laconic diction was one more step forward in the phenomenon of
Lindbergh. The speech was printed widely in America. The Club was
jammed that day and Minister of War Paul Painlevé, surrounded by fifty
of the leading aviators of France, received the guest of honor. When
the time came Herrick quietly leaned over and told Lindbergh he must
respond. Whereupon the latter rose and said that Nungesser and Coli had
attempted a far greater thing than he when they took-off from Paris
for New York. Their difficulties had far exceeded his. In any event he
urged France not to give up hope. Nothing could have been more tactful.
Ambassador Herrick’s speech which followed emphasized the strengthened
good-will between France and America. “This young man from out of the
west brings you better than anything else the spirit of America,” he
said. “His exploit shows you that the heart of the United States beats
for France. It was needed at this moment that the love of these two
great people should manifest itself, and it is this young boy who has
brought that about. After his European trip is over he will go back to
America and he will be able to tell them as no other man could that
France really loves the people of the United States.”
Thus was the idea of “ambassadorship without portfolio” initiated.
When press and people, and especially statesmen, began to see how the
current strain between France and America was slackening as a result of
Lindbergh’s visit, the idea grew doubly strong.
On the following day he went to a large luncheon of 600 Americans
at the American Club. On Wednesday he visited the French Chamber of
Deputies. There was no session in progress, yet most of the members
present followed him to the reception room of the President’s
residence. Like ferment in wine, Lindbergh’s personality was working
hour by hour.
[Illustration: © _International Newsreel_
WELCOME IN NEW YORK HARBOR]
[Illustration: © _Wide World Photos_
NEW YORK CITY--RIDING UP BROADWAY]
Here again the increased cordiality between France and America
became the keynote of the interchange. The adored General Gouraud said:
“It is not only two continents that you have united, but the hearts of
all men everywhere in admiration of the simple courage of a man who
does great things.... You and your youth belong to that glorious band
of which M. Bleriot standing here beside you was one, and which has
opened the great spaces. We greet you also in the name of those others
of your countrymen who, in the Lafayette Escadrille, died here for
France--who, like you, helped to frame that unalterable fraternity,
that indissoluble friendship which unites our two peoples.”
In like vein but with an eye to practicality Lindbergh replied:
“Gentlemen, 132 years ago Benjamin Franklin was asked: ‘What good is
your balloon? What will it accomplish?’ He replied: ‘What good is a new
born child?’ Less than twenty years ago when I was not far advanced
from infancy M. Bleriot flew across the English Channel and was asked
‘What good is your aeroplane? What will it accomplish?’ Today those
same skeptics might ask me what good has been my flight from New York
to Paris. My answer is that I believe it is the forerunner of a great
air service from America to France, America to Europe, to bring our
peoples nearer together in understanding and in friendship than they
have ever been.”
The speaker’s abrupt but unmistakable sincerity made a profound
impression upon his hearers.
It is impossible to do justice to the full Paris visit. Yet it is not
difficult even now to sense the ever-increasing aura of popularity and
affection that surrounded Lindbergh wherever he went.
He lunched with Bleriot, the first man to fly across the English
Channel, who presented him with a piece of the propeller of that famous
plane of early days. He had a notable visit with Marshal Foch. He went
to the Invalides surrounded by an admiring crowd. He went to the home
of Marshal Joffre. He attended a formal lunch with Minister Briand.
Meanwhile a growing avalanche of mail was descending upon the Embassy.
There were startling business offers running into millions of dollars.
Cables from all parts of the world urged Lindbergh to write this or
that, or agree to appear at highly remunerative rates under any and
all circumstances. He did not handle this mail or accept any of these
offers. He could not do the former, and he would not do the latter.
But he was not cynical; only gravely dubious about the results of his
original enterprise getting so far out of his control.
On Thursday of that Paris week came the official reception by the City.
By this time the popularity of the boy held full sway. It is said that
half a million people lined the streets through which the flier drove
in company with his host, the Ambassador.
At the City Hall, Lindbergh received the Gold Medal of the
Municipality of Paris. In a brief speech he told the Council that he
believed his flight was the forerunner of a regular commercial air
service between the United States and France. He added that Nungesser
and Coli would have voiced the same thought if they had landed in
America.
