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Title: Aërial Navigation

Author: Albert Francis Zahm

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AËRIAL
NAVIGATION ***

AËRIAL NAVIGATION
A POPULAR TREATISE
ON THE GROWTH OF AIR CRAFT AND
ON AËRONAUTICAL METEOROLOGY

BY

Albert Francis Zahm, A.M., M.E., Ph.D.
SECRETARY OF THE AËRO CLUB OF WASHINGTON; GOVERNOR OF THE AËRO CLUB
OF AMERICA; GENERAL SECRETARY OF THE INTERNATIONAL CONFERENCES
ON AËRIAL NAVIGATION IN 1893 AND 1907; OFFICIAL AMERICAN
DELEGATE TO THE AËRONAUTIC CONGRESS OF 1900; FORMERLY
LECTURER ON MECHANICS IN THE UNITED STATES BUREAU
OF STANDARDS, AND PROFESSOR OF MECHANICS
IN THE CATHOLIC UNIVERSITY
OF AMERICA

NEW YORK AND LONDON
D . A P P L E T O N A N D C O M PA N Y
1911

Copyright, 1911, by
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY

Published September, 1911

Printed in the United States of America

P R E FA C E

The purpose of this work is to portray in popular terms the substantial
progress of aëronautics from its earliest beginning to the present time.
Beyond the introductory account, little note is taken of experiments,
however picturesque or clever, which constitute no advance in the art, or
lead to no useful result. At times some minutiæ are presented to complete
the story of an important series of achievements; but the unproductive
efforts of impractical zealots, however prominent or widely known in their
day, receive scant, if any, attention. Failures and tragedies where
introduced, are described for the lessons involved rather than for any
curious interest investing them. The griefs and grotesque follies of
aëronautic imbeciles form a long story, but a futile and unprofitable one, of
slight concern in the evolutionary history of a veritable science.
A general history of aërial locomotion would naturally be divided into
four parts, treating respectively of passive balloons, power balloons, passive
flyers, and power flyers; but in this work a separate treatment has not been
allotted to passive flyers because of their too backward state of
development. Passive gliders which maneuver in the air merely by virtue of
gravitational force, or acquired momentum, are familiar enough; but the
much more interesting passive flyers of human construction, adapted to rise
without motive power considerably beyond their initial level, or to soar far
aloft, and sail long distances by virtue of favorable winds, are still in their
infancy. It may be hoped, however, that the vulture’s art which now is well
nigh overlooked, because of the triumphant advance of dynamic flight, will
soon receive such attention that future treatises may relate human
achievements in soaring that shall rival the dexterous and marvelous feats
of the condor and albatross, even as the majestic sweep of the dynamic
aëroplane now rivals the powerful rowing flight of the strongest birds of
prey.

Following the story of the evolution of air ships, a brief account of the
medium they navigate has been added. In particular, the circumstances
which affect the density and motion of the air have been studied; for the
density of the air determines the static lift of air ships; the density and speed
of impact of the air together determine the dynamic lift and the resistance to
progression; while the velocity of the air current conditions the possible
speed of travel in any direction. It is important, therefore, that the
aëronautical student should have some acquaintance with the general
properties of the air which affect its density, and some knowledge of the
generation and prevalence both of the great currents of the atmosphere, and
of the local winds and invisible turmoils which so nearly concern the safety
and effective progress of the aërial navigator.
The French units of measurement have been freely used, as well as the
English. This seems advisable because the official rules and records of
international aëronautic events are partly expressed in the metric system.
Moreover, the navigation of a universal medium seems to call for such
universal standards. Indeed a peculiar mission of world travel is to
eliminate provincialism, and to promote universalism of thought, of
sentiment, and of custom.
In order to lighten the book for the popular reader, some interesting
historical facts and much important quantitative data are placed in the
Appendices, where they may be available to the technical or special student.
It is a pleasant duty to acknowledge here my obligations to the U. S.
Signal Corps, the Smithsonian Institution, and the U. S. Weather Bureau,
for much assistance in collecting the materials for this work. Dr. W. J.
Humphreys, of the U. S. Weather Bureau, has very kindly read the
manuscript for the chapters on the atmosphere.
My thanks are due also to the Scientific American and to Aëronautics for
the use of photographs for the illustrations, as also to the manufacturers of
various aircraft, and to Mr. W. J. Hammer, Mr. Carl Dientsbach, and Mr. A.
S. Levino.
A. F. Zahm.
Cosmos Club
Washington, D. C.,
January, 1911.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER PAGE

INTRODUCTION
Introduction 3

PART I
GROWTH OF AËROSTATION
I. —Early History of Passive Balloons 29
II. —Practical Development of Passive Balloons 54
III. —Early History of Power Balloons 78
IV. —Introduction of Gasoline-Driven Dirigibles 101
V. —Practical Development of Non-Rigid Dirigibles 115
VI. —Development of Rigid Dirigibles 145

PART II
GROWTH OF AVIATION
VII. —Model Flying Machines 173
VIII. —Nineteenth Century Man-Flyers 202
IX. —Aëroplanes of Adequate Stability and Power 235
X. —Advent of Public Flying 256
XI. —Strenuous Competitive Flying 283
XII. —Forcing the Art 307

PART III
AËRONAUTIC METEOROLOGY
XIII. —General Properties of Free Air 347
XIV. —General Distribution of Heat and Pressure 363
XV. —Permanent and Periodic Winds 376

XVI. —Cyclones, Tornadoes, Waterspouts 394
XVII. —Thunderstorms, Wind Gusts 422

APPENDICES
I. —Stress in a Vacuum Balloon 443
II. —Aëronautic Letters of Benjamin Franklin 446
III. —Successful Military Dirigible Balloons 456
IV. —The Relations of Weight, Speed, and Power of Flyers 478
V. —Curtiss’ Hydro-Aëroplane Experiments 481
INDEX 487

LIST OF PLATES

FACING
PAGE

Plate I 66
Glaisher and Coxwell.
Parseval Kite Balloon.
Plate II 98
Haenlein’s Gas-driven Dirigible.
Wölfert’s Benzine-driven Dirigible.
Santos-Dumont’s Dirigible, No. 16.
Plate III 116
The Lebaudy.
La Patrie.
Lebaudy’s Morning Post.
Plate IV 124
La Ville de Paris.
Colonel Renard.
Plate V 128
Zodiac III.
Zodiac IV.
Plate VI 130
La Belgique.
Italian Military Dirigible No. I bis.
Plate VII 132
Clément-Bayard I.
Clément-Bayard II.
Plate VIII 138
U. S. Signal Corps Dirigible I.
Gross II.

Plate IX 140
Parseval I.
Parseval II.
Plate X 146
Gross III.
Zeppelin Airship Structure.
Plate XI 160
Zeppelin Dirigible Resting on the Water.
Zeppelin Dirigible over Zürich.
Plate XII 182
Henson’s Aëroplane.
Ader’s Aëroplane.
Plate XIII 186
Stringfellow’s Aëroplane (Front).
Stringfellow’s Aëroplane (Side).
Plate XIV 192
Phillips’s Tethered Aëroplane.
Phillips’s Aëroplane.
Plate XV 194
Langley’s Steam Model.
Langley’s Gasoline Model.
Langley’s Two Surface Gasoline Model.
Plate XVI 212
Lilienthal’s Monoplane Glider.
Lilienthal’s Biplane Glider.
Pilcher’s Monoplane Glider.
Plate XVII 218
Chanute’s Five-Deck Glider.
Herring in Chanute Biplane.
Herring’s Compressed-air Biplane.
Plate XVIII 226
Maxim’s Aëroplane.
Langley’s Large Aëroplane.
Plate XIX 246
First Wright Glider.

Second Wright Glider.
Plate XX 248
First Wright Aëroplane (Rear).
First Wright Aëroplane (Side).
Plate XXI 252
Montgomery’s Aëroplane.
Plate XXII 258
Santos-Dumont’s Biplane.
Santos-Dumont’s Demoiselle.
Plate XXIII 260
Farman Biplane, 1908.
Farman Biplane, 1909.
Harmon in Farman Biplane.
Plate XXIV 264
The Red Wing.
Curtiss Biplane.
Curtiss Biplane with Pontoons.
Plate XXV 268
Blériot Flying Over Toury-Artenay Circuit.
Blériot Monoplane No. VIII.
Blériot Monoplane No. IX.
Plate XXVI 272
Wright Biplane of 1908.
Standard Wright Biplane of 1910.
Wright Racing Biplane of 1910.
Plate XXVII 286
Blériot XI with Moisant Aviator on Mexican Border.
Blériot XII.
Plate XXVIII 288
Antoinette Monoplane of 1909.
Antoinette Monoplane of 1910.
Plate XXIX 302
Esnault-Pélterie Monoplane, Early Pattern.
Esnault-Pélterie Monoplane of 1910.

Plate XXX 304
Grade Monoplane.
Cody Biplane.
Plate XXXI 332
Fabre Hydro-aëroplane.
Paulhan Hydro-aëroplane.
Moisant Metal Monoplane.
Plate XXXII 482
Curtiss Starting from the Water.
Curtiss Biplane for Land and Water.
Curtiss Triplane Risen from the Water.

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS IN TEXT

FIG.
PAGE

1.—Da Vinci’s designs for human flying-gear 9
2.—A possible air-scout 12
3.—Blanchard’s flying-machine 17
4.—Lana’s proposed vacuum balloon 24
5.—Montgolfier’s experimental balloon 34
6.—Charles’ first hydrogen balloon 36
7.—Montgolfier’s passenger balloon 39
8.—Charles’ passenger balloon 43
9.—La Flesselle 50
10.—The Great Balloon of Nassau 55
11. —Car of Nadar’s balloon 61
12.—Diagram of a modern spherical balloon with ripping panel 75
13.—Blanchard’s dirigible balloon, 1784 80
14.—Robert Brothers’ dirigible, 1784 82
15.—General Meusnier’s proposed dirigible, 1784 85
16.—Rufus Porter’s dirigible, 1820 87
17.—Jullien’s model dirigible, 1850 88
18.—Giffard’s steam dirigible, 1852 89
19.—Dupuy de Lome’s dirigible, 1872 92
20.—Renard’s dirigible, La France, 1884 94
21.—La Ville de Paris 121
22.—Le Petit Journal, Zodiac type 128
23.—Clément-Bayard II, 1910 133
24.—Morning Post dirigible, 1910 135

25.—Route of British military dirigibles from France to England,
1900 137
26.—Da Vinci’s helicopter 175
27.—Da Vinci’s parachute 176
28.—Veranzio’s parachute 178
29.—Lenormand’s parachute, 1784 179
30.—Paper traveling parachute 181
31.—Wenham’s aëroplane, 1866 185
32.—Penaud’s aëroplane toy, 1871 187
33.—Tatin’s aëroplane model, 1879 188
34.—Hargrave’s model screw monoplane, 1891 190
35.—Hargrave’s kite 191
36.—Launoy and Bienvenu’s helicopter, 1784 198
37.—Forlanini’s helicopter, 1878 200
38.—Le Bris’ aëroplane, 1855 204
39.—Mouillard’s aëroplane 208
40.—Blériot’s Toury-Artenay aëroplane circuit, 1908 269
41.—Map of the “Circuit de l’Est” 330
42.—Diagram of Curtiss hydro-aëroplane 333
43.—The Etrich monoplane of 1910 336
44.—Summer and winter average vertical temperature gradients 369
45.—General circulation of the atmosphere 378
46.—Normal Wind direction and velocity for January and
February (Köppen) 381
47.—Normal Wind direction and velocity for July and August
(Köppen) 383
48.—Trade and counter-trade winds 384
49.—Velocity diagram in horizontal section of a cyclone 398
50.—Funnel-like cloud sometimes observed in a tornado 409
51.—Vertical section of the St. Louis, Mo., tornado of May 27,
1896 411
52.—Horizontal section of St. Louis tornado of May 27, 1896 412

53.—Vertical section of short tornado 414
54.—Vertical section of a tall tornado 415
55.—Vertical section of a hail tornado 417
56.—Universal anemograph 428
57.—Records of wind variation in horizontal and vertical direction 429
58.—Records of Wind speed obtained by Langley 433

