Mr C. M. Manly, working under Professor Langley, had, by the summer

of 1903, succeeded in completing an engine-driven machine which

under favourable atmospheric conditions was expected to carry a man

for any time up to half an hour, and to be capable of having its

flight directed and controlled by him.

The supporting surface of the wings was ample, and experiment

showed the engine capable of supplying more than the necessary

motive power.

Owing to the necessity of lightness, the weight of the various

elements had to be kept at a minimum, and the factor of safety in

construction was therefore exceedingly small, so that the machine

as a whole was delicate and frail and incapable of sustaining any

unusual strain. This defect was to be corrected in later models

by utilising data gathered in future experiments under varied

conditions.

One of the most remarkable results attained was the production of a

gasoline engine furnishing over fifty continuous horse-power for a

weight of 120 lbs.

The aerodrome, as completed and prepared for test, is briefly

described by Professor Langley as ‘built of steel, weighing

complete about 730 lbs., supported by 1,040 feet of sustaining

surface, having two propellers driven by a gas engine developing

continuously over fifty brake horse-power.’

The appearance of the machine prepared for flight was exceedingly

light and graceful, giving an impression to all observers of being

capable of successful flight.

On October 7 last everything was in readiness, and I witnessed the

attempted trial on that day at Widewater, Va., on the Potomac. The

engine worked well and the machine was launched at about 12.15 p.m.

The trial was unsuccessful because the front guy-post caught in

its support on the launching car and was not released in time to

give free flight, as was intended, but, on the contrary, caused the

front of the machine to be dragged downward, bending the guy-post

and making the machine plunge into the water about fifty yards in

front of the house-boat. The machine was subsequently recovered

and brought back to the house-boat. The engine was uninjured and

the frame only slightly damaged, but the four wings and rudder were

practically destroyed by the first plunge and subsequent towing

back to the house-boat. This accident necessitated the removal of

the house-boat to Washington for the more convenient repair of

damages.

On December 8 last, between 4 and 5 p.m., another attempt at a

trial was made, this time at the junction of the Anacostia with the

Potomac, just below Washington Barracks.

On this occasion General Randolph and myself represented the Board

of Ordnance and Fortification. The launching car was released at

4.45 p.m. being pointed up the Anacostia towards the Navy Yard. My

position was on the tug _Bartholdi_, about 150 feet from and at

right angles to the direction of proposed flight. The car was set

in motion and the propellers revolved rapidly, the engine working

perfectly, but there was something wrong with the launching. The

rear guy-post seemed to drag, bringing the rudder down on the

launching ways, and a crashing, rending sound, followed by the

collapse of the rear wings, showed that the machine had been

wrecked in the launching, just how, it was impossible for me to

see. The fact remains that the rear wings and rudder were wrecked

before the machine was free of the ways. Their collapse deprived

the machine of its support in the rear, and it consequently reared

up in front under the action of the motor, assumed a vertical

position, and then toppled over to the rear, falling into the water

a few feet in front of the boat.

Mr Manly was pulled out of the wreck uninjured and the wrecked

machine was subsequently placed upon the house-boat, and the whole

brought back to Washington.

From what has been said it will be seen that these unfortunate

accidents have prevented any test of the apparatus in free flight,

and the claim that an engine-driven, man-carrying aerodrome has

been constructed lacks the proof which actual flight alone can give.

Having reached the present stage of advancement in its development,

it would seem highly desirable, before laying down the

investigation, to obtain conclusive proof of the possibility of

free flight, not only because there are excellent reasons to hope

for success, but because it marks the end of a definite step toward

the attainment of the final goal.

Just what further procedure is necessary to secure successful

flight with the large aerodrome has not yet been decided upon.

Professor Langley is understood to have this subject under

advisement, and will doubtless inform the Board of his final

conclusions as soon as practicable.

In the meantime, to avoid any possible misunderstanding, it should

be stated that even after a successful test of the present great

aerodrome, designed to carry a man, we are still far from the

ultimate goal, and it would seem as if years of constant work and

study by experts, together with the expenditure of thousands of

dollars, would still be necessary before we can hope to produce

an apparatus of practical utility on these lines.--Washington,

_January 6, 1904._

[Illustration: Dynamometer tests of engine built in the Smithsonian

shops for the full-size Langley Aerodrome.

Langley Memoir on Mechanical Flight, Smithsonian Institution,

Washington.]

A subsequent report of the Board of Ordnance and Fortification to the

Secretary of War embodied the principal points in Major Macomb’s

report, but as early as March 3rd, 1904, the Board came to a similar

conclusion to that of the French Ministry of War in respect of

Clement Ader’s work, stating that it was not ‘prepared to make an

additional allotment at this time for continuing the work.’ This

decision was in no small measure due to hostile newspaper criticisms.

Langley, in a letter to the press explaining his attitude, stated

that he did not wish to make public the results of his work till

these were certain, in consequence of which he refused admittance to

newspaper representatives, and this attitude produced a hostility

which had effect on the United States Congress. An offer was made

to commercialise the invention, but Langley steadfastly refused it.

Concerning this, Manly remarks that Langley had ‘given his time and his

best labours to the world without hope of remuneration, and he could

not bring himself, at his stage of life, to consent to capitalise his

scientific work.’

The final trial of the Langley aerodrome was made on December 8 th,

1903; nine days later, on December 17th, the Wright Brothers made their

first flight in a power-propelled machine, and the conquest of the air

was thus achieved. But for the two accidents that spoilt his trials,

the honour which fell to the Wright Brothers would, beyond doubt, have

been secured by Samuel Pierpoint Langley.

XI

THE WRIGHT BROTHERS

Such information as is given here concerning the Wright Brothers is

derived from the two best sources available, namely, the writings of

Wilbur Wright himself, and a lecture given by Dr Griffith Brewer to

members of the Royal Aeronautical Society. There is no doubt that so

far as actual work in connection with aviation accomplished by the two

brothers is concerned, Wilbur Wright’s own statements are the clearest

and best available. Apparently Wilbur was, from the beginning, the

historian of the pair, though he himself would have been the last

to attempt to detract in any way from the fame that his brother’s

work also deserves. Throughout all their experiments the two were

inseparable, and their work is one indivisible whole; in fact, in every

department of that work, it is impossible to say where Orville leaves

off and where Wilbur begins.

It is a great story, this of the Wright Brothers, and one worth all the

detail that can be spared it. It begins on the 16th April, 1867, when

Wilbur Wright was born within eight miles of Newcastle, Indiana. Before

Orville’s birth on the 19th August, 1871, the Wright family had moved

to Dayton, Ohio, and settled on what is known as the ‘West Side’ of the

town. Here the brothers grew up, and, when Orville was still a boy in

his teens, he started a printing business, which, as Griffith Brewer

remarks, was only limited by the smallness of his machine and small

quantity of type at his disposal. This machine was in such a state that

pieces of string and wood were incorporated in it by way of repair, but

on it Orville managed to print a boys’ paper which gained considerable

popularity in Dayton ‘West Side.’ Later, at the age of seventeen, he

obtained a more efficient outfit, with which he launched a weekly

newspaper, four pages in size, entitled _The West Side News_. After

three months’ running the paper was increased in size and Wilbur came

into the enterprise as editor, Orville remaining publisher. In 1894 the

two brothers began the publication of a weekly magazine, _Snap-Shots_,

to which Wilbur contributed a series of articles on local affairs that

gave evidence of the incisive and often sarcastic manner in which he

was able to express himself throughout his life. Dr Griffith Brewer

describes him as a fearless critic, who wrote on matters of local

interest in a kindly but vigorous manner, which did much to maintain

the healthy public municipal life of Dayton.

Editorial and publishing enterprise was succeeded by the formation,

just across the road from the printing works, of the Wright Cycle

Company, where the two brothers launched out as cycle manufacturers

with the ‘Van Cleve’ bicycle, a machine of great local repute for

excellence of construction, and one which won for itself a reputation

that lasted long after it had ceased to be manufactured. The name of

the machine was that of an ancestor of the brothers, Catherine Van

Cleve, who was one of the first settlers at Dayton, landing there from

the River Miami on April 1st, 1796, when the country was virgin forest.

It was not until 1896 that the mechanical genius which characterised

the two brothers was turned to the consideration of aeronautics.

In that year they took up the problem thoroughly, studying all the

aeronautical information then in print. Lilienthal’s writings formed

one basis for their studies, and the work of Langley assisted in

establishing in them a confidence in the possibility of a solution to

the problems of mechanical flight. In 1909, at the banquet given by

the Royal Aero Club to the Wright Brothers on their return to America,

after the series of demonstration flights carried out by Wilbur Wright

on the Continent, Wilbur paid tribute to the great pioneer work of

Stringfellow, whose studies and achievements influenced his own and

Orville’s early work. He pointed out how Stringfellow devised an

aeroplane having two propellers and vertical and horizontal steering,

and gave due place to this early pioneer of mechanical flight.

Neither of the brothers was content with mere study of the work of

others. They collected all the theory available in the books published

up to that time, and then built man-carrying gliders with which

to test the data of Lilienthal and such other authorities as they

had consulted. For two years they conducted outdoor experiments in

order to test the truth or otherwise of what were enunciated as the

principles of flight; after this they turned to laboratory experiments,

constructing a wind tunnel in which they made thousands of tests with

models of various forms of curved planes. From their experiments they

tabulated thousands of readings, which Griffith Brewer remarks as

giving results equally efficient with those of the elaborate tables

prepared by learned institutions.

Wilbur Wright has set down the beginnings of the practical experiments

made by the two brothers very clearly. ‘The difficulties,’ he says,

‘which obstruct the pathway to success in flying machine construction

are of three general classes: (1) Those which relate to the

construction of the sustaining wings; (2) those which relate to the

generation and application of the power required to drive the machine

through the air; (3) those relating to the balancing and steering of

the machine after it is actually in flight. Of these difficulties

two are already to a certain extent solved. Men already know how to

construct wings, or aeroplanes, which, when driven through the air

at sufficient speed, will not only sustain the weight of the wings

themselves, but also that of the engine and the engineer as well. Men

also know how to build engines and screws of sufficient lightness and

power to drive these planes at sustaining speed. Inability to balance

and steer still confronts students of the flying problem, although

nearly ten years have passed (since Lilienthal’s success). When this

one feature has been worked out, the age of flying machines will have

arrived, for all other difficulties are of minor importance.

‘The person who merely watches the flight of a bird gathers the

impression that the bird has nothing to think of but the flapping of

its wings. As a matter of fact, this is a very small part of its mental

labour. Even to mention all the things the bird must constantly keep in

mind in order to fly securely through the air would take a considerable

time. If I take a piece of paper and, after placing it parallel with

the ground, quickly let it fall, it will not settle steadily down

as a staid, sensible piece of paper ought to do, but it insists on

contravening every recognised rule of decorum, turning over and darting

hither and thither in the most erratic manner, much after the style of

an untrained horse. Yet this is the style of steed that men must learn

to manage before flying can become an everyday sport. The bird has

learned this art of equilibrium, and learned it so thoroughly that its

skill is not apparent to our sight. We only learn to appreciate it when

we can imitate it.

‘Now, there are only two ways of learning to ride a fractious horse:

one is to get on him and learn by actual practice how each motion and

trick may be best met; the other is to sit on a fence and watch the

beast awhile, and then retire to the house and at leisure figure out

the best way of overcoming his jumps and kicks. The latter system

is the safer, but the former, on the whole, turns out the larger

proportion of good riders. It is very much the same in learning to ride

a flying machine; if you are looking for perfect safety you will do

well to sit on a fence and watch the birds, but if you really wish to

learn you must mount a machine and become acquainted with its tricks

by actual trial. The balancing of a gliding or flying machine is very

simple in theory. It merely consists in causing the centre of pressure

to coincide with the centre of gravity.’

