ABOVE THE STARS-IN THE TEETH OF THE GALE---. AN OIL LEAK IN THE NIGHT-AGONIZING MOMENTS-LIFELESS LAND-FIGURES IN THE SNOW-SANCTUARY.
Switching back from thoughts of transatlantic flying I recall that we were carrying about a dozen beef sandwiches, some peeled oranges and bananas, hard-boiled eggs and vacuum flasks of coffee, tea, and beef tea. Our first meal consisted of one sandwich each, a hard-boiled egg and some tea. This we partook of about 11:00 o'clock on Thursday morning, April 12th. Baron Von Huenefeld prepared the victuals and passed them to us through the opening in the cockpit.
It is hard to break old habits even if one happens to be hopping across the Atlantic by airplane. At 5:00 o'clock the Baron served tea but within an hour after we realized that the weather was beginning to break rather badly and decided to eat a substantial meal before we entered into the serious business of night flying. We had sandwiches, bananas, and drank beef tea and coffee.
For future transatlantic fliers I would like to record the fact that it is not wise to place the exhaust pipes from the engine too close to the cockpit. The benzol fumes from the motor mixed with my food did not rest at all well—in fact I became somewhat air-sick—for the first time in my life.
From the time that we left the Irish coast and until we arrived off the fog banks, throughout the day the Bremen was never more than about fifty feet above the surface of the water, except where we encountered the East winds and pulled up to about 1000 feet, in order to gain the greatest advantage by reason of the increased wind velocity at the greater height. Whenever we encountered adverse winds we stayed as low as possible. During the night we eased the plane up to an altitude of about 6000 feet, believing that in case we should reach the coast in thick weather and being unaware of the presence of the coast line, we would be in danger of running into a mountain. We remained at the altitude of 6000 feet throughout the night. As the darkness settled about us Koehl switched on the interior cabin lights but for some reason or other they failed to function and we were forced to use the hand flashlights with which we had prepared ourselves at Baldonnel. Unfortunately, we found that we could only use these in short flashes as the continuous beam reflecting from the glass-covered instruments created such a glare in the cockpit that we were almost blinded. Once while Koehl was flying I dropped off to sleep with a torch in my left hand. It slipped from my grasp and the floor of the cockpit under my feet, It was missed immediately I awoke as I wanted it the instruments, particularly the it owing to the confined space in the pilots cabin it was exceedingly hard to reach about and retrieve it. Eventually, however, we managed to fish it out from the bottom of our quarters.
During this part of the flight we experienced a most peculiar phenomenon. In the daytime we had been checking our course by the sun. When the stars came out we used celestial navigation. As time passed I was suddenly surprised to see that there were stars below us and I was filled with the peculiar feeling that we were flying upside-down. Koehl, too, had noticed the apparently erratic action of the stars. At first glance I thought that I had seen a ship below us, then possibly a lighthouse and again it seemed as though a fleet of boats were passing underneath.
The horizon had entirely disappeared and we seemed to be suspended in a circular bowl coin-rounded by twinkling stars. It was only by observing one star in the heavens and then picking it out below us that we realized the phenomenon was caused by the stars being reflected in the glassy surface of the ocean.
In order to prepare for the bad weather which we felt sure we were going to meet as we neared the coast of North America, Koehl and myself took turns at piloting the Bremen in periods of one-half hour on and one-half hour off. In the rear the Baron sat in lonely solitude with his thoughts.
We were approaching what we believed to be the coast of Newfoundland and we estimated that we were within about 400 miles of land when directly in front of us and spread as far as the eye could see to the North and South there appeared a great impregnable gray blanket of dreaded fog. Below us the ocean began to lash itself into a turmoil of beating fury. Raging billows loomed up beneath us seeming to stretch angry foam-lashed fingers at the undercarriage. We were both wide awake now and we made an endeavor to climb over the fog bank. A strong southeast gale was howling about us and our only hope of being able to maintain a steady course was to remain within sight of the stars. We realized that the compass would not be very helpful owing to the great differences in magnetic forces over short distances on this difficult stretch of the journey. We were rapidly approaching this bank of Newfoundland fog and we could see that it reached into the heavens combining with the low-hanging clouds which disappeared above us. Our only hope was to remain as low as possible and trust entirely to our instruments.
Pitch darkness surrounded us. Flying close to the great surging waves we experienced a number of downward bumps which all but precipitated our metal monoplane into the merciless sea. We realized the danger of remaining near the surface and we climbed higher and higher until we had again reached 6000 feet. The cold was intense. The fog and sleet wrapt itself about us like the clinging hand of fate. How thankful I was that at Baldonnel the mechanics had spread the wings and fuselage with paraffin and oil as a protection against sleet formation on the plane.
