Dinner was a jolly affair. Everybody was in excellent humor. Hal had
quite recovered from his afternoon's experience; Pat had succeeded in
getting the Marianne into perfect shape; Bill looked forward to his
evening's plans with relish; and Bob was happy just on general
principles, anticipating a great evening, and because he was usually
happy. Mrs. Gregg, who often became lonely by herself, was glad of being
in such pleasant company.
They went into the garden after dinner, and the Captain, after filling
up his ever-present pipe, began his story.
"Well," he said, "there's only one way to begin the story of anybody's
life. That's by telling when he was born, because after all, that's the
first thing that happens to a man, isn't it? Well, Admiral Richard
Evelyn Byrd was born on October 25, 1888, in Winchester, Virginia, where
there had been Byrds ever since anybody could remember. In fact, the
first Byrd settled in America about 1690, and the name has been a
prominent and honored one ever since. There were Byrds fighting in the
Revolution and in the Civil War, so it wasn't from nowhere that our
Richard Evelyn got his courage and grit that carried him through the
dangers of being the first man to cross both the North and the South
poles in a plane.
"He had a grandmother, too, who gave him a goodly supply of what it
takes to do great deeds. That was Jane Byrd, who was the sort of person
around whom legends spring up, and are carried down from generation to
generation. In fact, one of them was a famous story of her killing of a
huge blacksnake. It was during the Civil War. Her husband and her
brother were both fighting for the Confederacy, and Jane Byrd was left
alone to manage the great plantation and farm. And manage it she did.
One day she went to gather the eggs in the chicken house, and found a
great blacksnake had swallowed twelve prized guinea eggs that had been
set under a setting hen. She clubbed the snake to death with a club,
taking care not to strike the twelve bumps that showed all down its body
the places where the twelve guinea eggs reposed. Then she cut the snake
open and took out the eggs and put them back under the hen, without a
bit of fuss or excitement. She took seriously the charge that she must
take care of the estate while her men were away fighting.
"Richard Byrd couldn't have had better ancestors to back him up in his
adventures, but every ounce of courage, every bit of perseverance that
he inherited, he needed. He was a man who met with hundreds of
disappointments, and innumerable obstacles in carrying out the plans
that meant so much to him and to the world. But he was never downed by
them. Set-backs that would have made other men, men of lesser caliber
turn from their paths and give up their plans, were just so much more of
a spur to him.
"Dick Byrd was never a robust man. He had the physical handicap of a bad
ankle to overcome, and his general build has always been slight. He is
not the huge, strapping hero of story-book fame; he was the little
Napoleon with a great determination that outweighed any physical
weakness. A man doesn't have to be big to get places. A little fellow,
if he wants to badly enough, can accomplish a lot.
"And Dick Byrd certainly wanted badly to go to the Pole. Even when he
was a kid in school, it was his ambition to be the first man to reach
the North Pole. Somebody beat him to it. Peary got there first, but it
took him a long time, and he had to go on foot. Byrd flew, and
accomplished in a few hours what had taken days and weeks to do before.
"Not only did he want to go to the Pole--he wanted to go to all sorts of
places, and he did, too. Before he was fourteen years old, Richard Byrd
traveled alone around the world! That took nerve. And not only nerve on
Richard Byrd's part, but on the part of his mother! The trip wasn't a
regular round-the-world tour that anybody can make today on a boat
that's like a little palace, but it was a rough, adventurous voyage on
an army transport, and a British tramp.
"It was like this. You see, Dick had struck up a friendship with Captain
Kit Carson. After the Spanish American War, Carson went to the
Philippines as a Circuit Court Judge. But he didn't forget his friend
Dick. They exchanged letters. In one letter the Captain mentioned that
it would be a fine idea if Dick Byrd came down to the Philippines to see
the exciting time that they were having down there. Dick took him up on
the idea, and made plans to go. At first his mother was horrified at the
idea, since Dick was not a strong boy. But with unusual intelligence,
she decided to let him go, since the trip would be an educational one,
and would do the boy more good than any possible harm that could come to
him. The very fact that he wanted so badly to go, and planned his trip
so carefully, made her feel that he had reached an age where he must be
allowed to decide for himself. This was a very wise decision on her
part, since it was probably this trip, with its adventures in
self-reliance that made Richard into the successful adventurer that he
is."
"The trip to Manila was made exciting by a typhoon that stuck the
transport--something that the boy would not have wanted to miss, although
the Captain of the transport could have done very well without it--he
said it was the worst that he'd ever been through.
"They got to Manila, though, safe and sound, and Dick was greeted by his
friend Carson. Manila was intensely amusing for a boy of fourteen.
Amusing, and mighty exciting. The excitement included a lone combat with
a gang of angry rebels armed with knives--from which the young Dick
escaped only by the fleetness of his pony's heels. That's the sort of
adventure young boys dream of, and that's the sort they should have to
look back on, if they are to live the full sort of life that Richard
Byrd did.
"From Manila, Dick went visiting to Darim Island. On the island the
cholera plague was raging, and Dick got exposed to the disease. They put
him into quarantine. He didn't get the cholera, but all around him men
were dying in terrible agony. Finally the doctor managed to get Dick to
the seaport, and he got a boat for Manila. They were glad to see him
back, and he was glad to be back.
