Another frustration presented itself the following morning as they were planning the next leg of their journey. They had planned to fly straight west across the Arabian peninsula and the Red Sea into Africa, a flight that would not have been much longer than the leg they had just completed from Karachi.
"When we were preparing to leave Bahrain we were warned by the British authorities not to fly across Arabia," said Ford. The Saudis had apparently already caught some British fliers who had been forced down there. The natives had dug a hole, buried them in it up to their necks, and just left them."
They took off into the grey morning and climbed through a solid overcast. They broke out of the clouds into the dazzling sunshine and the carpet of clouds below stretched westward to the horizon. "We flew north for about twenty minutes," Ford said. "Then we turned west and headed straight across Saudi Arabia. We flew for several hours before there was a break in the clouds below us, and damned if we weren't smack over the Mosque at Mecca! I could see the people pouring out of it. It was just like kicking an anthill. They were probably firing at us, but at least they didn't have any anti-aircraft."
The Pacific Clipper crossed the Red Sea and the coast of Africa in the early afternoon with the Saharan sun streaming in the cockpit windows. The land below was a dingy yellowish brown, with nothing but rolling sand dunes and stark rocky outcroppings. The only sign of human habitation was an occasional hut. Every so often they flew over small clusters of men tending livestock who stopped and shielded their eyes from the sun, staring up at the strange bird that made such a noise. The crew's prayers for the continued good health of the four Wright Cyclones became more and more fervent. Should they have to make an emergency landing here they would be in dire straits indeed.
Later in the afternoon they raised the Nile River and Ford turned the ship to follow it to the confluence of the White and Blue Nile, just below Khartoum in the Sudan. They landed in the river, and after they were moored, the crew went ashore to be greeted by the now familiar hospitality of the Royal Air Force. Ford's plan was to continue southwest to Leopoldville in the Belgian Congo and begin their South Atlantic crossing there. He had no desire to set out across the Sahara; a forced landing in that vast trackless wasteland would not only render the aircraft forever immobile, but the crew would surely perish in the harshness of the desert.
Early the next morning they took off from the Nile for Leopoldville. This was to be a particularly long overland flight and they wanted to leave plenty of daylight for the arrival. They would land on the Congo River at Leopoldville and from there would strike out across the South Atlantic for South America.
The endless brown of the Sudan gave way to rolling green hills and then rocky crests that stretched across their path. They flew over native villages and great gatherings of wildlife. Herds of wildebeest, hundreds of thousands strong, stampeded in panic as the Clipper roared overhead. The grassland soon turned to jungle and they crossed several small rivers which they tried to match to their maps. Suddenly ahead they saw a large river much bigger and wider than others they had crossed, and off to their right was a good-sized town. The river had to be the mighty Congo and the town was Bumba, the largest settlement on the river at that point. >From their maps they saw that they could turn and follow the river downstream to Leopoldville. They had five hundred miles to fly.
Late in the afternoon they raised the Congolese capital of Leopoldville. Ford set the Boeing down gently onto the river and he immediately realized the strength of the current. He powered the ship into the mooring and the crew finally stepped ashore. It was like stepping into a sauna. The heat was the most oppressive they had yet encountered. It descended on them like a cloak, sapping what energy they had left.
A pleasant surprise awaited them, however, when two familiar faces greeted them at the dock. A Pan American Airport Manager and a Radio Officer had been dispatched to meet them, and Ford was handed a cold beer. "That was one of the high points of the whole trip," he said.
After a night ashore they went to the airplane the next morning and prepared for the long over-water leg that would take them back to the western hemisphere. The terrible heat and humidity had not abated a bit when the hatches were finally secured and they swung the Clipper into the river channel for the takeoff.