Koehl's face was set with a grim determination. His helmet and goggles seemed even to lend a sardonic twist to his countenance. It was the battle of man-power and a man-made instrument against the elements. Oh, the deadly monotony of the struggle! Pains and aches seemed to surge through my body. My eyes felt as though someone had thrown sand into them. Koehl, too, would occasionally lift his goggles to rub his blood-shot eyes and his fitful stretching showed that he, too, was suffering from cramped, aching and tired muscles.
The ghastly pall of fog seemed to cling about us with never varying density. Then came an other tremendous shock upon which to a certain extent hung the entire fate of the Bremen. As my flashlight dropped on the instrument board I noticed an enormous amount of oil on the floor of the cockpit and over my shoes. An oil leak! Tense as the situation was at this moment our nervous systems suddenly became as taut as a violin string stretched to breaking point. We suddenly realized that due to the long and continued vibration of the motor an oil line must have broken. The precious fluid was pouring itself away on the floor of the plane. I reached vainly about trying to locate the broken pipe. Captain Koehl turned on the reserve supply of oil and I noticed with a great deal of satisfaction that the oil gauge on the instrument board showed "full."
Five minutes later when I glanced at the oil gauge I saw that instead of still being full it now showed three-quarters empty. We were facing a situation beyond words. At this time the Bremen was headed on a southwesterly course for the coast of Newfoundland, but when we realized that at any moment our oil supply might become entirely depleted, and we did not know how much oil had flown away before we noticed it, the logical thing to do was to head directly Northwest and endeavor to strike land as soon as possible.
There was now nothing to do but to grind our teeth, grin, and forge ahead into the West hoping that terra firma would soon loom up in front of us. We were both straining our eyes in the hopes of discerning the rays of a friendly lighthouse which would give us the longed for information that we were at least over land. Nothing appeared in the inky blackness. The very instruments were grinning and making faces at us as if to say how futile are our endeavours.
The agonizing moments dragged slowly by. The Bremen kept forging steadily into the West. So great was our fatigue that for moments I would drop off into slumber only to awake with a start and my heart pounding madly against my ribs. With brimming eyes and stumbling thoughts my benumbed consciousness would reconstruct the situation.
After what seemed to be interminable hours of endless flight the thick fog bank suddenly disappeared behind us and overhead the dark blue sky was studded with most welcome stars. The Great Bear and Pole stars, the fateful guide of mariners for so many centuries, were immediately located almost directly over our heads and slightly to our right. With a great sigh of relief we checked our course with the stars and continued for two long weary hours of flying into the West.
Suddenly upon looking below I saw what appeared to be large broken patches of low-lying fog over the waves. After a long scrutiny through the binoculars this turned out to be a vast snow-covered forest. I signalled Koehl to look below and noticed that his face assumed a broad smile when he realized that we had reached the coast of North America. Our eyes were too tired to make out definitely the expanse beneath us at the height at which we were flying.
Continuing our course we brought the Bremen closer to earth but still maintaining sufficient altitude for safety. A Very light pistol was dug up and a white flare was fired below while the plane slowly circled in order to give us ample time to make an observation. The Stygian darkness swallowed up the light before we were able to observe clearly any of the objects below us. After firing two or three more white flares we were able to observe a large wooded hill directly below us. All patches of ground were covered with a blanket of white snow and the branches of the trees seemed laden with frost.
Our only course now was to continue flying in the direction in which we were headed and wait for the dawn. Daylight was due at almost any moment and with the first gray streaks we could discern a huge expanse of uninhabited snow covered forest and mountain country. Not a sign of life was evident.
Where were the long white concrete roads, the broad open aerodromes? Where were the great fabulous factories of America's industries? It seemed as though we had broken in upon the silent sepulcher of desolation. Not a puff of smoke, not a beaten path over the tractless wastes of white snow. Not even an animal or bird of any nature or description could be seen.
The hours of tossing about in the storm-racked fog, our change of course due to the oil leak, and the lack of lights in the cockpit had caused both Koehl and myself to become extremely worried as to our whereabouts. Hastily tearing a piece of envelope which was in my pocket, I scribbled the word "Labrador," and passed it to Koehl. He shook his head. He was clearly worried about our predicament.
We checked and re-checked our course, using the sun to collaborate our instruments, and finally decided that we were many miles inland over Labrador.
