AE on Norwich Island: Part 2

Amelia Earhart on Norwich Island

Part 2

July 2^nd, 1937, ca. 12 noon local time

“Well.” She cracked a faint smile, almost feeling her sinuses relax.  “That wasn’t so bad.” 

The ship had slithered around, gotten a lot closer to the edge and into deeper water than she would have preferred, but they were down, on solid ground, in one piece. 

The engines were still running; she idled down.  Her ears rang in the strange quiet. Fred gripped her shoulder. Shouted.

“Well done, Captain! Very well done!” He had never called her “Captain” before. She flashed a smile at him in acknowledgement.

“I’ll go inflate the raft,” he said, unbuckling and climbing up to slither aft over the empty auxiliary tanks.

“OK, but hold on. I’m going to try and taxi her up the reef a bit, so when the tide comes in…”

“Gotcha!” His voice was muffled as he scrambled into the aft compartment.

The shallower the water under the ship, the better. She gingerly released the brakes, throttled up and turned inland, rolling slowly and trying to watch the reef ahead. Couldn’t see much beyond the protuberant silver nose, especially with a foot or so of water rippling over the reef.

She gasped and swore as they stopped abruptly, sheered viciously to the right. She knew what had happened; the starboard gear had dropped into a hole or crack, gotten wedged. Quickly, she throttled down and set the brake.

“Looks like this is where we stay for awhile.”

No answer from Fred. He was probably busy; she’d check on him in a minute.

She picked up the microphone, tried to control her voice:

“KHAQQ calling Itasca; come in please.” 

No response, just static.

“KHAQQ to Itasca; please respond.”

Nothing.  She shut down the radio. Considered whether to do the same with the now-idling engines. How much fuel was left? Barely enough to register on the gauge, and if they weren’t rescued promptly she would need it to run the starboard motor, generating power for the radio transmitter. But if she shut down, would she be able to start again?

She levered herself out of her seat, feeling like she’d been stuck to it. Her feet felt stiff and swollen, even in her oversize oxfords. Clambered across the cockpit and looked at the starboard prop. Yes, right now it was clear of the water.  Was the tide coming in or going out?  The gear was down in a hole, but not so deep as to make the water foul the prop.  Yet.

She flipped switches; the engines whined down to silence. Reached up and slid back the hatch over her head, looked up into the patch of blue sky. In the sudden quiet, the surf boomed and birds screeched as they circled. Boobies and snow-white fairy terns.

“Lovely, lovely…” Blinked away tears.

Where was Fred? She pulled herself up onto the fuel tanks, crawled back toward the navigator’s station.

“Oh, damnation!”  He was face-down on the deck, partly covered by the uninflated bright yellow raft, apparently out cold.  He hadn’t gotten much air into it, though the pump was attached. She shook her head.

“Don’t find fault, Amelia, for god’s sake!”

Down off the tanks, she pulled him out from under the raft, turned him over.  He groaned, and was obviously breathing, but blood was oozing from his forehead.

She closed her eyes tight, willed herself to be calm.  Look on the bright side; she at least was intact, and they were both alive.  Focus on the future, the practical.

The first aid kit – the large tin one.  Where was it?  Right, under Fred’s table; the small one was up front.  She found it, flipped it open, got out iodine and gauze.  It didn’t take long to staunch the bleeding; head wounds were convenient that way.  She applied a bandage and lowered his head onto the soft rubber gunwale of the raft.  A convenient pillow.  His eyes opened, blinked.

“Fred!  Are you OK?”

He grimaced, brought up his right hand to his forehead.

“Hel..heckuva headache, and – it’s .. mighty stuffy in here.”

“We’ll get you out, ashore. Sorry to …”

He waved dismissively. “No great harm done. I was doing fine until that last jerk to starboard.  Lost my grip.”

“The gear went in a hole.  You must’ve hit your head on – well, any number of things.”

