No sooner had Lindbergh left Newfoundland than he ran into a cold fog. He was prepared for this, however, for he had put on a warm fur-lined coat. His enclosed cockpit helped to protect him from the cold as well as from the strong wind and rain. Lindbergh pointed the nose of his airplane upward until he had reached a height of ten thousand feet, or about two miles. Below him was a low light fog through which tall icebergs could be seen. This fog kept growing thicker and higher until it reached the very edge of the area through which he was flying. There was no moon at first. It was very dark. People wonder just what Charles Lindbergh’s thoughts were as he flew alone above the tossing waves of the Atlantic Ocean all through that long dark night. Perhaps he had in mind just one thought—"To Paris!” And on—on—Lindbergh flew.

While making his way through one thick storm cloud, ice formed upon the wings of his airplane. He had to turn back to a clear region and then fly around the cloud. Then other storm clouds appeared. Each time Lindbergh flew around or over them.

At 1 A. M., New York time, the first signs of dawn appeared. With the coming of the day there was perhaps a little more hope than before. The air was warmer for a time, and the small amount of ice which had begun to gather upon the plane melted away.

After a time the sun came up, and all the while the Spirit of St. Louis was roaring on and on toward its distant goal!