INTRODUCTION

INTRODUCTION
FANCY AND FOLK-LORE

Of silver wings he took a shining pair,
Fringed with gold, unwearied, nimble, swift;
With these he parts the winds, the clouds, the air,
And over seas and earth himself doth lift.
Thus clad he cuts the spheres and circles fair,
And the pure skies with sacred feathers clift;
On Lebanon at first his feet he set
And shook his wings with rosy may-dews wet.
Tasso, Canto I, XIV.
How beautiful! May we hope ever to journey thus, on wings actuated by
human power? It is an old question, once dear to the philosopher and fool
alike, but now important mainly to the fool. Or say more kindly it is the
affair of untechnical inventors—the amateur, the rustic, the man of
chimerical dreams. For the wise aëronaut now numbers that project among
the roseate illusions of his youth.[1]
Ovid relates a story, doubtless credible in his day, of a clever craftsman
who with his son flew bravely aloft, the very first time they put on wings.
Daedalus, a Greek architect, having fled from Athens for murder, went with
his son Icarus to the island of Crete, where he built the celebrated labyrinth
for Minos, the king. He offended that monarch and was cast into prison. In
order to escape he made wings for himself and his son, with which they
flew far over the sea. But Icarus, in his elation, soared too near the sun,
ruined his wings, fell into the sea and was drowned. For proof of this we
have the Icarian Sea, named after the unfortunate boy. Also we have Ovid’s
charming poem:

In tedious exile now too long detain’d
Daedalus languish’d for his native land;
The sea foreclosed his flight, yet thus he said;
“Though earth and water in subjection laid,
O cruel Minos, thy dominion be,
We’ll go through air; for sure the air is free.”
Then to new arts his cunning thought applies,
And to improve the work of nature tries.
A row of quills, in gradual order placed,
Rise by degrees in length from first to last;
As on a cliff the ascending thicket grows;
Or different reeds the rural pipe compose:
Along the middle runs a twine of flax,
The bottom stems are join’d by plaint wax;
Thus, well compact, a hollow bending brings
The fine composure into real wings.
His boy, young Icarus, that near him stood,
Unthinking of his fate, with smiles pursued
The floating feathers, which the moving air
Bore loosely from the ground, and wafted here and there:
Or with the wax impertinently play’d,
And with his childish tricks the great design delay’d.
The final masterstroke at last imposed,
And now, the great machine completely closed;
Fitting his pinions on, a flight he tries,
And hung self-balanced in the beaten skies.
Then thus instructs his child: “My boy, take care
To wing your course along the middle air:
If low, the surges wet your flagging plumes;
If high, the sun the melting wax consumes.
Steer between both: nor to the northern skies,
Nor South Orion, turn your giddy eyes,
But follow me; let me before you lay
Rules for the flight, and mark the pathless way.”
Thus teaching, with a fond concern, his son,
He took the untried wings, and fix’d them on:
But fix’d with trembling hands; and, as he speaks,
The tears roll gently down his aged cheeks;
Then kiss’d, and in his arms embraced him fast,
But knew not this embrace must be the last;
And mounting upward, as he wings his flight,
Back on his charge he turns his aching sight;
As parent birds, when first their callow care
Leave the high nest to tempt the liquid air;
Then cheers him on, and oft, with fatal art,
Reminds the stripling to perform his part.
These, as the angler at the silent brook,
Or mountain shepherd leaning on his crook,
Or gaping ploughman, from the vale descries,
They stare, and view them with religious eyes,
And straight concl de them gods; since none b t the

And straight conclude them gods; since none but they
Through their own azure skies could find a way.
Now Delos, Paros, on the left are seen,
And Samos, favour’d by Jove’s haughty queen;
Upon the right, the isle Lebynthos named,
And fair Calymne for its honey famed.
When now the boy, whose childish thoughts aspire
To loftier aims, and make him ramble higher,
Grown wild and wanton, more embolden’d flies
Far from his guide, and scars among the skies:
The softening wax, that felt a nearer sun,
Dissolved apace, and soon began to run:
The youth in vain his melting pinion shakes,
His feathers gone, no longer air he takes:
“Oh! father, father!” as he strove to cry,
Down to the sea he tumbled from on high,
And found his fate; yet still subsists by Fame,
Among those waters that retain his name.
The Father, now no more a father, cries:
“Ho, Icarus! where are you?” as he flies;
“Where shall I seek my boy?” he cries again,
And saw his feathers scatter’d on the main;
Then cursed his art; and funeral rites conferr’d
Naming the country from the youth interr’d.
How tender and apprehensive that gentleman’s farewell, compared with
the modern vogue in like circumstances! Of the two Americans at Berlin
who fell four thousand feet in a balloon, it is not recorded that they either
kissed or wept.[2] But some Teutonic Ovid may yet adorn the tale with
quaint embellishments.
Taking more serious note of Daedalus, it will be observed that he has had
few imitators. It is because he never really flew, and no one else can fly, in
such manner. That is to say, no man can achieve practical flight on wings
actuated by his own muscular power. It may be physically possible for an
athlete putting forth herculean energy for a few seconds to sustain himself
on wings of enormous spread; but in every lightest zephyr he would be as
helpless as a thistle seed.
The actual area of wing required for a man of given weight and power
may be roughly estimated; at least its lower limit of size can be determined.
Lord Rayleigh,[3] on purely theoretical ground, has computed that a man
operating a screw propeller 280 feet in diameter, moving without frictional
loss, could sustain his weight for a period of eight hours a day at a
comfortable rate of work. But that estimate does not include the weight of

the propeller. By exerting ten times his normal power the man could support
his weight with a 28-foot propeller.
The physical basis of the computation is the same for every type of flyer,
whether bird, man, or machine. Its weight must be sustained by hurling the
air downward. The humming bird in its aërial pause, the bee floating beside
a blossom, rests on a down-driven column of air. The home-gliding eagle at
dusk may encounter a medium in stillest repose, but he leaves behind him a
down-flowing wake, viewless, maybe, but none the less real. In all cases the
downward impulse per second given to the air must equal the weight
supported by its reaction. If the wings be very extensive a proportionate
mass of air may be struck down, and yield support with so much the less
exertion.
Horizontal flight promises little more than direct screw lift, with the
feeble energy of the human muscle. The best modern aëroplanes carry less
than 100 pounds per horse power, while an average man must weigh, with a
light machine, not less than 200 pounds, and must therefore exert upwards
of two horse power during flight. Such an output of energy would exhaust a
powerful athlete in a few seconds. Hence from every point of view it
appears that Daedalean flight, which still has its devotees in some form,
was and always will be utterly impracticable.
Ruskin finds another objection to the disciples of the winged arm. In his
disquisition on the equilibrium of angels he complains that those of the
traditional two-wing type are devoid of gravitational balance. Such
creatures vex the imagination with apprehensions for their stability; hence
they cannot be entirely beautiful. The centroid of an angel is in the small of
its back, whereas the center of wing support is well forward; therefore the
horizontal poise is absurd and unæsthetic. The scientific artist,
consequently, views with pain the picture of a fair lady floating level
through space supported only at her front end.
Milton adroitly forestalls this censure. In the conception of his glorious
Raphael, he provides consummately for uniform and adequate support:

Six wings he wore, to shade
His lineaments divine; the pair that clad
Each shoulder broad, came mantling o’er his breast
With regal ornament; the middle pair
Girt like a starry zone his waist, and round
Skirted his loins and thighs with downy gold,
And colors dipped in Heaven; the third his feet
Shadowed from either heel with feathered mail,
Sky-tinctured grain. Like Maia’s son he stood,
And shook his plumes, that heavenly fragrance filled
The circuit wide.

Leonardo da Vinci, who was a gifted engineer as well as an artist,
devised a flying gear for man which shows some dynamic improvement
over the mechanism of the old-time angels, flying gods, and hobgoblins. As
shown in the accompanying sketch, it provided for gravitational balance by
use of an expanding tail projecting well to the rear. Moreover, the
propulsion was to employ both arms and legs. This design is considered
very remarkable for the time in which it was produced, probably a few
years before the discovery of America; and yet it is but one of Da Vinci’s
quaint aëronautical inventions, as will appear later.
A less futile scheme of aviation may be to saddle the birds. If one eagle
can float a child, a few may possibly carry a man. They are physically able;
they are inexpensive; they are unwearied, nimble, swift. Some harness,
some tuition may be required; but these come to the industrious.
Apparently, such locomotion is a sport worth developing; a royal art, if you
please; for who would not course the sky in a purple palanquin borne by
imperial eagles?
Kai Kaoos, the King of Persia, is credited with a voyage of this kind, as
described in the Shah-Nemeh, or King-Book, written in the tenth century:

“To the king it became a matter of great concern how he might be
enabled to ascend the heavens, without wings; and for that purpose he
consulted the astrologers, who presently suggested a way in which his
desires might be successfully accomplished.

Fig. 1.—Da Vinci’s Designs for Human Flying-Gear.

“They contrived to rob an eagle’s nest of its young, which they
reared with great care, supplying them with invigorating food.
“A frame of aloes-wood was then prepared, and at each of the four
corners was fixed perpendicularly a javelin surmounted on the point

with the flesh of a goat. At each corner again one of the eagles was
bound, and in the middle the king was seated with a goblet of wine
before him. As soon as the eagles became hungry they endeavored to
get at the goat’s flesh upon the javelins, and by flapping their wings,
and flying upwards they quickly raised the throne from the ground.
Hunger still pressing on them, and still being distant from their prey,
they ascended higher and higher in the clouds, conveying the
astonished king far beyond his own country. But after a long and
fruitless exertion, their strength failed them, and, unable to keep their
way, the whole fabric came tumbling down from the sky, and fell upon
a dreary solitude in the Kingdom of Chin, where Kai Kaoos was left a
prey to hunger, alone, and in utter despair.”

One might prefer a single bird, which could be ridden bareback by a man
or woman of common equestrian skill. The early philosophers, therefore,
sought with some care for such a creature. The following is related by
Bishop Wilkins:

“Cardan and Scaliger doe unanimously affirm, that there is a bird
amongst the Indians of so great a bignesse, that his beak is often used
to make a sheath or scabbard for a sword. And Acosta tells us of a fowl
in Peru called Condores, which will of themselves kill and eat up a
whole calf at a time. Nor is there any reason why any other body may
not be supported and carried in the air, though it should as much
exceed the quantity of these fowls as they do the quantity of a flie.
Marcus Polus mentions a fowl in Madagascar which he cals a Ruck,
the feathers of whose wings are 12 paces, or threescore foot long,
which can with as much ease scoop up an elephant as our kites do a
mouse. If this relation was anything credible, it might serve as an
abundant proof for the present quaere.”

As the roc has proved a myth, one questions whether a saddle bird may
not be evolved by judicious breeding. But opposed to this is the square-cube
law of the Greek geometer, by which a learned geologist demonstrated that
nature has reached the limit of her resources in the production of large
flyers, the ostrich, for example, being too bulky to navigate at all. As a last
resource, then, the human dwarf may breed his weight downward to

accommodate the bird. Assuredly, the most powerful flyer can carry the
lightest human dwarf without difficulty.
Such aërial cavalry has been projected occasionally, and if fairly
developed might have interesting employment. Its military value, to say
nothing of its civil uses, would be considerable. An aërial scout that could
hide in a tree top, or small cloud, then flit home with full intelligence of the
enemy, would be effective and unique. In aggressive warfare it would serve
the plan of that ingenious Englishman who proposes to repel a German
invasion by dispatching birds to peck holes in the enemy’s war balloons.
But here the dwarf might be omitted, if the birds were taught to have a
definite interest in attacking aërial cruisers with their beaks, or with steel-
armed spurs like those of the Spanish fighting cock, or with talons treated
chemically to strike fire. Sparrows with sulphur-pointed toes could easily
annihilate an aërial squadron at all combustible.
Recurring to the geologist, it may be added that, having discovered the
major limit of feathered navigators, he concluded, as a corollary, that human
flight is forever impossible. That was in the latter eighties. In 1901 a
versatile astronomer adduced the same law to prove that an aëroplane could
not be made to carry a man. Presently, learning that this had been achieved,
he proved, in a second mellifluous paper, that an aëroplane could not carry,
several men.[4] Having erred twice, he wrote a final article announcing that
a flyer is fatuous, anyhow, because she cannot repair her engines in the sky!

