In a very few moments it was clear that to continue his flight would be no longer safe, and he prepared to glide.  While he was searching for a convenient landing place the sparking ceased altogether.  The whole country was rugged; below, almost wholly forest land as far as the eye could reach; above, bare rocks or scrub, and at the greatest altitude, snow.  The aeroplane flew on for a little by its own momentum, and Smith wasted a few painful seconds before, despairing of finding level ground, he began to descend in a long spiral.

As he neared the ground, Rodier’s quick eye detected a little river cutting its way through the forest, and at one spot a widening of its bed, due, probably, to the action of freshets.  Here there was a narrow space of bare earth, the only clear spot in the landscape, and even this was surrounded with dense woodland.  He pointed it out to Smith.  There was no room for mistake or misjudgment.  Smith knew that if he did not strike the exact spot the aeroplane must crash into the forest that lined both banks of the river.  Never before had so heavy a demand been made upon his nerve and skill.  But the severe training of the Navy develops coolness and judgment in critical situations; his long apprenticeship to aerial navigation enabled him to do the right thing at the right time; and, thanks to the calmness of the air in this lofty region, the machine answered perfectly to his guiding hand, and settled down upon the exact spot he had chosen, the little open stretch on the right bank of the stream, within eight or ten yards of the water.

His hand was trembling like a leaf when he stepped out on to the land.  The teeth of both men were chattering.

“Mon Dieu!” cried Rodier.  “That was a squeak, mister.  Le diable de machine!  It seem I do nothing at all but clean, clean, all the way from London, and yet—­”

“And yet down we come, ’like glistening Phaethon, wanting the manage of unruly jades,’” quoted Smith.  “Still, we’re safe, and I’ve known men killed or lamed for life getting off a horse.”

“But with the horse you have the whip, with the machine you have only the rags to clean her with.  Ah! coquine, I should like to flog you, to give you beans.”  He shook his fist at the engine.

Smith laughed.

“Beans would suit a horse better, Roddy,” he said.  “Let’s be thankful the breakdown didn’t happen while we were in the storm.  That would have been the end of us.  Come on, we’ll soon put things to rights.  This loss of time is getting very serious.”

They set to work to discover the cause of the failure.  As they expected, the sparking plugs were completely clogged.  Smith took these down to the stream to give them a thorough cleaning, while Rodier overhauled the other parts of the machine.  When, after half-an-hour’s hard work, everything appeared to be in order again, they sat down to snatch a meal, leaving the plugs to be replaced at the last moment.