“The weather was most peculiar,” Arnold noted in his diary for what was now 16 May, after they had crossed the International Date Line. “To the south we could always see snow and squalls while to the north it was clear.”1
When the sky to the south looked ominous, Smith was glad he had not planned to risk confronting a serious snowstorm over this long stretch away from land. “So we headed toward the Komandorskis, deciding to take our chances with the Bolsheviks rather than face the wrath of a storm,” he wrote later, not mentioning that they had actually planned to do so. “For three hours we flew out of sight of land, wondering all the time what the Russians would think when they saw three giant planes swoop down out of the sky in this remote region where even ships only come about once a year.
“After we had changed our course to avoid the storm and headed for the Komandorskis, our nearest land was Copper Island, two hundred and seventy miles away. This island is nine miles long and one mile wide—not a very large object, and one that could easily be missed in an ocean, had our navigation been at fault. This was our first long water flight and consequently our first real test, so that, after straining our eyes for hours in an effort to sight Copper Island, it was rather a triumph to see it eventually dead ahead over our radiator caps.
“At 3:05 we arrived at Copper Island, the most easterly of the Komandorski group. That bleak bit of land out there in the Bering Sea sure looked good to us. From a promontory marked Polatka Point on my map, I headed northwest toward Bering Island, the largest of the group, and at five o’clock saw a dent in the coast and the wireless towers of the Soviets looming above the village of Nikolski. About the same moment I spotted the Eider five miles offshore. But it was too rough for us to come down away out there, and [the Eider’s] officers, realizing this, steamed to three miles from Nikolski and dropped buoys while we circled the island.”2
Smith and the other two planes landed at 2:35 P.M. and taxied to the buoys that the Eider had hurriedly and secretly dropped on the lee side of the ship out of sight of land. A boat immediately started out from shore with five bearded men aboard; two were in uniform carrying rifles and three in civilian clothes. The crews decided to remain in their cockpits in case they had to take off in a hurry. The Eider launched three boats and went to the side of each plane but the Russians showed no signs of hostility. Smith and the others climbed down from their cockpits and got into the boats, motioning for the Russians to follow them to the ship and go aboard with them.
There was a sailor of Lithuanian heritage on board from Chicago who was able to communicate with the Russians. He found them courteous but firm in their right to challenge the fliers’ presence. They apologized for not being able to invite anyone ashore but said they needed permission from Moscow. The Americans assured them they were airmen on a flight around the world; they would only stay long enough for the weather to settle and then be on their way. The Russians made it clear that everyone would have to stay on the ship until they communicated with their government to determine what they should do. They returned to shore and a while later sent out a boat with a flagon of vodka as a gesture of good will.
The crews inspected and refueled their planes that night from the fuel stock the Eider had brought and found that the mooring bridles on the Boston and the New Orleans had been chafed almost in two by the mooring buoys. When the work was done to reinforce the bridles, the crews returned to the Eider for a brief night’s rest.
When Capt. Johannssen Beck in the Haida, still anchored off Attu, received the Eider’s message, he immediately headed his ship under full steam to intercede if the Russians started any trouble. He had already received authorization to proceed within the territorial Soviet waters “for the purpose of rendering assistance to or rescuing the planes and personnel in distress, but will not effect a landing on shore with the cutter’s boats or crew, nor engage in any commercial transaction with the subjects of Russia, unless circumstances are most urgent and clearly demand such action in the cause of humanity.”3
The crews awoke at 4:30 A.M. and prepared for takeoff. Just as they were getting ready to depart, the bearded men returned with the message that the Americans would not be permitted to land. Smith waved to thank them, signaled to the others to start engines, and all three took off together into what Smith called “an ideal spring morning.”
The route to Paramushiru took them over the Gulf of Kronotski, the village of Patropavloski, and the mountains of Kamchatka. They crossed the mainland at Cape Shipunski two hours after takeoff, a significant landmark in their world-girdling quest. They had reached the Asian continent and thus had scored a historic “first”—the first aerial crossing of the Pacific Ocean.
