LOST FLYER'S THRILLING ADVENTURES IN THE DESERT.

Star (Christchurch), Volume XLIV, Issue 661, 14 January 1933, Page 8

LOST FLYER'S THRILLING ADVENTURES IN THE DESERT.

To-day’s Special Article.

Victor Smith was Mistaken for a God By Fierce African Nomads .

A story comparable with any of those in the Arabian Nights was told by the young flyer, Victor Smith, when he reached London after his protracted flight from the Cape. He had been nearly a week lost in the desert, surrounded by lions while he slept beside his machine, regarded as a god by fierce desert tribesmen and saved by the aid of a slave.

by his experiences, Smith is talking of flying to the Cape in an attempt to beat Mrs Mollison’s record. “ Going back is easier than coming,” he says. “ I am sure with this plane I could fly the distance in three days.” Smith, who is only nineteen, learned to fly to visit rapidly his father’s two boot factories, which are situated in South Africa 600 miles apart. He had planned his flight for July, but altered his plans when convinced that October gave him a better chance of breaking the Cape Town-London record. Bad weather delayed him until the middle of November, and took him into the air just about the time that Mrs Mollison was making her amazing record flight to the Cape. Petrol Leak. “ I had been following the Niger, and left it to fly to Gao by compass,” Smith says. 44 Suddenly I found that the joint of the petrol feed connecting the main tank with the auxiliary tank had been leaking steadily. Instead of having, as I thought, about twenty-five gallons of petrol, I had only enough to keep me in the air for ten minutes. Hurriedly I circled, looking for somewhere to land, saw the sun glinting on a pool of water in a dry river bed, and dropped down into an S-shaped clearing. Trees were everywhere and I had to zigzag through them. 44 It was a fearsome place and looked dreadfully lonely. But I felt that civilisation must be somewhere near, for Dori was not very far away. I thought I would give somebody a chance to find me, as J didn’t wish to leave the plane. The day drew on, but nobody came in sight. The sun scorched down, driving me under the wings of the plane for shade. Great waves of heat rose from the dry ground, and I got parched with thirst. My hopes, too, began to fade. I had to go in search of the pool I had seen, taking frequent rests under the shade of the trees. Water. “ Half a mile away I found it. The water was brackish and horrible to taste. I had two oranges—untold gold wouldn’t have bought them—a little chocolate and some rusks. As sparingly as I could I squeezed a little of the orange juice into the water to make it more palatable. When they had gone I used fruit salts and then acid drops. But every time I had to hold my nose and gulp it down. “ Night fell and I made some sort of bed under the wing with the cowling over me to keep out the chill air. All the clothes I had were my flying kit and a spare pair of trousers and shirt. The cold grew more intense and I shivered so much I could not sleep. Then lions began roaring about me. I had no arms, for the revolver I had brought was useless, my ‘ kid ’ brother having forgotten to get ammunition. Next morning, on my way for water I saw the spoor of two lions which had been Jo the water-hole. They were once within 200 yards of the plane. Desert Visitor. “ Then I had another surprise. Suddenly from behind a rock a man, naked except for a few rags and beads, who looked more like a beast than a human being, peered

at me. When I tried to approach he darted off, but presently came back very cautiously. I felt very like Robinson Crusoe with Man Friday as I attempted to gain his confidence. I scribbled a note and held it up with some coins. He took it at last and darted off—to some white people in the vicinity, I hoped. But when he came back that night he was accompanied fay a number of veiled figures in flowing robes, mounted on horses. All were armed with swords, spears and carbines. Dozens of naked followers came with them. Then I realised that these were some of the fierce Tauregs, that nomad tribe which prowls about French West Africa. But they seemed friendly enough. The chiefs rode up and, attempting to impress them, I switched on the navigation lights. of the plane. They backed their horses in awe, and I believe from that time they looked upon me as some sort of god. “ They offered me goat’s milk in skins, but it tasted nearly as vile as the water I had been drinking. When they were not looking I threw it away. At last I made them understand I wanted a note taken to the nearest white people. I wrote about forty notes and saw the messenger ride away on a camel towards, I hoped, Dori. He was a slave named Akile, and seemed the most intelligent of the lot. I don’t know what I should have done without him. “ Next morning we all went to their encampment, two or three miles away. It consisted only of a few low tents of blankets inside a hedge of thorns to keep the lions away. They were extraordinarily hospitable. They built me a hut with poles and a kind of canvas for a roof, and appointed a slave to sleep at my feet to keep the lions at a distance. The principal chief, whom they called some name like Warra Warra, hung amulets round my neck as a sign of friendship. We bathed together in a pool, and then we went riding on their camels and horses. They seemed to have no civilisation as we know it, and the only modern thing I saw in the camp was a darning needle one of the women was using. Escape in Sight. “ Three days later Akile came back with two white French soldiers. They brought me food and sixteen gallons of petrol, which meant my escape. I fell on the food as if I had never eaten before; and I was wild with joy at the idea of getting away. I had persuaded the chief to lend me slaves and we had grubbed up some of the thorn bushes to make a run-way for the plane. The Frenchmen helped me to finish the job, and I tanked up and set the propellor running. “ All the tribe had turned out to see the last of me. It was a curious leave-taking. I could only tell them by signs how grateful I was to them for being so kind to me. On their part I still believe they thought I was a god and awe was mingled with their farewells. As the plane rose from the sand and soared above them I could see the amazement in their eyes. I waved my hand cheerily and they gave me a solemn salute as I flew over their heads for the last time. I had been with them five and a half days, and all the time they had treated me, in their own way, as an honoured guest from another world.’*