It was an overcast, hazy day when the three Cruisers took off from Le Bourget Airport. They circled the city and elected to fly in loose formation with the two commercial planes en route to London. A squadron of French fighter planes escorted them to the English Channel and at one time there were a dozen planes heading toward the French coast in formation. They all climbed above the clouds to 7,000 feet where it was uncomfortably cold for the World Fliers in their open cockpits, a foreshadow of what they would have to contend with over the North Atlantic. They could see briefly through breaks in the clouds that the English Channel below was being whipped by angry waves. The clouds became thinner over land as they neared London and it took three hours, ten minutes to fly the 215 miles between the two capitals because of stiff head winds. They flew over the city without trying to search for its famous landmarks and instead continued toward Croydon, a major airfield south of the city, for their first landing on English soil.
The three crews were mobbed by photographers and autograph collectors as they climbed down from their cockpits. The London bobbies were unable to contain the enthusiastic crowd that was so anxious to speak with the fliers and touch them. The press of the onrushing crowd alarmed the fliers who were afraid that they would push against the planes and cause damage to the fuselage and control surfaces. Many who had rushed from the two commercial passenger planes that had escorted from Paris were Americans, all shouting for them to pose for photographs and sign their names to bits of paper. Reporters shouted questions and tried to get answers. With great effort, the bobbies locked hands and were finally able to push the crowd back and allow the official greeters to approach. On hand were Maj. Howard C. Davidson, the American assistant military attaché, RAF representatives, and British officials. Also there was Mrs. A. Stuart MacLaren, wife of the British World Flier, who thanked them and the U.S. Navy for the assistance they had provided her husband in the Far East. (At that time, he had left Etorofu for Paramushiru and, although no one knew it then, was soon to reach the end of his World Flight attempt.)
When the fliers were able to break away from the crowd, they were given a luncheon in an airport hangar and returned to the parking ramp to service their planes. They were then taken to the Royal Air Force Club on Piccadilly where excellent quarters were waiting for them. They were guests of the top officials of the British Air Ministry for dinner that evening. Leigh Wade put on a magnificent demonstration of snoring and Nelson delighted in telling about it:
It was at the table and on one side of Leigh sat a dignified general and on the other sat Lord somebody. Well, with a knife in one hand and a fork in the other, Leigh fell sound asleep—and snored. Nor was this his first offense for he had done the same thing at a dinner after one of our long flights in the Kurile Islands. But folks insisted on entertaining us, so listening to Leigh’s imitation trombone solo was the price we paid.1
They returned to the airport the next morning and took off in excellent weather for northwest Scotland. After cruising over the Tower of London, Saint Paul’s Cathedral, Buckingham Palace, and the Houses of Parliament, they headed for Brough near Hull, a large seaport on the Humber River. The 165-mile flight took them over hundreds of mills, steel works, coal mines, and factories of all descriptions, then over green areas and farm lands that lent an idyllic atmosphere to the trip. Nelson remembered the flight as “something that pulls the heart strings [but] I hardly know why.”2
They also saw many emergency and RAF flying fields, all plainly marked, which showed the extent to which the British were advancing aviation. A number of small planes came up to fly formation briefly; the pilots would wave and then quickly depart.
The landing at Brough was made on 17 July at the airdrome and seaplane base of the Blackburn Aeroplane and Motor Company, a manufacturer of land and seaplanes, that was exceptionally well-equipped with machine shops, ground support equipment, and comfortable quarters. This was a major depot for supplies for the Cruisers and the advance arrangements had been well executed. The boxes containing spare parts had all arrived in time and there had been no damage of any kind.
Looking back on the flight from Calcutta to Brough, the fliers had covered 6,025 miles in seventeen days with just under eighty-five hours of flying time. By then they were only two weeks behind the schedule they had set before leaving Seattle. Rear Adm. Thomas F. Magruder, commander of the Light Cruiser Division of the Scouting Fleet in the North Atlantic, was to patrol the route across the Atlantic. He had not expected the fliers to catch up on their schedule so soon and his ships were not yet in position for the crossing.
