Spectators exclaimed at the graceful serenity of the fine glider craft, wafting silently with the air currents over their heads against a blue and cloud-flecked sky. The Darmstadt wafted northward and southward on a one to two miles’ course, going back and forth over the white-capped bay or surrounding hills and banking gracefully over Corn Hill on each return trip. Once, as Peter Hesselbach circled Corn Hill, Captain Paul Roehre, a gliding comrade, roared up to him: “Are you hungry?” With a wave of his hand, Hesselbach responded, “What’s the use?” Finally he landed at Wellfleet, an adjoining town. The writer picked him up at a crossroads and brought him back to Corn Hill. These were his first words: “I came down because I could not fly for the hills and gain altitude after the wind changed more to the north. I went off my course purposely. I wanted to study air conditions. This territory is ideal for soaring. It has much better possibilities than Rossiten, which is one of the best soaring places in Germany.” “My altimeter shows I reached a maximum altitude of 350 feet. The wind velocity was about 30 miles an hour. I soared a total of 120 miles.” It’s a far cry from Cape Cod to Sicily. But that’s how glider flying actually got its springboard start in America. [Illustration] Transcriber’s Notes Perceived typographical errors have been silently corrected. Colloquial spelling in dialog has been retained as in the original. Inconsistencies in hyphenation and compound words have not been standardized.