  The summer holidays had come at last, and, saying good-bye to hot, dirty, old London, Sixer Billy Kemp had gone off to the Isle of Wight with his father and mother and big brother. He was sorry to leave the Pack, of course. But before he went he promised his Cubmaster that during the holidays he would not let himself forget for one moment that he was a Cub. He would always do his best at whatever he was doing; he would find ways of doing good turns for other people, and he would not give in to himself, and be selfish with his boats and his spade and water-wings; but would let the children he played with on the shore use them. It was the first holiday he had had since joining the Pack; and he found that one enjoys oneself much more when one has these cubby ideas. All the little boys and girls he played with thought no end of him, because, for one thing, he was so kind, and for another, he never seemed afraid of anything. You see, he had only to say: “A Cub does not give in to himself,” and it became almost easy to do the hard thing. For instance, when the sea was very rough and the waves knocked you down, it was very frightening to go in, and most of the children gave up bathing that day. But Billy faced the waves, and his big brother Jim was proud of him. Then, on very cold days Billy went in, as usual. And just because he never gave in to himself, he managed to learn to swim and float, those holidays. When one of the men dared him to jump off the diving-board, right out in the deep water, he set his teeth and did it. And, as to walking on the stones with bare feet—you would have thought he liked it! He even used to carry his very small friends across, because the stones hurt their feet. This story is about a wonderful adventure which befell Billy through his habit of doing things that other boys were afraid of. Billy’s brother, Jim, a boy of seventeen, was mad on flying. He hoped some day to be an airman. His great hobby was making kites, and he spent all those holidays making the most wonderful great kite any one had ever seen. It was made of dark brown canvas and bamboo rods. It was eighteen feet long, and he had named it the Eagle. When, at last, it was ready, Jim set out with Billy and a dozen of his friends, to let her up for her first flight. Jim carried the precious roll of brown stuff. Billy shouldered the supple spars that fitted into pockets, and stretched the canvas taut. Another boy carried the great coil of strong cord, and everyone talked at the same time of what the Eagle would do on her first flight. Going along the rough, stony path that led from the village of Sea View towards Ryde, they were soon at a big, grassy stretch of low-lying land near the sea. A stiff gale was blowing from the southeast—it was a perfect day. Spreading out the Eagle on the grass, Jim fitted in the spars, fastened the big hooks to eyelets, and made fast the cord. At last all was ready. “She’ll take some holding!” he said, as he lifted the kite up, and felt the quiver and flutter of the great wings, as the wind touched them. So the boys formed up in a long line, and the rope was passed along from one to the other. Then Jim lifted the Eagle, and held her up as high as he could. For a moment she trembled, and then, a puff of wind catching her, she leapt up, out of his hold, and began to rise in swift swoops. “Pay out the rope,” shouted Jim. The boys let it run through their hands and Jim took his place at the end of the line. “I say, isn’t she ripping?” he cried. “I wonder what she’s pulling? She’d lift a good weight, I should say.” Suddenly an idea struck him. “I believe she’d take a passenger!” he said. “How glorious it would be to go soaring up with her! But I should be too heavy. She could easily lift one of you kids!” The boys looked up at the kite, far, far above their heads in the blue sky. It made them feel dizzy to think of being up there. Then, to Jim’s surprise, Billy spoke. “I’ll go up,” he said. Of course Jim knew that he had no business to let his small brother do anything so dangerous. But he did long to show that the kite he had made, himself, was as good as an aeroplane. “Will you, kid?” he said. “It would be quite safe. I wouldn’t let you go up very far. You would just have to hook your arm over the rope, and hang on tight.” “Couldn’t he sit on the kite?” asked one of the boys. “No,” said Jim. “It would spoil her balance. We must haul her down as low as we can, and then he can go up on the rope.” So they hauled and hauled, and little by little the Eagle came down. Billy’s heart beat fast, but he was a Cub and would not show that he was afraid. “Now,” said Jim, “put your arm over—that’s it! I won’t let you go more than about forty feet up. Now, let go a bit, boys.” Suddenly Billy felt himself being lifted off the ground and carried swiftly up into the clear, sunny air. It was glorious—nearly as good as being an airman! He could feel the great kite throbbing and straining above him. He glanced downwards; the