FLYING MACHINES[A]
_Santos-Dumont's Steerable Balloons_
Among the inventors engaged in building flying machines the most famous,
perhaps, is M. Santos-Dumont, whose thrilling adventures and noteworthy
successes have given him world-wide fame. He was the first, indeed, to
build a balloon that was really steerable with any degree of certainty,
winning a prize of $20,000 for driving his great air-ship over a certain
specified course in Paris and bringing it back to the starting-point
within a specified time. Another experimenter who has had some degree of
success is the German, Count Zeppelin, who guided a huge air-ship over
Lake Geneva, Switzerland, in 1901.
[A] In the first "Boys' Book of Inventions," the author devoted a
chapter entitled "Through the Air" to the interesting work of the
inventors of flying machines who have experimented with aëroplanes; that
is, soaring machines modelled after the wings of a bird. The work of
Professor S. P. Langley with his marvellous Aërodrome, and that of Hiram
Maxim and of Otto Lilienthal, were given especial consideration. In the
present chapter attention is directed to an entirely different class of
flying machines--the steerable balloons.
Carl E. Myers, an American, an expert balloonist, has also built
balloons of small size which he has been able to steer. And mention must
also be made of M. Severo, the Frenchman, whose ship, Pax, exploded
in the air on its first trip, dropping the inventor and his assistant
hundreds of feet downward to their death on the pavements of Paris.
It will be most interesting and instructive to consider especially the
work of Santos-Dumont, for he has been not only the most successful in
making actual flights of any of the inventors who have taken up this
great problem of air navigation, but his adventures have been most
romantic and thrilling. In five years' time he has built and operated no
fewer than ten great air-ships which he has sailed in various parts of
Europe and in America. He has even crowned his experiences with more
than one shipwreck in the air, an adventure by the side of which an
ordinary sea-wreck is tame indeed, and he has escaped with his life as a
result not only of good fortune but of real daring and presence of mind
in the face of danger.
[Illustration: M. Alberto Santos-Dumont.]
For an inventor, M. Santos-Dumont is a rather extraordinary character.
The typical inventor--at least so we think--is poor, starts poor at
least, and has a struggle to rise. M. Santos-Dumont has always had
plenty of means. The inventor is always first a dreamer, we think. M.
Santos-Dumont is first a thoroughly practical man, an engineer with
a good knowledge of science, to which he adds the imagination of the
inventor and the keen love and daring of the sportsman and adventurer,
without which his experiments could never have been carried through.
It would seem, indeed, that nature had especially equipped M.
Santos-Dumont for his work in aërial navigation. Supposing an inventor,
having all the mental equipment of Santos-Dumont, the ideas, the energy,
the means--supposing such a man had weighed two hundred pounds! He would
have had to build a very large ship to carry his own weight, and all
his problems would have been more complex, more difficult. Nature made
Santos-Dumont a very small, slim, slight man, weighing hardly more than
one hundred pounds, but very active and muscular. The first time I ever
saw him, in Crystal Palace, London, where he was setting up one of his
air-ships in a huge gallery, I thought him at first glance to be some
boy, a possible spectator, who was interested in flying machines. His
face, bare and shaven, looked youthful; he wore a narrow-brimmed straw
hat and was dressed in the height of fashion. One would not have guessed
him to be the inventor. A moment later he had his coat off and was
showing his men how to put up the great fan-like rudder of the ship
which loomed above us like some enormous Rugby football, and then one
saw the power that was in him. Brazilian by nationality, he has a dark
face, large dark eyes, an alertness of step and an energetic way
of talking. His boyhood was spent on his father's extensive coffee
plantation in Brazil; his later years mostly in Paris, though he has
been a frequent visitor to England and America. He speaks Spanish,
French, and English with equal fluency. Indeed, hearing his English
one would say that he must certainly have had his training in an
English-speaking country, though no one would mistake him in appearance
for either English or American, for he is very much a Latin in face and
form. One finds him most unpretentious, modest, speaking freely of his
inventions, and yet never taking to himself any undue credit.
