Neither Diana nor I had ever been at Hendon. Captain March sent a motor
car for us, and I saw Father and Di were both impressed by this. They
thought he must have money (as all proper Americans have, according to
their idea) apart from his future expectations. What _I_ thought was,
that having fallen in love with Di, nothing but a motor car could be
good enough for a goddess, and--hang the expense!
Di, who was invited sometimes for a spin in friends' automobiles, had a
fetching motor get-up which, eked out with one of those horrific
headpieces flying people wear, could be used for a short flight. I had
nothing of the sort, but Di offered to lend me her lined coat. After
all, she owed the expedition and the airman to me.
It was a hired car, but, in Father's opinion, a dashed decent one. It
flashed us out past the Marble Arch, straight along the Edgware Road, to
the Flying Ground, which, even two years ago, was the favourite resort
of fashion, especially female fashion. I had often wondered what it
might be like out there, and was rather disappointed to see only some
large flat fields close to the highroad, with a long line of low,
uninteresting sheds ranged side by side. It did seem as if airmen, who
must be brimming like full cups with wine of romance and imagination,
ought to have invented sightlier houses for their beloved machines. But
the very thought that the ugly huts were hangars gave a thrill. Captain
March was to meet us at Hendon, but we didn't see him at first. As we
arrived, an aeroplane went up, and a monoplane was circling the
enclosure, giving sudden dips at fearfully steep angles as it took the
turns, righting itself like a lazy, long-tailed eagle with far-spread
wings as it came again into the straight. Captain March's hired
chauffeur, who had been told exactly what to do, ran the car up a short
road on the right, and stopped.
"That's the captain's hangar, my lord," said he to Father, pointing to a
shed near which we had halted; and his arm hadn't time to drop before
the man-made bird, which had been circling round, planed down and glided
in at the wide-open door like a homing pigeon into a pigeon house.
It was beautifully managed, and so dramatic that it was like the climax
of an act on the stage. Perhaps Captain March had been performing some
feat before we came; anyhow, as he brought his monoplane to rest a lot
of people standing about applauded him. In a minute he came almost
running out of the shed straight toward us, in his leather clothes and
leather helmet, with goggles pushed up to the top of his head. Instead
of being proud of what he had done, whatever it was, he apologized
abjectly for "being late," and I could see that Di was vain of her
conquest. Lots of women were there, staring enviously at the pretty girl
who knew a real, live airman--evidently, too, one of the popular ones;
and Di loves to be envied. I'm afraid we all do, in the secret places of
our hearts which we don't like to peer into, under the dust.
One thing about Di, which makes men adore her, is that she contrives to
seem exquisitely sympathetic and enthusiastic without ever gushing. It's
partly the shape of her eyes and the shortness of her upper lip, which
combine together to give a lovely, rapt, brooding expression, that saves
her the trouble of thinking up adjectives. With this look on, she
appeals to all the love of romance and adventure in their hearts, I'm
sure. They would do anything to win it for themselves. I would myself if
I were a man, and didn't know her; so when Captain March took us into
his hangar, and she turned on the look, I didn't blame him for
forgetting the very existence of his small pal. It only made me sad.
"I thought I'd better take the _Golden Eagle_ up for a short run, and
test her before you came, to see that she was all right," he was still
apologizing. "Then she behaved so well, I got going, and stayed up
longer than I meant. But I saw the car stop, so I hurried down."
"I should think you did 'hurry down!'" laughed Diana. "The way you aimed
at your hangar from far up in the sky, and shot in, was like a marksman
aiming at the bull's-eye on a target, and getting it. What do you call
'testing' your monoplane? What had you been doing to make all those
people applaud?"
"Oh, only a little upside-down flying," said Captain March, as he might
have said "only a little breathing exercise." "You see, I make stability
tests. That's what I'm _for_. And with my appliances, being upside
down's no more to me than it is to a fly when he walks on the ceiling."
Di's eyes said, "You hero! you splendid, modest hero!"--said it so
plainly that the hero faintly blushed, though it was hard to trace a
blush on his face, burnt red-brown by sun and wind. My eyes said nothing
at all, but if they had recited a whole page of Shakespeare's sonnets he
would have been none the wiser.
He led us into the hangar, where two fascinatingly smudged mechanics
were in attendance on the magic bird; and he remembered to be nice and
respectful to Father. Explanations of the mechanism were ostensibly
addressed to our parent, but in reality all the eloquence was for Di,
whose eyes poured forth appreciative intelligence as stars pour forth
rays. Captain March couldn't be expected to know, poor fellow, that Di,
if obliged to choose between two deadly dull evils, would rather hear a
cook tell how to boil potatoes than listen to any mechanical talk.