[Illustration: Wilbur Wright.]

These comments are taken from a lecture delivered by Wilbur Wright

before the Western Society of Engineers in September of 1901, under

the presidency of Octave Chanute. In that lecture Wilbur detailed

the way in which he and his brother came to interest themselves in

aeronautical problems and constructed their first glider. He speaks of

his own notice of the death of Lilienthal in 1896, and of the way in

which this fatality roused him to an active interest in aeronautical

problems, which was stimulated by reading Professor Marey’s _Animal

Mechanism_, not for the first time. ‘From this I was led to read more

modern works, and as my brother soon became equally interested with

myself, we soon passed from the reading to the thinking, and finally

to the working stage. It seemed to us that the main reason why the

problem had remained so long unsolved was that no one had been able

to obtain any adequate practice. We figured that Lilienthal in five

years of time had spent only about five hours in actual gliding

through the air. The wonder was not that he had done so little, but

that he had accomplished so much. It would not be considered at all

safe for a bicycle rider to attempt to ride through a crowded city

street after only five hours’ practice, spread out in bits of ten

seconds each over a period of five years; yet Lilienthal with this

brief practice was remarkably successful in meeting the fluctuations

and eddies of wind-gusts. We thought that if some method could be

found by which it would be possible to practise by the hour instead

of by the second there would be hope of advancing the solution of a

very difficult problem. It seemed feasible to do this by building a

machine which would be sustained at a speed of eighteen miles per

hour, and then finding a locality where winds of this velocity were

common. With these conditions a rope attached to the machine to keep

it from floating backward would answer very nearly the same purpose as

a propeller driven by a motor, and it would be possible to practise by

the hour, and without any serious danger, as it would not be necessary

to rise far from the ground, and the machine would not have any forward

motion at all. We found, according to the accepted tables of air

pressure on curved surfaces, that a machine spreading 200 square feet

of wing surface would be sufficient for our purpose, and that places

would easily be found along the Atlantic coast where winds of sixteen

to twenty-five miles were not at all uncommon. When the winds were low

it was our plan to glide from the tops of sandhills, and when they were

sufficiently strong to use a rope for our motor and fly over one spot.

Our next work was to draw up the plans for a suitable machine. After

much study we finally concluded that tails were a source of trouble

rather than of assistance, and therefore we decided to dispense with

them altogether. It seemed reasonable that if the body of the operator

could be placed in a horizontal position instead of the upright, as in

the machines of Lilienthal, Pilcher, and Chanute, the wind resistance

could be very materially reduced, since only one square foot instead

of five would be exposed. As a full half horse-power would be saved

by this change, we arranged to try at least the horizontal position.

Then the method of control used by Lilienthal, which consisted in

shifting the body, did not seem quite as quick or effective as the

case required; so, after long study, we contrived a system consisting

of two large surfaces on the Chanute double-deck plan, and a smaller

surface placed a short distance in front of the main surfaces in such a

position that the action of the wind upon it would counterbalance the

effect of the travel of the centre of pressure on the main surfaces.

Thus changes in the direction and velocity of the wind would have

little disturbing effect, and the operator would be required to attend

only to the steering of the machine, which was to be effected by

curving the forward surface up or down. The lateral equilibrium and

the steering to right or left was to be attained by a peculiar torsion

of the main surfaces, which was equivalent to presenting one end of

the wings at a greater angle than the other. In the main frame a few

changes were also made in the details of construction and trussing

employed by Mr Chanute. The most important of these were: (1) The

moving of the forward main crosspiece of the frame to the extreme front

edge; (2) the encasing in the cloth of all crosspieces and ribs of the

surfaces; (3) a rearrangement of the wires used in trussing the two

surfaces together, which rendered it possible to tighten all the wires

by simply shortening two of them.’

The brothers intended originally to get 200 square feet of supporting

surface for their glider, but the impossibility of obtaining suitable

material compelled them to reduce the area to 165 square feet, which,

by the Lilienthal tables, admitted of support in a wind of about

twenty-one miles an hour at an angle of three degrees. With this glider

they went in the summer of 1900 to the little settlement of Kitty

Hawk, North Carolina, situated on the strip of land dividing Albemarle

Sound from the Atlantic. Here they reckoned on obtaining steady wind,

and here, on the day that they completed the machine, they took it

out for trial as a kite with the wind blowing at between twenty-five

and thirty miles an hour. They found that in order to support a man

on it the glider required an angle nearer twenty degrees than three,

and even with the wind at thirty miles an hour they could not get down

to the planned angle of three degrees. Later, when the wind was too

light to support the machine with a man on it, they tested it as a

kite, working the rudders by cords. Although they obtained satisfactory

results in this way they realised fully that actual gliding experience

was necessary before the tests could be considered practical.

A series of actual measurements of lift and drift of the machine gave

astonishing results. ‘It appeared that the total horizontal pull of

the machine, while sustaining a weight of 52 lbs., was only 8.5 lbs.,

which was less than had been previously estimated for head resistance

of the framing alone. Making allowance for the weight carried, it

appeared that the head resistance of the framing was but little more

than fifty per cent of the amount which Mr Chanute had estimated

as the head resistance of the framing of his machine. On the other

hand, it appeared sadly deficient in lifting power as compared with

the calculated lift of curved surfaces of its size ... we decided

to arrange our machine for the following year so that the depth of

curvature of its surfaces could be varied at will, and its covering

air-proofed.’

After these experiments the brothers decided to turn to practical

gliding, for which they moved four miles to the south, to the Kill

Devil sandhills, the principal of which is slightly over a hundred

feet in height, with an inclination of nearly ten degrees on its main

north-western slope. On the day after their arrival they made about a

dozen glides, in which, although the landings were made at a speed of

more than twenty miles an hour, no injury was sustained either by the

machine or by the operator.

‘The slope of the hill was 9.5 degrees, or a drop of one foot in six.

We found that after attaining a speed of about twenty-five to thirty

miles with reference to the wind, or ten to fifteen miles over the

ground, the machine not only glided parallel to the slope of the hill,

but greatly increased its speed, thus indicating its ability to glide

on a somewhat less angle than 9.5 degrees, when we should feel it safe

to rise higher from the surface. The control of the machine proved even

better than we had dared to expect, responding quickly to the slightest

motion of the rudder. With these glides our experiments for the year

1900 closed. Although the hours and hours of practice we had hoped to

obtain finally dwindled down to about two minutes, we were very much

pleased with the general results of the trip, for, setting out as we

did with almost revolutionary theories on many points and an entirely

untried form of machine, we considered it quite a point to be able

to return without having our pet theories completely knocked on the

head by the hard logic of experience, and our own brains dashed out

in the bargain. Everything seemed to us to confirm the correctness of

our original opinions: (1) That practice is the key to the secret of

flying; (2) that it is practicable to assume the horizontal position;

(3) that a smaller surface set at a negative angle in front of the main

bearing surfaces, or wings, will largely counteract the effect of the

fore and aft travel of the centre of pressure; (4) that steering up and

down can be attained with a rudder without moving the position of the

operator’s body; (5) that twisting the wings so as to present their

ends to the wind at different angles is a more prompt and efficient

way of maintaining lateral equilibrium than shifting the body of the

operator.’

[Illustration: Wilbur Wright in a high glide, 1903.]

[Illustration: Orville Wright making the world’s record in gliding

flight, 10 minutes 1 second, stationary against a wind of 25 miles per

hour, east of Kill Devil Hill.]

For the gliding experiments of 1901 it was decided to retain the form

of the 1900 glider, but to increase the area to 308 square feet,

which, the brothers calculated, would support itself and its operator

in a wind of seventeen miles an hour with an angle of incidence of

three degrees. Camp was formed at Kitty Hawk in the middle of July, and

on July 27th the machine was completed and tried for the first time in

a wind of about fourteen miles an hour. The first attempt resulted in

landing after a glide of only a few yards, indicating that the centre

of gravity was too far in front of the centre of pressure. By shifting

his position farther and farther back the operator finally achieved an

undulating flight of a little over 300 feet, but to obtain this success

he had to use full power of the rudder to prevent both stalling and

nose-diving. With the 1900 machine one-fourth of the rudder action had

been necessary for far better control.

Practically all glides gave the same result, and in one the machine

rose higher and higher until it lost all headway. ‘This was the

position from which Lilienthal had always found difficulty in

extricating himself, as his machine then, in spite of his greatest

exertions, manifested a tendency to dive downward almost vertically

and strike the ground head on with frightful velocity. In this case

a warning cry from the ground caused the operator to turn the rudder

to its full extent and also to move his body slightly forward. The

machine then settled slowly to the ground, maintaining its horizontal

position almost perfectly, and landed without any injury at all. This

was very encouraging, as it showed that one of the very greatest

dangers in machines with horizontal tails had been overcome by the

use of the front rudder. Several glides later the same experience was

repeated with the same result. In the latter case the machine had even

commenced to move backward, but was nevertheless brought safely to the

ground in a horizontal position. On the whole this day’s experiments

were encouraging, for while the action of the rudder did not seem

at all like that of our 1900 machine, yet we had escaped without

difficulty from positions which had proved very dangerous to preceding

experimenters, and after less than one minute’s actual practice had

made a glide of more than 300 feet, at an angle of descent of ten

degrees, and with a machine nearly twice as large as had previously

been considered safe. The trouble with its control, which has been

mentioned, we believed could be corrected when we should have located

its cause.’

It was finally ascertained that the defect could be remedied by

trussing down the ribs of the whole machine so as to reduce the depth

of curvature. When this had been done gliding was resumed, and after a

few trials glides of 366 and 389 feet were made with prompt response

on the part of the machine, even to small movements of the rudder.

The rest of the story of the gliding experiments of 1901 cannot be

better told than in Wilbur Wright’s own words, as uttered by him in the

lecture from which the foregoing excerpts have been made.

‘The machine, with its new curvature, never failed to respond promptly

to even small movements of the rudder. The operator could cause it

to almost skim the ground, following the undulations of its surface,

or he could cause it to sail out almost on a level with the starting

point, and, passing high above the foot of the hill, gradually settle

down to the ground. The wind on this day was blowing eleven to fourteen

miles per hour. The next day, the conditions being favourable, the

machine was again taken out for trial. This time the velocity of the

wind was eighteen to twenty-two miles per hour. At first we felt some

doubt as to the safety of attempting free flight in so strong a wind,

with a machine of over 300 square feet and a practice of less than

five minutes spent in actual flight. But after several preliminary

experiments we decided to try a glide. The control of the machine

seemed so good that we then felt no apprehension in sailing boldly

forth. And thereafter we made glide after glide, sometimes following

the ground closely and sometimes sailing high in the air. Mr Chanute

had his camera with him and took pictures of some of these glides,

several of which are among those shown.

‘We made glides on subsequent days, whenever the conditions were

favourable. The highest wind thus experimented in was a little over

twelve metres per second--nearly twenty-seven miles per hour.

