Read Online The Spirit of ST Louis by Charles A. Lindbergh - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Charles A. Lindbergh
Tags: United States, General, Historical, History, Biography & Autobiography, Biography, Transportation, Transatlantic Flights, Adventurers & Explorers, Air Pilots, Aviation, Spirit of St. Louis (Airplane)
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and belt around a strut, chock the wheels, tie the stick back with my safety belt, check switches, give the engine three primer shots, retard spark, close throttle, run back to the propeller, catch one blade with my left hand, scrape over frozen ground with my moccasins as I pull the cylinder through compression. It takes all the strength I've got—the oil's beginning to thicken. How fast an engine cools in winter!
One –– two –– three –– four blades through. Leave the fifth sixty degrees below horizontal. Back to the cockpit. Throttle one-half inch open. Switches on. Back to the propeller — ten feet to the right side. Got to watch this; I should have two men pulling on my arm, and a mechanic in the cockpit. Run – – – grip the blade – – –throw my weight against it – – – angle forward to clear its bone-shattering strength – – – let go – – –latch balance – – – back for another try. There's a "ping" this time – – – the blade moves forward – – – stops as I trip away – – – No action on the third blade. On the fourth she hits—one cylinder—two – – – the engine catches. I stumble as the blade jumps from my hand — break the fall with my arm and shoulder. I scramble up and around the wing to my cockpit — Ease on throttle — A roar from the engine — she's safe now. I unsnap the belt from the stick, and climb into the pilot's seat.
I'll idle at 800 r.p.na: for five minutes; then switch her off for twenty. Might as well turn on the exhaust heater—that will keep my feet warm, even in an open cockpit. Now if I had a Bellanca, with its closed cabin, it would be easy to spend the night on a field. I could go to sleep between engine starts—sleep twenty minutes—idle the engine five minutes—sleep again. I could carry an alarm clock for such emergencies.
But how about flying the mail in a closed cabin on a foggy night? You can't see well through glass; it merges with haze, and reflects every light on the ground. In rain you can hardly see through it at all. And suppose you got into a little sleet, what then? No. you just couldn't fly through bad weather in a closed cabin. And if you should crack up in a Bellanca, the engine would be right in your lap. There's hardly any structure between it and the cockpit to protect you; you wouldn't have a chance in a bad crash. It would be still worse with a fuel tank in the fuselage, for the New York-to-Paris flight. You'd be like the filling in a sandwich—your knees against the fire wall, your back against the gasoline. Suppose the landing gear failed. Suppose a tire blew. Suppose a cylinder started missing as you took the air – – –
It's 7:35. I have nine hours to pass before dawn.
The time is half past three. The fuel truck should soon be here. It's too cold to stay in my cockpit with the engine off. I climb out and walk back and forth in front of the wings. A glow still spreads over the clouds above Springfield, but there's not a farmhouse light to be seen; the last one went out hours ago. – – – How long will the grease last on a Wright Whirlwind's rocker arms? Suppose a valve should stick, out over the Atlantic Ocean? – – – I'd have to be in the air for nearly forty hours between New York and Paris. How long can an engine run without attention? How long can a pilot stay awake? It seems ages since I got out of bed yesterday morning; actually it's less than twenty hours.
13
"If you want a really good suit, you'd better have it tailormade."
Captain Littlefield and I stand at the side of a National Guard Jenny. It's Sunday morning, and our training maneuvers are getting under way. I've selected the most neatly dressed officer in the squadron for advice on clothing.
"A tailored suit looks better, and it lasts longer," he goes on. "It's worth the extra cost. I know a good tailor in the city. He won't charge too much, and he can make up a suit for you in a week. I'll give you
One –– two –– three –– four blades through. Leave the fifth sixty degrees below horizontal. Back to the cockpit. Throttle one-half inch open. Switches on. Back to the propeller — ten feet to the right side. Got to watch this; I should have two men pulling on my arm, and a mechanic in the cockpit. Run – – – grip the blade – – –throw my weight against it – – – angle forward to clear its bone-shattering strength – – – let go – – –latch balance – – – back for another try. There's a "ping" this time – – – the blade moves forward – – – stops as I trip away – – – No action on the third blade. On the fourth she hits—one cylinder—two – – – the engine catches. I stumble as the blade jumps from my hand — break the fall with my arm and shoulder. I scramble up and around the wing to my cockpit — Ease on throttle — A roar from the engine — she's safe now. I unsnap the belt from the stick, and climb into the pilot's seat.
I'll idle at 800 r.p.na: for five minutes; then switch her off for twenty. Might as well turn on the exhaust heater—that will keep my feet warm, even in an open cockpit. Now if I had a Bellanca, with its closed cabin, it would be easy to spend the night on a field. I could go to sleep between engine starts—sleep twenty minutes—idle the engine five minutes—sleep again. I could carry an alarm clock for such emergencies.
But how about flying the mail in a closed cabin on a foggy night? You can't see well through glass; it merges with haze, and reflects every light on the ground. In rain you can hardly see through it at all. And suppose you got into a little sleet, what then? No. you just couldn't fly through bad weather in a closed cabin. And if you should crack up in a Bellanca, the engine would be right in your lap. There's hardly any structure between it and the cockpit to protect you; you wouldn't have a chance in a bad crash. It would be still worse with a fuel tank in the fuselage, for the New York-to-Paris flight. You'd be like the filling in a sandwich—your knees against the fire wall, your back against the gasoline. Suppose the landing gear failed. Suppose a tire blew. Suppose a cylinder started missing as you took the air – – –
It's 7:35. I have nine hours to pass before dawn.
The time is half past three. The fuel truck should soon be here. It's too cold to stay in my cockpit with the engine off. I climb out and walk back and forth in front of the wings. A glow still spreads over the clouds above Springfield, but there's not a farmhouse light to be seen; the last one went out hours ago. – – – How long will the grease last on a Wright Whirlwind's rocker arms? Suppose a valve should stick, out over the Atlantic Ocean? – – – I'd have to be in the air for nearly forty hours between New York and Paris. How long can an engine run without attention? How long can a pilot stay awake? It seems ages since I got out of bed yesterday morning; actually it's less than twenty hours.
13
"If you want a really good suit, you'd better have it tailormade."
Captain Littlefield and I stand at the side of a National Guard Jenny. It's Sunday morning, and our training maneuvers are getting under way. I've selected the most neatly dressed officer in the squadron for advice on clothing.
"A tailored suit looks better, and it lasts longer," he goes on. "It's worth the extra cost. I know a good tailor in the city. He won't charge too much, and he can make up a suit for you in a week. I'll give you
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