THE FLYING GIRL
The morning of the first day of the long heralded aviation meet dawned
bright and sunny, as only a Southern California January morning can. By
seven o’clock vast throngs were hurrying southward to Dominguez—a broad
plain midway between Los Angeles and the ocean—where much important
aviation history has been made.
By nine o’clock the grand stand was packed and “automobile row” occupied
by hundreds of motor cars, filled with ladies in gay apparel, their
escorts and imperturbable chauffeurs. The crowd was beginning to circle
the vast field, too, and nearly every face bore an excited, eager
expression.
The events scheduled might well arouse the interest of a people just
awakened to the possibilities of aërial navigation. Important prizes had
been offered by wealthy men and corporations for the most daring flights
of the meet. Ten thousand dollars would go to the aviator showing the
most skillful and adroit handling of an aëroplane; five thousand for the
longest flight; another five thousand for an endurance test and a like
sum to the one attaining the greatest height. In addition to these
generous purses, two thousand dollars would be given for the best
starting and alighting device exhibited and two thousand for the best
safety device. For speed several huge purses were donated, and
altogether the aviators present would compete for more than fifty
thousand dollars in gold, besides various medals and cups and the
priceless prestige gained by excelling in a competition where the most
successful and famed airships and aviators of the world congregated.
Therefore, it is little wonder public interest was excited and every
aviator determined to do his best. Many thronged the hangars, asking
innumerable questions of the good-natured attendants, who recognized the
popular ignorance of modern flying devices and were tolerant and
communicative to a degree.
The morning events were of minor importance, although several clever
exhibitions of flying were given. But at two o’clock the competition for
skillful handling of an aëroplane in midair was scheduled, and at that
time the appetite of each spectator was whetted for the great spectacle.
The day seemed ideal for aviation; the sky was flecked with fleecy
clouds and scarcely a breath of air could be felt at the earth’s
surface.
Now came the first appearance of the Kane Aircraft. It had not been
brought from the hangar during the forenoon and, in watching such
celebrated aëroplanes as the Bleriot, Farman, Antoinette, Curtiss and
Wright, manned by the greatest living aëronauts, those assembled had
almost forgotten that a local inventor was to enter the lists with them.
The secretary of the Aëro Club and others interested had expected Mr.
Burthon to protest against allowing the Kane device to be operated, on
the ground that Kane was entered to operate it and was unable to do so;
but for some unaccountable reason Burthon remained silent, not even
appearing at the field, and Mr. Cumberford’s explanation that the “Kane”
in this instance meant the young man’s sister, satisfied the officials
perfectly. Naturally they were surprised and even startled at the idea
of a girl taking part in the great aviation meet, but hailed the
innovation with keenest interest.
Suddenly, while the field was clear and half a dozen aëroplanes hovered
in the air above it, the Kane Aircraft rolled into the open space,
circled before the grand stand and then, gracefully and without effort,
mounted into the air.
Those who had witnessed Stephen’s prior performance were not astonished
at this unassisted rise from earth to air, but all were delighted by the
grace and beauty of the ascent and a roar of applause burst
spontaneously from the crowd. The peculiar construction of the aircraft
so diverted attention from its aviator that few marked the slender form
of Orissa, or knew that a girl was making this daring flight.
There were some, however, whose eyes were eagerly rivetted on the
indistinct figure of the flying girl and utterly disregarded the
machine. Stephen, comfortably propped among the cushions of the motor
car with his mother seated behind him and Sybil opposite, divided his
attention between his sister and his creation. Mr. Cumberford, knowing
what the machine would do, watched Orissa through a powerful glass and
decided from the first that she was cool and capable. Chesty Todd also
watched the girlish figure, with a more intense interest than he had
ever before displayed during his brief and uneventful lifetime.
The reporter had been worried lest Mr. Cumberford neglect to warn the
girlish operator of the Kane Aircraft of danger; so he pushed through
the crowd about the hangar and just as Orissa passed the doorway, seated
in her aëroplane, he said in a low voice: “Look out—for a collision!”
