We tried for four hours to get away in a wind we had been praying for. The most unexpected and disappointing circumstance ruined the take-off. The receding tide made the sea so heavy that the spray was thrown so high that it drowned the outboard motors. As we gathered speed, the motors would cut and we’d lose the precious pull necessary. The ship seemed so loggy that Bill felt there must be water in the pontoons. So Slim stayed on the job and opened every hatch to see. He found only about a gallon and swears he’ll never open another one. We unloaded every ounce of stuff from the plane—camera, my coat, bags, cushions, etc. She would have gone but for the motors. There was salt water above the prop. hubs. I received some letters today and Andy brought over some “day after the take-off” papers in Boston. I couldn’t read them under the circumstances of this day. We were all too disappointed to talk. The boys are in bed and I am going soon. We rise at six. Wednesday Evening. The days grow worse. I think each time we have reached the low, but find we haven’t. Vainly we tried to rise today with our load. Today Bill and Slim tried to take her off after she had been “degassed” by 300 lbs. The left motor cut and they couldn’t get her off light. While working with it they set some yokel to watch the tide, but he forgot, and it ran out leaving them on a sandy ledge. They got the motor repaired and will have to go out at midnight to float her down to the buoy. We may try for the Azores tomorrow, if possible at dawn. I went to the Catholic School for maps but found nothing helpful but a huge globe. I promised to write the sisters if we hit land anywhere. I am going to bed as I can’t help and none of us are sleeping much any more and we need all we can get. We are on the ragged edge. Bill is getting ship reports at midnight tonight and will make his own weather map from them. * * * * The next log book entry emphasizes our isolation. The only newspapers we’d seen had been a stray batch from Boston, describing the take-off. By then that seemed in the dark ages. So far as we knew we were comfortably forgotten by the world. Echoes only came to us in personal messages, and at that time it was impossible to realize that any general interest remained. * * * * _Log Book:_ Apparently from the telegrams to me today our troubles are painted heavily for they all say—“stick to it,” “we’re for you,” etc. One inventor has written he will install his invention gratuitously and guarantee we can get off with maximum load. Our efficiency will be increased 35% etc. It will take only a month to get the apparatus here, and twelve hours to install. We all wish we had a dozen with us.