THE PIONEERS
While the Wright brothers, lacking both funds and encouragement to
continue their remarkable project, remained, from 1905 to 1908 in almost
total obscurity--their wonderful flying machine packed away
ignominiously in a barn,--in France a number of eager experimenters were
working assiduously to outstrip them, and it was only by great good
fortune that when Wilbur Wright arrived in France in 1908 he did not
find himself beaten from the field. Actually the Wright machine was far
in advance of the early French models, and although the French, with
true spirit of sportsmanship, were quick to admit it when the fact was
demonstrated, yet prior to 1908 they had no idea that such was the case,
and were enthusiastically proud of their home-made models.
Among the very first of the French pioneers of flight was that gallant
little Brazilian, Santos-Dumont, whose exploits with the dirigible had
done so much to popularize air sports. His name was a household word
with the French, who literally lionized him. Impatient of the limited
opportunities for adventure presented by the dirigible, Santos-Dumont
cast about in his mind for some means of procuring a more agile steed
on which to perform his aerial tricks. In 1904 he became deeply
interested in the subject of gliding, and made up his mind to try a few
gliding experiments of his own. Like everything else he had attempted
his method of attacking this new problem was startlingly original.
Lilienthal and the other gliders had all made their flights above the
solid ground. Santos-Dumont liked the idea of rising from the water much
better. He ordered built for him a glider of his own design for this
particular purpose. On every clear day when the wind was favorable, the
plucky little aeronaut was out, learning to use his new-found wings. His
glider, which floated on the surface of the water, had to be towed
swiftly for some distance by a boat in order to give it the initial
speed which Lilienthal secured by taking advantage of the force of
gravity in his downward jump from the hilltop. Once he felt his speed to
be sufficient, Santos-Dumont gently inclined his wings upward to catch
the air current. To the surprise of every one he was remarkably
successful. He actually succeeded in soaring short distances, and after
a series of efforts he acquired a fair amount of skill in the use of his
glider apparatus.
The next step was to attach some motive power to his flying machine.
Before very long he had ready for trial a much more pretentious biplane
glider, equipped with an 8 cylinder motor which drove a two-bladed
aluminum propeller, and fitted with several original appliances to
increase its soaring powers and its stability. In front was a curious
arrangement resembling a box-kite, which was intended to fulfil the same
purpose as the elevating plane which the Wright brothers placed in front
of the two main planes of their machine. Santos-Dumont had experienced
the same trouble as all the other gliders: the difficulty of keeping his
machine in a horizontal position. The tiniest gust, blowing from one
side or the other, was sufficient to cause it to lose its balance, and
over it would topple sidewise. To overcome this obstacle the Wright
brothers had adopted the ingenious method of wing-warping, imitated
directly from the habits of birds. Santos-Dumont was not nearly of so
scientific a turn of mind as the two great American pioneers. Without
having gone so deeply into the subject, he determined to place upright
planes between his main planes, to ward off gusts and increase the
lateral stability. The idea was not a bad one, though far from being the
best. In the summer of 1906 he flew with his glider successfully very
short distances. In October of the same year he accomplished _a
demonstration flight of 200 feet_ at Bagatelle, near Paris. At the
present day when airplanes go soaring above our heads faster than
express trains, making long, continuous cross-country flights, that
journey of 200 feet seems humorous, but at the time it was the European
record. It aroused a great deal of popular enthusiasm, for the French,
with their vivid powers of imagination, were quick to see the
possibilities in this new, heavier-than-air contrivance. At once the
Brazilian set to work to outstrip this first achievement. This time his
originality took an entirely new turn. Instead of the biplane type he
decided on a monoplane, and he began laying out plans for a monoplane so
tiny, yet so efficient, that it was destined to become famous. But it
was several years before this miniature flier was ready, and so for a
while the idol of the French public dropped almost completely out of
sight.
In the meantime others were up and doing in France. Henry Farman, who
already had made his name famous in motor car racing, was the next to
win popular acclaim for exploits in the air. Farman was known as a man
of the most consummate daring, cool-headedness in emergency, and quick
judgment. An Englishman by birth, he had resided all his life in France,
where with his brother Maurice he had achieved an enviable reputation as
a sportsman. Farman afterward designed and constructed airplanes of his
own, but it was in one built by the Voisin brothers that he first took
to the air.
The Voisins were very ambitious indeed in their first airplane project.