"After Manila, Dick went on his merry way around the world by way of
Ceylon and the Red Sea to Port Said, where he reshipped for the last lap
of his cruise. It was a wonderful trip for a boy, and there's no doubt
that it had a great influence on all that he did later.
"When Richard got back, and had settled down more or less, his parents
decided that he should go to Virginia Military Institute. He was popular
at the Institute, as he was popular wherever he went, for his
spirit--that old spirit that carried him around the world, and later
across both of the earth's poles. It was the same spirit that made him
try out for the football team at V.M.I.--and carried him to the position
of end on the first team. It was at that time that an incident occurred
which was to be very significant in his later life. In one game of the
season he broke his ankle. This was not important in itself--but it
happened to be the first break of an ankle that was going to bother Dick
again and again--and almost at one time defeat him entirely.
"But I'm getting ahead of my story. After being graduated from the
Military Institute, Dick Byrd went quite naturally to Annapolis. He
entered in 1908. He carried his popularity and his success with him to
this place. His grades were not of the highest, but he excelled in
athletics, going out for football again, besides track, boxing, and
wrestling.
"In his last year at Annapolis, Dick's ankle made itself felt again.
Dick was Captain of his gym squad, which was competing in the big
exhibition of the year. Dick, as Captain, wanted to make a spectacular
showing, and cinch the meet for his team. To do this, he invented an
intricate, complicated series of tricks on the bars, calculated to stir
up the most lethargic members of the audience. It would have been a
great trick--if it had succeeded--but it didn't. Dick slipped, somehow,
and his hands failed to connect with the bars. Down he went--on the same
ankle, breaking it once more.
"In 1912 he got his commission, and became an ensign. And he also began
to formulate plans for his great adventures. Connected with the
Navy--there was no telling what opportunity for adventure would come to
him. But he reckoned without his ankle. It gave way a third time--this
time while he was going down a gangway, so that he was pitched headfirst
down. They tried to fix up the ankle--in fact, they joined the bones
together with a silver nail. That is, Byrd thought that they had used a
silver nail--and when he discovered that just a plain, ordinary nail had
been used, he felt very much deflated. Nail and all, Byrd walked with a
limp, and an ensign with a limp was just useless, so far as the Navy was
concerned. So Byrd was retired.
"That must have been an awful blow to him. Not only was the only career
open to him cut short, but he had been married the year before, to Marie
Ames, a childhood sweetheart from Winchester. So that his retirement
affected not just himself, but another as well.
"It might have floored a lesser man. But not Dick Byrd. In 1917 the
United States went into the World War, And Byrd, who had been rejected
by the Navy, and who doubtless could not have found a place in the army,
decided to go into the branch of the service that wouldn't ask questions
about his bad leg--because it didn't matter whether he had a bad leg or
not--in aviation. So to aviation he turned.
"He entered the Naval flying school at Pensacola, Florida. It was a
lucky day for Byrd and for aviation that he took to the air. It seems
that the air was where he belonged. He was a Byrd by birth, and might
have been born with wings, for the ease with which he took to flying.
"He became assistant superintendent of the school, and was on the
commission to investigate accidents. There were a lot of them, then. The
planes were not so highly developed as they are now--and the green
youngsters who were entering the service could not handle them. You can
imagine how horrible it was to see some friend's plane come crashing
down into the ocean, and have to be the first to go out in the rescue
boat, in order to do what was possible to rescue him, and to discover
what had caused the accident. A warning from the observation
tower--somebody was in tailspin. A deafening crash! And the rescue boat
would be put out before the waves from the great splash had subsided. At
this work Byrd learned that more than half of the accidents could have
been avoided with care--either in inspecting the machine before going up,
or in handling it up in the air.
"Dick Byrd was just too good. That was his tough luck at this point in
his career. He was too good to be sent over to France, where he wanted
to go. He was sent instead to Canada, where he was chief of the American
air forces in Canada. At this job, as well as at any other that he
undertook, Byrd acquitted himself admirably. And even though he chafed
at being kept in America, he did his job well.
"But his mind was soaring across the ocean. As early as 1917 Byrd wanted
to fly the Atlantic. But there was always something that interfered.
After the war, he petitioned the Navy again about a cross-Atlantic
voyage, and was given permission to go over to England and sail the ZR-2
back to America. How tragically this may have ended for Byrd you can
see. The ZR-2, on a trial flight suddenly burst into flames and crashed
into the Humber river. Forty-four of the passengers were killed, among
them friends of Byrd. It was Richard Byrd's task to investigate the
wreck that might very easily have claimed him for one of its victims.
"In 1924 his hopes seemed about to be realized at last. He was assigned
to the dirigible Shenandoah, and was to fly it across Alaska and the
North Pole. But the Shenandoah, too, met with disaster, and Byrd's hopes
were again dashed. The Navy rejected his petition to go with Amundsen on
the trip that he planned over the Pole, and all hope seemed gone. In
fact, as a final blow, Byrd was retired from the aviation service
altogether.
"But he was as undaunted by this setback as he had been by his
retirement from the Navy. He set about immediately to organize his own
Polar expedition, which was to be climaxed by his flight over the Pole
in 1926.
