They continued on for some little time. Tom felt pretty confident that
he was correct, though he would be glad to have some confirmation of
his figuring.
"The fog is thinning some!" he finally stated, "and I think we'd better
seek a lower level."
"Might as well," added Beverly, approving of the idea instantly.
"Yes," added Jack, "when the time comes to fly landward we'll want to be
down far enough to see where we're going. We needn't be afraid any longer
of making a sensation, because seaplanes must be cruising over these
waters nearly every day, coming from the station near Fortress Monroe at
Hampton Roads."
Accordingly it was not long before they were skirting the upper reaches
of the diminishing fog bank, being about a thousand feet or so above the
sea itself. Now and then slight rifts appeared in the disappearing mist,
and at such intervals it was possible for them to catch fleeting glimpses
of the Atlantic, whose wide expanse they had successfully spanned, an
event that would make history, if only it could ever be publicly known.
Jack could no longer see the low shore, much to his distress; but then
he knew positively it was there, and when the time came to change
their course directly into the west a brief flight would carry them
over the land.
It really mattered little to him where they made their landing, since he
would be able to find a way of reaching Bridgeton within a few hours. He
consulted his little wrist watch again and again.
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