Ambassador Herrick then made one of his finest and most widely quoted
speeches. “I am not a religious man,” he said, “but I believe there are
certain things that happen in life which can only be described as the
interpretation of a Divine Act. I would not be surprised if this flight
marks the beginning of a return of that sympathy and affection which
lasted 150 years between France and America. Lindbergh brought you the
spirit of America in a manner in which it could never be brought in a
diplomatic sack.”
Next morning Lindbergh got up at daybreak and went to Le Bourget where
he found a small black Nieuport 300 H.P. fighting plane awaiting him.
To the delight of the French fliers as well as the populace he went
aloft and began stunting with a skill and ease that stamped him once
and for all an expert. Again he rose a peg in French esteem. Nor was
this a studied performance any more than his modesty in bearing or his
brevity in oratory were studied. It was only another integral part of
the “phenomenon of Lindbergh.”
At noon there was a luncheon at the Ministry of War. Later he was
received by the Senators at the Luxembourg Palace. A reception and
official visits followed. In the evening he attended a gala performance
at the Champs-Élysées Theatre.
The very recital of his festivities and honors grows monotonous.
Next day he left. About eight in the morning he motored to Le Bourget
and put in three hours grooming his plane for its next flight. At noon
he hopped off for Brussels, circling the Eiffel Tower and dropping a
note of good-by and thanks to Paris in the Place de la Concorde on his
way.
II
BRUSSELS
The Belgian reception was one of quiet dignity. King Albert had given
orders that at all costs Lindbergh must come off the field untouched.
The flier landed at the Evere Flying Field near Brussels at exactly
3.15 P.M. The crowd that greeted him was never out of hand. Prime
Minister Jasper came forward at once and said: “I am happy and proud,
my Captain, to be the first man in the name of Belgium to extend to you
our warmest felicitations for your great exploit, which not only draws
nearer our two continents, but the hearts of our people as well.”
As Mr. Gibson, the new American Ambassador to Belgium, was in America
at the time, his place was temporarily occupied by Mr. Dunn, Chargé
d’Affaires. By him Lindbergh was presented to the Duke of Brabant, heir
to the throne, who formally welcomed the visitor in the name of King
Albert. Meanwhile the plane had been carefully wheeled upon a platform
so that everyone might take a look at it.
After motoring to the American Embassy to change his clothes, Lindbergh
laid a wreath on the tomb of Belgium’s unknown soldier.
It was at the reception at the Palace that Lindbergh met his first
king. King Albert treated him with a kind informality characteristic of
that much-loved monarch.
Next morning, Lindbergh slept until nearly nine. Then he went out
to the Evere Airdrome, where he showed his plane to King Albert and
Queen Elizabeth. King Albert in his turn took the visitor to see some
late types of Belgian planes and personally explained their technical
features.
At noon came the civic reception at the Hotel de Ville. When Lindbergh
arrived the square was lined with troops. Burgomaster Max, with the
aldermen of Brussels, was there to meet him. There was also a welcoming
delegation known as the Old Volunteers of the Great War, whose members,
despite their fifty years or more, had rushed in 1914 to join the
colors.
Burgomaster Max made a speech in English, saying that the flight was
a wonderful sporting performance. He added that because the non-stop
flight from New York to Paris had appeared to be an undertaking
beyond human forces, the victory was really a victory of humanity. He
concluded by declaring with great feeling:
“In your glory there is glory for all men. An apparently impossible
task loomed before you. You surmounted it. It is helpful and
encouraging for those who think we must never despair of human effort.
You must have heard many times during these five days that in crossing
the ocean with your ‘Spirit of St. Louis’ you have done more than all
the diplomats to bring closer together the different peoples. I repeat
it myself. When a statement is being commonly used, a Burgomaster
should not hesitate to express it again, as his function when he speaks
is to reflect public opinion.
“In uniting by airway your young country with the old soil of Europe
you have drawn nearer together these two continents and you have the
right to claim the title of Citizen of the World. The way now open,
others will follow you, as others tried in vain to precede you.
“I am thus certain, as we welcome you here, to express your own
sentiments in mentioning with emotion the names of Nungesser and Coli
who a few days ago, with an assurance as great as yours, started over
the Atlantic but never reached their goal.
“In you the symbol of daring and courage is impossible not to admire.
