TO MURRAY BAY WITH BALCHEN-CRUEL BEAUTY -CIVILIZATION'S GREETING-OVER QUEBEC AND MONTREAL-THE FLIGHT DOWN THE HUDSON-NEW YORK!

On April 26 the weather cleared after the southeast storm of the previous day which had broken the ice close to the coast. In the morning we had at first quite a thick ground fog, but this was not very high, and in all probability would move off soon. Therefore we had to postpone our take-off which was originally set for 5 o'clock.

But towards 7 A.M. the fog had cleared entirely. It was flying weather. We were just intending to start the engines when Balchen, the relief pilot who had come to take us back to civilization returned after once more ascending the hill in order to observe from there the weather conditions. He informed us that from the direction in which we intended to fly, bad weather with drifting snow was approaching. So once more we had to postpone the take-off. Soon afterwards it began to snow heavily, and we were glad we had not started. Later, we all climbed again the height of Long Point, and established there that weather conditions were improving. The snowstorm had stopped, and on the Eastern horizon clear sunshine shimmered through.

This evident sign of improving weather facilitated our decision to take off. We intended that day with the Ford plane at least to reach Murray Bay. The distance from Greenly Island to Murray Bay is about 700 miles. In the meantime it was 8:30 A.M. With the not too strong head wind we hoped to make Murray Bay on the same day. We took off at 8:30. In the plane, whose actual pilot was Balchen, my friend Fitzmaurice was first at the controls. Huenefeld and I as well as our friend Murphy sat in the narrow cabin; the mechanic behind us in the packing room in which stood the large gasoline tanks behind each other. The take-off with skis on the ice was effected quite well, although we had quite a long run.

The route to Murray Bay from Greenly Island leads continuously along the coast. Now we could see the country towards the North over which days ago we had fought with the raging gale. On that long route there is hardly a spot where we could have landed with our planes fitted with wheels. Only planes with skis could land there. The enormous cracks in the ice, made by the storm of the previous day, looked up at us blackly and threateningly. A very few scattered settlements, situated mostly at the frozen-in mouths of rivers, greeted us. These small wooden huts looked poor and needy.

Then came again 100 miles of rocky heights covered with ice and snow, and interrupted at long intervals by small expanses of lower wooded country. No signs of human life existed anywhere. The airplanes of the Canadian Airways which during the Winter months are fitted up with skis and fly over this route twice a week to Long Point, always take with them provisions for eight days. If a plane were forced down in these regions, it might be weeks before human help could reach the occupants. The connection between Long Point and Quebec, apart from this one airline of the Canadian Airways, is only possible with good sleds. The fishermen and fur trappers, whose settlements are to be found almost exclusively along the coast, avail themselves of "dog sleds." With these the journey to Quebec takes a full month. The path is marked only by the telegraph cable, and ends at Long Point.

Every now and then from the plane I could dearly follow the telegraph line. Sometimes in the vicinity of the settlements I noticed sled tracks parallel with the cable.

For hours our course took us along the coast between rocky mountains and the ice floes which over the sea; a vast land in which chill winter still reigned. In the meantime the last clouds had disappeared and we had sunshine. In the sunshine, the landscape below us appeared much more beautiful, and it looked as if we were flying ever the snowclad peaks of our country in the wintertime.

We crossed several large rivers, the first of which was the Matashqwan. The ice floes ao longer appeared in thick masses towering above each other; now we saw only large ice fields drifting upon the dark waters, and perceptibly melting under the rays of the scorching sun. In the clear weather which now prevailed Are could see far out South upon the sea, the out-dries of the island Anticosti, whose coast grad-.rally approached, until we passed it at a distance

of 50 kilometers. Then out of a large bay emerged seven islands:—Seven Islands Bay. This is an intermediate landing place for planes which cannot carry sufficient fuel and are equipped with skis. But the sun had already done its work during the noon hours, and after another week it would hardly be possible to land with skis. Another day or two and the Canadian Airway would have to suspend her operations on this route. Two small huts were all we could see of a settlement.

Our course then turned towards the southwest. The mountains again became higher, rising steeply and precipitously from the sea. Great fjord-like cuts extended themselves deep into the land in a Northerly direction. As far as the eye could reach to North and West one saw towering mountains, ice and snow. The sparse ice floes drifting on the water had disappeared, but the land itself was still covered with a white cloak of snow. There where the wind swept the rocks, bald dark-grey, jagged cliffs appeared, often reaching an altitude of 1000 meters.

Again a dark line appeared on the Southern horizon, the South coast of the St. Lawrence river. This coast line came nearer and nearer, and accompanied us on our way to Murray Bay. We crossed many more deep snowy alleys, through which tearing currents roared. Our path continued further North towards numberless peaks which shone and glistened under the rays of the sun. Suddenly the settlements became more numerous. Small villages with churches greeted us, and showed us that there civilization began. Murray Bay appeared in front of us. The settlements reached further inland. Then we came to a small, delightful city, nestling against a mountain slope. The valley streets winding in narrow bends around the mouth of the river were dotted with charming villas, some large, others small. It was Murray Bay! Our landing field was a short distance beyond, on Lake St. Agnes. There stood a hangar and many planes. We circled the field and landed, and were surprised by a storm of wild enthusiasm such as we were to be privileged to experience on all the days that followed.

