LAND AT LAST!

Press, Volume LXXIV, Issue 22435, 23 June 1938, Page 18

LAND AT LAST!

Miss Jean Batten’s Atlantic Flight FROM AFRICA TO BRAZIL f- ~ Loneliness of Long Ocean Journey (Published by “The Press" under special arrangement.) CHAPTER XI (Continued). I spent the next few minutes trying to ascertain accurately the amount Of drift, and calculated it at eight - degrees to starboard. Much as I disliked the idea of changing course sq far from land> I decided to alter course eight degrees to port -to compensate for the drift This would bring me cut near Cape San Roque, where I expected to make landfall. Leaning forward. I unlocked the compass verge ring and set the machine on its new course. Vainly I searched the horizon for some sign of a ship, but there was no trace of any vessel. Time slipped by. and I felt very lonely, but comforted myself with the thought that after my terrible experience in the storm it was good to see the sun, the sky. and the sea again. “Nine hours out from Thies.’’ 1 wrote in the log, and hopefully, thought that if visibility were good I might see the coast of Brazil in under four hours. Scanning the horizon for the hundredth time. I caught sight of a small dark object in the distance. Were my eyes deceiving me or was it really a ship? Yes. As I drew nearer it was possible to distinguish the masts and funnel of a boat. It seemed too good to be true. For almost T 1 Hours I had been completely isolated, from the rest of the world, with no one to talk to, no sign of life. The blue sea everywhere made me long for the sight ox other human, beings, a ship, or anything to relieve dhe monotony of the vast blue waste stretched before me. Jungle or desert stretches ,wouM he. a pleasure to fly over compared with this. , _ . Sea Becoming BoughThe sea was becoming rough, and huge waves seemed to rise beneath the Gull, as if stretching. up in an effort to grasp the machine which flew contemptuously out, of reach on its lonely way. . The .ship was. quite near now. It was a . cargo vessel, evidently bound for Dakar,, as my :■ course lay right along the ship from tip to stem. I was almost' breathless with joy. for the ship must have' come from Natal, in which case.l was. absolutely on the right course. “Unless it is from Pernambuco,” I thought,, and a shade of doubt entered my mind, for perhaps the drift was, not as strong as I had estimated and eight degrees compensations was too much to allow. Glancing at my chart. I saw that Pernambuco was 160 miles south. No, it was unthinkable that I should be that much off my course. The ship was definitely from Port Natal, .1 .decided. As my altitude was still only 600 feet, it was quite easy-forme to . see the name of the vessel, which I read with such joy and eagerness that it must be stamped on my. heart for* all time. The name painted on - the bows read Belgique. -* - ■ . Figures on deck were waving wildly, so taking off my scarf I held it out the window and let it trail in the slipstream, and also dipped the aeroplane in salute over the snip. How I longqd to circle, for although the crew must have been excited, to see a small silver monoplane winging its way over their ship so far from land, their feelings were not to be compared r with mute, so overjoyed did I feel at sighting the vessel. “Wish I had.radio and could ask them what port they; arh from,” T thought longingly, as a terrible doubt assailed me that they may be from Ceara or Maranhao, both hundreds of miles north of Natal. .Thrusting the doubt from my mind, . I decided pot to let anything mar my joy at seeing the ship and at the realisation that I was only about 300 miles frpm land. Several times I looked back, until the ship was merely a speck in the ..distance.

“Time Seemed to Drag Terribly”

