the many men and women who have been passengers on
the vessel, leave the ship by means of aeroplanes,
and sail eastwardly over Southern California.



The air cut by Ethel's face at a ninety-mile gait, and she gripped
nervously at the hand-rails of the car. Then, regaining confidence,
she began to drink in the novel view about her. Ahead were the
drab-winged aeroplanes growing smaller and smaller until they became
mere specks against the darkening sky. She turned to the rear and
watched the myriads of humans, like birds, rising from the
transports that still lay in the sunshine. There were literally
thousands of them. She wondered if human eyes had ever before
witnessed so marvelous a sight.

They had come over the mainland of Mexico now and were flying at a
height of about half a mile. Shrouded in the tropical twilight, the
landscape below was but dimly discernible. As the darkness came on,
Ethel discovered that a small light glowed from the side of the car
in front of the driver. Gripping the hand-rail, she made bold to
raise herself; and, stopping beneath the searchlight and machine-gun
that hung, one beneath the other, on swivels in the center of the
framework, she peered forward over Komoru's shoulder.

The taciturn steersman turned and smiled but said nothing. Ethel
noted carefully the equipment of the driver's box. It was a
duplicate throughout of the dummy steering gear with which she had
practiced in the ship's gymnasium. One conspicuous addition,
however, was an object illuminated by the small glow lamp that had