I ate six malted milk tablets and two oranges, and I think the men consumed about the same quantity, washed down by coffee. Somehow or other under the strain of excitement, no one seemed to feel like eating. And then, after all, twenty hours is not so long to go without sleeping or eating, if one is in good physical condition.
About eleven on the morning of June seventeenth, the wind was reasonably right, and the weather forecast as relayed to us from New York, not too unpromising. So again we taxied to the end of the harbor and faced into position before the wind.
With the waves pounding the pontoons and breaking over the outboard motors, we made the long trip down its length, the ship too heavy to rise. Stultz turned around and taxied back to try again.
I was crowded in the cabin with a stop watch in my hand to check the take-off time, and with my eyes glued on the air speed indicator as it slowly climbed. If it passed fifty miles an hour, chances were the Friendship could pull out and fly. Thirty—forty—the Friendship was trying again. A long pause, then the pointer went to fifty. Fifty, fifty-five—sixty. We were off at last, staggering under the weight carried with the two sputtering outboard motors which had received a thorough dousing of salt water.
We had made so many false starts, practically no one was on hand to see our real departure. I had left a brief telegram announcing it to be sent