"Floyd Bennett, whom Byrd often said was the best man in the world to
fly with, helped him plan his expedition which was to be the realization
of all his boyhood dreams and visions. It wasn't easy to plan, and the
foresighted planning, they knew, would mean the success or failure of
their project.
"They chose a three-motored Fokker monoplane, with 200 horsepower Wright
air-cooled motors. It was 42 feet 9 inches long, with a wing spread of
over 63 feet. It was capable of a high speed of 120 miles an hour.
"That was the plane, the Josephine Ford. Their ship was the Chantier,
given him by the Shipping Board. The crew was made up of picked men, and
Byrd knows how to pick them. Not one of them failed to live up to his
expectations on that trip.
"On April 5, 1926, all of the plans being completed, and the last
supplies of food to last fifty men for six months being stowed away, the
Chantier sailed from New York for King's Bay, Spitzbergen. They got
there on April 29th, after an uneventful trip, and anchored in the Bay.
But the problem of getting the plane to shore arose. They solved it by
building a huge raft, loading the heavy ship onto it, and towing it to
shore through the choppy, ice-blocked water.
"When they got the plane onto the shore, the wheels sank into the snow,
and they had to replace them with skis, which seemed ample to sustain
the weight of even that great craft. How frail they really were was to
be proved later.
"Byrd and his men set up camp, and prepared for the take-off to the
Pole. They had to work fast. The Amundsen-Ellsworth-Nobile Expedition
with its dirigible the Norge was well on its way with its preparations,
and while there was no bitter rivalry between the two expeditions,
nevertheless the distinction of being the first to fly over the Pole was
one not to be sneezed at. Everybody worked--eighteen hours a day, with
meals taken on the run. And nobody thought to complain--the morale never
broke once. That's the sort of man Byrd picks to take with him--and
that's the sort of respect they have for a man who chooses them. Byrd's
a leader. No matter where he has come in contact with men, he has won
their love and respect, and has got more work out of them by his
kindness and gentleness than anybody else could have by slave-driving.
They worked for Byrd because they liked to, not because they had to. He
imbued them with his spirit of adventure, so that every man of them was
determined that his expedition should be successful, and that Byrd
should be the first man to fly across the Pole.
"One of the hardest jobs of all was packing down the snow into a hard,
smooth runway for taking off. They had to take off going down hill,
since there was no level stretch of snow for their start, and this hill
had to be smoothed and leveled. The first attempt at a take-off was
disastrous. The plane landed in a snowdrift, with a broken ski. The
carpenters worked for two days and nights to make new skis, and the ship
was ready for its second attempt.
"The second trial flight was a huge success. The ship rolled down the
incline and took gently and gracefully into the air. At least they would
be able to get off. The landing, too, was beautiful. So far, so good.
They discovered by this trial flight that they could make the North Pole
and return without landing once, as they had planned before.
"The Josephine Ford was a mighty heavy craft, and loaded with fuel and
supplies, which they would need in case of a forced landing and overland
trek, she weighed five tons. This accounts for the terrible job getting
her off the ground and into the air.
"Well, finally everything was ready, the weather was just right; the
motors had been warmed up, and Bennet and Byrd climbed into the plane,
ready to start. Down the runway they coasted. There was a tense moment.
Would she lift? With a groan, the men on the ground saw her lurch, roll
into a snowdrift, and all but turn over.
"A lesser man, as I said once before, would have been discouraged. But
not Byrd! He got out, inspected the plane, and found to his joy that it
had not been damaged. No delay! Off again. They lightened the load as
much as they dared by taking off some fuel, then taxied the Josephine
Ford up the hill again. The men worked like Trojans to get the runway
lengthened and smoothed out again. At last everything was ready.
"Byrd and Bennett decided to stake everything on that last trial. They
decided to give the engine all the speed they could, so that at the end
of her run she'd either rise into the air, or crack up once and for all.
Even as they planned, they hoped against hope that it would be the
former, and not the latter. The weather was perfect. It was a little
past midnight. The men of the expedition were gathered about, anxiously
awaiting the take-off. Byrd and Bennett shook hands with them, stepped
into the cabin of the ship and started down the runway. The great ship
rose laboriously into the air. There was a shout from their comrades.
They were off for the North Pole! Those on the ground cheered lustily.
The Great Adventure, for which one of those men in the air had been
preparing all his life, had begun.
"They had to navigate first by dead reckoning, following the landmarks
in the vicinity of King's Bay. They climbed to a good distance so that
they could get a perfect view of the land below them, and looked down
upon the snowy mountains, scenery grander than any they had ever seen
before, and terrifying, too. In a short time they left the land behind,
and crossed the edge of the polar ice pack.
"There are no landmarks on the ice, and when they reached the ice pack,
they had to begin their careful navigating. In the first place, they had
to hit the Pole exactly, chiefly because that was the place they had set
out for, and then because if they didn't hit it exactly, they would have
no way of reckoning their path back to Spitzbergen, and would be lost in
the arctic wastes.
"But expert navigating was Dick Byrd's strong point. He had developed a
sextant by which the altitude of the sun could be gaged without
reference to the horizon line, and that was exactly what he needed now,
because due to the formations of ice, the horizon was irregular. But
figuring out position by means of the sextant requires at least an hour
of mathematical calculation, and by the time the position had been
figured, the men in the airplane had advanced about a hundred miles or
more. So they used a method that they had learned, whereby their
position could be judged by means of taking the altitude of the sun and
laying down the line of position on a sort of graph.