‘It had been our intention when building the machine to do the larger

part of the experimenting in the following manner:--When the wind

blew seventeen miles an hour, or more, we would attach a rope to the

machine and let it rise as a kite with the operator upon it. When it

should reach a proper height the operator would cast off the rope and

glide down to the ground just as from the top of a hill. In this way we

would be saved the trouble of carrying the machine uphill after each

glide, and could make at least ten glides in the time required for one

in the other way. But when we came to try it, we found that a wind

of seventeen miles, as measured by Richards’ anemometer, instead of

sustaining the machine with its operator, a total weight of 240 lbs.,

at an angle of incidence of three degrees, in reality would not sustain

the machine alone--100 lbs.--at this angle. Its lifting capacity seemed

scarcely one-third of the calculated amount. In order to make sure that

this was not due to the porosity of the cloth, we constructed two small

experimental surfaces of equal size, one of which was air-proofed and

the other left in its natural state; but we could detect no difference

in their lifting powers. For a time we were led to suspect that the

lift of curved surfaces very little exceeded that of planes of the same

size, but further investigation and experiment led to the opinion that

(1) the anemometer used by us over-recorded the true velocity of the

wind by nearly 15 per cent; (2) that the well-known Smeaton coefficient

of .005 V² for the wind pressure at 90 degrees is probably too great

by at least 20 per cent; (3) that Lilienthal’s estimate that the

pressure on a curved surface having an angle of incidence of 3 degrees

equals .545 of the pressure at 90 degrees is too large, being nearly

50 per cent greater than very recent experiments of our own with a

pressure testing-machine indicate; (4) that the superposition of the

surfaces somewhat reduced the lift per square foot, as compared with a

single surface of equal area.

‘In gliding experiments, however, the amount of lift is of less

relative importance than the ratio of lift to drift, as this alone

decides the angle of gliding descent. In a plane the pressure is

always perpendicular to the surface, and the ratio of lift to drift

is therefore the same as that of the cosine to the sine of the angle

of incidence. But in curved surfaces a very remarkable situation

is found. The pressure, instead of being uniformly normal to the

chord of the arc, is usually inclined considerably in front of the

perpendicular. The result is that the lift is greater and the drift

less than if the pressure were normal. Lilienthal was the first to

discover this exceedingly important fact, which is fully set forth

in his book, _Bird Flight the Basis of the Flying Art_, but owing to

some errors in the methods he used in making measurements, question

was raised by other investigators not only as to the accuracy of his

figures, but even as to the existence of any tangential force at

all. Our experiments confirm the existence of this force, though our

measurements differ considerably from those of Lilienthal. While at

Kitty Hawk we spent much time in measuring the horizontal pressure on

our unloaded machine at various angles of incidence. We found that at

13 degrees the horizontal pressure was about 23 lbs. This included not

only the drift proper, or horizontal component of the pressure on the

side of the surface, but also the head resistance of the framing as

well. The weight of the machine at the time of this test was about 108

lbs. Now, if the pressure had been normal to the chord of the surface,

the drift proper would have been to the lift (108 lbs.) as the sine

of 13 degrees is to the cosine of 13 degrees, or (.22 × 108) / .97 =

24 + lbs.; but this slightly exceeds the total pull of 23 pounds on

our scales. Therefore it is evident that the average pressure on the

surface, instead of being normal to the chord, was so far inclined

toward the front that all the head resistance of framing and wires

used in the construction was more than overcome. In a wind of fourteen

miles per hour resistance is by no means a negligible factor, so that

tangential is evidently a force of considerable value. In a higher

wind, which sustained the machine at an angle of 10 degrees the pull

on the scales was 18 lbs. With the pressure normal to the chord the

drift proper would have been (17 × 98) / ·98. The travel of the centre

of pressure made it necessary to put sand on the front rudder to bring

the centres of gravity and pressure into coincidence, consequently the

weight of the machine varied from 98 lbs. to 108 lbs. in the different

tests) = 17 lbs., so that, although the higher wind velocity must

have caused an increase in the head resistance, the tangential force

still came within 1 lb. of overcoming it. After our return from Kitty

Hawk we began a series of experiments to accurately determine the

amount and direction of the pressure produced on curved surfaces when

acted upon by winds at the various angles from zero to 90 degrees.

These experiments are not yet concluded, but in general they support

Lilienthal in the claim that the curves give pressures more favourable

in amount and direction than planes; but we find marked differences

in the exact values, especially at angles below 10 degrees. We were

unable to obtain direct measurements of the horizontal pressures of

the machine with the operator on board, but by comparing the distance

travelled with the vertical fall, it was easily calculated that at a

speed of 24 miles per hour the total horizontal resistances of our

machine, when bearing the operator, amounted to 40 lbs, which is

equivalent to about 2⅓ horse-power. It must not be supposed, however,

that a motor developing this power would be sufficient to drive a

man-bearing machine. The extra weight of the motor would require either

a larger machine, higher speed, or a greater angle of incidence in

order to support it, and therefore more power. It is probable, however,

that an engine of 6 horse-power, weighing 100 lbs. would answer the

purpose. Such an engine is entirely practicable. Indeed, working motors

of one-half this weight per horse-power (9 lbs. per horse-power) have

been constructed by several different builders. Increasing the speed of

our machine from 24 to 33 miles per hour reduced the total horizontal

pressure from 40 to about 35 lbs. This was quite an advantage in

gliding, as it made it possible to sail about 15 per cent farther

with a given drop. However, it would be of little or no advantage in

reducing the size of the motor in a power-driven machine, because the

lessened thrust would be counterbalanced by the increased speed per

minute. Some years ago Professor Langley called attention to the great

economy of thrust which might be obtained by using very high speeds,

and from this many were led to suppose that high speed was essential to

success in a motor-driven machine. But the economy to which Professor

Langley called attention was in foot pounds per mile of travel, not in

foot pounds per minute. It is the foot pounds per minute that fixes the

size of the motor. The probability is that the first flying machines

will have a relatively low speed, perhaps not much exceeding 20 miles

per hour, but the problem of increasing the speed will be much simpler

in some respects than that of increasing the speed of a steamboat;

for, whereas in the latter case the size of the engine must increase

as the cube of the speed, in the flying machine, until extremely high

speeds are reached, the capacity of the motor increases in less than

simple ratio; and there is even a decrease in the fuel per mile of

travel. In other words, to double the speed of a steamship (and the

same is true of the balloon type of airship) eight times the engine and

boiler capacity would be required, and four times the fuel consumption

per mile of travel; while a flying machine would require engines of

less than double the size, and there would be an actual decrease in

the fuel consumption per mile of travel. But looking at the matter

conversely, the great disadvantage of the flying machine is apparent;

for in the latter no flight at all is possible unless the proportion

of horse-power to flying capacity is very high; but on the other hand

a steamship is a mechanical success if its ratio of horse-power to

tonnage is insignificant. A flying machine that would fly at a speed

of 50 miles per hour with engines of 1,000 horse-power would not be

upheld by its wings at all at a speed of less than 25 miles an hour,

and nothing less than 500 horse-power could drive it at this speed.

But a boat which could make 40 miles an hour with engines of 1,000

horse-power would still move 4 miles an hour even if the engines were

reduced to 1 horse-power. The problems of land and water travel were

solved in the nineteenth century, because it was possible to begin

with small achievements, and gradually work up to our present success.

The flying problem was left over to the twentieth century, because in

this case the art must be highly developed before any flight of any

considerable duration at all can be obtained.

‘However, there is another way of flying which requires no artificial

motor, and many workers believe that success will come first by

this road. I refer to the soaring flight, by which the machine is

permanently sustained in the air by the same means that are employed

by soaring birds. They spread their wings to the wind, and sail by the

hour, with no perceptible exertion beyond that required to balance

and steer themselves. What sustains them is not definitely known,

though it is almost certain that it is a rising current of air. But

whether it be a rising current or something else, it is as well able

to support a flying machine as a bird, if man once learns the art of

utilising it. In gliding experiments it has long been known that the

rate of vertical descent is very much retarded, and the duration of

the flight greatly prolonged, if a strong wind blows _up_ the face of

the hill parallel to its surface. Our machine, when gliding in still

air, has a rate of vertical descent of nearly 6 feet per second, while

in a wind blowing 26 miles per hour up a steep hill we made glides in

which the rate of descent was less than 2 feet per second. And during

the larger part of this time, while the machine remained exactly in the

rising current, _there was no descent at all, but even a slight rise_.

If the operator had had sufficient skill to keep himself from passing

beyond the rising current he would have been sustained indefinitely

at a higher point than that from which he started. The illustration

shows one of these very slow glides at a time when the machine was

practically at a standstill. The failure to advance more rapidly caused

the photographer some trouble in aiming, as you will perceive. In

looking at this picture you will readily understand that the excitement

of gliding experiments does not entirely cease with the breaking up

of camp. In the photographic dark-room at home we pass moments of

as thrilling interest as any in the field, when the image begins to

appear on the plate and it is yet an open question whether we have a

picture of a flying machine or merely a patch of open sky. These slow

glides in rising current probably hold out greater hope of extensive

practice than any other method within man’s reach, but they have the

disadvantage of requiring rather strong winds or very large supporting

surfaces. However, when gliding operators have attained greater skill,

they can with comparative safety maintain themselves in the air for

hours at a time in this way, and thus by constant practice so increase

their knowledge and skill that they can rise into the higher air and

search out the currents which enable the soaring birds to transport

themselves to any desired point by first rising in a circle and then

sailing off at a descending angle. This illustration shows the machine,

alone, flying in a wind of 35 miles per hour on the face of a steep

hill, 100 feet high. It will be seen that the machine not only pulls

upward, but also pulls forward in the direction from which the wind

blows, thus overcoming both gravity and the speed of the wind. We tried

the same experiment with a man on it, but found danger that the forward

pull would become so strong, that the men holding the ropes would be

dragged from their insecure foothold on the slope of the hill. So this

form of experimenting was discontinued after four or five minutes’

trial.

‘In looking over our experiments of the past two years, with models and

full-size machines, the following points stand out with clearness:--

‘1. That the lifting power of a large machine, held stationary in

a wind at a small distance from the earth, is much less than the

Lilienthal table and our own laboratory experiments would lead us to

expect. When the machine is moved through the air, as in gliding, the

discrepancy seems much less marked.

‘2. That the ratio of drift to lift in well-shaped surfaces is less at

angles of incidence of 5 degrees to 12 degrees than at an angle of 3

degrees.

‘3. That in arched surfaces the centre of pressure at 90 degrees is

near the centre of the surface, but moves slowly forward as the angle

becomes less, till a critical angle varying with the shape and depth of

the curve is reached, after which it moves rapidly toward the rear till

the angle of no lift is found.

‘4. That with similar conditions large surfaces may be controlled with

not much greater difficulty than small ones, if the control is effected

by manipulation of the surfaces themselves, rather than by a movement

of the body of the operator.

‘5. That the head resistances of the framing can be brought to a point

much below that usually estimated as necessary.

‘6. That tails, both vertical and horizontal, may with safety be

eliminated in gliding and other flying experiments.

‘7. That a horizontal position of the operator’s body may be assumed

without excessive danger, and thus the head resistance reduced to about

one-fifth that of the upright position.

‘8. That a pair of superposed, or tandem surfaces, has less lift in

proportion to drift than either surface separately, even after making

allowance for weight and head resistance of the connections.’

[Illustration: The Wrights’ first power-driven machine, 1903.]

Thus, to the end of the 1901 experiments, Wilbur Wright provided a

fairly full account of what was accomplished; the record shows an

amount of patient and painstaking work almost beyond belief--it was no

question of making a plane and launching it, but a business of trial

and error, investigation and tabulation of detail, and the rejection

time after time of previously accepted theories, till the brothers must

have felt that the solid earth was no longer secure, at times. Though

it was Wilbur who set down this and other records of the work done, yet

the actual work was so much Orville’s as his brother’s that no analysis

could separate any set of experiments and say that Orville did this

and Wilbur did that--the two were inseparable. On this point Griffith

Brewer remarked that ‘in the arguments, if one brother took one view,

the other brother took the opposite view as a matter of course, and

the subject was thrashed to pieces until a mutually acceptable result

remained. I have often been asked since these pioneer days, “Tell me,

Brewer, who was really the originator of those two?” In reply, I used

first to say, “I think it was mostly Wilbur,” and later, when I came

to know Orville better, I said, “The thing could not have been done

without Orville.” Now, when asked, I find I have to say, “I don’t

know,” and I feel the more I think of it that it was only the wonderful

combination of these two brothers, who devoted their lives together

for this common object, that made the discovery of the art of flying

possible.’