He touched the dressing that covered the wound. “Doesn’t matter. Anyway, some angel of mercy fixed it up.  I’ll be OK.”  He nodded his head and a pained expression flashed across his face. 

“Sh… darn, that was a mistake.”

“Let’s get out of here and I’ll look at it where the light’s better.”

“OK, good idea.”  He squeezed her shoulder.  “They’ll be coming – any time.”  She helped him to the door, undogged it and swung it open.

“Right,” she said with a smile, helping him to step down. “They may be here already.”

Mercy, it was getting hot!  There was a welcome draft through the open door – but it was hot air.

“Like the Sahara,” Fred muttered, leaning against the side of the plane.

“Stay there, Fred. Rest a sec while I get my juice.” She snaked back to the cockpit, picked up her thermos of tomato juice and the binoculars, climbed out through the overhead hatch.  Perched there for a moment as she had so often on landing, the wind ruffling her hair. Scanned the sea – no sign of Itasca, but it could hardly be expected, this soon.

The air was loud with the sound of seabirds, crying at each other as they circled overhead.  The water-covered reef shimmered, almost painful to look at even with sunglasses. Not far away to the south was the shipwreck, a dark, looming presence.  She swept it with the binoculars. It was red with rust, had big holes in its side.  

“Definitely been there awhile. And definitely burned. I wonder…”

She focused on the bow, looking for a name. Yes, it was faint, almost rusted out, but there it was. “Norwich.”

“The S.S. Norwich – or maybe...” It looked like there might be another word.

“Norwich Mountain? Norwich Forest?” It didn’t matter; the name “Norwich” would be enough of a clue to pass on to anyone who might hear their next radio message. The wreck would certainly be documented. 

Fred sat in the fuselage door, knee deep in water, holding his head, but he looked up and saw her in the hatch. Stood up, started to re-enter the plane. Stopped and lowered his head to his arm against the plane’s side, clearly in pain.  She imagined his head swimming.

She’d have to persuade him to go ashore, rest.  Pull out the raft and finish inflating it, throw in some gear and pull it to the beach.

But what if the tide was coming in?  What if the ship floated?  She could lose everything. 

“Well, it’s either coming in or going out, and I can’t stop it.  And Fred…..”  She slid down over the wing and into water up to her knees. Wetting her feet felt good after so long in the air, but it wouldn’t do anything good for her shoes.

“Oh well, they have rubber soles.”

Holding the thermos and binoculars tight, she worked her way back to the door and Fred, muttering about time and tide waiting for no man or woman.

He wouldn’t leave her and go ashore, of course, so once she had the raft out she put him to work pumping it up.  She sidled back through the lavatory and opened the hatch to the storage space in the tail, groped around their suitcases and other gear, found the rubberized zipper bag where she kept her personal things, skin lotion and log-book.  Plenty of room in it. She added a soggy paper-wrapped sandwich off Fred’s table; her light-weight Swiss walking shoes.  Two flashlights, the bone-handled folding knife.  Another pair of sunglasses – had she only two left? Her pidgin English dictionary for communication with any natives. 

She leaned on Fred’s chart table and took the bamboo message-passer from its hooks on the wall.  Stumbled out the door, waiting till the retreating surf created a backdrag before pushing it shut. 

Fred hadn’t gotten the raft inflated much, but it would float; it didn’t have to hold much as long as Fred could walk, and he insisted on doing so though his face was white and his hands shook.  They splashed shoreward together, pulling the raft, sharing the bamboo rod as a walking stick on the algae-slimed reef.

She had forgotten the first aid kit.  Either of the first aid kits. Should she go ahead and help Fred get settled, or go back and get a kit so she could, perhaps, actually do something about his head?  She glanced at the plane, with the waves breaking around it. If it floated….

