“The engines were warmed up. The great ship was ready—no, not quite ready. But she was eager to be off. The America broke the rope that held her, and glided down the hill on which she had been held. It was a tense moment. Would they be able to get this great hulk into the air? Along the ground she sped, gathering momentum. Her wheels lifted. There was a shout. She had cleared the ground. But the danger was not over. They must fly to at least 400 feet. Then the America showed her metal. She climbed on a turn, and they were flying at an altitude of 400 feet. They were off! “On they sped to their destination at last. The wind was behind them, helping them; the weather was disagreeable, and slightly foggy, but this did not bother them. They reached Nova Scotia easily. But when they got there they got a horrible shock. They had run into a fog. But what a fog! One so thick that they couldn’t see the land or ocean under them. And they flew for 2,000 miles like this, absolutely blind, with black towering clouds ahead of them, below them, and when they ran through them, all around them. “The strain was terrible. In addition, Byrd calculated that they had used more fuel than he had expected, because of climbing so high to get over the clouds, and they might not have enough to take them to Europe. But they did not want to turn back. They would take their chance. Balchen and Acosta piloted with great skill, and Byrd took his turn at the wheel while they slept. The wind was with them, and they made excellent speed. Radio messages came to them clearly. They judged their position, and their gas supply, and found that they had underestimated their remaining gas. They could get to Rome. “On the afternoon of the second day they came out of the thick fog, and saw the welcome water beneath them. They were bound for France, and they hit the coastline at Finisterre. They headed for Paris. Then they radioed ahead for the weather report. Fog! Fog and storm, with its center at Paris. This was the worst thing that could possibly have happened to them, this arriving at their destination in a fog. But they went on. It would be a triumph, and an addition to aviation knowledge if they could land in a storm, after coming all the way from America. “They figured finally that they must be almost over Paris. But suddenly the fog below them was pierced by a queer light. It was the revolving signal of a lighthouse! Their compass had gone back on them, and they had made a circle, coming out not at Paris, but back to the coast of France.