Even under the clouds, which were only about eight hundred feet above the water, the visibility was very poor. A thick mist was shutting in on them. They flew on, trusting to their instruments, and once, later in the afternoon, the clouds parted for a few moments and gave them just a glimpse of land nearly dead ahead—not long enough, however, for them to identify it positively. They hoped for another such break in the clouds to help them with the navigation.
The bumpiness of the air was increasing. Jack caught a wireless call from some station in Canada, but the message was so badly garbled by the static that they could not be sure of its location. The call of some ship could be faintly heard, but it also was too confused to be of any use to them.
Between five-thirty and six they ran into an area of clear weather, which lasted long enough for them to place definitely the land ahead as Cape Race. It was just what they needed, and confirmed Jack’s navigation figures. Using it as their last point of land, Jack changed their course slightly and the real ocean voyage began.
They were not sure they had been sighted at this point, but rather hoped so, and that the world would know they were well on their way. Below them the sea looked angry and was flecked with white.
In his mind’s eye, Kiwi had pictured this breaking away from land, and had thought that he would be able to look far to the eastward across the Atlantic and feel its immensity. He was not so fortunate, for directly ahead and seeming to bear down upon them were ragged gray clouds, and rolling along the surface of the water a thick gray fog.
The plane was still being tossed about by the confused wind, and now that they had their last bearing determined, it was the Skipper’s idea to try and climb over these clouds. They were soon amongst them. Darkness seemed to shut in almost at once, and the Skipper switched on the running lights on the instrument board. Jack was watching his instruments closely, checking their drift.
Kiwi, having no light in his compartment, crept up on the tank and lay there watching the progress of their plane through these dense clouds. The hand on their altimeter slowly turned ... three thousand feet ... four thousand ... and if anything the clouds seemed thicker. The fog condensed on the windows of their cockpit and was carried backwards in wisps of water. Five thousand ... six thousand ... still as dark as ever. The wing-tips could scarcely be seen.
At times the plane would plunge and rear, and Kiwi had to brace himself to stay in position.
By the time they had reached nine thousand feet the darkness seemed a little less dense. At ten thousand they came out into comparative twilight. But even here they could not see the stars for there were other light masses of clouds above them.
A long time passed, with only the drone of the motor to be heard, and with nothing to be seen except piled up clouds in every direction. Kiwi must have dozed, for he awoke feeling stiff and cold, how much later he did not know. It took him a few seconds to realize where he was. Then he saw Dad still at the stick and Jack bending over his wireless key, tiny blue sparks showing that he was sending a message. Kiwi was just able to follow the code which told him that Jack was asking some ship if his signals were loud. The clock on the instrument board said half past two. The ship replied, and Jack wrote the message out on a little pad beside his instrument and showed it to the Skipper: