The last fifty miles were made on the deck—in fact, once or twice the hull actually touched a wave-top. The pilot extinguished the cabin lights and we peered ahead for a first glimpse of our objective. The sky was clear, but the moon would not rise until nine, so that the only indication we had that Yat was at hand was a slight deepening in the tropic night ahead and to the right, which the pilot said marked Mount Kosan, the ancient crater. But no sooner had we gotten this vaguely orienting information, than the flaps were lowered, the plane slowed to under 100 miles per hour, and we touched the water. The co-pilot opened the side door, and we crouched together peering out. The plane taxied over a choppy cross sea toward the shadow of the island, while we squinted through the salt spray. Presently the engines dropped to idle, and the rumble of surf became audible.
"Practically dead calm tonight," said the co-pilot reassuringly. "Wind usually dies out at sunset. You won't have any trouble getting through. Just watch your step when you're ashore."
"That's always good advice for sailors," remarked Baker.
As the plane lost headway, the white line of surf and the silhouettes of cocoa palms took shape. Evidently the plantations came right to the water's edge at this point, a circumstance for which we were all thankful. I was just turning to Martin with some remark about this when the pilot called softly and urgently. "We're as close as we can drift safely. Jump, and good luck."
"Righto, and thanks," came Baker's voice, and then a splash. I was next. I took a deep breath, and clutched my rubber covered bundle of radio gear. I leaped out into darkness. An instant later I was gasping for air beside Baker. Two more splashes in quick succession and then the engines picked up speed, the dark shape of the wing overhead moved off, and we were alone.
FOR A moment we swam in circles, getting our bearings. Baker had removed his glasses for the jump, and so we depended mainly on Martin for directions. There was really no need for worry, however, for it soon became apparent that a strong onshore current was bringing us in to the breakers at a good clip. The line of phosphorescence marking their crests was now hardly a hundred yards away.
With Martin in the lead we began to swim. Presently one of the swells picked us up quite gently, moved us forward, and then suddenly exploded into a foamy torrent which tossed us head over heels and left us gasping and spitting sand on the beach.
As quickly as possible we got into the shelter of the first ranks of trees. Here we dug a hole at the base of a great cocoanut palm and buried the rubber suits and cases of radio gear, along with a small vial of radium D. This had been provided for us, along with the Geiger counter, by the thorough Mr. Stimson as a means for locating our cache when we returned, if we should miss our bearings.
It was 7:45 when this chore was completed. We had an hour and twenty-three minutes to moonrise.