Beyond the 1901 experiments in gliding, the record grows more

scrappy, less detailed. It appears that once power-driven flight had

been achieved, the brothers were not so willing to talk as before;

considering the amount of work that they put in, there could have been

little time for verbal description of that work--as already remarked,

their tables still stand for the designer and experimenter. The end

of the 1901 experiments left both brothers somewhat discouraged,

though they had accomplished more than any others. ‘Having set out

with absolute faith in the existing scientific data, we were driven

to doubt one thing after another, till finally, after two years of

experiment, we cast it all aside, and decided to rely entirely on our

own investigations. Truth and error were everywhere so intimately mixed

as to be indistinguishable.... We had taken up aeronautics as a sport.

We reluctantly entered upon the scientific side of it.’

Yet, driven thus to the more serious aspect of the work, they found

in the step its own reward, for the work of itself drew them on and

on, to the construction of measuring machines for the avoidance of

error, and, to the making of series after series of measurements,

concerning which Wilbur wrote in 1908 (in the _Century Magazine_) that

‘after making preliminary measurements on a great number of different

shaped surfaces, to secure a general understanding of the subject,

we began systematic measurements of standard surfaces, so varied in

design as to bring out the underlying causes of differences noted in

their pressures. Measurements were tabulated on nearly fifty of these

at all angles from zero to 45 degrees, at intervals of 2½ degrees.

Measurements were also secured showing the effects on each other when

surfaces are superposed, or when they follow one another.

‘Some strange results were obtained. One surface, with a heavy roll

at the front edge, showed the same lift for all angles from 7½ to 45

degrees. This seemed so anomalous that we were almost ready to doubt

our own measurements, when a simple test was suggested. A weather vane,

with two planes attached to the pointer at an angle of 80 degrees with

each other, was made. According to our table, such a vane would be in

unstable equilibrium when pointing directly into the wind; for if by

chance the wind should happen to strike one plane at 39 degrees and

the other at 41 degrees, the plane with the smaller angle would have

the greater pressure, and the pointer would be turned still farther

out of the course of the wind until the two vanes again secured equal

pressures, which would be at approximately 30 and 50 degrees. But the

vane performed in this very manner. Further corroboration of the tables

was obtained in experiments with the new glider at Kill Devil Hill the

next season.

‘In September and October, 1902, nearly 1,000 gliding flights were

made, several of which covered distances of over 600 feet. Some, made

against a wind of 36 miles an hour, gave proof of the effectiveness of

the devices for control. With this machine, in the autumn of 1903, we

made a number of flights in which we remained in the air for over a

minute, often soaring for a considerable time in one spot, without any

descent at all. Little wonder that our unscientific assistant should

think the only thing needed to keep it indefinitely in the air would be

a coat of feathers to make it light!’

It was at the conclusion of these experiments of 1903 that the brothers

concluded they had obtained sufficient data from their thousands of

glides and multitude of calculations to permit of their constructing

and making trial of a power-driven machine. The first designs got out

provided for a total weight of 600 lbs., which was to include the

weight of the motor and the pilot; but on completion it was found that

there was a surplus of power from the motor, and thus they had 150 lbs.

weight to allow for strengthening wings and other parts.

They came up against the problem to which Riach has since devoted so

much attention, that of propeller design. ‘We had thought of getting

the theory of the screw-propeller from the marine engineers, and then,

by applying our table of air-pressures to their formulæ, of designing

air-propellers suitable for our uses. But, so far as we could learn,

the marine engineers possessed only empirical formulæ, and the exact

action of the screw propeller, after a century of use, was still very

obscure. As we were not in a position to undertake a long series

of practical experiments to discover a propeller suitable for our

machine, it seemed necessary to obtain such a thorough understanding

of the theory of its reactions as would enable us to design them from

calculation alone. What at first seemed a simple problem became more

complex the longer we studied it. With the machine moving forward,

the air flying backward, the propellers turning sidewise, and nothing

standing still, it seemed impossible to find a starting point from

which to trace the various simultaneous reactions. Contemplation of it

was confusing. After long arguments we often found ourselves in the

ludicrous position of each having been converted to the other’s side,

with no more agreement than when the discussion began.

‘It was not till several months had passed, and every phase of the

problem had been thrashed over and over, that the various reactions

began to untangle themselves. When once a clear understanding had

been obtained there was no difficulty in designing a suitable

propeller, with proper diameter, pitch, and area of blade, to meet the

requirements of the flier. High efficiency in a screw-propeller is not

dependent upon any particular or peculiar shape, and there is no such

thing as a “best” screw. A propeller giving a high dynamic efficiency

when used upon one machine may be almost worthless when used upon

another. The propeller should in every case be designed to meet the

particular conditions of the machine to which it is to be applied. Our

first propellers, built entirely from calculation, gave in useful work

66 per cent of the power expended. This was about one-third more than

had been secured by Maxim or Langley.’

Langley had made his last attempt with the ‘aerodrome,’ and his

splendid failure but a few days before the brothers made their first

attempt at power-driven aeroplane flight. On December 17th, 1903, the

machine was taken out; in addition to Wilbur and Orville Wright, there

were present five spectators: Mr A. D. Etheridge, of the Kill Devil

life-saving station; Mr W. S. Dough, Mr W. C. Brinkley, of Manteo; Mr

John Ward, of Naghead, and Mr John T. Daniels.[3] A general invitation

had been given to practically all the residents in the vicinity, but

the Kill Devil district is a cold area in December, and history had

recorded so many experiments in which machines had failed to leave the

ground that between temperature and scepticism only these five risked a

waste of their time.

[Illustration: First flight of first power-driven machine, 17th

December, 1903, near Kill Devil Hill, Kitty Hawk, N.C. Starting rail on

left. Orville Wright piloting machine.]

And these five were in at the greatest conquest man had made since

James Watt evolved the steam engine--perhaps even a greater conquest

than that of Watt. Four flights in all were made; the first lasted

only twelve seconds, ‘the first in the history of the world in which

a machine carrying a man had raised itself into the air by its own

power in free flight, had sailed forward on a level course without

reduction of speed, and had finally landed without being wrecked,’

said Wilbur Wright concerning the achievement.[4] The next two flights

were slightly longer, and the fourth and last of the day was one second

short of the complete minute; it was made into the teeth of a 20 mile

an hour wind, and the distance travelled was 852 feet.

This bald statement of the day’s doings is as Wilbur Wright himself

has given it, and there is in truth nothing more to say; no amount of

statement could add to the importance of the achievement, and no more

than the bare record is necessary. The faith that had inspired the long

roll of pioneers, from da Vinci onward, was justified at last.

Having made their conquest, the brothers took the machine back to

camp, and, as they thought, placed it in safety. Talking with the

little group of spectators about the flights, they forgot about the

machine, and then a sudden gust of wind struck it. Seeing that it

was being overturned, all made a rush toward it to save it, and Mr

Daniels, a man of large proportions, was in some way lifted off his

feet, falling between the planes. The machine overturned fully, and

Daniels was shaken like a die in a cup as the wind rolled the machine

over and over--he came out at the end of his experience with a series

of bad bruises, and no more, but the damage done to the machine by the

accident was sufficient to render it useless for further experiment

that season.

A new machine, stronger and heavier, was constructed by the brothers,

and in the spring of 1904 they began experiments again at Simms

Station, eight miles to the east of Dayton, their home town. Press

representatives were invited for the first trial, and about a dozen

came--the whole gathering did not number more than fifty people. ‘When

preparations had been concluded,’ Wilbur Wright wrote of this trial,

‘a wind of only three or four miles an hour was blowing--insufficient

for starting on so short a track--but since many had come a long way

to see the machine in action, an attempt was made. To add to the other

difficulty, the engine refused to work properly. The machine, after

running the length of the track, slid off the end without rising into

the air at all. Several of the newspaper men returned next day but were

again disappointed. The engine performed badly, and after a glide of

only sixty feet the machine again came to the ground. Further trial was

postponed till the motor could be put in better running condition. The

reporters had now, no doubt, lost confidence in the machine, though

their reports, in kindness, concealed it. Later, when they heard

that we were making flights of several minutes’ duration, knowing

that longer flights had been made with airships, and not knowing any

essential difference between airships and flying machines, they were

but little interested.

‘We had not been flying long in 1904 before we found that the problem

of equilibrium had not as yet been entirely solved. Sometimes, in

making a circle, the machine would turn over sidewise despite anything

the operator could do, although, under the same conditions in ordinary

straight flight it could have been righted in an instant. In one

flight, in 1905, while circling round a honey locust-tree at a height

of about 50 feet, the machine suddenly began to turn up on one wing,

and took a course toward the tree. The operator, not relishing the

idea of landing in a thorn tree, attempted to reach the ground. The

left wing, however, struck the tree at a height of 10 or 12 feet from

the ground and carried away several branches; but the flight, which had

already covered a distance of six miles, was continued to the starting

point.

‘The causes of these troubles--too technical for explanation here--were

not entirely overcome till the end of September, 1905. The flights then

rapidly increased in length, till experiments were discontinued after

October 5, on account of the number of people attracted to the field.

Although made on a ground open on every side, and bordered on two sides

by much-travelled thoroughfares, with electric cars passing every

hour, and seen by all the people living in the neighbourhood for miles

around, and by several hundred others, yet these flights have been made

by some newspapers the subject of a great “mystery.”’

Viewing their work from the financial side, the two brothers incurred

but little expense in the earlier gliding experiments, and, indeed,

viewed these only as recreation, limiting their expenditure to that

which two men might spend on any hobby. When they had once achieved

successful power-driven flight, they saw the possibilities of their

work, and abandoned such other business as had engaged their energies,

sinking all their capital in the development of a practical flying

machine. Having, in 1905, improved their designs to such an extent

that they could consider their machine a practical aeroplane, they

devoted the years 1906 and 1907 to business negotiations and to the

construction of new machines, resuming flying experiments in May

of 1908 in order to test the ability of their machine to meet the

requirements of a contract they had made with the United States

Government, which required an aeroplane capable of carrying two men,

together with sufficient fuel supplies for a flight of 125 miles at

40 miles per hour. Practically similar to the machine used in the

experiments of 1905, the contract aeroplane was fitted with a larger

motor, and provision was made for seating a passenger and also for

allowing of the operator assuming a sitting position, instead of lying

prone.

Before leaving the work of the brothers to consider contemporary

events, it may be noted that they claimed--with justice--that they were

first to construct wings adjustable to different angles of incidence

on the right and left side in order to control the balance of an

aeroplane; the first to attain lateral balance by adjusting wing-tips

to respectively different angles of incidence on the right and left

sides, and the first to use a vertical vane in combination with

wing-tips, adjustable to respectively different angles of incidence,

in balancing and steering an aeroplane. They were first, too, to use

a movable vertical tail, in combination with wings adjustable to

different angles of incidence, in controlling the balance and direction

of an aeroplane.[5]

A certain Henry M. Weaver, who went to see the work of the brothers,

writing in a letter which was subsequently read before the Aero Club

de France, records that he had a talk in 1905 with the farmer who

rented the field in which the Wrights made their flights. ‘On October

5th (1905) he was cutting corn in the next field east, which is higher

ground. When he noticed the aeroplane had started on its flight he

remarked to his helper: “Well, the boys are at it again,” and kept on

cutting corn, at the same time keeping an eye on the great white form

rushing about its course. “I just kept on shocking corn,” he continued,

“until I got down to the fence, and the durned thing was still going

round. I thought it would never stop.”’

