The Aeroplane Speaks

by H. Barber

Another minute and he can see this little town, a fairy town it appears, nestling down between the hills with its red roofs and picturesque shape, a glowing and lovely contrast with the dark green of the surrounding moors.

So extraordinarily clean and tidy it looks from such a height, and laid out in such orderly fashion with perfectly defined squares, parks, avenues, and public buildings, it indeed appears hardly real, but rather as if it has this very day materialized from some delightful children's book!

Every city and town you must know has its distinct individuality to the Pilot's eye. Some are not fairy places at all, but great dark ugly blots upon the fair countryside, and with tall shafts belching forth murky columns of smoke to defile clean space. Others, melancholy-looking masses of grey, slate-roofed houses, are always sad and dispirited; never welcoming the glad sunshine, but ever calling for leaden skies and a weeping Heaven. Others again, little coquettes with village green, white palings everywhere, bright gravel roads, and an irrepressible air of brightness and gaiety.

Then there are the rivers, silvery streaks peacefully winding far, far away to the distant horizon; they and the lakes the finest landmarks the Pilot can have. And the forests. How can I describe them? The trees cannot be seen separately, but merge altogether into enormous irregular dark green masses sprawling over the country, and sometimes with great ungainly arms half encircling some town or village; and the wind passing over the foliage at times gives the forest an almost living appearance, as of some great dragon of olden times rousing itself from slumber to devour the peaceful villages which its arms encircle.

And the Pilot and Observer fly on and on, seeing these things and many others which baffle my poor skill to describe—things, dear Reader, that you shall see, and poets sing of, and great artists paint in the days to come when the Designer has captured Efficiency. Then, and the time is near, shall you see this beautiful world as you have never seen it before, the garden it is, the peace it breathes, and the wonder of it.

The Pilot, flying on, is now anxiously looking for the railway line which midway on his journey should point the course. Ah! There it is at last, but suddenly (and the map at fault) it plunges into the earth! Well the writer remembers when that happened to him on a long 'cross-country flight in the early days of aviation. Anxiously he wondered “Are tunnels always straight?” and with what relief, keeping on a straight course, he picked up the line again some three miles farther on!

Now at last the Pilot sees the sea, just a streak on the north-eastern horizon, and he knows that his flight is two-thirds over. Indeed, he should have seen it before, but the air is none too clear, and he is not yet able to discern the river which soon should cross his path. As he swiftly speeds on the air becomes denser and denser with what he fears must be the beginning of a sea-fog, perhaps drifting inland along the course of the river. Now does he feel real anxiety, for it is the DUTY of a Pilot to fear fog, his deadliest enemy. Fog not only hides the landmarks by which he keeps his course, but makes the control of the Aeroplane a matter of the greatest difficulty. He may not realize it, but, in keeping his machine on an even keel, he is unconsciously balancing it against the horizon, and with the horizon gone he is lost indeed. Not only that, but it also prevents him from choosing his landing-place, and the chances are that, landing in a fog, he will smash into a tree, hedge, or building, with disastrous results. The best and boldest pilot 'wares a fog, and so this one, finding the conditions becoming worse and yet worse, and being forced to descend lower and lower in order to keep the earth within view, wisely decides to choose a landing-place while there is yet time to do so.

Throttling down the power of the engine he spirals downwards, keenly observing the country below. There are plenty of green fields to lure him, and his great object is to avoid one in which the grass is long, for that would bring his machine to a stop so suddenly as to turn it over; or one of rough surface likely to break the under-carriage. Now is perfect eyesight and a cool head indispensable. He sees and decides upon a field and, knowing his job, he sticks to that field with no change of mind to confuse him. It is none too large, and gliding just over the trees and head on to the wind he skilfully “stalls” his machine; that is, the speed having decreased sufficiently to avoid such a manoeuvre resulting in ascent, he, by means of the Elevator, gives the Aeroplane as large an angle of incidence as possible, and the undersides of the planes meeting the air at such a large angle act as an air-brake, and the Aeroplane, skimming over the ground, lessens its speed and finally stops just at the farther end of the field.

Then, after driving the Aeroplane up to and under the lee of the hedge, he stops the engine, and quickly lashing the joy-stick fast in order to prevent the wind from blowing the controlling surfaces about and possibly damaging them, he hurriedly alights. Now running to the tail he lifts it up on to his shoulder, for the wind has become rough indeed and there is danger of the Aeroplane becoming unmanageable. By this action he decreases the angle at which the planes are inclined to the wind and so minimizes the latter's effect upon them. Then to the Observer, “Hurry up, old fellow, and try to find some rope, wire, or anything with which to picket the machine. The wind is rising and I shan't be able to hold the 'bus steady for long. Don't forget the wire-cutters. They're in the tool kit.” And the Observer rushes off in frantic haste, before long triumphantly returning with a long length of wire from a neighbouring fence. Blocking up the tail with some debris at hand, they soon succeed, with the aid of the wire, in stoutly picketing the Aeroplane to the roots of the high hedge in front of it; done with much care, too, so that the wire shall not fray the fabric or set up dangerous bending-stresses in the woodwork. Their work is not done yet, for the Observer remarking, “I don't like the look of this thick weather and rather fear a heavy rain-storm,” the Pilot replies, “Well, it's a fearful bore, but the first rule of our game is never to take an unnecessary risk, so out with the engine and body covers.”

Working with a will they soon have the engine and the open part of the body which contains the seats, controls, and instruments snugly housed with their waterproof covers, and the Aeroplane is ready to weather the possible storm.