AËROPLANES OF ADEQUATE STABILITY AND POWER
The dawn of the twentieth century found several votaries contriving
aëroplanes for one or more passengers. The epoch of models had
virtually closed, bequeathing a rich heritage. The essential elements
of aviation, barring the motor, had been clearly worked out. The age
of practical flight was at hand. No further need to prove feasible
the heavier than air; for that had been done repeatedly. Scientific
design and patient trial, not invention and physical research, were now
the chief demand. Further research would improve the aëroplane, but
not bring it into practical operation. Capital, constructive skill,
judgment in adapting principles and devices already known, energy,
persistence, caution, imperturbability in danger and derision; these
were requisites. Science had led the way, with uplifted torch; let the
craftsmen follow her with kit and apron. The aëroplane was sufficiently
invented; it now wanted, not fastidious novelty, but concrete and
skillful design, careful construction, exercise in the open field.
Of the group of aëroplanists in the beginning of the nineteenth century
Mr. Hugo Mattullath, of New York, was one of the most original, daring
and resourceful. He had been a successful inventor, manufacturer and
business man, accustomed to large enterprises. In the latter nineties,
deeming the time opportune for practical aviation, he determined to
build a commercial flying machine. He would begin where Maxim had
stopped. A larger and swifter craft appeared to him most desirable.
In his judgment any clever mechanic could make a one-man flyer. “Take
that for granted and waste no time on toys!” Professor Langley’s
“aërodrome,” with every spare ounce filed away, should lift itself,
of course. It might navigate a calm; possibly even a zephyr, if no
one sneezed; but never could it carry passengers on schedule time. He
therefore would jump the little flyers, and build at once a commercial
aëroplane strong enough to defy the storm, powerful enough for regular
traffic on a business scale. That meant a ship for numerous passengers,
equipped to fly fifty miles an hour against the prevailing wind. A
glorious project indeed; an enterprise suited to a gentleman of first
rate ability.
Mattullath’s aim was aërial transportation, not exhibition at county
fairs and crowded carnivals. Regular interurban routes were projected,
terminating in ample landing floors. Broad-winged aëroplanes, huge
catamarans with shining hulls, sumptuously furnished in gold and
crimson, should convey happy crews, in all seasons, from metropolis to
metropolis. Six great engines and propellers to drive the ship, with
abundant reserve power. Melodious strains of music rising incessantly,
to soften the thunder of motors and the demoniacal howl of the wind.
Then transcontinental voyages, outsailing the nimbus, how lovely to
the anointed of fortune! Jocund savannas nestling by the sea, or in
the bosom of orchid-crested hills, should welcome to earth the silken
sojourners of the north migrating, gay-plumed and potent, to their
winter homes in tropic paradise. All the isles of ocean, all the merry
mountains, earth, sea and air, one shining empire, blissful and secure
as Olympus. Chimborazo, girt with every clime, from torrid base to
snowy peak should glow
With alabaster domes and silver spires,
And blazing terrace upon terrace high
Uplifted; here serene pavilions bright,
In avenues disposed; their towers begirt
With battlements that on their restless fronts
Bore stars—illumination of all gems!
Such were his holiday fancies, seldom revealed, even to his associates.
The public had no intimate part in his project. A few trusted
engineers, eminent in their profession, and a few financiers, formed
his advisory board. For two years he worked on the structural elements
of the great sails, propellers, and framing of his ship. But unhappily
when he was preparing to present his final plans to his council of
engineers, before building the large vessel, he was brought suddenly to
the close of his career.[39]
Mattullath’s proposed air ship consisted of two parallel torpedo-shaped
hulls sustained by superposed plane or slightly arched surfaces, and
propelled by feathering-paddle disk wheels embedded in the planes;
the engines, cargo and passengers to be placed within the hulls.[40]
This arrangement would enhance the comfort of the passengers at high
speeds, eliminate resistance, distribute the load on the framing,
and increase the moment of inertia of the vessel, thereby rendering
it less sensitive to side gusts. To improve the projectile stability
and steadiness, the centroid was placed as high as practicable. Large
steering planes were used fore and aft on both sides of the vessel,
whose inclination could be changed independently, to turn the ship
about its longitudinal or transverse axis. A vertical rear rudder
steered to right or left, in conjunction with the side planes. All the
posts were of double wedge shape; all the planes were canvassed above
and below to shield the framing, after the style of Maxim. The hulls,
the posts, the planes, all parts, were keenly sharpened to economize
power. The ship was to run over its smooth launching field till it
acquired a rising speed of forty to fifty miles an hour, then continue
accelerating up to velocities sufficient for competition with passenger
trains in all weather.
