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"Hawker left this afternoon."

This message was shouted by a chance-met motorist, who held up our own car as we were driving back to St. John's from Ferryland on the evening of May the eighteenth, after an unsuccessful search for an aërodrome site.

"And Raynham?" I asked.

"Machine smashed before he could get it off the ground."

We thanked the stranger for his news, and passed on to hear further details at the Cochrane Hotel, which was the headquarters of the several transatlantic flight contingents at St. John's. We had rather expected the Sopwith and Martinsyde parties to make an attempt on the eighteenth, although the conditions were definitely unfavorable. The news of the American N. C. 4's arrival at the Azores had spurred them to the great adventure, despite the weather. The United States flying boats were not competing for the Daily Mail prize; but Hawker and Grieve wanted to gain for Great Britain the honor of being the first to cross the Atlantic by air. The outcome of this ambition was the gallant effort that ended in the sea, half-way to Ireland.

While exceedingly sorry for Raynham, we were glad that Hawker had started, after his weeks of weary waiting, and we wished him all success; for with one exception there was the best possible feeling among the small colony of British aviators who had congregated at St. John's for the transatlantic competition. In any case, if Hawker succeeded and we no longer had a chance of winning the prize, we meant to demonstrate the high qualities of the Vickers-Vimy machine by flying from Newfoundland to Ireland.

We had arrived at St. John's early on the morning of May the thirteenth, being only twelve hours late on a scheduled time of twenty-seven hours for the journey from Port aux Basques. Thirteen, by the way, we regarded as our lucky number. The construction of our transatlantic machine was begun on February thirteenth, it was number thirteen of its class, and it reached Newfoundland on May twenty-sixth (twice thirteen). Our party, with the mechanics, totaled thirteen, and we arrived at St. John's on May thirteenth. Later we were disappointed at having to postpone the getaway until June fourteenth, instead of leaving on June thirteenth.

We hired a car, and, driving to Mount Pearl, began what was to be a long and difficult hunt for any kind of a field that could be improvised into an aërodrome. The uneven countryside through which we passed held out no hopes; and the company we met that evening at the Cochrane Hotel (Hawker, Grieve, Raynham, Morgan, and various officials and newspaper correspondents) were unanimous in declaring that the only suitable patches of ground had been appropriated, and that we should find no others near St. John's.

The American flying boats were at Trepassey, ready to start for the Azores, and most of the American correspondents had left St. John's to visit them. The United States airship N. C. 5 had flown to St. John's some days before our arrival. She came in a fog, after wandering over the neighborhood of Newfoundland for some hours, having lost herself, it was reported, owing to an error of 180° in the directional wireless bearings given her. She attracted large crowds, ourselves among them, to the bay. Later, we saw the airship steering an erratic course through the Gap, and mentally wished her commander good luck in his transatlantic ambitions. Soon afterwards we heard of her unfortunate break-away and total loss.

The departure of the N. C. flying boats sent great excitement into the small company of Britishers at the Cochrane Hotel. Hawker, Grieve, Raynham and Morgan discarded caution, and on hearing of the N. C. 4's arrival at the Azores risked exceedingly their chances of success by agreeing to start immediately, in a whole-hearted and plucky effort to gain for Great Britain the honor of the first flight across the Atlantic. The result was immediate disaster for Raynham and Morgan, whose small aërodrome was altogether unsuitable for a "take off" into the then wind, and magnificent failure for Hawker and Grieve, owing to a minor mishap to their engine.

Soon after the flight of the American craft, I met Commander Byrd, U. S. N., designer of the bubble sextant for aërial navigation that bears his name. We had an interesting talk on the problems and difficulties of aërial navigation, and I tried to secure from Washington a Byrd sextant. The United States Naval authorities promised to forward one from Washington; but unfortunately, owing to transport difficulties, it reached St. John's after our departure. Nevertheless I am deeply grateful to the United States Navy Department for its courtesy and its offer of help in an enterprise that was foreign to them and non-official.

Newfoundland is a hospitable place, but its best friends cannot claim that it is ideal for aviation. The whole of the island has no ground that might be made into a first-class aërodrome. The district around St. John's is especially difficult. Some of the country is wooded, but for the most part it shows a rolling, switchback surface, across which aëroplanes cannot taxi with any degree of smoothness. The soil is soft and dotted with bowlders, for only a light layer of it covers the rock stratum. Another handicap is the prevalence of thick fogs, which roll westward from the sea.

For about a week we continued the quest for a landing-ground, and we must have driven over hundreds of miles of very bad road. Growing tired of hiring cars, we bought a second-hand Buick which registered a total mileage of four hundred miles at the time of purchase. Before long we were convinced that the speedometer must have been disconnected previous to the final forty thousand miles.

The best possibilities for an aërodrome that we could find were several level strips of meadowland, about a hundred yards wide by three hundred long; whereas the Vickers-Vimy, fully loaded, might need five hundred yards of clear run into the wind. Meanwhile, although disappointment accompanied us all over Newfoundland, the pacing out of fields provided good exercise.

