The Story of
THE AIRSHIP
(NON-RIGID)
_A Study of One of America’s Lesser Known Defense Weapons_
BY HUGH ALLEN
[Illustration: Airship in flight]
AKRON, OHIO, 1943
[Illustration: ADMIRAL W. A. MOFFETT
To whom this book is dedicated]
FIRST PRINTING, FEBRUARY, 1942
SECOND PRINTING, FEBRUARY, 1943
THIRD PRINTING, DECEMBER, 1943
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
THE LAKESIDE PRESS, R. R. DONNELLEY & SONS COMPANY, CHICAGO AND
CRAWFORDSVILLE, INDIANA
Dedication
To _Admiral William A. Moffett, and the men his leadership inspired—to
Landsdowne, McCord and Berry—to Calnan and Dugan and other able juniors,
to Maxfield and Hoyt, Hancock and Lawrence of an earlier decade—to the
Army’s Hawthorne Gray, and as well to England’s Scott, France’s de
Grenadin, Germany’s Lehmann and Goodyear’s Brannigan and Morton—names
taken from lighter-than-air’s brief but distinguished casualty list—of
men who believed in airships and accepted gallantly the penalty which
progress eternally exacts from men—this book is dedicated._
_Not forgetting the living men, the Navy’s Rosendahl, Fulton, Mills,
Settle; Goodyear’s Litchfield and Arnstein, and hundreds of others who
have carried on with unshaken faith, in the face of great setbacks._
_Much of devotion and courage, of scientific research and engineering
achievement has gone into this enterprise—and much has been proved.
Today, airships of the non-rigid type are taking on a new responsibility
to the nation. If they succeed, they may well bring back the great rigid
airships, to act as long range scouts against enemy raid or surprise
fleet movement, as fast moving bases and refueling points for fighting
airplanes far at sea—and as factors in world commerce in days to come._
_It is this impulse which is driving forward the men who believe in
airships—that the sacrifices and efforts of Admiral Moffett and the rest
shall not have gone in vain._
[Illustration: E. J. THOMAS
President of the Goodyear Company]
[Illustration: CAPTAIN C. E. ROSENDAHL, U.S.N.
He never gave up his ships]
[Illustration: COMMANDER T. G. W. SETTLE, U.S.N.
He explored the Stratosphere]
[Illustration: CHARLES BRANNIGAN
His courage still inspires airship men]
[Illustration: P. W. LITCHFIELD
An industrial leader, chairman of the Goodyear board, who has
believed for 30 years that airships would prove useful to his
country in peace or war]
Foreword
High admirals of the American fleet faced in 1940 the gravest
responsibility in the National Defense the Navy had ever known. Wherever
they turned, north, east, south, west, perils lurked. If they swung
their binoculars toward Iceland, toward the Caribbean, toward Singapore,
Alaska, or the Canal, everywhere waited potential threats against our
American way of life, which they must meet with ships and men, with guns
and stout hearts. This was not merely national defense, perhaps not even
hemisphere defense, it was World War.
Surveying their gigantic task, and moving swiftly to meet it, they found
a place in their program for half forgotten craft, long over-shadowed by
other arms of the fleet, the non-rigid airship, sometimes called a
dirigible, but more often a “blimp.”
Couldn’t the airship be used as a watchdog along the coast, against
enemy submarines, in discovering enemy mines—relieve for sterner tasks
the destroyers and other craft now wallowing their innards out in those
restless shallow waters? Great Britain and France had used airships
effectively in this service over the English Channel during the last
war.
The areas within their patrol range, a hundred or 200 miles out to sea,
within the 100 fathom curve, was a vital one. There steamship lanes
converge, great harbors lie, coastwise merchantmen cruise, there is the
greatest concentration of military and commercial shipping.
With depth bombs and machine guns the blimps might strike a stout blow
of their own, even if they weren’t rated as combat craft. At least they
could sound the alarm, call out reinforcements from swift moving
shore-based craft, keep the intruder under surveillance. After all the
main thing was to find the submarines in those endless miles of water.
And in this field the very slowness of the airship, as compared to the
airplane, would be an advantage, permit a more thorough search of the
ocean’s surface, while its speed as compared to any man-of-war, would
enable it to cover more ground within a given 24 hours.