The machine which they built was both large and heavy, and possessed of
many unscientific features. Like the Wrights' machine it had two large
horizontal planes, in front of which was placed a small elevating plane,
which could be inclined up or down to lift the airplane into the air or
bring it to earth again. Unlike the Wright model it had a large "tail,"
or horizontal plane at the rear, intended to give it increased
longitudinal stability. This feature represented an improvement. The
Wrights had to keep their machine on the level by raising or lowering
the front elevating plane in such a way as to counteract any pitching
motion, but the tail of the Voisin biplane gave it a great deal more
steadiness in the air. Fitted to the tail was a rudder, by which turning
to right or left was accomplished. But the Voisin brothers had no
wing-warping device on their large flier. Instead they used the upright
curtains or planes between the main planes, which we have already seen
on the machine designed by Santos-Dumont. Their airplane was equipped
with an 8-cylinder motor, which turned a large propeller.
In this large and unwieldy machine, weighing possibly 1400 pounds, Henry
Farman made a short flight in a closed circuit in 1908. At the time it
was the record flight in Europe, and the French people fondly imagined
it was the best in the world. That same year Wilbur Wright arrived on
French soil and showed them in a few astounding experiments what the
Wright biplane could do.
The successes of this tall, untalkative American, who had come over to
France and with ease made the aerial adventures of Santos-Dumont and
Farman seem like the first efforts of a baby learning to crawl, greatly
as they surprised, and, perhaps, disappointed the French people, in the
outcome had the result of spurring Frenchmen on to greater effort in the
problem of airship design. Before the end of 1908 Henry Farman, in an
improved Voisin, had wrested back the lost honors by flights which were
longer than those made by Wilbur Wright.
And other Frenchmen were hard at work. After building a number of
machines and meeting with many accidents and failures, Blériot emerged
in the summer of 1909 with a successful monoplane. At almost the same
time the Antoinette monoplane made its appearance, and soon these two
similar machines were pitted against each other in a famous contest.
The London _Daily Mail_, with the intention of stimulating progress in
aviation, put up a prize of £1000 for the first machine to fly the
British Channel. In July, Blériot brought his monoplane to Calais; and
Hubert Latham appeared as his antagonist, with an Antoinette machine.
Both of the contestants were skilled pilots, and both were men of
fearless daring. The feat which they were about to attempt required men
with those qualities, for in these pioneer days of aviation it was not
the easy task to fly the Channel which at first glance it might seem to
be. Over the Channel the winds were almost always very severe, and they
represented the greatest danger the airman had to face. The first
airplanes had so small a factor of stability that it was almost
impossible to fly them in even the gentlest breeze. The most intrepid
aviators never once thought of attempting flight in unfavorable weather.
To be overturned in crossing the Channel meant taking a big risk of
death, and both Blériot and Latham realized that they were taking their
lives in their hands in undertaking the trip. They had a long wait for
calm weather, but on July 24th conditions seemed right for a start the
next morning. Just at dawn Latham flew out across the sea and
disappeared in the distance. Not very long behind him, Blériot, having
tested with the utmost care every part of his little machine, climbed
into the pilot's seat, and with a "Good-by" to the little group of
mechanics and friends who stood about, sped away, hot on the trail.
On and on flew Latham in his larger Antoinette monoplane, and the hope
of victory began to loom big. Far out over the Channel however, his
engine suddenly "went wrong," as engines in those days had a habit of
doing, and the much feared thing happened: he began to fall. In a very
few moments the plucky pilot was clinging to his airplane, as it floated
for a few moments on the choppy sea. Before it could sink a vessel had
hurried to the rescue, and Latham was hauled on board, disappointed, but
safe.
Blériot, meanwhile, was far from being sure of his course as he flew on
steadily through the early morning haze. But his engine continued to run
smoothly, and finally far ahead, the white cliffs of England began to
emerge out of the distance. With joy in his heart the Frenchman flew
proudly in over the land and brought his airplane to the earth in the
vicinity of Dover Castle. He was greeted as a hero by the British and
the glad message of his triumph was speeded back to Calais.
Loth to be behindhand in airplane activities, America was also busily at
work developing the heavier-than-air machine, and another famous name
had by this time been added to that of the Wright brothers. By 1909
Glenn Curtiss with a group of distinguished co-experimenters had
succeeded in constructing several very interesting flying machines.
Curtiss' story is an interesting one. In 1900 he was the owner of a
small bicycle shop in Hammondsport, New York. He had a mania for speed,
having ridden in many cycling races, and it was he who first thought of
attaching a motor to a bicycle for greater speed. He soon sprang into
the limelight as a motorcyclist and a manufacturer of motorcycles. A
small factory went up at Hammondsport, and achieved a reputation for the
very good motors it turned out.