Lieutenant Crumrine, during his visit to Brough, had left instructions to spare no expense in expediting the overhaul of the planes when they arrived there. He was particularly concerned about the reports of ice at Angmagssalik, Greenland. In a letter to Lt. St. Claire Streett in Washington, he said he hoped they would arrive at Reykjavik by 15 August because the Angmagssalik harbor was landlocked. New ice would be created because of its far northerly position and the absence of the warm Gulf Stream, plus the runoff of a freshwater stream that empties into the harbor.
The fliers were greeted by a small, enthusiastic group of local townspeople, airport workers, and Norman Blackburn, one of the owners of the aerodrome, as they parked at the large hangars. Here the planes would be thoroughly inspected and have new engines installed. The wheels would be exchanged for pontoons for the Atlantic flight. Anxious to have the engines replaced as soon as possible, the three crews had them ready to be lifted out before dark. They were given quarters at the Blackburn Club on the field and that evening were treated to a dinner and a dance.
There was much to be accomplished in the days ahead. The great advantage to having their rooms on the field was that it saved time getting to work and there were few visitors and autograph hunters to disturb them as they labored to recondition their planes for the most dangerous leg of their flight. All cowling, propellers, radiators, engines, and tail-skid assemblies were removed and replaced. The planes were thoroughly cleaned; the gasoline and oil tanks were drained and flushed. All rigging wires were scraped, polished, and repainted; and all metal parts in the fuselages were heavily coated with rust-resistant oxide.
The ailerons were removed and all the fairing strips replaced that had been damaged by the damp and hot climates the planes had passed through. Smaller radiators were installed and all cowlings were painted with aluminum gilt paint. It had been planned to have a radio transmitter and receiver installed in the Chicago and Army Captain H. F. McClelland, a radio specialist then on leave in England, was ordered to proceed to Brough to install the equipment. This was not done, however, because of the increased weight. When the inspection and replacement work on all the planes was completed, the magnetic compasses were swung to assure their accuracy and test flights were made.
The English public meanwhile wanted to see and learn more about the Americans who seemed soon to claim the honor of being first to achieve the world-girdling honors. (This was while their own countrymen were having difficulty in the Far East.) The Americans were invited to a formal banquet in London the first night after their arrival but, as Arnold explained, “we were about as well-equipped with clothes as the head hunters of Borneo.”3
Smith gave Arnold a shopping list and money and delegated him to go to London to buy what they all would need to look far better than they did in their rumpled flying clothes. Arnold left Brough early by train for London and dashed around to haberdashers and tailors to fill a long list of size and style requirements for everyone. He was joined later by Smith and Wade while Nelson, Harding, and Ogden elected to remain in Brough to work on the planes. They would visit later in the week and then all would return to continue their work.
The banquet held in their honor at the posh Savoy Hotel was certainly impressive. There were lords, earls, and dukes accompanied by their ladies resplendent in their best finery. The fliers in their new clothes were announced individually by a crimson-coated majordomo with a thundering voice and then each strode cautiously into the banquet room to tumultuous applause. There were many speeches that night all praising the fliers but also thanking them for the help given MacLaren in his quest for world-circling honors. Smith, always a man of few words, responded to his introduction by referring to MacLaren, saying that such flights were made not for personal glory but to further aviation progress. He added that he and his men were members of America’s principal air arm and were just doing what they had been assigned to do.
The Prince of Wales did not attend the affair but was upstairs in the hotel dining with friends and sent word that he would like to meet the Americans after dinner. They were escorted to his suite and found him to be an affable man eager to hear about their trip. He said that he planned to sail to New York aboard the Berengaria in a few days and hoped he could greet them when they arrived at Mitchel Field, Long Island. He reportedly made a bet of five dollars with each of them that he would beat them there. A group of newspaper correspondents invited the airmen on a quick trip around the city after the banquet and then dropped them off at the train station for the return to Brough.
On 22 July Smith and several others narrowly escaped a fatal accident while working on the Chicago. He explained:
We were taking off the landing gear and putting pontoons on the plane and in order to do this we used a crane and a heavy chain to lift her up on the dolly. As we had to get right in under the plane to do some work while it hung suspended in the air, we first tested the chain. It stood a strain of six and a half tons, and as the plane only weighed two and a half tons, we naturally thought it more than strong enough.
