The afternoon was wearing away. Jack frequently stared eagerly off to the west, when the sun's glowing face was veiled for a brief time by some friendly cloud. Several times he believed he could see something that looked like a stretch of water, but dared not voice his hopes.
Then came a time when a heavier cloud than usual masked the brightness of the declining sun. Another long earnest look and Jack burst out with a triumphant shout.
"Tom, I can see the Channel, as sure as you're born!" was the burden of his announcement; and of course this caused the pilot to demand that he too be given a chance to glimpse the doubly welcome sight.
There could not be any mistake about it. Tom corroborated what Jack had declared. It was undoubtedly the English Channel they saw, showing that their journey from the American front had been successfully accomplished.
"Now for Dunkirk!" jubilantly cried Jack, looking as though he had thrown off the weight of dull care, and was once more light-hearted. "And by the same token, Tom, unless I miss my guess, that may be the city we're heading for over yonder a little further to the south."
"Then I kept my course fairly well, you'll admit," the pilot shouted at him, naturally feeling conscious of a little pride over his achievement.
Rapidly they pushed on with a slight change of course. Jack kept using the glasses and reported his observations to the busily engaged pilot.
"It'll be dusk, likely, when we land," he observed at one time. "But that doesn't cut much figure, for we can easily find our way down to Beverly's hangar on the coast. He said it was only a few miles from town, and they'll know at the aviation field, of course."
"He gave us the name of a British officer who would post us," added Tom.
After a bit they were passing over the outskirts of Dunkirk, and making for what appeared to be an aviation field, since they could see various hangars, and another plane was just settling ahead of them.