It was after dinner at the Martin's. Captain Bill, Pat, and the two boys
had gone out to the garden. The Captain and Bob were stretched out in
two deck chairs, the Captain's long legs sticking out a long way past
the end of the low foot-rest. Pat lay in the glider, swinging himself
lazily, squeaking in a melancholy rhythm at each forward and back push,
Hal, who had got permission from his mother to eat dinner with the
Martin's, lay on a rug thrown down on the grass. The dusk was turning to
dark, and the Captain's pipe was beginning to show up as a dull glow in
the fading light.
For a while nobody spoke. Then Pat said, "Well, Robert, tell us the end
of your story."
"I've been thinking of where to start. We left Lindy over in Europe,
coming back to the United States. He didn't come right back, though. He
had to tour about some of the foreign countries, as an ambassador of
good will, and get decorated with about every kind of medal that was
ever made. It must have been pretty boring for him to go to banquet
after banquet, and listen to all those speeches praising him. He must
have blushed like anything at some of those flowery compliments. But he
stayed calm, and didn't lose his head and get all swelled up over the
receptions and cheers and everything. He knew that everybody meant every
word he said, and that they were mighty pleased with him. They gave him
all sorts of presents. He could have started a store with them. But I
guess that most of them are in the Lindbergh museum now.
"Well, the honors they heaped on Lindy in France and England and Belgium
were nothing to what was waiting for him when he got back to the United
States. New York turned out, it seemed, to a man. They had a parade
miles long, with Lindy the chief attraction, sitting on top of an open
car, smiling at the mobs of screaming, shouting people all along the
way. It rained ticker tape for hours, and people in offices tore up
telephone books and added the bits of paper to the rainstorm. Nobody
could do enough for the Colonel." Bob looked around at the group. "He
wasn't the Captain any more," he explained. "He was now Colonel
Lindbergh. Well, anyway, there were banquets and parties, until Lindy
had to leave. St. Louis started where New York left off. After all it
was St. Louis where Lindy had found his backers, and naturally they were
pretty proud of him there. Slim took it all smiling, just as modest as
he'd been from the beginning. There was no fussing him. And the people
loved it. Slim was the most talked-about hero the United States has ever
adopted. Why, you remember that almost everything from candy-bars to
swimming suits were named after him--and a whole lot of new babies, too.
All the kids in America were crazy about him, and they all wore
aviator's helmets and made plans to become aviators as soon as they were
old enough. It seems that Lindy's plan was pretty successful. He wanted
to get people to talking and thinking about airplanes, and believe me,
they didn't talk or think about much else from the time he set out from
Roosevelt field."
"You'd think that he'd be tired and ready for a rest after his flight,
and his receptions, but even though he may have been tired, he thought
he'd strike while the iron was hot, and follow up his good work, this
business of getting people aviation conscious. And I guess, too, he felt
that he owed something to the people of the United States for being so
kind to him, so Lindy set out on a trip around the country. He stopped
at almost every important city, and covered every state in the union. He
traveled almost 20,000 miles. And that's some traveling. Just think if
he'd had to travel that distance in a train! He'd be going yet. Well,
every place that he stopped gave him three rousing cheers, and then
some. You'd think that by that time he'd be pretty tired. If it had been
me, I'd have turned around and bitten some of the welcoming committee.
But not Lindy. He stuck it out, and smiled at them all.
"And after the country-wide tour was over, he took his Mexican and
Central American and South American trip. It was this trip that clinched
his name of 'Good Will Ambassador,' although he'd been one to all of the
European countries that he went to. In December, seven months after his
famous flight, he pointed the nose of the old Spirit of St. Louis south,
and lit out for Mexico City.
"They were pretty anxious to see him down there, and the Mexican
National aviation field was crowded long before Lindy was due to get
there. Everybody knew that this was one flyer who always got places when
he said he'd get there. He was never off schedule. So imagine how
everybody felt when the time set by him to reach Mexico City passed, and
no Lindy showed up. Well, they were all set to call out the reserves,
when Slim Lindbergh winged into sight, and made a sweet landing on the
Mexican field.
"There was some cheering--more, maybe than if he'd got there on schedule,
although you don't see how that could be possible. They gave Lindy a
chance to explain that he'd been lost in the fog, and then they went on
with their entertaining and celebrating.