“Hold on, Fred.  Wait here; I forgot the first aid kits.”  Before he could argue, she splashed back to the door, wrenched it open.  Climbed in, grabbed the big tin kit. Over the tanks, head-down in the cockpit, retrieved the small wooden one.  Back to the door and out, pushed it shut. Shoved off between waves, staggered toward Fred, the raft and the shore.

She gave Fred the bamboo rod; he accepted it in silence. Toward the shore the reef became much rougher, with long ridges of coral and deep tide pools full of bright-colored fish.  Still slick with algae, though; they each almost fell a dozen times before staggering up onto the beach.

Which wasn’t a sand beach at all, but a steep, rough scree slope made up of coral fragments. 

“Good thing I resisted the impulse to land on this!”

Fred didn’t answer.  They dragged the raft up to the semi-shade of some bushes; with a groan, Fred dropped down on his back with his head on the plump gunwale, under a small bushy tree with bumpy green fruits and little white flowers.  He closed his eyes without a word, and almost instantly began to snore. 

She squatted next to him for a minute or two, pinching her eyes shut against the sun’s glare on the coral, trying to compose herself.  Considered lying down with her head on the raft’s inviting gunwale.  No, she needed to make sure Itasca would see them when she arrived – get that done before she considered relaxing.

“Gotta go back to the ship. Just rest that head, Fred; I’ll be back before you know it.”  He didn’t stir.

She splashed across the slimy reef, leaning on the bamboo pole. The water was over knee-deep now; the plane’s reflection shimmered and shifted, making it seem almost to be flying through a scintillating cloud 

She quickly checked the starboard landing gear. Yep, down in a hole, but it didn’t appear to be damaged. There would be time to look more closely when the tide went back out.

Splashed around to the door; wrenched it open and almost fell over at the blast of hot air from inside.

“Aluminum airplane, equatorial sun. Bad combination. Take a note…”

She groped her way to the wing, climbed on it and let water run out of her shoes, then went in through the top hatch. Marginally more tolerable.

“Might as well…”

Flipped on the receiver.  Static.  Switched to transmit:

“KHAQQ to any station.  Ship is on reef southeast Howland Island.  Northwest end of unknown island near Norwich shipwreck.  Be advised, I will try to fly the kite.”

The instrument panel was swimming before her eyes.  She listened to the receiver briefly, heard nothing but static, closed it down.  Back over the tanks, past Fred’s table, through the lavatory – gad, but it stank!  Opened the storage compartment again and found the big yellow kite with its reel of string, hauled it out the door and assembled it.  In the steady wind out of the northeast it was pretty easy to launch and get aloft.  She got it up to about a hundred feet and tied the string off to a strut.

“OK, they’ll have a hard time missing that.” 

She tumbled out the door, pushed it shut, dogged it tight.  Rested a moment leaning against the fuselage. 

Would she ever touch this airplane again?  Of course she would!  This was just a temporary obstacle! To be overcome! She squeezed her eyes shut against tears. 

“I won’t lose this ship!”

Lots of her landings had been worse than this one, and she had gotten the plane back into the air, on her way. This time…

“No different.” She stepped off between waves, staggered toward shore, leaning on the bamboo pole. Stopped, turned to survey the plane in its entirety. Baking patiently in the sun, she thought.

“Easily recoverable. When Itasca gets here…”

They could maneuver spars under the fuselage, rig jacks, lift the starboard gear out of its hole, shift it a bit and put it back down on solid coral. Once on its wheels…

“We can gas it up, and take off…”

If the gear held. If it wasn’t too damaged. Or could be jury-rigged.

“Fly to Howland and land….”

A belly landing if necessary, but with luck the gear would be all right. They could repair everything, and fly on.

She blew the plane a kiss and splashed on to shore.

Fred hadn’t moved.  She flopped down with her head on the raft’s gunwale, threw her arm over her face to block the sun, whose rays beat down through the bush’s thin canopy of leaves.