Curtiss first became interested in flying through an order he received
from Captain Thomas Scott Baldwin for a motor to be used in a dirigible
balloon. He set to work on the problem of constructing a motor suitable
for the purpose, and, as might be expected, he became fascinated with
the possibilities of flight. Curtiss and Baldwin made some very
interesting experiments with the dirigible. Then, in 1905, Curtiss made
the acquaintance of Dr. Alexander Bell. The famous inventor of the
telephone was engrossed in the study of gliding machines, and had been
carrying on a series of experiments with kites by which he hoped to
evolve a scientific airplane. To further these experiments he had called
in as associates in the work two engineers, F. W. Baldwin, and J. A. D.
McCurdy, while Lt. Thomas Selfridge of the U. S. Army was also greatly
interested.
Thus it came about that in the summer of 1907 this group of capable men
formed what they were pleased to call the "Aerial Experiment
Association," of which Curtiss was perhaps the moving spirit. The first
machine built by the Association was christened the _Red Wing_, the
second the _White Wing_; the third was called the _June Bug_, and it
proved so successful a flier that on July 4th, 1908, it was awarded the
_Scientific American_ trophy for a flight of one kilometer, or
five-eighths of a mile.
While, in France, Farman and the Voisin brothers, Latham and Blériot
were pushing steadily along the rough road to aviation successes,--in
America, the Wright brothers and Curtiss with his associates, were
demonstrating to the public on this side of the water what flying
machines could do.
In fact, the airplane had definitely begun to assert its superiority as
master of the air, and many eyes in all parts of the world were fixed on
it and on the great future possibilities for which it stood. Everywhere,
warm interest had been aroused, and, at least in France, the military
importance of the heavier-than-air machine was coming to be realized.
Now the time was ripe for the great public demonstration of the world's
airplanes which took place at Rheims in August, 1909. The Rheims Meeting
is probably the most memorable event in the history of aviation. It
placed the work of a dozen or more earnest experimenters definitely in
the limelight, and gave the chance for comparisons, for a summing up of
knowledge on the subject of flight, and for a test of strength, which
resulted in the mighty impetus to aerial progress which followed
immediately afterward.
Here at Rheims were gathered many famous flying men who already had made
their names known throughout Europe and America. There were Farman,
Latham, Paulhan, Blériot, Curtiss, and the three who flew Wright
machines, the Comte de Lambert, Lefevre and Tissandier,--as well as many
others, for there were thirty contestants in all. Many unusual feats
delighted the spectators. Lefevre, a student of the Wrights, and up to
that time unknown, amazed the assemblage by his wonderful aerial stunts.
He circled gracefully in the air, making sharp, unexpected turns with
the utmost skill, and winning round after round of applause.
Curtiss and Blériot emerged as contestants for the speed prize over 10
kilometers, and after several breathless attempts in which records were
made and broken, the honor was finally carried off by Blériot, who
covered the distance of 10 kilometers (about 6-1/4 miles) in 7 minutes,
47.80 seconds. Curtiss replied by beating his famous opponent in the
contest for the Gordon Bennett Cup, offered for the fastest flight over
20 kilometers; and Curtiss also was the winner of the 30 kilometer race.
It was Farman, in a biplane of his own design, who surprised every one
by his remarkable performance, and turned out to be the victor of the
occasion. Flying for three hours without stopping, round the course, he
covered 112 miles without the slightest difficulty, and was only forced
to make a landing because of the rapidly approaching dusk. For his feat
he was awarded the Grand Prize, and was hailed as the most successful of
all the contestants.
Finally Latham, in an Antoinette monoplane, proved he had the machine
with the greatest climbing powers, and carried off the Altitude prize on
the closing day of the meeting.
Among those who looked on at the famous Rheims Meeting of 1909 there
were none more keenly and intelligently interested than the
representatives of the French military authorities. They had come for
two reasons: to ascertain at first hand which were the best machines and
to order them for the French Government; on the other hand, to encourage
to the fullest extent possible all those men present who were earnestly
working in the interests of aviation. France was ready and willing to
spend money freely for this purpose, and the Rheims Meeting resulted in
orders for machines of several makes. Some of these were regarded as
having great possibilities from a military point of view; and others,
though not looked on so favorably, were purchased as a sign of goodwill
and support to future experiment. It was this far-seeing patronage which
paved the way for France's later aerial triumphs, for it gave her a
diversity of machines and a devoted coterie of workers all following
original lines of experiment.