When it was known in Washington how much the U.S. Coast Guard had helped the fliers during the flight to Attu, General Patrick wrote a long letter of appreciation to the Coast Guard commandant. He acknowledged that the plans for the North Pacific portion of the flight were based almost entirely on information furnished by the cutter’s personnel. The crews of the Haida and the Algonquin were especially commended. “Whenever an emergency has arisen,” Patrick said, “they immediately arose to the occasion and cooperated to the full extent of their ability. At several times during the carrying out of our plans over this section of the route we have been faced with barriers apparently insurmountable. In each case the Coast Guard vessel and personnel have entered the breach and enabled us to carry on.”4
Patrick noted that the two vessels were required to enter Alaskan waters earlier than usual and when it was found that commercial vessels were too small to carry the large wing boxes and supplies needed at Dutch Harbor, “it was a Coast Guard vessel that enabled us to get these spares to Unalaska on time. When Major Martin needed assurance at Kanatak, 500 miles from Dutch Harbor, the Coast Guard cutter Algonquin immediately rushed to his assistance with a new engine.”5
Patrick also noted that both cutters had carried on an untiring day and night search for Martin and Harvey along the shoreline of the Alaskan Peninsula. The cutters had additionally provided invaluable assistance by maintaining communications when no other means was available for a great part of the time. “In recording one of the most interesting and thrilling aeronautical exploits of contemporary history,” Patrick concluded, “your well-organized and efficient force, both in your headquarters and in the Bering Sea Patrol, have played a major part.”6
The 585-mile leg from the Komandorskis to Paramushiru in the Kurile Islands of Japan was covered in seven hours. The course Smith followed was due west toward the Kamchatka Peninsula, then down its coast to Paramushiru. The first half of the flight had been made in occasional fog and light snow squalls. These forced them to fly lower and lower until they were barely skimming the waves. The second half was made through fog and heavy snow which changed to rain and strong winds by the time they approached Paramushiru. Shortly before 3 P.M., local time, they rounded a point of land and saw the U.S. Navy destroyer John D. Ford and two Japanese destroyers, the Tokitsukaze and the Amatsukaze, waiting for them in Kashiwabara Bay. They circled the area several times and could see the sailors on the decks of all three ships waving in the drenching rain.
The crews had difficulty mooring the planes to buoys laid by the Ford because of the strong currents, riptides, and fierce winds. Afterwards boats were sent from the destroyer that took them to the ship. Here, thoroughly wet and cold, they were welcomed by Lt. Cmdr. H. H. Frost and his crew along with representatives of the Japanese Army and Navy. Also present was Linton Wells, the aggressive American newspaper reporter for the Associated Press. He immediately persuaded the ship’s radio operator to send an urgent message to his office in San Francisco: FLIERS ARRIVED KASHIWABARA BAY PARAMUSHIRU 17TH AT 11:35. Wells had scored a major world news “beat.”
A number of messages of congratulations were received, one from General Patrick for their “epoch-making” flight and another from Secretary of War Weeks who said: YOURS IS THE HONOR OF BEING THE FIRST TO CROSS THE PACIFIC BY AIR THROUGH ITS ARMY AND NAVY OUR COUNTRY HAS THE HONOR OF HAVING LED IN THE CROSSING OF BOTH GREAT OCEANS THE ARMY HAS EVERY FAITH IN YOUR ABILITY TO ADD THE CIRCUMNAVIGATION OF THE GLOBE TO ITS ACHIEVEMENTS.7
General Ugaki, the Japanese Minister of War, sent a message to Weeks congratulating the United States for the accomplishment. Any fear that the Japanese would not welcome the fliers was put aside. The distance covered by the fliers in the six weeks since they had left Seattle was 4,150 miles; they had covered it in 59 hours of flight time for an average speed of just a little over 70 mph. “We are all greatly relieved to have the Aleutian Islands and the Pacific behind us,” Arnold commented in his diary, “for these we have considered the most difficult part of the entire trip—and from the time we left Seattle it has been a daily battle to keep the planes from being wrecked.”8
Because of the 45-mph wind that night that rocked the ship roughly from side to side, the fliers did not get much sound sleep as they rolled back and forth in their narrow bunks. The next day was more of the same strong wind, making the water too rough to refuel the planes and check them over. The men sat around all day on the Ford chatting with their hosts, playing bridge, and getting their hair cut which, according to Arnold, they badly needed.9
They were invited aboard one of the Japanese destroyers that afternoon and were treated to a dinner in their honor with strong libations. The Japanese were pleasant hosts and there was no discussion of the anti-Asian legislation then being signed into law in the United States. Smith and the others were restless. They were also concerned about their planes, which had been taking a beating. As the engineering officer, Nelson was especially concerned when he saw the planes tossing wildly from side to side, their wings and pontoons slamming into the waves. At 2 A.M., they took lanterns, rowed out to them, checked for any damage, and refueled. The quarter-inch bridles that tethered the planes to the moorings were badly chafed and had almost worn through. They were immediately replaced.
