Men had come out of the war with imaginations afire over the possibilities of aircraft. One challenge lay open—the Atlantic—no one had flown it. In the breathing spell brought by the Armistice, the British were preparing their new Zeppelin R-34 for the crossing; two English planes were being shipped to Newfoundland to try to fly back; the U. S. Navy had a seaplane crossing in prospect. There was even a German plan. A new Zeppelin had just been finished at Friedrichshafen when the Armistice was signed, and the crew planned to fly it to America as a demonstration—but authorities got wind of it and blocked the venture. But of all the Atlantic crossings about which men were dreaming in early 1919, none is more interesting than the one projected for the little blimps. The C-5, newest of the non-rigid airships built for the Navy, was stationed at Montauk, and there one night a group of officers sat intensively studying charts and weather maps. St. John’s, Newfoundland, 1,400 miles away, would be the first leg of the trip. It was easily within the cruising radius of the ship, particularly if they got helping winds, which they should if the time was carefully picked. From there to Ireland was another 1850 miles, also within range with the prevailing westerly winds. Permission was asked from Washington, and the Navy flashed back its approval and its blessing, assigned five experienced officers to the project: Lieut. Comdr. Coil, Lieuts. Lawrence, Little, Preston, and Peck. The USS Chicago was sent ahead to St. John’s to stand by and give any help needed. Shortly after sunrise on May 15, 1919, motors were warmed up and the ship shoved off from the tip of Long Island with six men aboard headed for Newfoundland. At 7 o’clock the next morning they circled over the deck of the _Chicago_, dropped their handling lines to the waiting ground crew on a rocky point at St. John’s. The first leg had been made in a little more than 24 hours, at an average speed of nearly 60 miles per hour. The morning was clear and comparatively calm. Coil and Lawrence went aboard the _Chicago_ to catch a little sleep before the final hop over the ocean. The others saw to re-fueling the C-5, stowing provisions aboard, topping off a bit of hydrogen from the cylinders alongside. Mechanics swarmed over the motors. All was well. But about 10 o’clock gusts began to sweep down from Hudson’s Bay, dragging the ground crew over the rocks. There were no mooring masts in those days. A modern mast would have saved the ship. More sailors were put on the lines and word sent to Coil and Lawrence. If the ground crew could hold the ship till the pilots could get aboard and cut loose, the storm would give them a flying start over the Atlantic.