"Their compass was of little value. They were too near the North
Magnetic Pole, which had a tendency to pull their magnet from the
geographical Pole to its own position, about 1,000 miles south. So they
used a sun compass, that indicated their position by means of the sun.
Of course, the fact that they had sun throughout the whole trip was an
advantage. I doubt if they could have made it otherwise. Navigating up
there is too difficult. Then they had to figure on wind drift. The wind,
blowing pretty hard, say, about 30 miles an hour at right angles to
their plane would cause it to drift thirty miles an hour out of its
course. This they were able to make up for by means of the drift
indicator, which compensated for the drift.
"Bennett piloted first. He would glance back to the cabin where Byrd was
busy with the navigating instruments, and Byrd would indicate to him how
to steer his course by waving his hand to the right or the left. When
they were certain of their course, Byrd looked down on the land that he
had desired to see since he had been a boy in school. Below them,
stretching for mile upon mile was the ice pack, criss-crossed with
ridges, seeming like mere bumps in the ice from their altitude, but
really about 50 or 60 feet high. Every now and then they saw a lead,
opened by the movement of the water--those treacherous leads that had led
many a hardy explorer to his death.
"Byrd took the wheel. He steered with one hand while he held the compass
in the other. Bennett poured gasoline into the tanks, and threw
overboard the empty cans, to relieve the plane of weight. From then on
they took turn and turn about at the wheel, Byrd navigating incessantly,
until he had a slight attack of snow blindness from looking down at the
snow so constantly.
"Soon they came to land where no man had ever been before. It was then
that Byrd felt that he was being repaid for all the planning, all the
hard work and heart-breaking disappointments that he had experienced.
The sun was shining, the Josephine Ford functioning perfectly.
"Perfectly? Just a minute. They were about an hour from the Pole. Byrd
noticed through the cabin window a bad leak in the oil tank of one
motor. If the oil leaked out, the motor would burn up and stop. Should
they land? No. Why not go on as far as they could, perhaps reach the
Pole? They would be no worse off landing at the Pole than landing here,
and they would have reached their goal. So on they kept. Byrd glued his
eyes to the oil pressure gauge. If it dropped, their motor was doomed.
But they would not land, or turn back.
"Luck was with them. At about two minutes past nine o'clock, they
crossed the Pole. It takes just a minute to say it, but how many years
of planning, how many years of patiently surmounting obstacles had
prepared for that minute's statement!
"Below them was the frozen, snow-covered ocean, with the ice broken up
into various formations of ice fields, indicating that there was no land
about. Byrd flew the plane in a circle several miles in diameter, with
the Pole as a center. His field of view was 120 miles in diameter. All
this while he was flying south, since all directions away from the Pole
are south. And now, his purpose accomplished, his hardest task faced
him. He had to fly back to Spitzbergen.
"Soon after he left the Pole, the sextant that he was using slid off the
chart table, breaking the horizon glass. He had to navigate the whole
trip back by dead reckoning! With the oil fast spurting out, and the
motor threatening to stop any minute, and no sextant to show his
position, Byrd had his hands full. They lost track of time. Minutes
seemed like hours, hours like ages. Then they saw land dead ahead. It
was Spitzbergen! Byrd had flown into the unknown, 600 miles from any
land, had turned about, and come back to the very spot from which he had
started.
"Maybe you don't realize what wonderful navigating this was. But anybody
who has navigated a plane by dead reckoning knows that it was a feat
that called for great skill.
"Nobody was prouder of what Byrd and Bennett had done than the men who
had worked so hard to make the trip a success, and who had stayed behind
at Spitzbergen, without glory or reward except in knowing that they had
been a necessary feature in the success of that journey. The whistle of
the Chantier blew a shrill whistle of welcome. The men ran to greet Byrd
and Bennett, and carried them in triumph on their shoulders. Among the
first to greet them were Amundsen and Ellsworth, whom Byrd had beaten in
the race to be the first to cross the Pole by air. But they shook hands
with vigor. They were glad that it was Byrd who had beaten them, if it
had to be anybody. Byrd affects people that way. He's just as well liked
after successes as before them. That's the sort he is.
"They were pretty glad to see him when he got back to the United States,
too. There were plenty of whistles blowing, plenty of ticker tape, and
parades for the returning hero. But Dick Byrd stayed modest through all
of it. In the first place, he never gets fussed. He isn't a southern
gentleman for nothing. And in the second place, he realized that the
shouting wasn't so much for him as it was for the thing that he did. He
had brought the United States the honor of sending the first men over
the Pole. And the United States was applauding the deed, not himself.
But he seems to have forgotten that if it hadn't been for his years of
planning, striving and struggling the deed never would have been
accomplished.
"Well, Dick Byrd had accomplished his life's ambition. But it didn't
mean that he was ready to quit. There were new fields to conquer. How
about flying the Atlantic? He'd always wanted to fly the Atlantic.
Anything that was all adventure appealed to him. So when they hoisted
anchor at Spitzbergen after the flight across the Pole Byrd said to his
companion Bennett, 'Now we can fly the Atlantic.'
