FLIGHTS IN MEDITERRANEAN WINDS
In my two previous experiments I had kept fairly within the
wind-protected limits of the bay of Monaco, whose broad expanse afforded
ample room both for guide-roping and practice in steering. Furthermore,
a hundred friends and thousands of friendly spectators stood around it
from the terraces of Monte Carlo to the shore of La Condamine and up the
other side to the heights of Old Monaco. As I circled round and round
the bay, mounted obliquely and swooped down, fetched a straight course,
and then stopped abruptly to turn and begin again, their applause came
up to me agreeably. Now, on my third flight, I steered for the open sea.
Out into the open Mediterranean I sped. The guide rope held me at a
steady altitude of about 50 metres above the waves, as if in some
mysterious way its lower end were attached to them.
In this way, automatically secure of my altitude, I found the work of
aerial navigation become wonderfully easy. There was no ballast to
throw out, no gas to let out, no shifting of the weights except when I
expressly desired to mount or descend. So with my hand upon the rudder
and my eye fixed on the far-off point of Cap Martin I gave myself up to
the pleasure of this voyaging above the waves.
Here in these azure solitudes there were no chimney-pots of Paris, no
cruel, threatening roof-corners, no tree-tops of the Bois de Boulogne.
My propeller was showing its power, and I was free to let it go. I had
only to hold my course straight in the teeth of the breeze and watch the
far-off Mediterranean shore flit past me.
I had plenty of leisure to look about. Presently I met two sailing
yachts scudding towards me down the coast. I noticed that their sails
were full-bellied. As I flew on over them, and they beneath me, I heard
a faint cheer, and a graceful female figure on the foremost yacht waved
a red foulard. As I turned to answer the politeness I perceived with
some astonishment that we were far apart already.
I was now well up the coast, about half-way to Cap Martin. Above was
the limitless blue void. Below was the solitude of white-capped waves.
From the appearance of sailing boats here and there I could tell that
the wind was increasing to a squall, and I would have to turn in it
before I could fly back upon it in my homeward trip.
Porting my helm I held the rudder tight. The air-ship swung round like a
boat; then as the wind sent me flying down the coast my only work was to
maintain the steady course. In scarcely more time than it takes to write
it I was opposite the bay of Monaco again.
With a sharp turn of the rudder I entered the protected harbour, and
amid a thousand cheers stopped the propeller, pulled in the forward
shifting weight, and let the dying impetus of the air-ship carry it
diagonally down to the landing-stage. This time there was no trouble. On
the broad landing-stage stood my own men, assisted by those put at my
disposition by the prince. The air-ship was grasped as it came gliding
slowly to them, and, without actually coming to a stop, it was "led"
over the sea wall across the Boulevard de la Condamine and into the
aerodrome. The trip had lasted less than an hour, and I had been within
a few hundred metres (yards) of Cap Martin.
Here was an obvious trip, first against and then with a stiff wind, and
the curious may render themselves an account of the fact by glancing at
the two photographs marked "Wind A" and "Wind B." As they happened to
be taken by a Monte Carlo professional intent simply on getting good
photographs they are impartial.
"Wind A" shows me leaving the bay of Monaco against a wind that is
blowing back the smoke of the two steamers seen on the horizon.
"Wind B" was taken up the coast just before I met the two little sailing
yachts which are obviously scudding toward me.
The loneliness in which I found myself in the middle of this first
extended flight up the Mediterranean shore was not part of the
programme. During the manufacture of the hydrogen gas and the filling
of the balloon I had received the visits of a great many prominent
people, several of whom signified their ability and readiness to lend
valuable aid to these experiments. From Beaulieu, where his steam-yacht,
_Lysistrata_, was at anchor, came Mr James Gordon Bennett, and Mr
Eugene Higgins had already brought the _Varuna_ up from Nice on more
than one occasion. The beautiful little steam-yacht of M. Eiffel also
held itself in readiness.
It had been the intention of these owners, as it had been that of the
prince with his _Princesse Alice_, to follow the air-ship in its flights
over the Mediterranean, so as to be on the spot in case of accident.
This first flight, however, had been taken on impulse before any
programme for the yachts had been arranged, and my next long flight,
as will be seen, demonstrated that this kind of protection must not be
counted on overmuch by air-ship captains.
