The following description of the rescue of Locatelli, the Italian aviator, by the cruiser Richmond and written by Captain Lyman Cotton, commander of the Richmond and the son of Mr. and Mrs. R.R. Cotton, of this county, and a brother of Mrs. J.B. Timberlake of Raleigh, will be read with interest. Aviator Locatelli had come from Pisa, Italy, and joined the American aviators at Reykyovik [Reykjavik], Iceland, for the around the world flight. His plane was found down and after a long search Locatelli and three companions were picked up by the Richmond.
Capt. Cotton in a letter to his parents gave the description of the rescue:
“It was a day of thrills and excitement and anxiety when our planes shot by the Richmond, close aboard and almost at the height of the bridge, they seemed so small and frail way out on the trackless ocean between Iceland and Greenland. It made a lump come up in one’s throat.
“Lieut. Smith, pilot, and Lieut. Arnold, mechanician, passed first, Arnold waiving his arms in response to our cheers, but Lieut. Harding with Lieut. Nelson in plane No. 4 kissed both hands at us like a prima donna.
“Then came the days of weary searching by the Richmond, Raleigh and Barney, the two former using their planes when weather permitted. Three days and nights we kept at it. Ice, fog, wind and all the little pleasantries of the Northern seas, it discouraged us at times, but we were determined to leave no possible spot in our area uncovered.
“What a dramatic rescue it was! Too dramatic for the stage.
“ ‘Twas near the hour of midnight. A cold, dark, Arctic night. The Richmond was cutting the waves of a trackless sea, searching for a tiny speck carrying four human lives. Suddenly a flicker of light for a moment on the horizon 10 miles away. In a moment the Richmond throbs with renewed energy as she turns and speeds toward the spot, now dark again and apparently unoccupied. A hundred thousand horse-power shoves her along. Officers, men, correspondents and more men dash up on deck, half clad, in heavy coats, with blankets thrown around them, any way to get there. Red stars flash upward from the Richmond. Answering stars from the darkness ahead. Can it be the lost plane? Brilliant white beams of searchlights pierce the darkness and reach out ahead, falling here and there on the horizon and lighting up the deck like day, as the ships churched the water towards the spot. A small object reveals itself in a light beam, tossed about by wind and wave. Does it still contain four lives? A flash of color and the red, white and blue rudder of the Italian plane is recognized. The Richmond dashes up. Wild excitement and volleys of language on the plane, as the ship stops 20 feet from the huge monoplane bobbing up and down like a cork in the water. Lines are hove from ship to plane. Movie men crank their machines under the brilliant searchlight beams. Locatelli and his three companions climb aboard. Tired, haggard, unshaven and bedraggled, but overflowing with garrulous gratitude at their rescue after tossing about on the lonely unfriendly oceans for 82 hours.
“Effects of officers and men are passed on board from the crippled plane. She is set on fire and cast adrift, passes astern, flares up and sinks in a thousand fathoms of water. The refugees go below for hot coffee and sandwiches. The captain orders, ‘Stead on your course for Labrador.’ The bell strikes two. Again the Richmond is noiselessly cutting her way through the cold waters of the north, all quiet on board, except the purring of the radio as it tells the world of our little drama with its happy ending far away under the shadow of ‘Greenland’s Icy Mountains.’ Did I hear a little whisper, ‘Well done, Richmond?’ Perhaps it was only the consciousness within me of duty satisfactorily done.”
From page 8 of the Carolina Jeffersonian, Raleigh N.C., September 25, 1924.
newspapers.digitalnc.org/lccn/sn92073001/1924-09-25/ed-1/seq-8/#words=SEPTEMBER+25%2C+1924
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