If Don Harlan was in all normal times, and under all natural conditions, a most excellent and trustworthy aerial navigator, as in fact all the other members of this crew knew from experience that he was, so also was he human, and, therefore, subject to human errors. Certainly in the present situation this was not to be unexpected, for he and the others not only had undergone a most extraordinary series of the most harrowing experiences, in rapid-fire succession, but in addition they were nerve-tired and physically fagged for the want of sleep.

They did not reach or even sight Ireland within the predicted six hours, but long before that time they did something which, in view of subsequent events and the demands they put upon the men for every ounce of their courage and ingenuity, proved to be a most excellent thing.

It was Jack's suggestion—or rather, his orders.

"Fred and Don," he had said, immediately after the sending of the wireless, to be relayed to the President, "it's plain sailing now and we won't need either one of you. Both of you curl up somewhere out of the way and take three hours sleep. At the end of that time we'll call you, you two can take charge for the next three hours while Andy and I snooze, and we'll all feel better and more capable for the rest."

None knew at that time how valuable that recuperation, brief as it was, would prove to be.

Under the circumstances and the program which called for an equal division between the four of them of the rest period, it hadn't taken Fred and Don more than two minutes to follow the advice. For three hours they lay like logs, stretched out side by side on the floor of the nacelle, snoring so lustily as to seem to be in competition with the steady throbbing of the engines.

True to promise, at the end of that time Jack awakened them, and, when they had recovered their dulled wits, they took charge while Jack and Andy almost instantly dropped into a heavy sleep.

Another three hours and they were brought back to life, but still there was no sight of land.

Jack got out the binoculars, as soon as he had gotten the "sand" out of his eyes, for what he termed a "squint" before again taking his place in the pilot's seat.

Just as, hours before, their forward rush had brought the night to them, so now their speed was irresistibly drawing the dawn toward them. Jack held the glasses to his eyes for a moment, then rubbed his eyes vigorously and looked again.

Of a sudden he gave a great whoop, and slapped Don on the back with a force that nearly sent him off his feet.

"Land, gol darn you," Jack shouted for the benefit of all. "Land ahoy, as they say aboard ship!"

"What's that?" demanded Andy, regarding it as news too good to be true. "Let me have a peep through those binoculars. You may be seeing things."

"I am," Jack admitted joyously, handing over the glasses. "I'm seeing Ireland, or my name's not Jack Carew."

"Sure as you live," agreed Andy, beaming on the others.

"Well, none too soon," Don interrupted, turning a serious face upon them. "I didn't want to hurry you fellows out of your sleep, seeing that you gave us three hours, but I want to tell you that even now we're pretty nearly up against it. Look at that!"

He pointed at the petrol gauge. It registered only enough, at their average rate of consumption, to carry them two-thirds of the estimated distance to where the welcome shores of Ireland hove dimly into sight in the distance.

"Climb out!" Jack ordered peremptorily. "You too," indicating Fred.

He climbed into his own seat, and motioned Andy into the other.

Without another word they began a long climb, the pounding of the engines indicating the extra pressure they were called upon to meet, the tilt of the plane indicating a sustained angle that was taking them onward but up, up, up.

Don stood directly behind Big Jack, his eye fastened upon the altimeter on the instrument board. Slowly, surely, unwaveringly, it was being pushed around the dial. It registered eight thousand feet, nine, ten, eleven, twelve.

He turned a questioning glance at Fred, who was likewise engaged, but not a word was spoken.

Their glance turned to the petrol gauge, which Big Jack and Andy were watching as closely as they were the indications of their steadily increasing altitude. It showed an equally steady depletion as the engines literally ate up the now almost priceless fuel.

Don, his attention now turned to this instrument, saw it going down, down, down, even as the plane continued on its upward climb. Even yet the real significance of Jack's intention had not fully dawned upon him.