[Illustration: Severo's Balloon, the "Pax," which, on its First Ascent
at a Height of about 2,000 feet, Burst and Exploded, Sending to a
Terrible Death both M. Severo and his Assistant.]
Santos-Dumont is still a very young man to have accomplished so much.
He was born in Brazil, July 20, 1873. From his earliest boyhood he was
interested in kites and dreamed of being able to fly. He says:
"I cannot say at what age I made my first kites; but I remember how
my comrades used to tease me at our game of 'Pigeon flies'! All the
children gather round a table, and the leader calls out: 'Pigeon flies!
Hen flies! Crow flies! Bee flies!' and so on; and at each call we were
supposed to raise our fingers. Sometimes, however, he would call out:
'Dog flies! Fox flies!' or some other like impossibility, to catch us.
If any one should raise a finger, he was made to pay a forfeit. Now my
playmates never failed to wink and smile mockingly at me when one of
them called 'Man flies!' For at the word I would always lift my finger
very high, as a sign of absolute conviction; and I refused with energy
to pay the forfeit. The more they laughed at me, the happier I was."
Of course he read Jules Verne's stories and was carried away in
imagination in that author's wonderful balloons and flying machines.
He also devoured the history of aërial navigation which he found in the
works of Camille Flammarion and Wilfrid de Fonvielle. He says, further:
"At an early age I was taught the principles of mechanics by my father,
an engineer of the École Centrale des Arts et Manufactures of Paris.
From childhood I had a passion for making calculations and inventing;
and from my tenth year I was accustomed to handle the powerful and heavy
machines of our factories, and drive the compound locomotives on our
plantation railroads. I was constantly taken up with the desire to
lighten their parts; and I dreamed of air-ships and flying machines.
The fact that up to the end of the nineteenth century those who occupied
themselves with aërial navigation passed for crazy, rather pleased than
offended me. It is incredible and yet true that in the kingdom of the
wise, to which all of us flatter ourselves we belong, it is always the
fools who finish by being in the right. I had read that Montgolfière was
thought a fool until the day when he stopped his insulters' mouths by
launching the first spherical balloon into the heavens."
[Illustration: The Trial of Count Zeppelin's Air-Ship, July 2, 1900.]
Upon going to Paris Santos-Dumont at once took up the work of making
himself familiar with ballooning in all of its practical aspects. He saw
that if he were ever to build an air-ship he must first know all there
was to know about balloon-making, methods of filling with gas, lifting
capacities, the action of balloons in the air, and all the thousand and
one things connected with ordinary ballooning. And Paris has always been
the centre of this information. He regards this preliminary knowledge as
indispensable to every air-ship builder. He says:
"Before launching out into the construction of air-ships I took pains to
make myself familiar with the handling of spherical balloons. I did not
hasten, but took plenty of time. In all, I made something like thirty
ascensions; at first as a passenger, then as my own captain, and at
last alone. Some of these spherical balloons I rented, others I had
constructed for me. Of such I have owned at least six or eight. And I
do not believe that without such previous study and experience a man is
capable of succeeding with an elongated balloon, whose handling is
so much more delicate. Before attempting to direct an air-ship, it is
necessary to have learned in an ordinary balloon the conditions of the
atmospheric medium; to have become acquainted with the caprices of the
wind, now caressing and now brutal, and to have gone thoroughly into the
difficulties of the ballast problem, from the triple point of view of
starting, of equilibrium in the air, and of landing at the end of the
trip. To go up in an ordinary balloon, at least a dozen times, seems
to me an indispensable preliminary for acquiring an exact notion of the
requisites for the construction and handling of an elongated balloon,
furnished with its motor and propeller."
[Illustration: M. Santos-Dumont at Nineteen.]
[Illustration: M. Santos-Dumont's First Balloon (Spherical).]
His first ascent in a balloon was made in 1897, when he was 24 years
old, as a passenger with M. Machuron, who had then just returned from
the Arctic regions, where he had helped to start Andrée on his ill-fated
voyage in search of the North Pole. He found the sensations delightful,
being so pleased with the experience that he subsequently secured a
small balloon of his own, in which he made several ascents. He also
climbed the Alps in order to learn more of the condition of the air at
high altitudes.