While one may easily point out certain questionable features in
Mattullath’s project, as for example, its odd propellers, one can not
so easily estimate its true merits. The torsion wing device for lateral
control and steering, which he claimed in his patent application,
abandoned after his death, now constitutes a very important feature of
every flying machine. His planes for fore and aft control, introduced
by Maxim, are also in general use to-day. The principle of load
distribution, which he greatly prized for diminishing stress and adding
stability, has still to be evaluated by practical test in larger craft
than any now in operation. The closed hull, for comfort and economy at
high speed, is at present popular with many designers.
One tentative assumption of Mattullath’s, made on the authority of
Maxim and Langley, was that the friction of the air is a negligible
part of the entire resistance encountered by the hull, framing and sail
surfaces. Accepting their experimental conclusion, he designed a flyer
so sharp and smooth in all its parts as practically to eliminate the
pressural, or head resistance. With no skin friction, with scant hull
and frame resistance, he could afford[41] to fly at a very slight
angle, thus minimizing the drift, or wing resistance, while at the same
time securing abundant lift by rapidity of flight. He thus arrived,
by cold deduction from the data of those prominent experimentalists,
at an aëroplane swift as the albatross, and wondrously economical of
power. But his financiers were loath to gamble on that assumption. He
therefore, at their suggestion, instigated systematic measurements
of air friction on smooth surfaces, which demonstrated that in a
sharp aëroplane flying at a very slight angle, the skin friction is
nearly equal to all the other resistances combined. These results were
obtained and published[42] some months after his death. They were
unfavorable to his project, and to all projects for attaining high
speed through the air by excessive sharpening of the vehicle.
The first dynamic aëroplane of adequate stability and power to carry a
man in prolonged flight, was that of Professor Langley. This machine
was nearly a duplicate, on a four-fold scale, of the gasoline model
previously described, which had flown many times with good inherent
equilibrium. There was accordingly every reason to expect that,
weighted and launched like the model, it would fly with the same poise
and swiftness, even if left to govern itself. Having in addition
a living pilot, provided with rudders for steering and balancing,
together with adequate fuel for a long journey, it seemed to promise
still better results than the model. But an unfortunate accident in the
launching so crippled this carefully designed craft that it fell down
helpless, without a chance to exhibit its powers of sustentation and
balance, even for a moment, in normal flight.
The first trial occurred on September 7, 1903, in the middle of the
Potomac River at Widewater, Va. The aëroplane was placed on the same
catapult, above the boat, that had previously started the models on
their smooth and rapid maneuvers. The pilot took his seat, and started
the 50-horse-power engine which ran the propellers without appreciable
vibration. Tugs and launches were placed along the course where they
might be of service. Photographers, on the water and along shore, were
ready to furnish important pictorial records of the experiment. The
aëroplane was released and sped along the track attaining sufficient
headway for normal flight; but at the end of the rails it was jerked
violently down at the front, and plunged headlong into the river,
sinking beneath the waves. Buoyed up by its floats, it quickly rose to
the surface, with its intrepid pilot uninjured, and with little damage
to the structure.
As revealed by an examination of the catapult and photographs, the
guy post that strengthened the front pair of wings had caught in the
launching ways, and bent so much that those wings lost all support. The
aëroplane, therefore, had not been set free in the air, but had been
wrenched and jerked downward. Thus the launching proved nothing of the
propulsive or sailing powers of the machine.
Those who understand the principles of aviation can judge the merit of
Langley’s “aërodrome”[43] from its mechanical description. As shown in
Plate XVIII, it was a tandem monoplane driven by twin screws amidships.
The pilot seated in the little boat could control the poise and course
by several devices; he could shift his weight longitudinally 4.5 feet,
laterally 2.5 feet; he could elevate and depress the rear double
rudder, which when untouched ensured steady longitudinal poise, on the
principle introduced by Penaud; he could steer to right and left by
turning about its vertical axis, the wind-vane rudder shown below and
rearward of the boat. The lines of lift, propeller thrust and forward
resistance passed through the centroid, or near it, thus providing
for projectile and gravitational stability. In this feature Langley’s
“aërodrome” far surpassed those of his immediate predecessors, whose
machines, by reason of their low centroid, possessed the stability of a
pendulum, rather than that of a dart, or swallow. These various devices
combined should give the craft better control in free flight than that
possessed by any of the models, which had flown successfully many times
in moderate weather.