They were off at 7:30 A.M. for Hitokappu Bay on Yetorofu Island, into a biting wind and fog. When word was received on the Haida that they had departed, she rendezvoused with the Eider, and headed back to Dutch Harbor after taking Bissell aboard. Bissell must have felt great relief. He had not only managed to get three of the planes through his division but had rallied the effort to find Martin and Harvey. He, for one, could write off the experience as “mission accomplished.”
The Cruisers were airborne on 19 May for more than seven hours on the 595-mile flight to Yetorofu. This proved to be one of the coldest days of flying they had experienced since leaving Seattle. Wade recalled that “now and then we would stamp our feet just to see if they were still with us. We kept plunging in and out of snow squalls and hopping over one Japanese island after another. We were later amazed to discover that there are more than four thousand islands belonging to the Empire of Japan, extending all the way from the latitude of Alaska to the latitude of Madeira [350 miles off Morocco] and Cuba.”10
The route took them over many volcanic islands where they could see people, boats, and villages, a distinct change from the Aleutians. When they arrived at Hitokappu Bay, the destroyer Pope and the Japanese destroyer Tokitsukaze were there to meet them. On shore were several hundred Japanese, many of them school children who had walked nine miles from the town of Furebetsu on three successive days to witness the arrival. The crews did not go ashore that night and hoped to depart the next morning. They refueled the planes and, dead tired, spent the night aboard the Pope.
The landing at Hitokappu Bay on the Pacific side of Yetorofu Island had not been planned originally by Lieutenant Nutt as advance officer. When the Pope had arrived in the Kuriles in April with fuel and supplies for the flight, she found that the waters between the islands of the Kuriles were blocked with ice and that the floes extended nearly fifty miles into the Pacific. For these reasons Nutt persuaded the Japanese to permit a landing at Yetorofu which was then clear of ice.
Smith hoped the group could get off early the next morning but their old enemy, fog, boiled into the bay and he canceled flying for that day. They went ashore and visited the village of Yanketo and were invited into a house by an elderly gentleman. None had ever had any exposure to Japanese customs and etiquette. They were truly embarrassed as they shuffled inside, leaving their shoes outside, sipping tea, and observing their host’s living conditions. “We were fascinated with the village with its tiny houses that looked like eggshells,” Wade commented. “Here for the first time since leaving Sitka, Alaska, we saw trees. But they were squatty, stunted ones, flat on top as you see in old Japanese prints and fans. Here, too, for the first time we saw horses, shaggy-haired little animals no bigger than a Shetland pony.”11
The second Japanese destroyer arrived and the fliers were invited to witness sumo wrestling matches on board. Following the bouts, the Japanese officers served wine and cakes. Then the Americans invited them aboard the Pope to see an American motion picture.
The weather remained unfavorable and the flight was not able to depart until 22 May for Minato, a fishing village on the northeast coast of the main island of Honshu, 485 miles away. They had breakfast at midnight and prepared to leave shortly thereafter but were delayed–-again by fog—until 5:30 A.M. They encountered light fog conditions as they plodded along a series of mountainous, volcanic islands. The city of Minato, the largest city they had seen since leaving Seattle, was first seen at 10:30 A.M. and the Ford was sighted in the bay; Lieutenant Nutt was on board. The three planes circled the city, then landed in the bay while hundreds of people ran down the streets to the waterfront. Although Smith had wired ahead to Nutt that he did not want any party arranged, a “welcome” arch and reception tents had been erected and large crowds lined the beach and wharves. Hundreds of school children waved American flags and a giant fireworks display suddenly lit up the sky.
It was obvious a large celebration had been planned; sadly it was not to be attended by the fliers. Nutt greeted the public and had arranged for sampans to carry gas, oil, and water to each plane. They were behind schedule and, after a brief consultation, Smith decided they would not go ashore and asked Nutt to convey their regrets. At 1:00 P.M., they took off for Kasumigaura in large rolling ocean swells they had not before experienced. The Chicago developed an engine problem, and Smith returned to the bay while the other planes circled. Arnold found the trouble was related to a short in the battery, quickly repaired it, and joined up with the other two.