"The plan to fly the ocean had its origin in the same motives that the
North Pole flight had. Byrd wanted to make America aviation conscious;
and he wanted to make American aviators conscious of the benefits of
careful planning. Dozens of lives had been lost in unsuccessful
trans-oceanic flights--the lives of young men full of the love of
adventure, who made hasty plans, or no plans at all for spanning the
ocean--who had no qualifications except a great ambition to see them
through the great grind that was before them. Byrd wanted to show all
fool-hardy young flyers that care, care, and more care was needed in
their preparations. He had to prove to the United States, too, that if
care were exercised in these flights, they were not necessarily
dangerous. All this Byrd had to prove. And in the meantime he'd have the
time of his life, steeped in the adventurous sort of work that he
craved.
"So Byrd and Bennett started their plans. The first step, of course, was
the choosing of the plane. Opinion was in favor of a single-motored
plane for a cross-Atlantic flight, since a single-motored plane would
have a greater cruising range; offer less resistance in the air; and be
less complicated to handle than a multi-motored craft. But Byrd held out
for the tri-motor, the same type of plane as the Josephine Ford, which
had carried him over the Pole. There was this to say for it: if one
motor stopped, the other two would still function; and it might be the
solution to the problem of what kind of plane would cross the Atlantic
in the future, when planes ran on regular schedule. They wanted a bigger
plane than the Josephine Ford, though. So they had one designed with a
wing spread of 71 feet, which meant that they got an increased lifting
power of about 3,000 pounds. That enabled them to take along about 800
pounds of equipment above what they actually needed, to show that a pay
load could be carted across the water in a plane.
"They needed plenty of equipment, though. There was a special radio set,
rockets to shoot off as signals if anything went wrong; two rubber boats
for the crew; and emergency food and equipment of all sorts for forced
landings; and even a special apparatus for making drinking water out of
salt water so that they would not go thirsty. In fact, they could have
survived for three weeks in case of an accident. They? Why, Byrd decided
that besides himself and Bennett, they would take along passengers, also
to prove something--this time that passengers could be carried across to
Europe by plane.
"They successfully petitioned the Weather Bureau to make predictions for
the trans-Atlantic flights, and for the first time in history regular
weather maps for aviation were made of the North Atlantic.
"At the end of April, in 1927, the plane was ready for its factory test.
Byrd planned to make his flight in May, which he figured was a good
month. It happened that there were at the time several other planes
preparing to cross the ocean. Byrd was in no race, however. Of course,
it would have been nice to be the first man across the Atlantic, as he
had been the first man over the Pole--but he encouraged the others who
were preparing and made no effort to be the first to start. However, his
plane was ready before the others.
"Byrd, Bennett, Noville, who was going with them, and Fokker took her up
for her first flight. Fokker was at the controls; the other three,
passengers. Everything went smoothly. She took off well; her motors
functioned perfectly. But as soon as the motors were turned off for the
glide, they felt her nose dip. She was nose-heavy. When they tried to
land, they knew definitely that she was nose-heavy, and zoomed into the
air again to plan what they should do. However, they couldn't stay up
indefinitely--they hadn't much fuel. Down they glided again. The wheels
touched the ground. Fokker jumped. But the other three were caught.
"Byrd felt the fuselage heave up. The plane went over on her nose,
turned completely over. Something struck him with an awful impact, and
he felt his arm snap. They had to get out of this! They were trapped in
a mass of wreckage which might at any moment burst into flames and burn
them to death before they had a chance to escape. Noville, beside Byrd,
broke a hole in the fabric with his fist, and they crawled out. The
wreckage did not burn. Someone had turned off the switches of all three
motors.
"Bennett? He was hanging head down in the pilot's seat, unable to free
himself. His leg was broken; his face bleeding. He was badly injured--so
badly that for a week it was thought that he would never recover. But he
did--of course. His iron nerve and grit pulled him through. But any
thought of his going on the trip was out. This was a blow to Byrd. There
was no man he would rather fly with than Bennett, Floyd Bennett, the
cheerful companion, the willing worker, himself an expert pilot, and
able to divine instructions before they were even given. Tough luck!
"But tough luck, too, was the fact that the plane was almost irreparably
damaged. Byrd set his arm on the way to the hospital, had them put it in
a sling so that it would be out of the way, and went back to the factory
to supervise the repairing of the America. It took over a month of work
night and day to repair the damage that had been done, and re-design the
nose so that the craft would be balanced.
"May 21st was set for the christening of the plane. The christening-was
changed into a celebration of the successful flight of Lindbergh.
Bennett was pleased with Lindy's achievement, since Lindy had proved the
very things that Byrd himself had set out to prove--that with careful
preparation, the ocean could be spanned; and that a successful ocean
flight would stir the imaginations of the people, making them more
conscious of aviation and its strivings. Then, too, Lindbergh cemented
relationships between France and the United States, which was one of
Byrd's purposes in flying to France instead of to England, or any other
country.
"Well, after the ocean had been crossed, there was no need for hurry.
Not that Byrd had been in a rush; but there was a great deal of
criticism concerning the delay of his trip. Nobody knows how these
things start, or why. It seems that it should have been Byrd's, and
Byrd's business alone, as to when he chose to cross the ocean. After
all, it was his life being risked, and his glory if the flight were
successful. But a great many people in the United States felt that there
must be some ulterior motive in his not starting immediately; and that
he had been bested by a mere boy when he let Lindbergh be the first man
to conquer the ocean.