However, it wasn't really needful to listen, if one's eyes were well
trained; and Di was having the "time of her life" in meeting an airman.
Even I could see that this monoplane, fitted with Captain March's
inventions, was a different looking creature from the other bird
machines which were shooting up into the air, or darting back into their
dens, all around us. The _Golden Eagle's_ quiet, graceful wings, instead
of being in a straight line with each other, were set at an obtuse angle
one from another; and on the end of each were odd little extra
triangular tips, hinged to the main wings. I longed to pour out
questions, for the "why" of things, especially mechanical things, has
interested me ever since I was old enough to pick a doll to pieces, to
see what made its eyes open and shut. But Di was asking idiotic
questions in the sweetest way, and Captain March was laughing and
delighted. It pleased him a great deal more that she should want to know
precisely why he had named his monoplane the _Golden Eagle_ than if
Father or I had catechized him with the trained intelligence of a
scientist.
"I've been unoriginal enough, I'm afraid, to name my big baby after
myself," he said, "my nickname being Eagle. The golden eagle, you know,
is our national bird."
"So her hangar is 'The Eagle's Nest,'" said Di. "That's awfully nice.
But why not name her instead the _Winged Victory_?"
"Wouldn't it be rather conceited?"
"Not after what she's already done, and shown that she can do. It's
conceited of me to suggest it, though, for--for the _Winged Victory_ is
a sort of a nickname of _mine_ since a fancy dress ball at the beginning
of the season."
"It suits you exactly," said Captain March. "If Lord Ballyconal will let
you be my first lady passenger, and if, after she's given you a run, you
think her worthy, she shall be renamed the _Winged Victory_, provided
you'll baptize her."
"Oh, Bally, dear, you will let me go, won't you?" Di pleaded, using her
pet name for Father, which he likes because it sounds young and
unparental. Then catching a bleak gleam in my eyes, she hastily added:
"And afterward Peggy, if Captain March will take her up."
Father hesitated, but the newspapers and people at the Embassy ball who
knew all about Eagle March had spoken so highly of the machine, that it
seemed an insult to a famous airman's skill to refuse. The two mechanics
wheeled the monoplane out of the shed, and Captain March explained how
easy and safe he could make things for a passenger. Lots of men had been
up with him, but he had never asked a woman. "Only a short flight, I'll
take her," he almost pleaded. "I can give her a helmet. Perhaps you'd
rather go first yourself, though, and see what it's like."
Father may not have had a particularly good time on earth, but anyhow,
he preferred it to atmospheric effects. He said that he had no head for
heights, but if Di and Peggy wanted to go, and Captain March was kind
enough to take them--er--up, a tiny way into the--er--air, he supposed
that in these days he ought not to offer any objections.
Captain March had the spare helmet ready (it looked so new and smart, I
felt sure he had bought it for the occasion), and nothing stood between
Diana the Huntress and her quarry--nothing except her own changing mood.
I think it was the look of the helmet which gave her that sinking
feeling of irrevocability which seems to sever you, as with a sword,
from all the dear little safe things that have made up your life in the
past. She glanced from the helmet which the airman held toward her to
the monoplane spread-eagling on the ground. I saw her big eyes dilate as
they fixed themselves anxiously on the passenger's perch, to which the
honoured guest must climb, above the conductor's seat, crawling through
the wire stays, or whatever you call them, which were like a spider's
web inviting a fly. Diana turned pale. Even her lips were white. The
shadows under her eyes darkened as if she were ill.
"You're--you're sure it's safe?" she faltered.
"Safe as a house. Safer than a _jerry_-built house," Captain March
assured her cheeringly. "Look at these!" and he pointed out again all
the features of his invention that made the automatic stability of the
machine. "But if you----"
"Oh! I'm not afraid," quavered Di, her eyes roving in an agonized way
over the crowd collecting to see the lovely girl taken up into the sky
by the brave airman. "It isn't that. Only--it won't make me seasick,
will it?"
"I've never had a passenger seasick," said Eagle.
"And--you won't turn upside down, will you?"
"Of course not!"
"Well, then, I--I'll go."
On with the condemned cap!--I mean the leather helmet. Diana's paling
beauty was blotted out. Wrapped in her fur-lined cloak, she was
trembling all over. Her hands, which she held confidingly out for the
thick mittens Captain March had got for her, shook like the last leaves
on a frozen tree.
"Think you're fit for it, Di?" Father asked anxiously.
"Yes, indeed!" came hissing through the helmet. But I felt it was only
the tonic of other women's envy which was keeping her up. I was envying
her, too.