If the projectile and steering qualities of Langley’s machine surpassed
those of its predecessors, the propelling mechanism was a still
greater advance in the art of aviation. The gasoline engine was a
marvel of lightness, power, endurance and smoothness of running. It
weighed, without accessories, 125 pounds, and developed 52.4 horse
power in actual test at a speed of 930 revolutions a minute. With
all accessories, including radiator, cooling water, pump, tanks,
carburetor, spark coil and batteries, it weighed 200 pounds, or
scarcely five pounds per horse power—a great achievement for that time.
It could run many hours continuously under full load, consuming about
one pound of gasoline per horse power per hour. Its five cylinders,
arranged radially round a single crank shaft, were made of steel lined
with cast iron, and measured 5 inches in diameter by 5.5 inches in
stroke. Its running balance was excellent. By means of bevel gears it
drove the twin screws at 700 revolutions per minute, giving a thrust
of 480 pounds, the screws being very nearly true helices of unit pitch
ratio and 30° width of blade, carefully formed of three radial arms
covered with canvas.
The whole machine weighed 830 pounds, including the pilot; spread 1,040
square feet of wing surface; measured 48 feet from tip to tip, and 52
feet from the point of its bowsprit to the end of its tail; soared at a
speed of about 33 feet a second and a ten-degree angle of flight, the
wings arching one in eighteen at one fourth the distance from their
front edge. The double rudder, at the extreme rear, measured 95 square
feet in each of its component surfaces.
It is evident from these figures, very kindly furnished by Mr. Manly,
the mechanical engineer in charge of the experiments, that such an
aëroplane had every equipment needed for a steady flight of many hours
in fair weather. A thrust of 490 pounds on well-designed surfaces
should easily carry 500 pounds of gasoline in addition to the 830
pounds regular weight of ship and pilot. This would enable the machine
to fly practically all day without renewal of supplies. It appears,
therefore, that Professor Langley had, in 1903, a dynamic aëroplane
quite the peer, in many respects, of the best that were developed
during the first decade of aviation, and that a mere accident, which
should be expected in such complex experimentation, deprived him of
the credit of the first man-flight on an adequately controlled and
powered machine. Quite true, he lacked launching wheels; but how easy
to add these, since they were proposed many times. He omitted the
front steering plane, but had a rear one serving the same purpose. The
worst that can be said is that he needed the equivalent of torsion
wings for lateral control; but in moderate weather he could have flown
successfully without them, as Farman, Delagrange, Paulhan[44] have so
fully demonstrated. Besides, Langley had already tested the torsion
wing device, and contemplated using it on his large machine.
A second launching was attempted on the Potomac River near Washington,
on December 8, 1903. This time the rear guy post was injured, crippling
the rear wings, so that the aëroplane pitched up in front and plunged
over backward into the water. After some repairs it was stowed away
in the Smithsonian Institution, where its frame and engine are still
intact, its wings having been injured in the wreck and discarded. The
experiments were now abandoned for want of funds to continue them.
Notwithstanding that Professor Langley had contributed much to the
science of aërodynamics, by his elaborate researches, and had really
developed a machine capable of sustained flight, if properly launched,
he was subjected to unmitigated censure and ridicule; for he had
incurred the enmity of various journalists and wiseacres, partly by
his official secrecy, and partly by that natural reticence which
avoids premature publicity in important scientific enterprises. This
irresponsible criticism, combined with the cessation of work which
should have brought success, profoundly grieved him, and doubtless
hastened his death. He had, however, the satisfaction of knowing that
a few competent specialists appreciated his labors, and would continue
them to abundant fruition. A few days before his death he had the
gratification of receiving, from the newly formed Aëro Club of America,
the following communication acknowledging the value of his efforts to
promote aërial travel.
