the air.  For about a quarter of an hour he flew round in
ever-widening circles, rising very quietly and steadily until he
had reached an altitude of about 4000 feet.  A deep silence
seemed to have settled on the vast crowd nearly a mile below, and
the musical droning of his engine could be plainly heard.

Then his movements began to be eccentric.  First, he gave a
wonderful exhibition of banking at right angles.  Then, after
about ten minutes, he shut off his engine, pitched downwards and
gracefully righted himself again.

At last the amazing feat began.  His left wing was raised, his
right wing dipped, and the nose of the machine dived steeply, and
turned right round with the airman hanging head downwards, and
the wheels of the monoplane uppermost.  In this way he travelled
for about a hundred yards, and then slowly righted the machine,
until it assumed its normal position, with the engine again
running.  Twice more the performance was repeated, so that he
travelled from one side of the aerodrome to the other--a distance
of about a mile and a half.

Next he descended from 4000 feet to about 1200 feet in four
gigantic loops, and, as one writer said:  "He was doing exactly
what the clown in the pantomime does when he climbs to the top of
a staircase and rolls deliberately over and over until he reaches
the ground.  But this funny man stopped before he reached the
ground, and took his last flight as gracefully as a Columbine
with outspread skirts."

Time after time Pegoud made a series of S-shaped dives,
somersaults, and spiral descents, until, after an exhibition
which thrilled quite 50,000 people, he planed gently to Earth.

Hitherto Pegoud's somersaults have been made by turning over from
front to back, but the daring aviator, and others who followed
him, afterwards turned over from right to left or from left to
right.  Pegoud claimed to have demonstrated that the aeroplane is
uncapsizeable, and that if a parachute be attached to the
fuselage, which is the equivalent of a life boat on board a ship,
then every pilot should feel as safe in a heavier-than-air
machine as in a motor-car.

CHAPTER XLIV
The First Englishman to Fly Upside Down

After M. Pegoud's exhibition of upside-down flying in this
country it was only to be expected that British aviators would
emulate his daring feat.  Indeed, on the same day that the little
Frenchman was turning somersaults in the air at Brooklands Mr.
Hamel was asking M. Bleriot for a machine similar to that used
by Pegoud, so that he might demonstrate to airmen the stability
of the aeroplane in almost all conceivable positions.

However, it was not the daring and skilful Hamel who had the
honour of first following in Pegoud's footsteps, but another
celebrated pilot, Mr. Hucks.

Mr. Hucks was an interested spectator at Brooklands when Pegoud
flew there in September, and he felt that, given similar
conditions, there was no reason why he should not repeat Pegoud's
performance.  He therefore talked the matter over with M.
Bleriot, and began practising for his great ordeal.

His first feat was to hang upside-down in a chair supported by a
beam in one of the sheds, so that he would gradually become
accustomed to the novel position.  For a time this was not at all
easy.  Have you ever tried to stand on your hands with your feet
upwards for any length of time?  To realize the difficulty of
being head downwards, just do this, and get someone to hold your
legs.  The blood will, of course, "rush to the head", as we say,
and the congestion of the blood-vessels in this part of the body
will make you feel extremely dizzy.  Such an occurrence would be
fatal in an aeroplane nearly a mile high in the air at a time
when one requires an especially clear brain to manipulate the
various controls.

But, strange to say, the airman gradually became used to the
"heels-over-head" position, and, feeling sure of himself, he
determined to start on his perilous undertaking.  No one with the
exception of M. Bleriot and the mechanics were present at the Buc
aerodrome, near Versailles, when Mr. Hucks had his monoplane
brought out with the intention of looping the loop.

He quickly rose to a height of 1500 feet, and then, slowly
dipping the nose of his machine, turned right over.  For fully
half a minute he flew underneath the monoplane, and then
gradually brought it round to the normal position.

In the afternoon he continued his experiments, but this time at a
height of nearly 3000 feet.  At this altitude he was flying quite
steadily, when suddenly he assumed a perpendicular position, and
made a dive of about 600 feet.  The horrified spectators thought
that the gallant aviator had lost control of his machine and was
dashing straight to Earth, but quickly he changed his direction
and slowly planed upwards.  Then almost as suddenly he turned a
complete somersault.  Righting the aeroplane, he rose in a
succession of spiral flights to a height of between 3000 and 3500
feet, and then looped the loop twice in quick succession.

