A good half of my
active existence has been passed in familiar contact with salt water, and
I was aware, theoretically, that water is not an elastic body: but it was
only then that I acquired the absolute conviction of the fact. I
remember distinctly the thought flashing through my head: "By Jove! it
isn't elastic!" Such is the illuminating force of a particular
experience.
This landing (on the water of the North Sea) was effected in a Short
biplane after one hour and twenty minutes in the air. I reckon every
minute like a miser counting his hoard, for, if what I've got is mine, I
am not likely now to increase the tale. That feeling is the effect of
age. It strikes me as I write that, when next time I leave the surface
of this globe, it won't be to soar bodily above it in the air. Quite the
contrary. And I am not thinking of a submarine either. . . .
But let us drop this dismal strain and go back logically to the
beginning. I must confess that I started on that flight in a state--I
won't say of fury, but of a most intense irritation. I don't remember
ever feeling so annoyed in my life.
It came about in this way.
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