Captain March helped Di scramble into her perch. His hand was steady and
strong. All his life and skill and manhood were for her. She was
tenderly yet firmly strapped into place, and told how she was to hold
on, and not to be afraid. There would be some noise, but she mustn't
mind; and there was the little apparatus Captain March had invented, by
which a passenger could communicate with the conductor. It was something
like the bulb you squeeze in a motor car when you want the chauffeur to
turn right or left or stop.
"Press once if you're sick of it, and want to come down," said Eagle.
"Twice if you want to go higher. There's a whistle close to my ear, so
sharp it cuts through the motor noise."
My heart beat almost as fast as if I were in the monoplane myself when
Eagle was ready to start, looking like a twentieth-century,
leather-masked Apollo starting out to drive his sun chariot up to the
zenith and down the other side. The motor purred, and the propeller
began to revolve. Diana, tense as a stretched violin string, was hanging
on already, like grim death. The two mechanics held the tail of the
impatient giant bird, and when Eagle raised one hand, they let go. For
perhaps fifty yards the _Golden Eagle_ ran lightly over the turf on her
bicycle wheels; then her master tilted the planes, and his namesake
soared upward from the ground into the air.
As she went, through the noise she made I heard a shriek from the
passenger. Diana's pride, which denied cowardice in the joy of being
envied, was forgotten in the primitive emotion of fear. What my sister
did I could not see, as the monoplane mounted so quickly; but almost at
once I realized that she must have signalled her wish to descend, for
the _Eagle_ ceased to soar, dropped, and began gently gliding down. A
moment later the great winged form was landing once more close to its
own shed.
Father rushed to the rescue of his darling, and Captain March--out of
his seat in a second--was unfastening the straps and anxiously
extricating Diana from the passenger's perch. I couldn't help feeling
ashamed before all the people--scornful or sympathetic, who were looking
on--that my sister had shown herself a coward; but I was sorry for her,
too. She had quite collapsed, and lay in Father's arms as Captain March
unfastened her helmet. I wasn't mean enough to think of rejoicing
because, in taking my place away, she had been tried and found wanting.
Instead, I found myself really afraid that Captain March might despise
the poor girl for the timidity which humiliated him as well as her. But
I need not have worried. Pulling off the helmet in that clumsy way a man
has with any sort of headgear, the wheel of braided hair Diana wore,
wound over each ear in the Eastern fashion that came from "Kismet," was
loosened, and a thick plait with an engaging wave at the end fell down
on either side of her face. Standing, but supported in Father's arms,
her head lay on his shoulder, her eyes closed, long curling lashes
resting on marble cheeks. I had never seen her half so beautiful, and
Captain March gazed at her as if he would gladly give his life for a
reassuring smile.
"Shall I fetch a doctor?" he asked miserably. "There's sure to be one,
somewhere around."
Before Father could answer, Di opened her eyes, and Captain March got
the smile without paying the price.
"I--I'm all right," she breathed. "So sorry! I wasn't afraid, you know.
It was my _heart_. It seemed to stop."
"Of course you weren't afraid," Eagle encouraged her. "I can never
forgive myself for making you suffer."
Diana's smile graciously forgave the brutal fellow for his blundering,
and she extricated herself from Father's arms, the colour slowly
stealing back to her lips and cheeks. She shook her head a little, and
the two braids, stuck full of tiny tortoise-shell hairpins, tumbled over
her breast. Captain March nearly ate her up with his eyes, and then,
through their windows, his soul might be seen worshipping, and begging
the goddess's pardon on its knees.
"She's not strong," Father apologized. "It's my fault for letting her go
up; I ought to have remembered her heart."
It's a great asset, a weak heart, for a person who has just made an
exhibition of cowardice. Like charity, it covers a multitude of sins.
I'd never before heard of Di's heart being weak; and at home, if there
were a ball anywhere within twenty miles, she could always dance at it
till morning. However, I was glad she'd thought of her heart in time,
and saved the situation. It was an accommodating heart, for it came up
smiling, when the petting Di got had satisfied her that she wasn't to be
blamed for the fiasco.
"I think flying must be a wonderful experience for any one whose heart
is quite right," she consoled Captain March. "It's a pity, for the
credit of the family, you didn't take Peggy up first."
"I suppose she won't feel like going, after what has happened to you?"
said he, remembering my existence.
"Oh, I do feel like it, more than ever," I exclaimed, "that is, if you
don't mind risking another of us."
"I don't think we'd better trouble Captain March again," Father cut in.
"He wouldn't like a second failure."
"He won't have one," I said. "My heart is as strong as a Gnome motor. Do
let me go. It will give Di time to rest."
Whether that argument decided Father, or whether he really did hope I
might reestablish the family credit for courage, I don't know; anyway,
he made no further objections. The fur-lined cloak, helmet, and mittens
were handed over to me. I crawled through the spider's web to the tiny
throne vacated by its late queen, and was strapped in as Di had been.
