exhaust pipes. The rough air made it a little difficult to steer, especially in the darkness, but we kept a pretty good general course.

IN REACH OF PARIS GOAL, BUT HAD
TO TURN

Then arose the necessity of watching the gasoline very carefully, for a forced landing in the darkness would not only have meant certain disaster for us, also for some of those, perchance, beneath us. Finally, we got to the point beyond which, if we had continued, we could not have returned to the coastal waters, on account of the diminished gasoline. We knew that we would need a few gallons of reserve in order to cruise around for a suitable landing place. I believe at the moment we turned we were near Paris; our motors were heard at Le Bourget through a sound intensifier, but I could not flirt any more with the lives of my shipmates.

It would probably be difficult for the layman to visualize our predicament, tossed around in the inky darkness of the storm, drenched by rain.

However, that decision to turn back did not carry safety with it. It meant that even should we find water we could not be certain of landing without disaster, because I never heard of anyone landing in the water when it was pitch dark and when the water could not be seen. We could not even be certain of landing a great plane like ours safely in the water in the daytime.

So, when we turned, we faced uncertainty ahead, but there was nothing else we could do under the circumstances that would give us any chance whatever to save the lives of the crew and to avoid endangering the people beneath us.

We set a course for the lighthouse we had seen. The wind might blow us off a bit in the darkness, but if the fog were not

too thick there, we were confident of hitting it. Much of the way we could see nothing beneath us, and we were flying so low that Noville had to pull in the antenna of his wireless to prevent it from hitting objects on the ground. Finally, when I thought we were near the lighthouse, I asked Balchen to get down lower. We emerged from the mists and there was the lighthouse ahead of us, and the brilliantly lighted town we had taken for Le Bourget we now thought was some amusement resort (see page 362).

DECIDE TO COME DOWN IN WATER AND SWIM ASHORE

We cruised over it slowly, but in spite of the lights the area around it was black, and we could only guess its topography. We could find no landing place. We had hoped there would be a beach and had written out a message on a weighted streamer asking the people to clear the beach and make some kind of light for our landing.

We then flew over the lighthouse and, by the quick flash of the revolving beacon, we could tell that we were over water and dimly distinguish the shoreline. We could not discern the character of the beach. It was still raining and dismally thick.

We decided to land near enough to the beach line to swim ashore, if necessary, and to salvage the plane, if it were not too badly wrecked. At the same time we had to be far enough away to miss any rocks, should the beach be rocky. That, of course, we could not tell.

We had some navigation flares with us which ignite upon striking the water and give a light for a few minutes. We carried these to sight on at night, when over the ocean, to get the drift caused by the wind, but we had been unable to use a single one. I had thrown half of them overboard to rid us of the weight, but had saved enough for such an emergency as chis.

We now dropped a number of flares as nearly in a line as we could, about 100 yards from the beach line. They all ignited, and although they made a light in a pool of blackness, we hoped we would be able to judge the distance of the plane above the water as we descended. Of course, if we could not judge it, we would

go into the water at flying speed, which would smash everything badly, since water does not give much when hit hard (see text, page 363).

Those hours in the black storm had not been pleasant. I felt myself entirely responsible for the lives of my shipmates. I don't believe they thought there was much chance of getting down safely, but still they faced gallantly, with steady courage, whatever fate lay ahead. In a few moments the story would be ended, but to the last they calmly obeyed orders.

Balchen happened to be at the wheel. I gave the orders to land.

We were landing with the plane in control and the engines functioning perfectly. At that moment, in spite of our danger, I marveled at the three engines that for 42 hours had made some 1,500 revolutions a minute without missing a beat. I thought of the Wright Aëronautical Corporation, that made the engines, and of my friend, Charles Lawrance, who had designed them.

As we neared the water we could not see it; only the flares ahead of us and beneath us.

The wheels touched, and though the landing gear is secured to the plane with a tremendous factor of safety, it was sheared off, along with the wheels, with hardly a jar of the plane, as though a great knife had cut it, thus demonstrating the tremendous resistance of the water when hit by a rapidly moving object.

AND THEN, THE CRASH!

It seemed just a second after that the crash came. I suppose I was dazed a little. I know I got a pretty stiff blow over the heart. I had been looking out of the cabin window and found myself in the water outside. Of course, it was pitchy dark and still raining. I could hear Noville calling for me, but not another sound in the extraordinary stillness which contrasted so vividly with the roar of the great motors which had been pounding on our eardrums for 42 hours like tomtoms of Hades-the contrast made the stillness deathly.

The plane had instantly filled with water. Noville was getting out of the window. I yelled at him that I was unharmed and asked him how he was; there was no an

swer. I was a little worried about him, but I knew that he could not have been badly hurt. Hearing nothing from Balchen and Acosta, I swam to where they had been; the cockpit, of course, was under water. I yelled as loud as I could but got no answer, and was naturally very apprehensive.

I found Balchen slightly caught under water and trying to extricate himself. When he got clear I yelled to him but received no answer, and concluded that he, too, was somewhat dazed. Thinking that Acosta must have been caught under the water in the cockpit, we dived down, but he was not there. I yelled for him, but there was no answer. A moment later he appeared, apparently from nowhere, swimming toward the wing, the leading edge of which was now down to the water.

It was a weird sensation to have three shipmates so dazed there in the dark that they could not hear, but it was the most thankful moment of my life to find them still "kicking." Then with grunts and groans we dragged ourselves upon the wing.