"Mexico City was pretty important to Lindbergh, although nobody knew it
then. Dwight Morrow was Ambassador to Mexico then, and he had a daughter
named Anne. Well, I don't like to get sentimental--I guess I can't tell
romantic stories--well, anyway, that part comes later."
Captain Bill saw fit to interrupt the story here. He saw that Bob was
embarrassed, and saw an opportunity to rub it in. "What part?" he asked,
innocently, knocking the heel of ash from his pipe as he did so.
"Oh, you know, Lindy's marrying Anne Morrow, and that."
"Well, we certainly demand the whole thing. You can't leave anything
out," insisted Bill.
"Aw, all right, but it doesn't come in now."
"We can wait," said Bill, and settled back satisfied.
"From Mexico City," went on Bob, grateful that his ordeal bad been put
off, "Lindy flew off down to Central America. First he zig-zagged a bit
to get in all of the little countries, and went from Guatemala City to
Belize in British Honduras, and then back again to San Salvador, and
from then on straight down the narrow isthmus to Teguci--Teguci--well,
that place in Honduras."
"Tegucigalpa," said Pat.
"That's it," said Bob. "And from Teguci--and from there, he went on to
Managua, and then to Costa Rica--San Jose. Now he was just about three
hundred and twenty-five miles from the Panama Canal, as the crow
flies--or rather, as Lindy flies, which is much better than any crow I've
ever seen. He didn't have any trouble making the flight, and say that
they weren't glad to see him down there, especially in the Canal Zone,
where the Americans lived. They entertained him royally, and he went
into the jungles of Panama for a hunting trip, which must have been
great. They have all sorts of wild hogs, deer and pheasants, and it must
have made grand hunting.
"But after all, Lindy couldn't stay anyplace very long. South America
was waiting for him. So he packed himself off, and flew to Cartagena, in
Colombia, adding another continent to his list. From Cartagena he flew
to Bogota, and then straight across the top of South America to the east
coast. He stayed at Maracay, Venezuela. I never heard of it before, did
any of you?" Bob paused dramatically for a reply.
There was only a dead silence for a second, and then, since none else
spoke, Hal felt called upon to confess his ignorance, "I never did," he
said. "And gee, Bob, how do you remember all these places that Lindbergh
stopped at? I never would in a hundred years."
"Oh, it's easy," said Bob airily. He did not tell them of the long hours
that he had spent memorizing the towns and cities that Lindbergh had
stopped at in his good will tour, nor the hundreds of times that he had
wished that Lindy had flown to some easy place like Canada, where the
names were all pronounceable. But then, Lindy might have flown to Wales,
and Bob, having seen Welsh names, thanked his lucky stars for such
places as Tegucigalpa and Bogota. And now, having at least impressed
Hal, he went on with renewed enthusiasm.
"Maracay," he said, "was the jumping off place for the thousand-mile
jump to the Virgin Islands. You see, Lindy was on his way back to the
United States. He hopped from island to island in the Caribbean Sea,
stopping at San Juan, Porto Rico; Santo Domingo; Port-au-Prince in
Hayti; and then to Havana. From Havana he made the biggest hop of all,
and landed smack in St. Louis without sitting down once along the way.
He made some twelve hundred miles in about fifteen and a half hours.
"Somebody figured up how long he had flown, and how long he took for the
whole 'good will' trip, and found out that he'd made sixteen flights to
fifteen countries, and had gone 8,235 miles in one hundred and a half
hours. Of course, that was actual flying time. The trip had taken him
just two months, because he got back to St. Louis on February 13th, and
he'd left Boiling Field at Washington on December 13th. But in those two
months Lindy accomplished a great deal. He'd made friends with all the
little countries down to our south, and with Mexico, too. They
understood us better, and we got to understand them better. Gee,
wouldn't it be great if airplanes would make people friendlier? I mean,
we're so close to each other now, it seems as though we ought to know
more about each other, and like each other better. I may not be saying
that so well, but you fellows know what I mean, don't you?"
"That's a very good philosophy," said Captain Bill, and Bob beamed as
broadly as the moon that had risen over the trees and was shining over
the little group in the garden. "Let's hope that you're right."