Let us glance for a moment at the little group of machines which stood
out by their merits most prominently at that Rheims Meeting of 1909,
and which gave the greatest promise for the future. To-day they seem
antiquated indeed, but for all their rather curious appearance they were
the legitimate forefathers of our powerful modern airplanes. Among the
biplanes, those especially worthy of note were the Farman, the Wright,
and the Voisin; while the Blériot and Antoinette monoplanes gave a most
excellent account of themselves.
Farman, who had first learned to fly in a machine designed and built by
the Voisin brothers, was far from satisfied with his sluggish,
unmanageable steed and at once set to work on a design of his own. His
one idea was to construct a biplane of light weight, speed and general
efficiency. He did away with the box-kite tail of the Voisin model and
substituted two horizontal tail planes with a vertical rudder fitted
between them. Instead of the vertical planes or "curtains" between the
main planes by which the Voisins attempted to preserve the lateral
stability of their airplane, Farman adopted the "wing-warping" plan of
the Wrights in a somewhat modified form. The Wright machine, it will be
remembered, had wings whose rear portions were flexible, so that they
could be drawn down at the will of the pilot. If the latter felt that
the left side of his machine was falling he simply drew down or "warped"
the rear edges of the wings on that side. The air rushing under the wing
was blocked in its passage and the greater pressure thus created forced
the wing upward on the left side until balance had been restored.
Acting on this principle, Farman attached to the rear edges of the main
planes at each side a flap, or as it is called to-day, an _aileron_,
which worked on a hinge, so that it could be raised or lowered.
Another novel feature of this first Farman biplane was its method of
starting and landing. Below the planes had been placed two long wooden
skids, and to these small, pneumatic tired wheels had been attached by
means of strong rubber bands. In rising, the airplane ran along the
ground on these wheels until it had acquired the momentum necessary to
lift it into the air. When a descent was made, the force of contact with
the ground sent the wheels flying upward on their flexible bands, and
allowed the strong skids to absorb the shock. This underbody or
_chassis_ was a distinct improvement on anything that had yet been
devised, for it was light in weight and efficient.
In one other important respect the Farman machine was superior to all
those demonstrated at Rheims in 1909, and that was in its engine.
Airplane engines up to this time had been nothing more or less than
automobile engines built as light in weight as possible. But in France a
new engine had made its appearance, designed especially for airplane
needs. Hooted as a freak at the first, and rejected by experts as
"impossible," it carried Farman round the course on his three hour
flight without a hitch and made him the winner of the Grand Prize. This
remarkable engine was the Gnome and the reason for its excellence lay in
its unusual system of cooling. The overheating of his motor was a thorn
in the flesh of many an early aviator. An engine which gave good service
in an automobile would invariably overheat in an airplane because of the
constant high speed at which it must run. Now motor car engines of
whatever type, and whether water-cooled or air-cooled, had fixed
cylinders and a revolving crankshaft. In the Gnome motor the cylinders
revolved and the crankshaft was stationary. Flying through the air at
tremendous speed they necessarily cooled themselves. This was the secret
of the perfect running of the Farman biplane. Though Farman had been the
first to recognize the merits of the Gnome and install it in his
machine, he was not the last, for after the Rheims Meeting it rapidly
became the favorite of practically all builders.
Next to the Farman, the Wright machine was probably the best for
all-around service of the many demonstrated at the great meeting. Its
one greatest disadvantage was the fact that it had to be launched from a
rail. It carried no wheels--merely skids for landing--and so to gain
initial momentum it had to be placed on a small trolley which ran down a
rail. Such a method of gaining speed was exceedingly complicated, and
the question at once arises: What would the pilot do if forced to make a
landing far from his starting point? Of course it would have been quite
impossible for him to have risen into the air for a return trip, and his
machine, though in perfect condition, would have to have been packed and
carted back home.
The Voisin biplane, though improved since Farman had piloted it in
1908, was still in 1909 an overly heavy, slow flying machine, more or
less difficult to steer. It still had its "box-kite" tail and its
upright curtains between the main planes. And it carried a rather
weighty landing chassis built of hollow metal tubing, to which were
attached pneumatic-tired bicycle wheels. Small wheels were also placed
under the tail, to support it when running along the ground.
