Famous Flyers and Their Famous Flights

CHAPTER I – Exciting News

Bob Martin stood outside the large redbrick house and whistled. He whistled threenotes, a long and two short, which meantto Hal Gregg inside that Bob wanted tosee him, and to see him quickly. Somethingwas up. At least, that was what it shouldhave meant to Hal, but evidently it didn’t, because no answering whistle came out toBob, and no head appeared in any of thewindows.

Bob whistled again, this time a little moreshrilly, and he kept on whistling until apale, spectacled face appeared at an upstairswindow. The window was thrown open, and Bob shouted up before Hal Gregg hada chance to speak.

“Hey, what’s the idea of keeping mewaiting? Hurry up, come on down, I’vegot something great to tell you.”

“Hold your horses. I didn’t hear youwhistle at first. I was reading,” called downHal.

Bob snorted. “Put it away and hurry updown. Books can wait. You should hearthe news I’ve got to tell you.”

“The book’s swell,” said Hal. “It’s thatnew book on aviation I got for my birthday.Is your news more important than that?”

“You bet it is,” yelled Bob. “And if youaren’t down here in two seconds, I’m goingto keep it to myself. And won’t you besorry!”

Hal laughed. “I’ll be down in one second.I’m not going to have you knowinganything I don’t know. You’re too smartnow.” The dark head disappeared from thewindow, reappeared atop the narrow shouldersof its owner at the front door withina few seconds, bobbing about as he leapeddown the front steps two at a time. HalGregg joined his pal Bob under the mapletree on the Gregg front lawn.

The two boys made a strange contrast asthey flung themselves down in the shade ofthe tree. They were the same age, sixteen, with Hal having a little edge on his friend.But Bob could have passed for the otherboy’s big brother. He was a full head taller, his shoulders were broader, his complexionruddier. He was the typical outdoorboy, with tousled brown hair, a few unrulyfreckles, and a broad pleasant face. Hal Greggwas short and slight, with sloping narrowshoulders. His complexion was dark, andhis large, serious eyes were hidden behindshell-rimmed eye-glasses. Yet though theywere such a badly matched team, the twoboys were fast friends.

Their friendship had begun strangely. Inthe first place, they lived next door to eachother, on a quiet, shady side-street in thelarge city of Crowley. Bob had lived therefirst, while the red brick house next to hishad been empty for a long time. NobodyBob’s age had ever lived in that house, andhe had grown to look at it as an old fogeysort of a house, very dull, and fit only forgrownups. It didn’t seem as though youngpeople could ever live in it. So he’d beenpretty much excited when he found out thatthe house had been sold, and that a boy hisown age was going to move in.

But his first glimpse of Hal was a disappointedone. “Oh, golly, just my luck,”he said to his mother. “Somebody my ownage moves in next door at last, and lookwhat he turns out to be.”

Mrs. Martin had also caught a glimpseof Hal as he had got out of the automobilewith his mother, and entered the house. “Heseems to me to be a very nice boy,” she saidquietly.

“Nice! That’s just the point. He looksas though he’s so nice he’ll be as dull asditchwater. I’ll bet he’s the kind that can’ttell one airplane from another, and buyshis radio sets all made up, with twenty tubesand all kinds of gadgets. Lot of fun I’llhave with him!”

Mrs. Martin smiled and said nothing. Shewas a wise mother. She knew that if shepraised Hal too much he would seem justso much worse in her son’s eyes. So she resolvedto let him decide for himself, just asshe always let him decide, whether he wantedHal for a friend or not.

For several days Bob saw nothing of Hal, but one day, as he rode his bicycle up thedriveway that separated the two houses, heheard someone hail him. He looked overinto the Gregg yard and saw Hal there, stretched out in a steamer chair, an openbook in his lap. He looked very small andpuny. Bob got down from his bike. Hewas embarrassed. Hal hailed him again.“Come on over,” he called.