In 1898 he set about experimentation in the building of a real air-ship
or steerable balloon. Efforts had been made in this direction by former
inventors, but with small success. As far back as 1852 Henri Gifford
made the first of the familiar cigar-shaped balloons, trying steam as a
motive power, but he soon found that an engine strong enough to propel
the balloon was too heavy for the balloon to lift. That simple failure
discouraged experimenters for a long time. In 1877 Dupuy de Lome tried
steering a balloon by man power, but the man was not strong enough. In
1883 another Frenchman, Tissandier, experimented with electricity, but,
as his batteries had to be light enough to be taken up in the balloon,
they proved effective only in helping to weigh it down to earth again.
Krebs and Renard, military aëronauts, succeeded better with electricity,
for they could make a small circuit with their air-ship, provided only
that no air was stirring. Enthusiasts cried out that the problem was
solved, but the two aëronauts themselves, as good mathematicians,
figured out that they would have to have a motor eight times more
powerful than their own, and that without any increase in weight, which
was an impossibility at that time.
[Illustration: M. Santos-Dumont's Workshop.]
Santos-Dumont saw plainly that none of these methods would work. What
then was he to try? Why, simple enough: the petroleum motor from his
automobile. The recent development of the motor-vehicle had produced a
light, strong, durable motor. It was Santos-Dumont's first great claim
to originality that he should have applied this to the balloon. He
discovered no new principles, invented nothing that could be patented.
The cigar-shaped balloon had long been used, so had the petroleum motor,
but he put them together. And he did very much more than that. The very
essence of success in aërial navigation is to secure _light weight
with great strength and power_. The inventor who can build the lightest
machine, which is also strong, will, other things being equal, have the
greatest success. It is to Santos-Dumont's great credit that he was able
to build a very light motor, that also gave a good horse-power, and a
light balloon that was also very strong. The one great source of danger
in using the petroleum motor in connection with a balloon is that the
sparking of the motor will set fire to the inflammable hydrogen gas with
which the balloon is filled, causing a terrible explosion. This, indeed,
is what is thought to have caused the mortal mishap to Severo and his
balloon. But Santos-Dumont was able to surmount this and many other
difficulties of construction.
The inventor finally succeeded in making a motor--remarkable at that
time--which, weighing only 66 pounds, would produce 3-1/2 horse-power.
It is easy to understand why a petroleum motor is such a power-producer
for its size. The greater part of its fuel is in the air itself, and the
air is all around the balloon, ready for use. The aëronaut does not have
to take it up with him. That proportion of his fuel that he must carry,
the petroleum, is comparatively insignificant in weight. A few figures
will prove interesting. Two and one-half gallons of gasoline, weighing
15 pounds, will drive a 2-1/2 horse-power autocycle 94 miles in four
hours. Santos-Dumont's balloon needs less than 5-1/3 gallons for a
three hours' trip. This weighs but 37 pounds, and occupies a small
cigar-shaped brass reservoir near the motor of his machine. An electric
battery of the same horse-power would weigh 2,695 pounds.
[Illustration: "Santos-Dumont No. 1."]
Santos-Dumont tested his new motor very thoroughly by attaching it to a
tricycle with which he made some record runs in and around Paris. Having
satisfied himself that it was thoroughly serviceable he set about making
the balloon, cigar-shaped, 82 feet long.
"To keep within the limit of weight," he says, "I first gave up the
network and the outer cover of the ordinary balloon. I considered this
sort of second envelope, holding the first within it, to be superfluous,
and even harmful, if not dangerous. To the envelope proper I attached
the suspension-cords of my basket directly, by means of small wooden
rods introduced into horizontal hems, sewed on both sides along the
stuff of the balloon for a great part of its length. Again, in order not
to pass the 66 pounds weight, including varnish, I was obliged to choose
Japan silk that was extremely fine, but fairly resisting. Up to this
time no one had ever thought of using this for balloons intended to
carry up an aëronaut, but only for little balloons carrying light
registering apparatus for investigations in the upper air.