He was right. The brothers started it, and it will never stop.

Mr Weaver also notes briefly the construction of the 1905 Wright flier.

‘The frame was made of larch wood--from tip to tip of the wings the

dimension was 40 feet. The gasoline motor--a special construction

made by them--much the same, though, as the motor on the Pope-Toledo

automobile--was of from 12 to 15 horse-power. The motor weighed 240

lbs. The frame was covered with ordinary muslin of good quality. No

attempt was made to lighten the machine; they simply built it strong

enough to stand the shocks. The structure stood on skids or runners,

like a sleigh. These held the frame high enough from the ground in

alighting to protect the blades of the propeller. Complete with motor,

the machine weighed 925 lbs.’

XII

THE FIRST YEARS OF CONQUEST

It is no derogation of the work accomplished by the Wright Brothers

to say that they won the honour of the first power-propelled flights

in a heavier-than-air machine only by a short period. In Europe, and

especially in France, independent experiment was being conducted by

Ferber, by Santos-Dumont, and others, while in England Cody was not far

behind the other giants of those days. The history of the early years

of controlled power flights is a tangle of half-records; there were no

chroniclers, only workers, and much of what was done goes unrecorded

perforce, since it was not set down at the time.

Before passing to survey of those early years, let it be set down that

in 1907, when the Wright Brothers had proved the practicability of

their machines, negotiations were entered into between the brothers and

the British War Office. On April 12th, 1907, the apostle of military

stagnation, Haldane, then War Minister, put an end to the negotiations

by declaring that ‘the War Office is not disposed to enter into

relations at present with any manufacturer of aeroplanes.’ The state

of the British air service in 1914, at the outbreak of hostilities, is

eloquent regarding the pursuance of the policy which Haldane initiated.

‘If I talked a lot,’ said Wilbur Wright once, ‘I should be like

the parrot, which is the bird that speaks most and flies least.’

That attitude is emblematic of the majority of the early fliers, and

because of it the record of their achievements is incomplete to-day.

Ferber, for instance, has left little from which to state what he did,

and that little is scattered through various periodicals, scrappily

enough. A French army officer, Captain Ferber was experimenting with

monoplane and biplane gliders at the beginning of the century--his work

was contemporary with that of the Wrights. He corresponded both with

Chanute and with the Wrights, and in the end he was commissioned by the

French Ministry of War to undertake the journey to America in order

to negotiate with the Wright Brothers concerning French rights in the

patents they had acquired, and to study their work at first hand.

Ferber’s experiments in gliding began in 1899 at the Military School at

Fountainebleau, with a canvas glider of some 80 square feet supporting

surface, and weighing 65 lbs. Two years later he constructed a larger

and more satisfactory machine, with which he made numerous excellent

glides. Later, he constructed an apparatus which suspended a plane from

a long arm which swung on a tower, in order that experiments might be

carried out without risk to the experimenter, and it was not until

1905 that he attempted power-driven free flight. He took up the Voisin

design of biplane for his power-driven flights, and virtually devoted

all his energies to the study of aeronautics. His book, _Aviation,

its Dawn and Development_, is a work of scientific value--unlike many

of his contemporaries, Ferber brought to the study of the problems

of flight a trained mind, and he was concerned equally with the

theoretical problems of aeronautics and the practical aspects of the

subject.

After Bleriot’s successful cross-Channel flight, it was proposed to

offer a prize of £1,000 for the feat which C. S. Rolls subsequently

accomplished (starting from the English side of the Channel), a flight

from Boulogne to Dover and back; in place of this, however, an aviation

week at Boulogne was organised, but, although numerous aviators were

invited to compete, the condition of the flying grounds was such that

no competitions took place. Ferber was virtually the only one to do any

flying at Boulogne, and at the outset he had his first accident; after

what was for those days a good flight, he made a series of circles

with his machine, when it suddenly struck the ground, being partially

wrecked. Repairs were carried out, and Ferber resumed his exhibition

flights, carrying on up to Wednesday, September 22nd, 1909. On that day

he remained in the air for half an hour, and, as he was about to land,

the machine struck a mound of earth and overturned, pinning Ferber

under the weight of the motor. After being extricated, Ferber seemed to

show little concern at the accident, but in a few minutes he complained

of great pain, when he was conveyed to the ambulance shed on the ground.

‘I was foolish,’ he told those who were with him there. ‘I was flying

too low. It was my own fault and it will be a severe lesson to me.

I wanted to turn round, and was only five metres from the ground.’

A little after this, he got up from the couch on which he had been

placed, and almost immediately collapsed, dying five minutes later.

[Illustration: Blériot in full flight.]

Ferber’s chief contemporaries in France were Santos-Dumont,

of airship fame, Henri and Maurice Farman, Hubert Latham, Ernest

Archdeacon, and Delagrange. These are names that come at once to mind,

as does that of Bleriot, who accomplished the second great feat of

power-driven flight, but as a matter of fact the years 1903–10 are

filled with a little host of investigators and experimenters, many of

whom, although their names do not survive to any extent, are but a very

little way behind those mentioned here in enthusiasm and devotion.

Archdeacon and Gabriel Voisin, the former of whom took to heart the

success achieved by the Wright Brothers, co-operated in experiments

in gliding. Archdeacon constructed a glider in box-kite fashion, and

Voisin experimented with it on the Seine, the glider being towed by a

motor-boat to attain the necessary speed. It was Archdeacon who offered

a cup for the first straight flight of 200 metres, which was won by

Santos-Dumont, and he also combined with Henri Deutsch de la Meurthe in

giving the prize for the first circular flight of a mile, which was won

by Henry Farman on January 13th, 1908.

A history of the development of aviation in France in these, the

strenuous years, would fill volumes in itself. Bleriot was carrying

out experiments with a biplane glider on the Seine, and Robert

Esnault-Pelterie was working on the lines of the Wright Brothers,

bringing American practice to France. In America others besides the

Wrights had wakened to the possibilities of heavier-than-air flight;

Glenn Curtiss, in company with Dr Alexander Graham Bell, with J. A. D.

McCurdy, and with F. W. Baldwin, a Canadian engineer, formed the Aerial

Experiment Company, which built a number of aeroplanes, most famous of

which were the ‘June Bug,’ the ‘Red Wing’ and the ‘White Wing.’ In 1908

the ‘June Bug’ won a cup presented by the _Scientific American_--it was

the first prize offered in America in connection with aeroplane flight.

Among the little group of French experimenters in these first years

of practical flight, Santos-Dumont takes high rank. He built his ‘No.

14 bis’ aeroplane in biplane form, with two superposed main plane

surfaces, and fitted it with an eight-cylinder Antoinette motor driving

a two-bladed aluminium propeller, of which the blades were 6 feet only

from tip to tip. The total lift surface of 860 square feet was given

with a wing-span of a little under 40 feet, and the weight of the

complete machine was 353 lbs., of which the engine weighed 158 lbs.

In July of 1906 Santos-Dumont flew a distance of a few yards in this

machine, but damaged it in striking the ground; on October 23rd of the

same year he made a flight of nearly 200 feet--which might have been

longer, but that he feared a crowd in front of the aeroplane and cut

off his ignition. This may be regarded as the first effective flight in

Europe, and by it Santos-Dumont takes his place as one of the chief--if

not the chief--of the pioneers of the first years of practical flight,

so far as Europe is concerned.

Meanwhile, the Voisin Brothers, who in 1904 made cellular kites for

Archdeacon to test by towing on the Seine from a motor launch, obtained

data for the construction of the aeroplane which Delagrange and Henry

Farman were to use later. The Voisin was a biplane, constructed with

due regard to the designs of Langley, Lilienthal, and other earlier

experimenters--both the Voisins and M. Colliex, their engineer,

studied Lilienthal pretty exhaustively in getting out their design,

though their own researches were very thorough as well. The weight of

this Voisin biplane was about 1,450 lbs., and its maximum speed was

some 38 to 40 miles per hour, the total supporting surface being about

535 square feet. It differed from the Wright design in the possession

of a tail-piece, a characteristic which marked all the French school

of early design as in opposition to the American. The Wright machine

got its longitudinal stability by means of the main planes and the

elevating planes, while the Voisin type added a third factor of

stability in its tail-planes. Further, the Voisins fitted their biplane

with a wheeled undercarriage, while the Wright machine, being fitted

only with runners, demanded a launching rail for starting. Whether a

machine should be tailless or tailed was for some long time matter for

acute controversy, which in the end was settled by the fitting of a

tail to the Wright machines--France won the dispute by the concession.

Henry Farman, who began his flying career with a Voisin machine,

evolved from it the aeroplane which bore his name, following the

main lines of the Voisin type fairly closely, but making alterations

in the controls, and in the design of the undercarriage, which was

somewhat elaborated, even to the inclusion of shock absorbers. The

seven-cylinder 50 horse-power Gnome rotary engine was fitted to the

Farman machine--the Voisins had fitted an eight-cylinder Antoinette,

giving 50 horse-power at 1,100 revolutions per minute, with direct

drive to the propeller. Farman reduced the weight of the machine from

the 1,450 lbs. of the Voisins to some 1,010 lbs. or thereabouts, and

the supporting area to 450 square feet. This machine won its chief fame

with Paulhan as pilot in the famous London to Manchester flight--it is

to be remarked, too, that Farman himself was the first man in Europe to

accomplish a flight of a mile.

Other notable designs of these early days were the ‘R.E.P.’, Esnault

Pelterie’s machine, and the Curtiss-Herring biplane. Of these Esnault

Pelterie’s was a monoplane, designed in that form since Esnault

Pelterie had found by experiment that the wire used in bracing offers

far more resistance to the air than its dimensions would seem to

warrant. He built the wings of sufficient strength to stand the strain

of flight without bracing wires, and dependent only for their support

on the points of attachment to the body of the machine; for the rest,

it carried its propeller in front of the planes, and both horizontal

and vertical rudders at the stern--a distinct departure from the Wright

and similar types. One wheel only was fixed under the body where the

undercarriage exists on a normal design, but light wheels were fixed,

one at the extremity of each wing, and there was also a wheel under the

tail portion of the machine. A single lever actuated all the controls

for steering. With a supporting surface of 150 square feet the machine

weighed 946 lbs., about 6.4 lbs. per square foot of lifting surface.

The Curtiss biplane, as flown by Glenn Curtiss at the Rheims meeting,

was built with a bamboo framework, stayed by means of very fine

steel-stranded cables. A--then--novel feature of the machine was the

moving of the ailerons by the pilot leaning to one side or the other in

his seat, a light, tubular arm-rest being pressed by his body when he

leaned to one side or the other, and thus operating the movement of the

ailerons employed for tilting the plane when turning. A steering-wheel

fitted immediately in front of the pilot’s seat served to operate a

rear steering-rudder when the wheel was turned in either direction,

while pulling back the wheel altered the inclination of the front

elevating planes, and so gave lifting or depressing control of the

plane.

This machine ran on three wheels before leaving the ground, a central

undercarriage wheel being fitted in front, with two more in line with

a right angle line drawn through the centre of the engine crank at

the rear end of the crank-case. The engine was a 35 horse-power Vee

design, water-cooled, with overhead inlet and exhaust valves, and Bosch

high-tension magneto ignition. The total weight of the plane in flying

order was about 700 lbs.