Bob got down and walked over to wherethe other boy was sitting. The meeting betweentwo strange boys is usually a hardone, with suspicion on both sides. But Halseemed surprisingly pleasant. “I’ve seen youriding around,” he said, “but I haven’t hada chance to call you before. I’m Hal Gregg.You’re Bob, aren’t you?”

“Sure,” grinned Bob. He was beginningto think that this Hal might not be sucha bad sort. “How did you know?”

“Oh, I’m a Sherlock Holmes. Anyway,I’ve heard your mother calling to you.And if she calls you ‘Bob,’ that must beyour name.”

Bob laughed, “You’re right, she oughtto know,” he said. But he didn’t knowwhat to say next. Hal filled in the gap.

“You go swimming a lot, and bicycling, don’t you?”

“Sure,” Bob replied. “That’s about all afellow likes to do in summer. Don’t youswim?”

Hal’s forehead wrinkled. “My motherdoesn’t like me to go swimming,” he said.“I’ve never had a bike, either. You see, mymother’s always afraid that something’ll happento me. She hasn’t got anybody butme, you know. I haven’t got a father, orany other family. I guess that’s what makesMother so anxious about me.”

“My mother never seems to worry verymuch about me,” said Bob. “At least, shenever shows it.”

Hal looked at Bob enviously. “You don’thave to be worried about,” he said. “You’reas husky as they come.”

Bob felt himself getting warm. Thiswasn’t the way for a fellow to talk. Allof his friends called each other “shrimp”or “sawed-off,” no matter how big and huskythey might be. None of them ever showedsuch poor taste as to compliment afellow. He guessed, and correctly, that Halhadn’t been with boys enough to learn theproper boy code of etiquette. But he justsaid, “Aw, I’m not so husky,” which wasthe proper answer to a compliment, anyway.

“You sure are,” said Hal. “You see, Iwas a sickly child, and had to be taken careof all the time. I’m all right now, but mymother doesn’t seem to realize it. She stilltreats me as though I was about to breakout with the measles any minute. I guessthat’s about all I used to do when I was akid.”

“With measles?” laughed Bob. “I thoughtthat you could get those only once.”

“Oh, if it wasn’t measles, then somethingelse. Anyway, here I am.”

Bob’s opinion of the boy had sunk lowerand lower. He saw that they weren’t goingto get on at all. Why, the boy was nothingbut a mollycoddle, and not much fun.“What do you do for fun?” he asked, curiously.

“Oh, I read a lot,” said Hal, picking upthe book in his lap.

Bob’s mind was now more firmly madeup. A fellow who spent all his timereading was no fun at all. And he needn’t thinkthat Bob was going to encourage any friendship, either. “What’s the book?” he asked.

“A biography,” said Hal.

“Biography!” thought Bob, but he lookedat the title. It was a life of AdmiralByrd.

Bob’s eyes lighted up. “Oh, say,” hesaid, “is that good?”

“It’s great,” said Hal. “You know, Iread every book on aviators that comes out.I’ve always wanted to be one – an aviator, you know.”

Bob sat up and took notice. “Gee, youhave? Why, so have I. My Uncle Bill’san aviator. You ought to know him. Hewas in the war. Joined when he was justeighteen. I’m going to be an aviator, too.”

“You are? Have you ever been up?”

“No,” said Bob, “but I’m going someday. Bill’s going to teach me how to pilota plane. He’s promised. He’s coming tovisit us some time and bring his own plane.Dad takes me out to the airport wheneverhe can, and we watch the planes. I’ve neverhad a chance to go up, though.”

Hal’s eyes clouded. “I hope you get tobe an aviator,” he said, “I don’t think thatI ever shall. My mother’d never allow meto go up.”

“Oh, sure, she would,” consoled Bob, “ifyou wanted to badly enough. Have youever built a plane? A model, I mean?”