[Illustration: Basket of "Santos-Dumont No. 1."
_Showing propeller and motor._]
"I gave the order for this balloon to M. Lachambre. At first he refused
to take it, saying that such a thing had never been made, and that he
would not be responsible for my rashness. I answered that I would not
change a thing in the plan of the balloon, if I had to sew it with
my own hands. At last he agreed to sew and varnish the balloon as I
desired."
After repeated trials of his motor in the basket--which he suspended
in his workshop--and the making of a rudder of silk he was able, in
September, 1898, to attempt real flying. But, after rising successfully
in the air, the weight of the machinery and his own body swung
beneath the fragile balloon was so great that while descending from a
considerable height the balloon suddenly sagged down in the middle and
began to shut up like a portfolio.
"At that moment," he said, "I thought that all was over, the more so as
the descent, which had already become rapid, could no longer be checked
by any of the usual means on board, where nothing worked.
[Illustration: "Santos-Dumont No. 1."
_Showing how it began to fold up in the middle._]
"The descent became a rapid fall. Luckily, I was falling in the
neighborhood of the soft, grassy _pélouse_ of the Longchamps
race-course, where some big boys were flying kites. A sudden idea struck
me. I cried to them to grasp the end of my 100-meter guide-rope, which
had already touched the ground, and to run as fast as they could with it
_against the wind_! They were bright young fellows, and they grasped the
idea and the guide-rope at the same lucky instant. The effect of this
help _in extremis_ was immediate, and such as I had expected. By this
manoeuvre we lessened the velocity of the fall, and so avoided what
would otherwise have been a terribly rough shaking up, to say the least.
I was saved for the first time. Thanking the brave boys, who continued
to aid me to pack everything into the air-ship's basket, I finally
secured a cab and took the relic back to Paris."
His life was thus saved almost miraculously; but the accident did not
deter him from going forward immediately with other experiments. The
next year, 1899, he built a new air-ship called Santos-Dumont II., and
made an ascension with it, but it dissatisfied him and he at once began
with Santos-Dumont III., with which he made the first trip around the
Eiffel Tower.
He now made ready to compete for the Deutsch prize of $20,000. The
winning of this prize demanded that the trip from Saint-Cloud to the
Eiffel Tower, around it and back to the starting place, a distance of
some eight miles, should be made in half an hour. For this purpose he
finished a much larger air-ship, Santos-Dumont V., in 1901. After a
trial, made on July 12, which was attended by several accidents, the
inventor decided to make a start early on the following morning, July
13. As early as four o'clock he was ready, and a crowd had begun to
gather in the park.
At 6.20 the great sliding doors of the balloon-house were pushed open,
and the massive inflated occupant was towed out into the open space of
the park. The big pointed nose of the balloon and its fish-like belly
resembled a shark gliding with lazy craft from a shadow into light
waters. In the basket of the car stood the coatless aëronaut, who
laughed and chatted like a boy with the crowd around him.
[Illustration: "Santos-Dumont No. 5" Rounding Eiffel Tower, July 13,
1901.]
From the very first the conditions did not show themselves favourable
for the attempt. The wind was blowing at the rate of six or seven yards
a second. The change of temperature from the balloon-house to the cool
morning air had somewhat condensed the hydrogen gas of the balloon, so
that one end flapped about in a flabby manner. Air was pumped into the
air reservoir, inside the balloon, but still the desired rigidity was
not attained. But, more discouraging yet, when the motor was started,
its continuous explosions gave to the practised ear signs of mechanical
discord.
Nevertheless, Santos-Dumont, with his sleeves rolled up, fixed himself
in his basket. His eye took a careful survey of the entire air-ship lest
some preliminary had been overlooked. He counted the ballast bags under
his feet in the basket, he looked to the canvas pocket of loose sand at
either hand, then saw to his guide-rope.
There is a very great deal to look after in managing such a ship, and it
requires a calm head and a steady hand to do it.
