We must have been dropping through this black and unholy turmoil for nearly three or four minutes when suddenly it became light again, a great, ragged opening appeared in the cloud, and the green earth slid up swiftly to meet us.
In the glare of the sun I saw Oakley making a last effort to save us; but I knew it was hopeless. I held my breath, waited for the crash, and then let forth a loud cry of joy—for with a last and almost human effort the machine gave a lurch, flattened out and gracefully glided to earth. After a spinning, nose-diving and side-slipping career of over 8,000 feet we had alighted as gently as if our whole object had been to disturb not even a blade of grass.
"Well!" I cried to Oakley. "We seem to have landed all right. But, where?"
He unfastened his belt, alighted, wiped his forehead, and said:
"God knows! It's earth—good, solid earth. And that's all that matters for the moment."
I clambered down on this comforting bit of green terra firma and looked heavenwards at the tail end of the departing cloud in which we had spent that agonizing eternity of unrest.
"My godfather's trousers!" exclaimed Oakley. "I dunno how we scraped through!"
"I don't know how you did! All I could do was to sit tight and wait for the thud."
"And I waited for the light—then shoved the nose up and trusted to luck. . . . This looks like a sort of clearing in the middle of a forest."
I made a cursory inspection of the aerodrome which Mother Nature had so thoughtfully provided for us, and saw that we were hemmed in on all sides by giant trees and dense and gloomy foliage. The sunlight fell on us slantwise, like limelight on a stage—as dramatic a setting as one could desire for a first landing in a new country. The earth beneath us was wet, but firm and even, a spot probably never before trodden by the foot of man. I felt immensely important—and yet terribly little the moment I looked upwards at that silent, watching ring of trees.