“Have I? Dozens. One of them flew, too. You’ve got to come up to my workshopand see them,” said Hal eagerly. “Iread every new book that comes out. Ithink that airplanes are the greatest thingout.”

“You’ve got to see my models, too. Imade a Spirit of St. Louis the year that Lindyflew across the Atlantic. Of course itisn’t as good as my later ones. Say, we’regoing to have a swell time, aren’t we?” Atthat moment Bob knew that he and Halwere going to be good friends.

And good friends they were. There werea great many things about Hal that annoyedBob no end at first. Hal was, without adoubt, his mother’s boy. He was afraid ofthings – things that the fearless Bob took forgranted. He was afraid of the dark – afraidof getting his feet wet – afraid of stayingtoo late and worrying his mother. And thenhe was awkward. Bob tried gradually toinitiate him into masculine sports – but itirked him to watch Hal throw a ball like agirl, or swim like a splashing porpoise. Buthe had to admit that Hal tried. And whenhe got better at things, it was fun teachinghim. Bob felt years older than his pupil, and gradually came to take a protective attitudetoward him that amused his mother.

Mrs. Martin smiled one day when Bobcomplained about Hal’s awkwardness incatching a ball. “Well,” she said, “you maybe teaching Hal things, but he’s teaching you, too, and you should be grateful to him.”

“What’s he teaching me?” asked Bob, surprised.

“I notice, Bob, that you’re reading agreat deal more than you ever have. I thinkthat that’s Hal’s influence.”

“Oh, that,” said Bob, “why, we readthe lives of the famous flyers, that’s all. Why, that’s fun. That’s not reading.”

Mrs. Martin smiled again, and kept hercustomary silence.

The strange friendship, founded on thelove of airplanes, flourished. The boys werealways together, and had invented anelaborate system of signals to communicate witheach other at such times as they weren’t withone another. Two crossed flags meant“Come over at once.” One flag with a blackball on it meant “I can’t come over.” Theseflags, usually limp and bedraggled by theelements horrified the parents of both Boband Hal when they saw them hanging invarious intricate designs out of windows andon bushes and trees in the garden. But sincethey seemed necessary to the general schemeof 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 theboys’ summer vacation again. It was at thebeginning of this vacation that Bob whistledto Hal and called to him to come down tohear his wonderful news.

“Well,” said Hal, “spill the news.” Itmust be said of Hal that he tried even tomaster the language of the real boy in hiseducation as a good sport.

“Bill’s coming,” said Bob, trying to hidehis excitement, but not succeeding very well.

“What?” shouted Hal.

“Sure, Captain Bill’s coming to spend thesummer with us. He’s flying here in hisown plane.”

“Oh, golly,” said Hal, and could say nomore.

Captain Bill was the boys’ patron saint.It had been through his uncle Bill that BobMartin had developed his mania for flying.Captain Bill Hale was Bob’s mother’s youngestbrother, the adventurous member of thefamily, who had enlisted in the Canadianarmy when he was eighteen, at the outbreakof the war. When the United States joinedthe big battle, he had gone into her air corpsto become one of the army’s crack flyers, with plenty of enemy planes and blimps tohis credit. A crash had put him out of commissionat the end of the war, but had notdulled his ardor for flying. For years hehad flown his own plane both for commercialand private reasons.

As Bob’s hero, he had always written tothe boy, telling him of his adventures, encouraginghim in his desire to become an aviator.He had never found the time actuallyto visit for any length of time with his sisterand her family, but had dropped downfrom the sky on them suddenly and unexpectedlyevery so often.

But now, as Bob explained carefully toHal, he was coming for the whole summer, and was going to teach him, Bob, to fly.

“Oh, boy, oh, boy, oh, boy,” Bob chortled,“what a break! Captain Bill herefor months, with nothing to do but fly usaround.”

Hal did not seem to share his friend’s enthusiasm.“Fly us around? Not us, Bob, old boy – you. My mother will never letme go up.” Hal’s face clouded.

