THE START
By eleven o'clock the tanks of the Sky-Bird II had been filled with gasoline and oil, and the radiator of each engine supplied with twelve gallons of water. In addition to this, its crew had carefully gone over every brace, control, bolt, and nut to make sure that everything was tight, the engines had been run detached from the propeller for a few minutes to warm them up, and every bearing not reached by the lubricating system was well oiled by hand.
Mr. Giddings had appeared about an hour earlier, bringing with him the two special correspondents of the Daily Independent, as well as several other newspaper men representing various prominent foreign publications. As soon as our boys had finished shaking hands with these, they were introduced to a number of well-known Government officials and aviation representatives, who added their good wishes for the success of the big undertaking. Then came Mr. Wrenn with a party of his own distinguished friends, which called for more hand-shaking.
At twelve-fifteen the rival machines were pushed out of the hangar and took up positions in the field, ready for the signal to "hop." At twelve-fifty both crews, with the exception of their respective crankers-up, entered their machines, and a heavy hush fell over the great crowd which had assembled to see the start of the first race around the world's circumference. It was without denial an auspicious moment, and as they stood there and looked at the two big mechanical birds which were to attempt this prodigious feat, embracing almost 25,000 miles, threading every mile of the distance through the air in the astounding time of ten days, the situation was so fraught with awe, particularly to the native Panamanians, that now at the last moment all were practically voiceless.
The rival publishers gave their parting instructions as their crews climbed into the cabins, and these were to the same effect: "Don't forget, boys, to report to us at every stop, and mail us all the pictures you can. Between stops use your wireless for reports whenever possible. Good-bye, and the best of luck!"
Lieutenant-Colonel Warren J. Hess, a gentleman prominent in American aviation circles, had been selected as judge of the contest. He was not only to give the signal to start off the flyers, but with Mr. Giddings, was to await in Panama their return, and demand from each crew upon arrival a document containing the signature of the port official at each scheduled landing.
Colonel Hess, looking at his watch, now raised his hand, and instinctively those in the front of each of the long lines of spectators flanking the run-way crowded back so that the airplanes would not strike them as they dashed down the field for the take-off. Tom Meeks and Chuck Crossman spun the propellers, sprang back to escape their vicious whirr as the respective engines fired, and quickly clambered into their machines.
It was exactly one o'clock. Both airplanes taxied down the runway side by side. They also arose together, amid a great cheering, some ninety feet apart, shooting grandly up into the air above the heads of the people in the lower end of the field. At a height of a thousand feet, the gray Clarion bent eastward. At fifteen hundred feet, the Sky-Bird did likewise. From the open windows of each of the cabins fluttered white handkerchiefs in a final farewell, and many a broad-brimmed hat in the hands of the excited populace below was waved in answer.
Flying low, the Clarion started away in the lead, while her rival had been mounting to her own preferred higher level. By the time the Sky-Bird had straightened out, her contemporary was well in advance.
"We're losing ground," said Bob Giddings anxiously.