerodrome.'' And more than one express the opinion that it cannot be done; but the Designer smiles to himself, yet with a little anxiety, for his reputation is at stake, and Efficiency, the main reward he desires, is perhaps, or perhaps not, at last within his grasp!
Swiftly the machine glides downwards towards them, and it can now be seen how surprisingly little it is affected by the rough weather and gusts; so much so that a little chorus of approval is heard.
``Jolly good gliding angle,'' says someone; and another, ``Beautifully quick controls, what?'' and from yet another, ``By Jove! The Pilot must be sure of the machine. Look, he's stopped the engine entirely.''
Then the Aeroplane with noiseless engine glides over the boundary of the Aerodrome, and, with just a soft soughing sound from the air it cleaves, lands gently not fifty yards from the onlookers.
``Glad to see you,'' says the Squadron Commander to the Pilot. ``How do you like the machine?'' And the Pilot replies:
``I never want a better one, sir. It almost flies itself!''
And the Designer turns his face homewards and towards his beloved drawing-office; well satisfied, but still dreaming dreams of the future and . . . looking far ahead whom should he see but Efficiency at last coming towards him! And to him she is all things. In her hair is the morning sunshine; her eyes hold the blue of the sky, and on her cheeks is the pearly tint of the clouds as seen from above. The passion of speed, the lure of space, the sense of power, and the