"Near the saddle on which I sat," he writes, "were the ends of the
cords and other means for controlling the different parts of the
mechanism--the electric sparking of the motor, the regulation of the
carburetter, the handling of the rudder, ballast, and the shifting
weights (consisting of the guide-rope and bags of sand), the managing
of the balloon's valves, and the emergency rope for tearing open
the balloon. It may easily be gathered from this enumeration that an
air-ship, even as simple as my own, is a very complex organism; and the
work incumbent on the aëronaut is no sinecure."
Several friends shook his hand, among them Mr. Deutsch. The place was
very still as the man holding the guide-rope awaited the signal to let
go. Then the little man in the basket above them raised his hands and
shouted.
[Illustration: The Interior of the Aërodrome.
_Showing its construction, the inflated balloon, and the pennant with
its mystic letters._]
At first it did not look like a race against time. The balloon rose
sluggishly, and Santos-Dumont had to dump out bag after bag of sand,
till finally the guide-rope was clear of the trees. All this gave him
no opportunity to think of his direction, and he was drifting toward
Versailles; but while yet over the Seine he pulled his rudder ropes
taut. Then slowly, gracefully, the enormous spindle veered round and
pointed its nose toward the Eiffel Tower. The fans spun energetically,
and the air-ship settled down to business-like travelling. It marked a
straight, decided line for its goal, then followed the chosen route with
a considerable speed. Soon the chug-chugging of the motor could be heard
no longer by the spectators, and the balloon and car grew smaller and
smaller in its halo of light smoke. Those in the park saw only the screw
and the rear of the balloon, like the stern of a steamer in dry dock.
Before long only a dot remained against the sky. Gradually he came
nearer again, almost returning to the park, but the wind drove him
back across the river Seine. Suddenly the motor stopped, and the whole
air-ship was seen to fall heavily toward the earth. The crowd raced away
expecting to find Santos-Dumont dead and his air-ship a wreck. But
they found him on his feet, with his hands in his pockets, reflectively
looking up at his air-ship among the top branches of some chestnut trees
in the grounds of Baron Edmund de Rothschild, Boulevard de Boulogne.
"This," he says, "was near the _hôtel_ of Princesse Ysabel, Comtesse
d'Eu, who sent up to me in my tree a champagne lunch, with an invitation
to come and tell her the story of my trip.
"When my story was over, she said to me:
"'Your evolutions in the air made me think of the flight of our great
birds of Brazil. I hope that you will succeed for the glory of our
common country.'"
And an examination showed that the air-ship was practically uninjured.
So he escaped death a second time. Less than a month later he had a
still more terrible mishap, best related in his own words. He says:
"And now I come to a terrible day--August 8, 1901. At 6.30 A.M., I
started for the Eiffel Tower again, in the presence of the committee,
duly convoked. I turned the goal at the end of nine minutes, and took my
way back to Saint-Cloud; but my balloon was losing hydrogen through the
automatic valves, the spring of which had been accidentally weakened;
and it shrank visibly. All at once, while over the fortifications
of Paris, near La Muette, the screw-propeller touched and cut the
suspension-cords, which were sagging behind. I was obliged to stop the
motor instantly; and at once I saw my air-ship drift straight back to
the Eiffel Tower. I had no means of avoiding the terrible danger,
except to wreck myself on the roofs of the Trocadero quarter. Without
hesitation I opened the manoeuvre-valve, and sent my balloon downward.
[Illustration: The Fall into the Courtyard of the Trocadero Hotel.
"_Santos-Dumont No. 5._"]
"At 32 metres (106 feet) above the ground, and with the noise of
an explosion, it struck the roof of the Trocadero Hotels. The
balloon-envelope was torn to rags, and fell into the courtyard of the
hotels, while I remained hanging 15 metres (50 feet) above the ground in
my wicker basket, which had been turned almost over, but was supported
by the keel. The keel of the Santos-Dumont V. saved my life that day.
"After some minutes a rope was thrown down to me; and, helping myself
with feet and hands up the wall (the few narrow windows of which were
grated like those of a prison), I was hauled up to the roof. The firemen
from Passy had watched the fall of the air-ship from their observatory.
