Pick-Ups

"Looking back I was stunned to see the rear engine enveloped in flames, which even as I looked, stretched out like a giant blowlamp rearwards over the seat occupied by Elwood Hosmer and beyond the rudder and tail. In the darkness the whole machine must have appeared like a grotesque red comet. The whole situation seemed like a nightmare and quite unreal. Even now I find it difficult to realize we were in a blazing airplane over mid-Atlantic at midnight . . . seemed impossible to put down safely in the dark on a burning seaplane which still had a ton overload. As I drew out of the dive I saw the glow reflected on the wave crests. I managed to put the machine down on one crest, ran down a hill of water, up the next hill, and just prevented the machine from shooting into the air off the next crest."

Frank T. Courtney, British trans-Atlantic flight aspirant, had enough cause for perturbation; must have felt bedeviled. His 1,500-foot forced dive occurred at about 2:15 a. m., 750 miles northwest of Horta, happy starting point in the Azores. He and his companions waited during 15 minutes of flames for an explosion that never came. Heavy seas extinguished the fire which had gutted the engine room. Heavy seas tossed the Dornier-Napier and its passengers for the next twelve hours. They tried smoke signals which almost re-ignited the craft, sent by radio S. 0. S., false position and corrected position signals, grew seasick. All wireless resources spanning the Atlantic came into play. Twelve steamships altered or considered altering their courses for rescue purposes. In the meantime Courtney pondered the almost indefatigable jinx which has attended his flying career (TIME, July 18, 27). At length radio-operator Gilmour said he saw a ship. "Liar," remarked Courtney, near-defeatist.

He had not taken one factor into account. Frank H. Claret is captain of the Atlantic Transport liner Minnewaska. He is as jovial and popular a skipper as is to be found on the high seas. On his account, travelers who are connoisseurs of captains choose the Minnewaska. He was the youngest of 18 children, ran away to sea at the age of 13, and during his motley career has supervised the tiller of every sort of craft. But Captain Claret's capability, his geniality and prowess as a raconteur do not constitute a complete estimate of the man. There is linked with him some apparently metaphysical Baedeker which directs him wherever the fates most joyfully convene. During the War he was on the bridge of the transport Minnehaha when it was torpedoed off the Irish coast. The ship sank so rapidly that it literally shot out from under its Captain's feet. He calmly swam about, assisted twelve wallowing survivors into lifeboats. Then, through long grey hours he bobbed about in icy water, blowing air from his huge lungs into a leaky life preserver, until finally he heard the drawl of a familiar voice, "Oh I say, Claret, is that you?" The voice was in command of a British destroyer which rescued the almost expiring Claret.

The symbolically-minded said it was practically foreordained that oft-rescued Claret should rescue the distrait Courtney. Impalpable ministers of safety and service hover about the master of the Minnewaska. To accomplish this feat of systematic searching the ship was diverted 341 miles from its track. The Atlantic Transport Company wirelessed the Captain, "You were fortunate to carry out rules of sea and save souls, no matter conditions." The plane was not saved.

With Courtney: Canadian-banker Hosmer, his backer; Mechanic Pierce; Radio-operator Gilmour.

Another pick-up was that of the Polish flyers, Kasimir Kubala and Louis Idzikowski, 60 miles off Cape Finisterre, Spain, by the German steamship Samos. After a year's palaver with the Polish Ministry of War, they had left Paris, intending to pursue the southern route to the Azores, thence to Halifax, thence to New York. Ten hours later the steamer Aztec sighted them progressing mysteriously northwards, 463 miles north of the Azores. About two-and-a-half hours later, the steamer Tamakura saw them winging eastward at a position 215 miles northeast of that reported by the Aztec. Manifestly they either were lost or deliberately returning toward Europe. Near Cape Finisterre, clogging in a gasoline feed pipe forced them to descend, the impact smashing the plane's wings. The duo, swimming near the disabled plane, were immediately rescued by the crew of the Samos. They had described a giant arc over the Atlantic; with a minimum cruising speed of 90 miles per hour, they must in their 36 hours of flight have traveled approximately 3,000 miles.

The cause of these curious manoeuvres, whether due to inept navigation or broken instruments was not known.

The boomerang plane Marszalek Pilsudski scorned safety. The Poles anticipated nothing but success.* They relied on a single motor and carried no radio equipment.

* Another Pole, less fortunate, was Lieutenant Kasimir Szalas, Polish army aviator, who flew from Warsaw to sunny, iridescent Bagdad, only to be killed when his Fokker crashed at the southern airdrome. Included in the casualties tragically terminating this 2,438-mile flight were co-pilot Lieutenant Kalina and Mechanic Klosinek, who were both injured. The trio had planned to return on the following day.