As great a figure in the early days as either Ferber or Santos-Dumont

was Louis Bleriot, who, as early as 1900, built a flapping-wing model,

this before ever he came to experimenting with the Voisin biplane type

of glider on the Seine. Up to 1906 he had built four biplanes of his

own design, and in March of 1907 he built his first monoplane, to wreck

it only a few days after completion in an accident from which he had

a fortunate escape. His next machine was a double monoplane, designed

after Langley’s precept, to a certain extent, and this was totally

wrecked in September of 1907. His seventh machine, a monoplane, was

built within a month of this accident, and with this he had a number of

mishaps, also achieving some good flights, including one in which he

made a turn. It was wrecked in December of 1907, whereupon he built

another monoplane on which, on July 6th, 1908, Bleriot made a flight

lasting eight and a half minutes. In October of that year he flew the

machine from Toury to Artenay and returned on it--this was just a day

after Farman’s first cross-country flight--but, trying to repeat the

success five days later, Bleriot collided with a tree in a fog and

wrecked the machine past repair. Thereupon he set about building his

eleventh machine, with which he was to achieve the first flight across

the English channel.

Henry Farman, to whom reference has already been made, was engaged

with his two brothers, Maurice and Richard, in the motor-car business,

and turned to active interest in flying in 1907, when the Voisin firm

built his first biplane on the box-kite principle. In July of 1908 he

won a prize of £400 for a flight of thirteen miles, previously having

completed the first kilometre flown in Europe with a passenger, the

said passenger being Ernest Archdeacon. In September of 1908 Farman

put up a speed record of forty miles an hour in a flight lasting forty

minutes.

Santos-Dumont produced the famous ‘Demoiselle’ monoplane early in 1909,

a tiny machine in which the pilot had his seat in a sort of miniature

cage under the main plane. It was a very fast, light little machine,

but was difficult to fly, and owing to its small wing-spread was unable

to glide at a reasonably safe angle. There has probably never been a

cheaper flying machine to build than the ‘Demoiselle,’ which could be

so upset as to seem completely wrecked, and then repaired ready for

further flight by a couple of hours’ work. Santos-Dumont retained no

patent in the design, but gave it out freely to any one who chose to

build ‘Demoiselles’; the vogue of the pattern was brief, owing to the

difficulty of piloting the machine.

These were the years of records, broken almost as soon as made. There

was Farman’s mile, there was the flight of the Comte de Lambert over

the Eiffel Tower, Latham’s flight at Blackpool in a high wind, the

Rheims records, and then Henry Farman’s flight of four hours later in

1909, Orville Wright’s height record of 1,640 feet, and Delagrange’s

speed record of 49·9 miles per hour. The coming to fame of the Gnome

rotary engine helped in the making of these records to a very great

extent, for in this engine was a prime mover which gave the reliability

that aeroplane builders and pilots had been searching for, but vainly.

The Wrights and Glenn Curtiss, of course, had their own designs of

engine, but the Gnome, in spite of its lack of economy in fuel and oil,

and its high cost, soon came to be regarded as the best power plant for

flight.

Delagrange, one of the very good pilots of the early days, provided a

curious insight to the way in which flying was regarded, at the opening

of the Juvisy aerodrome in May of 1909. A huge crowd had gathered for

the first day’s flying, and nine machines were announced to appear,

but only three were brought out. Delagrange made what was considered

an indifferent little flight, and another pilot, one De Bischoff,

attempted to rise, but could not get his machine off the ground.

Thereupon the crowd of 30,000 people lost their tempers, broke down

the barriers surrounding the flying course, and hissed the officials,

who were quite unable to maintain order. Delagrange, however, saved

the situation by making a circuit of the course at a height of thirty

feet from the ground, which won him rounds of cheering and restored

the crowd to good humour. Possibly the smash achieved by Rougier, the

famous racing motorist, who crashed his Voisin biplane after Delagrange

had made his circuit, completed the enjoyment of the spectators.

Delagrange, flying at Argentan in June of 1909, made a flight of

four kilometres at a height of sixty feet; for those days this was a

noteworthy performance. Contemporary with this was Hubert Latham’s

flight of an hour and seven minutes on an Antoinette monoplane; this

won the adjective ‘magnificent’ from contemporary recorders of aviation.

Viewing the work of the little group of French experimenters, it is,

at this length of time from their exploits, difficult to see why

they carried the art as far as they did. There was in it little of

satisfaction, a certain measure of fame, and practically no profit--the

giants of those days got very little for their pains. Delagrange’s

experience at the opening of the Juvisy ground was symptomatic of the

way in which flight was regarded by the great mass of people--it was a

sport, and nothing more, but a sport without the dividends attaching to

professional football or horse-racing. For a brief period, after the

Rheims meeting, there was a golden harvest to be reaped by the best of

the pilots. Henry Farman asked £2,000 for a week’s exhibition flying

in England, and Paulhan asked half that sum, but a rapid increase

in the number of capable pilots, together with the fact that most

flying meetings were financial failures, owing to great expense in

organisation and the doubtful factor of the weather, killed this goose

before many golden eggs had been gathered in by the star aviators.

Besides, as height and distance records were broken one after another,

it became less and less necessary to pay for entrance to an aerodrome

in order to see a flight--the thing grew too big for a mere sports

ground.

Long before Rheims and the meeting there, aviation had grown too big

for the chronicling of every individual effort. In that period of the

first days of conquest of the air, so much was done by so many whose

names are now half-forgotten that it is possible only to pick out

the great figures and make brief reference to their achievements and

the machines with which they accomplished so much, pausing to note

such epoch-making events as the London-Manchester flight, Bleriot’s

Channel crossing, and the Rheims meeting itself, and then passing on

beyond the days of individual records to the time when the machine

began to dominate the man. This latter because, in the early days,

it was heroism to trust life to the planes that were turned out--the

‘Demoiselle’ and the Antoinette machine that Latham used in his attempt

to fly the Channel are good examples of the flimsiness of early

types--while in the later period, that of the war and subsequently,

the heroism turned itself in a different--and nobler--direction.

Design became standardised, though not perfected. The domination of

the machine may best be expressed by contrasting the way in which

machines came to be regarded as compared with the men who flew them: up

to 1909, flying enthusiasts talked of Farman, of Bleriot, of Paulhan,

Curtiss, and of other men; later, they began to talk of the Voisin, the

Deperdussin, and even to the Fokker, the Avro, and the Bristol type.

With the standardising of the machine, the days of the giants came to

an end.

XIII

FIRST FLIERS IN ENGLAND

Certain experiments made in England by Mr Phillips seem to have come

near robbing the Wright Brothers of the honour of the first flight;

notes made by Colonel J. D. Fullerton on the Phillips flying machine

show that in 1893 the first machine was built with a length of 25 feet,

breadth of 22 feet, and height of 11 feet, the total weight, including

a 72 lb. load, being 420 lbs. The machine was fitted with some fifty

wood slats, in place of the single supporting surface of the monoplane

or two superposed surfaces of the biplane, these slats being fixed in

a steel frame so that the whole machine rather resembled a Venetian

blind. A steam engine giving about 9 horse-power provided the motive

power for the six-foot diameter propeller which drove the machine. As

it was not possible to put a passenger in control as pilot, the machine

was attached to a central post by wire guys and run round a circle 100

feet in diameter, the track consisting of wooden planking 4 feet wide.

Pressure of air under the slats caused the machine to rise some two or

three feet above the track when sufficient velocity had been attained,

and the best trials were made on June 19th, 1893, when at a speed of 40

miles an hour, with a total load of 385 lbs., all the wheels were off

the ground for a distance of 2,000 feet.

In 1904 a full-sized machine was constructed by Mr Phillips, with a

total weight, including that of the pilot, of 600 lbs. The machine

was designed to lift when it had attained a velocity of 50 feet per

second, the motor fitted giving 22 horse-power. On trial, however,

the longitudinal equilibrium was found to be defective, and a further

design was got out, the third machine being completed in 1907. In this

the wood slats were held in four parallel container frames, the weight

of the machine, excluding the pilot, being 500 lbs. A motor similar to

that used in the 1904 machine was fitted, and the machine was designed

to lift at a velocity of about 30 miles an hour, a seven-foot propeller

doing the driving. Mr Phillips tried out this machine in a field about

400 yards across. ‘The machine was started close to the hedge, and rose

from the ground when about 200 yards had been covered. When the machine

touched the ground again, about which there could be no doubt, owing to

the terrific jolting, it did not run many yards. When it came to rest I

was about ten yards from the boundary. Of course, I stopped the engine

before I commenced to descend.’[6]

S. F. Cody, an American by birth, aroused the attention not only of

the British public, but of the War Office and Admiralty as well, as

early as 1905 with his man-lifting kites. In that year a height of

1,600 feet was reached by one of these box-kites, carrying a man, and

later in the same year one Sapper Moreton, of the Balloon Section of

the Royal Engineers (the parent of the Royal Flying Corps) remained

for an hour at an altitude of 2,600 feet. Following on the success

of these kites, Cody constructed an aeroplane which he designated a

‘power kite,’ which was in reality a biplane that made the first flight

in Great Britain. Speaking before the Aeronautical Society in 1908,

Cody said that ‘I have accomplished one thing that I hoped for very

much, that is, to be the first man to fly in Great Britain.... I made

a machine that left the ground the first time out; not high, possibly

five or six inches only. I might have gone higher if I wished. I made

some five flights in all, and the last flight came to grief.... On

the morning of the accident I went out after adjusting my propellers

at 8 feet pitch running at 600 (revolutions per minute). I think that

I flew at about twenty-eight miles per hour. I had 50 horse-power

motor power in the engine. A bunch of trees, a flat common above these

trees, and from this flat there is a slope goes down ... to another

clump of trees. Now, these clumps of trees are a quarter of a mile

apart or thereabouts.... I was accused of doing nothing but jumping

with my machine, so I got a bit agitated and went to fly. I went out

this morning with an easterly wind, and left the ground at the bottom

of the hill and struck the ground at the top, a distance of 74 yards.

That proved beyond a doubt that the machine would fly--it flew uphill.

That was the most talented flight the machine did, in my opinion.

Now, I turned round at the top and started the machine and left the

ground--remember, a ten mile wind was blowing at the time. Then, 60

yards from where the men let go, the machine went off in this direction

(demonstrating)--I make a line now where I hoped to land--to cut these

trees off at that side and land right off in here. I got here somewhat

excited, and started down and saw these trees right in front of me. I

did not want to smash my head rudder to pieces, so I raised it again

and went up. I got one wing direct over that clump of trees, the right

wing over the trees, the left wing free; the wind, blowing with me, had

to lift over these trees. So I consequently got a false lift on the

right side and no lift on the left side. Being only about 8 feet from

the tree tops, that turned my machine up like that (demonstrating).

This end struck the ground shortly after I had passed the trees. I

pulled the steering handle over as far as I could. Then I faced another

bunch of trees right in front of me. Trying to avoid this second bunch

of trees I turned the rudder, and turned it rather sharp. That side

of the machine struck, and it crumpled up like so much tissue paper,

and the machine spun round and struck the ground that way on, and the

framework was considerably wrecked. Now, I want to advise all aviators

not to try to fly with the wind and to cross over any big clump of

earth or any obstacle of any description unless they go square over the

top of it, because the lift is enormous crossing over anything like

that, and in coming the other way against the wind it would be the same

thing when you arrive at the windward side of the obstacle. That is a

point I did not think of, and had I thought of it I would have been

more cautious.’

[Illustration: Colonel Cody’s man-lifting kite, in mid-air, with an

officer of the Royal Engineers in basket.]

[Illustration: Rheims Meeting: Lieutenant Bassel _en cerf volant_.]