Bob slapped him on the back. “Oh, don’tyou worry. Your mother will let you fly.She’s let you do a lot of things with methat she never let you do before. We’ll gether to come around.”

But Hal looked dubious. “Not that, I’mafraid. She’s scared to death of planes, andgets pale if I even mention flying. Butthat’s all right. I’ll do my flying on theground. You and Bill will have a greattime.”

“Buck up,” said Bob. “Don’t cross yourbridges until you come to them. We’ll workon your mother until she thinks that flyingis the safest thing in the world. And it is, too. We’ll let Captain Bill talk to her. Hecan make anybody believe anything. He’llhave her so thoroughly convinced that she’llbe begging him to take you up in the air tosave your life. See if he doesn’t! Bill isgreat!”

Hal was visibly improved in spirits.“When’s Bill coming in?” he asked.

“Six tonight,” said Bob. “Down at theairport. Dad says that he’ll drive us bothout there so that we can meet Captain Bill, and drive him back. Gee, wouldn’t it begreat if he had an autogyro and could landin our back yard?”

“Maybe he’ll have one the next time hecomes. What kind of plane is he flying?”

“His new Lockheed. It’s a monoplane, hesays, and painted green, with a reddish nose.It’s green because his partner, Pat, wantedit green. Pat’s been his buddy since theywere over in France together, and anythingthat Pat says, goes. It’s got two cockpits, and dual controls. It’s just great for teachingbeginners. That means us, Hal, old boy.Listen, you’d better get ready. Dad will behome soon, and will want to start down forthe port. Say, does that sound like thunder?”

The boys listened. It did sound likethunder. In fact, it was thunder. “Golly,I hope it doesn’t storm. Mother won’t letme go if it rains.”

Bob laughed. “I wouldn’t worry aboutyou getting wet if it stormed,” he said.“What about Bill, right up in the clouds?Of course, he can climb over the storm if it’snot too bad. But you hurry anyhow. We’llprobably get started before it rains, anyway.”

At ten minutes to six Hal, Bob and Bob’sfather were parked at the airport, their necksstretched skyward, watching the darkening, clouded skies for the first hint of a greenmonoplane. No green monoplane did theysee. A few drops of rain splattered down, then a few more, and suddenly the outburstthat had been promising for hours poureddown. Bob’s father, with the aid of the twoboys, put up the windows of the car, andthey sat fairly snug while the rain teemeddown about them. The field was becomingsodden. Crashes of lightning and peals ofthunder seemed to flash and roll all aboutthem. All of the airplanes within easydistance of their home port had come winginghome like birds to an enormous nest. Thethree watchers scanned each carefully, butnone was the green Lockheed of Captain Bill.

The time passed slowly. Six-thirty; thenseven. Finally Mr. Martin decided that theycould wait no longer. “He’s probably landedsome place to wait for the storm to lift,”he said. “He can take a taxi over to thehouse when he gets in.”

Reluctant to leave, the boys neverthelessdecided that they really couldn’t wait allnight in the storm for Captain Bill, andso they started for home.

Very wet, and bedraggled, and very, very, hungry, they arrived. Hal’s mother was practicallyhysterical, met him at the door, anddrew him hastily into the house.

Mr. Martin and his son ran swiftly fromthe garage to the back door of their house, but were soaked before they got in. Enteringthe darkened kitchen, they could hearvoices inside.

“Doesn’t that sound like – why, it is – that’sBill’s voice,” shouted Bob. The lightswitched on, and Bill and Mrs. Martin cameinto the kitchen to greet their prodigal relatives.

“Hello,” said Bill, “where have you peoplebeen? You seem to be wet. Shake on it.”

“Well, how in the – how did you get in?”shouted Mr. Martin, pumping Bill’s hand.“We were waiting in the rain for you forhours.”

“I know,” said Bill, contritely, “we triedto get in touch with you, but we couldn’t.You see, I came in by train.”