"Well, Lindy palled around with his old buddies at St. Louis, and
carried mail over his old route to Chicago. He broke up his flights with
going to New York to get a medal from the Woodrow Wilson Foundation for
international peace and understanding, and then he went to Washington to
get the Congressional Medal of Honor. And he had to get a new plane,
too, from the Mahoney people who made the Spirit of St. Louis. I guess
Lindy hated to part from the old bus. It was still in great condition,
even though he'd flown 40,000 miles in it. But they wanted to put it in
the Smithsonian Institution, and he had to get another.
"It was just about this time, in April of 1928, that Lindbergh had to
put his flying to a stiff test. He was in St. Louis when he learned that
Floyd Bennett was very sick with pneumonia up in Quebec. Bennett was a
great fellow, one of the most popular aviators of his time. He'd flown
with Byrd to the North Pole, you remember. And in April, although he was
sick, and knew he shouldn't have gone, he flew up to help Captain Koebl
and Major Fitzmaurice and Baron von Huenefeld, who'd flown across the
Atlantic, and were forced down off the coast of Labrador. Well, he
landed with pneumonia in a Quebec hospital, and they needed some serum
in a hurry to save his life. Lindy offered to fly with it, and took off
right away for New York. It was 500 miles from New York to Quebec,
mostly through fog and snow, and blizzards, but Lindy made it in three
hours and thirty-five minutes. The serum didn't save Floyd Bennett,
though. That plucky scout died the day after Lindbergh got there. He'd
put up a great fight, but it was no use. The whole country felt gloomy
over his death, and Lindy especially so, although he'd done his best to
save his pal's life.
"In June of that year, that is, in 1928, Lindy,--maybe I should call him
Charles Augustus Lindbergh, was appointed the chairman of the technical
committee of the Transcontinental Air Transport, the company sending
planes cross-country. This gave him the chance to be right in on the
ground--or rather right in the air--of aviation progress. It wasn't just
an office job, either, because Lindy flew almost as much after his
appointment as before.
"In 1929 he kept right on flying. That's not really news. If Lindy
stopped flying, that would be news. But in February of '29 he flew the
first mail from Miami to Colon, in the Panama Canal Zone. This was the
inauguration of the Pan-American Airways.
"In February the Morrows announced the engagement of Anne Morrow to
Charles Augustus Lindbergh. From then on the reporters and photographers
hung around in order to be in at the wedding. But Lindy and Anne fooled
them. They were married in April, and nobody knew anything about it.
They just got quietly married, and left on their honeymoon in a yacht.
"From then on, whenever Lindy went on a trip, Anne Lindbergh went with
him. She's a great flyer, and helps Lindy fly on long stretches. She
pilots while he rests.
"The first long trip they took was in '29. That was the one through
Central America to Belize, in British Honduras. That covered 7,000
miles. But they didn't stop long at Belize. They'd gone there for a
reason. They headed their plane over the Yucatan peninsula, looking for
Mayan ruins. You know, the Mayan Indians had a wonderful civilization
all built up long before the white men came to Yucatan. They had a huge
empire, and big cities with buildings as large as ours. Scientists are
always digging around down there to uncover the ruins, so that they can
find out about the Indians, and how they lived, and all that. But it's
hard to find the places where the Maya Indians had their cities. The
jungle has grown up so thickly all about them that it takes days and
months to get to them. And those that aren't on rivers are almost
impossible to get to.
"So Lindy proved once more that the airplane was a help to science, and
flew over the old Mayan hang-outs, looking for ruins. He skimmed his
plane over the tops of the jungles, so low that it seemed he might
almost reach out his hand and grab a branch of one of those giant trees
that grow down there, and he flew slowly, too, so that the scientists
that were with him could take pictures.
"They found what they were after, three cities that hadn't ever been
discovered before. And it took only four days, where it might have taken
a party on foot months to do the same thing. Anne Lindbergh helped pilot
the plane, and take pictures, too.
"There weren't any more exciting flights that year, but early the next
year, that is, in 1930, Lindy ordered a new plane. It was a
Lockheed-Sirius, a monoplane with a Wasp motor. It had a
flattish-looking nose, but it was graceful just the same. It had
something new that Lindy had designed himself. That was two covers that
could be slid over the cockpits, so that the pilots would be protected
in bad weather.
"Lindy and Anne had a use for the plane and the cockpit covers very
soon. They flew across the country one day and broke the cross-country
speed record that existed then.