The Blériot monoplane could have claimed the honors for _simplicity_. It
had a body built up of light woodwork, over part of which fabric had
been stretched. On either side of the body extended the two supporting
planes, supported above and below by wires. In the front of the body was
the engine and at the rear extremity a small stabilizing plane. At the
ends of the stabilizing plane, on either side, were two small planes
which could be moved up and down. They took the place of the front
elevating plane employed on the other machines. Just behind the
stabilizing plane was the vertical rudder, which turned to right or
left. The wings of the Blériot had the Wright brothers' wing warping
arrangement. The pilot sat just behind the engine, operating the
controls.
Larger in wing span and longer in body than the Blériot was the
Antoinette monoplane. Like the Blériot it had its elevating planes at
the rear, and carried its engine in the bow. Instead of the wing warping
device it made use of movable flaps or _ailerons_ at the rear edges of
the wings. Another idea had been incorporated in this machine for the
purpose of maintaining lateral stability. Its wings, instead of
extending in a horizontal position from the body were inclined slightly
upward,--a plan which met with serious condemnation from the engineering
experts.
These five then, were the machines which claimed most attention in 1909,
although many others,--as for instance the R. E. P. monoplane, built by
M. Esnault-Pelterie, and the Breguet biplane--were flown at the famous
meeting.
The Rheims event had been hugely successful, and the news of the
splendid achievements of the airplane spread like wildfire throughout
the world. Smaller meetings were arranged for in other cities, and
everywhere the great aviators were called for to give exhibition
flights. In September Santos-Dumont came once more before the public
with the tiniest monoplane in existence, a little machine which he
called the _Demoiselle_, and in a series of experiments proved its
remarkable capabilities. Santos-Dumont had been residing for some time
at St. Cyr, where he had worked on his designs for the _Demoiselle_. One
of his aviator friends, M. Guffroy, was also experimenting at Buc, five
miles away. The two men agreed that the one who first completed an
airplane should fly in it to the home of the other and collect £40. In 6
minutes and 1 second Santos-Dumont covered the five miles on the 14th of
September and claimed his reward.
Orville Wright at about this time was exhibiting his airplane in Berlin
and winning new laurels before the Crown Prince and Princess of Germany.
By the middle of October he was in France, and was present at the Juvisy
Meeting, when the Comte de Lambert, leaving the course unexpectedly,
made his sensational flight over Paris, circling round the Eiffel Tower
at a height of 1,000 feet. Paris was filled with amazement and delight
at the sight of an airplane soaring over the city. It was almost an hour
before the Comte de Lambert, flying with the greatest ease, arrived once
more at the course, to be overwhelmed with congratulations.
[Illustration: WRIGHT MACHINE RISING JUST AFTER LEAVING THE RAIL]
[Illustration: AN EARLY WRIGHT MACHINE, SHOWING ITS METHOD OF STARTING
FROM A RAIL]
On November 3rd, Henry Farman made a world's record of 144 miles in 4
hours, 17 minutes and 53 seconds, wresting from Wilbur Wright the
coveted Michelin Cup. In December Blériot attempted an exhibition of his
monoplane in Constantinople, but his machine lost its balance in the
severe wind which was blowing and came crashing to earth. Though
severely wounded, the great aviator recovered rapidly, justifying the
oft-repeated superstition that he was possessed of a charmed life.
[Illustration: _Copyright Underwood and Underwood_
THE PROPELLER DEPARTMENT IN ONE OF THE GREAT CURTISS FACTORIES]
Thus the year which had meant so much in the forward march of aviation
drew to a close. Beginning at Rheims, the reputation of the
heavier-than-air machine had spread in ever widening circles throughout
all civilized lands. Most important of all, the military authorities of
several nations had opened their eyes to tremendous importance of the
airplane as an implement of warfare, and their realization of this fact
was destined to bring about new and weighty developments within the next
few years. Among the great European states only one nation slept while
the rest were up and doing, and she saw the day when, with the shadow
of war looming on the horizon, she had cause for bitter regrets.
The beginning of 1910 saw the famous aviator Paulhan in the United
States for a series of exhibition flights. On January 12th he made a
world's record for altitude, climbing at Los Angeles to a height of
4,140 feet, in a Farman machine.