Fig. 2.—A Possible Air-scout.

Of the numerous daring and industrious inventors who, during remote
generations, have launched themselves in the air on some species of rigid or
vibrant wings, a few were men of considerable equipment in philosophy, or
mechanics, and enjoyed a sufficient measure of success to deserve passing
notice; though it seems that no man before the middle of the eighteenth
century made a permanent contribution to the real art of mechanical flight,
if we except the ingenious suggestive devices of Leonardo da Vinci.
However skilfully their flying apparatus may have been planned, or
operated, the results were lost to the world, due to inaccurate or inadequate
description. Such inventors were J. B. Dante, in the fifteenth century, and
the Marquis de Bacqueville, in the seventeenth. Each of these made one, or
more, considerable flights, if we may credit the unwavering testimony of
their contemporaries; but neither has left a sketch of his device, nor a school
of followers to continue his spectacular practice.
Jean-Baptiste Dante, a shrewd observer and profound mathematician,
who flourished toward the end of the fifteenth century, a contemporary of
Da Vinci and Columbus, is reported by the historians of that day to have

sailed successfully through the air on nonvibrant wings designed by himself
after a careful study of the great soaring birds. Perching above a steep crag
on the shore of Lake Trasimene, he set his wings to the wind at a nice angle,
as one sets the sails of a vessel; then, lifted by the swelling breeze, he rose
grandly aloft and floated far over the waters. Again and again he repeated
the experiment, until the fame thereof secured for him a request to make the
demonstration at the marriage fêtes of the illustrious general, Barthelmi
Alviano. He accepted the invitation, and, starting from the top of the highest
tower in the city of Perugia, he sailed over the public square, and balanced
himself for a long time in space, amid the shouts and acclamations of the
multitude, attracted to Perugia by the novelty of his performance. But, sad
to relate, the very first time he performed these wonderful maneuvers above
the solid ground instead of the lake, one of the levers used to alter the
impact angle of his wings gave way, disturbing his aërial poise, and causing
him to pitch down upon Notre Dame church, breaking one of his legs. After
this he taught mathematics at Venice, where he died of fever at the age of
forty years.
In 1742, the Marquis de Bacqueville, at the age of sixty-two years,
announced that on a certain day he would fly from his house on the Seine,
traverse the river, and land in the Garden of the Tuileries. A great multitude
assembled, crowding both shores and the two bridges. At the appointed
moment the Marquis appeared with his pinions, and launched himself from
the terrace. He sailed forth in majestic and serene poise, on graceful wings
not unlike those of the traditional angels. He was gliding directly toward the
Tuileries, and he enjoyed a happy cruise quite to the middle of the river.
Then something happened; his movements became fitful and uncertain; he
plunged downward and broke his leg on a laundry boat. The reason for his
stopping there can only be surmised, for he had nothing to report. He did
not quite fulfil his program, but he flew nine hundred feet delightfully, and
he landed without getting wet.
Commentators have marveled as to the nature of the mechanism used by
Dante and by De Bacqueville. Historians have strongly attested the fact of
the flights, but have overlooked the means. The inventors must have
employed aërial gliders of some kind, for adequate motive power was not
available before the end of the nineteenth century. Even as an experiment in
gliding, or soaring, the achievement of Dante was most daring and

wonderful, eclipsing the best performances up to the twentieth century. It is
strange that in that period of science the survivor of such an experience, and
a college professor, should not have left to the world a careful account of
such an extraordinary performance. The alleged flights, however, were
unquestionably feasible, even in that remote period, for the construction of
an aërial glider is a simple task not beyond the capacity of craftsmen in the
fifteenth century A.D., or even the fifteenth century B.C., directed by a
skilful designer.
Besides the wing-armed scheme of flight credited to Daedalus, and
contemplated by Da Vinci, various other plans were evolved in succeeding
years. Aërial chariots and flying machines were devised for the more
advantageous use of muscular energy. In all these, of course, the passenger
could be both power plant and captain of the ship.
One of the earliest authenticated devices of this kind was the invention of
Blanchard, described by him in the Journal de Paris, August 28, 1781,
nearly two years before the invention of the hot-air balloon, of which he
became later an enthusiastic votary. As his device is but one of a large
number that appeared before the close of the nineteenth century, and the
advent of light motors, the reader who wishes fuller acquaintance with man-
driven airships may be referred to Mr. Chanute’s book, entitled Progress in
Flying-Machines, which describes a large variety of such inventions, and
discusses the merit and weakness of each.
Blanchard prefaces the description of his machine by answering some
criticisms of his project, apparently ventured by his neighbors. “They object
to me,” he writes, “that flying is not the business of man, but rather of the
feathered birds. I reply that feathers are not at all necessary to the bird for
flight; any fabric suffices. The fly, the butterfly, the bat, etc., fly without
feathers and with fanlike wings of material resembling horn. It is, then,
neither the material nor the form that causes flight, but the volume and the
celerity of the movement, which should be as lively as possible.
“They object, moreover, that a man is too heavy to lift himself alone with
wings, much less in a vessel which of itself presents enormous weight. I
reply that my ship is extremely light; as to the man’s weight, I pray that
attention be given to that which M. de Buffon says in his Histoire Naturelle,
on the subject of the condor; this bird, though of enormous weight, easily

lifts a two-year-old heifer weighing at least a hundred pounds, the whole
with wings of about thirty to thirty-six feet expanse.”
He then describes the vessel as a little ship four feet long by two feet
wide, having on either side two posts, each supporting a wing ten feet long,
the whole forming a parasol twenty feet in diameter. The construction was
illustrated by an engraver, who had seen the vessel and was convinced of its
practicability. In conclusion, the inventor writes that people shall see him
cleave the air with more speed than the crow, and that without losing his
breath, being protected by a pointed mask of peculiar construction. But, as
he failed to make good his promises, he was subjected to ridicule, as well as
praise, by the local press, one of the caricatures portraying him in the act of
making an ascension before a concourse of bulging-eyed savants and long-
eared jackasses, wearing spectacles to accentuate the appearance of wisdom
and solemnity.
The scientific coterie of Paris were apparently impatient of the attention
shown Blanchard by the press and people. Accordingly, in May, 1782, the
distinguished astronomer, De Laland, of the French Academy, administered
a mild rebuke to the editors of the Paris Journal. “Gentlemen,” he wrote,
“you have given so much time to air ships and divination rods that one
might eventually think that you believe in these follies, or that the scientists
who coöperate with your journal have nothing to say to dispel these absurd
pretensions. Permit me, therefore, gentlemen, to occupy some lines in your
journal to assure your readers that if the savants are silent it is only because
of their contempt.

Fig. 3.—Blanchard’s Flying-machine.

“It has been demonstrated to be impossible for a man in any manner
whatever to raise himself, or even to sustain himself, in the air. M.
Coulomb, of the Academy of Sciences, at one of our meetings a year ago,
read a paper in which he showed clearly, by calculating the power of a man,
determined by experiments, that he would require wings two or three
thousand feet long moved three feet per second; hence no one but an
ignoramus would make an attempt of this kind.”
Not many months after this lofty deliverance, Blanchard took De Lalande
up in a balloon—“the dead borne by the dumb.”
Coulomb’s calculation that a man’s pinions should be half a mile long
must have been discouraging to those inventors who believed in him; for,
granting that such wings could lift a man, who could lift the wings? And at

that date the steam engine was only beginning to develop; the petroleum
engine was hardly thought of. No wonder that people turned eagerly to the
balloon when it finally appeared.
There has been some controversy as to what person first clearly
conceived a feasible design for a balloon. The conception was certainly not
new to the world in 1783, when Joseph Montgolfier made his classical
experiment. Indeed, prior to that date three distinct principles of aërial
flotation had been entertained by natural philosophers; first, that a boat
could be so formed of heavy material as to ride on the upper surface of the
atmosphere, as a metallic vessel floats on the water; second, that a closed
hull, comprising a partial, or complete, vacuum, could be made light
enough to rise; third, that a bag could be made buoyant by filling it with
material lighter than air. Of course, it is now clear to men versed in
mathematics that only the light-gas principle is mechanically applicable.
But the vacuum principle still has adherents among inventors who are too
“practical” to understand, or trust, exact computation; and the first
principle, though now discarded by everyone, was plausible enough, even
to accomplished scientific men, before the experiments of Torricelli, and his
invention of the barometer, made in 1643. It may, therefore, be interesting
to notice some of the proposed, or reported, air ships based upon these
various principles. The following is from Mendoza, Viridario, libri III,
probl. 47:

“Any brass vessel full of air, which otherwise would sink, is
sustained on the surface of the water, though naturally of much greater
specific gravity; consequently a wooden ship, or one of any other
material, placed on the summit of an aërial superficies and filled with
elementary fire, will be sustained in that position till the gravity of the
vessel becomes greater than the sustaining power of the fire it
contains.”

This is a clear scientific exposition of a plan for navigating the
atmosphere on its upper surface, assuming a distinct upper surface to exist.
In commenting on this passage, the Jesuit Schottus, in his Magia
Universalis, uses an expression which indicates his belief that a vessel can
be made to float in the air by filling it with ether, or the element of fire. He
says:

“In such terms has this matter been treated by Mendoza (died 1626);
nor is there any improbability involved in his view, whether the
element of fire be placed above the air, or, what is still more credible,
the ether—that is, the purest air. Although any wood, iron, copper,
lead, and such like metals are weightier than an equal volume of water,
and for that reason will sink in water when placed there alone, yet if
fabricated into hollow shapes, and filled with our impure and heavy
air, they swim upon waters, and are adapted to the construction of
ships, and are sustained by water without danger of immersion; thus,
although these bodies are of greater specific gravity than our air,
nevertheless, when shaped into a boat and filled with that very light
material, they can float in the air, and are suitable material for the
construction of small ships, because the entire work composed of the
little ship and the ether can be made lighter than an equal volume of
our impure air, even in the highest region.”

As Roger Bacon proposed a similar device in 1542, Mendoza’s was not
entirely new and may not have been original. Bacon, describing his aërial
vessel, says: “It must be a large, hollow globe of copper, or other suitable
metal, wrought extremely thin, in order to have it as light as possible. It
must then be filled with ‘ethereal air or liquid fire,’ and then be launched
from some elevated point into the atmosphere, where it will float like a
vessel on water.”
In the year 1646 another learned Jesuit published a book, Ars Magna
Lucis et Umbræ in Mundo, in which he relates an episode indicating that
one of his order had made use of a hot-air balloon to intimidate some
ignorant pagans. The following demonstration, if reported by a modern
missionary, would be accepted as a matter of course; why, then, should we
gravely question the story, since it describes an achievement quite possible
at the time, assuming that the necessary materials were available? And even
assuming the report to be fictitious, still it is a scientific description of a
practicable hot-air balloon, presented and credited by a learned scholar and
accomplished mathematician more than a century before the balloon was
publicly exhibited by the illustrious Frenchmen. He writes:

“I know that many of our fathers have been rescued from the most
imminent dangers amongst the barbarians of India by such inventions.