“Heroes always consider what they have done as a simple matter. This
is precisely because they are heroes. I salute in you, dear Captain
Lindbergh, a noble son of your great nation which at an hour when
civilization was in danger came to its help and with us conquered.”
Lindbergh replied to this speech by saying that there were two things
he looked forward to when he took-off from New York--seeing France and
Belgium:
“This afternoon I must leave,” he went on, “I wish I could stay here
weeks instead of hours. I certainly will never forget your welcome.
“Less than twenty-five years ago, the first flight was made in
an airplane. It will not be many years before we have regular
trans-Atlantic service. I congratulate Belgium on her remarkable
progress in aviation. You have a wonderful air force here. Aviation
will be one of the great forces of the future to bring nations
together.”
Then the Burgomaster took Lindbergh’s hand and presented him with a
little leather case containing a gold medal inscribed in English:
“To Captain Charles Lindbergh, the City of Brussels, May 29th, 1927.”
Lindbergh left Brussels for London in the early afternoon. On his way
over Belgium he paid a tribute to the American soldiers who sleep in
the cemetery at Werington near Ghent. Cutting off his motor, he flew
low over the field, but little above the rows of white crosses. He
dropped a wreath of flowers, circled the cemetery twice, then headed
out for England.
In a sense this visit to Belgium was a surer test of the man than
either of the other countries. His stay was very brief; his hosts
neither spoke his tongue as did the English, nor had as natural a
reservoir of emotion to draw upon as did the French. Yet Lindbergh’s
easy dignity, his simple bearing, and always his ready smile, were as
quick to earn him the permanent friendship of King and Queen as to
excite the adulation of the crowd.
It was said everywhere of him when he left: “We hope he comes back some
day.” No traveller receives higher praise than that.
III
LONDON
The flight from Brussels was comparatively simple and there was little
or no strain on the plane. The pilot steered straight across the
Channel, reaching England on the southeast corner.
The weather was nearly perfect; in fact Lindbergh was never privileged
during his stay in England to see a real London fog.
It did not seem long before he found himself throttling his motor above
the great field at Croyden on the outskirts of London. A tremendous
crowd had gathered--a crowd almost as large as that which had watched
him land that memorable night at Le Bourget. And again no sooner had
his wheels touched the ground than this crowd, too, made a rush for
his plane. Fortunately, officials of the Royal Air Club dashed up in a
motor car and got the pilot aboard just in time to rescue him from the
uncontrollable enthusiasm of the throng.
As in Paris, all the carefully laid plans of the reception committee
were swept aside. Even Secretary for Air, Sir Samuel Hoare, and
Ambassador Houghton were swallowed up by the multitude. Later another
crowd, almost as large, was found waiting at the American Embassy for a
glimpse of the American air traveller.
Then came welcomed rest. Lindbergh dined with some friends of the
Ambassador and went to bed early. Next morning he went direct to
Croyden and found that, despite his fears, very little harm had been
done to his ship save for one little hole in the wing and a landing
strut that had lost two bolts.
Monday was a comparatively quiet day. There was a luncheon at the
Embassy attended by many persons prominent in the government and
otherwise. One war hero was perhaps especially interesting to an air
man. This was Lieut.-Col. W. A. Bishop, the Canadian ace, who had
brought down 72 German planes.
In the afternoon a Memorial Day service was held at St. Margaret’s
Church, Westminster. This honoring in England of our Civil War dead
was a strange experience for the visitor. One of the veterans present,
Jabez Jrayell, aged 86, had known President McKinley as a comrade in
arms. After the service and sermon a procession formed, which, headed
by the Stars and Stripes, moved slowly from the church to Westminster
Abbey. There, Ambassador Houghton, with Lindbergh at his side, walked
to a tomb and laid a wreath on which was inscribed:
“In memory of England’s unknown warrior from the American people.”
In the evening British newspaper men gave Lindbergh a dinner in the
Abraham Lincoln room of the Savoy. On the speaker’s table before the
guest of honor were five sandwiches and a half gallon jar of water. The
Chairman gravely announced: “Captain Lindbergh will now partake of his
customary meal.” After a round of laughing applause the real dinner
began.