The evenings were mostly spent in playing cards with the other competitors at the Cochrane Hotel, or in visits to the neighboring film theaters. St. John's itself showed us every kindness. We explored the town pretty thoroughly, and were soon able to recognize parts of it with eyes closed and nostrils open; for its chief occupation appeared to be the drying of very dead cod.

Having heard rumors that suitable ground might be found at Ferryland, we motored there on May the eighteenth, and it was while returning from yet another disappointment that we learned of Hawker's disappearance into the Atlantic mists. Excitement and anxiety about the possible fate of Hawker and Grieve spread all the world over; but nowhere was it more intense than among us at the Cochrane Hotel, who had shared their hopes and discussed their plans. We were a gloomy crowd indeed until St. John's heard the sensational story of their rescue.

Raynham, meanwhile, although very disappointed after the setback that damaged his machine, kept alight the candle of hope and the torch of determination. Before it was possible to know whether or not Hawker had succeeded, he made arrangements for repair and decided to try again. He also invited Alcock and me to use his ground for erecting the Vickers-Vimy. A similar invitation was given by Captain Fenn, now in charge of the Sopwith party.

Neither aërodrome would be suitable for our final "take off"; but we accepted Raynham's very sporting offer, and arranged to build up the Vickers-Vimy, which was expected to arrive any day, on his aërodrome at Quidi Vidi, while continuing the search for a more suitable field.

Our mechanics arrived with machine and engines on May the twenty-sixth, and we set to work at once on its erection. This was carried out in the open air, amid many obstacles and with much improvization, sheerlegs for example, being constructed out of scaffolding poles. Raynham let us use his hangar as a store.

All the Vickers party worked hard and cheerfully from early dawn until dark, each man being on strenuous duty from twelve to fourteen hours a day. Two mechanics remained on guard each night, while the remainder drove about three miles to their billets.

During the whole of this period of a thousand and one difficulties, each mechanic gave of his best, and I cannot pay too high a tribute to those men who labored for us so competently and painstakingly, and yet received none of the glory. Even those who were but indirectly concerned in the venture searched for opportunities of helping us. The reporters representing the Daily Mail, the New York Times, and the New York World were often of assistance when extra man-power was required. But for one of the American reporters—Mr. Klauber—we should have been obliged to start without an electric torch when our own failed at the last moment.

It was, indeed, a nerve-edging time until the machine approached completion. Each day produced some new difficulty. Alcock kept his head and his temper admirably, however, and his intelligent supervision of the mechanics' work was an effective insurance against loss of time.

As the parts of the Vickers-Vimy grew into the semblance of a complete aëroplane it attracted more and more visitors. Many rubbernecks, who seemed to have no other occupation, spent hours in leaning on the nearest fence and watching us. Soon we found it necessary to build a temporary enclosure round the machine. Even that did not keep the curious at a distance. We remained unworried so long as the crowd contented itself with just watching; but the visitors forced us to take special precautions against damage. The testing of the fabric's firmness with the point of an umbrella was a favorite pastime of theirs, and more than once we dispersed small parties whom we found leaning against the trailing-edges, much as Australian soldiers on leave from France used to lean against the lamp-posts of the Strand. One man held his lighted cigar against a wing, and was quite annoyed when asked to keep at a distance.

We were still unsuccessful in our search for an aërodrome. One day a telegram arrived from a landowner in Harbor Grace, offering what he called an ideal field. Alcock raced off to inspect and secure it; but when he returned in the evening his one-sided grin told me that we were still out of luck. "The ideal aërodrome" was a meadow about one hundred and fifty by three hundred yards—and the price demanded for its hire was twenty-five thousand dollars plus the cost of getting it ready and an indemnity for all damage. Land sells in Newfoundland at thirty-five cents an acre.

Soon afterwards a local inhabitant—Mr. Lester, who had done all our carting—offered us a field under more reasonable conditions, at a place called Monday's Pool. We found it to be a large meadow, half on a hill and with a swamp at the bottom. It possessed, nevertheless, a level surface of about three hundred yards, running east and west.

We examined and paced out four other fields on the hilltop, and found that by taking them in we could obtain a full run of five hundred yards. The owners of this additional ground wanted extortionate prices for its use, but after much haggling we closed a deal with them.

Thirty laborers, with pick and shovel, set to work to prepare the aërodrome by removing hillocks, blasting bowlders and leveling walls and fences. Finally it was completed, well within the time for the trial flight.

During the first few days spent on the erecting of the machine there was little for me to do. I unpacked and verified wireless and navigation equipment, and having rigged up a receiving station on the roof of the Cochrane Hotel, with the consent and help of Lieut. Clare, of the Mount Pearl Naval Wireless Station, I practiced the sending and receiving of wireless messages, and tuning in on various wave-lengths.

