We had landed at 8:40 A. M., after being in the air for sixteen hours and twenty-eight minutes. The flight from coast to coast, on a straight course of one thousand six hundred and eighty nautical miles, lasted only fifteen hours and fifty-seven minutes, our average speed being one hundred and five to one hundred and six knots. For this relatively rapid performance, a strong following wind was largely responsible. As a result of the burst connections from tank to carburetor, gasoline began to swill into the rear cockpit while we were still inside it. Very fortunately the liquid did not ignite. Alcock had taken care to switch off the current on the magnetos, as soon as he realized that a crash was imminent, so that the sparks should have no chance of starting a fire. We scrambled out as best we could, and lost no time in salving the mailbag and our instruments. The gasoline rose rapidly, and it was impossible to withdraw my chart and the Baker navigating machine before they had been damaged. I then fired two white Very flares, as a signal for help. Almost immediately a small party, composed of officers and men belonging to the military detachment at Clifden, approached from the wireless station. "Anybody hurt?"--the usual inquiry when an aëroplane is crashed--was the first remark when they arrived within shouting distance. "No." "Where you from?"--this when they had helped us to clear the cockpit. "America." Somebody laughed politely, as if in answer to an attempt at facetiousness that did not amount to much, but that ought to be taken notice of, anyhow, for the sake of courtesy. Quite evidently nobody received the statement seriously at first. Even a mention of our names meant nothing to them, and they remained unconvinced until Alcock showed them the mail-bag from St. John's. Then they relieved their surprised feelings by spontaneous cheers and painful hand-shakes, and led us to the officers' mess for congratulations and hospitality. Burdened as we were with flying kit and heavy boots, the walk over the bog was a dragging discomfort. In addition, I suddenly discovered an intense sleepiness, and could easily have let myself lose consciousness while standing upright. Arrived at the station, our first act was to send telegrams to the firm of Messrs. Vickers, Ltd., which built the Vickers-Vimy, to the London _Daily Mail_, which promoted the transatlantic competition, and to the Royal Aëro Club, which controlled it. My memories of that day are dim and incomplete. I felt a keen sense of relief at being on land again; but this was coupled with a certain amount of dragging reaction from the tense mental concentration during the flight, so that my mind sagged. I was very sleepy, but not physically tired.