earth seemed far below. There were all the boys hanging on to the rope in a long line. Suddenly a shout reached him. Looking down he saw a sight that sent a thrill of horror through him. Charging across the grass, head down, tail up, was a huge red bull! Its furious roar made his blood run cold. It was making straight for the boys. Gazing with fascinated horror, Billy saw the little chaps at the end of the line let go and start running hard for the road. He could see his brother hanging on manfully with a few of the elder boys. Surely they could never hold the kite, alone! It was dragging them along. The bull was making straight for them. It was on them! Billy felt the jerk of the cord as the boys jumped aside to let it crash on, past them. But in their efforts to avoid the horns of the maddened beast the rope was torn from their hands. Billy felt the kite shudder as the pressure on the cord was relaxed, and then swoop upwards in a mad rush, carrying him with it, high, high into the cold air. What should he do? He could only hang on, hang on. He set his teeth. Glancing down, he saw that he was already rushing out over the Solent. He could see little white sailing boats on the blue, blue sea. Where would he be carried to? When would he come down? Already he began to feel faint and dizzy. His arm was aching with the strain. He was getting cold and numb. “Before long I shall drop off,” he thought vaguely. Then he roused himself. He would not give in. He would have a try, at least, to bring the kite down. He remembered that Jim had said if any one was up with the kite itself, it would spoil her balance. He would try to get up to her. He had often climbed a rope before. But this swaying cord, high in mid-air, was no easy matter. Gripping tight with his hands, and holding it between his legs and feet, he mounted slowly, slowly. At last he was up and could touch the canvas. He felt the kite dip and quiver. But she kept to her course, falling a little and swaying giddily. What could he do? It was impossible to climb up that smooth, tight canvas. Then he had an idea. Clinging on with one hand and his legs, he felt in his pocket for his big jack-knife. This he opened with his teeth, and had soon cut a great ragged hole in the canvas. Thrusting his arm into this first, he drew himself up until he was sitting on the spar. At once the great kite swerved, heeled over, trembled, and began to come down. But the wind was very strong, and Billy was very light. The Eagle still kept on her way, though wobbling very much now and then, as if she meant to do a “spinning nose-dive” into the sea. Looking down, Billy could see the great waves tossing and surging below. Would he ever reach the other side? He clung for dear life to the spar of the kite. He was so cold that he wouldn’t be able to hold on much longer. So, taking off his belt, he slipped it under the spar, and then lying flat on his front, fastened it round him again. Looking down over the edge, he saw that he was across the Solent and beginning to skim over the mainland. He was flying over trees and fields, for he had left Portsmouth away on his right. When and where would he come down? “Clinging on with one hand and his legs ... he had soon cut a great jagged hole in the canvas” Suddenly the kite turned over, and Billy would have been thrown out, had he not been strapped to the spar. He clung on like grim death, trying to imagine he was an airman, looping the loop. Then the Eagle seemed to lose her balance altogether, and Billy felt himself falling towards the ground, the kite merely acting as a parachute. What happened he never knew, for he opened his eyes to find himself lying on the ground with a crowd round him. “He’s all right,” said a cheery voice. He was surrounded by wounded soldiers—he recognized them by their blue suits and red ties. “Where am I?” he asked, in a very faint little voice. “‘After looping the loop three times the gallant airman made his descent in the grounds of Netley Hospital,’” said one of the Tommies as if he were quoting from a newspaper! The next thing Billy knew was that a doctor in a white coat, with khaki puttees showing from under it, had picked him up in his arms and was carrying him across the grass between rows and rows of huts painted white and grey. Before long he was lying on a bed with a Red Cross nurse bending over him. “You’ll soon be all right, sonny,” she said in a comforting voice. “Now drink this. You have had a fly! But the doctor says there’s no harm done—only a few bruises. I expect you feel a bit shaky.” He stayed in the hut that night, and had a splendid time. Every nurse and patient in the hospital wanted to have a look at him and hear about his wonderful flight. The next day his father came over and took him home. “Good-bye! Good-bye!” he said, waving his hand to the Tommies who came to the gate to see him off. “So long!” they cried. “Fly over and see us again, one day, kid!” |
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