"But Byrd didn't care. He knew what he was about. He was a southern
gentleman, and he said nothing to his defamers. And he went on
completing his preparations. Chamberlin, with his passenger Levine,
broke the world's record for flying to Germany, in a remarkable flight.
Byrd hailed their success.
"Then at last, on June 29th, early in the morning the weather man
reported that weather conditions, while not ideal, were favorable. Dick
Byrd decided to delay no longer. He called together his crew, and met
them on the field at 3:00 o'clock in the morning. It was a miserable
morning, and a light rain was falling. By the light of torches the crew
was putting the finishing touches on the huge' America. There she was,
atop the hill that they had built for her, so that she would get a good
fast start. And a good fast start she needed, all 15,000 pounds of her.
Think of the speed they had to get up in order to lift that bulk from
the ground! They'd have to be going a mile and a half a minute!
"Bert Acosta was at the wheel; Noville, recovered from his serious
injuries in the trial crash, sat with his hand on the dump valve, by
means of which he could dump a load of gasoline if they didn't rise into
the air; Bert Balchen, the young Norwegian relief pilot and mechanic,
was busy with the spare fuel.
"The engines were warmed up. The great ship was ready--no, not quite
ready. But she was eager to be off. The America broke the rope that held
her, and glided down the hill on which she had been held. It was a tense
moment. Would they be able to get this great hulk into the air? Along
the ground she sped, gathering momentum. Her wheels lifted. There was a
shout. She had cleared the ground. But the danger was not over. They
must fly to at least 400 feet. Then the America showed her metal. She
climbed on a turn, and they were flying at an altitude of 400 feet. They
were off!
"On they sped to their destination at last. The wind was behind them,
helping them; the weather was disagreeable, and slightly foggy, but this
did not bother them. They reached Nova Scotia easily. But when they got
there they got a horrible shock. They had run into a fog. But what a
fog! One so thick that they couldn't see the land or ocean under them.
And they flew for 2,000 miles like this, absolutely blind, with black
towering clouds ahead of them, below them, and when they ran through
them, all around them.
"The strain was terrible. In addition, Byrd calculated that they had
used more fuel than he had expected, because of climbing so high to get
over the clouds, and they might not have enough to take them to Europe.
But they did not want to turn back. They would take their chance.
Balchen and Acosta piloted with great skill, and Byrd took his turn at
the wheel while they slept. The wind was with them, and they made
excellent speed. Radio messages came to them clearly. They judged their
position, and their gas supply, and found that they had underestimated
their remaining gas. They could get to Rome.
"On the afternoon of the second day they came out of the thick fog, and
saw the welcome water beneath them. They were bound for France, and they
hit the coastline at Finisterre. They headed for Paris. Then they
radioed ahead for the weather report. Fog! Fog and storm, with its
center at Paris. This was the worst thing that could possibly have
happened to them, this arriving at their destination in a fog. But they
went on. It would be a triumph, and an addition to aviation knowledge if
they could land in a storm, after coming all the way from America.
"They figured finally that they must be almost over Paris. But suddenly
the fog below them was pierced by a queer light. It was the revolving
signal of a lighthouse! Their compass had gone back on them, and they
had made a circle, coming out not at Paris, but back to the coast of
France.
"They turned around, after adjusting their compasses, and made once more
for Paris by dead reckoning. They were above Le Bourget. But what could
they do? They could see nothing below them, only an inky blackness that
nothing could penetrate. Landing would have meant not only death to
themselves, but perhaps to many people who had gathered to watch their
triumphal landing. Their gas was getting low. Byrd saw only one
solution. They turned and flew once more back to the coast. They were
heading for the lighthouse that they had come upon accidentally before.
They flew very low, over the sleeping towns and villages that they knew
were below them, but which were shrouded in pitch blackness. A revolving
light pierced the blackness, and they were at the seacoast. But over the
water it was just as inky black as over the land.
"Balchen was at the wheel. Byrd gave the signal to land. They threw over
a line of flares that gave them some idea as to where to land, then
descended. The force of their impact with the water sheared off the
landing gear. The plane sank to the wings in the water, and the fuselage
filled rapidly.
"Byrd was thrown into the water. He swam to the plane. Noville was
climbing out. The other two were nowhere to be seen. Byrd called to
them. He swam over to the plane, which was almost submerged. Balchen was
caught in the wreckage, but managed to extricate himself. Then Acosta
swam up from nowhere. His collar bone was broken. But a hasty survey
assured Byrd that the others were all right. Almost exhausted, they got
out the collapsible boat, blew it up, and paddled to shore. It was a
mile to the village, and they trudged wearily on.
"They certainly did not look like a triumphal parade when they got to
the village, four tired, wet, dirty men, who looked more like tramps
than aviators. They tried to arouse the villagers, but they could not. A
small boy riding by became frightened when they spoke to him, and
scooted away. Finally they approached the lighthouse, aroused the
lighthouse keeper and his wife, and made them understand what had
happened.
"From then on, all was beer and skittles. There wasn't enough that the
villagers could do for the Americans who had landed so unceremoniously
in their midst--or practically in their midst. They rescued the plane,
and the mail that was in it.