These were cast into prison, and whilst they continued ignorant of any
means of effecting their liberation, some one, more cunning than the
rest, invented an extraordinary machine, and then threatened the
barbarians, unless they liberated his companions, that they would
behold in a short time some extraordinary portents, and experience the
visible anger of the Gods. The barbarians laughed at the threat. He then
had constructed a dragon of the most volatile paper, and in this he
enclosed a mixture of sulphur, pitch, wax, and so artistically prepared
all his materials, that, when ignited, it would illumine the machine, and
exhibit the following legend in their vernacular idiom, The Anger of
God. The body being formed and the ingredients prepared, he then
affixed a long tail, and committed the machine to the heavens, and,
favored by the wind, it soared aloft towards the clouds. The spectacle
of the dragon so brilliantly lit was terrific. The barbarians, beholding
the unusual motion of the apparition, were smitten with the greatest
astonishment, and now, remembering the threatened anger of Deity
and the words of the father, they were in fear of expiating the
punishment he had prognosticated for them. Therefore, without delay,
they threw open the gates, they suffered their prisoners to go forth in
peace and enjoy their freedom. In the meantime the fire seized on the
machine and set it in a blaze, and with an explosion, which was
interpreted as an expiring declaration of satisfaction, it, apparently of
its own accord, vanished from sight, as if it had accomplished its
supernatural mission. Thus the fathers, through the apprehension
which this natural manifestation inspired, obtained that which could
not be purchased with a large amount of gold.”

Perhaps the reader will permit another anecdote, not entirely for its
scientific value, but because he may like to compare the attitude of people
toward aërial navigation in the dark ages with the attitude of his neighbors
at the opening of the twentieth century. In two histories by Jef le Ministre
and De Colonia, of the town of Lyons, the following account is given:

“Toward the end of Charlemagne’s reign, persons who lived near
Mount Pilate in Switzerland, knowing by what means pretended
sorcerers traveled through the air, resolved to try the experiment, and
compelled some poor people to ascend in an aërostal. This descended

in the town of Lyons, where they were immediately hurried to prison,
and the mob desired their death as sorcerers. The judges condemned
them to be burned; but the Bishop Agobard suspended the execution,
and sent for them to his palace, that he might question them. They
answered: ‘Qu’ils sont du pays meme, que des personnes de
consideration les ont forcés de se laisser conduire, leur promettent
qu’ils verroient des chose merveilleuses; et qu’ils sont veritablement
descendu par l’air.’ Agobard, though he could not believe this fact,
gave credence to their innocence, and allowed them to escape. On this
occasion he wrote a work on the superstition of the time, in which he
demonstrated the impossibility of rising in the air; that it is an error to
believe in the power of magic; and that it has its existence in the
credulity solely of the people.”

One of the first men to make an aërial model like a fire balloon was the
celebrated Brazilian, Bartholomeo-Lourenco de Gusmao, who in his day
was nicknamed the “flying man,” and who is reported to have made a
remarkable experiment in aërial locomotion at Lisbon. The following
account of it is found in a manuscript of Ferreira:

“Gusmao made his experiment on August 8, 1709, in the court of
the Palace of the Indies, before his majesty and a large and
distinguished audience, with a globe which lifted itself softly to the
height of the hall of the Ambassadors, then descended in like manner.
It was borne up by certain materials which burned and which the
inventor himself had ignited.”

All the details of this description, which was written a generation or more
before the Montgolfier experiment, suggest at once a hot-air balloon. But a
note printed in 1774 and cited by Cavallo explains that the globes must
have been transported by gas. It is certain that early in 1709 Gusmao
applied to the King for a patent and sole right to some such invention,
desiring an injunction and severe penalty against all infringements. The
application sets forth a machine capable of journeying through the air faster
than over land or sea, competent to carry messages five or six hundred
miles a day to troops, or the most distant countries, and even adequate to

explore regions about the poles. Quite a modern promoter Señor Gusmao.
The King in reply issued the following decree:

“Agreeably to the advice of my council, I order the pain of death
against the transgressor. And in order to encourage the suppliant to
apply himself with zeal toward improving the machine which is
capable of producing the effects mentioned by him, I also grant him
the first Professorship of Mathematics in my University of Coimbra,
and the first vacancy in my College of Barcelona, with the annual
pension of 600,000 reis during his life.”

The “patent” seemed liberal enough, and yet Gusmao never resumed his
aërial experiments. He was accused of magic, and may have feared
persecution on that account; accordingly he engaged in naval construction
till 1724, when he left Portugal.
The first vacuum balloon was proposed by the Jesuit father, Francis Lana,
and described in his book Podromo dell’Arte Maestra Brecia, which
appeared in 1670. Though not a practical project like Gusmao’s, it was very
ingenious, and marks an interesting phase in the evolution of the
fundamental idea of the air ship, or “balloon” as it was called by the
inventor, who then coined the word now in common use. Lana proposed to
use four copper spheres each 25 feet in diameter and 1/225 inches in wall
thickness, quite well exhausted of air, to give ascensional force which he
computed at 1,200 pounds aggregate for the four spheres. From these he
would suspend the passengers in a boat having a mast and sail to propel the
ship in time of favorable wind. Having computed the buoyancy according
to well-known physical laws, he could see no possible objection to his
project “unless,” he writes, “it be that God would never permit this
invention to be practically applied, in order to prevent the consequences
that would ensue therefrom in the civil and political government of men.”

Fig. 4.—Lana’s Proposed Vacuum Balloon.

Of recent years inventors having less delicate scruples about
embarrassing Providence, have revived Lana’s project with improvements.
It has been proposed to replace the sail by a motor-driven propeller, and to
ensure the hull against collapse from the prodigious external air pressure—a
ton per square foot—by ample internal bracing. Even within the past twelve
months this scheme has been soberly advocated by several technical
journals and by the author of an elaborate book on aërial warfare. To a
mathematician this is amusing, when not too pathetic; for it can be
rigorously proved that no vacuum balloon of present day material, whatever
its design, can possibly resist crushing if made light enough to float.
In 1887 Walter Wellman described in the Associated Press a steel
vacuum balloon 144 feet in diameter and 654 feet long in which a Chicago
doctor proposed to carry passengers to the North Pole, at incredible speed,

if they would furnish him $130,000 to meet the expenses of construction.
“Here is a most excellent opportunity,” wrote Wellman, “for all who would
like to win fame by being one of the party which shall set foot upon that icy
ignis fatuus of many nations and two centuries.” Two decades later Mr.
Wellman organized, after his own ideas, an aërial expedition to the North
Pole; but he no longer favored starting from Chicago in a vacuum balloon
with a party of stockholders.
It may be added that the inventor of the great steel vacuum balloon, after
organizing the Trans-Continental Aërial Navigation Company, and failing to
raise all of the $130,000, sought aid from the national government. Here
was an interesting situation; a doctor ignorant of mechanics, with the plans
for a mammoth and impossible balloon, appealing for aid to a congress,
supremely shy of air ships, even though recommended by its ablest military
advisers. But in this case there was a capable lobby. The bill for this
physically impossible balloon actually passed the House, and was finally
defeated only by the timely effort of a few scientific men who, by easy
calculation, proved the absurdity of the invention. As the reader may like to
see a mathematical proof of the impossibility of a vacuum balloon, since
such projects arise frequently, the argument is given in Appendix I.

PART I

GROWTH OF AËROSTATION

CHAPTER I
EARLY HISTORY OF PASSIVE BALLOONS

Oh, that I could as smoke arise,
That rolls its black wreathes through the air;
Mix with the clouds, that o’er the skies
Show their light forms, and disappear:
Or like the dust be tossed
By every sportive wind till all be lost!
—Æschylus.
If desire is sometimes the mother of invention, doubtless the wish to
“mix with the clouds,” or “as smoke arise,” suggested to man his first
means of aërial locomotion. Indeed this is openly avowed by Joseph
Montgolfier. “Smoke rises in the chimney; why not encage this smoke, and
have an available force.” But before describing his fundamental
experiments of 1783, let us notice the less conspicuous ones, though not
less philosophical, of his immediate predecessors in the development of
aëronautic science.
It has been seen, that many years before 1783, inventors had clearly
conceived the true principle of the balloon, and would be glad to avail
themselves of an element of sufficiently low specific gravity for aërial
flotation. The desired opportunity came when, in 1766, Henry Cavendish
published his experiments, proving that hydrogen is many times lighter than
air. Immediately after this, Dr. Black, the famous chemist and natural
philosopher of Edinburgh, conceived the idea that a thin light vessel filled
with hydrogen should be able to float and rise in the atmosphere, ideas that
he conveyed to his friends and expressed in his lectures a year or two after
the appearance of Cavendish’s publication. But he contented himself with
merely pointing the way to an obviously practicable invention, leaving, as a
university professor should, the development of the scientific idea to
inventors and constructive engineers.
Intermediate between Dr. Black, the pure scientist, and the Montgolfier
brothers manufacturers, came Tiberius Cavallo, an Italian philosopher

living in England, who made the first small hydrogen balloons. In a note
presented to the Royal Society of London, June 20, 1782, he relates
experiments that seem to entitle him to all the credit of inventing the
balloon except success on a practical scale. He made hydrogen soap
bubbles which rose beautifully in the air, an experiment that has been
repeated throughout the world in every chemical laboratory since his day.
He made a variety of gum bubbles and varnish bubbles inflated with
hydrogen; but curiously enough these failed to rise, though it is known that
such bubbles can be made to float handsomely.[5] He inflated carefully
prepared gold-beater skin and failed, though gold-beater skin balloons, both
large and small, are now a marketable commodity. Finally he constructed
paper balloons which he tried to float by use of hydrogen, but without
success, though a year later the Montgolfier brothers easily made paper
bags arise with hot air, and Professor Charles ascended in a large silk
balloon inflated with hydrogen.
The cause of Cavallo’s interesting failures reveals itself in his own
account of one of his pioneer experiments. In his History and Practice of
Aërostation, he relates that he constructed, of fine Chinese paper, a
cylindrical balloon having short conical ends and a calculated buoyancy of
twenty-five grains, when properly inflated with hydrogen. This bag,
carefully deflated of air by compression between the hands, he suspended
above a large bottle connected with it by a glass tube, and supplied with
materials for generating hydrogen; in this case a mixture of dilute sulphuric
acid and iron filings. When the hydrogen was evolving quite rapidly, he
expected to see the paper sac expand and fill out with proportionate speed;
but to his surprise it remained perfectly flat, while the room filled with the
strong and disagreeable odor of the “inflaminable air.” He then realized that
the carefully made sac of paper, which could be so easily inflated with air,
was very permeable to hydrogen, allowing it to escape instantly, as through
porous cloth, or netting.
Cavallo desisted when the goal was within reach. His plans were
practicable, but he abandoned them too readily. Why did he not varnish his
balloon when it leaked? He could thus so easily have inaugurated the art of
aërial navigation. But after salting the bird’s tail he let it escape.
Various accounts have been given of the steps by which the Montgolfiers
were led to their invention of the balloon. They are said to have studied and

discussed projects for aërial locomotion a decade before hitting upon their
first successful device; at one time filling a paper bag with smoke
ineffectually; again with steam, and again trying, but in vain, to employ
hydrogen. The following apparently reliable account is given by a friend of
the Montgolfiers, Baron Gernando, in his biographical notice of Joseph
Montgolfier, having obtained the story from the inventor himself.
Joseph Montgolfier found himself at Abignon, and it was at the time
when the combined armies held the siege of Gibraltar. Alone, in the
chimney corner, dreaming, as usual, he was contemplating a sort of cut that
represented the work of the siege; he grew impatient observing that one
could not reach the body of the place either by land or sea. “But could not
one arrive there through the air? Smoke rises in the chimney; why not store
this smoke in such a manner as to form an available force?” His mind
calculated instantly the weight of a given surface of paper, or taffeta; he
constructed without delay his little balloon, and saw it rise from the floor, to
the great surprise of his hostess, and with a peculiar joy. He wrote on the
spot, to his brother then at Annonay: “Prepare immediately a supply of
taffeta and cordage, and you shall see the most astonishing thing in the
world.”
A quainter story is told by Brisson in his Dictionary of Physics. He says:
“I can only repeat what the citizen Montgolfier himself told me, when he
came to Paris to announce his discovery; that the citizeness Montgolfier
having placed a skirt on an open-wicker basket, such as women use to dry
linen, the skirt was lifted to the ceiling. It is from this fact that the citizens
Montgolfier started.”
Whatever the preliminaries, the Montgolfier brothers finally made the
experiment of holding a paper bag over a fire fed with wet straw and wool.
It is doubtful whether they purposed to fill it with smoke, or with hot air or
an electrical cloud. They knew that a cloud of some kind rises from such a
fire, and they wanted to harness it. Their first balloon took fire and went up
as smoke. But they were rich paper manufacturers, and soon had another
balloon of 700 cubic feet capacity. This rose from the fire to a height of
1,000 feet, carrying no fuel with it. Thus two practical[6] men had made fire
lift a paper sac; let the Academy explain how. The baby Aërostation was
born.