We had to work in a cramped position, so several of us took turns. A moment after we had crawled out, the chain broke, and the plane crashed to the floor. Why it took a notion to break at that particular moment, we don’t know. But we got a bit of a kick out of seeing those two and a half tons fall where we had been just a few seconds before. Of course, it was nobody’s fault. It was just one of those things that occur without one’s being able to prevent them. The pontoons were badly damaged, so we had to take them off and put on new ones. Fortunately, there was another set, the ones that had been sent from America for Major Martin’s Seattle.4
During the short time the fliers had been in Constantinople, they had received the first information about the assistance they would be provided by the U.S. Navy for the Atlantic crossing. The scouting fleet in the Atlantic consisted of thirty-six ships that had modified their summer maneuvers and were prepared to take part in assisting the Army flight in North Atlantic waters. The details would be revealed after their arrival at Brough.
Rear Adm. Thomas P. Magruder, commander of the scouting fleet, arrived in the Firth of Forth aboard his flagship, the Richmond, and had a conference with Maj. Howard Davidson, the assistant American military attaché. Using notes and drawings given him by Smith, Major Davidson made preliminary arrangements whereby the U.S. Navy would position a fleet of five to seven ships at regular intervals across the North Atlantic from Brough to Pictou, Nova Scotia, to provide weather information and be available for rescue if any of the three planes went down. A memorandum for the captain of the Milwaukee stated that “the success of the flight … is dependent primarily on the procurement and dissemination of weather data. This in turn is absolutely dependent upon the establishment and maintenance of an uninterrupted chain of communications. Shore facilities are so meager and unreliable that this problem in its entirety must be handled by the naval radio.”5
The instructions to the captains of the ships assigned to assist the fliers reminded them that each destroyer on the line of flight was responsible for the safety of the planes until they were sighted by the next vessel in line. They would report the sighting of the planes and the time they landed to all other ships in the line. The instructions specified that each vessel would throw out heavy black smoke from its funnels fifty minutes before the planes were due to pass over them and keep the smoke going until the planes passed overhead. This would help the pilots navigate and also indicate the direction and approximate velocity of the wind.
Each vessel would also place boards twelve inches wide by twelve feet long on the forward deck to indicate the latest known weather conditions to the passing planes at the flight’s destination. Placing the boards in a T formation indicated good weather ahead; an L would mean unfavorable weather at the destination, and H would signify that dangerous flying conditions were reported at the destination. All ships were to report weather information, including sea conditions, at specified times using call letters of the base vessel followed by the words WEATHER WORLD FLIGHT before the planes’ arrival. The vessels at the bases would place mooring buoys for the planes in position, clear anchorages of small boats, and have two small boats ready at the anchorages to proceed to the planes when signaled by the crews. The ships would also provide guards to prevent the planes’ being molested or set adrift during the night.
The memorandum noted that the fliers would arrive at each stop tired and hungry and “will desire rest and refreshments above all else. They will desire to retire early and will be very grateful if no arrangement of any kind is made for entertainment.”6 The cooperation of the commanders of the base vessels was requested to prevent newspapermen and photographers from interfering with work on the planes or bothering the fliers until an agreeable time for interviews could be arranged.
The designated ships steamed toward their assigned positions in the North Atlantic and began reporting the weather conditions. These were definitely not good. The ice conditions off Greenland were reportedly the worst experienced in twenty years. Every weather impediment for flyers in arctic conditions that could be imagined was being radioed to the Richmond, the admiral’s flagship. It looked like a long wait before the planes could proceed.
Smith and the others worked on their planes daily but took some time to rest, tour the area, shop, and enjoy the superb food. They thoroughly enjoyed being at Brough and, outside of the short, single trip to London, had no desire to return to the capital city or take any lengthy side trips. They were invited by the King and Queen to a garden party at Buckingham Palace but respectfully turned it down, hoping to receive word any day from Admiral Magruder that his ships were in position and the weather was favorable for the next leg to Iceland.
On 24 July, they were invited to the luxurious home of Robert Blackburn, head of the company, on the outskirts of Leeds. The next day they drove through York to see the magnificent cathedral. They made a tour of Hull and the site of the tragic crash of the British dirigible R.38 in August 1921 at the time on final trial flights with a joint Royal Navy/RAF/US Navy crew. It had been newly designated as the U.S. Navy’s ZR-2; sixteen of the victims were Americans.