So on the Navy’s recommendation Congress in 1940 approved the building
of the airship fleet up to substantial proportions, together with bases
from which they might operate along the Atlantic and Pacific coasts.
That program is now being put into effect and the Goodyear company which
had built most of the airships used in the first World War, began again
to build ships.
The story of the great rigid airships, the Los Angeles, the Akron, Macon
and Graf Zeppelin is fairly well known. That of the smaller non-rigids
is less familiar. The larger airships still hold vital commercial and
military promise for the future. However, this book will confine itself
to the non-rigid airship, with only enough reference to the larger ships
to round out the picture.
Every new vehicle of combat or transport has had to fight its way to
acceptance against misunderstanding and lack of understanding.
Steamships had to prove themselves against sailing ships. Submarines had
an uphill battle to establish themselves. The airplane was long on
probation, and now the airship is on trial.
This book will tell something about these ships, cite what is claimed
for them and what has been reasonably proved they can do, see what
progress has been made in performance, and point out what may be
expected from them hereafter—not avoiding the moot question of
vulnerability.
Lighter-than-air is older by a century than the heavier-than-air branch
of aeronautics. Its history is marked by long research and experiment
and continued progress. Like every pioneering development it has had its
setbacks. But the sincerity of the effort and solid accomplishment made,
entitles the project to thoughtful consideration.
Contents
Dedication v
Foreword vii
I. German Submarines in American Waters 1
A little known story from the first World War.
II. British Airships in the First World War 9
The use of non-rigid airships in Europe in 1914-18—as
convoys, and as scouts against mines and U-boats.
III. American Airships in Two Wars 13
Activities in first war, though building of ships, training
of men and erecting of bases had to be done after war broke
out.
IV. The Beginnings of Flight 21
Difference between airships and airplanes—classes of
airships—progress, from Montgolfiers to Santos Dumont to
1914.
V. Effect on Aeronautics of Post-War Reaction 28
Blimps overshadowed by Zeppelins and airplanes—only rigid
airships had anything like continuing program, and they
because of possible commercial value—effect on public
opinion of Lindbergh flight and first arrival of the Graf
Zeppelin.
VI. Airship Improvements Between Wars 32
Helium gas—structural changes—development of mooring
mast—Navy experiments in picking up water ballast from the
ocean.
VII. Adventures of the Goodyear Fleet 45
Reason for starting—adventures—familiarize country with
airships—safety record—evolution of masting technique.
VIII. Results of Fleet Operations 61
Weather information—effect on flying and ground handling
practice—on ship design—created bases, ships and
construction plants which might prove useful in emergency.
IX. Vulnerability of Airships 67
References 72
Index 73
CHAPTER I
German Submarines in American Waters
[Illustration: Submarine]
In the last six months of the first World War Germany sent six
submarines to America at intervals starting in April, to lay mines along
our shipping lanes, attack merchantmen, drive the fishing fleet ashore,
try to force this country to call back part of its European fleet for
home defense—and in any case to give America, geographically aloof from
the war, a taste of what war was like.
These activities were overshadowed at the time by graver events, or
hidden by military secrecy. Few people even today know that ships were
sunk and men killed by German U-boats within sight of our coast.[1]
It was in no sense an all-out effort. Only a handful of submarines were
used. The attack was launched late in the war, in fact one of the six
didn’t even reach American waters, was called back by news of the
Armistice. Submarines of that day had a cruising range of some three
months, could spend only three weeks in our coastal waters, used the
rest of the time getting over and back.
But in those few weeks these six submarines destroyed exactly 100 ships,
of all sizes, types and registry, killed 435 people. Most of the ships
were peaceful unarmed merchantmen, coastwise ships from the West Indies
and South America, tankers from Galveston, fishing ships heading back
from the Grand Banks, supply ships carrying guns and war materials to
England, a few stragglers from convoys.
The subs’ biggest catch was the USS San Diego, a cruiser, sunk by mine
off Fire Island, just outside New York harbor, July 19, 1918, with 1,180
officers and men aboard. Only six lives, fortunately, were lost. The
battleship Minnesota, escorted by a destroyer, struck a mine off Fenwick
shoals light ship, early in the morning of September 29, but made
temporary repairs and limped back into Philadelphia Navy Yard 18 hours
later. A fragment of the mine was found imbedded in her frame work.