Not one qualm did I feel as I looked down over Eagle's leather-clad
shoulder at the various instruments fixed on to what in an aeroplane
corresponds, I suppose, to the dashboard of an earth-bound automobile:
the revolution gauge, which Eagle had explained to us; the watch; the
map to roll up on a frame, like a blind; the compass, the height
indicator. I felt secure and happy in the thought that my courage would
at least make my captain respect me. He had shown us how his invention
enabled the monoplane to balance itself in meeting every gust of wind,
or falling into an "air pocket," without any effort from the conductor.
That assurance hadn't been enough for Di, Winged Victory, Goddess, and
Huntress, but it was enough for humble Peggy. Besides, in the mood which
had swept over me like a blinding flame of white fire, I didn't care
what happened, provided it happened to Eagle March and me together. I
should have liked him to aim straight for the sun, and never to come
down again.
The last thing I said before we started was, "Go as high, please, as you
would if you were alone. If I press the bulb, it will be twice, to fly
higher."
Then came the starting of the motor, the wheeled run, and the leap into
air. As we took wing, I could have sung for joy. I was so gloriously
excited, I was hardly conscious of the noise of the engine. That
helmeted head and the firm leather-clad shoulders beneath me seemed the
head and shoulders of a god.
We circled over the enclosure. The _Golden Eagle_ hadn't risen very high
yet, but I had a queer feeling of being no longer related to any one on
earth. I was with my champion, a creature of another sphere. Intoxicated
with joy, I pressed the bulb twice. I could not hear the shrill whistle,
but the driver evidently heard, for in obedience we shot up--up--up! The
height indicator showed that we had reached the height of five hundred
feet. I pressed the bulb again twice over. Eagle began to steer the
monoplane in immense circles. I felt I could almost see our
corkscrew-track in the air, like twisted threads of gold on blue. The
hangars in the fields of Hendon were toy sheds on a green-painted tray.
Even the aerodrome was no more than a big rat trap. London spread itself
out beneath us, a vast dark patch, like a fallen cloud. A shaft of
sunlight set a golden dome on fire. It must have been St. Paul's. For
the third time I gave the signal to mount. For the third time Eagle
obeyed. I wondered if he liked me a little for sharing the confidence he
had in his machine.
A few white clouds floated lazily beneath us, like snowy birds of an
intolerable brightness and titanic size. Then they joined together in a
glittering flock, and lost the semblance of birds. The mass became a
sparkling silver sea, with here and there a dark gulf in it like a
whirlpool. The air grew biting cold. I felt it press on me through the
fur-lined coat Di had lent, like blocks of solid ice. But the strange
sensation only exhilarated me the more. "I'm not a coward, I'm not a
coward. I'm brave!" The words sang themselves in my head to the
accompanying roar of the motor.
It was a glorious, dependable roar, but suddenly, in the midst of a
spiral movement, I noticed a change in the sound. A gurgle--a choking
stammer. A spray of petrol dashed across my goggles.
"Now--what?" The question asked itself in my soul. But there was no fear
with it, only an awed realization that this might be the end of things,
as I had known them, in a very little world low down and far away. "What
does it matter?" the answer came. But Eagle had turned round in his
seat, and was handing me a spanner. Now he was motioning to me. If he
spoke, I couldn't hear a word. Yet I understood from the gestures of one
mittened hand what he hoped I might be able to do. Somehow, even then,
the driving force of thought in my brain was to please him, to show him
that he hadn't relied on me in vain, rather than to save us both from
threatening danger, though danger I saw there must be. I was determined
that the corporal should not fail the captain.
The thing I had to do, as I seized the situation, was to turn the
spanner on a loosened nut in the petrol pipe, to which Eagle pointed.
Reaching up with my right hand, I steadied myself with the left, and
touched something hot, horribly hot. There was an involuntary flinch of
the nerves as the heat burned through the thick mittens I wore and
scorched my fingers, but I didn't scream, I'm glad to say, or let go the
spanner. I screwed and screwed at the union, with the nasty smell of
burnt wool, and perhaps flesh, in my nostrils. Then there came the
glorious sensation of success as the song of the motor took up its old
refrain again. No more choking and spluttering, and it was I who had
cured it.
I gave a little sob of thanksgiving, because I hadn't failed; and a
voice seemed to whisper far, far down under the renewed song of the
engine, "What if this is a prophecy? What if, after Diana has left him
in the lurch, it should be given to _you_ to atone--to help or save him
in some danger?"
The little voice was so strong, so clear, that I thrilled all over. What
it said seemed to become part of an experience which I could never
forget.