RESOLUTIONS OF THE AËRO CLUB OF AMERICA
_Adopted January 20, 1906._
“_Whereas_, our esteemed colleague, Dr. S. P. Langley, Secretary of
the Smithsonian Institution, met with an accident in launching his
aërodrome, thereby missing a decisive test of the capabilities of this
man-carrying machine, built after his models which flew successfully
many times; and whereas, in that difficult experiment, he was entitled
to fair judgment and distinguished consideration because of his
important achievements in investigating the laws of dynamic flight, and
in the construction of successful flying models; therefore be it
“_Resolved_, That the Aëro Club of America, holding in high estimation
the contributions of Dr. Langley to the science of aërial locomotion,
hereby expresses to him its sincerest appreciation of his labors as a
pioneer in this important and complex science; and
“_Be it further resolved_, That a copy of these resolutions be sent to
the Board of Regents of the Smithsonian Institution and to Dr. Langley.”
This kindly message from America’s foremost aëronautic society brought
a moment’s pleasure to the last hours of the illustrious scientist.
“Professor Langley was on his deathbed when these resolutions were
brought to his attention, and when asked what should be done with the
communication, his pathetic answer was: ‘Publish it.’ To all who know
his extreme aversion to publicity in any form, this reply indicates how
keenly he felt the misrepresentation of the press.”[45]
Professor Langley’s progress with the “aërodrome” was due largely to
the skill, energy and devotion of his designer and superintendent of
construction, Mr. Charles M. Manly. This talented young graduate in
mechanical engineering, of Cornell University, in 1898, went directly
from the class room to assume the chief burden of Langley’s researches
in aërodynamics, and his practical experiments in mechanical flight,
remaining till their termination in 1904. He was the confidential
secretary and adviser to his chief in that whole enterprise. When
in 1900 Dr. Langley stood baffled before the greatest obstacle in
aviation, unable to find any manufacturer, in America or Europe, who
could furnish a practical engine of the desired power, lightness and
durability, Manly came to his rescue with a design which guaranteed
success and which resulted in the wonderful gasoline motor built in the
Smithsonian shops. Finally when the aëroplane was ready to be launched,
it was Manly who bore the long weeks of trial in the malarial region of
Widewater, harassed by accidents and foul weather, not to mention the
merry agents of the press; and it was he who twice rode the ponderous
aërodrome, shot forth in mid air at the imminent risk of his life.
While Langley was building his great tandem monoplane, Wilbur and
Orville Wright of Dayton, Ohio, were developing a biplane which was
an improvement on the aërial glider of Chanute and Herring. This was
to be their preliminary effort toward achieving continuous flight.
Their first product, tried at Kitty Hawk, North Carolina, in the
summer of 1900, is shown in Plate XIX. The chief points of departure
from Chanute and Herring’s glider were (1) to place the rider prone
on the lower surface, as first proposed and tried by Wenham, forty
years’ previously; (2) to discard the vertical rudder; (3) to place
the horizontal rudder forward, as done by Mattullath and Maxim; (4)
to control the lateral balance by changing the impact angles of the
wings, as recommended by the present writer in 1893. Of these four
modifications the first was impractical for general use, though good
for soaring and possibly racing; the second was unsatisfactory and
later abandoned; the third was effective, and has been accepted by
some aviators as an improvement, but rejected by others who prefer the
rear[46] horizontal rudder; the fourth proved acceptable to them, as to
various other inventors before and after them.
With this glider they made a number of satisfactory flights. The front
rudder and the torsional wings proved adequate to control the craft
in sailing straight ahead down the Kill Devil sand hills, near Kitty
Hawk, N. C. In this, as in all their machines to the present date, sled
runners, fixed under the machine, as proposed by Ader and others, were
used for launching and landing. With a surface of 165 square feet, they
could glide down a slope of 9.5° at a speed of 25 to 30 miles an hour.
This showed only a moderate efficiency, but it was a beginning.
The glider used in the summer of 1901 was modeled after that of the
previous year, but larger. It was 22 feet wide, 14 feet long, 6 feet
high, spread 308 square feet, and weighed 108 pounds. With this a
number of glides were made, of various lengths up to 400 feet. At a
speed of 24 miles an hour gravity exerted on the aërial coaster 2½
tow line horse power, showing an efficiency nearly equal to that of
Pilcher’s glider of 1897.
In camp with the Wright brothers in 1901 was Mr. Chanute, the leading
aëronautic expert in America. They thus had the advantage of
his long experience, both as a student of aviation and a practical
experimenter. With them were also two other specialists, Mr. E. C.
Huffaker, an experienced aëronautical investigator, who had worked
successively with Langley and Chanute; and Dr. G. A. Spratt, who had
made some important investigations on the value of curved surfaces and
the travel of the center of pressure with the varying angles of flight.
