Kiwi had been watching with absorbed interest while this maneuver was going on. He asked Dad if he might try. The Skipper said it was impossible; but Jack was on Kiwi’s side and thought it might be accomplished.
With a little jockeying they got Kiwi down to the window, and with Jack holding firmly to his legs he leaned far out and attempted to wrap the tape around the break. The rushing of the wind was more than he had counted on, and he felt it pull and claw at his clothes as he hung half out of the window. In this awkward position it was almost impossible for him to do anything, and he motioned to Jack to haul him back into the cockpit.
Then Kiwi put forth the suggestion which made both the Skipper and Jack catch their breath. Would Jack help him through the window and lower him until his feet touched the struts which supported the wing, where he felt that he could brace himself and do the job?
Kiwi saw a look of horror pass over Dad’s face, but he was sure it could be done. Using all the arguments he could think of, he at last convinced Jack, and Dad grudgingly gave his consent for the try.
Slipping out of his jacket so that Jack could get a firm hold on the leather belt at his waist, Kiwi started, feet first, through the window. Inch by inch he wormed his way out, reaching with his feet for the strut where it joined the fuselage.
The Skipper banked the plane over to help Kiwi as much as he could. He saw the perspiration stand out on Jack’s face, and noticed its set expression as Kiwi’s feet groped about for support. Another inch and he might reach it! The force of the wind was terrific.
Kiwi, under this strain, was not conscious of the cold now. He had to look down to find the strut. Just at this time they were passing over mountains of clouds. He caught a glimpse, hundreds of feet below, of a yawning cloud valley with the churning masses of gray fog in a whirling turmoil. Its awful immensity scared him for a second. Then he located the strut with his foot and tested its strength.
As soon as Jack felt that Kiwi had some support, he lowered him until both his feet were pressed against the strut. Then Kiwi slowly faced around and found that he could just reach the pipe line. The orange side of the plane stretched out behind him, and he was vaguely conscious of the word “Dauntless” in huge block letters.
Keeping a grip on Kiwi’s belt with one hand, Jack with his other hand passed out the roll of tape, and the slow work of winding it commenced. Inch by inch Kiwi wound, the fuel freezing his fingers in the terrific cold. He had one layer completed, and Jack passed out the shellac. Somehow or other he got a coat of it over the tape. It dried almost instantly, and the difficult work of another layer was begun.
Kiwi signalled to Jack that he must rest, and Jack eased him over to the side, where he hung shaking with weariness from his efforts.