"Hardly anybody knew what they were up to, and there were just a few
people at the Glendale airport, where they started from. It was a
terrible day, cold and rainy, and the sun hadn't come up yet to dry
things out. But the Lindberghs didn't care. They had on suits heated by
electricity, because they knew that it was going to be even colder where
they were going.
"A basket of sandwiches, 400 gallons of gas, and they were ready. It was
hard taking off, because the load was heavy, but Lindy got his
flat-nosed Sirius into the air beautifully, and they disappeared from
sight. Disappeared is the word, because for hours nobody saw them. They
were looking for them, too, because you can bet on it that as soon as
the Lindberghs took off, everybody knew about it. All over the west the
cowboys and Indians were gaping up to see the blunt-nosed plane, but
nobody saw it.
"Then suddenly Anne and Lindy dropped out of the sky at Wichita, Kansas,
said hello, they'd like some gas, they'd be in New York about eleven,
and sailed off.
"They were in New York around eleven, too, and New York was waiting for
them, with auto horns, and whistles, and all the other noise that it can
make for people who have gone out and done things. The Lindberghs
certainly had done just that. They'd come across the country with one
stop in 14 hours and twenty-three minutes and some seconds, and had
clipped two and a half hours off the record then standing."
"But what happened out' west?" asked Hal. "Why hadn't anybody seen
them?"
"Because you can't see 10,000 feet into the air, and that's where the
Lindberghs were flying. Way above the clouds, from 10,000 to 15,000 feet
high, flying blind, with the cockpits closed to keep out the cold. It's
mighty cold 15,000 feet up in the air. Flying blind that way, they had
to depend upon their sextant to keep their course, and Anne Lindbergh
did her part by using this. She did all the navigating from the back
cockpit, and took the controls part of the time when Lindy rested.
"Lindy and Anne hadn't intended to set a record. At least, that wasn't
what they set out to do. They wanted to test out flying at high
altitudes, because Lindy believes that planes in the future will fly
high to avoid storms and wind, and that blind flying should be
encouraged. That's why they flew so high up, out of sight of all
landmarks.
"There was no flying for Anne and Lindy after that for a while, because
in June that year little Lindy was born. It seems awfully sad now to
talk about all the excitement not only in this country, but all over the
world when that baby was born. Lindy was the world's hero, and his baby
was adopted by everybody just as Lindy had been. Nobody could have
dreamed what a terrible end the Lindbergh baby would come to."
Bob paused. The events of the Lindbergh baby's kidnapping, and the
finding of its body a few months later, after the whole world had
searched for it, were still fresh. In fact, they were too fresh for Bob
to talk about then, and with the silent consent of all the men there, he
passed over the horrible details of the case, and in a few moments went
on with his story.
"The Lindberghs have another baby boy now and everybody in the country
will protect this child. People all over the world were heartbroken at
the death of their first baby.
"It was when the baby was a year old, and didn't require so much
attention, that Anne and Lindy started out on their longest trip, the
flight across the Pacific to China and Japan. That was in July of 1931.
There was some delay in choosing the route, because they had to consider
all sorts of things, like chances for refueling, and over-water flying
distances, but finally they decided that they'd fly across Canada to
Point Barrow, in Alaska, and from there to Nome; then across the Ocean
to Karaginsk, from there to Nemuro, and on to Tokyo."
Captain Bill broke in. "Good for you for remembering that. Did you
memorize the route?"
"I did," said Bob proudly. "I even drew a map of it. They flew roughly
northwest, and then south again, making the two sides of a triangle,
with the point up at the top of Alaska.
"Well, the Lindberghs made their usual careful preparations. They needed
more than a ham sandwich for this trip. The plane they chose was a
low-winged Lockheed Sirius with a Wright Whirlwind motor. It was a
blunt-nosed ship, painted reddish orange and black. And since they were
traveling over water, it had to be equipped with floats. These were a
new kind of Edo float, which were grooved on at the bottom to make for
less resistance of the water.
"In the tail of the plane they had a pretty complete emergency kit,
which would pop out automatically if the plane went under. It had a
folding life boat in it, that they could fill from a bottle of
compressed air. It was pretty smooth, with a mast and sail and
everything, and though they didn't; have to use it, it was a mighty nice
thing to have along in case they sat down in the middle of the ocean.