They plunged into fog and rain for the first two and a half hours. Then it cleared and the weather turned “balmy,” according to Wade. They were all fascinated by the interesting scenery dotted with rice paddies, sampans, and fishing smacks and junks bobbing up and down in the ocean. They could see many small villages tucked away in the valleys, along with some private estates with well-kept grounds. The number of people rushing out of their houses to look upward, watching from the beaches and hills, increased as they came down the eastern edge of Honshu, Japan’s main island. Shortly after 5 P.M., they swung ashore and landed on Lake Kasumigaura. This was the home of the Japanese Naval Air Base, located about fifty miles north of Tokyo. The distance they had flown that day was equivalent to the distance from Chicago to New York. By this time they had flown 5,657 miles and had spent 75 hours, 55 minutes in the air. Most significant, they had pioneered the last gap of an air circumnavigation of the globe between continents, as the Atlantic had already been flown and others had flown between Europe and the Far East. About twenty thousand Japanese were waiting to see them land and come ashore. Arnold described the scene:
Long concrete runways extended into the lake and led up to a stone pier where the throng waited to give us the first big reception we had encountered since leaving Seattle. There were three of these runways, and motorboats came out to tow a plane alongside each. As we approached the pier at the Japanese Naval Air Base, the people waved thousands of American and Japanese flags and shouted ‘Banzai!’ There were photographers to the front of us, photographers to the left of us, photographers to the right of us, on platforms, on poles, and even on the roofs. There were newspaper correspondents from all parts of the world—French scribes with beards, Englishmen with monocles, and Americans with straw hats and horn-rimmed glasses.12
The fliers received a cordial welcome from the Japanese admiral in command of the base and were assured they would receive all the help they needed. After they made their planes safe for the night, they were taken to the Naval Air Service Club where the local officers hosted a dinner and showed them to their separate rooms. Orderlies were assigned and the men received their first mail from home.
Although the fliers were anxious to see Tokyo, there was much work to be done the next day. Kasumigaura was one of the major supply bases for the flight. The planes were to be overhauled with changes of engines and pontoons and the installation of larger radiators for warmer climates ahead, as well as new propellers and manifolds. While Smith and Arnold were working on the Chicago, it was rammed by a small boat and one pontoon was damaged. After the pontoons were replaced, Arnold barely saved the plane from being rammed by an unmanned drifting boat. He crawled out to the edge of one wing and held it off by sheer strength until he was relieved by a fisherman in another boat.
That evening, the admiral hosted them to a typical Japanese dinner in the nearby town of Tsuchiura. Arnold described it:
Having heard often of the geishas and wondering just who they really were, although tired we all looked forward to this party. Nor were we one whit disappointed. When we stepped from our limousines to the veranda of the tea house, checked our shoes, and were welcomed by a crowd of Japanese maids in flowered kimonos, it seemed as though we had stepped into the pages of a storybook.
We entered a room with a floor covered with straw mats and with walls that were mere screens made of wood and paper. The admiral invited us to kneel on silk cushions. Then a tiny table of lacquer was placed in front of each of us by the pretty geisha girls who were there to serve and entertain us—demure, delightful, laughing-eyed, sixteen-year-olds. Each time one of them brought in another course she would kneel and touch her forehead to the matting. Each geisha devotes herself exclusively to the man she is waiting on, removes the various courses, brings others, lights his cigarettes as he reclines on his cushion, fills his little cup with warm sake, and initiates him into the mystery of using chopsticks.13
The uniforms for everyone that had been sent ahead arrived from Tokyo on the third day. The fliers could then dress in regulation Air Service uniforms for the first time since leaving Seattle. The citizens of the town gave them fans and paintings as souvenirs and they were taken to the Imperial Hotel in Tokyo where they were greeted by thousands of curious Japanese waving hats, hands, and American and Japanese flags. They spent the next two days attending receptions, luncheons, dinners, teas, and dances. Many of the speeches by Japanese officials were translated by aides, although subsequent conversations with high-ranking Japanese were usually in English.
They were welcomed by American ambassador Cyrus E. Woods, the Japanese ministers of war and navy, members of the Imperial Aviation Association, the entire foreign diplomatic corps, and were rewarded in the Imperial Palace by Prince Kuni of the royal family. They each also received a medal from the Jiji Shimpo newspaper “for those who display exceptional talent and skill and a useful profession.” General Ugaki, Japanese Minister of War, presented each of the them with a solid silver saki cup with their names engraved inside and a silver bowl engraved with the image of a Cruiser, their route of flight, and the crossed flags of the two nations.
