THE WHITE FEATHER.

Gisborne Times, Volume XXVIII, Issue 2716, 22 January 1910, Page 1 (Supplement)

THE WHITE FEATHER.

AN AVIATOR’S ROMANCE

“I tell you you must fly—you shall fly—■to-morrow!”

“I cannot! Don’t force me to. You don’t understand. It came over me on Monday during my trial for height. I looked down. My eye measured the awful distance to the -earth. I thought of what would happen if 1113- motor—if any vital part of my machine —went wrong. And my /head swam. How I got to the ground I cannot tell. It was by ar miracle. I cannot II v to-morrow. I will write to the secretary. I will •withdraw 1113* name —say that I have been suddenly called away—anything. It does not matter. The race will still be England’s. Massingham is bound to beat the Frenchman.” . “Coward!”

The single word rang through the silent room, and the two men—he who hau uttered the taunt, and the one at whom it had been flung—stood facing each other, the elder with purple neck and choleric eyes, t);e younger wiili blanched face and twitching lips. ‘ Neither of them—so dead' were they to what was passing outside —heard 'steps approach. The handle of the door turned slightly, then remained •still, as though the person outside was on the point of entering the room, but was arrested by some sudden cause.

“You! a Carnforth! a coward!” said the elder man. "By Heaven, had anyone save yourself—my own son — dared to hint such a calumny, I would have forced the foul words down his lying throat.” The younger man was silent. His eyes started, his forehead glistened with sweat, the hands which grasped the corner of the table trembled.- Was this the daring aviator whose achievements had thrilled two hemispheres?

It was he, with this difference, that now he had lest this nerve. A man of penetration, glancing at the sensitive face —the clean-cut, delicate, almost womanish face—could understand why. Matter had militated against mind. Perhaps Norman Carnforth’s courage had always been greater than liis strength.

Sir Geoffrey Carnforth —the father — a man of the British bulldog type, courageous to a degree, had never known what fear was. and was intolerant of it in others.

“You must fly—you shall fly—tomorrow!” ho said again.

And again the son answered, “I can. not!” “Cannot?” echoed the baronet. “There is no such word. Norman, I am not given to showing my feelings—but this I may tell you. I am proud of you—aye, prouder than it- is possible for me to express. When 3-011 were young you were a puny lad, and often I grieved in secret to think that ’Heaven had seen fit to bestow upon me such an offspring. But 3*oll have proved 3’ourself equal to the best traditions of the Carnfdrths. You have exceeded my best hopes of 3-011. Is this going to be the end of it all?”

The son raised his head in a nervous gesture. “I cannot fly to-morrow,” he said. “I am all nerves. You don’t understand—you who have never had the same experience. Is it not better to withdraw now—than go on and make an exhibition of mvself?”

“A thousand, times no!” exclaimed the baronet. N ‘-Norman, listen to what I have to say. No o ue -knows what 3’ou are to me. But, much as I love you, I would sooner bury you than sec 3’ou save 3*olll- skin through cowardice. Think again. Conquer yourself. Fly to-morrow—and all will be well. But refuse to do what I ask of you, and I. will never again look on your face. I would sooner have no son than a coward for a son.*’

With these words on his lips the baronet strode from the room. The son sank into a chair, and sat, wTch his head in his hands, in a state bordering on complete mental collapse.

“Massingham, you will win.” “You think so?” “I am sure, of it. The condition's are dead in your favor. There is little or -no wind about. You, with your light monoplane, will have a pronounced advantage over Carnforth with his heavier biplane. As for, Le Huret, I don’t think lie has a look in. What is your opinion on this matter?” “Well, since you mention it,” replied Massingham, “the luck certainly appears to be with me this morning. T am glad of it, Tom, I can toll you. I want every bit of luck I can get hold of to-day. Success means more to me than you can think.” , “The prize you’re referring to, .eli? Well, .a handsome cup and a cool thousand in cash is not to be sneezed at.”. “I wasn’t thinking of that, Tom.” “Oh, the honour! Be hanged to that 1” “It wasn’t exactly the honour, either.” ' “Then what on earth was it?”

But Massingham was busy with his machine, and affected not to hear. He was giving it a final rig-up prior to the forthcoming trial. He walked round it, reeling the parts with his fingers, tightening a nut here, straightening a stay there. He performed his task lovingly, as though his beautiful aeroplane was to him a thing of life. “Halloa! There goes-Le Huret 1”

Massingliam looked up and said: “How will he fare to-day, I wonder? He’s a good fellow, plucky as they make ’em, and a sportsman to the backbone.”

Under a blue sky white aeroplanes skimmed with ease and grace through the. air, contending for the various prizes.

