Chapter XV · (continued 2)

Captain David, in command, wishes us a safe voyage. We gaze through our glasses in her direction, but she is just over the horizon.

2 P. M.—Slight trouble with starboard amidships engine—cracked cylinder’s water-jacket. Shotter, always equal to the occasion, made a quick and safe repair with a piece of copper sheeting, and the entire supply of the ship’s chewing-gum had to be chewed by himself and two engineers before being applied.

4.30 P. M.—We are now on the Canadian summer route of steamers bound for the St. Lawrence via Belle Isle Strait and over the well-known Labrador current. There are already indications of these cold currents in the fog which hangs immediately above the surface of the water.

Harris Hurt; Not Seriously

Scott and Cooke spend much time at chart-table with protractors, dividers, stop-watches, and many navigational text-books, measuring angles of drift and calculating course made good.

Aerial navigation is more complicated than navigation on the surface of the sea, but there is no reason why when we know more about the air and its peculiarities it should not be made just as accurate.

5.00 P. M.—Harris unwisely shuts his hand on door of wireless cabin—painful but not serious. Flow of language not audible to me, as the forward engine happened to be running.

6 to 7 P. M.—We are gradually getting farther and farther into the shallow depression which was reported yesterday coming up from the South Atlantic. For the last four hours the sea has been rising and now the wind is south-southeast, forty-five miles an hour. Visibility only a half-mile. Very rough sea and torrents of rain. In spite of this the ship is remarkably steady.

Climbs Through Depression

At 8 P. M. Scott decides to climb right through it, and we evidently came out over the top of it at 3,400 feet.

8.30 P. M.—We have now passed the centre of the depression, exactly as Harris foretold. The rain has ceased and we are travelling quite smoothly again.

To the west the clouds have lifted and we see some extraordinarily interesting sky—black, angry clouds giving place to clouds of a gray-mouse color, then a bright salmon-pink clear sky, changing lower down the horizon to darker clouds with a rich golden lining as the sun sinks below the surface. The sea is not visible, and is covered by a fluffy gray feather-bed of clouds, slightly undulating and extending as far as the eye can reach. The moon is just breaking through the black clouds immediately above it.

On the east we see the black, ominous depression from which we have just emerged, while away more to the south the cloud-bed over which we are passing seems to end suddenly and merge into the horizon.

Valuable Meteorological Data

We are getting some valuable meteorological data on this flight without a doubt, and each fresh phenomenon as it appears is instantly explained by the ever-alert Harris, who has a profound knowledge of his subject.

9 P. M.—One of the engineers has reported sick—complains of feverishness.

A stowaway has just been discovered, a cat smuggled on board by one of the crew for luck. It is a very remarkable fact that nearly every member of the crew has a mascot of some description, from the engineer officer, who wears one of his wife’s silk stockings as a muffler around his neck, to Major Scott, the captain, with a small gold charm called “Thumbs up.”

We have two carrier-pigeons on board, which it has been decided not to use. Anyway, whether we release them or not, they can claim to be the first two pigeons to fly the Atlantic.

Sunrise

4.30 A. M., Friday, July 4—Wonderful sunrise—the different colors being the softest imaginable, just like a wash drawing.

7 A. M.—Height, 1,000 feet. Bright, blue sky above, thin fog partly obscuring the sea beneath us, sea moderate, big swell.

The fog-bank appears to end abruptly ten miles or so away toward the south, where the sea appears to be clear of fog and a very deep blue.

Standing out conspicuously in this blue patch of sea we see an enormous white iceberg. The sun is shining brightly on its steep sides, and we estimate it as roughly 300 yards square and 150 feet high. As these icebergs usually draw about six times as much water as their height, we wondered whether she was aground, as the depth of water at that point is only about 150 fathoms.

Another big iceberg can just be seen in the dim distance. These are the only two objects of any kind, sort, or description we have as yet seen on this journey.

8.15 A. M.

Over Large Ice-Field

Fog still clinging to the surface of the water; water evidently must be very cold. Extraordinary crimpy, wavelike appearance of clouds rolling up from the north underneath it. Harris has never seen this before. Pritchard took photograph.

On port beam there is a long stretch of clear-blue sea sandwiched in between wide expanses of fog on either side, looking just like a blue river flowing between two wide snow-covered banks. Cause—a warm current of water which prevents cloud from hanging over it. This well illustrated the rule that over cold currents of water the clouds will cling to the surface.

9 A. M.—We are now over a large ice-field and the sea is full of enormous pieces of ice—small bergs in themselves. The ice is blue-green under water, with frozen snow on top.

