FLYING THE ATLANTIC IN SIXTEEN HOURS
[Illustration: CAPT. SIR ARTHUR WHITTEN BROWN, K.B.E.]
FLYING
THE ATLANTIC IN
SIXTEEN HOURS
WITH A DISCUSSION OF AIRCRAFT IN
COMMERCE AND TRANSPORTATION
BY
SIR ARTHUR WHITTEN BROWN, K.B.E.
ASSISTED BY
CAPTAIN ALAN BOTT, R.F.C.
_WITH TWENTY-ONE ILLUSTRATIONS FROM PHOTOGRAPHS_
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
_Copyright, 1920, by_
FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY
_All rights reserved, including that of translation
into foreign languages._
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I SOME PRELIMINARY EVENTS 1
II ST. JOHN'S 15
III THE START 32
IV EVENING 47
V NIGHT 55
VI MORNING 65
VII THE ARRIVAL 75
VIII AFTERMATH OF ARRIVAL 84
IX THE NAVIGATION OF AIRCRAFT 93
X THE FUTURE OF TRANSATLANTIC FLIGHT 108
XI THE AIR AGE 136
ILLUSTRATIONS
Capt. Sir Arthur Whitten Brown, K.B.E. _Frontispiece_
FACING
PAGE
The Late Capt. Sir John Alcock, K.B.E., D.S.C. 14
Feathering the Wings--Setting Up the Flier at
St. John's, N.F. 30
The Last Touches--Adjusting the Bracing Wires 30
It Was Hard to Find an Aërodrome with Sufficient
"Take Off" 44
Sightseers, If Left to Themselves, Would Have
Wrecked the Machine 44
The Transatlantic Machine--A Vickers-Vimy
With Rolls-Royce Engines 56
A Special Kind of Gasoline Had to Be Used 70
All Aboard for the First Trial Flight 70
The Vickers-Vimy Transatlantic Machine in the
Air 84
The Last Square Meal in America Was Eaten
Near the Wings of the Machine 84
The Late Capt. Sir John Alcock Just Before
Starting 98
Shipping the First Direct Transatlantic Air Mail 98
Hot Coffee Was Taken Aboard 104
Slow Rising Nearly Caused Disaster at the Start
of the Great Flight 104
Lucky Jim and Twinkletoe, the Mascots 120
The Transatlantic Flight Ended With a Crash in
an Irish Bog 120
Chart of the North Atlantic Showing Course of
the Flight 136
The Men Who Worked Without Glory to Make
the Flight Possible 136
The Vickers Aeroplane Works at Weybridge, England 154
Comfort Can Be Enjoyed in Air Travel To-day 154
FLYING THE ATLANTIC IN SIXTEEN HOURS
CHAPTER I
SOME PRELIMINARY EVENTS
"After me cometh a builder. Tell him I, too, have known."
KIPLING.
It is an awful thing to be told that one has made history, or done
something historic. Such an accusation implies the duty of living up to
other people's expectations; and merely an ordinary person who has been
lucky, like myself, cannot fulfil such expectations.
Sir John Alcock and I have been informed so often, by the printed
and spoken word, that our achievement in making the first non-stop
transatlantic flight is an important event in the history of aviation
that almost--but not quite--I have come to believe it. And this
half-belief makes me very humble, when I consider the splendid
company of pioneers who, without due recognition, gave life,
money or precious years, often all three, to further the future of
aëronautics--Lilienthal, Pilcher, Langley, Eiffel, Lanchester, Maxim,
the Wrights, Bleriot, Cody, Roe, Rolls and the many daring men who
piloted the weird, experimental craft which were among the first to fly.
I believe that ever since Man, but recently conscious of his own
existence, saw the birds, he has desired to emulate them. Among the
myths and fables of every race are tales of human flight. The paradise
of most religions is reached through the air, and through the air gods
and prophets have passed from earth to their respective heavens. And
all authentic angels are endowed with wings.
The present generation is lucky in that, despite this instinctive
longing since the beginning of human history for the means of flight,
it is the first to see dreams and theories translated into fact by the
startling development of practical aviation, within the past fifteen
years. The aëronautical wonders of the next fifteen years are likely to
be yet more startling.
Five years ago, before the offensive and defensive needs of war
provided a supreme _raison d'être_, flying was but a costly and
dangerous pastime. As such it attracted the first-class adventurers
of every race, many of whom lost their lives on weird, Jabberwock-like
aircraft, built and tested before experimental data and more accurate
methods of calculation became available.
But even these men could not realize the wonderful possibilities of
the coming air age, of which they were the pioneers. Nearly all the
early aëroplanes were born of private enterprise, for capitalists had
no faith in the commercial future of flight. Very few firms applied
themselves solely to the manufacture of aircraft or aëro engines, and
only two or three of the great engineering companies had the vision to
maintain aëronautical departments.
Among the few important companies that, in those days, regarded
aëronautics seriously was Messrs. Vickers, Ltd. They established an
experimental department, and as a result of its work began to produce
military types of aircraft which were in advance of their period.