They, too, hastened to the rescue. It was impossible to disengage the
remains of the balloon-envelope and suspension apparatus except in
strips and pieces.
"My escape was narrow; but it was not from the particular danger always
present to my mind during this period of my experiments. The position
of the Eiffel Tower as a central landmark, visible to everybody from
considerable distances, makes it a unique winning-post for an aërial
race. Yet this does not alter the other fact that the feat of rounding
the Eiffel Tower possesses a unique element of danger. What I feared
when on the ground--I had no time to fear while in the air--was that, by
some mistake of steering, or by the influence of some side-wind, I might
be dashed against the Tower. The impact would burst my balloon, and I
should fall to the ground like a stone. Though I never seek to fly at a
great height--on the contrary, I hold the record for low altitude in a
free balloon--in passing over Paris I must necessarily move above all
its chimney-pots and steeples. The Eiffel Tower was my one danger--yet
it was my winning-post!
[Illustration: "Santos-Dumont No. 6"--The Prize Winner.]
"But in the air I have no time to fear. I have always kept a cool head.
Alone in the air-ship, I am always very busy. I must not let go the
rudder for a single instant. Then there is the strong joy of commanding.
What does it feel like to sail in a dirigible balloon? While the wind
was carrying me back to the Eiffel Tower I realised that I might be
killed; but I did not feel fear. I was in no personal inconvenience. I
knew my resources. I was excessively occupied. I have felt fear while
in the air, yes, miserable fear joined to pain; but never in a dirigible
balloon."
Even this did not daunt him. That very night he ordered a new air-ship,
Santos-Dumont VI., and it was ready in twenty-two days. The new balloon
had the shape of an elongated ellipsoid, 32 metres (105 feet) on its
great axis, and 6 metres (20 feet) on its short axis, terminated fore
and aft by cones. Its capacity was 605 cubic metres (21,362 cubic feet),
giving it a lifting power of 620 kilos (1,362 pounds). Of this, 1,100
pounds were represented by keel, machinery, and his own weight, leaving
a net lifting-power of 120 kilos (261 pounds).
On October 19, 1901, he made another attempt to round the Eiffel Tower,
and was at last successful in winning the $20,000 prize. Following this
great feat, Santos-Dumont continued his experiments at Monte Carlo,
where he was wrecked over the Mediterranean Sea and escaped only by
presence of mind, and he is still continuing his work.
The future of the dirigible balloon is open to debate. Santos-Dumont
himself does not think there is much likelihood that it will ever have
much commercial use. A balloon to carry many passengers would have to be
so enormous that it could not support the machinery necessary to propel
it, especially against a strong wind. But he does believe that the
steerable balloon will have great importance in war time. He says:
"I have often been asked what present utility is to be expected of the
dirigible balloon when it becomes thoroughly practicable. I have never
pretended that its commercial possibilities could go far. The question
of the air-ship in war, however, is otherwise. Mr. Hiram Maxim has
declared that a flying machine in South Africa would have been worth
four times its weight in gold. Henri Rochefort has said: 'The day when
it is established that a man can direct an air-ship in a given direction
and cause it to manoeuvre as he wills ... there will remain little for
the nations to do but to lay down their arms.'"
[Illustration: Air-Ship Pointing almost Vertically Upward.]
[Illustration: Falling to the Sea.]
[Illustration: Just Before the Air-Ship Lost all its Gas.]
[Illustration: Losing its Gas and Sinking.]
[Illustration: The Balloon Falling to the Waves.]
[Illustration: Boats Around the Ruined Air-Ship.]
But such experiments as Santos-Dumont's, whether they result immediately
in producing an air-ship of practical utility in commerce or not,
have great value for the facts which they are establishing as to the
possibility of balloons, of motors, of light construction, of air
currents, and moreover they add to the world's sum total of experiences
a fine, clean sport in which men of daring and scientific knowledge show
what men can do.
[Illustration: Manoeuvering Above the Bay at Monte Carlo.]