CHAPTER IX
JOURNEY'S END
THERE at Burry Port, Wales—we learned its name later—on the morning of June 18, we opened the door of the fuselage and looked out upon what we could see of the British Isles through the rain. For Bill and Slim and me it was an introduction to the Old World. Curiously, the first crossing of the Atlantic for all of us was in the Friendship. None that may follow can have the quality of this initial voyage. Although we all hope to be able to cross by plane again, we have visions of doing so in a trans-Atlantic plane liner.
Slim dropped down upon the starboard pontoon and made fast to the buoy with the length of rope we had on board for just such a purpose
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