I suppose you’ll read in the daily paper about my losing the mail. I’m all cut up about it. This is the first cargo I ever lost in ten years of flying the mail. I tried to save it, but it was impossible. You see, my plane somehow caught fire. I tried to extinguish the flames; but the fire must have been in the crank-case or somewhere where the extinguisher fluid couldn’t touch it. Then I tried to reach the nearest emergency landing field; but my engine went dead. The flames were spreading fast and shooting back into the cockpit in sheets. There was nothing to do but step out. My, how I hated to abandon the mail. But I had no choice. So I disconnected my head phones from the instrument board, picked up my flashlight, and stepped out.
The instant I did so the plane turned on her side and dived straight after me. It was interesting to watch it. I was evidently falling head down, for I could see everything without even turning my eyes. My ship plunged like a rocket stick. She was just one long streak of fire. I thought sure she was going to hit me. I tried to crowd over and get out of the way. You can’t imagine what a funny, helpless feeling a fellow has when he can’t touch anything with either his hands or his feet. Anyway, the ship just grazed me, but a miss is as good as a mile. The instant she was past I started to pull the rip-cord. I found my flash-light was in my right hand. I had to shift it to my left hand. That didn’t take very long, but I was then so near the ground that every second counted. I made the shift and gave the rip-cord a quick jerk. It wasn’t a moment too soon, either. While I was floating down the rest of the way to the earth I thought of you.
While I was still in the air, my ship hit with a terrific explosion. It was utterly consumed. Everything about it was burned. Much of the metal was melted by the terrible heat. The place where I came down was nearly half a mile from the spot where the ship landed. There was a thick woods between me and the ship. I could see the glare of the fire plainly, and I hurried right over to the spot. A lad from the neighborhood helped me. Some farmers were already there.
I am sending this bit of my ’chute for you to add to your collection, as I said, and I also write to tell you that if you ever have to step out of your ship at night, be sure to take your flashlight. I found mine more than useful. For I landed in a scrub patch on a hillside. It was rough country and I was far from being at my best. But with the aid of my flash-light and the help of the lad I mentioned I had no trouble in getting to my plane, and later in reaching a town.
I hope everything is going well with you. The best of luck to you.
Ever your friend,
Warren Long.
Jimmie stared at the letter incredulously. For a moment he was silent. Then, “Thank God Warren wasn’t hurt!” he cried. “I wonder where it happened. And I wonder where Warren is now. And how in time did he get that letter to me so quickly?”
For a time Jimmy was silent, thinking the matter over. Presently he thought he had solved the problem. “Warren left Hadley with the 9:35 p. m. section of the mail,” he muttered. “The fire probably occurred before he had been flying more than an hour or so. He was likely near some town where he could catch a late train, and he probably got back to Hadley early this morning. He must have written this note at once and got it into a mail for New York. It was mighty quick work, no matter how he did it. And it was just like Warren Long. He wanted to tell me about the flash-light and was afraid he would never think to mention it when he saw me. Gee! I am sure glad to have this piece of his ’chute. You bet I’ll put it in my ‘museum,’ as he calls my little collection of aviation keepsakes. Who wouldn’t be glad to have a piece of Warren Long’s parachute?”
Jimmy picked up the little square of silk and smoothed it lovingly. The fabric was creamy white, beautifully woven, with a lovely sheen. It was thin and delicate and almost gauzy in effect, and one could hardly believe that so delicate a fabric could possibly have withstood the terrific strain imposed upon it when it suddenly opened by Warren Long’s two hundred pounds—for with his heavy flying suit and the ’chute pack itself, the pilot must easily have weighed as much as that.