Luftschiff at Lakehurst

One dawn last week a few thousand late revelers and early risers stood in the dim streets of Manhattan staring up into a grey-black sky. Across it, her four engines purring smoothly, soared the silvery bulk of the Hindenburg, world's largest dirigible, just in after her first crossing of the North Atlantic from Friedrichshafen. Germany. A searchlight reached up played over the fabric, came to rest on the swastikas on the rudder. Other lights on the airship twinkled back. Presently the 803-ft. sausage nosed into the haze over the Hudson, flew on toward Lakehurst, N. J. There a huge crowd had lined the U. S. Navy's vast lighter-than-air field for hours. At 5140 a.m. someone spotted the Zeppelin's big round nose poking up over the horizon in a pink glow from the rising sun.

About the Hindenburg's trip there was nothing scientifically notable except that it inaugurated the first regular North Atlantic air service, made a record dirigible crossing (61 hr., 38 min.). Half a dozen special newspaper correspondents aboard, however, recorded reams of trivial happenings. Most of the 51 passengers admitted they had difficulty remembering they were in the air, so steady was the motion, so familiar were the accommodations to steamship travelers. Dr. Hugo Eckener had shouted: "Auf, Schiff!" at Friedrichshafen at 9 p.m. An hour later practically all passengers had tired of peering at the lights of Germany, adjourned to the bar. Stewards wandered about with telegrams. A man played incessantly on the aluminum piano. Lady Wilkins had the honor of taking the first bath in the icy shower. By midnight most passengers were abed. A few diehards like Lady Grace Drummond Hay sat up all night.

Next morning, after a breakfast of sausages, hot rolls, honey and coffee, came a spasm of postcard-writing. One Hans Hinrichs proudly got off 200 in jig-time by means of a rubber stamp saying: "Greetings from mid-ocean and mid-heaven." Passenger Murray Simon related his adventures in 1910 as navigator on the airship America, which set out from Atlantic City, came down 1,000 miles at sea on the first attempt to cross by dirigible.

Later on there were flurries of excitement as the Hindenburg passed the Normandie, Europa, Statendam. United Pressman Webb Miller saw three whales spout. At dinner, most of the women, but only three men, put on evening clothes to eat Black Forest trout.

Next day, at a portable altar deep in flowers, Rev. Paul Schulte celebrated the world's first aerial Mass. He ended the service with thanks to "God at the helm." Three icebergs were spotted in the afternoon. As the ship passed through the cold air above them, its electric radiators were switched on. That night, after most passengers were asleep, the Hindenburg ran through a severe squall, held so steady no one was awakened.

Next morning everyone was up in time to watch the sunrise over Manhattan and the New Jersey meadows. Arrived at Lakehurst, the passengers found a rigid customs examination waiting them, finally flew off to Newark by American Airlines. Dr. Eckener went to work parrying questions from newshawks, preparing his ship for the return trip this week. In U. S. papers the happy, goateed old man received columns of tributes. In Germany a Nazi ban prevented his name from being mentioned at all.

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