WHEN MY COMPASS FAILED

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXXV, Issue 23061, 11 June 1938, Page 11 (Supplement)

WHEN MY COMPASS FAILED

THE Gull roared up through the dark mass, until at 900 ft. I put the machine on an even keel and flew on. With both, feet braced against the rudder-bar and my hand firmly gripping the control column I concentrated all my attention on the blind-flying instruments and the compass. Relaxing my grip on the control column every now' and then so that I should not in my anxiety over-correct any slight error in steering, I flew on, unable to see a yard outside the windows, against which thundered the heavy rain, r.lmost as if bent on destruction. Every minute seemed like an hour. Would I never penetrate that dark curtain of rain wliich seemed drawn round the machine 1 "This Was Torture" Suddenly I saw the compass needle swinging slowly round the dial. "It must be imagination," I thought. Drawing my hand across my eyes I felt the tiny beads of perspiration on my forehead as the needle continued its ghastly movement. I was lost ... If I followed the compass now I should go round in a circle. "It is all up now." I thought frantically. The compass had swung round about 180 degrees. If only I could see the light instead of this terrible blackness enveloping the machine. I almost prayed to see the sky and sea again. No, I should not give in now: there were still the blind-flying instruments, and the machine was flying a straight course by the bank and turn indicator. "I must not lose faith now," I told myself. My eyes were staring at the turn indicator, but I realised that unless jthe compass righted itself it possible thousand miles to Natal on that alone. This was torture. The strain was terrific. The perspiration was trickling down into my eyes, and every muscle and nerve in my body was alert. . .. Were my eyes again deceiving me, for slowly but surely the compass needle was swinging back to its former position? Thank God I was saved, and within a few minutes the darkness outside the cabin gave place to light, and once more I saw the calm sea beneath. Prayer of Thanks All the muscle that had been taut for so long relaxed, and I sank back in the seat breathing a prayer of thanks. Taking out my handkerchief I mopped my forehead, and throwing open the windows let some air into the stifling cabin. I saw the compass needle steady, and once more thanked God for my preservation. I realised by my clock a 9 I entered up the log that I had crossed the equator during the storm. The sky was still overcast, and my spirits sank as I saw more storms looming ahead. Very soon I plunged once more into a succession of heavy rain-storms, and although they were not so thick through, it was a strain blind-flying for so long. As soon as I would emerge into the iight again from the nerveracking experience of one storm it was to see another ahead. They looked something like huge black mushrooms, seeming to come up from the sea to join the clouds, resembling photographs I had seen of cloudbursts. /

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 storms it was good to see the sun, the sky, and the sea again. "Nine hours out from Thies," I 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 eleven hours I had been completely isolated from the rest of thG world, with no one to talk to, no sign of life. The blue sea everywhere made me long for the sight of other human beings, a ship, or anything to relieve the monotony of the vast blue waste stretched before me. Jungle or desert stretches would be a pleasure to fly over compared with this. Breathless With Joy The 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 stern. I was almost breathless with joy, for the ship must have come from Natal, in which case I 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

• When at last I entered a fine zone 1 felt thoroughly worn out, but after some lunch and a drink of black coffee felt quite refreshed again. My altitude was 600 ft., and I calculated my position as about 1100 miles out from Thies. That meant approximately another 800 miles to the coast of Brazil.

eight degrees compensation 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, I decided. As my altitude was still only 600 feet it was quite easy for me to see the name of the vessel, which I read with such joy and eagerness that it must bo stamped on my heart for all time. The name painted on the bows read Belgiquo. . 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 ship. How 1 longed to circle, for although the crew must have been excited to seo a small silver monoplane winging its way over their ship so far from land, their feelings were not to be compared with mine, so overjoyed did I feel at sighting the vessel. "Wish I had radio and could ask them what port they are from." I thought longingly as a terrible doubt assailed me that they may bo from

Danger of Drift ' The sun had penetrated the clouds, and was burning down on to the blue soa, which had lost its calm look and was now capped by myriads of whitetopped waves. Tho sea became more turbulent, until at last huge wii'*es left great trails of spray, which the the wind caught and carried along like thousands of streaming white pennants. Tho strong south-easterly wind seemed to be increaa'ng jn strength, and by aligning tho nose of the aeroplane against the waves I realised that the machine was drifting northward. Ever, at the low altitude at which tho Gull was flying I calculated that tho present rate of drift would carry me well ofF my course. There was not another aerodrome north of Natal for hundreds of miles, and the petrol margin was not great enough to allow for any but the smallest error in navigation. Apart from this there was tho record to consider, and any error meant loss of time, for as I was endeavouring to break tho record of a multi-engined flying-boat equipped with radio and a crew of experienced men, every mile I drifted northward of tho course meant precious time wasted. A New Course 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 so far from land, I decided to alter course eight degrees to port to compensate for the drift. This would bring mo out near Cape San Roque, where I expected to make landfall. Leaning forward 1 unlocked the compass verge ring and set the machine on its new course. Vainly I the horizon for sortie sign of

Ceara or Maranhao, botl miles north of Natal. doubt from my mind, I c

i hundreds of L'hrusting the lecided not to

Hours of Terrible Anxiety Flying Blind ATLANTIC CROSSED IN RECORD TIME Jean Batten Continues Her Thrilling Life Story (Copyright)

let anything mar my joy at sdeing the ship and at the realisation that 1 was only about three hundred miles from land. Several times I looked back, until the ship was merely a speck in the distance, Timo 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 twelve miles long, with a cone rising to a height of over a thousand feet. In good weather it should be visible from a great distance, although, looking closely at the chart, I saw that it lay almost fifty miles south of my course and about a hundred and fifty miles from the Brazilian coast. After Twelve Hours 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 felt terribly disappointed at missing a sight of Fernando Noronha Island, and very tired at the continual blind llying ; which after twelve hours in the air seemed even more difficult than ever.