Next morning was the 31st of May. On this day Lindbergh was received
by the King of England. King George talked to him alone for some time
about his flight, and by his conversation showed he understood a great
deal about flying. Setting aside all precedent, he personally presented
Lindbergh with the Royal Air Force Cross. The only other Americans who
ever received this cross were the crew of the NC-4, the United States
Navy plane, which crossed the Atlantic by way of the Azores.
After his conversation with the King, Lindbergh was presented to Queen
Mary. From Buckingham Palace he went to York House to be received by
the Prince of Wales. The Prince wanted to know what he was going to do
in the future, to which Lindbergh promptly replied: “I am going to
keep on flying.”
He visited Prime Minister Baldwin at Number 10 Downing Street, the
little house from which so big a slice of this world is being run. Mr.
Baldwin took him out on the balcony to watch the colorful ceremony
known as the Trooping of the Colors, which epitomizes the dignity and
power of the British empire.
At a luncheon given by the Air Council, Lindbergh was presented with
the _Daily Mail’s_ gold aviation cup, which was instituted many years
ago by the late Lord Northcliffe. Here Sir Samuel Hoare was the
principal speaker. After complimenting Lindbergh on his flight he
continued:
“There are some foolish people--I am glad to think there are very few
of them--who are asking you the question: ‘Of what use to the world are
these efforts and sacrifices? Of what use to the world is a flight like
Captain Lindbergh’s?’ If I had time I should prove to them that from
a technical point of view these long distant flights are of great
value. They stimulate progress; they test reliability.
[Illustration: © _Wide World Photos_
NEW YORK CITY’S WELCOME]
[Illustration: © _North American Photo Service_
NEW YORK CITY--A JUNE SNOWSTORM]
“Is it not of value to the technical progress of aviation that a single
air-cooled engine of 220 H. P., consuming only 10 gallons of petrol an
hour, should have travelled over 3600 miles and been fit for another
lap at the end of this?
“Is not a long distance flight of this kind of great value as a test of
aerial navigation? Flying through fogs and storms, Captain Lindbergh
never seems to have deflected from his course. Surely this experience
is not only a testimony of his great skill as a navigator but also a
lesson in the study of navigation. But I set aside these technical
justifications, for upon a flight of this kind the world at large
rightly reaches its verdict upon broader grounds. The peoples of many
countries are today applauding Captain Lindbergh’s achievement not so
much because some material gain will be obtained in this or that way,
but because it is a fine example of nerve and endurance, of skill,
courage, enterprise and adventure.
“The more drab the world becomes the more gladly we welcome such fine
achievements as his.
“Today therefore I ask you to drink to the health of Captain Lindbergh
as the pilot who has broken the world’s record, and as a worthy
representative of our close friends and war allies, the pilots of the
United States of America. Still more, however, do I ask you to drink
to his health as a young man who embodies the spirit of adventure and
lights up the world with a flash of courage and daring, and, I am glad
to say, of success.”
In the late afternoon, at the invitation of Lord and Lady Astor,
Lindbergh had tea at the House of Commons. That evening the Royal Air
Club gave him a dinner at the Savoy. From there he went to a Swedish
festival and at midnight attended the famous Derby Eve Ball at Albert
Hall. He arrived with the Prince of Wales and as he entered the band
struck up “Yankee Doodle.” There he made his shortest speech of many
short ones. It was simply: “I thank you for my reception tonight. It
has been one of the greatest of my life.”
On June 1st Lindbergh saw his first Derby. Three hundred thousand
people had travelled to Epsom Downs to see this great traditional
spectacle of horse racing. As the visiting flier was guest of Lord
Lonsdale he sat in a box surrounded by royalty.
That evening was his last in England’s capital. The combined American
societies of London entertained him at a banquet. After many speeches,
Sir Samuel Hoare rose once more to the occasion and expressed this
parting thought:
“Perhaps before long, instead of a single flight, we can induce you
to make a regular habit of it. The sooner air communications are
established between the two English speaking nations, the better our
relations will be. You came to us as a great aviator, but I know you
leave as a real friend of England. I am not sure that the latter part
of your trip has not been as important as your first.
“It was a triumph of man over machinery, of man over the brute forces
of nature. The flight was a tribute to the young men of the world--of
the new generation which has sprung up since the war, determined to
subdue the forces of nature--determined in the near future to make the
air a great highway for intercourse between your people and ours.”