Time seemed to drag terribly now, but perhaps soon I should sight Fernando Noronha island. This small' volcanic -island was shown On my chart as being about 12 miles long, with a cone rising to a height of over _ 1000 feet. In good weather it should, be visible from a great distance, although, looking closely at the chart, I saw that it lay almost 50 miles south of my course about 150 miles from the Brazilian coast. The sky was growing once more overcast, and I was not going to reach the land without another battle with the elements. For the next two hours I flew through one tropical deluge after another, until I Yelt terribly disappointed at missing a sight of Fernando Noronha Island, and very tired at the continual blind flying, which after 12 hours in the air seemed even more difficult than ever.. " Emerging once more into the light after a particularly heavy downpour, I saw a faint yellow line bn the horizon ahead. Was it really land, I asked myself. Glancing round the skyline I saw a similar line, and realised that the intense glare from the silver engine cowling coupled with the strain of staring at the blind-flying instruments, was tiring my eyes. ' Twelve and a half. hours out from Africa. . . . Surely I would see land soon. Vainly I searghed the horizon for some sign of the coast. Bending down I switched on to the last petrol-tank. Petrol for only one hour more, and still no sign of land. . . . Even though I was flying so low, surely I ishould be •within sight of land now, I thought anxiously. Brazilian Coast Sighted What was that faint yellow line? Surely my eyes were deceiving me again. No, this time it was real. Land . . . land .... I shouted aloud for sheer joy. Nearer and nearer the land drew, until it was possible to distinguish the sand-dimes on the lonely coast of Brazil. Very soon I was within gliding distance of the undulating sandy coast, and at last flew over the long line of foamy white Atlantic rollers sweeping up on to the beach. About half a mile to the north I saw a slight promontory ... a sandy stretch covered with coconut-palm trees. . . . "Cape , San Hoque!" I cried, hardly believing my eyes. It seemed too good to be true that after steering for 13 hours over almost 2000 miles of ocean I had made landfall within half a mile of the point I had been aiming for. But was it Cape San Roque? My chart showed • a lighthouse; there . was. none to be seen here. Silhouetted against the sandy background I saw the wire framework of a red-painted structure which evidently held the fixed light—a strange, lonely-looklng edifice, but nevertheless a lighthouse, -I decided. Yes, it was Cape San .Roque—an exact likeness of the little photograph in my pocket that I had taken from a book. During the last few months I had looked many times at the lonely palm-fringed point depicted in the photograph, and 1 at the last minute had thrust it into my poc-

ket for a mascot. Now that my position on the Brazilian coast was quite definitely fixed I turned southward for Port Natal. “Only a few minutes now, I thought, skimming low along the line-of. sand-dunes as -the sun sank lower in the western sky. Crossing a hilly part of the coast I suddenly came upon an inlet and.-a white lighthouse, then saw the buildings of a town. "Port Natal!” It was like a dream to see real houses and civilisation, and passing oyer the town I gave another shout for joy. Another Jungle Aerodrome “Aerodome, 15 kilometres S.S.W. Natal, near Lake Pamamiraxn,” my notes, as I steered the machine past the outskirts of the town and over the jungle, where I quickly picked the large clearing in the dark green tropical’ vegetation. Having circled the aerodrome, I shut off the engine arid glided down to land.. Immediately the wheels touched the ground-I checked the stop-watch, which registered 13 hours 15 minutes, my tune for the flight from Thies aerodromer“U was exactly 7.45 p.m. G.M.T. on November 13, so my time from England to Brazil had been two days 13 hours 15 minutes. A wave of pleasure overwhelmed me' as I realised I had lowered the record from England by,® margin of almost a day, and had crossed the Atlantic in the fastest time’ in history. ' As.l climbed out of the cockpit.all my tiredness left me, and I was immediately surrounded by the enthusiastic crowd which had been awaiting my arrival. There were a number, of the Air France pilots and mechanics, who warmly .shook my hand, and l realised they were genuinely pleased. For the French pilots to be so enthusiastic surprised me. It was. not until later, when I had met more French people and had come to love France almost as if it were my own country, that I fully realised what wonderful sports the French are. In their earnest desire for the advancement of aviation they realise that speed means progress and competition prevents stagnation. On hearing of my terrible experience in the doldrums when I thought my compass had failed me, one of the pilots assured me that in the electrical storms peculiar to that region he had known of similar experiences. Met by English Couple The group of people assembled to welcome me included an Englishman -and his wife, who were overjoyed at my arrival and invited me to stay with them at their home. “We had not been out here at the aerodrome very long when we heard the roar oi an engine, then suddenly saw .yow silver aeroplane fly over Natal,’ sal the Englishwoman. “It was a wonderful sight,” she kept saying. “To think that a little over 61 hours ago y®“ were in England!” and her eyes glistened at the thought of her beloved country. “We are very proud that it s a British machine,” put in the Engnf-" man as we walked across to the napgar. (To be Continued.)