Then, of course, they had food and water, and an emergency radio set,
besides the one that Anne Lindbergh was going to use. This emergency one
was ready for anything. You couldn't hurt it by getting it wet, or by
dropping it. In fact, they tested it by dropping it from a hangar, and
then soaking it in water for 24 hours. I wouldn't want anybody to do
that to my radio set, but I guess nothing much happened, because the
tough radio survived its tests, and went along with the Lindberghs to
China. The rest of their equipment included fifty pounds of food, five
canteens of water, blankets, and all that sort of thing.
"On July 27th, Anne and Lindy started out. Washington was their first
stop, to make the first leg official. From there they went to New York,
bound for Maine, to say goodbye to the baby. But there was trouble right
at the start. About two hours after they had left New York, the
Lindberghs had to turn back again. Somebody had tampered with their
radio, and put it out of working order. But this was fixed up all right,
and they started out again. They got to North Haven, Maine, in about
three and a half hours.
"After spending some time at North Haven with Anne's parents and the
baby, they left for Ottawa, and from Ottawa for Moose Factory. Just out
of Ontario, though, they disappeared. The newspapers ran big headlines,
'Lindberghs Missing.' But they weren't really missing. That is, the
Lindberghs knew all along where they were, but their radio was out of
order, and they couldn't tell anybody else. Pilots were sent out to
search for them, and Pilot Clegg found them in Moose Factory, safe and
sound.
"Moose Factory sounds awfully funny, doesn't it? I'd never heard of it,
before the Lindberghs landed there, but it's quite a place. All one
hundred of its people came out to cheer the flyers.
"On Sunday morning they left Moose Factory, for their 750 mile jump to
Churchill Harbor, in Manitoba. The weather wasn't very good for
flying--gray and stormy, and the country was gray and flat. All in all,
it wasn't a very pleasant leg of their journey, and there was almost
nine hours of it. I'll bet they were glad when they flew into Churchill
Harbor, and saw the whole town waiting for them. There were only 2,000
people in the town, but then, that probably looked like a pretty big
crowd after all that flying over country without seeing anybody or
anything. And those 2,000 made up for it by being awfully noisy.
"Baker Lake is 375 miles from Churchill, and that was the next stop.
Just three and a quarter hours after they'd left Churchill Harbor, they
got into Baker Lake. Everybody was waiting for them, and everybody in
this case was made up of Eskimos. There are only about six white people
in the whole place, but they were out, too, and took charge of the
Lindberghs when they landed that night. So far so good.
"The Lockheed up to now was working perfectly--the trip was going off as
scheduled--just as all of Slim's trips go off as scheduled. From Baker
Lake the going was to be harder. The next stop was Aklavik, on the
MacKenzie River. Aklavik is pretty far north, just about 130 miles
within the Arctic Circle, and the route called for a jump of over 1,000
miles across this cold country. But Slim and Anne made it. They did that
1,000 miles in eleven and a half hours, which was some going. They had
the Aurora Borealis with them, because the farther north they went, the
brighter the lights grew, and flying at night was as easy as flying by
day.
"Aklavik may be cold, but it was warm to the Lindberghs. Slim and Anne
saw a lot of things they'd never seen before, and they had what you'd
call their first real taste of the arctic. There were all the people you
read about up there--Mounties, and Eskimos and fur trappers, who'd
trekked in from miles around to see the Lindberghs land. Eskimo kids
trailed them around and grinned when they were spoken to.
"They had a lot of time to look around, too, because they had to stay at
Aklavik for three days. The weather grounded them, but on August 7th,
the sky cleared, and they were off again, now for Point Barrow. Nome was
next. But before they got to Nome there was trouble.
"They'd started out from the Point in the morning, and flew all day. All
they saw was packed ice for miles around. A thick fog was raising.
Finally at 11 o'clock that night the fog grew so thick that the Colonel
and his wife thought it would be best just to sit down and wait for the
fog to clear. So that's what they did. They sat down in Shismaref Bay,
on Kotzebue Sound."
At this point Bob paused significantly, and waited. He had pronounced
both words without hesitation of any kind, and he was waiting for the
praise that he felt was due him. There was a strange silence. So Bob
said again: "They sat down on Shismaref Bay, on Kotzebue Sound."
This time Captain Bill realized what was required of him. "Good work,"
he said "You got them both without a slip."
Now Bob could go on. "They sat down," he began.
"That they did," interrupted Pat. "They sat down on Shismaref Bay on
Kotzebue Sound. What heathen names. But we've heard them, and get on
with you, lad."