Noville, still functioning perfectly, was carrying out his orders given before leaving the States, which were to rip open the emergency cabin in case of landing in the water and pump up the rubber boat. He was at his job, although he could hardly stand up and was falling every minute or two (see illustration, page 355).

It had been with considerable difficulty that all hands got on top of the wing. I then found that the reason I could not get any answer from them was that the three engines roaring for 42 hours over their heads had temporarily deafened them. I had used ear protectors and my hearing was normal.

The great question was solved at last. We could land without injuring seriously the personnel. The plane did not turn over, as many thought it would, and we had placed the emergency compartment in about the only situation in the ship where we could get at our rubber boat and other emergency supplies when landing in the

water.

My next thought was one of great admiration for Balchen's landing. My mind turned to Norway, which had produced this kind of a soul, cool and courageous in emergency.

We were stiff and bruised, tired and water-soaked, and it was with some difficulty that we pumped up the rubber boat. As the wing was almost flush with the water there was no difficulty in launching it (see illustration, page 356).

We had placed our most precious cargo, which included a piece of the original American flag, in a compartment we had made in the great wing; this we thought was the safest place. After finding the things in there were only slightly wet, we shipped the oars in the rubber boat, and wearily made for the shore in the dark.

WEARY FLYERS KNOCK VAINLY AT MANY DOORS

We were a mile from the village, and even after we reached it we spent much time going from house to house trying to arouse someone. But there were fences with locked gates around these houses and we were unsuccessful. Suddenly, a boy on a bicycle passed us, but he must have thought we were dangerous tramps, for he hurried on. Wet and bedraggled, we certainly were not prepossessing.

Finally, we found the lighthouse keeper and his wife awake. At first they seemed to think we were crazy, but when at last they realized that we had landed at Versur-Mer, having come all the way from America, their astonishment and excitement were intense.

Here began an experience with the people of France which was so remarkable that I don't believe it could ever be duplicated.

Balchen and I left Acosta and Noville there while we went back to the America to get the mail and to salvage what we could of our precious records. In the meantime the tide had been going out rapidly, and when we reached the plane it was nearly high and dry. Some of the villagers appeared and helped us carry our records and a few other belongings up to the village. So long as we live we can never forget the kindness of the people of Ver-sur-Mer, and before leaving France we motored back there to tell them “goodbye."

The wild scenes of joy and welcome which we received wherever we went in France are far beyond my power to describe. When we arrived at Paris, it was

a long time before we could get away from the station. The entire city seemed to have turned out to welcome us. The people were mad with joy at our escape, though yet mourning the loss of their own beloved airmen.

The glass in one of our automobiles was broken, and the machine in which I was riding was almost upset several times by the crowds that surged against it. Some of the people must have been crushed and injured, but they did not seem to mind. We could not start the automobile engines, but were simply shoved along by the crowd.

It seemed to us that if everyone in France had been our blood relatives we could not have received a more joyous welcome.

From the greatest statesmen down to their humblest citizens, we received warm expressions of admiration and friendship, but their words were not necessary to show us how they felt. The expressions on their faces were more eloquent than any words could have been. France gave us her very best.

The crew of the America wishes to say to America there can be no doubt about the deep friendship of France for the people of this country. When one of their gallant airmen flies to our shores, we must give him the reception we received from France.

France saw in us, for the moment, the embodiment and the spirit of America, and it was that for which they poured out their friendship and affection. They were saluting the Stars and Stripes which we for the moment carried and we felt humble and grateful that this revelation should have come to us. Vive la France!

We must acknowledge here the kindnesses shown us by Dr. Herbert Adams Gibbons, Mr. Wanamaker's representative; Captain Richard D. White, Naval Attaché at Paris, and Mr. Sheldon Whitehouse, Chargé d'Affaires at the American Embassy there.

It may be well to give a brief summary of some of the things which we hope will indicate the way for pioneers who must follow us.

I am glad now that we had extremely adverse weather, for I believe, from what we have learned, the airplane of the future

can shove off with almost any weather conditions. For, when a storm is blowing across the Atlantic, it will be able to fly at that side of the storm center which will give strong winds in its favor. We did just that. We were greatly helped by flying along the southern end of a storm area, and the northern end of a high-pressure area (see text, page 359).

Then when the transatlantic plane of the future strikes near the center of a storm area, as we did over France, there will be radio direction finders to enable flyers to locate the exact position of their plane, regardless of fog, winds or rain, or the darkness of the night. Radio beacons will be erected to guide the aviator to his destination.

WHY LANDING PLATFORMS ARE NOT YET PRACTICABLE

A chemical will be invented which will disperse the fog, or a beam of light will be discovered that will penetrate it. Until that time comes, landing platforms in midAtlantic are not practicable.

I am happy to say that the Transatlantic Meteorological Service, which has been started as a result of our flight, will be permanent and probably will reach such a degree of efficiency that the flyer will not only know what weather he is to encounter, but even if the navigator is lost in the clouds or in the fog, as we were, he will be able to predict, with a considerable degree of accuracy, in just what direction the winds are blowing him off the course. We were able to do that with the limited knowledge we now possess of transatlantic meteorological conditions.

The flyer of the future will find the shortest route to Paris at varying altitudes, depending upon the local weather conditions, because the winds change, both in strength and velocity, with changes of altitude. But when the great plane of the future reaches the Atlantic Ocean beyond Newfoundland, the navigator will probably go up into high altitudes, where he is almost certain to obtain very strong winds with him, owing to the revolution of the earth. He will be able to increase his speed by as much as 40 or 50 miles an hour; almost the speed of an express train. That is not a wild dream, because we increased our speed between 20 and