I GO IN FOR AIRSHIP BUILDING
In the early spring of 1899 I built another air-ship, which the Paris
public at once called "The Santos-Dumont No. 2." It had the same length
and, at first sight, the same form as the "No. 1"; but its greater
diameter brought its volume up to 200 cubic metres--over 7000 cubic
feet--and gave me 20 kilogrammes (44 lbs.) more ascensional force. I
had taken account of the insufficiency of the air pump that had all but
killed me, and had added a little aluminium ventilator to make sure of
permanency in the form of the balloon.
[Illustration: ACCIDENT TO "No. 2," MAY 11, 1899
(FIRST PHASE)]
This ventilator was a rotary fan, worked by the motor, to send air into
the little interior air balloon, which was sewed inside to the bottom of
the great balloon like a kind of closed pocket. In Fig. 5, _G_ is the
great balloon filled with hydrogen gas, _A_ the interior air balloon,
_VV_ the automatic gas valves, _AV_ the latter's air valve, and _TV_
the tube by which the rotary ventilator fed the interior air balloon.
[Illustration: Fig. 5]
The air valve _AV_ was an exhaust valve similar to the two gas valves
_VV_ in the great balloon, with the one exception that it was weaker.
In this way, when there happened to be too much fluid (_i.e._ gas or
air, or both) distending the great balloon, all the air would leave the
interior balloon before any of the gas would leave the great balloon.
The first trial of my "No. 2" was set for 11th May 1899. Unfortunately,
the weather, which had been fine in the morning, grew steadily rainy in
the afternoon. In those days I had no balloon house of my own. All the
morning the balloon had been slowly filling with hydrogen gas at the
captive balloon station of the Jardin d'Acclimatation. As there was no
shed there for me the work had to be done in the open, and it was done
vexatiously, with a hundred delays, surprises, and excuses.
When the rain came on, it wetted the balloon. What was to be done? I
must either empty it and lose the hydrogen and all my time and trouble,
or go on under the disadvantage of a rain-soaked balloon envelope,
heavier than it ought to be.
I chose to go up in the rain. No sooner had I risen than the weather
caused a great contraction of the hydrogen, so that the long cylindrical
balloon shrunk visibly. Then before the air pump could remedy the fault,
a strong wind gust of the rainstorm doubled it up worse than the "No.
1," and tossed it into the neighbouring trees.
My friends began at me again, saying:
"This time you have learned your lesson. You must understand that it is
impossible to keep the shape of your cylindrical balloon rigid. You must
not again risk your life by taking a petroleum motor up beneath it."
I said to myself:
"What has the rigidity of the balloon's form to do with danger from a
petroleum motor? Errors do not count. I have learned my lesson, but it
is not that lesson."
[Illustration: ACCIDENT TO "No. 2," MAY 11, 1899
(SECOND PHASE)]
Accordingly I immediately set to work on a "No. 3," with a shorter and
very much thicker balloon, 20 metres (66 feet) long and 7·50 metres
(25 feet) at its greatest diameter (Fig. 6). Its much greater gas
capacity--500 cubic metres (17,650 cubic feet)--would give it, with
hydrogen, three times the lifting power of my first, and twice that
of my second air-ship. This permitted me to use common illuminating
gas, whose lifting power is about half that of hydrogen. The hydrogen
plant of the Jardin d'Acclimatation had always served me badly. With
illuminating gas I should be free to start from the establishment of my
balloon constructor or elsewhere as I desired.
[Illustration: Fig. 6]
It will be seen that I was getting far away from the cylindrical shapes
of my first two balloons. In the future I told myself that I would at
least avoid doubling up. The rounder form of this balloon also made it
possible to dispense with the interior air balloon and its feeding air
pump that had twice refused to work adequately at the critical moment.
Should this shorter and thicker balloon need aid to keep its form rigid
I relied on the stiffening effect of a 10-metre (33-foot) bamboo pole
(Fig. 6) fixed lengthwise to the suspension cords above my head and
directly beneath the balloon.
While not yet a true keel, this pole keel supported basket and guide
rope and brought my shifting weights into much more effectual play.
On November 13th, 1899, I started in the "Santos-Dumont No. 3," from the
establishment of Vaugirard, on the most successful flight that I had yet
made.