How fortuitous the primal steps of science! Galvanism from the twitch of
a frog’s leg; aërostation from the puff of a petticoat! There had been no year
in thirty centuries when people could not easily have built a hot-air balloon.
All the materials were available; only a little thought was wanting. A simple
sketch sent to a Roman tailor, or tent-maker, could have furnished a woven
bag competent to lift passengers from the heart of the Coliseum, to the
wonder and delight of a hundred thousand spectators. Yet the genius that
could design the Coliseum, or cover its vast enclosure with canvas, failed to
think of the magic bag that would have enhanced so much the ingenious
shows of a show-loving people. That device was an inspiration destined to a
common Frenchman at no uncommon period of science. The hydrogen
balloon arrived in the natural and logical order of scientific progression; but
the hot-air bag might have presented itself at any time since the birth of
weaving. It was a happy thought, like the ophthalmoscope, or jack-knife—
quaint modern creations of constant use or comfort to mankind.
The public inauguration of aëronautics occurred on June 5, 1783, at
Annonay, the home of the Montgolfier family, 36 miles from Lyons. The
states of Vivarais being assembled at that place, were invited to witness the
ascension. The Deputies and many spectators found in the public square an
enormous bag which, with its frame, weighed 300 pounds, and would
inflate to a ball 35 feet in diameter. When told that this huge mass would
rise to the clouds they were astonished and incredulous. The Montgolfiers,
however, lit a fire beneath and let the bag speak for itself. It gradually
distended, assuming a beautiful form, and struggling to free itself from the
men who were holding it. At a given signal it was released; it ascended
rapidly, and in ten minutes attained a height of 6,000 feet. It drifted a mile
and a half and sank gently to the ground.

Fig. 5.—Montgolfier’s Experimental Balloon.

When the French Academy learned of this event they desired to have an
ascension in Paris, and at once started a public subscription to defray the
expense of constructing and inflating a balloon. They placed the work in
charge of the physicist Charles, after inviting the Montgolfiers to Paris, and
finding they could not come immediately. Charles proved more than a

substitute; he became a fertile inventor and a rival in the new field. Aided
by the skill of the Robert brothers, he made a silk globe varnished with
dissolved rubber, and filled it with hydrogen, which is many times lighter
than hot air. The operation of filling occupied three days, consuming 500
pounds of sulphuric acid and half a ton of iron. The globe was 13 feet in
diameter, and designated a “balloon,” or big ball. This had next to be moved
from the place of filling, in the Place des Victoires, to the Champ de Mars,
two miles distant, in order to have space enough to accommodate the
increasing crowd of spectators. Accordingly, on the 26th it was conveyed
thither, in the dead of night, preceded by lighted torches, surrounded by a
cortege, and escorted by foot and horse guards. Impressive and weird,
indeed, was this nocturnal caravan of troops and towering globe advancing
slowly through the dark and silent streets. The astonished cab drivers knelt
humbly, hat in hand, while the procession passed.
The ascent of this, the first hydrogen balloon, was a popular and a
memorable event. The field was lined with troops. The curious spectators
had thronged every thoroughfare and darkened every housetop. It was an all
day festival, inaugurating a peculiarly French science, with French
animation. The booming of cannon announced to all Paris the impending
flight of the balloon. At five o’clock, in the presence of 50,000 spectators,
and in a shower of rain, the balloon rose more than half a mile and entered
the clouds. The people overwhelmed with surprise and enthusiasm, stood
gazing upward, despite the rain, observing every maneuver till the vessel
had ascended and faded from view.

Fig. 6.—Charles’ First Hydrogen Balloon.

The landing of this little balloon did not leave it in a condition to exhibit
proudly to future generations. After drifting three quarters of an hour, it fell
in a field near Gonesse, a village fifteen miles from the place of ascension,
apparently ruptured from overdistention. The villagers flocked about it with
curiosity and trepidation, ignorant of its nature, whether of bird kind or
monster; and doubtful of its origin, whether natural or satanic. They fell
upon it with flails and pitchforks. When struck it smelt strongly of sulphur,
indicating a diabolic source. They finally hitched it to the tail of a horse
which galloping away in terror, badly damaged it. Whether this destruction
was wrought through fear or rustic hilarity, it induced the government of
France to issue a notice to the public explaining the innocuous nature of a
simple balloon.
In the meantime Joseph Montgolfier, having reached Paris, had
constructed a waterproof linen balloon 46 feet in diameter and ornamented
in oil colors, which was to be publicly launched at Versailles. On September
19, 1783, the king and queen, the court and a vast throng of people of every
rank and age, assembled to witness the ascension. Montgolfier explained to

them every detail, and finally lit the fire, about one o’clock. The great bag
gradually expanded, rounding out in eleven minutes to a beautiful globular
form, tugging upward with a force of seven hundred pounds. Beneath was
suspended a wicker cage containing the first aërial passengers—a sheep, a
rooster and a duck. The vessel rose majestically above the applauding
multitude to a height of fourteen hundred feet, and drifted some two miles
in eight minutes, descending gradually in the wood at Vaucresson. The
animals were tipped out on landing; but, when found by two game-keepers,
they were none the worse for their strange journey. The sheep was grazing
and the cock crowing, says one report, while another relates that the sheep
had trampled on the rooster and lamed him.
Stephen Montgolfier now wishing to send up human passengers, made a
balloon of 100,000 cubic feet capacity. It was shaped like a full lemon
pointing upward, with a cylindrical neck below, 16 feet in diameter. Around
this neck was a wicker balcony three feet wide, to carry the aëronauts,
bundles of straw for fuel, pails of water and sponges to extinguish incipient
conflagrations, here and there in the balloon, during a journey. Through
stokeholes in the side of the neck sheaves of straw could be forked to the
grate suspended centrally below by radial chains. During inflation the base
of the balloon rested on a platform, and its top was supported by a rope
stretched between two poles. The vessel when completed, in a garden of the
Faubourg St. Antoine, was 85 feet high by 48 feet across, and weighed
1,600 pounds. About its zone, painted in oil, were elegant decorations;
portraits, cyphers of the king’s name, fleur-de-lis, with fancy borders below
and above; while higher still, on the arching dome of the bag, were all the
signs of the celestial zodiac.
The handsome vessel was now ready; but what daring captain should
navigate her? King Louis proposed two prisoners who were under sentence
of death, and had to be killed somehow. But the brave Pilâtre de Rozier
protested indignantly: “Eh quoi! de vils criminels auraient les premiers la
gloire de senlever dans les airs! Non, non, cela ne sera point.” He stirred up
the city, and finally prevailed, through the entreaties of the Marquis
d’Arlandes, who secured from the king permission to accompany his friend.
After some days of preliminary practice in maneuvering the tethered
balloon, these gentlemen were ready for an aërial voyage. On November
21, 1783, the balloon was inflated in the garden of La Muette palace, and

stocked with enough straw for an hour’s journey. When all was ready
Pilâtre de Rozier and the Marquis d’Arlandes stepped with eager courage
into the gallery taking opposite sides to ensure proper balance. At two
o’clock they rose splendidly, amid the acclamations of a vast throng of
spectators, and at the height of 280 feet, removing their hats, saluted the
surprised multitude. Encountering a south blowing wind, they drifted five
miles in some twenty minutes, and landed safely in a field. The apparatus
was soon assembled on a cart and returned to the Faubourg St. Antoine,
where it was originally constructed. The details of this first human voyage
in a balloon are very interesting and well told in a letter written by the
Marquis d’Arlande to a member of the French Academy.

Fig. 7.—Montgolfier’s Passenger Balloon.

“At this time M. Pilâtre said: ‘You do nothing, and we shall not mount.’
‘Pardon me,’ I replied. I threw a truss of straw upon the fire, stirring it a
little at the same time, and then quickly turned my face back again; but I
could no longer see La Muette. Astonished, I gave a look to the direction of
the river.... M. Pilâtre then said, ‘See, there is the river, and observe that we

descend.’ ‘Well, then, my friend, let us increase the fire;’ and we worked
away. But instead of crossing the river, as our direction seemed to indicate,
which carried us over the house of the Invalides, we passed along the island
of Cygnes, reëntered over the principal bed of the river, and advanced up it
as far as the gate de la Conference. I said to my intrepid companion: ‘See,
there is the river &c.’ I stirred the fire, and took with the fork a truss of
straw, which from being too tight, did not take fire very easily. I lifted it and
shook it in the middle of the flame. The next moment I felt as if I were
lifted up from under the arms, and said to my companion, ‘Now we mount,
&c.’ At the same time I heard a noise toward the top of the machine, as if it
were going to burst; I looked, but did not see anything. However, as I was
looking up, I felt a shock, which was the only one I experienced. The
direction of the motion was from the upper part downwards. I said then:
‘What are you doing? Are you dancing?’ ‘I don’t stir,’ said he. ‘So much the
better,’ I replied, ‘it is then a new current, which, I hope, will push us over
the river.’ In fact, I turned myself in order to see where we were, and I
found myself between l’École Militaire and les Invalides, beyond which
place we had already gone about 2,500 feet. M. Pilâtre said at the same
time: ‘We are on the plain.’ ‘Yes,’ said I, ‘and we advance.’ ‘Work on,’ said
he. I then heard another noise in the machine, which appeared to be the
effect of a rope breaking. This fresh admonition made me examine
attentively the interior of our habitation. I saw that the part of the machine
which was turned toward the south was full of round holes, many of which
were of a considerable size. I then said: ‘We must descend,’ and at the same
time I took the sponge and easily extinguished the fire, which was round
some holes that I could reach; but leaning on the lower part of the linen, to
observe whether it adhered firmly to the surrounding circle, I found that the
linen was easily separated from it, on which I repeated that it was necessary
to descend. My companion said: ‘We are over Paris.’ ‘Never mind that,’
said I, ‘but look if there appears any danger for you on your side—are you
safe?’ He said: ‘Yes.’ I examined my side, and found that there was no
danger to apprehend. Farther, I wetted with a sponge those cords which
were within my reach. They all resisted, except two, which gave way. I then
said: ‘We may pass over Paris.’ In doing this, we approached the tops of
houses very sensibly; we increased the fire, and rose with the greatest ease.
I looked below me, and perfectly discovered the Mission Étranger. It
seemed as if we were going toward Saint-Sulpice, which I could perceive

through the aperture of our machine. On rising a current of air made us
leave this direction, and carried us toward the south. I saw on my left a sort
of forest, which I took to be the Luxembourg; we passed over the
Boulevard, and then I said: ‘Let us now descend.’ The fire was nearly
extinguished; but the intrepid M. Pilâtre, who never loses his presence of
mind, and who went forward, imagining that we were going against the
mills that are between Petite Gentilly and the Boulevard, admonished me. I
threw a bundle of straw on the fire, and shaking it in order to inflame it
more easily, we rose, and a new current carried us a little toward our left.
M. Rozier said again: ‘Take care of the mills’; but as I was looking through
the aperture of the machine, I could observe more accurately that we could
not meet with them, and said: ‘We are there.’ The moment after, I observed
that we went over a piece of water, which I took for the river, but after
landing, I recollected that it was the piece of water, &c. The moment we
touched the ground, I raised myself up to the gallery and perceived the
upper part of the machine to press very gently on my head, I pushed it back,
and jumped out of the gallery, and on turning toward the machine, expected
to find it distended, but was surprised to find it perfectly emptied and quite
flattened, &c.”
While the foregoing experiment was in progress, plans were matured for
the construction of a hydrogen balloon large enough to support two
passengers and remain aloft many hours, without the need of carrying
dangerous fuel. This type of balloon, called a Charlière, after its inventor,
was destined largely to supersede the hot-air type, known as the
Montgolfière, and indeed, to replace it entirely for free voyages of
considerable endurance and for most power voyages. The construction after
the plan of Professor Charles was delegated to two very intelligent
mechanics, the Robert brothers who also had succeeded in dissolving
caoutchouc, and thus producing a very superior balloon varnish. The project
was first announced in the Journal de Paris of the 19th of November 1783.
As usual in those days of public enthusiasm, a subscription was opened to
defray the expenses of the experiment, estimated to cost about ten thousand
francs.

