The Truth About Ireland
CHAPTER I
BEGINNING OF MY AEROPLANE TRIP THROUGH IRELAND
I
Itall happened in this way. Early last summer I was travelling through Ohio and came to the prosperous city of Dayton. While spending a few days visiting in this enterprising city, a friend met me, and proposed to call on the Wright Brothers, who had won wide fame as the men who knew how to fly.
I was rather skeptical about a man contesting the atmosphere with the fowls of the air. I had a private opinion that Mother Earth was meant for man, and that the nearer he kept to it the better. I went to see these aeronauts with a prejudice against the flying business.
We soon found the airship factory, and we were introduced to Mr. Wilbur Wright. He greeted us very cordially, and even took us around his factory, showing us an aeroplane and explaining its workings. I was astonished at the simplicity of the airship and was impressed with the enthusiasm of the successful young aeronaut. I began to thaw out. I asked a lot of questions. Before half an hour had passed by I was a convert to the flying business, and made up my mind that Mr. Wright was a “bird.” He had discovered not only how to fly, but also, which is more important, how to light.
That was the beginning of my interest in aeroplanes. I do not expect that anything wonderful would have come out of my Dayton experience had I not journeyed the next week to New York State to visit an old-time friend, Mr. Mike Connor. Naturally, I began to display my new-found knowledge about aeronautics on the first opportunity. To my great surprise I found that Mr. Connor was also an enthusiastic aeroplanist. I found he knew all about flying. When I expressed wonder at his knowledge of this recent art of cleaving the heaven’s blue, he told me he had been studying the matter for a long time. He said he could get few of his friends to take any stock in this latest victory of man over nature, and he was delighted to find me a sympathetic listener to his descriptions of the coming uses of flying machines.
Looking carefully around the room, as if to see that no unfriendly ear could hear, he finally confessed to me in a stage whisper:
“I have an aeroplane of my own. I bought it two months ago, and I can now fly with it beautifully.”
“Good,” I cried, “let me see it.”
He at once took me out to the shed where he kept the “bird.” I looked it over with intense interest, which pleased my good friend, Mike, (as I must call him) very much. It was a Wright aeroplane, about the same size as the one Mr. Wilbur Wright had shown me at Dayton. The two main planes, like the top and bottom of astreet car, were 40 feet long and 7 feet wide. The distance between the upper and lower planes was 6 feet. These planes were covered with a stout cloth, like tent cloth. There were two small horizontal planes in front, controlled by levers, by which the aeroplane was raised or lowered at will when it was in the air. At the rear there was also a double set of planes, vertically placed, to assist in turning the airship, just as a helm turns a ship in the water. Motion was generated by two large propellers, seven feet long, made of spruce wood, which ran in opposite directions. Power was furnished by a compact, 25-horse power motor, which Mike, whom I knew to be an expert with gasoline engines, said was one of the best he ever handled.
“Just as reliable as steam,” he assured me, when I spoke of the unreliability of the ordinary motor.
Mike explained to me how to start, how to rise and descend, and how to turn in the air.
I asked him why he had not let me know about this new treasure before, and he told me his friends to whom he had spoken about it had treated him so coldly, that he had ceased to mention the matter, but he had quietly been practicing with his machine until now he was able to fly anywhere. There was a large meadow back of his house, surrounded by thick groves, and in this secluded spot he had spent weeks perfecting himself in the art of flying.
As it was too late that day for a flight he promisedto take me on my first jaunt among the clouds next morning.
I had known Mike Connor since he was a boy. His father had left him a lot of money, but he was not the usual wild kind of heir. He looked after his estate closely, but, having a heap of time on his hands, he was always ready for a diversion. When the bicycles first came out, he had two or three of the finest makes. He was the very first in his neighborhood to purchase an automobile, and he soon became an expert with his motor car. Accordingly, I was not surprised to know that he had so soon mastered the use of the aeroplane.
When we came back to the house he asked me suddenly:
“Jack, what are you going to do this summer?”
“I have been planning,” I replied, “to take a run across the fish pond and visit old Ireland again.”
“Good,” he fairly shouted.
I looked at him a little curiously, wondering why he was so interested in my visit to the Emerald Isle.
“Let us go together,” he continued enthusiastically, “and take the aeroplane.”
This was certainly a novel proposition, and I laughed so heartily at the idea of flying through Ireland that Mike got impatient.
“Don’t you think we can do it?” he asked.
“Let us wait till morning,” I answered evasively, “and we will see about it.” Mike’s face fell, and Icould see he thought I was not a thorough convert to the aeroplane art.