The day set for departure was misty. On arrival at Kinnerly Airdrome
Lindbergh found conditions too difficult to fly to Paris. So there
he remained that night as the guest of the Royal Air Force. But he
had little sleep; for at 3:30 a messenger awakened him with word the
weather was clearing.
He hopped off at 6:20 A.M. but thirty-eight minutes later, due to low
visibility, he came down at Lympnel, England. At eight o’clock a big
Handley Page mail and passenger plane flew over. Whereupon Lindbergh
quickly went aloft and used the big ship as a guide all the way to Le
Bourget.
In the afternoon he attended a ceremony at the Swedish Church in Paris
and the next morning--Saturday June 5th,--he took-off for Cherbourg at
9:22 accompanied by twenty planes.
Just as he was ready to go, Costes and Rignot, the two French aviators
who were leaving on their eastward trip in an effort to beat the
non-stop record he had established, came over to say good-by and he
wished them Godspeed.
On the way to Cherbourg Lindbergh ran into wind, rain, hail and fog.
He landed there at 11:35 amid what seemed to be the entire population
of the port. He was cordially welcomed by the full staff of city
officials. After lunch at the Mayor’s château he was motored into
the city proper, and at the Gare Maritime a plaque was unveiled
commemorating the spot where he had first flown over France on his way
to Le Bourget.
To avoid pressure of the crowd he jumped upon a Cunard tender at the
dock and reached the fast launch of Admiral Burrage which carried him
to the _U.S.S. Memphis_, ordered by President Coolidge to bring the
flier home.
IV
WASHINGTON
It is probable that when Lindbergh reached America he got the greatest
welcome any man in history has ever received; certainly the greatest
when judged by numbers; and by far the greatest in its freedom from
that unkind emotion which in such cases usually springs from one
people’s triumph over another.
Lindbergh’s victory was all victory; for it was not internecine, but
that of our human species over the elements against which for thousands
of centuries man’s weakness has been pitted.
The striking part of it all was that a composite picture of past
homecoming heroes wouldn’t look any more like Charles Lindbergh did
that day of his arrival in Washington than a hitching post looks like a
green bay tree.
Caesar was glum when he came back from Gaul; Napoleon grim; Paul Jones
defiant; Peary blunt; Roosevelt abrupt; Dewey deferential; Wilson
brooding; Pershing imposing. Lindbergh was none of these. He was a
plain citizen dressed in the garments of an everyday man. He looked
thoroughly pleased, just a little surprised, and about as full of
health and spirits as any normal man of his age should be. If there
was any wild emotion or bewilderment in the occasion it lay in the
welcoming crowds, and not in the air pilot they were saluting.
The cruiser _Memphis_, on which Lindbergh travelled, passed through the
Virginia Capes on her way to Washington a few minutes after five P.M.
of the afternoon of June 10. Here Lindbergh got the first taste of what
was to come.
A convoy of four destroyers, two army blimps from Langley Field and
forty airplanes of the Army, Navy and Marine Corps accompanied the
vessel as she steamed up Chesapeake Bay. As the night fell they wheeled
toward their various bases and were soon lost to view. They gave no
salute; and, for all the casual observer might have noted, they were
merely investigating this newcomer to their home waters. But they left
an indelible impression upon those in the _Memphis_ that the morrow was
to be extraordinary.
Saturday June 11, 1927, dawned hot and clear in Washington. It was
evident early in the day that something far out of the city’s peaceful
summer routine was going to happen. Streets were being roped off.
Special policemen were going to their posts. Airplanes flew about
overhead. Citizens began gathering in little clumps up and down
Pennsylvania Avenue, many seating themselves on fruit boxes and baskets
as if for a long wait.
The din that greeted the _Memphis_ off Alexandria, suburb of
Washington, began the noisy welcome that lasted for several hours.
Every roof top, window, old ship, wharf and factory floor was filled
with those who simply had to see Lindbergh come home. Factory
whistles, automobiles, church bells and fire sirens all joined in the
pandemonium.
In the air were scores of aircraft. One large squadron of nearly fifty
pursuit planes maneuvered in and out of the heavy vaporous clouds that
hung over the river. Beneath them moved several flights of slower
bombers. The giant dirigible airship, the U.S.S. _Los Angeles_, wound
back and forth above the course of the oncoming _Memphis_.