"Peal after peal of thunder followed in swift succession between vivid flashes of furious summer lightning. The heavens had opened to pour forth the accumulated passion of centuries. At nearly 7,000 feet tip, it would be suicidal to descend into the unknown and unseen. Which was safer—air or land? To the anxious aim, beyond endurance, came the thought, common to every flying man, of fire in the air, and as if to confirm this horror, a flash in a moment illuminated the whole machine as though it were caught in the probing beam of a searchlight at night. The sky was rent from vault to horizon by a vivid streak of electric fire. The indicating fingers on the navigation instruments oscillated wildly.

Like Wounded Bird.
"It seemed the last moment; but it passed, and still the machine was air worthy. The hail still tore fiercely at the fabric of the planes; the machine was becoming more and more unstable; but it still hummed on. Down below a cloud of vapor made it impossible to see the earth or to sight a stretch of ground whereon to land. The thunder broke with unabated fury at regular intervals, and at each onslaught the machine quivered like a wounded bird.

"If the pilot continued to fly on it could only be a matter of moments before all control of the craft would be wrenched from his hands. It was equally hazardous to plunge down into the sea of mist in total ignorance of the lie of the land beneath. But to the latter course only could a shred of hope cling. The engine therefore was suddenly shut off and the nose of the machine dropped." 