During a visit to the Tokyo Imperial University, the president, Dr. Yoshinao Kozai, addressed them in English at a dinner in their honor. He praised them for their achievement and added, “At the same time we envy you, for your daring is backed by science. Indeed it is the happy union of courage and knowledge that has gained you your success and this honor of being the first of men to connect the shores of the Pacific Ocean through the sky.”14
The reconditioning of the three planes for the tropical portion of the flight took a week and they were now thirty-one days behind their planned schedule. Two of those days had been spent making dollies for the Cruisers and tracks for them so the planes could be hauled out of the water and towed to a hangar for the work. When they learned that the number of events, always elaborate, planned for them was to last two weeks, Smith begged the Japanese to compress them all into forty-eight hours. There was too much work to be done on the planes and no one could do it but themselves, although the Japanese mechanics were always poised to help. The Americans noted that the Japanese made precise drawings of every visible part of the planes, took many photographs, and even carefully measured the size of the rivets and cotter pins that the Americans used.
In the few hours when they weren’t working, the fliers went shopping or wrote letters. They turned in their heavy flying equipment and packed for the next legs of the journey southward. Everywhere they went, crowds followed them. In stores they visited, proprietors welcomed them with frequent bows, honored by their visit.
“With the realization of the significance of the flight, our sense of responsibility increased,” Wade said. “It was no longer just a personal adventure. The United States could not be let down. We started watching ourselves and our actions on the ground. Diplomatic correctness became as important as our aerial skills. Sergeant Ogden, my mechanic, was the only enlisted man left on the flight, and his lack of rank posed embarrassing problems. The difficulty was explained to Washington by cable and when we arrived in Shanghai, an order was waiting from General Patrick making him a second lieutenant. For the rest of the flight we never stopped kidding him about his ‘social commission.’ ”15
While they had been in Tokyo, Squadron Leader MacLaren had been winging his way from England toward Japan. Lt. Col. L. E. Broome, his advance officer, met with the Americans at breakfast on 23 May when they were interrupted by a messenger with a telegram: MACLAREN CRASHED AT AKYAB PLANE COMPLETELY WRECKED CONTINUANCE OF FLIGHT DOUBTFUL.16
What followed showed the spirit of brotherhood that then existed among fliers regardless of nationality. The spare Vickers Vulture that MacLaren had arranged to have waiting for him in Japan had arrived by ship at Hakodate harbor, five hundred miles north of Tokyo. Broome wired the British naval commander-in-chief of the China Station to see if he could help; he replied that he had no vessel available for such a purpose. The British flight was a private venture and had no government assistance or financial backing. When Smith heard this, he asked Broome to go with him to meet Capt. John S. Abbot, commander of the Forty-fifth Division of the U.S. Asiatic Fleet in Japanese waters, to see what he might suggest. Abbot immediately volunteered to place a destroyer at Broome’s disposal to get the spare plane to MacLaren if his superior in Washington, D.C., would approve. Approval was promptly granted and Broome was dumbfounded. All he could say was “That’s the finest bit of sportsmanship I’ve ever heard of!”17
At 7 A.M. next morning the American destroyer John Paul Jones left Yokohama Harbor with orders to take the plane in three large boxes from Hakodate to Hong Kong. Also aboard was Linton Wells, ever the intrepid reporter. On 3 June, the Jones arrived at Hong Kong and transferred its load and Wells to the William B. Preston, commanded by Lt. Cmdr. Willis A. Lee Jr. On 11 June, the spare plane was delivered to MacLaren to be reassembled. The American Navy and the Air Service were in the unusual position of assisting a foreign rival who might circle the globe first. But at the same time, they heard that Lt. Pelletier d’Oisy had survived an accident near Shanghai but his plane was completely wrecked. He was out of the race.
