The Dreadnought of the Air

by Percy F. Westerman

On a lawn in front of the house was a two-seated monoplane, one of the standard "Velox" design that had recently become popular in Great Britain. Aviation as a means of making a journey had become quite common, and an aeroplane in flight attracted no more attention than a taxi in the Strand.

Callaghan, a burly, good-natured Irishman, was already in the pilot's seat. On his left was the wireless installation which, since the monoplane was automatically steered when once in the air, could be worked without detriment to Callaghan's other duties. The passenger's seat, in the rear and slightly higher than the pilot's, was protected from the wind and rain by an enclosed structure resembling the body of the now defunct hansom-cab. To view the country beneath him the passenger could make use of the two sponson-like windows on either side, through which the traveller, leaning sideways, could see immediately below.

There was no necessity for half a dozen men to hang on to the monoplane's tail. As soon as Dacres had taken his seat, Callaghan thrust forward a short lever and the propeller began to revolve. The passenger was made aware that the flight had begun by reason of his head coming into contact with the padded back of the cab, and by a sinking sensation in the region of his waist like the experience when being suddenly jerked up in a lift.

Beyond that there was nothing to give an impression of flight. The glass protected him from the wind and silenced the buzz of the powerful rotary motor, and it was not until Dacres looked over the side and saw the moorland and forest slipping away beneath him that he realized that he was being borne through the air at one hundred and twenty miles an hour.

Even at that terrific speed the light westerly wind caused an appreciable drift. In eight minutes the monoplane was over and slightly to the west of Southampton. Here Callaghan altered the course to counteract the cross air-current, and three minutes later Winchester, nestling between the downs, glided underneath like a panoramic effect. Then Alton and Aldershot were left behind in quick succession, and forty minutes after leaving the ground Dacres discerned the Thames looking like a silvery thread amidst the meadows and woods of Middlesex and Surrey.

With the rapid progress and popularity of aviation many of the restrictions that had been placed upon the pioneers of this branch of aeronautics had been abolished. It was no longer forbidden to fly over towns, and the metropolis was no exception. In fact, a portion of Hyde Park had, with part of other open spaces, been allotted to the use of airmen.

It was to the Hyde Park alighting station that Callaghan steered. Had he been a stranger to London he could easily have found his way by reason of hundreds of aeroplanes making for or returning from the most central aviation ground in the metropolis.

Speed was reduced to a safe forty miles an hour, which, after the rapid rush, seemed to Dacres more like a painful crawl in a motor-bus through Cheapside.

Almost immediately beneath them was Hyde Park. The monoplane was circling now in company with ten more, spread out at regular intervals like a flock of wood-pigeons in flight.

Presently Callaghan's practised eye caught sight of the signal he was waiting for: a huge red and white disk rotated till its face was visible from above. It was to signify that the ground was clear to receive the next batch of waiting 'planes. Fascinated, Dacres watched the sward apparently rising to meet him. The volplane was so steep that it seemed that nothing could prevent the monoplane from being dashed to bits upon the earth. So acute was the angle that he had to plant his feet firmly against the front of the cab to prevent himself from slipping from his seat.