"I am," said Bob, and got on. "They had to wait for ten hours for the
fog to lift, and it must have been mighty uncomfortable in the cockpits
of their planes. When they finally did get started, they found that they
couldn't get to Nome after all. The fog drifted up again, and they had
to come down--"
Pat broke the silence with a mighty exclamation. "Not on Shismaref Bay!"
Bob was cold. "Of course not. This time they came down on Safety Bay,
and please don't interrupt."
But there was another interruption, this time from Hal. "Where's Safety
Bay?" he asked.
Bob stretched out comfortably. He was satisfied with himself and his
story. "I don't know whether you're just trying to test me, or not," he
said, "but I'm prepared for you. I've been over every inch of the
Lindbergh trip with an atlas, and I know where everything is located,
and how to pronounce it."
Hal, his pale face lighted up by the moonlight, was obviously impressed,
and his large eyes beamed in the light. He was storing up notes for his
own story that was to come later.
"Safety Bay," said Bob, "is twenty-one miles from Nome, and mid-way
between Nome and Solomon Beach. They call it Safety Bay because
fishermen caught in storms out at sea used to come in to the bay for
safety. It was a 'safety bay' for the Lindberghs, too, all right. They
waited for the fog to lift again, and they finally got to Nome. Nome had
been waiting so long for them that it gave them a right royal welcome.
"Nome was an important stop, because the Lindberghs planned to use this
as their jumping off place for the hop across the Pacific Ocean to
Karagin Island, off the Kamchatkan Peninsula. The Pacific has been
crossed before, and was crossed later, too, by Herndon and Pangborn. But
it's a tricky place to cross, especially in the northerly part, where
the Lindberghs were to cross. It's a place of fog and ice, and quickly
changing wind currents, so that a fog can creep up on you and blot out
the world in a split second.
"Well, this was the ocean that the Lindberghs were going to cross. And
they crossed it. On Friday, August 14th, they started out. They were the
first to cross by that route, blazing a new aviation trail. For half an
hour there was silence. Then the St. Paul Naval station in the
Pribiloffs made the first radio contact. Anne Lindbergh signaled that
everything was all right, the weather was good, and the flying fine.
Every half hour the station sent out signals, and gave directions,
because up north there, so near the magnetic pole, a regular compass is
thrown way off.
"St. Lawrence Island was the first land in their path; then from St.
Lawrence to Cape Naverin the route was over water again, about 250
miles. Finally the radio operator got the message that they'd sighted
Cape Naverin, and that everything was O. K. They got to Karagin Island
early in the morning. And that means they flew over 1,000 miles in less
than 11 hours. Which is some flying over that treacherous route.
"The Lindys stayed at the Island for just a little while to rest up, and
then took off for the southern end of the Kamchatkan Peninsula, for
Petro--Petro--" Bob paused, embarrassed. "Say, what's the name of that
place at the southern end?" he asked.
Bill felt called upon to answer. "Petropavlovsk," he said.
Bob tried it. "Petro--Petro-what?"
"Petropavlovsk," repeated Bill.
They all tried it then, with varying degrees of success. Finally Bob got
it. "Petropavlovsk," he said proudly, and was able to go on with his
story. "It was an easy flight, and they made it in about four hours. But
Nemuro was next.
"Nemuro's on the tip of Hokkaido Island, and to reach it the Lindberghs
had to fly across the Kurile Islands, the worst fog trap in the world.
There's a warm Japanese ocean current that flows up here and hits the
cold arctic blasts, so that there are sudden fogs that you can't
possibly see through. And besides, there are volcanic peaks that stick
their peaks up but of the water. Some are dead and some are alive, but
they're all pretty bad news for an airplane if it happens to come in
contact with one of them.
"The start was pretty good. The sky was clear, and the visibility good.
But they should have known better than to trust such luck. They'd been
out about 500 miles when a thick blanket of fog came up from nowhere and
wrapped them around. A minute before they'd been able to see Muroton
Bay, but when they turned back, it had disappeared. There were two
things for them to do, and neither one pleasant. They could either fly
on in the fog, and risk hitting a peak or losing their course, or land
in the water. This was hardly better than going on, because the currents
are very dangerous around there, and their plane might easily be
capsized. But they decided that it was better to land. They landed on
the sheltered side of a place called Ketoi Island, and put their radio
to work sending out an S.O.S.