In the Spring there occurred in England a memorable contest between
Paulhan and a young flier who up to that time was unheard of, but who
rapidly made a reputation for himself in aviation. The London _Daily
Mail_, which had already done so much to arouse enthusiasm for the
airplane in the British Isles, now offered a prize of £10,000 for the
first cross-country flight from London to Manchester. There arose as
England's champion Claude Grahame-White, and Paulhan with his Farman
biplane was on hand to dispute the honors with him. The distance to be
covered was about 183 miles, and the task seemed almost impossible,
largely owing to the nature of the country over which the flight must be
made. It was rough and hilly and thickly sprinkled with towns, making
the task of a forced landing a very perilous one. Engines in 1910 were
none too reliable and were apt to play strange tricks. To be forced to
descend over a town or in rough country meant a chance of serious
accident or death. Rough country moreover is apt to be windy country,
with sharp, unlooked-for gusts blowing from unexpected quarters. It was
these above all things which filled the airman's heart with dread, for
he knew only too well the limited stability of his pioneer craft.
Late in the afternoon of April 27th, Paulhan, whose biplane, in perfect
repair, was awaiting him at Hendon, near London, ascertained that the
wind was favorable, and at once rose into the air and started on his
long trip. Grahame-White had assumed that it was too late in the day to
make a start, and had left his machine, all ready for flight, at
Wormwood Scrubbs, intending to make a start in the early morning.
Shortly after six the news was brought to White that Paulhan was on his
way, and he immediately rushed to his starting point and hurried after
his rival.
Paulhan had studied every inch of the ground and knew what conditions to
expect. His earlier start gave him a great advantage, for he managed to
get farther before nightfall, and also before any adverse winds arose.
With darkness both pilots were forced to make landings, but Paulhan was
far ahead, and the prospect of victory began to wane for the plucky
young English flier. In the emergency he determined on a desperate
attempt to overcome his handicap. Night flying then was a thing unheard
of, but Grahame-White prepared to try it, however risky. At half past
two in the morning, by the wan light of the moon he arose from the field
where his machine had been landed and flew off into the murky night.
Disappointment awaited the dauntless pilot, however. He had a stern
struggle with the wind, his engine began to give trouble, and finally he
was compelled to come to earth.
Paulhan got away at dawn and being the more experienced pilot of the
two, managed, after a sharp tussle with the wind, to arrive intact at
his destination. He was greeted with wild enthusiasm and was indeed the
hero of the day.
But England was not without gratitude to her defeated airman, who in the
face of enormous difficulties, had persisted so gallantly in his effort
to uphold his country's honor in the records of aviation. Though
official England was slow to recognize the airplane's claims, the
British public showed keenest interest in all the exploits of their
sportsmen of the air, and before long there was quite a fair-sized group
of such men demanding attention.
America also had a remarkable feat to record in the summer of 1910. The
New York _World_ had offered a $10,000 prize for a flight down the
Hudson River from Albany to New York. The difficulties were even greater
than those of the London-Manchester contest, for here the airman had to
fly the entire distance over a swift stream. The high hills on either
side meant increased peril, for there were sure to be powerful wind
gusts rushing out between the gaps in the hills and seeking to overturn
the machine. If the engine should give out, there was no place to land
except in the water itself, with slight chance of escape for either the
pilot or his airplane.
Nevertheless, Glenn Curtiss, whose accomplishments at the Rheims Meeting
we have already witnessed, determined to try for the prize. His machine
was brought from Hammondsport to Albany ready for a start, and on May
31, after a long wait for favorable atmospheric conditions, he was on
his way. A special train steamed after him, carrying newspaper reporters
and anxious friends, but he left it far in the distance while he flew
swiftly down the Hudson. Villagers and boatmen waved and shouted to him
as he passed. At one point he encountered an air "whirlpool" that almost
sucked him down, but he succeeded in righting his machine and getting on
his way again. Near Poughkeepsie he made a landing to obtain more fuel,
and from there he flew straight on to his journey's end, reaching New
York City and descending in a little field near Inwood.
In July of 1910 came the second big Rheims Meeting, to show what
unprecedented advances had been made in one short year. Almost 80
contestants appeared, as compared with the 30 of 1909. Machines were in
every way better and some very excellent records were made. The
Antoinette monoplane flew the greatest distance (212 miles), and also
reached the greatest height; while a new machine, the Morane monoplane,
took the prizes for speed.
Meanwhile the French Army had been busy training aviators and securing
new machines. In the Fall these were tried out at the Army Maneuvers in
Picardy, and for the first time the world saw what military airplanes
really could accomplish. In the sham warfare the army pilots flew over
the enemy's lines and brought back astonishingly complete reports of the
movements of troops, disposition of forces, etc. The French military
authorities themselves, enthusiastic as they had been over the
development of the airplane, had not anticipated such complete success.
They were delighted with the results of their efforts, and a strong
aerial policy was thereupon mapped out for France.
England at this date possessed _one_ military airplane, and it was late
before she awakened to the importance of aviation as a branch of
warfare.