Anticipating the weather they would encounter on the next leg of the flight to Iceland, the fliers bought heavy flying clothing and returned to the airport to clean up odds and ends on their planes. Their concern about the weather grew daily. But the word did not come for another week. On the evening of 29 July, they finally received word from the U.S. Navy that they should be able to leave on the thirtieth.
They were up at 4 A.M. that day and supervised the launching of their planes down the ramp to the Humber River. After loading up with gas and oil, each plane was given a short test hop and then tied up at the moorings to top off the fuel tanks. A low fog hung over the area so they could not get away until after 10 A.M. Smith led the takeoffs and headed out over the North Sea toward the Orkney Islands, an archipelago of about seventy islands in the Atlantic Ocean and the North Sea off the northern tip of Scotland. As they proceeded north, the clouds forced them down to the wave tops so Smith climbed on top of the overcast with the others following.
They flew for an hour without seeing anything below. The mist gradually dissipated and they could see beach resorts, beautiful estates and crumbling ruins. They flew to Dunkensberry Point, then to Scapa Flow. This place represented a significant moment in history, for it was there that the German fleet had surrendered at the end of World War I—and then been scuttled. They landed near Kirkwall, a small fishing village on Pomona, one of the larger islands of the Orkneys on the north side of Scapa Flow, where the Richmond could be seen waiting in the bay.
The Richmond’s crew had prepared the plane moorings as had been agreed and the crews were given quarters aboard the ship. They discussed the details of what the Navy planned to do to monitor their passage for the 555-mile flight to Horna Fjord, Iceland. Then they visited the quaint town of Kirkwall with its small stone houses, heated by peat, and a church built in 1137. They bought Fair Island wool sweaters, a specialty of the area, and then retired to a local pub that sold “the biggest drinks anyone ever saw,” according to Arnold.7
Although they expected to get off the next day, the fog was too dense and the ships stationed between Scapa Flow and Iceland reported bad weather along the route. The airmen could only wait. They spent some time going over maps and trying on the clothes that had been ordered from London. All were getting restless and several decided to visit some of the seventy-four half-submerged German ships that dotted the sea beyond the bay. They chose to climb the masts of the Hindenburg, a large battleship, which was half out of the water and found they could walk out on its two great long-range guns on the stern. Wade walked out on one while Arnold and Harding walked out on the other. The two dared Wade to try to leap from one to the other and bet he couldn’t do it. Wade, always a risk-taker, tried but fell in the water fully dressed and had to be pulled out, fuming at his distress and thoroughly chilled.
Harding and Arnold lounged around their quarters and chatted at length with Damon Runyon, a journalist covering the World Flight. He would become known later for his humorous stories written in the slangy idiom of New York City’s Broadway and underworld characters. Smith played a round of golf with Major Davidson and officers from the Richmond.
Lt. Clayton Bissell, who had been the advance officer for the flight down the Aleutians, was ordered meanwhile to board the USS Milwaukee and make arrangements for the three planes in Labrador and Nova Scotia, then assist Lieutenants Crumrine and Schulze on the Iceland-Greenland legs. On board were E. F. Porter representing the North American Newspaper Alliance and E. Pierson of United Press.
On 29 July, Bissell received a radiogram from General Patrick advising him that Antonio Locatelli, the Italian pilot, was attempting a round-the-world flight and would be following the same route across the North Atlantic. He had previously considered flying from Spitzbergen to the North Pole alone but abandoned that plan in favor of a westbound World Flight with three other crew members. Commander Cardenas, the Italian air attaché, had asked Patrick to allow use of the bases and left-over supplies from the American flight and this request was approved. Patrick warned, however, that he could not guarantee there would be sufficient supplies of gas and oil to satisfy his needs. Patrick could not guarantee either that there would be U.S. Navy vessels patrolling anywhere along the route for any period of time after the Cruisers had passed over them.