Fig. 8.—Charles’ Passenger Balloon.

This balloon was a truly scientific creation, which advanced aërostation
from tottering infancy almost to full prime. The bag was a sphere 27½ feet
in diameter made of gores of varnished silk. A net covered the upper half
and was fastened to a horizontal hoop girding the middle of the globe, and
called the “equator.” From the equator depended ropes which supported,

just below the spherical bag, a wicker boat measuring eight feet by four,
covered with painted linen and beautifully ornamented. The balloon had at
the bottom a silk neck 7 inches in diameter, to admit the gas during
inflation, and at the top, a valve which could be opened by means of a cord
in the boat to let out gas during a voyage, so as to lower the balloon, or to
relieve excessive pressure. In the boat were carried sand ballast to regulate
the height of ascension, a barometer to measure the elevation, anchor and
rope for landing, a thermometer, notebook, provisions, and all the
paraphernalia of a scientific voyage. Barring the fancy boat, this is almost a
description of a good modern balloon.
The inflation and ascension occurred in the Garden of the Tuileries,
where the limp bag was initially suspended from a rope stretched between
two trees. For three days and nights the hydrogen, drawn from twenty
barrels containing iron and dilute sulphuric acid, poured upward through the
silken neck into the distending globe, which swelled in volume to 1,400
cubic feet. Finally on a beautiful day, the first of December 1783, the
Tuileries and all the neighborhood were crowded with spectators. A
numerous guard of soldiers, stationed about the apparatus and grounds,
preserved order. The fashion and nobility of Paris were there, in ample
splendor, attracted by the novelty and importance of the experiment, and the
fame of the inventor. Shortly before two o’clock Professor Charles
presented to his friend, Montgolfier, a pilot balloon six feet in diameter,
saying, “It is your prerogative to blaze the way through the sky.” The pilot
balloon was released, showing to everyone the direction of the aërial
currents. Charles and Roberts stepped into the boat, seated themselves, and
quickly rose into the sky. The multitude gazed in silent wonder. Presently
they observed two pennants waving high above them, though the navigators
were scarcely visible; whereupon they burst forth into wild enthusiasm and
thunderous applause.
Immediately a cavalcade set out in hot pursuit of the venturesome sailors.
It was the first chase after an air ship, and a most vigorous one. The balloon
drifting northwestward at a speed of fifteen miles an hour, crossed the
Seine, passed over several towns and villages, to the great astonishment of
the inhabitants, and landed in a field near Nesle. Here it was securely held
by friendly peasants, to await the advent of the official witnesses. Presently
these arrived, drew up a certificate of descent and signed it. The Duke de

Chartres, and the Duke de Fitz-James, who had followed less swiftly, now
rode up and signed the formal document, to the great gratification of the
aëronauts. The aërial journey had been a most delightful one, lasting about
two hours and covering nearly thirty miles.
After receiving the felicitations of his friends, Charles determined to
reascend, in order to obtain further scientific observations. Owing to
leakage and loss of buoyancy, he must now leave behind his pleasant
companion. He had proposed replacing with earth, or stones, a part of Mr.
Robert’s weight, but, finding none at hand, he signaled the peasants to let
go, whereupon he rose with unusual speed. The remainder of this first and
very remarkable scientific voyage is well told by the navigator himself:

“In twenty minutes I was 1,500 fathoms high; out of sight of all
terrestrial objects. I had taken the necessary precautions against the
explosion of the globe, and prepared to make the observations which I
had promised myself. In order to observe the barometer and
thermometer, placed at the end of the car, without altering the center of
gravity, I knelt down in the middle, stretching forward my body and
one leg, holding my watch in my left hand, and my pen and the string
of the valve in my right, waiting for the event. The globe, which, at my
setting out, was rather flaccid, swelled insensibly. The air escaped in
great quantities at the silken tube. I drew the valve from time to time,
to give it two vents; and I continued to ascend, still losing air, which
issued out hissing, and became visible, like a warm vapor in a cold
atmosphere. The reason of this phenomenon is obvious. On earth, the
thermometer was 47°, or 15° above freezing point; after ten minutes’
ascent it was only 21°, or 11° below. The inflammable air had not had
time to recover the equilibrium of its temperature. Its elastic
equilibrium being quicker than that of the heat, there must escape a
greater quantity than that which the external dilatation of the air could
determine by its least pressure. For myself, though exposed to the open
air, I passed in ten minutes from the warmth of spring to the cold of
winter; a sharp dry cold, but not too much to be borne. I declare that,
in the first moment, I felt nothing disagreeable in the sudden change.
When the barometer ceased to fall, I marked exactly 18 inches 10 lines
(20-01 in. English), the mercury suffering no sensible oscillation. From
this I deduce a height of 1,524 fathoms (3,100 yards), or thereabouts,

till I can be more exact in my calculation. In a few minutes more, my
fingers were benumbed by the cold, so that I could not hold my pen. I
was now stationary as to the rising and falling, and moved only in an
horizontal direction. I rose up in the middle of the car to contemplate
the scene around me. At my setting out the sun was set on the valleys;
he soon rose for me alone, who was the only luminous body in the
horizon, and all the rest of nature in shade; he, however, presently
disappeared, and I had the pleasure of seeing him set twice in the same
day. I beheld, for a few seconds, the circumambient air and the vapors
rising from the valleys and rivers. The clouds seemed to rise from the
earth and collect one upon the other, still preserving their usual form,
only their color was gray and monotonous from the want of light in the
atmosphere. The moon alone enlightened them, and showed me that I
was tacking about twice; and I observed certain currents that brought
me back again. I had several sensible deviations; and observed, with
surprise, the effects of the wind, and saw the streamers of my banners
point upwards. This phenomenon was not the effect of the ascent or
descent, for then I moved horizontally. At that instant I conceived,
perhaps a little too hastily, the idea of being able to steer one’s course.
In the midst of my transport I felt a violent pain in my right ear and
jaw, which I ascribed to the dilatation of the air, in the cellular
construction of those organs, as much as to the cold of the external air.
I was in a waistcoat and bareheaded. I immediately put on a woolen
cap, yet the pain did not go off but as I gradually descended. For seven
or eight minutes I had ceased to ascend; the condensation of the
internal inflammable air rather made me descend. I now recollected
my promise to return in half an hour, and, pulling the string of the
valve, I came down. The globe was now so much emptied, that it
appeared only a half globe. I perceived a fine ploughed field near the
wood of Tour du Lay, and hastened my descent. When I was between
twenty or thirty fathoms from the earth I threw out hastily two or three
pounds of ballast, and became for a moment stationary, till I descended
gently in the field, about a league from the place whence I set out. The
frequent deviations and turnings about make me imagine that the
voyage was near three leagues, and I was gone about thirty-three
minutes. Such is the certainty of the combinations of our aërostatic

machine, that I might have kept in the air at least for twenty-four hours
longer.”

Further interesting details of the first balloon experiments at Paris are
furnished by Dr. Benjamin Franklin, then American Minister to France, in
his letters written to Sir Joseph Banks, President of the Royal Society of
London, and presented in Appendix II of this book. These quaint and
substantial stories are well worth perusal as the expressions of a great
diplomat and philosopher who, in the midst of social and political activities,
found time for scientific correspondence with his friends in both
hemispheres.
Aërial navigation was now become a practical art which should advance
rapidly in popularity, in both Europe and America. Very soon ascensions
were made everywhere, for private amusement and for public exhibitions.
Not a few were made for scientific, for military and for topographical
purposes; thus giving the art a utilitarian as well as a sporting feature. It will
be interesting to note some of the more conspicuous ascensions, voyages
and improvements made in passive balloons subsequently to the invention
of Montgolfières and Charlières.
The largest hot-air balloon ever constructed, La Flesselle, was launched
from the suburbs of the city of Lyons on January 19, 1784, just two months
after the ascent of the first human passengers. It was also one of the most
troublesome to assemble and keep in repair. Day by day, for more than a
week, the balloon was inflated for the purpose of attaching the ropes to
support the great gallery. But the wind blew dreadfully at times; rain and
snow fell on the machine; frost and ice covered the huge bag; many rents
ensued, demanding frequent repairs. On one occasion, when fed too freely
with flame from straw sprinkled with alcohol, the monstrous ship rose so
vigorously as to drag fifty men with it some distance along the ground.
Finally on the 19th of January, when the weather moderated, the operators
built small fires under the scaffold below the balloon, and thawed away the
ice from the drenched and frozen bag. Then they stocked its gallery with
straw and pitchforks, with fire extinguishers, and other provisions for the
journey. The inflation beginning about noon, occupied but seventeen
minutes. The balloon swelled out rapidly, with the roaring flames ascending
inside, and at last stood forth huge and majestic before the admiring

multitude—a towering thing of magic growth, 100 feet in diameter by 130
feet high.
The ascension of this gigantic vessel was immensely spectacular; but it
was also most adventurous and foolhardy. The great bag, which at best was
made of poor materials, was in bad repair after its frequent inflations. But of
the six passengers in the gallery not one could be induced to remain behind
to lessen the risk to the others. Their pilot, M. de Rozier, remonstrated with
them; the proprietor M. C. Flesselle wished them to cast lots; but no one
would abandon the journey. So, with fear and reluctance, the pilot ordered
the mooring ropes to be cut. Just as the ascent began, a seventh passenger,
M. Fontaine, sprang into the gallery and sailed aloft with the others. By
vigorous stoking the aërial sailors urged their fiery vessel upward three
thousand feet, whence, apparently without fear, they waved their hats to the
vast throng below.

Fig. 9.—La Flesselle.

The spectators were now in a frenzy of excitement. For more than a week
they had vacillated between hope and disappointment; but now they saw the
huge ship soaring into the sky, perhaps on her way to destruction. They
heard the blast of martial music and the booming of mortars. Then the
accumulated emotion of the multitude burst forth. Exclamations of joy,

shrieks of fear, thunders of applause resounded above the sea of people.
Finally the balloon began to burst, a dangerous rent running vertically along
her side. The machine descended with great rapidity, to the alarm of
everyone. It is reported that not fewer than sixty thousand people ran to the
place of landing, with the greatest apprehension for the lives of the
travelers. But the adventurous men stepped forth from the gallery, after a
fifteen minutes’ voyage, without hurt of any kind, save an insignificant
scratch borne by Joseph Montgolfier, who on this occasion made his first
and last ascension. This was also the first and last ascension of that gigantic
fire balloon; for although it furnished a world of delirious emotion and
excitement, the trouble of inflating the vessel was too great to be repeated.
The crossing of the English Channel by balloon had been contemplated
many months by various adventurous spirits; and at length, on a fine day,
the seventh of January, 1785, this feat was attempted by two intrepid men,
the French aëronaut, M. Blanchard, and an American physician, Dr. Jeffries,
who had graduated at Harvard in 1763, and was practicing medicine in
England. Starting from the perpendicular cliff at Dover Castle, at one
o’clock, they sailed in the direction of Calais, having with them only thirty
pounds of sand ballast. This was too little for so long a voyage; but it would
doubtless carry them a few miles, in the favorable breeze then blowing. To
their surprise, the atmosphere seemed to grow lighter as they advanced over
the water, letting them sink too freely. As they approached mid-channel they
were compelled to discharge all their ballast in order to maintain their level.
But the balloon still descended, seemingly attracted by the water. Then they
ejected a parcel of books to gain a moment’s relief. When three-fourths
across the Channel they sighted the French Coast, which now they yearned
to see at closer range; for the balloon was contracting and sinking rapidly.
They threw out from the boat everything available, wings, anchors, cords,
provisions; yet they saw the vessel persistently approaching the sea. Finally
they cast off part of their clothing, fastened themselves to the cords
suspended from the balloon-ring, and prepared to cut away the boat. But
presently approaching the coast near Calais, they began to rise; then
ascended rapidly, soaring in a magnificent arch above the high grounds. At
last they descended gradually above the forest of Guines, seized the
branches of a tree to stop their flight, and at three o’clock were happily
landed. It was a thrilling voyage of two hours, and made a profound
impression at the time. As a mark of appreciation the King presented

Blanchard a sum of 12,000 francs and a pension of 1,200 francs per year.
The people erected a monument on the place of landing to commemorate
this extraordinary voyage.
This splendid achievement incited two Frenchmen to attempt a counter
voyage which ended disastrously. On June 15, 1785, Pilâtre de Rozier and
M. Romain set out from Boulogne on a voyage from France to England, in
a compound balloon composed of a hydrogen balloon forty feet in diameter,
below which was suspended a fire balloon ten feet in diameter. They hoped
by judicious stoking of the lower balloon to obviate the sinking tendency
suffered by Blanchard and Jeffries. But the smaller globe proved a fatal
auxiliary. Scarcely a quarter of an hour after launching, the whole apparatus
was aflame at an altitude of 3,000 feet, and presently fell in charred and
hideous fragments upon the seashore. M. Romain still showed some signs
of life, but Pilâtre de Rozier was completely dead and all his bones were
broken. They were the first martyrs in the cause of the new science. Poor
De Rozier knew on starting that his apparatus was in bad condition, but he
had received for the purpose a sum of money from a distinguished patron,
and therefore felt obliged in honor to attempt the voyage. He was twenty-
eight years old and engaged to be married to a young lady in the convent at
Boulogne, who eight days after the catastrophe which robbed her of her
fiancé, died brokenhearted and in convulsions.

