Very “original” those oranges, almost historic! They were purchased in Boston in the dark ages of the Friendship’s take-offs. In the three unsuccessful efforts during that fortnight of disappointments, they went out to the ship with us each morning and came back again to the hotel. But sturdy oranges they proved to be, and nearly a month later were still in good form when they finally found a place on our mid-Atlantic menu. On the trans-Atlantic flight three oranges, appropriately from California, comprised my full bill-of-fare with the exception of probably a dozen malted milk tablets. The sandwiches and the coffee I left to the boys. Somehow I wasn’t hungry and, curiously, at the end of the trip there still wasn’t any particular desire for food. * * * * _Log Book:_ 4:15. Bill has just opened the motor to climb over this fog. We are 3800 and climbing. Creatures of fog rear their heads above the surroundings. And what a wallop we get as we go through them. Bill has just picked up XHY British Ship Rexmore, which gives us bearing. 48 no. 39 west 20:45 GMT. The fog is growing patchy and great holes of ocean can be seen. XHY will inform NY of our position. As I look out of the window I see a true rainbow—I mean the famous circle. It is of course moving at our speed and is on our right, sun being to port a trifle. I have heard of color circles in Hawaii. The sun is sinking behind a limitless sea of fog and we have a bright rainbow, a fainter ring and, if I am not seeing things, a third suggestion on the edge. The middle is predominately yellow with a round grey shadow in the center. Is it caused from us or our props? * * * * This is not an unknown phenomenon. Subsequently I learned the rainbows were caused by our propellers. * * * * _Log Book:_ I do believe we are getting out of fog. Marvellous shapes in white stand out, some trailing shimmering veils. The clouds look like icebergs in the distance. It seemed almost impossible to believe that one couldn’t bounce forever on the packed fog we are leaving. The highest peaks of the fog mountains, (oh, we didn’t get out) are tinted pink, with the setting sun. The hollows are grey and shadowy. Bill just got the time. O. K. sez he. 10:20 London time my watch. Pemmican is being passed or just has been. What stuff! The pink vastness reminds me of the Mojave Desert. Also: J’ai miré dans ma prunel Petite minute éblouie La grande lumière éternele. (Bill gets position. We are out 1096 miles at 10:30 London time,)—and having done so he is content to die. I wish I had that poem here. One of the greatest sights is the sun splashing to oblivion behind the fog, but showing pink glows through apertures in the fog. I wish the sun would linger longer. We shall soon be grey-sheathed. We are sinking in the fog. 4000 ft.