Emerging once more into the light after a particularly heavy downpour 1 saw a faint yellow line on 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 searched the horizon for some sign of the coast. Bending down I switched on to the last petrol-tank. Petrol for only one more, and still no sign ot land. . . Even though I was flying so low, surely I should he within sight of land now, I thought anxiously. The Lonely Coast 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-dunes 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 Roque!" I cried, hardly believing my eyes. It seemed too good to be true that after steering for thirteen hours over almost two thousand 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 bo 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-looking edifice, but nevertheless a lighthouse, I decided. Yes, it was Capo 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 tho lonely palm-fringed point depicted in .tho photograph, and at the last minute had thrust it into my pocket 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 tho sun.sank lower in the western sky. Happy Landing 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 over the town I gave another shout for joy. "Aerodrome, 15 kilometres S.S.W. Natal, near Lake Parnamiram," read my notes, as I steered the machine past the outskirts of the town and over tho jungle, where I quickly picked up the largo clearing in tho dark green tropical vegetation. Having circled the aerodrome, I shut off the engino and glided down to land. Immediately

the wheels touched the ground I cheeked the stop-watch, which registered thirteen hours fifteen minutes, my time for the flight from Thies Aerodrome. It was exactly 7.45 p.m. G.M.T. on November 13, so my time from England to Brazil liad been two days thirteen hours fifteen minutes. A wave of pleasure overwhelmed me as 1 realised I had lowered the record from England by a margin of almost a day, and had crossed the Atlantic in the fastest time in history. As i 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 Franco pilots and mechanics, who warmly shook my hand, and I 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 Franco 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 spoed means progress and competition prevents stagnation. "We Are Very Proud" On hearing of my terrible experience in the doldrums when I thought my compass had failed mo one of the pilots assured me that in the electrical storms peculiar to that region he had known of similar experiences. The group of people assembled to welcome me included an Englishman and his wife, who were overjoyed at my arrival and invited me to etay with them at their home. "We had not been out here at the aerodrome very long when we heard the roar of an engine, then suddenly saw your silver aeroplane 11 v over Natal," said the Englishwoman. "It was a wonderful sight," she kept saying. "To think that a little o\er sixtv-ono hours ago you were in England!" ard her eyes glistened at the thought of her beloved country. "We arc very proud that it s a British machine," put in the Englishman as wo walked across to the hangar. When the refuelling was competed we left the aerodrome and drove toward Natal. The car was well sprung, and sinking deep into the comfortable seat I breathed a sigh of relief. Closing my eves, I could still hear the roar of the 200 h.p. engine, and it was difficult to realise that the flight was over and I was really in South America, and not still over the ocean. The terrible storms seemed a long way off now. 1 must have slept for €i few minutes, for on opening mv eyes I saw that we were driving along a track- above which the dark green trees of the jungle towered like a great arch. The road was not good; it was fortunate that the car was so well sprung. A: one stage to pass another car we had to mount the bank by the roadside and drive along at an alarming angle. An Armed Guard

"What a terrible road! Is it the main one, and do they drive the air line passengers along this to the aerodrome?" 1 inquired.

South America.

"There aren't any regular passengers," said my companions. "You see, the transatlantic 'planes don't take passengers —only mail —and the Clipper ships of the Pan American Airways are flying-boats, and they land down at the port." As we were about to enter Natal the car was stopped by an armed guard. My friends were closely questioned. I was very glad that 1 had left my revolver at Thies, for in all probability it would have been confiscated. It appeared that special precautions were being taken because of recent trouble and the imminent possibility of a revolution. On being assured that the car contained 110 firearms the soldiers allowed us to drive on into the town. We stopped outside a largo house, and traced our way through a garden, the beauty of which I did not realise until next morning, when daylight revealed it in all its glory. After a refreshing bath I changed my'flying-siiit for a frock and joined my friends, who were genuinely surprised at the sudden transformation of the tired aviator. "If you listen to the radio you may hear the announcement of your flight being broadcast from London," said my host, looking at his watch. "It's just about time for tho news broadcast," ho added. Joy of Achievement Drawing a chair close up to the radio-set I sat down and listened intently. I could still hear the roar of my engine, which had mado 1110 practically deaf. "Thero it is," said my friend, and through tho roaring far, far away, I heard a voice speaking. There was a pause, then quite clearly tho voice carne through again: "Miss Jean Batten successfully completed her flight from England to South America by landing,at tho aerodrome at Port Natal, Brazil, this afternoon. Her total time for the flight from England was G1 hours 15 minutes, and this lowers by almost a whole day the record previously held by Mr. James Mollison." Tho voice paused again, then continued broadcasting tho rest of tho news. I turned to my host. "It is wonderful to think that within a few hours of the landing the news is being sent out from London." Until I heard the voice broadcasting tho news it had all seemed unreal and more like a dream, but now the realisation that tho flight was accomplished came to 1110, and I experienced once again the greatest and most lasting of joys: the joy of achievement. (To be continued daily.).