Word: irishman
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During those fretful days when two Germans and an Irishman bent over maps in the mess hall of Baldonnel Airdrome, little did they reck the possible consequences of their flight. Theirs at that moment must have been a single-tracked mind. They meant to fly from Dublin to New York; they were taking all the risks, facing the supreme danger with shining faces. They asked no man to do what they were doing...
While the eyes of the world were sweeping the Atlantic, anxious, fearful of the fate of two flying Germans and an Irishman, a tiny plane droned its way across the unknown waste and terror of the Arctic. Impervious to disappointment, danger, tragedy, Capt. George Hubert Wilkins and Lieut. Carl Ben Eielson took off unannounced from Point Barrow, Alaska, came down for five dismal days on uninhabited Doedmansoeira (Dead Man's Island), arrived last week triumphant at the haven of Spitzbergen...
...clock on the evening of April 11, the two Germans and the Irishman were bending over maps and weather reports. Twice before that day the weather news had disappointed them. Also, word had come from Paris that Frenchmen were tuning up rival planes. The Germans decided, Fitzmaurice rushed from the room, burst into the Officers' Mess at Baldonnel. "Crack goes the whip, off go the horses, and round go the wheels at 5 o'clock!" he shouted. The report just received from the British Air Ministry said that almost ideal conditions might be expected...
...Irishman drank farewell toasts with his brothers of the Saorstat Corps. Said he: "Ten-thirty is my bedtime and I refuse to crawl in earlier just because there's a little job of flying over the Atlantic to be done tomorrow." It was midnight when he finally retired, in the room next to that of his eight-year-old daughter Pat, who, he said, "doesn't give a hump about all this flying." The Germans, strange figures in Ireland, plodded back to their quarters, the Baron to play a final game of solitaire, the phlegmatic Captain to make...
Shortly after 4, von Huenefeld, monocle anchored in his right eye, sat down to a hard-boiled egg breakfast. Then he lighted a cigar and offered another to the Irishman, who smilingly declined; he could "wait till we get to New York...