[Illustration: ACCIDENT TO "No. 2," MAY 11, 1899
(THIRD PHASE)]
From Vaugirard I went directly to the Champ de Mars, which I had
chosen for its clear, open space. There I was able to practise aerial
navigation to my heart's content--circling, driving ahead in straight
courses, forcing the air-ship diagonally onward and upward, and shooting
diagonally downward, by propeller force, and thus acquiring mastery of
my shifting weights. These, because of the greater distance they were
now set apart at the extremities of the pole keel (Fig. 6), worked with
an effectiveness that astonished even myself. This proved my greatest
triumph, for it was already clear to me that the central truth of
dirigible ballooning must be ever: "To descend without sacrificing gas
and to mount without sacrificing ballast."
During these first evolutions over the Champ de Mars I had no particular
thought of the Eiffel Tower. At most it seemed a monument worth going
round, and so I circled round it at a prudent distance again and again.
Then--still without any dream of what the future had in store for me--I
made a straight course for the Parc des Princes, _over almost the exact
line that, two years later, was to mark the Deutsch prize route_.
I steered to the Parc des Princes because it was another fine open
space. Once there, however, I was loth to descend, so, making a hook, I
navigated to the manoeuvre grounds of Bagatelle, where I finally landed,
in souvenir of my fall of the year previous. It was almost at the exact
spot where the kite-flying boys had pulled on my guide rope and saved me
from a bad shaking-up. At this time, remember, neither the Aéro Club nor
myself possessed a balloon park or shed from which to start and to which
to return.
On this trip I considered that had the air been calm my speed in
relation to the ground would have been as much as 25 kilometres (15
miles) per hour. In other words, I went at that rate through the air,
the wind being strong though not violent. Therefore, even had not
sentimental reasons led me to land at Bagatelle, I should have hesitated
to return _with the wind_ to the Vaugirard balloon house--itself of
small size, and difficult of access, and surrounded by all the houses
of a busy quarter. Landing in Paris, in general, is dangerous for any
kind of balloon, amid chimney-pots that threaten to pierce its belly,
and tiles that are always ready to be knocked down on the heads of
passers-by. When in the future air-ships become as common as automobiles
are at present, spacious public and private landing-stages will have to
be built for them in every part of the capital. Already they have been
foretold by Mr Wells in his strange book, "When the Sleeper Wakes."
[Illustration: ACCIDENT TO "No. 2," MAY 11, 1899
(FINALE)]
Considerations of this order made it desirable for me to have a plant
of my own. I needed a building for the housing of my air-ship between
trips. Heretofore I had emptied the balloon of all its gas at the end
of each trip, as one is bound to do with spherical balloons. Now I saw
very different possibilities for dirigibles. The significant thing
was the fact that my "No. 3" had lost so little gas (or, perhaps, none
at all) at the end of its first long trip that I could well have housed
it overnight and gone out again in it the next day.
I had no longer the slightest doubt of the success of my invention. I
foresaw that I was going into air-ship construction as a sort of life
work. I should need my own workshop, my own balloon house, hydrogen
plant, and connection with the illuminating gas mains.
The Aéro Club had just acquired some land on the newly-opened Côteaux
de Longchamps at St Cloud, and I concluded to build on it a great
shed, long and high enough to house my air-ship with its balloon fully
inflated, and furnished with all the facilities mentioned.
This aerodrome, which I built at my own expense, was 30 metres long
(100 feet), 7 metres (25 feet) wide, and 11 metres (36 feet) high. Even
here I had to contend with the conceit and prejudice of artisans which
had already given me so much trouble at the Jardin d'Acclimatation. It
was declared that the sliding doors of my aerodrome could not be made
to slide on account of their great size. I had to insist. "Follow
my directions," I said, "and do not concern yourselves with their
practicability!" Although the men had named their own pay, it was a long
time before I could get the better of this vainglorious stubbornness of
theirs. When finished the doors worked, naturally. Three years later the
aerodrome built for me by the Prince of Monaco on my plans had still
greater sliding doors.
While this first of my balloon houses was under construction, I made a
number of other successful trips in the "No. 3," the last time losing my
rudder and luckily landing on the plain at Ivry. I did not repair the
"No. 3." Its balloon was too clumsy in form and its motor was too weak.
I had now my own aerodrome and gas plant. I would build a new air-ship,
and with it I would be able to experiment for longer periods and with
more method.
[Illustration: START OF "No. 3," NOVEMBER 13, 1899]