"It didn't take long for somebody to get to them. The Japanese
government ordered two ships to Ketoi to help them. One was the
Shimushiru, and it stood by all night, while the Lindberghs spent the
night doubled up in the cockpit of their plane. They stood by because of
the danger. You see, the island is pretty wild, and is inhabited by
Hairy Ainus, who live in caves. They're white people, and they're
supposed to have lived all over Japan once, but they're not very
pleasant to have around, especially if you're unprotected. But with the
Japanese ship standing by, the Lindberghs were safe.
"In the morning the ship towed the Lockheed Sirius to Muroton Bay, and
while it was sort of quiet, Lindy fixed up a wet spark plug and they
were ship-shape again, and raring to go. But the fog wouldn't lift.
Finally it seemed to lift, and they started off.
"When they got to the island of Iturup a thick fog came up from nowhere
and cut off their visibility again. Then a radio message told them that
the safest place to land was at Shana, so at Shana they landed. And at
Shana they stayed, too, grounded by the fog. But finally the fog lifted,
and they were able to get to Nemuro.
"Tokyo next. And Tokyo was glad to see them! There were over 30,000
people at the airport when they landed. The Lindys were just as popular
as ever, and just as much the good will ambassadors as ever. They were
taken all over Tokyo, ate with chopsticks, lived through a little
earthquake, and did as the Japanese did generally.
"Lindbergh told the Japanese people what he had set out to do, and that
he hoped that there'd be a regular airplane route between Japan and the
United States. He said that he thought the route would be from the
north, too, but a little south of the one that he and Anne had taken.
"Japan liked the Lindberghs, but they had to leave, bound for China.
That was in September. Japan and China hadn't decided yet to go to war,
but things were pretty bad in China, anyway. The Yangtze Kiang and the
Hwai river had overflowed and flooded hundreds of villages and cities.
Together they'd covered about 1,000 square miles of land, so you can
imagine in what sort of condition China was then. Everything that goes
with flood had come to China too, including starvation and disease. The
Relief Committee was doing all that it could to help the inland people,
but it couldn't do much, because there was no way of communicating with
them, and of finding out who needed aid, and what towns had been
flooded.
"As soon as Lindy landed in Nanking, he volunteered to help the Chinese
government by making surveys of the flooded land. The government
accepted his offer, and Lindy flew over the country, making reports of
districts that were under water. He found a lot of places that no one
knew about, and did wonderful work. At one place he landed on the water
in a village that was completely covered. He had a doctor and medical
supplies with him, but the poor Chinese thought that he had brought
food. They paddled over to the plane, grabbed the supplies and tore them
to shreds, looking for something to eat. Lindy and the doctors took off
as soon as they possibly could. As a result of this, Lindy advised that
all supplies should be brought by armed guards, and that food was the
most urgent need at the moment. Because of the good work that he did,
the President of China gave Lindy another medal to add to his
collection, the Chinese Aviation Medal.
"In October the Lindbergh's trip was suddenly cut short, in the first
place, by an accident that might have proved pretty serious. The
Colonel, Anne, and a doctor were setting out for a survey of the
Tungting Lake district, and were to take off in the Yangtze. But just as
they were about to leave the water the current caught one of the wings,
and it crumpled up. The plane turned over, and threw them all into the
river. They were all weighed down by their heavy suits, and could easily
have drowned, but they were pulled out of the water. The Lockheed was
pulled up on board a British carrier, and Anne and Lindy decided to go
to Shanghai with it and wait while it was being repaired.
"While they were on board the Hermes, the aircraft carrier, they got
word that Dwight Morrow, Anne's father, had died. This meant that their
trip was over, since they had to get back to the United States as
quickly as possible. They took a steamer to Vancouver, and then flew
across the country to Maine."
"From then on the Lindberghs dropped out of the news, because they
wanted to. And they didn't figure in the news again until that terrible
day when their baby was kidnapped. That was on March 1st, you remember.
But in spite of everything that's happened, Lindy is carrying on, and so
is Anne Lindbergh. They're still the country's most loved couple.
"Lindy's still working hard at aviation, and trying to make the world
aviation conscious. That's what he says his aim is, and that's what he
makes his trips for. He wants people to get so used to airplanes that
they'll ride in them just like they ride in automobiles, without
thinking twice about it. He hasn't had any serious accidents, because
he's always careful that everything's in perfect order before he starts
on a flight. That's part of his program. He wants to make people see
that if you're cautious enough, flying isn't dangerous.