Bissell was directed to arrange to leave mooring buoys for Locatelli at all the bases the Americans were to use, except Pictou, Nova Scotia. Smith was informed that arrangements had been agreed upon between the American and Italian governments but was assigned no responsibility for assisting the Italian flier. No further information about Locatelli’s estimated time of arrival at any of the North Atlantic bases was forthcoming at the time.8
It was 2 August before the weather cleared enough for the crews to attempt the flight to Iceland by way of the Faeroe Islands. The three planes began their takeoffs; the official report of the flight tells what happened next.
The Chicago in attempting to take off, had considerable difficulty in getting up on the step of the pontoons and could not do so until the Boston came down, landing directly in front. This created sufficient roughness of water and currents of air to help the Chicago off. The flight started at 8:34 A.M.
Fog was encountered within five miles after departure and finding it impossible to go under, the Cruisers climbed above the fog, continuing on the course for about thirty minutes when all three planes were trapped in a heavy fog. It was impossible for the planes to see each other. The Chicago and Boston, using their instruments, climbed and turned back out of the fog, coming out at an altitude of 2,800 feet, where they circled for about thrity minutes looking for the New Orleans. Fearing some accident had befallen Nelson and Harding, the two returned to Kirkwall, dropping a note at the [Kirkwall Hotel] to immediately give out information regarding the separation.”9 The note read:
SEND A MESSAGE TO THE RICHMOND THAT WE ALL BECAME SEPARATED IN THE FOG AND THAT WADE AND I HAVE NOT SEEN NELSON SINCE WE BECAME SEPARATED ON THE COURSE TWENTY-FIVE MILES FROM BIRSAY.10
Smith and Wade landed at Kirkwall and returned to their moorings to see if any information had been received about the missing plane. About four hours later, a message arrived from one of the Navy ships stating that the New Orleans had been sighted passing over the Faeroe Islands. When more time passed and hope seemed to fade, the Richmond received some good news from Nelson himself:
GOT INTO PROPELLER WASH IN THE FOG WENT INTO A SPIN PARTIALLY OUT OF CONTROL CAME OUT JUST ABOVE WATER CONTINUED ON LANDING AT HORNA FJORD ALL OK NELSON11
It had been a near-tragedy and Nelson knew how close they had come to crashing. He tells his own story:
After losing sight of the Chicago and Boston in the fog, the weather became so thick that we could see nothing six inches from the cockpit. But we felt ourselves being jerked and thrown about and knew that we had got into the propeller wash of one of the other ships. This threw the plane out of control, and once one loses equilibrium in a fog, it is very difficult to regain it. With fog everywhere there was no basis of comparison and it was difficult to tell whether we were flying north, south, east, west, up or down. An instant later, my instruments indicated that we were descending in a spin at great speed.
Finally we managed to straighten her out. Not a minute too soon. As we pulled level, we shot into a clear spot, and from then on we were lucky enough to be able to fly under the fog until we were nearly out of it. Once clear, we flew back and forth for a time, hoping the other planes would show up. When they failed to appear, we climbed higher, and after flying for three hours over another fog bank we saw something black jutting up through the clouds. It was Sydero Island.
Twenty-five miles farther on, the fog ended abruptly, the sky became perfectly clear, and straight ahead we sighted the smoke of the first destroyer we had encountered. Gliding down, Jack wrote a note asking them if they could give us any news regarding the other planes and requested them to verify the direction of the course ahead of us. We flew right across the bow of the destroyer, but the first message bag fell into the sea. The second time we had better luck, and a moment later we had our signals, as well as the news that no other planes had passed that way.12
The ship was the Billingsley and the message read: IF PLANES 2 AND 3 HAVE PASSED BLOW TWO BLASTS ON WHISTLE IF NOT BLOW ONE.13
While Nelson circled with the engine throttled back, the ship gave one long blast so he continued on course toward Horna Fjord. The New Orleans soon passed over the cruiser Raleigh, another welcome sight, but were again enveloped by a fog bank that continued the rest of the way to Horna Fjord. The engine suddenly began to run rough as the oil pressure dropped ominously. Nelson thought that a landing to determine the cause of the pressure drop would have been exceedingly dangerous along the Icelandic coast, so he continued to fly a compass course directly toward the destination. Both men anxiously searched ahead for any signs of land, hoping they would not have to ditch in the frigid water among the floating ice cakes.