Veering to the southeast and using the sun as our guide, we held the nose of the Bremen into the biting cold wintry air of the desolate North country. Tired as we were, our eyes kept searching for the faintest sign of a landmark which we could identify upon our maps. The agonizing moments seemed to stretch into hours. Our hands and feet, our bodies and even our brains were numbed with the bitter coldness. At last we found a broad river with mountains on either side but it was frozen solid and covered with snow. Not a trace of a living thing seemed to touch the virgin whiteness that lay like a pall, stilling the rushing waters. Down we went until we were flying about the surface, no higher than about ten feet, and for two hours we continued but failed to pick out any recognizable landmark.
We were gravely concerned about our supply of petrol, and having tested all our tanks we came to the conclusion that we had sufficient fuel for only about three more hours of flying. We continued in a southeasterly direction, searching forever the country below for a sign of life.
The strain of flying the Atlantic had been tremendous, but to face certain death in the bleak, cold, uninhabited wilderness of this Arctic country seemed such a cruel reward. After all that had happened to us I could not help but feel that those others who may have crossed the Atlantic westward by air may have "cracked up" in some such remote wilderness.
I tried to recall all that I had read of Labrador and the Arctic, the books of Dr. Grenfell and of Hudson Stuck, and those splendid tales of Cooper around the Indians of the North. Indeed I have even been lost once before myself. It was in the Bog of Allen, when, with two companions, I wandered for three days, living on the birds' eggs we had gone searching for, and finally reaching some men cutting turf they directed us to our homeward destination. I might add that I got a jolly good licking.
I decided that the first thing to do, if we should come down at some remote point, would be to hold a conference, in order to discover ways and means to get back to civilization. First of all, we would have to take a good rest, and that could be done in the machine. We could gain a general idea of our whereabouts from the stars and guess in which direction a human habitation would most easily and certainly be encountered. Here our compass would aid us. Snowshoes of some sort would be necessary as we would have to travel over soft snow. We carried a small axe in the Bremen. With this we would improvise skis, and the axe could be used in cutting firewood. This brought up the question of fires. We would need them for warmth and cooking purposes. But none of us carried matches. We had not taken them due to the risk of fire. Baron Von Huenefeld had a cigarette-lighter but if this would not work, we would all certainly die. I racked my brain for a solution, and finally found it in the starting magneto. We could remove it from the airplane. It was operated by a handle and made a good fat spark. If we took along some petrol as a precaution, we would be fairly certain to make a fire under any conditions. Here again the axe would come in handy to chop away one of the petrol tanks from inside the machine.
I tried to picture how we would live. We had with us some sandwiches and hard-boiled eggs and thermos flasks of coffee and tea. We had eaten barely anything so far, and we could take this food along. But what was to be done when no food was left at all? I thought that we would travel across country until we found a river and then make our way down it. We could fish if we chopped holes in the ice. Of course we had no rods, lines, or hooks but we could use string arid a bent pin and red paper for bait. I knew this could be done as I had often watched fishermen lure the fish in this manner.
However I must admit that I had a frightful horror of wolves, which the blood-and-thunder books had given me. I recalled stories of people being chased by packs of them, I understood that a wolf will eat another wolf if it was dead, and in this manner we would be able to escape. But
the problem came up of killing them without being killed by one first! However I had my light signal pistol and fifteen cartridges which could be used if necessary.
I suddenly realized that we could not possibly travel with the magneto and the petrol tank and the fish we might catch, or the animals we might kill, without some means of transportation.
We could improvise some sort of sled by using the axe, and if we chose a river route we would not have much difficulty in dragging it. We could take turns doing this, just as Koehl and I had taken turns in piloting the Bremen. How would we sleep? Our heavy flying suits would keep us warm as we walked by day. At night however we would face the danger of attack by wild animals and that of freezing to death. In ordinary winter weather we would stand guard in turn until the break of day. However shelter of some kind would have to be improvised in extremely cold weather.
As I thought of what I had read it seemed to me that some of the Eskimos made their igloos by building a framework of branches and covering them with snow. We could survive the severest cold in such shelters. I knew that the distances were enormous. It might take us six months to make our way back to civilization. If the ice broke up, we might make a rough raft and float down stream, stopping only to drag it over rapids or when we slept.
Of course we might not survive, and I wondered in what order we would go, if we died of
exhaustion—who would be first and who last, and what it would feel like. I remembered Captain Scott's fate in the Antarctic and the bravery of that companion of his who stepped out into the snow when he realized he was imperilling the chances of the others.
But optimism took the place of all these gloomy thoughts, soon after. Of course, I always felt we would win out. Somehow or other I knew that we would get out of any emergency that might arise. Pilots have to, I suppose. And so I had no great fears as I formed these plans to offer to my companions in our first conference together should we crash on land.