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Notes

“…even in her oversize oxfords.” This is more or less sheer speculation on my part. Earhart reports that she carried “very heavy walking shoes” (Last Flight pp. 103-04), and while these may have indeed been for walking, my speculation is that they were also for use in the air, where both foot swelling and the need for thick socks to ward off cold might have justified wearing oversize footwear. In The Sound of Wings (p 140), Mary Lovell reports that AE’s “feet were apt to swell.” Oxfords were a common shoe style in the 1930s, and apparently were the style represented by the shoe parts found by TIGHAR on Nikumaroro in 1991; see Amelia Earhart’s Shoes Chaps. 11-12.

“…but blood was oozing from his forehead.” Some post-loss radio messages have been interpreted as indicating that Noonan suffered injuries on landing.  See Finding Amelia p. 118 and http://tighar.org/smf/index.php?topic=1178.0 .  None is definitive, but I have chosen to accept them for purposes of this story.

First aid kits. The inventory taken after the Luke Field mishap that ended Earhart’s first World Flight attempt indicates that the Electra carried two first aid kits: a “Bauer & Black No. 42” and a “Tabloid” produced by Burroughs, Wellcome & Co. See http://ameliaearhartarchaeology.blogspot.com/2016/05/earharts-first-aid-kits-at-seven-site.html.

“… thermos of tomato juice.” “I don’t drink tea or coffee…. I had malted milk tablets, sweet chocolate, tomato juice, and water.”  Last Flight p. 12

“The wreck would certainly be documented.” The SS Norwich City ran aground on Nikumaroro in 1929 during a fierce storm; she exploded and burned. See http://tighar.org/wiki/SS_Norwich_City for details. What remains of the wreck is at at 4^o39’39.50”S, 174^o32’42.41”W

“…good thing they have rubber soles.” Rubber soles for shoes were introduced in the late 19^th century (See http://inventors.about.com/od/sstartinventions/a/Shoes_2.htm), and in 1937 Vitale Bramani patented heavy lugged rubber soles for boots (See https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vibram). AE’s Swiss walking shoes (See below) almost certainly did not have rubber soles, but I speculate that her heavier shoes might have. The shoe sole found on Nikumaroro in 1991 (see Amelia Earhart’s Shoes Chaps. 11-12) is apparently made of rubber.

“…rubberized zipper bag…” Identified in the Luke Field Inventory.

“… log-book” Earhart kept her log in a loose-leaf stenographer’s notebook.  Last Flight pp. 74-5.

“…light-weight Swiss walking shoes…” See Gillespie, “A Shoe Fetish IV,” TIGHAR Tracks April 2016:4-8 for discussion of these shoes.

“…two flashlights.” Identified in the Luke Field inventory.

“…bone-handled folding knife.” Identified in the Luke Field inventory; similar example found at the Seven Site on Nikumaroro.

“Her pidgin English dictionary.,.” “My only purchase at Lae…has been a dictionary of pidgin English for two shillings.”  Last Flight p.132.

“…bamboo message-passer…” At least during the first World Flight attempt, Noonan used a bamboo rod about six feet long, to pass notes to Earhart across the top of the auxiliary fuel tanks.  See Finding Amelia:41-42.  It is not certain that it was aboard during the second world flight, but I have chosen to assume that it was.

“…small bushy tree with bumpy green fruits and little white flowers.”  Morinda citrifolia, the juice of whose fruit is widely marketed in the 21^st century under its Hawai’ian name, “Noni.”

“I will try to fly the kite.” “… big yellow kite with its reel of string.”  See http://tighar.org/Projects/Earhart/Archives/Research/ResearchPapers/first24hours.html for report of a radio message involving flying a kite. George Putnam is reported to have said that AE had a kite for use as a visual signaling device; presumably it could also be used to hoist an antenna.  See Associated Press July 2 1937, http://www.nytimes.com/learning/general/onthisday/big/0702.html#article ; see also image 20 at http://www.kansas.com/news/article985701.html.