# Air Service Boys over the Atlantic/Chapter 23

CHAPTER XXIII
THE END OF THE FLIGHT
No longer did the fog enfold them in its damp grasp. After leaving the immediate coast behind them the last trace of it disappeared.
Jack refused to take his entranced eyes from the binoculars for a single minute. He felt a hundred-fold repaid for all the perils encountered during the memorable flight from the shore of France, during which they had spanned the vast area of the Atlantic, and were now sailing peacefully along above the home soil.
Lieutenant Beverly made an announcement just then that startled them.
"We must look for a place to drop down without any further loss of time!" he called out to Tom, who was still serving as pilot.
"But it would be mighty fine," Jack observed wistfully, "if only we might keep going on until we got a few miles out of Bridgeton. I know every rod of territory for miles around and could point out a dandy level field to make our landing ​in. We'd be able to descend without observation, too, I really believe."
"That'd surely be nice. Jack," Beverly told him, "and I wish we could accommodate you. But the fact is we're about out of gas! I noted this a short time ago, but said nothing, because it would do no good to throw a scare into you both. Besides, Tom had already headed direct for the land at the time."
"How lucky that didn't happen when we were a hundred miles out at sea!" Tom exclaimed, his first thought being one of satisfaction, rather than useless complaint. This was characteristic of Tom, always seeing the bright side of things, no matter how gloomy they appeared to others.
"Then I'd better be looking for a landing-place," Jack quickly remarked, getting over his little disappointment.
"And the sooner we duck the better," Beverly admitted. "If the motors go back on us we'll be in a bad fix; and volplaning to the ground isn't always as easy as it's pictured, especially when you've no choice of a landing."
"After all, it does not matter so very much," Jack concluded. "Surely once we succeed in gaining a footing we can discover a means for getting to our goal without much loss of time."
He bent his energies toward looking for what ​would seem to be a promising open spot, where there would not be apt to be any pitfalls or traps waiting to wreck their plane, and possibly endanger their lives.
"Scrub woods all below us, Tom!" he announced.
"But there must be openings here and there," the pilot told him. "If only the field seems long enough to admit of our coming to a stop, we'd better take chances."
"Nothing yet, sorry to say," called out Jack.
"Suppose you drop lower, Tom," suggested Beverly. "If we skirt the tops of the taller trees we'll be better able to see without depending on the glasses. All three of us can be on the look-out at the same time."
Tom considered that a good idea and he lost no time in carrying it out. It was easier now to take particular note of the ground; but they passed over mile after mile of the scrub without discovering what they most earnestly sought.
"Things are getting down to a fine point, Tom," warned Beverly. "Our gas is on its last legs, and any minute now we'll find ourselves without motive power."
"It must change soon," the pilot told them. "This scrub forest has got to give way to rising ground and open spaces."
"But if it doesn't, what then?" asked Jack.
​"I hate to think of crashing down into those trees," Tom admitted. "We've just got to get over being too particular. Several places we let pass us might have answered our purpose. Look ahead, Jack, and tell me if there doesn't seem to be some sort of open spot lying there."
Jack gave a whoop.
"Here we are!" he cried exultantly. "It's an opening in the scrub timber, a big gash too, for a fact! Why, already I can see that it looks like a level green field. How queer it should be lying right there, as if it might be meant for us."
"You don't glimpse any other chance further on, do you, Jack?" continued the pilot.
"Never a thing, Tom. Just a continuation of those same old dwarf oak trees. But why do you ask that? What's the matter with this fine big gap?"
"I'm afraid it's a marsh, and not a dry field!" Tom answered. "But all the same I presume we'll have to chance it. Better to strike a bog than to fall into those trees, where the lot of us might be killed."
"Suppose we circle around, and try to find the best place for a descent," proposed Beverly.
All of them strained their eyes to try to see better. Unfortunately a cloud passed over the sun just then, rendering it difficult to make sure of anything.
​"What's the verdict?" sang out Tom presently, keeping a wary eye on the straining motors.
"Looks to me as if that further part might be the highest ground," was Jack's decision.
"I agree with you there!" instantly echoed Beverly.
"That settles it! Here goes to make the try," Tom announced, again swinging in and shutting off all power.
He continued to glide downward, approaching the ground at a certain point which he had picked out with his highly trained eye as apparently the best location for the landing.
Suspecting what might happen, Tom held back until the very last, so that the big bombing plane was not going at much speed when its wheels came in contact with the ground for the first time.
Something happened speedily, for it proved to be a bog, and as the rubber-tired wheels sank in and could not be propelled, the natural result followed that the nose of the giant plane was buried in the soft ground, and they came to an abrupt stop.
Tom was the first to crawl forth, and Beverly followed close upon his heels. The third member of the party did not seem as ready to report, which fact alarmed his chum.
"Jack, what's wrong with you?" he called out, ​starting to climb aboard the smashed plane again.
"Nothing so very much, I think; but I seem to be all twisted up in this broken gear, and can hardly move," came the answer.
Tom secretly hoped it was not a broken arm or leg instead. He started to feel around, and soon managed to get the other free from the broken ends of the wire stays that had somehow hindered his escape. Together they crawled out, to find Lieutenant Beverly feeling himself all over as if trying to discover what the extent of his damages were.
"Try to see if you've been injured any way seriously, Jack," begged his anxious chum, still unconvinced.
An investigation disclosed the marvelous fact that all of them had managed to come through the smashing landing with but a small amount of damage. When this was ascertained without any doubt Jack started to prance around, unable to contain himself within bounds.
"Excuse me if I act a little looney, fellows!" he begged. "Fact is, I'm just keyed up to top-notch and something will give way unless I let off steam a bit."
With that he yelled and laughed and cheered until his breath gave out. Neither of the others felt any inclination to try to stop his antics. Truth to tell, they were tempted to egg Jack on, ​because he was really expressing in his own fashion something of the same exultation that all of them felt.
The great flight had been carried through, and here they were landed on the soil of America, three young aviators who but a few days before had been serving their country on the fighting-front in Northern France. Yes, the Atlantic had been successfully bridged by a heavier-than-air plane, and from the time of leaving France until this minute their feet had not once pressed any soil; for that ice-pack in mid- Atlantic could not be counted against them, since it too was nothing but congealed water.
"But the poor old bomber! It's ruined, Colin, I'm afraid," Jack finally managed to say, when he sank down from his exertions.
"That's a small matter," Beverly assured him. "The main thing is that we did what we set out to do, and proved that the dream of all real airmen could be made to come true. We may live to see a procession of monster boats of the air setting out for over-seas daily, carrying passengers, as well as mail and express matter."
"Yes," said Tom gravely, and yet with a pardonable trace of pride in voice and manner, "the Atlantic has been conquered, and saddled, and bridled, like any wild broncho of the plains. But ​hadn't we better be thinking of getting out of this soft marshy tract?"
"As quickly as we possibly can," Jack told him. "We'll try to run across some Virginia farmer, black or white, who will have a horse and agree to take us to the nearest railroad station. Once we hit civilization, the rest will be easy."
"What about the plane, Colin?" asked Tom.
"It can stay here for the time being," the other answered him. "Later on I'll hire some one to have it hauled out and stored against my coming back — after we've been a while in Berlin and got Heine to behaving himself."
They secured such things as it was desirable they should keep. Acting on Tom's advice everything that might testify to their identity was also removed, lest the bogged plane be accidentally discovered and betray them. Afterwards they set out to find a way beyond the borders of the marsh and scrub oaks, to some place where possibly they might get assistance.