The numerous animated conferences with these gentlemen were instructive
and profitable. When the season closed the brothers returned home and
experimented on curved surfaces to improve the efficiency of their
glider.
PLATE XIX.
[Illustration: FIRST WRIGHT GLIDER.]
[Illustration: SECOND WRIGHT GLIDER.]
The 1902 machine, shown in Plate XIX, had two main surfaces, measuring
each 32 by 15 feet, and a front rudder measuring 15 square feet. The
whole weight was 116 pounds. It will be noted that a vertical rudder
was now employed. This was a reversion to the design of Chanute and
Herring, but after some experience, the rudder was made adjustable,
as in Henson’s aëroplane of 1842. Its surface was 12 square feet,
but later reduced to six. With this machine they obtained between
700 and 1,000 glides during the season. It showed greater efficiency
than its predecessors, its normal angle of descent being estimated at
seven degrees or less. This was some improvement over the efficiency
of the Chanute-Herring glider, partly due, of course, to placing the
rider flat, instead of allowing him the more comfortable erect posture
adopted later.
Whatever improvements of efficiency and strength had been made,
these were of secondary importance compared with the provisions for
projectile stability and manual control. Here at last, after ten
years’ groping, was an actual glider with sufficiently high centroid
to minimize the pendulum effect, and with three rudders to give
impactual torque about the three axes. These simple provisions had
been previously pointed out in aëronautic writing, and, in the latter
nineties, had been embodied in Mattullath’s aëroplane, but not tested
in the large machine, owing to his death. The wonder is that, of all
the practical inventors of aëroplanes, Mr. Mattullath was the only
one of that period fully to grasp and adopt these main ideas before
starting to build a man-carrying machine. However, it must be added
that he had previously made small flying models, which may have
suggested the advantage of kinetic stability and the three-torque
system of control. If Lilienthal and his disciples, who laid so much
stress on gliding experience, had started like Mattullath with three
torque-surfaces, they would have missed indeed those acrobatic and
picturesque kickings at the sky, but they would have reached the
desired goal with less danger, time and expense. They displayed more
skill in riding a fractious glider than in designing a tractable
one, by providing for impactual torque about each of three axes. Had
they started with a good theory of dynamic control, they could have
dispensed with coasting entirely, and commenced aviating with short
runs over a smooth course followed by cautious leaps in the air, after
the style of certain ingenious French aviators. However, the knack
of balancing was finally acquired, and thus the glider was ready to
receive the propelling mechanism.
In 1903 a 16-horse-power engine and twin-screw propellers were applied
to the navigable glider at Kitty Hawk, as shown in Plate XX. The power
machine weighed 750 pounds, and was usually started by aid of a tow
line and falling weight which helped the craft to acquire headway.
After many trials and modifications, the first successful launchings,
four in number, were made on December 17th. The first flight lasted
12 seconds, the next two a little more, the fourth lasted 59 seconds,
covering a distance of 852 feet over the ground in the face of a
twenty-mile wind. To the superficial observer these performances did
not seem a very remarkable advance on the flights of Ader, but they
had in them greater promise and potency of practical flight. They were
the first flutterings of a fledgling endowed with the chief essential
organs of aërial locomotion—an awkward but healthy creature that had
been evolving steadily for several generations. It would grow rapidly,
and ere another half decade, increase the 59 seconds to so many minutes.
PLATE XX.
[Illustration: FIRST WRIGHT AËROPLANE (REAR).]
[Illustration: FIRST WRIGHT AËROPLANE (SIDE).]
The experiments were continued during the next two years with
increasing success. During the season of 1904, on a field near Dayton,
one hundred and five flights were made, some short, others covering the
entire circuit of the field no fewer than four times, the two largest
measuring each nearly three miles, each accomplished in about five
minutes. Various improvements were made in the propelling and steering
mechanism, and increased skill in maneuvering was gradually acquired.
In 1905 the flights were resumed with a new machine embodying some
changes dictated by experience, particularly in the method of control.
Forty-nine landings were made involving seven breakages, but no
personal injury. On September 26th a flight of eleven miles was
achieved. This was followed, within the next nine days, by flights of
twelve, fifteen, twenty-one and twenty-four miles, at a usual speed
of 38 miles an hour. After this the field practice ceased for more
than two years, and the machine was dismantled to preserve secret its
mode of construction till the patents could be disposed of. As these
performances and those preceding are of unusual interest, a fuller
account is given in Appendix IV.