Then came the great event of the day—the trial of altitude, in which Norman Carnforth, Victor Massingliam, and the French champion, Le Huret, would fight for supremacy. The event was made additionally attractive by the fact that the three aviators were to % simultaneously. The crowd had assumed phenomenal proportions. The aerodrome was a moving mass of spectators, and outside thousands more clamoured for admittance. Every coign of vantage for miles around was occupied. One intrepid individual had even mounted to the summit of Dobbin’s Hill —a flattopped hill, half a mile from the aerodrome. He stood there surveying the scene through a pair of binoculars.

Soon the red pennant was hoisted to the masthead, then on the right appeared the blue and white flag indicating the trial of altitude, and on the left the colours of the contending aviators—Carnforth’s, the familiar red oblong with white diamond centre; Massingham’s, the blue with three parallel red stripes; Le Iluret’s, tile famous tricolour. Shortly afterwards a number of blue-clad mechanics issued from the hangars, wheeling out the machines of the respective aviators. The aviators themselves were in close attendance, and were accorded a huge reception from the spectators in the vicinity of the sheds.

“That’s Le Huret—the chap in the Norfolk suit with knee-breeches and stockings,” remarked a well-informed member of the crowd. “Beside him is Massingliam, in the brown overalls and wool cap which he affects. And that slim, lithe fellow to the rear, in the leather suit and motor goggles, is Carnforth —doesn't carry much flesh on him, does he? But he’s all there, for all that.”

Mere than the speaker in question had caught sight of the famous aviator, and a chorus of voices joined in the cry, “Bravo, Carnforth!” A ripple or excitement ran through the vast aerodrome, then a mighty cheer arose as, from different parts of the ground, the three aviators ascended in the air. Carnforth’s substantiallooking bipla.ne flew with the steadiness of an albatross on the wing; while the light, dainty monoplanes of Massingham and Le Huret, looking like gigantic dragon-flies, moved about with all the grace of those pretty insects. What the spectators thought as they saw the machines wheeling in the air must have found expression in multifarious reflections; but for the most part the imagination was held captive by sheer awestruck fascination. Attention was first of all arrested by the consummate skill and daring of the Frenchman. Coolly smoking a cigarette, he allowed his machine to mount into the air and sail over the crowd. # The people cheered, and higher and higher mounted the machine with the movements of a natural creature.

He rose to a height of about 100 ft. and then sailed round and round at a terrific speed, the monoplane being steered and manoeuvred in a remarkable manner. The people could hear the heavy -drone of the monoplane. A thin stream of petrol vapor, showing white against- the blu-c sky, however, disillusionised any romantic dreamers, and incidentally reminded them that the engine was not running at its best.

Rising t-o a greater height still, Le Huret raced high above the stands, passed even outside the aerodrome, and later, in a whimsical fashion, executed a figure S -round one of the pylons. All this, however, was merely -to edify the crowd, for the gallant Frenchman, realising that all was not well with his engine—as previously hinted at —was, after a while, compelled reluctantly to descend.

The crowd gave him a warm reception, inspired by bis daring exhibition. He shrugged his shoulders, then relinquished his machine into the hands of his mechanics, and dolefully followed them to the sheds. „

Meanwhile, the two Englishmen had steadily risen higher and higher. An altitude of 300 ft. was reached, then 400 ft. Still they continued their upward flight. First Massingham essayed a spurt, which evoked an instant response from Carnforth. Then i-t was Carnforth’s turn to soar ahead, only to find Massingham shortly afterwards drawing level. The excitement of the crowd had by this time reached fever-heat. There ’•ore many who dared not look up any longer, so fearful were they of witnessing a catastrophe. Suddenly a mighty cheer ascended from a hundred thousand throats. The code numbers 56 had been hoisted, signifying the record had been broken.

Then it was seen that Massingliam was wavering. A hundred binoculars were pointed towards his monoplane. Yes, it was true. He seemed to remain stationary in mid-air for a -few seconds, then his monoplane began to descend.

The next instant a single shout arose from the tense, waiting, watching crowd. It rang through the still air,

