the rain. My word, how it poured! It drummed upon my wings and
lashed against my face, blurring my glasses so that I could hardly
see. I got down on to a low speed, for it was painful to travel
against it. As I got higher it became hail, and I had to turn tail
to it. One of my cylinders was out of action--a dirty plug, I
should imagine, but still I was rising steadily with plenty of
power. After a bit the trouble passed, whatever it was, and I
heard the full, deep-throated purr--the ten singing as one. That's
where the beauty of our modern silencers comes in. We can at last
control our engines by ear. How they squeal and squeak and sob
when they are in trouble! All those cries for help were wasted in
the old days, when every sound was swallowed up by the monstrous
racket of the machine. If only the early aviators could come back
to see the beauty and perfection of the mechanism which have been
bought at the cost of their lives!

"About nine-thirty I was nearing the clouds. Down below me,
all blurred and shadowed with rain, lay the vast expanse of
Salisbury Plain. Half a dozen flying machines were doing hackwork
at the thousand-foot level, looking like little black swallows
against the green background. I dare say they were wondering what
I was doing up in cloud-land. Suddenly a grey curtain drew across
beneath me and the wet folds of vapours were swirling round my
face. It was clammily cold and miserable. But I was above the
hail-storm, and that was something gained. The cloud was as dark
and thick as a London fog. In my anxiety to get clear, I cocked
her nose up until the automatic alarm-bell rang, and I actually
began to slide backwards. My sopped and dripping wings had made me
heavier than I thought, but presently I was in lighter cloud, and
soon had cleared the first layer. There was a second--opal-