of a swarm of Penguins at
work. They looked like a brood of prehistoric birds of enormous size,
with wings too short for flight. Most unwieldy birds they were, driven
by, or more accurately, driving beginners in the art of flying; but
they ran along the ground at an amazing speed, zigzagged this way and
that, and whirled about as if trying to catch their own tails. As we
stood watching them, an accident occurred which would have been
laughable had we not been too nervous to enjoy it. In a distant part
of the field two machines were rushing wildly about. There were acres
of room in which they might pass, but after a moment of uncertainty,
they rushed headlong for each other as though driven by the hand of
fate, and met head-on, with a great rending of propellers. The
onlookers along the side of the field howled and pounded each other in
an ecstasy of delight, but Drew and I walked apart for a hasty
consultation, for it was our turn next. We kept rehearsing the points
which we were to remember in driving a Penguin: full gas and tail up
at once. Through the interpreter, our _moniteur_ explained very
carefully what we were to do, and mounted the step, to show us, in
turn, the proper handling of the gas _manet_ and of the
_coupe-contact_ button. Then he stepped down and shouted, "Allez! en
route!" with a smile meant to be reassuring.

I buckled myself in, fastened my helmet, and nodded to my mechanic.

"Coupe, plein gaz," he said.

"Coupe, plein gaz," I repeated.

He gave the propeller a few spins to suck in the mixture.

"Contact, reduisez."

"Contact, reduisez."

Again he spun the propeller, and the motor took. I pulled back my
_manet_, full gas, and off I went at what seemed to me then breakneck
speed. Remembering instructions, I pushed forward on the lever which
governs the elevating planes, and up went my tail so quickly and at
such an angle that almost instinctively I cut off my contact. Down
dropped my tail again, and I whirled round in a circle--my first
_cheval de bois_, as this absurd-looking manoeuvre is called. I had
forgotten that I had a rudder. I was like a man learning to swim, and
could not yet cooerdinate the movements of my hands and feet. My bird
was purring gently, with the propeller turning slowly. It seemed
thoroughly domesticated, but I knew that I had but to pull back on
that _manet_ to transform it into a rampant bird of prey. Before
starting again I looked about me, and there was Drew raci