Germany, Italy, Russia, and America were looking on with keen interest,
but for a while France maintained supremacy over all in her aerial
projects. By the end of the following year she had over 200 military
machines, with a competent staff of pilots and observers.
To follow the course of aviation achievement we must now go back to
England, where in July, 1911, another big _Daily Mail_ contest took
place. This time the newspaper had put up a prize of £10,000 to be won
by flying what was known as the "Circuit of Britain." This had been
marked out to pass through many of the large cities of England, Scotland
and Ireland. There were seventeen entrants for the contest, which was
won by a lieutenant of the French navy, named Conneau. Cross-country
flights were growing longer and longer, keeping pace with the rapid
strides in the development of the airplane. Still another contest during
1911 was the "Circuit of Europe," which lay through France, Belgium and
England; while a flight from Paris to Rome and one from Paris to Madrid
served to demonstrate the growing reliability of the aircraft.
Money had always flowed freely from French coffers for this favorite of
all hobbies. At the Rheims Meeting in October of 1911 the Government
offered approximately a quarter of a million dollars in prizes for
aerial feats and in orders for machines. Representatives from many
countries visited the meeting to witness the tests of war airplanes.
In the two years since the first Rheims Meeting many vast changes had
taken place. Pilots no longer feared to fly in high winds; machines were
reliable, strong and swift. A number made non-stop flights of close on
to 200 miles, and showed as well remarkable climbing abilities.
It was the Nieuport monoplane which led all others at this Rheims
Meeting. To-day the name of Nieuport is familiar to every one, for the
little scout machines carried some of the bravest pilots of France and
America to victory in the air battles of the Great War. Even in 1911 the
Nieuport monoplane was breaking all records for speed. Carrying both a
pilot and a passenger it flew as fast as 70 miles an hour at Rheims.
Another new machine that attracted attention was the Breguet biplane, a
heavy general service machine weighing 2420 pounds and carrying a 140 h.
p. Gnome motor. The Gnome had so far outdistanced all competitors that
it had virtually become the universal motor for airplanes, and, many of
those seen in 1911 were equipped with it. Since then vast improvements
have been made in stationary engines but at that time they almost
entirely failed to meet the requirements of light weight, high power and
reliability.
One development in the biplanes of 1911 cannot be passed over, for it
bears a very interesting relation to their efficiency as war machines.
Any one who has seen a photograph of one of the early biplanes must have
been struck by the curious kite-like appearance it presented, due to the
fact that it had no _body_ or fuselage, but only two large planes,
connected by strong wooden supports, and usually with a seat for the
pilot in the center of the lower plane.
It was in the monoplane that a car or airplane body first made its
appearance, and to it the wing surfaces of the monoplane were strongly
braced with wires. Many of the biplanes of 1911 had adopted the idea and
in consequence began to take on a more modern appearance. It was a
thoroughly good idea, for by means of its greater stability and strength,
protection for the pilot and general efficiency were obtained. Biplanes
of this type now carried their engines in the fuselage bow with the
pilot's seat just behind it, while instead of the _front_ elevating
plane of the earlier models, the elevating surfaces were at the rear of
the fixed tail plane. The Breguet was one of these progressive type
biplanes of 1911. Constructed very largely of steel, it had a long,
tapering body with its controlling planes--rudder and elevators--at the
rear. Instead of a number of wooden supports between the planes the
Breguet had exactly four reliable struts.
Henry Farman developed a military biplane in 1911 which had one
particularly new feature. Instead of the upper main plane being placed
exactly above the lower it had been moved slightly forward or
"staggered"--giving it an overhang in front. The idea was that this gave
a greater climbing power and was helpful in making descents, though the
point has never been satisfactorily proved.
Until 1911 Germany had pinned her faith almost wholly to the Zeppelin as
the unit for the aerial fleet which she had hoped to build up, and she
had confidently expected it to prove its superiority to the
heavier-than-air machine in the event of war. No funds had been spared
to rush the work of designing and constructing these huge air monsters.
Carefully and quietly the perfecting and standardizing of the Zeppelin
under government supervision had moved forward, and German engineers had
not been behindhand in designing engines particularly suitable to
aircraft. While France was amusing herself with the clever little
monoplanes and biplanes of the pioneer days--machines which could fly
but a few yards at low altitude, Germany, possibly with the dream of
world conquest tucked away in her mind, was sparing no expense to get
ready her fleet of lighter-than-air craft. Imagine her chagrin when the
feeble winged birds of 1908 and 1909 became the soaring eaglets of 1911,
swiftly circling the sky, swooping, climbing and performing aerial
tricks which made the larger and clumsier Zeppelin appear as agile as a
waddling duck.
