BY AIR TO TIBET

the hatch closed ; we were away. The rise of a flying-
boat, particularly when there is a swell, resembles all that
Luna Park just fails to achieve. The engines roar ; the
floats on the wings dip, first on one side, then on the
other; at each wave a great bump lifts the machine.
The speed increases, clouds of spray lash the portholes ;
till suddenly we have exchanged elements and the sea
is beneath. After circling a good-bye to the seaplane
base, we set off to the south, leaving the coast of Italy
on our left. One of the party, Captain Bennett-Baggs,
whose stature was such that he exceeded in personal
weight the full quota allowed each passenger with his
luggage, took the second controls.

A pleasanter and more intimate atmosphere now pre-
vailed. The portholes once opened, it was cooler ; the
noise was less, the engines being set behind, on the wings;
and the seats of inflated leather allowed freer movement.
Outside, the wings gleamed white against the lapis of
the Mediterranean 500 feet below, and the floats beneath
them looked like huge silver fishes accidentally caught
out of the deep. From time to time the wireless operator
sent us messages : Elba on the right, Leghorn on the
left. In due course, we passed over Ostia, circling a
salute to the seaplane base, where we could see the
Dornier-Wal machines lying each in its little dock.
According to schedule, we should have lunched there;
but the water was too shallow for a safe descent. Instead,
the engineer now produced a typical Italian lunch of
ham, salami, chicken, new rolls, cheese, Russian mush-
rooms, nectarines, and wine. These we ate from tin
trays, which slid up from the backs of the chairs like
prayer-book racks. There were two forks, three glasses,
and one cup, to assist us.

Another note arrived, asking if we wished to fly over
Vesuvius and look down the crater. We did. But
when the Bay of Naples came round the corner, a cloud
was covering the top of the mountain. The town and

169