“This afternoon I must leave,” he went on, “I wish I could stay here weeks instead of hours. I certainly will never forget your welcome.
“Less than twenty-five years ago, the first flight was made in an airplane. It will not be many years before we have regular trans-Atlantic service. I congratulate Belgium on her remarkable progress in aviation. You have a wonderful air force here. Aviation will be one of the great forces of the future to bring nations together.”
Then the Burgomaster took Lindbergh’s hand and presented him with a little leather case containing a gold medal inscribed in English:
“To Captain Charles Lindbergh, the City of Brussels, May 29th, 1927.”
Lindbergh left Brussels for London in the early afternoon. On his way over Belgium he paid a tribute to the American soldiers who sleep in the cemetery at Werington near Ghent. Cutting off his motor, he flew low over the field, but little above the rows of white crosses. He dropped a wreath of flowers, circled the cemetery twice, then headed out for England.
In a sense this visit to Belgium was a surer test of the man than either of the other countries. His stay was very brief; his hosts neither spoke his tongue as did the English, nor had as natural a reservoir of emotion to draw upon as did the French. Yet Lindbergh’s easy dignity, his simple bearing, and always his ready smile, were as quick to earn him the permanent friendship of King and Queen as to excite the adulation of the crowd.
It was said everywhere of him when he left: “We hope he comes back some day.” No traveller receives higher praise than that.
III
LONDON
THE flight from Brussels was comparatively simple and there was little or no strain on the plane. The pilot steered straight across the Channel, reaching England on the southeast corner.
The weather was nearly perfect; in fact Lindbergh was never privileged during his stay in England to see a real London fog.