On coming to earth M. Bleriot heartily congratulated the brave
Englishman.  Mr. Hucks admitted a little nervousness before
looping the loop; but, as he remarked:  "Once I started to go
round my nervousness vanished, and then I knew I was coming out
on top.  It is all a question of keeping control of your nerves,
and Pegoud deserved all the credit, for he was the first to risk
his life in flying head downwards."

Mr. Hucks intended to be the first Englishman to fly upside down
in England, but he was forestalled by one of our youngest airmen,
Mr. George Lee Temple.  On account of his youth--Mr. Temple was
only twenty-one at the time when he first flew upside-down--he
was known as the "baby airman", but there was probably no more
plucky airman in the world.

There were special difficulties which Mr. Temple had to overcome
that did not exist in the experiments of M. Pegoud or Mr. Hucks.
To start with, his machine--a 50-horse-power Bleriot
monoplane--was said by the makers to be unsuitable for the
performance.  Then he could get no assistance from the big
aeroplane firms, who sought to dissuade him from his hazardous
undertaking.  Experienced aviators wisely shook their heads and
told the "baby airman" that he should have more practice before
he took such a risk.

But notwithstanding this lack of encouragement he practised hard
for a few days by hanging in an inverted position.  Meanwhile his
mechanics were working night and day in strengthening the wings
of the monoplane, and fitting it with a slightly larger elevator.

On 24th November, 1913, he decided to "try his luck" at the
London aerodrome.  He was harnessed into his seat, and, bidding
his friends farewell, with the words "wish me luck", he went
aloft.  For nearly half an hour he climbed upward, and swooped
over the aerodrome in wide circles, while his friends far below
were watching every action of his machine.

Suddenly an alarming incident occurred.  When about a mile high
in the air the machine tipped downwards and rushed towards Earth
at terrific speed.  Then the tail of the machine came up, and the
"baby airman" was hanging head downwards.

But at this point the group of airmen standing in the aerodrome
were filled with alarm, for it was quite evident to their
experienced eyes that the monoplane was not under proper control. 
Indeed, it was actually side-slipping, and a terrible disaster
appeared imminent.  For hundreds of feet the young pilot, still
hanging head downwards, was crashing to Earth, but when down to
about 1200 feet from the ground the machine gradually came round,
and Mr. Temple descended safely to Earth.

The airman afterwards told his friends that for several seconds
he could not get the machine to answer the controls, and for a
time he was falling at a speed of 100 miles an hour.  In ordinary
circumstances he thought that a dive of 500 feet after the
upside-down stretch should get him the right way up, but it
really took him nearly 1500 feet.  Fortunately, however, he
commenced the dive at a great altitude, and so the distance
side-slipped did not much matter.

It is sad to relate that Mr. Temple lost his life in January,
1914, while flying at Hendon in a treacherous wind.  The actual
cause of the accident was never clearly understood.  He had not
fully recovered from an attack of influenza, and it was thought
that he fainted and fell over the control lever while descending
near one of the pylons, when the machine "turned turtle", and the
pilot's neck was broken.

CHAPTER XLV
Accidents and their Cause

"Another airman killed!"  "There'll soon be none of those flying
fellows left!"  "Far too risky a game!"  "Ought to be stopped by
law!"

How many times have we heard these, and similar remarks, when the
newspapers relate the account of some fatality in the air! 
People have come to think that flying is a terribly risky
occupation, and that if one wishes to put an end to one's life
one has only to go up in a flying machine.  For the last twenty
years some of our great writers have prophesied that the conquest
of the air would be as costly in human life as was that of the
sea, but their prophecies have most certainly been wrong, for in
the wreck of one single vessel, such as that of the Titanic, more
lives were lost than in all the disasters to any form of aerial
craft.

Perhaps some of our grandfathers can remember the dread with
which many nervous people entered, or saw their friends enter, a
train.  Travellers by the railway eighty or ninety years ago
considered that they took their lives in their hands, so to
speak, when they went on a long journey, and a great sigh of
relief arose in the members of their families when the news came
that the journey was safely ended.  In George Stephenson's days
there was considerable opposition to the institution of the
railway, simply on account of the number of accidents which it
was anticipated would take place.

Now we laugh at the fears of our great-grandparents; is it not
probable that our grandchildren will laugh in a similar manner at
our timidity over the aeroplane?