A fortunate turn of the wind at about 2 o’clock Sunday morning made the success of the flight possible. Four times on Friday night and early Saturday morning heavy squalls and thunder-storms had threatened to cripple or smash the flying colossus.
During the worst of the storm on Friday night the big airship was suddenly tossed aloft 500 feet and pitched about like a dory in a heavy sea. For a time there was great danger that a vital part would be smashed and a landing forced on the rough water, but the workmanship and material in every part of the 630-foot air giant proved flawless, and Commander Scott got his craft safely through.
In response to calls for aid 200 men were sent from Mineola to Montauk Point, Long Island, where it was at first hoped the R-34 might be towed by the torpedo-boats sent out to aid the airship. The sudden shift in the wind decided Major Scott to continue the flight to Mineola as originally planned.
At 8.35 A. M. the R-34 became visible from Mineola Field, looking at first like a splinter split off from the bluish horizon in the northeast. A thin line of light beneath it made it distinguishable at first at a distance of about twenty miles. Slowly it disengaged itself from the blurring lines where the earth and sky met, and gradually its bulk began to develop. As it approached the field it rose for better observation, and at about 9 o’clock stood out in the sky in its full super-dreadnought proportions, its painted skin responding to the sun, which had become bright a few minutes before, and giving off a dull, metallic gleam between lead and aluminum in tint.
It glided through the air with such smoothness as to give the suggestion that it was motionless and the spectator moving. Like the buzz of a midsummer noontime, the hum of its motors produced no disturbing effect on the quiet.
The ship approached the landing-place at a height of about 2,000 feet, coming from the east-northeast, and passing first over Mitchel Field. It swung around the skirts of Roosevelt Field, while its commanders studied the details of the landing-place. The manœuvres for observation took the dirigible three times around the field before she came to a stop. After 9.11 it shut off its motors, and hovered, like a fixed object, 2,000 feet above the ground.
The time of the R-34 for the transatlantic crossing is slightly greater than the steamship record made by the Mauretania, which, in September, 1909, made the trip from Queenstown to New York in 4 days, 10 hours, and 41 minutes. This is better by approximately 2 hours than the time of the dirigible, which took 4 days, 12 hours, and some odd minutes. The R-34, however, starting from Edinburgh, covered a much greater distance. The rate of speed of the R-34 in covering the 3,200 miles was 29⅖ knots per hour.
Airship Landed
The crew sent the cable on and it made a bull’s-eye in the drop, falling squarely over the main anchor. The workmen, who rushed to catch it on the bound, were flung to the ground and rolled about, as if by the lash of a gigantic whip, but they subdued it in a second and rushed with it to the iron ring. An instant later it was dragged through this opening and the gas-bag was secured. A few moments later the crews of men were pinning it down like Gulliver, attaching anchors all along the hull to prepared anchorages of concrete and steel, sunk deeply into the earth.
The British officers, accompanied by their American guest, Lieutenant-Commander Zachary Lansdowne, climbed out of the gondola to receive the official greetings of the government of the United States and the hearty congratulations of brother seamen and flyers in American and British uniforms. Those who expected to find them worn and wan from their unparalleled experience were astonished to see them all in the finest fettle and spirits, ruddy and vigorous, wide-awake, and full of fun.