A message reaches us from the Governor of Newfoundland.

“To General Maitland, officers and crew, R-34:

“On behalf of Newfoundland I greet you as you pass us on your enterprising journey.

“Harris, Governor.”

Replied to as follows:

“To Governor of Newfoundland:

“Major Scott, officers and crew, R-34, send grateful thanks for kind message with which I beg to associate myself.”

“General Maitland.”

12.50 P. M.

Land Sighted by Scott

Land in sight. First spotted by Scott on starboard beam. A few small rocky islands visible for a minute or two through the clouds and instantly swallowed up again. Altered course southwest to have a closer look at them. Eventually made them out to be the north-west coast-line of Trinity Bay, Newfoundland.

Our time from Rathlin Island—the last piece of land we crossed above the north coast of Ireland—to north coast of Trinity Bay, Newfoundland, is exactly fifty-nine hours.

We are crossing Newfoundland at 1,500 feet in thick fog, which gradually clears as we get farther inland. A very rocky country with large forests and lakes, and for the most part no traces of habitation anywhere.

Message from St. John’s to say that Raynham was up in his machine to greet us. We replied, giving our position.

3 P. M.—Again enveloped in dense fog. Message from H. M. S. Sentinel giving us our position. We are making good thirty-eight or forty knots and heading for Fortune Harbor.

French Flag Dipped

4.30 P. M.—We have passed out of Fortune Harbor, with its magnificent scenery and azure-blue sea dotted with little white sailing ships, and are now over the two French islands, Miquelon and St. Pierre, and steering a course for Halifax, Nova Scotia. The French flag was flying at St. Pierre and was duly dipped as we passed over.

7.15 P. M.—Passed over tramp S. S. Seal bound for Sydney, Nova Scotia, from St. John’s, the first we have seen. 8.15 P. M.—Clear weather. Sea moderate. Making good thirty miles per hour on three engines. Northern point of Cape Breton Island, Nova Scotia, Just coming into sight. Lighthouse four flashes. We should make Halifax 2.30 A. M. to-morrow.

Saturday, July 5, 2.30 A. M.—Very dark, clear night. Lights of Whitehaven show up brightly on our starboard beam and we make out the lights of a steamer passing us to the east. Strong head wind against us. Making no appreciable headway.

Lansdowne Asks for Destroyer

Lieutenant-Commander Lansdowne, United States Naval Airship Service, sends signal on behalf of R-34 to United States authorities at Washington and Boston to send destroyer to take us in tow in case we should run out of petrol during the night.

The idea is we would then be towed by the destroyer during the hours of darkness, and at dawn cast off and fly to Long Island under our own power. Let us hope this won’t be necessary.

It is now raining and foggy, which is the kind of weather that suits us now, as rain generally means no wind.

3 P. M.—Passed Haute Island in Fundy Bay.

3.30 P. M.—For some little while past there had been distinct evidences of electrical disturbances. Atmospherics became very bad and a severe thunder-storm was seen over the Canadian coast, moving south down the coast. Scott turned east off his course to dodge the storm, putting on all engines. In this, fortunately for us, he was successful, and we passed through the outer edge of it. We had a very bad time, indeed, and it is quite the worst experience from a weather point of view that any of us have yet experienced in the air.

Wonderful Clouds Photographed

During the storm some wonderful specimens of cumulo-mammatus were seen and photographed. These clouds always indicate a very highly perturbed state of atmosphere and look rather like a bunch of grapes. The clouds drooped into small festoons.

7.30 P. M.—We are now in clear weather again and have left Nova Scotia well behind us and are heading straight for New York.

Particularly fine electrical-disturbance type of sunset.

9.30 P. M.—Another thunder-storm. Again we have to change our course to avoid it, and as every gallon of petrol is worth its weight in gold, it almost breaks our hearts to have to lengthen the distance to get clear of these storms.

July 6, Sunday, 4 A. M.—Sighted American soil at Chatham.

4.25 A. M.—South end of Mahoney Island. Scott is wondering whether petrol will allow him to go to New York or whether it would not be more prudent to land at Montauk.

5.30 A. M.—Passing over Martha’s Vineyard—a lovely island and beautifully wooded. Scott decided he could just get through to our landing-field at Hazelhurst Field, but that there would not be enough petrol to fly over New York. Very sad, but no alternative. We will fly over New York on start of our return journey on Tuesday night, weather and circumstances permitting.

Landed 1.54 P. M. Greenwich mean time, or 9.54 A. M. U. S. A. summer time, at Hazelhurst Field, Long Island.

Total time on entire voyage—108 hours, 12 minutes.