There were at least half a dozen craft undergoing flying tests, or else being employed as instruction machines for budding aviators. The pilots were young men, alert and keen on their work. Peter had to admit that. There was little or nothing of the supposed South American languor about _them_. Peter Corbold's arrival on the flying ground had attracted a certain amount of attention, the airmen looking at him curiously and passing remarks that, owing to his ignorance of the language, left him quite "at sea". Every Rioguayan on the works and on the estate of El Toro seemed to know who he was. For some while he stood watching the huge amphibians "take off". This they did after only a very short run down the inclined plane, rising steeply in the air with very little effort. The training at El Toro was confined to rising and alighting both on land and water, and being able to fly a straight course. Fancy flights and stunts were left severely alone until the flying-boats left for their war-base. Presently, one of the pilots standing by came up and made signs to Peter that he might go as a passenger. Although he had come out without any intention of "going up", Peter accepted the offer with alacrity. "The blighter would think I had cold feet if I refused," he soliloquized, as he followed the pilot into the interior of the flying-boat, where he found five other Rioguayans already there--lads undergoing instruction. The two mechanics--one for each pair of motors--were not visible, their "stations" being in the alleyway between the engines and below the space ostensibly to be used for the storage of merchandise. It was Peter's first time of "going up", and he had to confess that he did not find the experience very exhilarating. The enclosed fuselage practically eliminated all sensation of speed, and once the initial movement was over--somewhat like the starting of a lift--there was little beyond the noise of the motors to convey the suggestion of speed. Going to one of the side scuttles, Peter looked earthwards. By this time the flying-boat had attained an altitude of between 2500 and 3000 feet. At that height the land looked flat and uninteresting as it apparently moved slowly below the ninety miles an hour aircraft. It was only by observing the shadow of the flying-boat upon the sun-dried plain that Peter could realize that he was being carried through the air at a rate that he had never previously attained. Looking through the glass door between the main saloon and the pilot's office, Peter saw that the man had abandoned the joy-stick and was leaning back in his seat and rolling a cigarette. "He's bored stiff," was the young Englishman's unspoken remark. The pilots under instruction had also lost interest, but owing to a very different reason. It was their first flight, and already every one of them was in the throes of air-sickness.