Later, when the whirlwind of war provided the impetus which swept
pioneer aviation into headlong progress, the Vickers productions
moved with the times, and helped largely to make the British
aircraft industry the greatest in the world. Now that aviation has
entered into the third phase of its advance--that of a peace-time
commercial proposition--they are again in the forefront of production.
Incidentally they provided me with the greatest chance of my life--that
of taking part in the first non-stop flight across the Atlantic. Since
then a Vickers aëroplane has won yet another great distinction--the
prize for the first flight from England to Australia.
At this point I desire to pay a very well-deserved tribute to the man
who from the beginning has backed with money his faith in the future of
aviation. The development of aëronautics has been helped enormously by
the generous prizes of Lord Northcliffe and the _Daily Mail_ for the
first flights across the English Channel, from London to Manchester,
around the circuit of Britain, and finally across the Atlantic.
In each case the competitions seemed impossible of fulfilment at the
time when they were inaugurated; and in each case the unimaginative
began with scoffing doubts and ended with wondering praise. Naturally,
the prizes were offered before they could be won, for they were
intended to stimulate effort and development. This object was achieved.
But for the stimulus of these competitions, Great Britain, at the
beginning of the war, might well have been in an even worse position
as regards aviation than she was. And all who flew on active service
during the first three years of the war realize what they owe to Lord
Northcliffe's crusades for more and better machines, and for a more
extensive use of aircraft.
Having helped to win one of the _Daily Mail_ prizes, I am not going
to quarrel with the principle of flying competitions. Certainly, the
promise of reward brings to the surface ideas and potential powers
which might otherwise lie fallow; but I do not believe the system of
money prizes for spectacular flights to be altogether an economically
sound proposition. It is not generally realized that as a rule the
amount spent by each of the firms that enter a machine for such a
contest as the transatlantic flight vastly exceeds the amount of the
prize, although the money reward more than covers the expenses of the
aviators who gain it.
Would it not be more practical to pay directly for research work?
Anybody with vision can see some of the infinite possibilities
which the future of aviation may hold, and which can only be found
by painstaking and properly applied research. There are plenty of
men able and anxious to devote themselves competently to seeking
for yet-hidden solutions whereby flying will be made cheaper, safer
and more reliable. What is especially wanted for the moment is the
financial endowment of research into the several problems that must be
solved before the air age makes the world a better place to live in,
and, by eliminating long and uncomfortable journeys, brings the nations
into closer bonds of friendship, understanding and commerce.
Apart from the honor of taking part in the first non-stop flight
between America and Great Britain, I am especially pleased to have
helped in a small way in the construction of a new link between the two
continents to which I belong. My family is deeply rooted in the United
States; but generations ago my ancestors were English, and I myself
happened to be born in Glasgow.
This was in 1886, when my parents were visiting that city. I was an
only child, and I was so well looked after that I caught neither
a Scotch nor an American nor even a Lancashire accent; for later,
between visits to the United States, we lived in Manchester. There,
after leaving school, I served an apprenticeship in the works of the
Westinghouse Electric and Manufacturing Company. I inherited in some
degree a love of and an instinct for engineering from my father, one
of the best mechanical engineers I have ever met. He helped to develop
this instinct by encouraging me in everything I undertook, and by
making me profit by the results of his experience.
In the works I was for a time a workman among workmen--a condition of
life which is the best possible beginning for an embryo engineer. I
found my associates of the workshop good companions, useful instructors
and incorrigible jokers. My father's warnings, however, saved me from
hours of waiting in the forge, at their direction, while a "straight
hook" or a "putting-on tool" was made, and from hunting the shops for
the "spare short-circuit."
I was congratulating myself on making good headway and, in articles
accepted by various technical journals, was even telling my elders all
about engineering, when the outbreak of war changed all my plans and
hopes, and interfered with the career I had mapped out for myself. In
fact, I was in exactly the same position as many thousands of other
young men at the beginning of their careers.
Although, of American parentage and possessing American citizenship, I
had not the patience to wait for the entry into the war of the United
States. With an English friend I enlisted in the British University
and Public Schools battalion, when it was formed in September, 1914.
And, although at the time I had no more notion of it than of becoming
President of the League of Nations, that was my first step towards the
transatlantic flight.
Those were wonderful days for all concerned in the early training of
our battalion at Epsom. In knowledge of drill our officers started
level with us. Several times I saw a private step from the ranks,
produce from his pocket the Infantry Training Manual, and show a
lieutenant where he had gone wrong. Doubtful discipline, perhaps--but
excellent practice, for most of the original privates of the U.P.S.
soon became officers of the New Army.
I was gazetted a second lieutenant of the Manchester Regiment in
January, 1915, and with it saw service in the trenches before Ypres
and on the Somme. Then came the second step towards the transatlantic
flight. I had always longed to be in the air, and I obtained a transfer
to the Royal Flying Corps as an observer.
I had the good fortune to be posted to No. 2 Squadron, under Major
(now General) Becke. While in this unit I first experienced the mixed
sensations of being shot down. One day my pilot and I were carrying
out artillery observation over Vendin la Vielle when, at a height of
8,000 feet, two anti-aircraft shells set our machine on fire. Somehow,
the pilot managed to bring down his craft in the British lines; but in
landing it tripped over some telephone wires and turned a somersault,
still blazing at various points. We were thrown out, but escaped with a
few burns and bruises.