The fuel was by now dangerously low. Once Don thought he heard one of the engines "skip," and his heart skipped a beat in consequence. He looked again at the altimeter. Fifteen thousand feet! And still the plane was climbing, its angle unaltered.

He grabbed the binoculars and gazed out toward the coast, now scarcely any nearer the plane by actual distance, but much nearer from a plumb line which might have been dropped from the plane. He estimated that they were as yet about fifteen miles out to sea.

And still the machine climbed. He turned again to the altimeter, fascinated by this great contest between the wits of man and the natural elements.

Eighteen thousand feet, and the needle, still continuing its circle of the dial, registered nineteen thousand before he could tear his glance away.

Bang! Sput, sput! Bang!

One of the engines was missing audibly. The petrol indicator now registered almost nothing. The altimeter needle was just flirting with the point marking twenty thousand feet.

Jack for the first time took his eyes from a straightaway upward course and gazed about him—principally outward and downward toward the Irish coast.

The petrol gauge registered nothing noticeable and both engines were firing now at interrupted intervals only, and the propellers were spinning in jerky uneven response to the queer spurts of power shot to them from the well-nigh exhausted engines.

Jack grabbed the petrol pump, and with a few sudden lusty jerks sent the remaining dregs of fuel into the engines. They responded nobly with what little ammunition they got, and with this power the plane gave a loop, like a scenic railway car taking a hump, and what had been the upward angle was reversed.

The ingenious purpose was now apparent. The throttles were closed because there was no longer any use in keeping them open. Jack was trying the only course that had been left open to them. He had mounted to the greatest possible height with what little fuel they had left, while still continuing their eastward direction.

They were now on a great ten-mile downward glide which was their only hope of reaching somewhere near the coast line. How successful they were in this depended now upon the skill with which the captain-pilot used the plane's momentum.

Although with no propelling power whatever, they rapidly gathered a terrific speed. When this had reached a point where it threatened to tear the wings or rudder loose, Jack lifted her to an almost horizontal course, and the plane sailed along for more than a mile before it became necessary to again turn her nose down to gather increased momentum. When this was had the same process was repeated.

How good a pilot Jack was, this situation would develop. They had come perhaps five miles nearer the shore line now, and they were still some twelve or thirteen thousand feet in the air. A swift glance at the altimeter and barometer assuring him of this fact, and Jack permitted himself a smile which gave heart and renewed courage to each of the other three.

"We'll make it easy if nothing gives way," he said.

Again they were gathering a speed even more terrible than that which had marked the first stage of their descent. When the plane was "brought to" again, it sailed landward for nearly two miles.

They were now only eight thousand feet up, and the distance to shore was probably three or three and a half miles. Jack decided to give them a little sensation. He pointed the nose of the craft directly at where the waves broke into little rollers on the shore, and let her go.

Don, sticking his head out of a window of the nacelle for an instant, thought that the top of his anatomy had been lifted off. Involuntarily he put his hand up to see if his scalp was still there.

Down, down, down they rushed, and still no alteration in their course.

They were about a thousand yards from the shore line, and approximately the same distance above the water, when Jack altered course, came to an almost horizontal position, executed a long arc and then, with the decreased speed, gradually dropped and at the same time swerved gently shoreward. Three minutes later, and without a propeller turning, without any aid whatever toward bringing them to a stop or impelling them forward, they came to the surface and to a standstill in a shoal-protected section of comparatively still water, two hundred feet from shore.

"Greatest piece of work I ever saw," exclaimed Don enthusiastically, grasping Jack's hand.

"The principal thing is that we did it, and here we are on European soil," said Jack, as, having already sounded the depth with a rope and sinker, and finding it less than three feet, he stepped overboard to wade ashore.

The others followed. From the solid ground of Ireland they looked back on the brave craft which had brought them there. A murmur of thanksgiving welled from each heart.

"We'll get a caretaker, and then be off on the last leg of our journey," Jack announced, as they trudged off up the incline toward where they believed they would find friendly welcome and perhaps a hot breakfast.