"Paris was next, and the real triumphal parade started then. The flyers
were almost overwhelmed with the wonderful greeting that the Parisians
gave them. It was worth all of the hours of agony that they had gone
through. They had accomplished what they had set out to accomplish,
after all.
"Then America. Once more the American people welcomed Dick Byrd back as
the hero of the moment. He had excited interest in aviation; he had
proved many valuable scientific facts; he had proved a hero under trying
circumstances; he had added to the friendly feeling felt by the French
for the American people; in fact, he had done all things except one. He
had not extinguished his spirit of adventure.
"No sooner was Admiral Byrd back from his trip across the Atlantic when
he was planning another voyage, this time reflecting again the boyish
dreams of his early youth. He planned to go to the South Pole to make
certain scientific studies, and to fly across the Pole when he was
there.
"Very carefully he began to plan. He first obtained his ships. The
_Larsen_ and the _Sir James Clark Ross_ were to be used as supply ships.
_The City of New York_, once an ice breaker, was to be his chief ship,
and the _Eleanor Bolling_, named in honor of his mother, was to be the
chief supply ship. He took, too, four planes, three for observation
flights, and the huge three-motored Fokker, the _Floyd Bennett_. Every
division of the expedition was equipped with radio sets. Every division
of the expedition was further so equipped that in case of accident, or
in case it should be separated from any other unit, it could rescue
itself.
"Among the preparations was the purchase of about a hundred eskimo dogs,
which were to be used in the arctic. Ships, planes, cameras, radios,
footgear, and a thousand other details Byrd had to plan carefully.
Almost a million dollars had been spent before the ships even left New
York.
"In the midst of the preparations Admiral Byrd received a terrible blow.
This was the death of Floyd Bennett, that someone has already told
about. Bennett flew to the aid of Major Fitzmaurice, Captain Koebl and
Baron von Huenefeld, who had been forced down in the Gulf of St.
Lawrence, during the first east to west crossing of the Atlantic. At
Murray Bay, Quebec, he developed influenza, which turned into pneumonia.
He died in Quebec. Colonel Lindbergh rushed to Quebec with serum to save
his life, but it was of no use. Floyd Bennett, whom everybody loved, and
one of the greatest pilots of his day, had flown his last flight.
"It meant a loss to all aviation, but to Dick Byrd especially, since the
two men had been close friends. There was no man with whom Byrd would
rather have flown over the South Pole, as he had flown over the North.
In memory of his friend, Byrd named the plane with which he was to fly
over the Pole the _Floyd Bennett_.
"Preparations had to go on. It came time to choose the crew and staff
which was to go with Byrd, to be gone for such a long time in the arctic
wastes. The prospect does not seem inviting--the leaving of comfortable
homes, of families, in order to spend a year in the coldest climate that
will sustain life. But so great is the spirit of adventure in man that
15,000 people volunteered to go on the expedition. The men who were
finally chosen were picked men--all physically in perfect health, and
mentally alert. True, some of them shipped in positions in which they
had had no training, but Admiral Byrd could safely say that he had made
a mistake in no case. Every man that he chose proved himself worthy of
the choice.
"Finally all was ready. On August 26, 1928, the _City of New York_
started out. _The Eleanor Bolling_, a steamship, started later, as did
the supply ship, the _Larsen_. _The City of New York_, a sail boat, got
to New Zealand about the middle of November, the last to arrive. The
_Larsen's_ cargo was shifted to the other ships. On December 2, the
_Eleanor Bolling_ and the _City of New York_ sailed for the ice pack. In
about two weeks it came into sight. Then the latter ship took over the
former's cargo, and while the sail boat sailed back for New Zealand, the
steamer went on to penetrate the ice pack and steam at last into the
Ross Sea.
"The ship and its precious cargo went on to the ice barrier, and it was
on the ice barrier that Little America, the base of the expedition, that
was to be the home of Byrd and his men for a rigorous year and a half,
was built.
"The village they built was complete in every detail. As soon as they
landed, the men started in with the building program. There were three
clusters of buildings set in a circle about a thousand feet around.
These included the Administration Building, containing living quarters,
dispensary and radio reception room, a meteorological shelter, etc. Then
there was the general dormitory, and the observation igloo. Other
buildings included the store houses and medical supply store-house; a
Mess Hall, which was reached by a tunnel, and contained the dining room,
and more living quarters.
"The community was a comfortable one. There was plenty of work, of
course, but there was time for leisure, too, and the men could listen to
the radio, play with the dogs, read one of the books of the large
library; play cards, in fact, do any one of a number of things. The food
was good. Dried vegetables and fruits had been taken down in quantities.
There was plenty of meat, both smoked, and fresh killed seal meat. They
had electric light, and plenty of heat to keep them warm. In fact, the
life was pleasant if anything.
"Of course, the most significant part of the whole expedition was Byrd's
flight over the Pole. As in the other flights, the building of the
runway was the greatest task, and one of the most important. It took the
whole crew of 60 men to keep the runway in condition. On January 6th,
the Commander made his first flight in Antarctica, making many
photographs from his plane. After that, many trips were taken, new land
discovered, and scientific observations made.
