Automobile headlights threw a low glare over the Army polo field at Havana as Col. Charles Augustus Lindbergh settled himself in the Spirit of St. Louis in the blackness of the wee small hours. Farewells were called and the ship angled up into the night, circled, and shot out for home. Dirty fog shut down over all of the south-east by daylight, forcing the flyer to steer a compass course over a mist-blotted earth. Random reports of an airplane motor pounding through the fog were the only milestone of his progress. Three...

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