“By train!” exclaimed Bob. “By train!”

“Why, sure,” laughed the Captain, “Why, aren’t you glad to see me without my plane?That’s a fine nephewly greeting!”

“Oh, gee, Bill, of course I’m glad to seeyou, but – well, I’ve sort of been countingon your bringing your plane.”

Bill laughed. “The plane’s coming allright,” he said. “We had a little accidentthe other day, and the wing needed repairing.I decided not to wait for it, but to comein on the train to be with you. So PatMcDermott is bringing the plane in in afew days. Is that all right? May I stay?”

“Yup, you can stay,” said Bob. “ButI want something to eat!”

“Everything’s ready,” said Mrs. Martin.“You change your clothes, and come rightdown to dinner.”

“Sure thing,” said Bob. But he did notchange immediately. He stopped first to puttwo crossed flags in the window, whichmeant to Hal, “Come right over.”

CHAPTER II – Captain Bill

Hal couldn’t come right over. He had tobe fussed over, steamed, dosed, and put tobed so that he would suffer no ill effectsfrom his soaking that evening. But he wasover bright and early the next morning. Ithad rained all night, and was still rainingin a quiet, steady downpour, when Hal appearedat the Martin home, dressed in rubbers, raincoat, muffler, and carrying an umbrellato protect him on his long trek fromhis own front door to his friend’s. CaptainBill would have been startled at the strangelybundled figure of Hal, but he had beenwarned, and greeted Hal without a blink ofan eyelash. In fact, as soon as Hal had beenunwrapped from his many coverings, andhad spoken to them all, Captain Bill discoveredthat he was probably going to likethis boy after all, and was pleased that hisnephew had such good judgment in choosinga friend and companion.

They talked that morning, of course, about airplanes, and the boys told how theyhad been reading about the famous flyers, and of their hopes to be flyers themselvessome day. Bill had been a good listener, andhad said very little, but after lunch Hal saidwhat had been on his chest for a long time.

“Captain Bill, we’ve been doing all thetalking. Why don’t you tell us a story?”

The Captain laughed. “I think that Bob’sheard all my stories. I’m afraid that they’rea little moth-eaten now. But how aboutthe two of you telling me a story? Someof the things that you’ve been reading socarefully. How about it?”

“We can’t tell a story the way you can, old scout,” said Bob. “Anyway, we askedyou first.”

“All right, I’m caught,” said the Captain.“But I’ll tell you a story only on one condition.Each of you has to tell one too.That’s only fair, isn’t it?”

Bob and Hal looked at each other. Halspoke. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to,” hesaid, blushing. “I can’t tell stories, I’m sureI can’t.”

Captain Bill knew that it would be tactlessat that moment to try to convince Halthat he could tell a story. It would only increasethe boy’s nervousness, and convincehim only more of the fact that he could notspin a yarn. So he said, “Well, we’ll tellours first, and you can tell yours later. Afteryou hear how bad ours are, you’ll be encouraged.”Then Bill had an idea. “Howabout having a contest?” he said. “The onewho tells the best story gets a prize.”

“What prize?” asked Bob quickly.

“Now, you take your time. We’ll decideon the prize later. We’ll have to let Patin on this, too, I suppose, but he’s going togive us some competition. Pat’s a great storyteller. I’ll tell my story first. Then Bob cantell his, after he’s had some time for preparation; then Pat will probably want to gethis licks in; and Hal will come last. He’llhave the benefit of our mistakes to guide him.How about it?”

“All right with me,” said Bob, eagerly.He was keen about the idea.

But Hal seemed less enthusiastic. His naturalreticence, he felt, would make it torturefor him to tell a story. It would be all rightjust for Bob – and he was even getting wellenough acquainted with Captain Bill totell his story in front of him – but this PatMcDermott – even his name sounded formidable.Captain Bill didn’t give him a chanceto say aye, yea, or nay, but went on talking.

