Just as he was ready to go, Costes and Rignot, the two French aviators who were leaving on their eastward trip in an effort to beat the non-stop record he had established, came over to say good-by and he wished them Godspeed.
On the way to Cherbourg Lindbergh ran into wind, rain, hail and fog. He landed there at 11:35 amid what seemed to be the entire population of the port. He was cordially welcomed by the full staff of city officials. After lunch at the Mayor’s château he was motored into the city proper, and at the Gare Maritime a plaque was unveiled commemorating the spot where he had first flown over France on his way to Le Bourget.
To avoid pressure of the crowd he jumped upon a Cunard tender at the dock and reached the fast launch of Admiral Burrage which carried him to the U.S.S. Memphis, ordered by President Coolidge to bring the flier home.
IV
WASHINGTON
IT is probable that when Lindbergh reached America he got the greatest welcome any man in history has ever received; certainly the greatest when judged by numbers; and by far the greatest in its freedom from that unkind emotion which in such cases usually springs from one people’s triumph over another.
Lindbergh’s victory was all victory; for it was not internecine, but that of our human species over the elements against which for thousands of centuries man’s weakness has been pitted.
The striking part of it all was that a composite picture of past homecoming heroes wouldn’t look any more like Charles Lindbergh did that day of his arrival in Washington than a hitching post looks like a green bay tree.
Caesar was glum when he came back from Gaul; Napoleon grim; Paul Jones defiant; Peary blunt; Roosevelt abrupt; Dewey deferential; Wilson brooding; Pershing imposing. Lindbergh was none of these. He was a plain citizen dressed in the garments of an everyday man. He looked thoroughly pleased, just a little surprised, and about as full of health and spirits as any normal man of his age should be. If there was any wild emotion or bewilderment in the occasion it lay in the welcoming crowds, and not in the air pilot they were saluting.
The cruiser Memphis, on which Lindbergh travelled, passed through the Virginia Capes on her way to Washington a few minutes after five P.M. of the afternoon of June 10. Here Lindbergh got the first taste of what was to come.
A convoy of four destroyers, two army blimps from Langley Field and forty airplanes of the Army, Navy and Marine Corps accompanied the vessel as she steamed up Chesapeake Bay. As the night fell they wheeled toward their various bases and were soon lost to view. They gave no salute; and, for all the casual observer might have noted, they were merely investigating this newcomer to their home waters. But they left an indelible impression upon those in the Memphis that the morrow was to be extraordinary.