After a short rest in England I returned to the squadron. I soon left
it for good, however. One dull, snowy day a bullet perforated the
petrol tank of the machine in which, with Lieut. Medlicott, I was
reconnoitering behind the enemy lines. As a result we were unable to
reach the British zone. We landed in occupied territory; and I knew the
deadly heart-sickness which comes to all prisoners of war during the
first few days of their captivity.
I was repatriated after being a prisoner of war in Germany for fourteen
months, followed by nine months in Switzerland. Medlicott, meanwhile,
made thirteen determined but unsuccessful bids for escape before being
murdered by the Germans in 1918, while indulging in a fourteenth
attempt.
My two years of captivity constituted, strange to say, the third step
towards the transatlantic flight; for it was as a prisoner of war that
I first found time to begin a careful study of the possibilities of
aërial navigation. This I continued after returning to London, where,
at the Ministry of Munitions, I was employed in the production of the
larger aëro-engines.
When, soon after the armistice, the ban on attempts to fly the Atlantic
was lifted, I hoped that my studies of aërial navigation might be
useful to one of the firms who were preparing for such a flight. Each
one I approached, however, refused my proposals, and for the moment I
gave up the idea.
It was entirely by chance that I became involved in the transatlantic
competition. One day I visited the works at Weybridge of Messrs.
Vickers. While I was talking with the superintendent, Captain Alcock
walked into the office. We were introduced, and in the course of
conversation the competition was mentioned. I then learned, for the
first time, that Messrs. Vickers were considering an entry, although
not courting publicity until they should have attempted it.
I sat up and began to take notice, and ventured to put forward my views
on the navigation of aircraft for long flights over the sea. These were
received favorably, and the outcome of the fortunate meeting was that
Messrs. Vickers retained me to act as aërial navigator.
I soon learned to have every confidence in the man who was to be my
pilot. He flew for years before the war, and he had a magnificent
record for long-distance flying when engaged in bombing Constantinople
and other parts of Turkey, with the detachments of the Royal Naval Air
Service in the Eastern Mediterranean. His recent death in a flying
accident took from aviation one of its most able, experienced and
courageous pilots, and robbed his many friends of a splendid man.
We set to work, and, with every assistance from the Air Ministry,
and the Admiralty, we soon had our apparatus and instruments ready
for shipment to Newfoundland. Besides our two selves the Vickers
transatlantic party consisted of ten other men from the works, and a
specialist on Rolls-Royce aëro-engines.
Alcock and I sailed from Southampton on the _Mauretania_, on board
of which its commander--Captain Rostron--made me free of his bridge,
and, as a widely experienced navigator, gave me much good advice. The
Vickers-Vimy machine, with all stores, left later by a freight boat.
From Halifax, Nova Scotia, we proceeded to Port aux Basques, and thence
by way of the Reid Newfoundland Railway to St. John's. There, we joined
the merry and hopeful company of British aviators who, long before we
arrived, had been preparing for an attempt to win Lord Northcliffe's
prize.
That four of them did not forestall us was due in part to very bad
luck, and in part to their whole-hearted patriotism. They wanted for
their country the honor of the first transatlantic flight, whether
non-stop or otherwise; and, being unable to continue the wearisome wait
for good weather in face of the news that the American flying boat _N.
C. 4_ had reached the Azores, they made their attempt under conditions
that were definitely unfavorable. Fate tripped up Raynham and Morgan
at the start, when they tried to take their heavily-laden machine into
the air while running over a too short space of uneven ground, with the
wind crossways to it. Fate allowed Hawker and Grieve a rather longer
run, but brought about their fall when they were half-way to success,
owing to a mishap which, though trifling, had the same effect as a
vital breakage.
It is superfluous, at this time of day, to offer public sympathy to
such gallant competitors; but I seize the opportunity of expressing
admiration for their splendid effort, and for the spirit that prompted
it. To Hawker and Grieve we owed particular thanks in that we profited
to a certain extent by what we learned from the cabled reports of their
experiences. For Grieve, as an expert on aërial navigation, I have the
deepest respect, and I am in full accord with his views and theories on
this, my own subject.
The same sort of odds against accident that sent them into the sea
might well have befallen Alcock and me. But it did not; and our freedom
from it was an important factor in our good fortune. Others were the
excellence of the Vickers-Vimy machine and the Rolls-Royce engine.
Whatever credit is ours should be shared with them, and with Mr. R. E.
Pierson, E.Sc., M.I.C.E., the designer of the Vickers-Vimy.
We have realized that our flight was but a solitary fingerpost to
the air-traffic--safe, comfortable and voluminous--that in a few
years will pass above the Atlantic Ocean; and even had the winning of
the competition brought us no other benefits, each of us would have
remained well content to be pioneers of this aërial entente which is
destined to play such an important part in the political and commercial
friendship between Great Britain and America.
[Illustration: THE LATE CAPT. SIR JOHN ALCOCK, K.B.E., D.S.C.]