“I think that we ought to choose subjectsthat you two know about,” said Bill. “Howabout stories of the aviators – of FamousFlyers and their Famous Flights?”

“Great!” said Bob. “Gee, I want Lindbergh.”

“Lindbergh you shall have,” said CaptainBill. “What’s yours Hal?”

“I don’t know,” said Hal. “I’ll have tothink it over. But – I think that I’d liketo take the life of Floyd Bennett – if I may.”

“Of course,” said Bill. “I think that I’lltell about Admiral Byrd – do you think he’dmake a good story?”

“Marvelous!” said Bob, with his usual enthusiasm.“What’ll we leave for Pat?”

“Pat can take whomever he wants to take,”the Captain said. “He’ll have to take what’sleft. That’s what he gets for coming late.But what do you say we wait to start thecontest when Pat comes?”

“Yes, oh, yes, I think that that would bemuch better,” said Hal, relieved that the ordealwould at least be postponed, even if itcould not be avoided altogether. “I thinkthat we ought to wait until Mr. McDermottcomes.”

The Captain laughed. “Don’t let him hearyou call him ‘Mr. McDermott’” he said.“He’s Pat to everybody, and to you, too.”

“I’ll try to remember,” said Hal, miserably, thinking of what a complicated worldthis was.

It was still raining outside. The boys andthe Captain, seated in the library, or rather, sprawled in the library, could see the streamsof rain splash against the windows and rundown in little rivers until they splashed offagain at the bottom of the pane.

Captain Bill yawned and stretched. “Notmuch to do on a day like this. I’m mightyanxious to get out to the airport as soonas it clears up. What’ll we do?”

Bob had an idea. “Couldn’t we sort ofsneak one over on Pat?” he said. “Couldn’twe have a story, one not in the contest, now?It wouldn’t count, really, and it would giveus a little rehearsal before Pat gets here.”

“Who’s going to tell this story?” askedCaptain Bill, looking just a bit suspiciouslyat his nephew.

Bob grinned. “Well, I thought that maybeyou would. Seeing that you’re the beststory-teller anyway.”

“Go long with your blarney. But I guessI will tell you one. It will be a sort of prologueto the rest of our stories. It’s aboutthe very first flyers and the very first famousflight.”

“The Wrights?” asked Hal.

“The Wrights,” said the Captain. “Wilburand Orville, and their first flight at KittyHawk, North Carolina.”

CHAPTER III – The Wright Brothers

The Captain had first to fill his pipe, andstretch his legs before he began his story.

“Of course,” he said, “we can’t really saythat the Wrights were the first men to fly,or to build a machine that would fly. Evenin the middle ages Leonardo da Vinci drewup plans for a flying machine. Just beforethe Wright’s experiment Langley had stayedup in the air in a machine invented andbuilt by himself. If he had not died at sounfortunate a period in his experimental life, perhaps he might have been the inventor ofthe airplane.

“The Wrights invented the airplane inthe same degree that Thomas Edisoninvented the electric light. Men had experimentedwith both inventions for many years.But it took the genius of the Wrights, thegenius of an Edison to bring together theseexperiments, to think through logically justwherein they were right and where they werewrong, and to add the brilliant deductionsthat brought their experiments to a practicaland successful end. Edison’s discovery wasdependent upon the finding of the properfilament for his bulb; the Wrights’ successhinged upon their discovery of the warpedwing, which gave them control over theirplane.

“The fact that the Wrights were not thefirst to fly does not detract from the thingthat they actually did. At the time thatthey were making their first flying machine, any man who tampered with the subject offlying through the air was looked upon ascrazy. And this was not more than a quarterof a century ago. Seems funny, doesn’tit? But they were not to be discouraged.They knew that they were right, and theywent ahead. They had many set-backs.Their planes were wrecked. What did theydo? They just built them over again, andwere glad that they had learned of some newdefect that they could re-design and correct.