The Wright brothers now had to assume in aviation the rôle of cautious
business men. The gliding experiments had been a scientific recreation,
and had been fairly well reported to engineers, except in those details
to be covered by patent claims; but the details of the power machine
were withheld, or sparingly disclosed. The brothers had sacrificed
time and money. They were making aviation a profession. They must,
therefore, be repaid. But if they exhibited too promptly their machine
and aërodynamic data, they might jeopardize their financial interests
by assisting or stimulating rival aviators. On the other hand, by
procrastination and concealment they might, in various ways, forfeit
priority and scientific credit. Chanute’s glider was already familiar
in Europe, and it was estimated to have ample efficiency for successful
flight with existent motors. Their own published experiments were
being studied and repeated. They might, therefore, expect that, at any
time, some rash or cunning fellow would bolt into the air and proclaim
to all the world that their unpublished devices, if they possessed
any novelty, were by no means necessary, as they fancied, to usher
in actual dynamic flight. The aëroplane would thus appear to be the
sudden outgrowth of fertile and mature conditions, rather than the
product of uncommon originality. Scores of aviators would immediately
spring into being—chauffeurs, mechanics, sporting gentlemen of every
dye. Light motors being now available, any intelligent artisan could
power a Hargrave kite, or Chanute glider, and soar aloft. Every odd
craft, not too absurdly designed, would navigate, with some showing.
Publicity and prize money would develop and perfect the various types
with feverish haste. But in 1905 the Wright brothers apprehended no
portentous or imminent invasion of the sky. The foreign bogie was five
years behind, being unfamiliar with sand hill practice and the torsion
wing. They would, therefore, chance the result of withholding their
data and concealing their machine. It was a curious situation; Langley
and Manly, who produced the first aëroplane endowed with all the
essential powers of prolonged flight, were bound to official secrecy;
the Wrights, who had a finished machine, tried and fairly ready for
public exhibition, were hampered by trade secrecy. These silent leaders
in aviation presented a gratifying contrast to the shouting fraternity
who, in the daily press, announced impending marvels which never
materialized.
The same year, 1905, which crowned with most success the private
flights of the Wright brothers, brought into unusual prominence
the quarter century long experiments of Prof. J. J. Montgomery of
Santa Clara College, Santa Clara, Cal. He had given much attention
to the science of aviation, particularly to passive flight, and had
constructed several successful gliders operated by himself or his
friends. The most remarkable of these machines was a glider resembling
in general appearance Langley’s tandem monoplane, but having means for
changing the wing curvature during flight, thus varying the lift on
such wing, and thereby enabling the operator to control the equilibrium
and direction during his glides in the air.
On April 29, 1905, a forty-five pound glider of this pattern bearing an
intrepid parachute jumper, Daniel Maloney, was lifted from the college
grounds by a hot-air balloon to an elevation of 4,000 feet, then cut
loose. “In the course of the descent,” writes one of his pupils, “the
most extraordinary and complex maneuvers were accomplished—spiral and
circling turns being executed with an ease and grace almost beyond
description, level travel accomplished with the wind and against it,
figure-eight evolutions performed without difficulty, and hair-raising
dives were terminated by abrupt checking of the movement by changing
the angles of the wing surfaces. At times the speed, as estimated by
eye-witnesses, was over sixty-eight miles an hour, and yet after a
flight of approximately eight miles in twenty minutes the machine was
brought to rest upon a previously designated spot, three-quarters of
a mile from where the balloon had been released, so lightly that the
aviator was not even jarred, despite the fact that he was compelled
to land on his feet, not on a special alighting gear.” This daring
performance amazed the world, and most of all, the specialists who all
along knew such a feat to be practicable. As a further description
of Professor Montgomery’s wonderful experiments may interest the
reader, the following account, written by himself, is inserted from
_Aëronautics_ for January, 1909:
“When I commenced practical demonstration in my work with
aëroplanes I had before me three points. First, equilibrium;
second, complete control; and third, long continued or
soaring flight. In starting I constructed and tested three
sets of models, each in advance of the other in regard to the
continuance of their soaring powers, but all equally perfect
as to equilibrium and control. These models were tested by
dropping them from a cable stretched between two mountain
tops, with various loads, adjustments and positions. And it
made no difference whether the models were dropped upside down
or in any other conceivable position, they always found their
equilibrium immediately and glided safely to earth.