This Cody machine was a biplane with about 40 foot span, the wings

being about 7 feet in depth with about 8 feet between upper and lower

wing surfaces. ‘Attached to the extremities of the lower planes are

two small horizontal planes or rudders, while a third small vertical

plane is fixed over the centre of the upper plane.’ The tail-piece and

principal rudder were fitted behind the main body of the machine, and

a horizontal rudder plane was rigged out in front, on two supporting

arms extending from the centre of the machine. The small end-planes

and the vertical plane were used in conjunction with the main rudder

when turning to right or left, the inner plane being depressed on the

turn, and the outer one correspondingly raised, while the vertical

plane, working in conjunction, assisted in preserving stability. Two

two-bladed propellers were driven by an eight-cylinder 50 horse-power

Antoinette motor. With this machine Cody made his first flights over

Laffan’s plain, being then definitely attached to the Balloon Section

of the Royal Engineers as military aviation specialist.

There were many months of experiment and trial, after the accident

which Cody detailed in the statement given above, and then, on May

14th, 1909, Cody took the air and made a flight of 1,200 yards with

entire success. Meanwhile A. V. Roe was experimenting at Lea Marshes

with a triplane of rather curious design, the pilot having his seat

between two sets of three superposed planes, of which the front planes

could be tilted and twisted while the machine was in motion. He

comes but a little way after Cody in the chronology of early British

experimenters, but Cody, a born inventor, must be regarded as the

pioneer of the present century so far as Britain is concerned. He

was neither engineer nor trained mathematician, but he was a good

rule-of-thumb mechanic and a man of pluck and perseverance; he never

strove to fly on an imperfect machine, but made alteration after

alteration in order to find out what was improvement and what was

not, in consequence of which it was said of him that he was ‘always

satisfied with his alterations.’

By July of 1909 he had fitted an 80 horse-power motor to his biplane,

and with this he made a flight of over four miles over Laffan’s Plain

on July 21st. By August he was carrying passengers, the first being

Colonel Capper of the R.E. Balloon Section, who flew with Cody for

over two miles, and on September 8th, 1909, he made a world’s record

cross-country flight of over forty miles in sixty-six minutes, taking

a course from Laffan’s Plain over Farnborough, Rushmoor, and Fleet,

and back to Laffan’s Plain. He was one of the competitors in the 1909

Doncaster Aviation Meeting, and in 1910 he competed at Wolverhampton,

Bournemouth, and Lanark. It was on June 7th, 1910, that he qualified

for his brevet, No. 9, on the Cody biplane.

He built a machine which embodied all the improvements for which he

had gained experience, in 1911, a biplane with a length of 35 feet

and span of 43 feet, known as the ‘Cody cathedral’ on account of its

rather cumbrous appearance. With this, in 1911, he won the two Michelin

trophies presented in England, completed the _Daily Mail_ circuit of

Britain, won the Michelin cross-country prize in 1912, and altogether,

by the end of 1912, had covered more than 7,000 miles with the machine.

It was fitted with a 120 horse-power Austro-Daimler engine, and was

characterised by an exceptionally wide range of speed--the great

wing-spread gave a slow landing speed.

A few of his records may be given: in 1910, flying at Laffan’s Plain in

his biplane, fitted with a 50–60 horse-power Green engine, on December

31st, he broke the records for distance and time by flying 185 miles,

787 yards, in 4 hours 37 minutes. On October 31st, 1911, he beat this

record by flying for 5 hours 15 minutes, in which period he covered

261 miles 810 yards with a 60 horse-power Green engine fitted to his

biplane. In 1912, competing in the British War Office tests of military

aeroplanes, he won the £5,000 offered by the War Office. This was in

competition with no less than twenty-five other machines, among which

were the since-famous Deperdussin, Bristol, Flanders, and Avro types,

as well as the Maurice Farman and Bleriot makes of machine. Cody’s

remarkable speed range was demonstrated in these trials, the speeds of

his machine varying between 72.4 and 48.5 miles per hour. The machine

was the only one delivered for the trials by air, and during the three

hours’ test imposed on all competitors a maximum height of 5,000 feet

was reached, the first thousand feet being achieved in three and a half

minutes.

During the summer of 1913, Cody put his energies into the production

of a large hydro-biplane, with which he intended to win the £5,000

prize offered by the _Daily Mail_ to the first aviator to fly round

Britain on a waterplane. This machine was fitted with landing gear for

its tests, and, while flying it over Laffan’s Plain on August 7th,

1913, with Mr W. H. B. Evans as passenger, Cody met with the accident

that cost both him and his passenger their lives. Aviation lost a

great figure by his death, for his plodding, experimenting, and dogged

courage not only won him the fame that came to a few of the pilots of

those days, but also advanced the cause of flying very considerably and

contributed not a little to the sum of knowledge in regard to design

and construction.

Another figure of the early days was A. V. Roe, who came from marine

engineering to the motor industry and aviation in 1905. In 1906 he

went out to Colorado, getting out drawings for the Davidson helicopter,

and in 1907, having returned to England, he obtained highest award out

of 200 entries in a model aeroplane flying competition. From the design

of this model he built a full-sized machine, and made a first flight on

it, fitted with a 24 horse-power Antoinette engine, in June of 1908.

Later, he fitted a 9 horse-power motor-cycle engine to a triplane

of his own design, and with this made a number of short flights; he

got his flying brevet on a triplane with a motor of 35 horse-power,

which, together with a second triplane, was entered for the Blackpool

aviation meeting of 1910, but was burnt in transport to the meeting.

He was responsible for the building of the first seaplane to rise from

English waters, and may be counted the pioneer of the tractor type

of biplane. In 1913 he built a two-seater tractor biplane with 80

horse-power engine, a machine which for some considerable time ranked

as a leader of design. Together with E. V. Roe and H. V. Roe, ‘A. V.’

controlled the Avro works, which produced some of the most famous

training machines of the war period in a modification of the original

80 horse-power tractor. The first of the series of Avro tractors

to be adopted by the military authorities was the 1912 biplane, a

two-seater fitted with 50 horse-power engine. It was the first tractor

biplane with a closed fuselage to be used for military work, and

became standard for the type. The Avro seaplane, of 100 horse-power (a

fourteen-cylinder Gnome engine was used) was taken up by the British

Admiralty in 1913. It had a length of 34 feet and a wing-span of 50

feet, and was of the twin-float type.

Geoffrey de Havilland, though of later rank, counts high among

designers of British machines. He qualified for his brevet as late

as February, 1911, on a biplane of his own construction, and became

responsible for the design of the BE2, the first successful British

Government biplane. On this he made a British height record of 10,500

feet over Salisbury Plain, in August of 1912, when he took up Major

Sykes as passenger. In the war period he was one of the principal

designers of fighting and reconnaissance machines.

F. Handley Page, who started in business as an aeroplane builder in

1908, having works at Barking, was one of the principal exponents of

the inherently stable machine, to which he devoted practically all

his experimental work up to the outbreak of war. The experiments were

made with various machines, both of monoplane and biplane type, and of

these one of the best was a two-seater monoplane built in 1911, while a

second was a larger machine, a biplane, built in 1913 and fitted with

a no horse-power Anzani engine. The war period brought out the giant

biplane with which the name of Handley Page is most associated, the

twin-engined night-bomber being a familiar feature of the later days

of the war; the four-engined bomber had hardly had a chance of proving

itself under service conditions when the war came to an end.

Another notable figure of the early period was ‘Tommy’ Sopwith, who

took his flying brevet at Brooklands in November of 1910, and within

four days made the British duration record of 108 miles in 3 hours 12

minutes. On December 18th, 1910, he won the Baron de Forrest prize of

£4,000 for the longest flight from England to the Continent, flying

from Eastchurch to Tirlemont, Belgium, in three hours, a distance

of 161 miles. After two years of touring in America, he returned to

England and established a flying school. In 1912 he won the first

aerial Derby, and in 1913 a machine of his design, a tractor biplane,

raised the British height record to 13,000 feet (June 16th, at

Brooklands). First as aviator, and then as designer, Sopwith has done

much useful work in aviation.

These are but a few, out of a host who contributed to the development

of flying in this country, for, although France may be said to have

set the pace as regards development, Britain was not far behind.

French experimenters received far more Government aid than did the

early British aviators and designers--in the early days the two were

practically synonymous, and there are many stories of the very early

days at Brooklands, where, when funds ran low, the ardent spirits

patched their trousers with aeroplane fabric and went on with their

work with Bohemian cheeriness. Cody, altering and experimenting

on Laffan’s Plain, is the greatest figure of them all, but others

rank, too, as giants of the early days, before the war brought full

recognition of the aeroplane’s potentialities.

One of the first men actually to fly in England, Mr J. C. T.

Moore-Brabazon, was a famous figure in the days of exhibition flying,

and won his reputation mainly through being first to fly a circular

mile on a machine designed and built in Great Britain and piloted by

a British subject. Moore-Brabazon’s earliest flights were made in

France on a Voisin biplane in 1908, and he brought this machine over to

England, to the Aero Club grounds at Shellness, but soon decided that

he would pilot a British machine instead. An order was placed for a

Short machine, and this, fitted with a 50–60 horse-power Green engine,

was used for the circular mile, which won a prize of £1,000 offered by

the _Daily Mail_, the feat being accomplished on October 30th, 1909.

Five days later, Moore Brabazon achieved the longest flight up to that

time accomplished on a British-built machine, covering three and a half

miles. In connection with early flying in England, it is claimed that

A. V. Roe, flying ‘Avro B,’ on June 8th, 1908, was actually the first

man to leave the ground, this being at Brooklands, but in point of fact

Cody antedated him.

No record of early British fliers could be made without the name of

C. S. Rolls, a son of Lord Llangattock. On June 2nd, 1910, he flew

across the English Channel to France, until he was duly observed over

French territory, when he returned to England without alighting. The

trip was made on a Wright biplane, and was the third Channel crossing

by air, Bleriot having made the first, and Jacques de Lesseps the

second. Rolls was first to make the return journey in one trip. He

was eventually killed through the breaking of the tail-plane of his

machine in descending at a flying meeting at Bournemouth. The machine

was a Wright biplane, but the design of the tail-plane--which, by the

way, was an addition to the machine, and was not even sanctioned by

the Wrights--appears to have been carelessly executed, and the plane

itself was faulty in construction. The breakage caused the machine to

overturn, killing Rolls, who was piloting it.

XIV

RHEIMS, AND AFTER

The foregoing brief--and necessarily incomplete--survey of the early

British group of fliers has taken us far beyond some of the great

events of the early days of successful flight, and it is necessary

to go back to certain landmarks in the history of aviation, first

of which is the great meeting at Rheims in 1909. Wilbur Wright had

come to Europe, and, flying at Le Mans and Pau--it was on August 8th,

1908, that Wilbur Wright made the first of his ascents in Europe--had

stimulated public interest in flying in France to a very great

degree. Meanwhile, Orville Wright, flying at Fort Meyer, U.S.A., with

Lieutenant Selfridge as a passenger, sustained an accident which

very nearly cost him his life through the transmission gear of the

motor breaking. Selfridge was killed and Orville Wright was severely

injured--it was the first fatal accident with a Wright machine.

Orville Wright made a flight of over an hour on September 9th, 1908,

and on December 31st of that year Wilbur flew for 2 hours 19 minutes.

Thus, when the Rheims meeting was organised--more notable because

it was the first of its kind, there were already records waiting to

be broken. The great week opened on August 22nd, there being thirty

entrants, including all the most famous men among the early fliers in

France. Bleriot, fresh from his Channel conquest, was there, together

with Henry Farman, Paulhan, Curtiss, Latham, and the Comte de Lambert,

first pupil of the Wright machine in Europe to achieve a reputation as

an aviator.