There is something of the Scotchman about me, and I wanted to know a little more about the “bird” business before I started on a vacation trip with wings. An Irish bog would not be a bad place for an aeronaut to alight in case he had to descend unceremoniously, but I didn’t want to spoil a nice outing in Ireland by breaking my neck trying to fly.
The next morning we were up with the birds and soon had the aeroplane all ready for a flight. The Wright aeroplane ascends from a “starting rail,” which is merely a stout board turned up on end.
The meadow was an ideal place to fly. It was an immense level field, about half a mile long, and quarter of a mile broad. I had all confidence in Mike and had no reason to believe he meant to destroy me, but I was just a little shaky as I climbed up into the second seat over the motor.
Mike vaulted easily into his seat, started the motor, and in a few seconds we were off. I can never describe the excitement of the next ten minutes. We rose to the height of about 80 feet, and then sailed rapidly round and round the field. The sensation of flying was something entirely new. I was exhilarated, charmed, delighted. After I became a little used to it I was able to observe the field below, which glided under us with marvelous speed.
After ten minutes of this thrilling experience Mike decided to land, as he did not wish to try my nerves too severely the first time. The landing was perfect. Mike shut off the motor at a height of 70 feet, and the aeroplane came gliding down like a big bird. I could not tell just when we came to earth, so gently did the airship alight. It glided along on its runners for a short distance and then came quietly to a stop.
I stepped out on the grass like a man in a dream.
“How did you like it?” asked Mike.
For answer I fairly hugged him. He was pleased and asked at once about a trip through Ireland.
“It would be grand,” I exclaimed, “let us go.”
We had several other flights together and we were both confident that we could have a glorious time in the Emerald Isle with an airship.
We soon completed our arrangements. The aeroplane was taken to pieces and carefully packed. Each box was marked “Queenstown.”
In three weeks’ time we were ready to start. We booked on the Lusitania, and, as the boxes, in which our aeroplane was stored, were taken on board as baggage, we landed in five days at Queenstown, airship and all.
I had crossed the Atlantic several times before, but this voyage was the most exciting of all. We sat on deck and talked of our plans when we landed. Mike was sure of his ability to fly a day at a time, and so we outlined a strenuous program. I was well acquaintedwith Ireland, and I had marked our stopping places as we would fly through the island.
Sometimes fear of failure would take possession of my mind. The whole thing was so novel. Such a thing as flying round a country on a sightseeing trip had never been attempted. I was fearful I had been rash.
A talk with Mike always sent these fears to the winds. He had no fears whatever.
As Mike was to have the chief share in piloting our airship, I decided to take generous notes and prepare a full account of the places we visited and our most exciting experiences as we flew over the green fields of Erin. From these notes I have prepared for the world the account of our trip which is found in the following chapters.
We had not breathed a word about our plans to anyone on board during our voyage across the Atlantic, and when we landed at Queenstown we quietly sent on our “baggage” to Cork, and followed ourselves that evening. We had planned to begin our flight from Cork. We expected to fly around the island in a couple of days and then visit some attractive places one by one. We were compelled to change this plan, as we shall see.
After a good night’s rest at the Imperial Hotel in Cork, we “assembled,” as aeronauts say, the various parts of our airship the next morning on a level field just outside the city.
We avoided the public as much as possible, and the few people who came around found us non-committal, and wondered what we were doing.
THROUGH THE EMERALD ISLE WITH AN AEROPLANE.
THROUGH THE EMERALD ISLE WITH AN AEROPLANE.
In the evening when we were left alone, about nine o’clock, (it is still quite light at this time in Ireland during July) we made a short trial ascent. Our first flight beneath the kindly Irish skies was a complete success. Everything was working beautifully.
Well satisfied with our first day’s work we returned to our hotel for the night. Our plan was to fly the first day as far as the Giant’s Causeway, going up the West side of the island. On the second day we expected to return to Cork and make trips here and there after that.
We had another good night’s rest, and rose with the sun, or rather a little before it. We found our aeroplane in the field as we left it, and after carefully examining every part, Mike said:
“All right, Jack. Let us start.”
I climbed up on my seat. Mike started the motor. The machine began to move along the starting rail, and rose like a bird. When we had gone up to about the height of 200 feet we circled around over Cork. In the dawning light we could see the strange tower of the Church of Saint Mary Shandon, St. Patrick’s Street, and the beautiful Cathedral of St. Finbar’s. I could also distinguish Queen’s College.
Turning in a northwestern direction, Mike said to me:
“Now we’re off.”
We were speeding through the air towards Killarney.