“Then I constructed a large machine patterned after the
first model, and with the assistance of three cowboy friends
personally made a number of flights in the steep mountains near
San Juan (a hundred miles distant). In making these flights I
simply took the aëroplane and made a running jump. These tests
were discontinued after I put my foot in a squirrel hole, in
landing, and hurt my leg.
PLATE XXI.
[Illustration: MONTGOMERY’S AËROPLANE.]
“The following year I commenced the work on a larger scale, by
engaging aëronauts to ride my aëroplane dropped from balloons.
During this work I used five hot-air balloons and one gas
balloon, five or six aëroplanes, three riders—Maloney, Wilkie
and Defolco—and had sixteen applicants on my list and had a
training station to prepare any when I needed them.
“Exhibitions were given in Santa Cruz, San José, Santa Clara,
Oakland and Sacramento. The flights that were made, instead
of being haphazard affairs, were in the order of safety and
development. In the first flight of an aëronaut the aëroplane
was so arranged that the rider had little liberty of action,
consequently he could make only a limited flight. In some of
the first flights, the aëroplane did little more than settle in
the air. But as the rider gained experience in each successive
flight I changed the adjustments, giving him more liberty of
action, so he could obtain longer flights and more varied
movements in the flights. But in none of the flights did I
have the adjustments so that the riders had full liberty, as
I did not consider that they had the requisite knowledge and
experience necessary for their safety; and hence, none of my
aëroplanes were launched so arranged that the rider could make
adjustments necessary for a full flight.
“This line of action caused a good deal of trouble with
aëronauts or riders who had unbounded confidence and wanted to
make long flights after the first few trials, but I found it
necessary as they seemed slow in comprehending the important
elements and were too willing to take risks. To give them the
full knowledge in these matters I was formulating plans for a
large starting station on the Mount Hamilton Range from which
I could launch an aëroplane capable of carrying two, one of my
aëronauts and myself, so I could teach him by demonstration.
But the disasters consequent on the great earthquake,
completely stopped all my work on these lines. The flights that
were given were only the first of the series with aëroplanes
patterned after the first model. There were no aëroplanes
constructed according to the two other models, as I had not
given the full demonstration of the workings of the first,
though some remarkable and startling work was done. On one
occasion, Maloney in trying to make a very short turn during
rapid flight pressed very hard on the stirrup which gives a
screw shape to the wings and made a side somersault. The course
of the machine was very much like one turn of a corkscrew.
After this movement, the machine continued on its regular
course. And afterwards Wilkie, not to be outdone by Maloney,
told his friends he would do the same, and in a subsequent
flight, made two side somersaults, one in one direction and
the other in an opposite, then made a deep dive and a long
glide, and when about three hundred feet in the air, brought
the aëroplane to a sudden stop and settled to the earth. After
these antics, I decreased the extent of the possible change in
the form of wing surface so as to allow only straight sailing
or only long curves in turning.
“During my work I had a few carping critics that I silenced
by this standing offer: If they would deposit a thousand
dollars I would cover it on this proposition. I would fasten a
150-pound sack of sand in the rider’s seat, make the necessary
adjustments, and send up an aëroplane upside down with a
balloon, the aëroplane to be liberated by a time fuse. If the
aëroplane did not immediately right itself, make a flight, and
come safely to the ground, the money was theirs.
“Now a word in regard to the fatal accident.[47] The
circumstances are these: The ascension was given to entertain a
military company in which were many of Maloney’s friends, and
he had told them he would give the most sensational flight they
ever heard of. As the balloon was rising with the aëroplane,
a guy rope dropping switched around the right wing and broke
the tower that braced the two rear wings and which also gave
control over the tail. We shouted Maloney that the machine was
broken but he probably did not hear us, as he was at the same
time saying ‘Hurrah for Montgomery’s air ship,’ and as the
break was behind him, he may not have detected it. Now did he
know of the breakage or not, and if he knew of it did he take a
risk so as not to disappoint his friends? At all events, when
the machine started on its flight the rear wings commenced to
flap (thus indicating they were loose), the machine turned on
its back and settled a little faster than a parachute. When
we reached Maloney he was unconscious and lived only thirty
minutes. The only mark of any kind on him was a scratch from a
wire on the side of his neck. The six attending physicians were
puzzled at the cause of his death. This is remarkable for a
vertical descent of over 2,000 feet.”