CHAPTER II
PRACTICAL DEVELOPMENT OF PASSIVE BALLOONS

The next important advance in practical ballooning was made by the
substitution of coal gas for hydrogen. This was England’s contribution to an
art which previously had not greatly flourished west of the Channel. It was
a contribution following the natural growth of science; for in 1814 coal gas
began generally to be used for lighting London, and seven years later for
inflating balloons. This valuable innovation was made by the famous
aëronaut, Charles Green, on the occasion of his first ascension, made July
19, 1821, the coronation day of George IV. The new method largely
superseded the old, extending throughout the world with the spread of gas
lighting; and it gave a powerful stimulus to aëronautics by rendering
inflation cheap and convenient. Mr. Green himself made 526 ascensions
during his life, or at the rate of one cruise a month for nearly forty-four
years. In due time, every country had its professional aëronauts, and finally
its amateurs, who, forming themselves into aëro clubs, devoted themselves
to racing in free balloons, inflated quite usually from a city gas supply.
In 1836 Mr. Robert Holland organized an expedition designed to test the
utmost capabilities of the balloon of his day, particularly in points of
endurance and control. Engaging as pilot the first aëronaut of the age, Mr.
Charles Green, and employing the largest gas balloon that ever had been
constructed, stocked with provisions enough to last three men a fortnight,
he invited a third person, Mr. Monck Mason, to join them on a cruise from
London to wherever the wind would take them, but preferably to land near
Paris, as the balloon was to be delivered there after the voyage.

Fig. 10.—The Great Balloon of Nassau.

The vessel selected for that famous cruise was The Great Balloon of
Nassau, then recently built by Mr. Green and representing all that his skill
and experience could devise. It was of pear shape, formed of the finest
crimson and white silk, “spun, wove and dyed expressly for the purpose,”
and comprising when distended a volume of 85,000 cubic feet. From its

stout balloon-ring six feet in diameter was suspended a wicker car
measuring nine feet long by four wide, having a seat across either end, and
a cushioned bottom to serve as a bed, if such should be needed. Across the
middle of the car was a plank supporting a windlass for raising or lowering
the guide-rope, that is a heavy rope which could be trailed over land, or
water, to keep the balloon at a nearly constant level without expenditure of
ballast, and to check its speed on landing. This valuable device invented by
Mr. Green in 1820, was now to receive adequate trial, which, indeed,
formed one of the chief purposes of the cruise. Other paraphernalia of the
voyage were food and drink, warm clothing, lamps, trumpets, telescopes,
barometers, a quicklime coffee-heater, a grapnel and cable, and a ton of
sand ballast in bags.
The voyage proved well worthy of the elaborate preparations. At one-
thirty o’clock on November 7th, the three navigators arose from London, in
presence of a mighty multitude, and drifted in a southeasterly direction
traversing the cultivated plains of Kent, and in two hours passed the
environs of Canterbury. Here they dropped a parachute with a letter for the
Mayor, which he duly received. Continuing their journey they floated
leisurely above the tree tops, talking to the inhabitants of the country,
startling the fleet-winged quail, terrifying a colony of rooks, and finally
reaching Dover at sundown, where they again dropped a letter for the
Mayor of the city, which also was duly delivered.
Without a moment’s pause they drifted over the Channel into the
gathering darkness. Before them rose a huge wall of vapor and black clouds
standing on the bosom of the sea; behind them the twinkling lights and the
music of breakers rolling on a hospitable shore. Presently they were
immersed in a region of absolute silence and impenetrable darkness. At
times this deep stratum would slowly dissolve, revealing a glimpse of the
dusky ocean and a passing ship; then some huge wreath of vapor would
involve them in bottomless gloom, without perspective, without apparent
motion, without a sound to cheer or mark their dubious course. Now to
avoid the risk of settling too near the sea, as Blanchard and Jeffries had
done, they were preparing to let down the guide-rope with floating ballast
attached, when suddenly they emerged from the pall of darkness, and were
greeted by the glittering lights of Calais, and the gentle sound of waters
dashing upon the beach. They had crossed the Channel in one hour, and

were soaring serenely three thousand feet above the ocean, not having to
lower the guide-rope to preserve their elevation.
Now came the preparations for a night voyage over an obscurely defined
land route. A simple rope one thousand feet long without ballast was
allowed to trail beneath them. A lamp was lit. Coffee was heated by the
slacking of quicklime. An ample store of viands and wine was spread on the
board in the middle of the car. The strenuous period of thought and labor
was past, and now three hungry men sat leisurely at dinner, after a fast of
twelve long hours. However sparing of bones and bottles, which later might
serve as ballast, they were not economical of food and wine that evening.
For the present they had only to live and be happy as bachelors. Muffled in
soft garments, well fed, abundantly served with divine beverages, hot or
cold; what finer picture of masculine comfort and delight?
They were now floating tranquilly in the vast solitude of heaven, over a
teeming continent mantled in night and mystery. Far along earth’s sable
surface gleam the scattered fires of many villages; and above it the lovelier
fires of a moonless sky. Unseen, unsuspected, they survey kingdoms and
cities, trailing their long rope serpent-like over woodland, field and quiet
homestead. Now on the horizon before them looms a greater fire, like a
distant conflagration, widening as they approach. Gradually it expands into
a model city, shooting out long lines of illuminated streets; here the public
squares, markets and theatres; there the rumbling iron mills with blazing
furnaces. They are above Liege at her festive hour, murmuring with
animation and busy life. Again they drift into the dark regions of slumber,
lapped in silence and deep tranquillity, where the lights of men are
extinguished, and the stars, redoubling their lustre, gleam whitest silver in
heaven’s jetty dome. Midnight involves the world; an abyss of darkness
enfolds it; their solitary lamp seems to melt its way through solid space of
blackest marble. For hours they undulate over the rolling hills, rising and
falling a thousand cubits, held always to earth by the trailing rope. At times
they are so near as to trace the landscape dimly; here a white tract covered
lightly with snow, here a dark valley or forest, here a tortuous river,
probably the Rhine, with its multitudinous thunder of waters. But in all that
weird and obscure wandering no joyous note of human or animal life
ascends ere dawn to cheer their solitary course in the sky.

At last the paling of the morning star, and a faint tingeing of the eastern
cumuli, announce the expected day. With sudden bound the great ship
mounts aloft twelve thousand feet, into the glory of the blazing sun, new
risen among clouds of amber and purple. Far below, twilight and mist still
mantle the half-awakened world, presenting a stupendous panorama, vast as
an empire. Presently down they plunge into the vaporous and obscure
atmosphere, drifting carelessly, but soon reascending into the splendor of
morning. Thus after making the sun rise three times and set twice, they float
contentedly along the misty landscape, marveling what region lies below
them, whether a barren wilderness, or the abode of civilized life, with
human comforts and a ready means of transportation. A hot breakfast would
be very welcome now; for they had accidentally dropped the lime pot and
had spent the latter half of the night without warm beverage in a region
where oil and water had frozen.
At length through the clearing vapor they perceive the country well tilled
and populous; a good place to land to shorten their route to Paris, and avoid
the wide plains of Poland or Russia. They raise the guide-rope, lower the
cable and anchor, open the valve, and descend in a grassy field near
Weilburg, in the Duchy of Nassau. It is now seven-thirty o’clock, just
eighteen hours since starting; and they have traveled five hundred miles, the
longest aërial voyage thus far recorded. Very soon they are surrounded by a
wondering crowd of pipe-puffing, shaggy-headed, German peasants, by
whose willing aid they finally deflate the balloon, pack it in the bottom of
the car, and mount it on a one-horse cart for Weilburg. Thence the
aëronauts, after a week of festivities in their honor, and distinguished
attentions from the highest officials of the town, embarked with their
balloon for Paris. This famous craft now bore its permanent title; for a few
days previously the lovely daughter of the Baron de Bibra, with seven other
young ladies and Mr. Green, had stood within the air-inflated vessel, poured
a generous libation of wine, and christened the hardy cruiser The Great
Balloon of Nassau.
It was in truth a great balloon in various ways; in solidity and strength, in
workmanship, in completeness of appointment, in endurance and control.
Having accomplished that long journey without a sign of weakness or
defect, it was still in prime condition, proudly heading for the farthest verge
of Europe. It had not, of course, the instrumental equipment of a modern

balloon; but it did possess the elements essential for a long and hard cruise.
Since the day of its launching many additions have been added to the art,
but these, for the most part, are special adjuncts. The more important
features of a good balloon are practically the same to-day as when they
were first introduced by Professor Charles and sturdy old Mr. Green.
A still more elaborate and colossal air ship was the Geant, constructed in
1863, for A. Nadar of Paris. It was made of a double layer of white silk, had
a volume of 215,000 cubic feet and a buoyancy of 4½ tons. The car was a
wicker cabin 13 feet wide by 7 feet high, with a wicker balcony round the
top so that the roof could be used as an observation deck—a delightful
place to loll in the starlight, or watch the morning sun “flatter the mountain
tops with sovereign eye.” The closed car comprised two main rooms with a
hallway between them, one containing the captain’s bed and baggage, the
other having three superposed berths for passengers. Minor divisions of the
car were reserved for provisions, a lavatory, photography and a printing
press, the latter to be used for the dissemination of news from the sky, as the
navigators floated from state to state. A compensator balloon of 3,500 cubic
feet, just below the main bag and connected with it, received the escaping
gas during expansion with increase of temperature or altitude, and gave it
back on contraction. In fact as well as in name, Nadar’s vessel was a giant.
Curiously enough, he called it the “last balloon,” for he expected to realize
enough money by exhibiting it, to inaugurate successful flying by means of
the helicopter, and thus banish ballooning from the world of futile effort to
the domain of bygone dreams and chimæras.

Fig. 11.—Car of Nadar’s Balloon.

The first ascension, made on Sunday, October 4, 1863, was one of
magnificent promise. In the midst of a vast holiday throng on the Champ de
Mars, the great globe towered aloft nearly two hundred feet, held to earth
by one hundred men and twice as many sand bags. In the car were fifteen
notable passengers including one lady, the fair young Princess de la Tour
d’Auvergne, in morning toilet and a pretty hat. “Lachez tout!” shouts
Captain Nadar, the effervescent photographer of Paris. Away they soar,
heading for St. Petersburg, with provisions enough to sail beyond the polar
sea.

