“The sea was exceedingly rough, and despite the utmost efforts of the Danish crew it was one and a half hours before they succeeded in taking us off. It was only at a great risk to themselves, in fact, that they eventually succeeded in launching a small boat, owing to the heavy gale from the northeast which was raging.
“It was found impossible to salve the machine, which, however, is most probably still afloat somewhere in the mid-Atlantic.
“Altogether, before being picked up, we had been fourteen and a half hours out from Newfoundland. We were picked up at 8.30 (British summer time).
“From Captain Duhn of the Mary and his Danish crew we received the greatest kindness on our journey home. The ship carried no wireless, and it was not until we arrived off the Butt of Lewis that we were able to communicate with the authorities.
“Off Loch Eireball we were met by the destroyer Woolston and conveyed to Scapa Flow, where we had a splendid welcome home from Admiral Freemantle and the men of the Grand Fleet.”
Commander Mackenzie Grieve, the navigator of the Sopwith, said:
“When but a few hundred miles out a strong northerly gale drove us steadily out of our course. It was not always possible, owing to the pressure of the dense masses of cloud, to take our bearings, and I calculate that at the time we determined to cut across the shipping route we were about 200 miles off our course.
“Up to this change of direction we had covered about 1,000 miles of our journey to the Irish coast.”
Vickers “Vimy” Bomber Makes First Non-Stop Flight from America to Europe
Leaving St. John’s, Newfoundland, at 12.13 P. M. New York time on Saturday, June 14, the Vickers “Vimy” bomber, bimotored Rolls-Royce aeroplane, with two four-bladed propellers, and piloted by Captain John Alcock and navigated by Lieutenant Arthur W. Brown, landed at Clifden, Galway, Ireland, at 4.40 A. M. New York time, aerially transnavigating 1,960 miles of the Atlantic Ocean, from the New World to the Old, in 16 hours and 12 minutes, or at an average rate of 120 miles an hour. Although the moon was full, the fog and mist was so dense that the aviators could not see the moon, sun, or stars for fourteen out of the sixteen hours in the air. During the flight they flew through atmosphere so cold that ice caked on the instruments. Nevertheless, the engines functioned consistently throughout the journey, which was, in many ways, as remarkable as the voyage of “The Ancient Mariner,” whom Coleridge’s poem of that name describes.