As they neared the Icelandic coast, the fog dissipated and their destination lay directly ahead—a tiny village with a population of eighty nestled against towering mountains with glaciers drifting down to the sea. They landed at 5:37 P.M., moored the plane, and hurried ashore where sailors from the Raleigh had established a radio station.
The news of Nelson’s safe arrival at Horna Fjord spread fast among the news correspondents on shore and aboard the Richmond who quickly radioed their stories to the world’s newspapers.
At Kirkwall, Smith was anxious for the Chicago and Boston to join Nelson and Harding as soon as possible. With excellent weather on hand on 3 August, they took off from the bay at Scapa Flow at 9:30 A.M. while motion picture photographers cranked their cameras, boats whistled, and local fishermen waved and cheered. Smith assumed the lead and headed west over the sea, with the Boston flying on his right. There was a stiff tail wind and Smith estimated they were doing better then 100 miles an hour.
About 11 A.M., Arnold, looking back, noticed that he could not see the Boston. He tapped Smith on the shoulder and both started looking for them as Smith circled. Down below they saw the Boston turn to head into the wind and land easily on a huge swell. Smith continued to circle lower to see if Wade and Ogden were signaling what their difficulty was but it was soon obvious: the engine oil pump had failed. They could see that the plane was smothered with oil and was leaving an oily trail in the water.
Wade was standing up in the cockpit waving frantically for Smith not to try to land because of the swelling sea and the mountainous waves that were developing. Although Wade had ditched seemingly without difficulty, he did not want Smith to risk a landing. Any attempt to taxi in the high wind to assist the Boston would be nearly impossible and could mean that there would be two planes down in the vast stretches of the Atlantic off the regular shipping lanes. A takeoff in the increasingly heavy swells would be extremely risky.
Smith circled several more times and then headed at full throttle for the destroyer Billingsley which was nearly 100 miles away. “Before we reached her,” Arnold said, “Lowell had written two notes, each identical, describing Wade’s mishap, the peril he and Ogden were in, their approximate location, time of landing, and the condition of both sea and wind, so that the naval officers could estimated how far the wind might blow them in the interval before a rescue could be effected.
“The first note we put in a message bag and dropped on the Billingsley but she was making twenty knots and I missed her deck by several yards. We had only one note left, and every moment was precious. It was imperative that this one should get to the destroyer, so I tied it to my one and only life preserver. When I dropped it this time, I again missed the deck, but a sailor dived overboard and fished it out of the sea.
“The note ended with a request that if they understood our message and were ready to start at once to the rescue, they were to give us three blasts from the whistle. We circled around, saw the captain seize the message, read it, and run across the deck. A moment later we saw three long streaks of steam coming from the whistle, and almost at the same moment clouds of smoke poured from the funnels, and the destroyer shot ahead like a greyhound whose leash has been slipped. Never have I seen a vessel jump into high speed so quickly. Later we learned that she had traveled so fast she burned all the paint off her stacks.
“As she raced through the sea at thirty-one knots, the captain wirelessed to the cruiser Richmond and the latter immediately started to the rescue also, at a speed of thirty-three knots.”14
Once the ship acknowledged the message, there was nothing else Smith and Arnold could do but head the Chicago for Horna Fjord, Iceland, speeded along by a strong tail wind. They soon ran into light rain and fog and passed the destroyer Reid positioned halfway between the Faeroes and Iceland without seeing her. It later developed that she had drifted thirty-two miles south of her assigned position because of the navigator’s inability to take sun shots with a sextant for several days. Smith continued to fly a compass course for the remaining 250 miles without any checkpoints to determine if he was nearing land until he saw the Raleigh offshore of Horna Fjord and knew they had found their destination.
Smith landed quickly and the two fueled the Chicago immediately before they went ashore. Nelson and Harding greeted them warmly and were shown their quarters in a large fisherman’s hut which they shared with sailors from the Raleigh who had set up a temporary radio station. Soon there was good news. The Boston had been located and was in tow by a British fishing trawler. The Richmond would arrive soon and take over the tow. It was hoped that the Boston could be repaired and Wade and Ogden would soon join the others at Horna Fjord.