Whatever the feelings of the German military authorities were on the
subject, they wasted no time in crying over spilt milk, but at once
began a policy of construction by which they hoped soon to outstrip
their brainier French neighbors. As in everything German, _method_ was
the characterizing feature of the airplane program they instituted.
France had sought to encourage makers of all types of planes, and thus
obtain a diversity of machines of wide capabilities. The plan did not
appeal to Germany. From the very beginning she aimed at reducing
everything to a fixed standard and then turning out airplanes in large
numbers. When the War broke out it seemed for a time that she had been
right, but it was not long before she looked with sorrow upon the sad
lack of versatility of her fleet of standardized biplanes. They were
hopelessly outdistanced and outmaneuvered by the small, fast fighting
machines of the French, while they were by no means so strong as the
heavy service planes the French could put into the air.
Italy, Austria, Russia, America and Japan began also to make plans for
the building of aerial fleets about 1911. The Italian Government relied
at first on machines secured from France, or on those copied from French
designs. Soon her own clever engineers began to be heard from and she
was responsible for developing several of the powerful modern types.
Russia would scarcely seem a country where aerial progress might be
expected, yet she has given a good account of herself in aviation, and
one of her machines, the giant _Sikorsky_ did splendid work on the
several fronts during the war.
I. I. Sikorsky, the inventor of the big Sikorsky machine was a little
while ago merely a clever student at the Kieff Polytechnic. Like many
other young men he dreamed of aerial conquest, but received little
encouragement in carrying out his projects. At twenty-four, however, he
became a student aviator, and almost immediately began work on original
airplane designs. He succeeded in building a small monoplane which in
some ways resembled the Blériot, except in its habits of flight. In
these it was quite balky, refusing to fly except in short hops and
jumps. Sikorsky's friends good-naturedly nicknamed it _The Hopper_. But
the young student was not one wit daunted. He plugged along steadily at
new designs, and in the autumn of 1910 he actually took to the air in a
tractor biplane of his own construction. Several other machines of
somewhat the same type followed, and his efforts finally won the
attention of the great Russo-Baltic Works. They offered him financial
assistance to carry on his study of the airplane problem. With this
backing Sikorsky moved forward to sure success. In the meantime he had
secretly prepared plans for an enormous airplane which at first he dared
not divulge for fear of ridicule and disappointment. Finally he took
courage and laid them before his friends at the Russo-Baltic Works.
Whatever they may have thought of his wild scheme of air supremacy they
consented to give it a tryout, and in the Spring of 1913 the first of
the giant "Sikorsky" machines stood awaiting a flight. It was viewed
with grave misgivings by a number of experts, but to their frank
surprise it took to the air with ease and flew well. The sight was a
strangely impressive one. In wing span the big machine measured almost
92 feet, while the body or _fuselage_ was over 62 feet long. The weight
of the amazing monster flying machine was 4 tons. In the forward part of
the fuselage cabins had been fitted, with a small deck on the bow. The
fuselage construction was of wood, with a strong 8-wheeled landing
chassis beneath it. Four 100 h. p. German "Argus" engines, driving four
tractor propellers sent it racing triumphantly through the air. Its
weight lifting ability was enormous, and it made a world record for
flight.
Prodigious as this first great master of the air had seemed it was
followed in 1913 by one still larger. The new machine was to the fullest
extent an aerial wonder. Its enormous body consisted of a wooden
framework covered with canvas, and in its interior a series of cabins
were provided. There were three decks: the main one in the center of the
fuselage, designed to carry heavy armament of machine guns and a
searchlight; a small deck at the stern; and one set in the
undercarriage, where additional heavy armament could be placed. Only a
few months before the storm of war broke over Europe this Air Leviathan
was born, and at the time no one suspected it would so soon be called
into active service. In the Spring of 1914 it made flight after flight,
scoring a succession of triumphs by its record breaking performances,
and winning for its designer a decoration from the Emperor.
Sikorsky was a man of wealth but so recklessly did he lavish his
personal funds on his airplane ventures that on many occasions he came
very near to want as a result. It was no unusual thing to see him during
those years of reckless experiment, braving the bitter winter weather of
Russia in threadbare garments, shivering, but grimly and sternly
determined. Then came the War, and at the first call his machines were
ready to prove themselves in the battle against the Hun.