The buildings below now seem quite squat; the
hills appear to have sunk away into the ground, and the
whole country below, cut up into diminutive fields, has
the appearance of having been lately tidied and thoroughly
spring-cleaned! A doll's country it looks, with tiny horses
and cows ornamenting the fields and little model motor-cars
and carts stuck on the roads, the latter stretching away
across the country like ribbons accidentally dropped.
At three thousand feet altitude the Pilot is satisfied
that he is now sufficiently high to secure, in the event of
engine failure, a long enough glide to earth to enable him
to choose and reach a good landing-place; and, being furthermore
content with the steady running of the engine, he
decides to climb no more but to follow the course he has
mapped out. Consulting the compass, he places the Aeroplane
on the A--E course and, using the Elevator, he gives
his craft its minimum angle of incidence at which it will
just maintain horizontal flight and secure its maximum
speed.
Swiftly he speeds away, and few thoughts he has now
for the changing panorama of country, cloud, and colour.
Ever present in his mind are the three great 'cross-country
queries. ``Am I on my right course? Can I see a good
landing-ground within gliding distance?'' And ``How is
the Engine running?''
Keenly both he and the Observer compare their maps
with the country below. The roads, khaki-coloured ribbons,
are easily seen but are not of much use, for there are so many
of them and they all look alike from such an altitude.
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