The danger passed as quickly as it had come, however, and the machine righted itself and kept on. Down by the Palisades we soared, rising above the steep cliffs that wall the stream on the west side. Whenever I could give my attention to things other than the machine, I kept watch for the special train. Now and then I caught glimpses of it whirling along the bank of the river, but for the greater part of the way I out-distanced it.
Soon I caught sight of some of the sky-scrapers that make the sky-line of New York City the most wonderful in the world. First I saw the tall frame of the Metropolitan Tower, and then the lofty Singer building. These landmarks looked mighty good to me, for I knew that, given a few more minutes' time, I would finish the flight. Approaching Spuyten Duyvil, just above the Harlem river, I looked at my oil gauge and discovered that the supply was almost exhausted. I dared not risk going on to Governor's Island, some fifteen miles farther, for once past the Harlem river there would be no place to land short of the island. So I took a wide sweep across to the Jersey side of the river, circled around toward the New York side, and put in over the Harlem river, looking for the little meadow at Inwood which I had picked out as a possible landing place some two weeks before.
There I landed on the sloping hillside, and went immediately to a telephone to call up the New York World. I told them I had landed within the city limits and was coming down the river to Governor's Island soon.
I got more oil, some one among the crowd, that gathered as if by magic, turned my propeller, and I got away safely on the last leg of the flight. While I had complied with the conditions governing the flight by landing in the city limits, I wanted to go on to Governor's Island and give the people the chance to see the machine in flight.
From the extreme northern limits of New York to Governor's Island, at the southern limits, was the most inspiring part of the trip. News of the approach of the aeroplane had spread throughout the city, and I could see crowds everywhere.
New York can turn out a million people probably quicker than any other place on earth, and it certainly looked as though half of the population was along Riverside Drive or on top of the thousands of apartment houses that stretch for miles along the river. Every craft on the river turned on its siren and faint sounds of the clamour reached me even above the roar of my motor. It seemed but a moment until the Statue of Liberty came into view. I turned westward, circled the Lady with the Torch and alighted safely on the parade ground on Governor's Island.
General Frederick Grant, commanding the Department of the East, was one of the first officers who came up to extend congratulations and to compliment me on the success of the undertaking. From that moment I had little chance for anything except the luncheons and dinners to which I was invited. First came the luncheon at the Astor House given by the New York World, and then the big banquet at the Hotel Astor, presided over by Mayor Gaynor and attended by many prominent men interested in aviation. The speeches were all highly laudatory, of course, and there were many predictions by the orators that the Hudson river would become a highway for aerial craft, as it had for steam craft when Fulton first steered the old Clermont from New York to Albany.
On the trip down from Albany I carried a letter from the mayor of that city to Mayor Gaynor, and delivered it in less time than it would have taken the fastest mail train. My actual flying time was two hours, fifty-one minutes, the distance one hundred and fifty-two miles, and the average speed fifty-two miles an hour.
From Albany to Poughkeepsie is eighty-seven miles, and by making this in a continuous flight I had, incidentally, won the Scientific American trophy for the third time. It now became my personal property, and its formal presentation was made at the annual dinner of the Aero Club of America for that year.
NOTE BY AUGUSTUS POST