FROM LONDON TO AUSTRALIA DY AEROPLANE 



335 



We had by this time acquired such con- 

 fidence in our engines that it mattered 

 little what lay below us — sea or land. 



The thick volcanic smoke soon ob- 

 scured the land and all distant vision, but 

 we eventually picked up the Timor coast 

 a few hundred yards from our calculated 

 position. Ten miles inland we came 

 down on the aerodrome at Atamboea, 

 our last landing ground before Port 

 Darwin. 



The Dutch officials, who welcomed us, 

 had thoughtfully arranged our petrol and 

 oil supply close at hand, saving us a good 

 deal of valuable time, which we were 

 able to devote to a thorough overhaul. 



the night before the elnal 

 "take oee" 



Tomorrow would be the great day 

 whereupon reposed the destiny of our 

 hopes, labors, and ideals. 



This was one of the aerodromes spe- 

 cially made by the Governor-General of 

 the Netherlands Indies for the Australian 

 flight, and had been completed only the 

 day before our arrival. A guard of 

 Dutch soldiers kept watch over the ma- 

 chine while we proceeded with tneir 

 officers to camp, some six miles away. 



It is hardly necessary to say that none 

 of us overslept. We were too excited at 

 the prospect of the morrow. We felt 

 sure that if it dawned fine and hot, our 

 homing was assured ; but as we stepped 

 out, before sunrise, into the still, sluggish 

 air, we realized that our hopes of an 

 early start were small. A heavy haze lay 

 over the sea and the coast, obscuring 

 everything; so we decided to await its 

 clearing. 



We were at the aerodrome before sun- 

 up to discover that a great swarm of 

 natives were even earlier risers than our- 

 selves. Most had come afoot, but many 

 had ridden their ponies, and they clus- 

 tered on and around the fence, behind 

 and beside the Vimy, like swarming bees. 

 We had hauled the machine well back 

 and raised the tail over the fence in order 

 to take advantage of every foot of the 

 short run. 



OXE OF OUR CLOSEST SHAVES 



Our start oft was brightened by one 

 of those incidents that usually make 

 material for comic papers. The pro- 



pellers were just "kicking" over, like two 

 great fans, and those natives sitting on 

 the fence in the line of the slip-stream 

 were enjoying the cool breeze and look- 

 ing pleased with themselves. When I 

 opened up the engines and both propellers 

 swung into action, the sudden blast of 

 air sent these particular spectators top- 

 pling back into the crowd, where ponies 

 and natives made a glorious mixup, at 

 which we all laughed heartily. 



Soon after 8 the fog began to thin, 

 and by 8.35, to be exact, I opened up the 

 engines and just managed to scrape out 

 of the 'drome. Scrape is exactly the 

 word, for the branch-tops of the gum- 

 tree rasped along the bottom of the ma- 

 chine as we rose. It was indeed one of 

 the closest shaves of the trip. 



In front of us rose a chain of high 

 hills, and, as the atmosphere was hot 

 and we climbed very slowly, we made 

 a detour to avoid them. Still flying low. 

 we approached the coast and pulled our- 

 selves together for the final lap — the 

 jump across the sheet of blue Indian 

 Ocean that lay between us and Port 

 Darwin. 



Keith took all possible bearings, noted 

 wind direction, and made numerous cal- 

 culations of ground speeds. Then we 

 set compass course for Darwin, and with 

 a "Here goes !" we were out over the 

 sea. All our hearts were beating a little 

 quicker : even our fine old engines seemed 

 to throb a trifle faster. 



SIGHTING THE ''SYDNEY'' 



Our watches registered 11.48 when 

 Keith nodded ahead, and, dead on the 

 line of our flight, we made out a faint 

 smoke haze that soon resolved itself into 

 the smoke-plume of a fighting-ship. It 

 was the Sydney, and we knew now that, 

 whatever might befall, we had a friend 

 at hand. 



We swooped low, and exactly at twelve 

 minutes past noon passed over the vessel, 

 seeing plainly the upturned faces of the 

 sailors and their waving hands. It was 

 a cheer of welcome quite different from 

 anything that we had experienced on the 

 long journey. Perhaps it is not to be 

 wondered at that the result of our snap- 

 shot was blurred through the shaking of 

 the camera (see page 324). 