[Illustration: Reproduced from U.S. Navy map showing track of
submarines operating in American waters during last few months of
first World War.]
Mines were laid at strategic points. One field, with its mines 500 to
1,000 yards apart was laid off Cape Hatteras, one at the mouth of
Chesapeake Bay, one across Delaware Bay, two in between these key
inlets, another off Barnegat, and the last off Fire Island. Some of the
mines drifted ashore, others were found and destroyed—the last ones not
till the following January. But mines accounted for six of the ships
lost.
One of the submarines, the U-117, built as a mine layer, planted 46 of
the 58 mines laid along our shores; four others were merchant subs of
the Deutschland type, including the Deutschland itself, which had twice
previously visited this country on ostensibly friendly missions.
Though the subs encountered a few victims on the way over or back, most
of the ships were destroyed in the shallower waters within 200 miles of
the American and Canadian coast. The fishing was better close in.
Naval Intelligence knew, through Admiral Sims’ office in London, just
when each submarine left Kiel, what its probable destination was, and
its approximate arrival date. The Navy could not broadcast this
information, lest U-boat captains learn they were expected, but took
appropriate defense measures. Even so, each submarine traveled directly
to its destination, carried out its mission.
U-boats operated almost with immunity from Newfoundland to the Virginia
capes. Twice American men of war passed over submerging craft so close
as almost to ram them. The U-151 worked at cutting cables for three
days, near enough to New York City that the crew could see the lights of
Broadway at night. The U-115, lying off the Virginia capes, came to the
surface one afternoon just in time for its periscope to disclose a
cruiser, two destroyers and a Navy tug a mile away, peacefully returning
from routine target practice, entirely unaware that the U-boat was
lurking in the vicinity.
The submarines got a poor press that summer, not only for reasons of
military secrecy, but because more stirring news held the attention of
the public. The AEF was beginning to see action in France.
Still headlines flashed occasionally as censorship was raised, or
survivors brought in stories. From the Philadelphia Evening Bulletin
during this period:
“Hun U-boats Raid New Jersey coast—Schooner Edward H. Cole Attacked by
two Submarines, Destroyed—Two Attacked Off New England—Atlantic Ports
Closed”—and the story, under New York date line: “Germany has carried
her unrestricted submarine warfare to this side of the ocean—at least
five vessels sunk—submarine chasers ordered out from Cape May—Coast
Guard stations on special lookout—marine insurance companies announce
sharp increase in rates.”
News Flash—“Wireless report from passenger steamer Carolina says she is
under attack”—The Carolina is sunk, 300 survivors are landed at Barnegat
Bay, 19 at Lewes Del., 30 at Atlantic City, others picked up in open
boats.
[Illustration: On this map of actual ship sinkings and mine layings
in 1918 is superimposed a sketch of the area which a handful of
modern patrol blimps might cover.]
Then: “Navy mine sweepers sent out to destroy mines and floating
torpedoes which had missed target—tanker Herbert L. Pratt strikes mine
in shallow water on maiden voyage—War Department asks Congress for
$10,000,000 to set up balloon and plane stations along the coast to
combat sub menace—British steamer Harpathian torpedoed off Virginia
capes—American vessel, name withheld, puts back to ‘an Atlantic port’
after being chased by U-boat.”
The record continues: “San Diego sunk by mine—tug and four barges
sunk—British freighter attacked—sub sends landing crew on board lumber
schooner off Maine coast, set her afire—Steamer Merak sunk off
Hatteras—tanker torpedoed off Barnegat Bay, beaches blanketed with
oil—Norwegian steamer Vinland—British steamer Peniston and Swedish
steamer Sydland off Nantucket—nine U. S. fishing vessels off
Massachusetts coast—British tanker Mirlo—U.S. Schooner Dorothy
Barrett—tanker Frederick R. Kellogg” and so on and on.
Events of the time and since have swept these happenings out of the
minds of most Americans—even if they knew of it at the time. But
somewhere, half forgotten in Naval files, is an official report,
painstakingly compiled after the war, from ship logs, from stories by
merchant captains and crews, even by officers of surrendered German
submarines, to make up as complete a record as possible of one of the
amazing operations of the war—and one whose magnitude, in territory
covered and damage done, few suspected, even within the Navy, at the
time.