But strange things happen over these limitless wastes. Tired eyes seem to have a way of playing tricks upon the leadened brain. Gazing hard ahead I could see a large town complete with church spires, domes, streets and even moving automobiles. To one side I saw an aerodrome fully laid out with hangars and living accommodations and airplanes outside the hangars. Binoculars were produced, and in each case when checking with Koehl these welcome sights turned out to be only a mirage. Perhaps the subconscious mind has a way of making the eyes see what it wishes. In the desert, travellers dying of thirst see but a few yards ahead of them luscious, bubbling green brooks and springs that mock them while the burning sands turn their tongues to choking hot coals. I seemed to see the smooth white runways of a perfectly appointed flying field. In fact I could almost picture the Bremen a few seconds later landing and taxiing up to the line.
Was it Fate with cruel mockery that was beckoning us to land in the treacherous snow-covered rocks to meet—instead of open arms in welcome—the shuddering crash of battle? I can imagine that both Koehl and the Baron are also suffering from the tremendous strain.
Two more long weary hours elapsed. We were searching for a suitable landing spot when we came to the edge of what appeared to be a huge frozen lake. Charts were produced and by making signs I discussed with Koehl our possible location on the maps. We decided to search for some habitation or sign of human life along the shore line. Hope seemed very' slim indeed! Suddenly a huge blizzard was seen approaching right in front of us. The faithful old Bremen began to bob about in the sudden, turbulent atmosphere. A howling gale was raging. Fate (seeming to feel that she was about to be cheated of her human sacrifice and seeming also to realize that the beautiful pictures which she had spread on the treacherous ground below us, were not to entice us to land) had placed a blinding blizzard of whirling, twisting snow in our path in order to drive us into the frozen earth.
Suddenly the curtain of snow lifted and we observed in the distance the outline of what we believed to be a large ship frozen in the ice. This time the binoculars proved that it was no mere hallucination! We were convinced that it was a ship. My shout of glee was drowned by the roaring motor.
Koehl's face was "set at a quarter-to-three" and glancing back at the Baron I could see that his face was "set at a quarter-past-nine." (Lest my gentle readers fail to interpret this expression, I might say that a grin in the Air Services is known as "setting your faces at a quarter-tothree.")
What a tremendous relief the first signs of human habitation we had observed since we waved a longing farewell to the lighthouse at Slyne Head, Ireland! With the engine throttled back we glided down to investigate it, bobbing about in the face of the Arctic gale and were surprised to make out the outlines of a stately lighthouse situated on a small island. After circling twice around the lighthouse we noticed that the noise of our motor had stirred a pack of dogs into action. Their movements on the snow were clearly discernible to us. No other sign of life was apparent. At first I thought they might possibly be a pack of wolves who had come to the edge of this solitary beacon in search of food. And fear struck my heart that the lighthouse might not be inhabited!
The continued noise of the engine, however, attracted the attention of the inhabitants and four people emerged from the lighthouse building. It is impossible to describe our feeling upon observing them. Here at last was a spot where the Bremen might rest, and where we would have an opportunity of checking up our fuel supply, ascertaining our exact position and if possible continuing on South to New York.
The island was snow-covered and ice-bound. Here and there in the bay we could see stretches of clear ice on which it might be possible to land. Being quite unfamiliar with conditions, we however chose the surface of the lagoon which was frozen over. After firing a smoke signal to obtain the correct direction of the wind we maneuvered into position and headed directly into the teeth of the 50 mile an hour gale, Koehl nosing the Bremen down and landing on the ice.
We did not know at that time however that only a few days before the spring thaw had melted the top of the ice and left several feet of water on the thicker ice beneath.
Freezing weather had then set in and the surface had frozen over so that it presented a deceptive appearance of safety. It was on this thin ice that Captain Koehl made a perfect three-point landing. Fortunately for us the head wind slowed up our speed to such an extent that when the weight of the Bremen was finally thrown upon the ice our forward speed had considerably diminished. Suddenly the ice broke through and the machine rocked violently forward on its nose. Koehl and myself were thrown forward on to the instrument board but the Baron—who had moved forward in the cabin—was thrown to the floor. Koehl received a rather severe cut on the forehead but the Baron and myself were uninjured.
Our landing—upon what we afterward discovered to be Greenly Island, was a bitter disappointment. We knew that many people were gathered at Mitchel Field near New York, and that we would have to disappoint them. Furthermore, the machine which had brought us safely across the huge expanse of water, was resting grotesquely on its nose and had been injured.