It was on the 12th of February 1902. One steam chaloupe and two
petroleum launches, all three of them swift goers, together with three
well-manned row-boats, had been stationed at intervals down the coast to
pick me up in case of accident. The steam _chaloupe_ of the Prince of
Monaco, carrying His Highness, the Governor-General, and the captain of
the _Princesse Alice_, had already started on the course ahead of time.
The 40 horse-power Mors automobile of Mr Clarence Grey Dinsmore and the
30 horse-power Panhard of M. Isidore Kahenstein were prepared to
follow along the lower coast road.
[Illustration: "WIND A"]
[Illustration: "WIND B"]
Immediately on leaving the bay of Monaco I met the wind head on as
I steered my course straight down the coast in the direction of the
Italian frontier. Putting on all speed I held the rudder firm and let
myself go. I could see the ragged outlines of the coast flit past me on
the left. Along the winding road the two racing automobiles kept abreast
with me, being driven at high speed.
"It was all we could do to follow the air-ship along the curves of the
coast road," said one of Mr Dinsmore's passengers to the reporter of a
Paris journal, "so rapid was its flight. In less than five minutes it
had arrived opposite the Villa Camille Blanc, which is about a kilometre
(3/4 of a mile) distant from Cap Martin as the crow flies.
"At this moment the air-ship was absolutely alone. Between it and Cap
Martin I saw a single row-boat, while far behind was visible the smoke
from the prince's _chaloupe_. It was really no commonplace sight to see
the air-ship thus hovering isolated over the immense sea."
The wind instead of subsiding had been increasing. Here and there around
the horizon I could see the bent white sails of yachts driven before
it. The situation was new to me, so I made an abrupt turn and started
back on the home stretch.
Now again the wind was with me, stronger than it had been on the
preceding flight down the coast. Yet it was easy steering, and I
remarked with pleasure that going thus with the wind the pitching or
_tangage_ of the air-ship was much less. Though going fast with my
propeller, and aided by the wind behind me, I felt no more motion,
indeed even less, than before.
For the rest, how different were my sensations from those of the
spherical balloonist! It is true that he sees the earth flying backward
beneath him at tremendous speed. But he knows that he is powerless.
The great sphere of gas above him is the plaything of the air current,
and he cannot change his direction by a hair's-breadth. In my air-ship
I could see myself flying over the sea, but I had my hands on a helm
that made me master of my direction in this splendid course. Once or
twice, merely to give myself an account of it, I shoved the helm around
a short arc. Obedient, the air-ship's stem swung to the other side, and
I found myself speeding in a new diagonal course. But these manoeuvres
only occupied a few instants each, and each time I swung myself back on
a straight line to the entrance to the bay of Monaco, for I was flying
homeward like an eagle, and must keep my course.
To those watching my return, from the terraces of Monte Carlo and Monaco
town, as they told me afterwards, the air-ship increased in size at
every instant, like a veritable eagle bearing down upon them. As the
wind was coming toward them they could hear the low, crackling rumble
of my motor a long distance off. Faintly, now, their own shouts of
encouragement came to me. Almost instantly the shouts grew loud. Around
the bay a thousand handkerchiefs were fluttering. I gave a sharp turn to
the helm, and the air-ship leaped into the bay amid the cheering and the
waving just as great raindrops were beginning to fall.[C]
[C] "Half-an-hour after the aeronaut's return the wind became
violent, a heavy storm followed, and the sea became very
rough." (Paris edition, _New York Herald_, 13th February
1902.)
I had first slowed and then stopped the motor. As the air-ship now
gently approached the landing-stage, borne on by its dying momentum, I
gave the usual signal for those in the boats to seize my guide rope. The
steam _chaloupe_ of the prince, which had turned back midway between
Monte Carlo and Cap Martin after I had overtaken and passed it on my out
trip, had by this time reached the bay. The prince, who was still on
board, desired to catch the guide rope; and those with him, having no
experience of its weight and the force with which the air-ship drags it
through the water, did not seek to dissuade him. Instead of catching the
heavy floating cordage as the darting _chaloupe_ passed it His Highness
managed to get struck by it on the right arm, an accident which knocked
him fairly to the bottom of the little vessel and produced severe
contusions.
A second attempt to catch the guide rope was more successful, and the
air-ship was easily drawn to the sea wall, over it, and into its house.
Like everything in this new navigation, the particular manoeuvre was
new. I was still going faster than I appeared to be, and such attempts
to catch and stop an air-ship even on its dying momentum are apt to
upset someone. The only way not to get too abrupt a shock is to run with
the machine and slow it down gently.