The Cruisers meanwhile were towed out to their mooring spots on the fifteen-mile-long lake and each made at least two test hops on 30 May. While the men worked on their planes, a Japanese fighter performing a test flight over the lake disintegrated in midair. Pieces of the plane hit the water about 100 yards from the Chicago. “Fortunate that another Cruiser was not put out of the race,” Harding commented.18
Smith, concerned that they were losing valuable time, met with Captain Abbot and finalized plans for the assistance of the Asiatic squadron for the entire distance to Calcutta, India. They scheduled the departure for Kushimoto for the morning of 1 June and were surprised to see that a special train had arrived from Tokyo with the chief of the Japanese Air Service and a host of other officials. “We were much surprised to see them,” Arnold wrote, “but they replied that they looked upon the circumnavigation of the world by air as an event sure to usher in a new age, and an age in which they intended Japan to play a leading part. As we all shook hands, their last words were: ‘Keep a lookout for Fujiyama off to the right.’ ”19
The fliers were off at 5:30 A.M. in ideal weather with Smith in the lead and old Fuji was there in all its storied glory. The route of flight was by way of Inuboye Point to Iro Point and directly from there to Kushimoto, a distance of 305 miles. Soon after leaving Iro Point, the flight plunged into a severe rainstorm which became a mild typhoon that turned more severe as they landed at Kushimoto after 4½ hours of rough going. The moorings proved to be unsatisfactory as each plane immediately began drifting to shore after being made fast to the buoys. All three planes taxied to the opposite side of the bay and waited until the Pope came near and furnished them with new anchors. They refueled and went aboard the ship for the night, exhausted from fighting the rain and waves. A greeting party from the town planned to come out to the ship but the sea was so rough they couldn’t get a boat safely near the Pope and had to return to shore. While the others slept soundly, Smith was told by a lookout that the Chicago was drifting. He and a group of sailors went out to his plane in the driving rain and attached another anchor to the bridle.
The next day, 2 June, after the storm had subsided, they went ashore where they were presented with decorations and souvenirs, “enough to start an Oriental museum,” according to Arnold. “Among the decorations we received were three [for the pilots] presented the day we landed at Kasumiguara. Smith begged the Japanese to make up three more for Jack, Hank, and myself, and to present all six at once, since they were so kind as to honor us. He explained that we were simply six American airmen flying around the world together, and that we were all on an equal footing. This was mighty decent of Lowell and we all appreciated it, but none more so than Ogden.”20
They were off for Kagoshima into a stiff head wind shortly after noon that day and it took them six and a quarter hours to span the 360-mile distance. The route of flight was past Muroto Point and Cape Ashizuri to Aritake Bay, and across the peninsula to Kagoshima, the southernmost city of Japan proper, located on a bay featuring the Sakurajima volcano in its midst.
During the flight from island to island they passed safely through two complete storm centers of considerable intensity. They saw many steamers, junks, and fishing vessels and were pleased to see two American destroyers, Perry and Stewart, patrolling the ocean route for them. While over Bungo Channel, the Boston’s engine began overheating from loss of water and Wade landed in a well-protected harbor on the coast of Kyushu Island. Ogden filled the radiator with salt water while the other two planes circled. Wade soon rejoined the others and the flight landed at Kagoshima after sundown at 7 P.M. and were met by the U.S. Navy repair ship Black Hawk. Lieutenant Nutt was aboard and had made excellent arrangements for buoys and refueling. A large crowd made up of at least two thousand school children was waiting on the beach waving flags they had made in school. The fliers went ashore briefly where a few short speeches were made and souvenirs handed out.
The fliers stayed aboard the Black Hawk that night and the next day to await word that the U.S. Navy ships were in position for the flight across the Yellow Sea to Shanghai. Each Cruiser crew had difficulty keeping small boats away from the planes, a problem that was to be repeated many times until they reached Calcutta and exchanged the pontoons for wheels.
They awoke on 4 June to excellent weather and hoped to make an early takeoff. Each had a heavy load of fuel for the 550-mile flight. But the water was so smooth and the wind so light that they had to do what seaplanes often have to do. They taxied around to disturb the water and make ripples so the pontoons could break the suction of the water, a problem each experienced at one time or another during water operations. Wade and Nelson finally got off but Smith did not after making several tries. When the others circled to look for signals, Smith didn’t want them to have to try a takeoff again in the calm water and waved them on toward China.
“Suspecting that there was something wrong with our pontoons,” Smith explained, “we taxied back to our moorings, donned the bathing suits that had been presented to us by the people of Portland, Oregon, and spent the rest of the day swimming about under the pontoons. We discovered that a metal strip had been torn away by the force of the water, so that there had been just enough resistance to prevent us from getting off as we should.
“Swimming around under the pontoons was a job for a mermaid, not for an airman, and we swallowed quarts of water. But we finally got it fixed, and the following morning the Black Hawk sent two fast motorboats in front of us to kick up the surface of Kagoshima Bay, enabling us to follow the others toward China.”21