The Birmingham age-herald., 1919-04-24
How # VIII Feel to Fly
 Across fhe Atlantic Ocean
uv wALnrmAR KARMrrnRr.

The start is to be made from New
 foundland. and probably the shortest
 route will be taken---the 1928 mile
 route to Ireland At least four air
 planes 6American and British) ars
 ready to fly across. One of them will
 surely take that short course. They
 are keyed up today.
 Tho preparations preceding the flight
 seem endless to those who are priv ileged to watch them. Mechanics tink-
 CT with the engines for days. There are deafening splutterings and reports
 and roarings as the engines are tuned up. Every square inch of the
 huge structure is inspected with me- ticulous care: every wire is tested for tension: every nut and bolt tried. At last the dramatic moment comes, early one calm morning, in a quiet harbor of Newfoundland, when the sup plies have all been shipped, the nel-
 meted and fur-clad crew has chamber ed aboard and the pilot has beltcd himself into his seat. A few ear-split- ting explosions, a flashing of whirling propellers, then the steady roar of per- feet engines, and the great sea b'rd glides away. Right into the teeth of the wind the pilot heads. The speed in- creases. The water dashes up in slim geysers of spray. For a thousand yards she skins along. Then the pilot tits the elevator in the rear ever so little She rises and climbs up, up, majesti- cally into the air.
 To the men within. the craft does not seem to rise rather does the earth seem to fall miraculously away, until il becomes more and more map-uke to the eye. That silver ribbon below is
 river winding it's way far back into the hills; that thin white thread. a road That queer worm that writhes stiffly along on two shining strips is a railway train; that boquet of green foliage is a grove.
 Gradually Newfoundland drifts away unti. it is lost in haze. Below is the ocean, as smooth and sparkling in the breaking sunlight from on high, as a park lake on a summer day steam ships seem wonderfully many. And why not, when every minute means the ticking off of a mile and a half and the eye gathers in a vista of hundreds Of square miles.
 Up and up the pilot climbs. He must avoid the fog bank ahead. that famous Newfoundland fog bank in which many ships have collided and many a fishing smack has been cut in two by crushing liners. It is slow work. this upward toiling; for these huge machines, numbering in compari- son with the gnat-lke scouts that played so dramatic part over the bat tlefied, are slow climbers. But in three-quarter of an hour the bara- graph shows that an altitude of five thousand feet has been reached. Far below stretches the fog-bank and miles of woody cloud. Danger, death perhaps, turks in that soft white bed. For who can tell, once in that maze, how far it reaches and how one may extricate one's self from it's coils?
 On and on. the pilot flies thankf ful that all of this fluffy whiteness lies so far below him. Now and again he catches a glimpse of the sea through a rift in the cloud below. The rifts be-
 come more frequent. He sees that he is approaching the end of the cloud bank. In another half hour, the waters are once more unveiled to him. One o'clock. It is time for luncheon The engineer produces cold meats, bread. vacuum bottles filled with stem ing coffee and tea, fruit, real Ameri can apple-pie, knives, forks and spoons One man must navigate. Never for a minute is this great sensitive sea-bird to be left uncontrolled; it has wings and great beating heart of an engine. but no brain. So the pilot keeps his
 station while the captain and the en-
 gineer eat.
 When the captain has swallowed his
 last piece of pie and his last mouthful
 of coffee he slipes into the vacant seat
 beside the pilot. It's the pilots tutn
 now, and he makes the most of it. Iie
 has not eaten since dawn. In fifteen