After all the hearty greetings, we proceeded first on sleds, and later in cars to Murray Bay. There we were put up in a charming villa. We took refreshing baths, and, for the first time since leaving Dublin, we found ourselves really in the midst of civilization. A small festive reception, the presentation of gifts, etc., took up the evening. We went to bed very late. We were awakened the next morning at 3 A.M. We had breakfast in kind company. The lady of the house was up and waited on us herself. Her presence as well as that of Miss Hertha Junkers graced the breakfast table.

Afterwards we proceeded by car and sled to the flying field, a journey of two hours. A trip with sleds is more strenuous than many a flight. Sometimes we cut deep furrows into the snow covering the road. Again we were heartily received on the flying field. The sturdy trimotored Ford was ready. Balchen, fair, fresh and sprightly, awaited us. The ocean flier, Chamberlin, who was present the previous day at the reception given to us, was also ready with his plane. There was a great deal of rushing about, and disorder in the building. One saw signs of all the hurry and scurry of the last few days. All kinds of things lay about the rooms. Excitement could be seen on all faces; it was not an everyday occasion and happy excitement was felt by everybody. One saw that everybody felt that a new land mark had been made in the history of the conquest of the air. We stood with beating hearts in the center of all this. Already the hours spent in the battle with the elements seemed far behind: in front of us dangled the maturing fruits of victory.

It was 7 o'clock. We went to the plane. A hearty farewell was said. The engines were started, we waved our hands, and taxied over to the runway. We needed the whole length of the lake for our take-off, but the energetic Wright Whirlwind motors lifted us out of the narrow valley and carried us over the hills wooded with pine trees and birches. Chamberlin, the hardy fighter of the air, and Ocean hero followed us.

The goal was first New York, and then Washington, where a hero of the air was that day being buried. He had done everything in his power to come to our aid; had asked for us in his feverish death struggle; and had died at the very moment when in Greenly Island we took his seat in the plane which he had occupied on his last flight. Happiness and sorrow trod close upon each other's heels. To you, dead conqueror of the ocean and pioneer of the air over the icy North Pole, we pay humble tribute.

Our flight goes Westward along the St. Lawrence river. What could be seen only occasionally yesterday, became more frequent to-day, settlements cluster round the shores of the river. From the lonely lighthouse on Greenly Island, we are flying into the heart of the world and over New York to the seat of the government of the United States. At 8 o'clock we reach Quebec, our first large city. We see many evidences of early morning activity. Bridges span the river, railroads are embedded in straight lines in the crust of the earth, and accompany us on our way.

Our cabin looks as if the occupants had been awake through the night. There they slumber, wrapped in coats and blankets, those who, after the events of the past days, had been too excited to sleep. Miss Hertha Junkers, wrapped up in my coat, is sleeping the sound sleep of exhaustion. My dear friend Huenefeld lies on top of the large gasoline tank on a soft bed made of flying suits. Mr. Murphy, the reporter, lies on the floor of the cabin. He, too, seems to sleep really deeply and soundly. His flowing pen during many night hours has written much which to-day the world is reading about us. At the controls sits Fitzmaurice, fresh and happy, though he had only slept one hour. He only feels really well when he has the opportunity of directing with a steady hand the plane towards the distant goal. Balchen sits next to him, and takes care of his dear "bird." His thoughts are hurrying forward to the funeral of his brave dead comrade. The sky seems to further our progress. The sun shines through the distant mist. A clear wind takes us quickly to our goal.

Since we left Quebec the mountain tops shimmering in snow have disappeared. In front of us stretches distant flat land and enormous patches of forests. Ploughed fields, which are cut off straight as if with a rule speak eloquently of the industry of the inhabitants. Brook after brook winds in serpent like fashion to the St. Lawrence river. At 8:45, Montreal, the city of a million inhabitants, appears westward in a cloud of smoke. South from Montreal stretches, as far as the eye can see, the United States with all of its riches, power and determination.

Southward goes our flight, toward the heart of the land of unlimited possibilities. At 9 o'clock sharp we cross the American-Canadian border, and on we go in rapid flight. Hilly country alternates with fertile plains, through which more and more veins of traffic are directed towards one point. To our right and left high snowcapped mountains rise. We are flying now, without having to trouble much about orientation, along the Hudson, the main artery of this stretch of land. The first large city to greet us is Albany, the capital of the State of New York. We marvel at our first sight of skyscrapers towering towards Heaven. Factories follow factories; the smoke from their chimneys proclaiming the industry of the workers. Only another hour's flight remains. New landscape presents itself. Many railroad tracks wind along the river. Mountains crowd together and through them winds the Hudson. Behind them lies the pulsing heart of America, New York.

Luxurious residences appear, green golf links, parks, then low houses, which follow each other; and then the skyscrapers of New York. An overpowering sight for us who see it now for the first time. It becomes hazy. South of New York there is bad weather. It is also raining slightly. We decide to land on Curtiss Field. The plane begins to descend gently. We land, Policemen on motor cycles encircle the plane. Sirens howl, automobiles roar forward; behind them is the storming crowd that demands to see us. We are in New York!