‘To say that this week marks an epoch in the history of the world is

to state a platitude. Nevertheless, it is worth stating, and for us

who are lucky enough to be at Rheims during this week there is a solid

satisfaction in the idea that we are present at the making of history.

In perhaps only a few years to come the competitions of this week may

look pathetically small and the distances and speeds may appear paltry.

Nevertheless, they are the first of their kind, and that is sufficient.’

So wrote a newspaper correspondent who was present at the famous

meeting, and his words may stand, being more than mere journalism; for

the great flying week which opened on August 22nd, 1909, ranks as one

of the great landmarks in the history of heavier-than-air flight. The

day before the opening of the meeting a downpour of rain spoilt the

flying ground; Sunday opened with a fairly high wind, and in a lull M.

Guffroy turned out on a crimson R.E.P. monoplane, but the wheels of

his undercarriage stuck in the mud and prevented him from rising in

the quarter of an hour allowed to competitors to get off the ground.

Bleriot, following, succeeded in covering one side of the triangular

course, but then came down through grit in the carburettor. Latham,

following him with thirteen as the number of his machine, experienced

his usual bad luck and came to earth through engine trouble after a

very short flight. Captain Ferber, who, owing to military regulations,

always flew under the name of De Rue, came out next with his Voisin

biplane, but failed to get off the ground; he was followed by Lefebvre

on a Wright biplane, who achieved the success of the morning by

rounding the course--a distance of six and a quarter miles--in nine

minutes with a twenty mile an hour wind blowing. His flight finished

the morning.

Wind and rain kept competitors out of the air until the evening, when

Latham went up, to be followed almost immediately by the Comte de

Lambert. Sommer, Cockburn (the only English competitor), Delagrange,

Fournier, Lefebvre, Bleriot, Bunau-Varilla, Tissandier, Paulhan, and

Ferber turned out after the first two, and the excitement of the

spectators at seeing so many machines in the air at one time provoked

wild cheering. The only accident of the day came when Bleriot damaged

his propeller in colliding with a haycock.

The main results of the day were that the Comte de Lambert flew 30

kilometres in 29 minutes 2 seconds; Lefebvre made the ten-kilometre

circle of the track in just a second under 9 minutes, while Tissandier

did it in 9¼ minutes, and Paulhan reached a height of 230 feet. Small

as these results seem to us now, and ridiculous as may seem enthusiasm

at the sight of a few machines in the air at the same time, the Rheims

Meeting remains a great event, since it proved definitely to the whole

world that the conquest of the air had been achieved.

Throughout the week record after record was made and broken. Thus

on the Monday, Lefebvre put up a record for rounding the course

and Bleriot beat it, to be beaten in turn by Glenn Curtiss on his

Curtiss-Herring biplane. On that day, too, Paulhan covered 34¾ miles

in 1 hour 6 minutes. On the next day, Paulhan on his Voisin biplane

took the air with Latham, and Fournier followed, only to smash up his

machine by striking an eddy of wind which turned him over several

times. On the Thursday, one of the chief events was Latham’s 43 miles

accomplished in 1 hour 2 minutes in the morning and his 96.5 miles in

2 hours 13 minutes in the afternoon, the latter flight only terminated

by running out of petrol. On the Friday, the Colonel Renard French

airship, which had flown over the ground under the pilotage of M.

Kapfarer, paid Rheims a second visit; Latham manœuvred round the

airship on his Antoinette and finally left it far behind. Henry Farman

won the Grand Prix de Champagne on this day, covering 112 miles in 3

hours, 4 minutes, 56 seconds, Latham being second with his 96.5 miles

flight, and Paulhan third.

On the Saturday, Glenn Curtiss came to his own, winning the

Gordon-Bennett Cup by covering 20 kilometres in 15 minutes 50.6

seconds. Bleriot made a good second with 15 minutes 56.2 seconds as his

time, and Latham and Lefebvre were third and fourth. Farman carried off

the passenger prize by carrying two passengers a distance of 6 miles

in 10 minutes 39 seconds. On the last day Delagrange narrowly escaped

serious accident through the bursting of his propeller while in the

air, Curtiss made a new speed record by travelling at the rate of over

50 miles an hour, and Latham, rising to 500 feet, won the altitude

prize.

[Illustration: M. Tissandier’s ‘Wright’ machine (showing starting

method).]

These are the cold statistics of the meeting; at this length of time

it is difficult to convey any idea of the enthusiasm of the crowds

over the achievements of the various competitors, while the incidents

of the week, comic and otherwise, are nearly forgotten now even by

those present in this making of history. Latham’s great flight on

the Thursday was rendered a breathless episode by a downpour of

rain when he had covered all but a kilometre of the record distance

previously achieved by Paulhan, and there was wild enthusiasm when

Latham flew on through the rain until he had put up a new record and

his petrol had run out. Again, on the Friday afternoon, the Colonel

Renard took the air together with a little French dirigible, Zodiac

III; Latham was already in the air directly over Farman, who was

also flying, and three crows which turned out as rivals to the human

aviators received as much cheering for their appearance as had been

accorded to the machines, which doubtless they could not understand.

Frightened by the cheering, the crows tried to escape from the course,

but as they came near the stands, the crowd rose to cheer again and

the crows wheeled away to make a second charge towards safety, with

the same result; the crowd rose and cheered at them a third and fourth

time; between ten and fifteen thousand people stood on chairs and

tables and waved hats and handkerchiefs at three ordinary, everyday

crows. One thoughtful spectator, having thoroughly enjoyed the funny

side of the incident, remarked that the ultimate mastery of the air

lies with the machine that comes nearest to natural flight. This still

remains for the future to settle.

Farman’s world record, which won the Grand Prix de Champagne, was done

with a Gnome Rotary Motor which had only been run on the test bench and

was fitted to his machine four hours before he started on the great

flight. His propeller had never been tested, having only been completed

the night before. The closing laps of that flight, extending as they

did into the growing of the dusk, made a breathlessly eerie experience

for such of the spectators as stayed on to watch--and these were

many. Night came on steadily and Farman covered lap after lap just as

steadily, a buzzing, circling mechanism with something relentless in

its isolated persistency.

The final day of the meeting provided a further record in the quarter

million spectators who turned up to witness the close of the great

week. Bleriot, turning out in the morning, made a landing in some

such fashion as flooded the carburettor and caused it to catch fire.

Bleriot himself was badly burned, since the petrol tank burst and, in

the end, only the metal parts of the machine were left. Glenn Curtis

tried to beat Bleriot’s time for a lap of the course, but failed. In

the evening, Farman and Latham went out and up in great circles, Farman

cleaving his way upward in what at the time counted for a huge machine,

on circles of about a mile diameter. His first round took him level

with the top of the stands, and, in his second, he circled the captive

balloon anchored in the middle of the grounds. After another circle, he

came down on a long glide, when Latham’s lean Antoinette monoplane went

up in circles more graceful than those of Farman. ‘Swiftly it rose and

swept round close to the balloon, veered round to the hangars, and out

over to the Rheims road. Back it came high over the stands, the people

craning their necks as the shrill cry of the engine drew nearer and

nearer behind the stands. Then of a sudden, the little form appeared

away up in the deep twilight blue vault of the sky, heading straight

as an arrow for the anchored balloon. Over it, and high, high above

it went the Antoinette, seemingly higher by many feet than the Farman

machine. Then, wheeling in a long sweep to the left, Latham steered his

machine round past the stands, where the people, their nerve-tension

released on seeing the machine descending from its perilous height

of 500 feet, shouted their frenzied acclamations to the hero of the

meeting.

[Illustration: Rheims Aviation Week. M. Lefebvre’s ‘Wright’ machine in

flight.]

‘For certainly “Le Tham,” as the French call him, was the popular hero.

He always flew high, he always flew well, and his machine was a joy to

the eye, either afar off or at close quarters. The public feeling for

Bleriot is different. Bleriot, in the popular estimation, is the man

who fights against odds, who meets the adverse fates calmly and with

good courage, and to whom good luck comes once in a while as a reward

for much labour and anguish, bodily and mental. Latham is the darling

of the Gods, to whom Fate has only been unkind in the matter of the

Channel flight, and only then because the honour belonged to Bleriot.

‘Next to these two, the public loved most Lefebvre, the joyous, the

gymnastic. Lefebvre was the comedian of the meeting. When things began

to flag, the gay little Lefebvre would trot out to his starting rail,

out at the back of the judge’s enclosure opposite the stands, and after

a little twisting of propellers his Wright machine would bounce off the

end of its starting rail and proceed to do the most marvellous tricks

for the benefit of the crowd, wheeling to right and left, darting up

and down, now flying over a troop of the cavalry who kept the plain

clear of people and sending their horses into hysterics, anon making

straight for an unfortunate photographer who would throw himself and

his precious camera flat on the ground to escape annihilation as

Lefebvre swept over him 6 or 7 feet off the ground. Lefebvre was great

fun, and when he had once found that his machine was not fast enough

to compete for speed with the Bleriots, Antoinettes, and Curtiss, he

kept to his _métier_ of amusing people. The promoters of the meeting

owe Lefebvre a debt of gratitude, for he provided just the necessary

comic relief.’--(_The Aero_, September 7th, 1909.)

It may be noted, in connection with the fact that Cockburn was the

only English competitor at the meeting, that the Rheims Meeting did

more than anything which had preceded it to waken British interest

in aviation. Previously, heavier-than-air flight in England had been

regarded as a freak business by the great majority, and the very few

pioneers who persevered toward winning England a share in the conquest

of the air came in for as much derision as acclamation. Rheims altered

this; it taught the world in general, and England in particular, that

a serious rival to the dirigible balloon had come to being, and it

awakened the thinking portion of the British public to the fact that

the aeroplane had a future.

[Illustration: Doncaster flying week. Cody Flying.]

The success of this great meeting brought about a host of imitations

of which only a few deserve bare mention since, unlike the first, they

taught nothing and achieved little. There was the meeting at Boulogne

late in September of 1909, of which the only noteworthy event was

Ferber’s death. There was a meeting at Brescia where Curtiss again took

first prize for speed and Rougier put up a world’s height record of 645

feet. The Blackpool meeting followed between 18th and 23rd of October,

1909, forming, with the exception of Doncaster, the first British

Flying Meeting. Chief among the competitors were Henry Farman, who took

the distance prize, Rougier, Paulhan, and Latham, who, by a flight in a

high wind, convinced the British public that the theory that flying

was only possible in a calm was a fallacy. A meeting at Doncaster was

practically simultaneous with the Blackpool week; Delagrange, Le Blon,

Sommer, and Cody were the principal figures in this event. It should

be added that 130 miles was recorded as the total flown at Doncaster,

while at Blackpool only 115 miles were flown. Then there were Juvisy,

the first Parisian meeting, Wolverhampton, and the Comte de Lambert’s

flight round the Eiffel Tower at a height estimated at between 1,200

and 1,300 feet. This may be included in the record of these aerial

theatricals, since it was nothing more.

Probably wakened to realisation of the possibilities of the aeroplane

by the Rheims Meeting, Germany turned out its first plane late in 1909.

It was known as the Grade monoplane, and was a blend of the Bleriot

and Santos-Dumont machines, with a tail suggestive of the Antoinette

type. The main frame took the form of a single steel tube, at the

forward end of which was rigged a triangular arrangement carrying the

pilot’s seat and the landing wheels underneath, with the wing warping

wires and stays above. The sweep of the wings was rather similar to the

later Taube design, though the sweep back was not so pronounced, and

the machine was driven by a four-cylinder, 20 horse-power, air-cooled

engine which drove a two-bladed tractor propeller. In spite of

Lilienthal’s pioneer work years before, this was the first power-driven

German plane which actually flew.