Only two subs had so much as a brush with American ships. The transport
von Steuben, former German liner, proceeding to the rescue of men in
life boats from a merchant ship, dropped depth bombs which the U-boat
escaped by diving to 83 meters, lying low till the enemy had gone.
Closer call had the U-140, largest and most modern of the fleet, which
after sinking several ships off Diamond Shoals, including the light ship
itself, almost caught a tartar when the Brazilian passenger liner,
Uberabe, zigzagging furiously to escape, sent out S.O.S. messages which
brought four U.S. destroyers hurrying to the rescue. Nearest was the USS
Stringham, which proceeding under full speed, using the Uberabe as a
screen, charged on the U-boat, dropped 15 depth charges when the U-boat
dived, timed to explode at different levels.
[Illustration: Training exercises with U. S. submarines have taught
airship captains much about the habits, movements and
characteristics of the underseas craft. (U. S. Navy photo).]
[Illustration: The year before America got into the last war the
German submarine U-51 sank a half dozen merchant ships off Nantucket
Island then proceeded into Newport. (U. S. Navy photo)]
[Illustration: Navy airships in practice patrols identify, as to
class and nationality, all surface ships in their area, learn to
recognize the silhouette of a submarine from afar. (U. S. Navy
photo)]
The U-boat captain, one of the best in the German navy, drove his craft
at a sharp angle to 400 feet. One charge exploding underneath the sub
turned it stern upward till it stood almost perpendicular. He managed to
level out finally at 415 feet, lay there as long as he dared, finally
reached the surface. His ship was so badly crippled it had to abandon
its mission and set out for home—though it sunk a couple more ships in
the mid-Atlantic on the way back.
The only U-boat casualty was the U-156 which after getting 34 victims in
American waters, getting eight in one day, was itself sunk by mines—but
off Faroe Island as it was almost home.
This then is the story of submarine operations in U. S. waters in 1918—a
half hearted effort of short duration started late in the day—but which
destroyed 100 ships, totalling 200,000 tons, most of them close to our
shores.
No one could doubt but that in the event of another war submarines would
be used again, and in more vigorous fashion. The American fleet might
easily keep major enemy ships at a safe distance, and bombing attack
from any part of Europe or over the Pacific would have little military
value. But certainly submarines would find their way past the screen of
Navy craft, bob up off American harbors, again to lay mines in the path
of coastwise steamers, deliver hit-and-run attack by torpedo and gunfire
at American craft.
We could be equally sure that these ugly motorized sharks, churning the
muddy sub-surface waters, would not be satisfied to attack merchantmen
only, would be looking for bigger prey.
On the map showing the operations of German submarines in 1918 let us
superimpose, as an example, the patrol area which two blimps, basing at
Boston, Lakehurst, Cape May and Norfolk might effectively cover in a 12
hour period.
A patrol area of 2,000 square miles per ship is conservative. It assumes
the ship flying at no faster than 35 knots, having visibility of five
miles in all directions. As a matter of fact, allowing a little more
than 40 knots speed—and the airship cruises considerably faster than
that—we might say that a modern blimp could patrol an area 10 miles wide
and 500 miles long in the 12 hours, or an area of 5,000 square miles.
But by criss-crossing back and forth in accordance with a progressive
plan, an area of 2,000 square miles could be made reasonably
secure—except under extremely adverse conditions of visibility.
Laying these patrol areas down over the map of submarine operations of
1918 it is apparent that such patrols would cover much of the territory
where ship sinkings were achieved, cover all of the areas where mines
were laid.
With blimps operating from such bases, in addition to the patrols being
executed by other naval craft, we might conclude that no submarine could
venture within 100 miles of the American coast during daylight hours
without considerable risk of detection, and that blimps should be able
to make contribution to the safety of coastwise shipping and harbor
cities.
The patrol areas assigned to the blimps would have their flanks exposed,
but airship patrol would be co-ordinated with that of airplanes and
surface craft, guarding the areas farther out.
That this conclusion is reasonable is indicated by the fact that from
1939 on, Lakehurst Naval Air Station, under command of Commander G. H.
Mills had been doing just this, patroling areas all the way from
Nantucket to Cape Hatteras.