"I think that Lindy's succeeded in what he's tried to do. The world, and
especially the United States was never more interested in aviation than
in the year that Lindy flew across the Atlantic. That made them sit up
and take notice. The United States was way behind Europe in air service,
but since it perked up and got interested in what could be done, why,
its been getting ahead by leaps and bounds.
"And we mustn't forget that the most important thing about Lindy is that
he was born with wings. He wasn't made a flyer, he just was one. I've
seen him give an exhibition, when we went to see the air races, and
golly, you could tell his plane from anybody else's in the world. He
handles it so easily, and takes it off like a thistle and brings it down
like a feather. A plane's just part of him.
"And besides that, he's as modest as they come. Of course, that's an old
story. Everybody knows that. But it still strikes me as pretty marvelous
that a man can make a big success when he's only 25, and then go on as
though nothing had happened, sticking to his work, only working harder
than ever. If anybody gets my vote, it's Lindy, even if he was running
for President, and I was old enough to vote." Bob stopped. "Well," he
said then, "I guess that's the end of my story."
It was pretty late. The moon had gone down, and the garden was dark,
with the four men making four mounds of deeper black where they sat.
Suddenly a light in the house switched on, sending out a stream of light
that picked out Bob, his hair tousled, his eyes blinking in the sudden
glare.
Hal started. "It must be late," he said anxiously. "I'd better be
getting on. The night air--I shouldn't have stayed so long."
The screen door of the house slammed, and a figure approached, then down
the garden walk, strangely burdened.
"Hang around," said Captain Bill, starting up. "This is going to be
interesting." He hurried down the path and met Bob's mother, whose
strange burden turned out to be a tray with glasses and a covered dish.
He took the tray from her. "You can't go now," he called to Hal. "Look
what we've got." He set the tray down, and lifted the napkin from the
plate. "Home baked cookies," he said, and took one. "You should have
joined our group sooner," he said to his sister, between bites.
"Because I brought cookies, I suppose, if for no other reason," she said
with a laugh.
"Why, Meg, you know that you'd be welcome even without cookies. You
should have been here to hear your son and my nephew tell a grand story
in a grand way."
Bob felt himself blushing in the dark. Praise from Bill was rare and
much sought after. "Aw," he said, "it wasn't anything."
"It was a good yarn," said Bill, emphatically.
"If it was a good yarn, then he's your nephew, all right," said Mrs.
Martin. "There was never anybody like you for yarning. And good ones,
too."
Captain Bill laughed, and took another cookie. "If I can tell stories
the way you bake cookies--"
He didn't finish his sentence. Hal had been standing nervously at the
edge of the group, waiting for a chance to break in. Now he broke in,
chance or no chance. "I've got to go, really I do," he said. "My mother
will be worried. Thanks a lot for everything. Goodnight." He broke into
a run, and disappeared into the darkness.
Captain Bill looked after him. "Say, what's the matter with Hal? What
was his hurry?"
Bob was a little embarrassed. He hated to talk disloyally about his
friend, but he felt that Bill ought to know. "I guess he's afraid to be
out so late alone. You see, Hal's pretty much of a baby yet. He's afraid
of a lot of things he oughtn't to be afraid of, and he's always afraid
that his mother's worrying about him."
"I think that it's his mother's fault," said Mrs. Martin. "She's
pampered him and spoiled him until he can't do a thing or think for
himself. She just didn't know that the best way to rear a boy is to give
him plenty to eat and a place to sleep and let him take care of
himself."
"That's why I turned out so well, isn't it, Mother?" said Bob.
His mother laughed. "Oh, I don't know about you. You must be the
exception that proves the rule."
Bill spoke suddenly. "There ought to be something done about Hal," he
said. "I like that boy. He's got the stuff there, but he needs something
to bring it out. How about it, Bob?"
"I think so, Bill," said Bob, pleased that Captain Bill had seen so much
in his friend. "I've been trying to help Hal, and I think that he's
getting much better than he was, don't you, Mother?"
"I have noticed an improvement," said Mrs. Martin.
"There'll be more before I go home," said Captain Bill.
"Don't hog the cookies," said Pat, making his first, but most important
contribution to the conversation. But Pat, though he had said nothing,
had thought a lot.