Markham, an early pioneer in aviation, was a passionate, free-spirited girl struggling to come to terms with her identity and her place in the world. This biography tells of the obstacles she faced and how she overcame adversity to follow her dreams of flying.

CHAPTER 1

The Waterjump

Beryl Markham wondered how much longer she could stay awake. Cramped inside thecockpit between two petrol tanks, she had been piloting the single engineairplane for more than nineteen hours without a rest. She had been flying blind,unable to see anything but darkness and fog outside the cabin window. She hadbeen flying silent, without a radio transmitter to guide her or keep her companythrough the long stormy night. She had been flying without even a life jacket,for there was not enough room inside the cabin to hold that lifesaving equipmentand the necessary extra tanks of fuel.

Now at last it was morning and the fog had begun to thin. Through the skin ofice that had formed on the inside of the cabin window, she saw the lights of aship far below her on the Atlantic Ocean. She felt a sudden exhilaration. Still,she could not be certain just where she was. England and Ireland were behindher. She could only hope that she had not drifted off course and that somewhereahead, hidden under the ribbons of fog, were the cliffs of Newfoundland.

In September, 1936, no man or woman had ever flown an airplane east to westacross the Atlantic Ocean. Beryl was intending to be the first. The airplanethat she was piloting was a single engine Vega Gull christened The Messenger.Her friends in England had teased her that it should be called instead TheFlying Tombstone. For flying an airplane the wrong way across the Atlantic Oceanwas a dangerous thing to attempt. Some had called it suicidal. Strong head windswould slow the plane down and use up most of its fuel. In September, bad weathercould skid her off course. Even a few degrees off course could mean not reachingland before her fuel ran out.

"I wouldn't tackle it for a million," J. C. Carberry had told her, even thoughhe was the one who had dared her to do it and then put up the money to build theairplane. "Think of all that black water!" he said, smiling grimly. "Think howcold it is!"

But Beryl had been in dangerous spots before and had used her wits to pull herthrough. In the highlands of East Africa, where she had spent her childhood, shehad been attacked by a lion. She had hunted wild boar with arap Maina, aKipsigis warrior. She had ridden her father's wild stallions across the fieldsof his farm in Njoro. Beryl Markham rather liked danger. It made her feel alive.She had been afraid to try this incredible waterjump. She had lain in her bedjust yesterday morning and considered bailing out of the agreement she had madewith J. C. But long ago her father and arap Maina had taught her that if a thingwere worth doing, then she must swallow her fear and do it well.

At five o'clock the previous afternoon, Beryl had stood on the airfield inAbingdon, England. The weather forecast was not good: head winds of forty tofifty miles per hour and rolling in off the Atlantic, heavy thunderstorms. Asmall crowd of newspaper reporters and photographers had gathered at theairfield. They had been dogging her for days. Why are you doing this? they hadpressed. Why risk your life?

The names of other pilots—Charles Lindbergh, Amelia Earhart, Jim Mollison—werealready in the record books. Like them, Beryl Markham was a professional pilot.She had more than 2,000 hours of flying experience. She cared nothing forsetting new records. Nor was she anxious to die. How could she explain to thesereporters about her father and arap Maina and the lessons they and Africa hadtaught her? How could they understand why it was important that she swallow herfears and move forward? She couldn't explain it to them. She didn't try. Heranswer was simply, "Flying is my job and this Atlantic flight is part of it."

Beryl had crawled into the cockpit and taken off into a rainy sky. Onceairborne, confidence and concentration had replaced fear. But now, afternineteen hours of fog and rain and sleet, she was exhausted. The Gull's enginedroned. Beryl's eyes burned and her head felt heavy. Her legs and back werecramped. A shadow appeared in the fog ahead. Beryl squinted through the ice onthe window, hoping the shadow was land. Then she smiled. Cliffs were standing inthe sea, reaching up to her. The land might be Labrador or Newfoundland. Herdestination was New York City. But here at least was solid ground. She couldfollow the coast south to Sydney, Nova Scotia, where she could land, refuel, andtake off again. She began to hum. The hard part—the hundreds of miles of cold,black water and the droning loneliness—was nearly over.

Then suddenly, the droning ceased. The engine coughed, then died. The Messengerbegan to lose altitude. The fuel gauge was near empty, but the plane shouldstill have had enough petrol to make land. A few more miles, Beryl thought asher free hand quickly turned on and off the handles of each empty petrol tank,hoping to unclog what she believed must be an airlock. The handles' sharp metalpins bit into the palms of her hand. The engine caught and climbed, then spatand sputtered and dove again. Beryl stared hard at the cliffs ahead. Theboulders on the beach would surely shred the The Messenger's belly. Withbleeding hands, Beryl pulled back on the stick to keep the Gull in the air,trying to clear the cliffs. Just a few more miles, she thought, a few moremoments.

Again the engine cut out. The single propeller swung slowly, then stopped. TheGull glided, as silent as a sea bird floating above land. The realization thatshe had failed struck Beryl as hard as the ground rushing up to snag the Gull'snose. The powerful impact threw her forward, smashing her head against thewindshield. She heard the glass shatter. Then all was quiet.

CHAPTER 2

Lakweit

A voice called to her. "Lakweit!" It was the voice of arap Maina. "Your eyes arefilled with clouds today, Lakweit!"

In Swahili, lakweit means "little girl." Beryl was no more than seven years old,but already she was tall and slender and strong. Her hair was straw yellow andhung in her eyes. She wore no hair ribbons the way other little British girlsliving in East Africa in 1909 did. Instead, a cowrie shell hung around her waiston a leather cord. The Africans who worked for Charles Clutterbuck, Beryl'sfather, had tied the shell around her in order to keep away evil spirits.

"Lakweit! Bend down and look so that you may learn." Arap Maina was the Africanwhom Beryl's father had assigned as the child's personal servant. Arap was aterm of respect, and Beryl listened carefully to her guardian. "See how thisleaf is crushed. Feel the wetness of this dung."

He was her...