"The long night set in, and meant less activity, but in the Spring the
sun rose once more, and activity broke out with renewed vigor,
especially around the planes. Men had been sent ahead to cache food for
emergency, in case of a forced landing of the _Floyd Bennett_. Byrd,
Harold June, Bernt Balchen and Ashley McKinley were to make the flight.
Everything was at last ready, and they were waiting only for favorable
weather conditions in order to start.
"On November 27, this was in 1929, came a weather report that satisfied
Byrd, no fog, and plenty of sun. The next day was bright and fair. The
plane was given a final overhauling. It was carefully warmed; the oil
was heated and poured in. Into the cabin went the dogs, and the dog
sledge, the food and other supplies that the men would have to use in
case of a forced landing. Into the plane, too, went Ashley McKinley's
camera, which was to take records of the crossing of the Pole.
"Finally Byrd gave the signal. _The Floyd Bennett_ was rolled out of its
hangar to the runway. Balchen was to pilot first. He opened the throttle
of all three motors. There was a roar, and they were on their way.
"Away they flew, into the cloudless sky. June and Balchen piloted, Byrd
navigated. They flew high, and in spite of their load of 12,000 pounds,
almost as much as they had had on the _America_, they attained an
altitude of some 10,000 feet. This was necessary in order to clear the
highest of the glaciers. On flew the _Floyd Bennett_, gayly as a bird.
"The craft had left Little America just before three o'clock in the
afternoon. In ten hours she had covered 700 miles. Then suddenly they
were over the Pole. They circled around in a great circle, whose center
was the South Pole, and then turned back. At a little after ten the next
morning they sped wearily into camp at Little America. In nineteen hours
they had been to the South Pole and back, and Dick Byrd, even though he
couldn't have been the first man at the North and South Poles,
nevertheless found himself the only man in the world who had flown over
both the North and South Poles.
"There was a let-down in the community's enthusiasm. The great task had
been accomplished. They awaited the City of New York which was to come
to take them home. Preparations were made for the homeward journey. It
was with joyous cries that the steamer City of New York was greeted, and
with pleasure that the men left Little America for New Zealand. By April
they had left hospitable New Zealand behind, too, and had started for
the United States.
"Once more his countrymen turned out to honor Byrd. Dick Byrd was now
Rear-Admiral Byrd, but the same Dick Byrd as he had always been before.
There were banquets, and medals, and many honors heaped upon him. All
over the world movies which had been taken of the expedition were shown
to entranced millions. Everybody shared in the work, the good times, the
adventures of that group of men.
"And here was little Richard Evelyn Byrd, who had been the undersized,
delicate boy, with a will of iron, and a spirit for adventure, the
leader of it all, the prime force behind the whole expedition. He
accomplished all that he sat out to accomplish, and more. The scientific
data that he collected proved valuable; and interest in aviation was
beyond a doubt stimulated. And that's that. How's that for a little
fellow with a bum ankle? Pretty good, eh?"
Nobody answered the Captain at first. There seemed no answer. Each of
them was busy with his own thoughts. Or her own thoughts, because the
feminine minds in that gathering were working very fast.
"Well," said Mrs. Martin at last, "I am usually the last person to point
a moral, but I do think that there's a moral in that story." She saw her
opportunity at last. "I think that Dick Byrd's parents were responsible
for the boy's success. If they had squelched his adventurous spirit at
the beginning, he would probably never have got any place."
Mrs. Gregg smiled to herself in the darkness. "Do you believe in young
boys going off by themselves, Mrs. Martin?"
"It teaches them self-reliance," said Mrs. Martin firmly.
"Do you think that they ought to fly planes by themselves?"
"And why not? After all, there isn't very much to flying a plane, if you
keep your wits about you. And I'm sure that both of our boys have their
wits about them. I think that the earlier you learn a thing, the better
it is for you. It makes everything else easier, too."
There was a silence for a while. Then Mrs. Gregg said, with a laugh in
her voice, "I think that I'm being worked upon. First by the Captain
with his story, and then by you. I'm afraid I have no defense." She
turned to Hal, who had not spoken at all, but who had been thinking a
great deal during the story of Byrd, and the obstacles that he had
overcome. "Well, Hal," she said, "what do you think? Shall we yield to
these people? Shall the Greggs yield to the Martins?"
Hal had not seen his mother so light-hearted and gay for a long time.
The pleasant evening and the story had had a decided effect upon her.
Hal didn't know exactly what to say, But his mother went on, "I think
we're beaten, Hal. Do you want to go to the mountains with your
friends?" Nobody there knew the effort that that sentence cost Mrs.
Gregg, but she had said it, and she stood committed.
Hal was at a still greater loss as what to reply. His heart was beating
wildly. There was nothing that he desired more now than to go to the
mountains, but he felt the effort that his mother had put behind her
words. Should he go? He wanted to. He wanted to show them that he wasn't
afraid. And he wouldn't be afraid, either. Not any more. Other people,
little fellows, too, had done things, had gone places, and they weren't
afraid. So Hal said, "Well, I'd like to."
"If you wish to, you may," said Mrs. Gregg.
Bob, who had listened breathlessly to this conversation, could restrain
himself no longer. "Whoopee!" he yelled. "Hal's coming along! Hal's
coming along!" He jumped up and started to execute a war dance, dragging
Hal after him.
Captain Bill was pleased. His story had made a hit--more of a hit than he
had even hoped for.