was caught up by the dense throng, outside the aerodrome, and echoed and re-echoed among the distant hills. “Carnforth wins!” Yes, the race was his. He went higher, higher. Massingham continued, to descend. He reached the ground, and was immediately surrounded by a crowd of friends and officials. They congratulated him on his magnificent flight, and regretted that they ware not able to acclaim him the victor. But [Massingliam answered never a word. His face was inscrutable. Did he feel his defeat too keenly? But who could think of Massingham at this moment? All thoughts had their focus in the solitary aviator remaining in the sky—the victorious Carnforth. He had mounted to a height which demonstrated Ibis utter and unquestion, ed superiority, and was now essaying his descent. If he accomplished it in safety, another glorious feat—as great if not greater than any which had preceded it —would be added to his name. Steadily lie descended. There was a general move on the part of the spectators to the vicinity where it was estimated he would fall. Then a breathless hush succeeded, the huge concourse waiting, spellbound, the concluding act. of the drama. The machine descended until it hovered 100 ft. over the grand stand; then, altogether without warning, it altered its direction. It swerved dead east and fled away across the sky in the direction of Dobbin’s Hill. Before the onlookers could voice their astonishment it had gone out of sight. Consternation reigned in the aerodrome. Officials ran helplessly hither and thither. The crowd looked blank. Meanwhile the biplane had reached Dobbin’s Hill, and now it landed gently on the flat surface of the summit. The aviator sprang out, doffed leather motor-cap and goggles, and was revealed as a winsome girl of eighteen, with firm-set- lips and fearless eyes. The girl was Norman’s sister Madge—a true Carnforth. Norman —for the watcher on the hill was he —had darted to her side, .was grasping her hands, and looking eagerly into her face. “Madge, I want to tall you what I think of you, but I can’t find words in which to express myself. It was magnificent—heroic —sublime 1” “Quick!” cried the girl. “Get into the aeroplane. Ride into the aerodrome. Not an instant must be lest. I can see figures moving below. In a few moments the people will be here. They will discover the subterfuge. That must be prevented at all hazards. Ride, while there is yet time.” Carnforth suddenly turned to her. “I can't do it. By Heaven, could the meanest skunk alive go and receive the reward which you by your magnificent flying have won? I can’t do it.” “You must —for father's sake—for my sake—for the honour of our good name. Quick! [My hat and long coat. You have brought them?” The people in the aerodrome, almost at their wits’ end, suddenly had their fears allayed by seeing Carnforth come flying back over the grand stand. He dropped to the ground. Then pandemonium reigned. The young aviator was accorded an indescribable reception. He was carried shoulder-high round and round the aerodrome to the strains of “See the Conquering Piero Comes,” The eyes of Sir Geoffrey Carnforth were moist. There was a catch in his breath, a fluttering at his heart. Those who were near told afterwards that they had never seen him hold himsvdf so proudly erect. 111. Madge, standing on the hill, heard the mighty cheer which heralded her brother's arrival in the aerodrome. Then, with tingling cheeks and gleaming eyes, she hastened down the hill. Suddenly she stopped dead. A man was approaching her. It was Massingliam. TVlien lie reached her side he looked into her eyes, and, without preliminary of any kind, asked a simpledirect question: “What made you do it?” Madge looked at him aghast, terrified by the awful discovery that he knew, dismayed that her attemptshould prove abortive. She could not answer. “I have guessed your secret,” he said. “I saw it was you from the first, though your wonderful resemblance to Norman appeared to deceive everybody. I did not think it was possible for a -girl to exhibit such courage as you have shown. I think yours is the bravest deed I ever saw. And the remembrance of it will remain with me as long as life lasts. And yet I ask, What made you do it?” “Promise me,” she said, “that, you will keep my secret inviolate—that you will not breathe to a soul. Promise me this and I will tell you all.” “Whether you tell me or noQ I will promise what you ask,” lie said. “Thank you,” she said, in a fervent whisper. “The stop is soon -told. I was near my brother’s room last night, and overheard a- terrible scene between him and father., It was this. Norman’s nerve had failed—does not that happen to the bravest at certain times? He said he could not fly today. Father was angry—nay, he was more grieved than angry. Ho accused Norman of cowardice. Finally he left him—and Norman had to face this plain issue: either to fly, or to forfeit all claim to father’s regard—to be written down coward. When father had gone I went to Norman. He was utterly unnerved. To attempt the flight was an utter impossibility. There seemed only one way to save him from shame and humiliation. I suggested that I should fly in his stead.”

“Yes. Go on”; for Madge had faltered in her narrative. “At first Norman was amazed, incredulous. But 1 reminded him how he had confessed that I could manage his aeroplane almost as well as he ■ could. Then he said that people would be certain to discover my identity. But I oointed out how alike we were, and that, in li,is leather suit, with cap and goggles, there would be very little danger of people suspecting who I really was. And at last he yielded—and — and you know the rest. It was the thought of what was at stake which enabled me to accomplish the high flight. Somehow, I seemed to be inspired. I fear I could never do it again. “It is not necessary for you to do it again,” he said. “Once is sufficient.’ She looked away for a moment, but suddenly her eyes sought his face, and she said, in an impetuous voice; “You wanted to win the trial, did you not? Don’t try to deceive •me, for I know how your hopes were sot on it. Are you very much disappointed ? Can you ever forgive me?” He looked down into the sweet, eager eyes upturned to his. “Yes, I wanted to win. Do you know why ? It is because I love you, Madge. I have loved you ever since the day I first saw vox;. Yet I feared I could never hope to call you .mine. But I thought if I came to you victorious it might help a little. That is why I wanted to win the cup.” “What difference would that have made?” she said, tears glistening in her eyes. “Didn’t you know that I loved you? I have loved you all the "time.” And her hand found its way into his. With a cry of thanksgiving lie folded her in his arms. To-day Norman Carnforth is second to none in the aviation world. His loss of nerve was only temporary. But if ever there should be danger of another mental lapse one thing would sustain him through it —namely, the memory of hi s sister’s heroic act.