He had followed it for some time at an altitude of about five thousand feet when he overtook the same storm. The tops of the clouds were too high to surmount. They also extended nearly to the ground, and were emptying torrents of rain over miles of country. There was nothing to do but fly through them; and although in those days he had had little or no experience in flying a compass course, he felt that now would be a good time to practise it.
Entering the clouds he had been appalled at the turmoil. The swirling winds carried him this way and that. He was dropped down fifty or a hundred feet and as quickly snatched up and carried upwards. He fought the storm for half an hour, marveling at the force of it.
His whole attention was devoted to keeping his plane on an even keel. Occasionally he glanced at his compass to see it turning this way and that, so that he had only a hazy idea of his general course. He watched, fascinated, as the lightning played through the thick clouds. Always he kept a close watch downward to catch the first view of the ground, hoping against hope that his guiding railway line would appear somewhere.
When the air did clear below, he was horrified to find nothing but water beneath him. For a matter of seconds he flew on, hoping that it might prove to be a lake or the wide mouth of a river.
Slowly it was borne in on his consciousness that he was out over the North Sea and that very probably his compass had been playing him tricks and could not be depended upon. However, the right way must be back, and losing no time he swung his plane around and started in that direction.
Almost at once he was again swallowed up by the storm, the rain coming down upon him in torrents.
His goggles became obscured and he pushed them up to get a clearer view ahead. The unaccustomed rush of wind and rain in his eyes made it impossible for him to see with any distinctness. After coming through the storm the first time, he had promised himself that never again would he voluntarily repeat such an experience. But here he was back in it again, fighting as hard as before to keep the plane flying in some semblance of a straight line. He could keep no track of the time, and when the storm did lessen he felt that it must have been hours that he had been fighting those contrary swirls of air.
A great feeling of relief welled up in him as he at last saw land underneath. Even though he had no idea of his location, at least there was solid ground under him. Bewildered, he looked for a sign—some town or some familiar forest formation—that would locate him.
Off to one side he saw a railroad line. Whether it was the same one that he had been following or not, he could not tell. But it would surely lead him to a place that might help him. The plane he was flying was a difficult one to land on a small or uneven field, and he had no intention of taking that risk unless it was necessary.
Sighting a town ahead he flew low, hoping to read the sign on the railroad station. His eyes still smarted from the rain. The station proved to be too well surrounded by telegraph wires on tall poles and the chimneys of a factory to permit him to fly near enough to make out the name.