Rain and high wind caused a delay of three days, during which the machine necessarily remained in the open, with tarpaulins over the engines and only a small windscreen to break the force of the gales. When better conditions arrived the body of the Vickers-Vimy grew slowly into the semblance of a complete aëroplane, spurred thereto by our impatience and the willing work of the mechanics. The wings being in place, the Rolls-Royce experts became busy, examining and checking every little detail of their motors, so that there should be no avoidable trouble on that account. Water for the radiator was filtered, and then boiled in a steel barrel.

Our day-to-day watchers from St. John's showed much interest in this boiling process, and asked many questions. They seemed content with our explanation that we were boiling the gasoline so as to remove all water. Several asked whether we filled the planes with gas to make them lighter. Others were disappointed because we did not intend to drop our undercarriage over the sea, as Hawker had done, and prophesied that such neglect would lead to failure.

The machine was ready to take the air on the morning of Monday, June the ninth, and we decided to make the first flight that same afternoon. We had meant to keep the news of the forthcoming trial as secret as possible, so as to avoid a crowd. It leaked out, however, and long before the engines were warmed up and tested a large gathering had collected at Quidi Vidi.

The weather was on its best behavior, and our "take off" from the ground was perfect in every way. Under Alcock's skillful hands the big Vimy became almost as nippy as a single-seater scout. We headed directly westward, passing over the sea for some fifteen minutes. It was a clear day, and the sea reflected the sky's vivid blue. Near the coast it was streaked and spotted by the glistening white of icebergs and the evanescent appearances and disappearances of white-caps.

Trial observation with my navigation instruments proved them to be O. K.; but not a spark could be conjured from the wireless apparatus. The machine and motors seemed in perfect condition.

Alcock turned the Vickers-Vimy, and brought us back over St. John's at a height of four thousand feet. Newfoundland from above looked even more bleak and rugged than it did from the ground; and we saw that landing grounds would be impossible on the eastern side of it.

We were to descend on the new aërodrome, which we picked out by means of a smudge-fire, lighted as a signal. Alcock made a perfect landing, in an uphill direction. The Vimy ran on, topped the brow, and was heading straight for a fence on the roadside; but the pilot saved a collision by opening up the starboard engine, which swung the craft round before she came to a standstill.

We pushed the machine down the hill to the most sheltered part of the field, pegged it down, and roped off a space round it, to keep spectators at a safe distance. The proposed hangar was unfinished, so that the Vickers-Vimy still remained in the open.

I dismounted the wireless generator for examination, and next day took it to Mount Pearl Wireless Station, where Lieut. Clare helped me to locate the fault and to remedy it.

A far more serious worry now confronted us. The fuel we had intended to carry was a mixture of gasoline and benzol, sent from England. On examination we found in it a peculiar precipitate, like a very soft resin. It was sticky, and had the consistency of India rubber wetted with gasoline; but when dry it reduced to a powder. Naturally we could not afford the risk of letting such a deposit clog our filters and perhaps, owing to stoppage of fuel supply, cause motor failure—that bugbear of every aviator who flies over long distances.

It was not definitely proved that the precipitate resulted from the mixture of gasoline and benzol; but so much depended on satisfactory fuel that we dared use none that was doubtful, and we decided to substitute pure gasoline for the mixture. The problem was how to find enough of the quality required—Shell B. Raynham, as much of a sportsman as ever, put his spare stock at our disposal; but fortunately a newly arrived ship brought enough for our needs.

Mr. P. Maxwell Muller, who had organized our transatlantic party, also came on this boat. He is a rabid optimist, with the power of infecting others with his hopefulness; and we were glad indeed to see him, and especially to turn over to him such things as unpaid bills.

The second trial flight took place on June the twelfth. Once again everything except the wireless apparatus was satisfactory. The transmitter worked well for a short time, but afterwards the insulation on a small transformer in the transmitter failed, giving me a violent shock. After a short time in the air, Alcock made another satisfactory landing.

By now we were besieging Lieutenant Clements, the meteorological officer, for weather reports. Besides his own work he had now undertaken the duties of Major Partridge, official starter for the Royal Aëro Club of London. As such he had to place the club's official seal on the Vickers-Vimy. This he did without any superfluous ceremony, his seal insuring that we should not cheat by flying from Newfoundland in one aëroplane and landing on Ireland in another.

At that period the weather reports, such as they were, indicated fairly favorable conditions for the flight, and we prepared to make the attempt immediately. At no time were the reports complete, however, owing to the delays in transmission; although Clements made the very best of the meager data at his disposal.

We saw the Handley-Page carrying out its initial flights; but we hoped to leave on Friday, June the thirteenth, and thus show it the way across the Atlantic. We worked at high speed on several last-minute jobs. The compasses were swung, the wireless apparatus repaired, more elastic shock-absorbers were wrapped round the axles, the navigating instruments were taken on board, with food and emergency supplies.

But with all the hurry and bustle we found that everything could not be ready by Friday the thirteenth, and that a postponement until 4 A. M. on the Saturday was essential.