She started and cast an inquiring look at him, but there was no time to
reply. The machine had been drawn by the assistants to a clear space and
she must devote her attention to her work. As she threw in the lever Mr.
Cumberford, who stood beside the aircraft, hurriedly whispered: “Be
careful, Orissa—look out for danger!” Then she was off, facing the
thousands on the field, with nerve and brain resolutely bent upon the
task she had undertaken.
It was no indifferent thing this brave girl attempted. Until now her
acquaintance with an aëroplane had been wholly theoretical; it was her
first flight; yet so thoroughly did she understand every part of her air
vehicle—what it was for and how to use it—that she had implicit
confidence in herself and in her machine. Naturally level-headed, alert
and quick to think and to act, Orissa was no more afraid of soaring in
the air than of riding in an automobile. Aside from her desire to
operate the aircraft so skillfully that her brother’s invention would be
fully appreciated she was determined to attempt the winning of the ten
thousand dollar prize, which would establish the Kane fortunes on a
secure basis. Enough for one untried, seventeen-year-old girl to think
of, was it not? And small wonder that she absolutely forgot the
impressive warnings she had received.
The air is a mighty thoroughfare, free and untrammeled. The little group
of aëroplanes operating over Dominguez—darting here and there, up and
down—had little chance of colliding, for there was space enough and to
spare. Orissa knew all about air currents and their peculiarities and
she also knew that her greatest safety lay in high altitudes. With a
feeling of rapturous exhilaration she began to realize her control of
the craft and her dominance of the air. A masterful desire crept over
her to accomplish great deeds in aviation.
Those who were watching from below—judges, friends and spectators—saw
her steadily mounting, higher and higher, until she seemed to fade out
of sight like the figure in a moving picture, with nothing but a little
iron-and-wood skeleton and the chugging of a tiny engine to ward off
death. Then she came into sight again, a little smudge of grayish white
against the shifting clouds. To see her up there, a mere speck dodging
among the storm clouds, reminded the observers, as nothing in aviation
has ever done before, of the awful audacity of man in building these
mechanical birds. As they watched they found themselves hoping—as a
child might—that in some way the brave little speck would manage to
escape those gigantic sky monsters. Then one seized the aircraft, and
just as the sun caught and flung back to earth a flash from one of the
busy propeller-blades a huge cloud swallowed up machine and aviator and
they vanished like mist.
It was odd how the terror of the spectators increased at this sudden
disappearance; they knew that somewhere in that awesome, infinite
firmament a frail thing made by the hand of man was battling with
nature’s most mysterious forces for supremacy. And man won. In less than
a minute there was another flash of sunlight and the little gray speck
emerged saucily from behind the cloud and made a dive for another.
Then the speck in the sky began to grow larger, and Orissa attempted an
amazing dive earthward that caused the throng to fall silent,
motionless, gazing with bated breaths and startled eyes at the thrilling
scene. It was a long swoop out of space and into being; a series of
dives half a mile long and each nearly straight down.
The girl glided earthward until the aircraft nearly touched the ground;
then she adroitly tilted it up again and tore away around the course in
great circles, while the spectators, roused to life, thundered their
applause.
Her control of the aëroplane was really wonderful. Again, encouraged by
her success, she shot up into the air, rising to the height of half a
mile and then performing the hazardous evolution known to aviators as
the “spiral dip.” She began by circling widely, at an even elevation,
and then dipping the nose of the aircraft and narrowing the circles as
she plunged swiftly downward with constantly accelerating speed. It was
a bewildering and hair-raising performance, and no one but Walter
Brookins had ever before undertaken it.
A dozen feet from the ground Orissa reined in her Pegasus and glided
over the group of hangars on her inclined ascent—the third she had made
without alighting. There were other aëroplanes doing interesting
“stunts,” and each aviator seemed to be exercising his ingenuity to
excel all others, yet the eyes of the crowd followed the Kane Aircraft
with an absorbed fascination that relegated other contestants to the
rear.
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