The captain was now in supreme control, with the key to the victual and
liquor room in his pocket, and his twelve commandments duly signed by all
aboard. They had pledged themselves not to gamble, not to carry
inflammable materials, not to smoke unduly, not to throw bottles overboard,
not to quit the balloon without permission, but to descend if so ordered, etc.
They had sailed at five o’clock in the evening and all was going merrily.
But presently trouble came. The valve rope gave way, the vessel was sailing
in the dark, and the Godards declared she was drifting to sea, whereas she
was drifting in quite the opposite direction. To be on the safe side they
threw out the anchors by permission of the commander. One anchor broke,
but the other took hold and checked the balloon in spite of the strong wind
blowing. At last after three violent bumps on the ground they landed near
Meaux at nine o’clock in the evening, one passenger sustaining a broken
knee, the others various bruises. It was a grand adventure and all were
pleased.
Two weeks later a second voyage was begun in similar style, and again
from the Champ de Mars, this time in the presence of the King of France
and the young King George of Greece; but now Nadar took along, not the
Princess with the pretty hat, but Madame Nadar, his wife. To entertain the
crowd before starting, thirty-two persons were first sent aloft 300 feet and
drawn back to earth. Finally at five o’clock Sunday evening, October 18th,
a party of nine passengers soared proudly northward, well provisioned as
before, and eager for a long voyage. They disappeared in the gathering
night, leaving their friends much concerned for their safety and ultimate
destination. At half past eight they were over Compiegne, seventy-eight
miles away, drifting near the ground to say “All goes well” and have the
good tidings transmitted to Paris. At nine they crossed the Belgian frontier;
at midnight they were over Holland; at sunrise they skirted the Zuyder Zee
and entered Hanover; at eight they were coursing headlong toward
Nienburg and the North Sea in the current of a swift west wind.
They were now in great peril. If they went to sea they might all be
drowned; if they came to earth at such horizontal speed they should be
terribly pounded. Choosing the latter evil, they opened the valve and threw
down the grappling irons. “To the ropes,” shouted the Godard brothers.
Assembling on deck all clung to the suspension ropes to mitigate the shock
of landing. Nadar put his arm about his wife to protect her. The anchors

snatching a tree, uprooted and dragged it along; then caught and tore off the
roof of a house; threshed into a telegraph line pulling down the wires and
poles; struck into some firmer obstacle and broke off completely, leaving
the huge monster to sweep unchecked in the violent ground current. Owing
to trouble with the valve, the gas could not be liberated quickly; the great
vessel again and again plunged to earth and rebounded high in air, its
ponderous basket crashing through heavy timber, and breaking down
whatever opposed its course. For nine miles they pounded over the plain by
Nienburg toward the sea, dashing into pools, bogs and thickets, their limbs
sprained or broken, their bodies bruised, their faces splashed with mud.
Presently through loss of gas the rebounding ceased, the basket dragged
along the earth squeezing some of the passengers beneath it, and dumping
others out on the ground, leaving them behind. Those remaining tried to
assist Madam Nadar to land, but they were tumbled out and she was caught
under the basket from which she was extricated with much difficulty, when
the balloon was finally halted. Thus their memorable voyage of seventeen
hours, covering 750 miles, had a terrific, though not fatal ending. One had a
broken femur, another a dislocated thigh, others numerous scratches and
contusions. But no complaint was uttered; for the afflictions were regarded
as natural concomitants to such interesting sport. After some days tender
nursing by the Germans, and solicitous inquiries from the King of Hanover,
they returned to Paris; some indeed on their backs, but for all that, none the
less admired by their countrymen, as survivors of a marvelous adventure.
Another valiant English leader in aërostation was James Glaisher,
member of the British Association for the Advancement of Science. As one
of a committee of twelve appointed by that body in 1861, to explore the
higher strata of the atmosphere by means of the balloon, he volunteered his
services as an observer, when no other capable man could offer to do so.
With a professional aëronaut, Mr. Coxwell, and a new balloon specially
constructed for the work, cubing 90,000 feet, he made eleven ascensions for
the society, four from Wolverhampton, seven from Woolwich. Incidentally
he made seventeen other ascents of various altitude; not at the expense of
the committee, but as a scientific passenger in public balloon ascents
advertised beforehand.
The objects of the enterprise were first to study the physical conditions of
the atmosphere; secondly to study the effect of the higher regions upon the

passengers themselves, and some pigeons, which they carried along; thirdly
to make some observations in acoustics and magnetism, particularly to
determine the period of oscillation of a magnet at various altitudes. The
specific study of the atmosphere itself was to comprise observations at all
altitudes, of the temperature of the air, its pressure, and percentage of
moisture; observations of the velocity and direction of the wind, the
constitution of the clouds, their height, density and depth, the constitution
and electrical properties of the air. They were also to collect samples of the
air at different elevations, which later might be examined in the laboratory.
Thus the voyages were systematically planned for scientific research, and
were the first thorough attempts in England, though similar efforts had been
made previously in France. It may be added that Glaisher’s observations
were the most important made during the first century of aëronautics, and
may be found fully detailed by that hardy investigator himself in the British
Association Reports for 1862–66.
Mr. Glaisher’s most interesting voyage of that memorable series occurred
on September 5, 1862. Starting from Wolverhampton at three minutes after
one o’clock, they soared swiftly upward, passing through a cloud eleven
hundred feet thick and emerging in a glorious field of sunlight with an
amethystine sky above and a boundless sea of vapor beneath; a sea of
rolling hills and mountain chains, with great snow-white masses steaming
up from their surface. They had left the noisy bustle of earth in the
comfortable temperature of 59°; in three quarters of an hour, they were five
miles aloft in a deadly silent atmosphere, two degrees below zero, and
approaching one third its usual density, the balloon neck white with hoar
frost, the men gasping for breath. Here the observations became
increasingly interesting but immensely more difficult. They are graphically
told in the following extract from Mr. Glaisher’s classical report:

“I asked Mr. Coxwell to help me to read the instruments, as I
experienced a difficulty in seeing. In consequence, however, of the
rotatory motion of the balloon, which had continued without ceasing
since the earth had been left, the valve-line had become twisted, and he
had to leave the car and mount into the ring above to adjust it. At this
time I looked at the barometer, and found it to be 10 inches, still
decreasing fast; its true reading therefore, was 9¾ inches, implying a
height of 29,000 feet. Shortly afterwards I laid my arm upon the table,

possessed of its full vigor, and on being desirous of using it, I found it
powerless; it must have lost its power momentarily. I tried to move the
other arm, and found it powerless also. I then tried to shake myself,
and succeeded in shaking my body. I seemed to have no limbs. I then
looked at the barometer; whilst doing so my head fell on my left
shoulder. I struggled and shook my body again, but could not move my
arms. I got my head upright, but for an instant only, when it fell on my
right shoulder, and then I fell backwards, my back resting against the
side of the car, and my head on its edge; in this position my eyes were
directed towards Mr. Coxwell in the ring. When I shook my body I
seemed to have full power over the muscles of the back and
considerable power over those of the neck, but none over either my
arms or my legs; in fact I seemed to have none. As in the case of the
arms, all muscular power was lost in an instant from my back and
neck. I dimly saw Mr. Coxwell in the ring and endeavored to speak,
but could not; when in an instant intense black darkness came, the
optic nerve finally lost power suddenly. I was still conscious, with as
active a brain as at the present moment whilst writing this. I thought I
had been seized with asphyxia, and that I should experience no more,
as death would come, unless we speedily descended; other thoughts
were actively entering my mind, when I suddenly became unconscious
as in going to sleep. I cannot tell anything of the sense of hearing; the
perfect stillness and silence of the regions six miles from the earth (and
at this time we were between six and seven miles high) is such that no
sound reaches the ear.

PLATE I.

GLAISHER AND COXWELL.

PARSEVAL KITE BALLOON.

“My last observation was made at 1 h. and 54 m., at 29,000 feet. I
suppose two or three minutes fully were occupied between my eyes
becoming insensible to seeing fine divisions, and 1 h. 54 m., and then
that two or three minutes more passed till I was insensible; therefore I
think this took place at about 1 h. 56 m. or 1 h. and 57 m. Whilst
powerless I heard the words, ‘temperature’ and ‘observation,’ and I
knew Mr. Coxwell was in the car speaking to me, and endeavoring to
arouse me, therefore consciousness and hearing had returned. I then
heard him speak more emphatically, but I could not see, speak or
move. I heard him again say, ‘Do try—now do.’ Then I saw the
instruments dimly, then Mr. Coxwell, and very shortly saw clearly. I
rose in my seat and looked round, as though waking from sleep,
though not refreshed by sleep, and said to Mr. Coxwell, ‘I have been
insensible;’ he said, ‘You have; and I, too, very nearly.’ I then drew up
my legs, which had been extended before me, and took a pencil in my
hand to begin observations. Mr. Coxwell told me he had lost the use of
his hands, which were black, and I poured brandy on them.
“I resumed my observations at 2 h. 7 m., recording the barometer
reading at 11.53 inches, and temperature −2°. I suppose three or four

minutes were occupied from the time of my hearing the words
‘temperature’ and ‘observation’ till I began to observe; if so, then
returning consciousness came at 2 h. and 4 m., and this gives seven
minutes for total insensibility. I found the water in the vessel supplying
the wet-bulb thermometer, which I had by frequent disturbances kept
from freezing, was one solid mass of ice; and it did not all melt until
after we had been on the ground some time.
“Mr. Coxwell told me that whilst in the ring he felt it piercingly
cold; that hoar-frost was all round the neck of the balloon. On
attempting to leave the ring he found his hands frozen, and he had to
place his arms on the ring and drop down; that he thought for a
moment I had laid back to rest myself; that he spoke to me without
eliciting a reply; that he then noticed my legs projected and my arms
hung down by my side; that my countenance was serene and placid,
without the earnestness and anxiety he had noticed before going into
the ring, and then it struck him I was insensible. He wished to
approach me, but could not, and he felt insensibility coming over
himself; that he became anxious to open the valve, but in consequence
of having lost the use of his hands he could not, and ultimately did so
by seizing the cord with his teeth and dipping his head two or three
times until the balloon took a decided turn downwards. This act is
quite characteristic of Mr. Coxwell. I have never yet seen him without
a ready means of meeting every difficulty, as it has arisen, with a cool
self-possession that has always left my mind perfectly easy, and given
me every confidence in his judgment in the management of so large a
balloon.
“No inconvenience followed the insensibility; and when we dropped
it was in a country where no conveyance of any kind could be
obtained, so that I had to walk between seven or eight miles.
“The descent was at first very rapid; we passed downwards three
miles in nine minutes; the balloon’s career was then checked, and we
finally descended in the center of a large grass-field belonging to Mr.
Kersall, at Cold Weston, seven-and-a-half miles from Ludlow.
“I have already said that my last observation was made at a height of
29,000 feet; at this time (1 h. 45 m.) we were ascending at the rate of

1,000 feet per minute; and when I resumed observations we were
descending at the rate of 2,000 feet per minute. These two positions
must be connected, taking into account the interval of time between,
viz. 13 minutes, and on those considerations the balloon must have
attained the altitude of 36,000 or 37,000 feet. Again, a very delicate
minimum thermometer read—12, and this would give a height of
37,000 feet. Mr. Coxwell, on coming from the ring, noticed that the
center of the aneroid barometer, its blue hand, and a rope attached to
the car, were all in the same straight line, and this gave a reading of 7
inches, and leads to the same result. Therefore these independent
means all lead to about the same elevation, viz. fully SEVEN MILES.
“In this ascent six pigeons were taken up. One was thrown out at the
height of three miles, when it extended its wings and dropped as a
piece of paper; a second, at four and five miles, and it fell downward
as a stone. A fourth was thrown out at four miles on descending. It
flew in a circle, and shortly alighted on the top of the balloon. The two
remaining pigeons were brought down to the ground. One was found
to be dead, and the other, a ‘carrier,’ was still living, but would not
leave the hand when I attempted to throw it off, till after a quarter of an
hour it began to peck a piece of ribbon which encircled its neck, and
was then jerked off the finger, and flew with some vigor toward
Wolverhampton. One of the pigeons returned to Wolverhampton on
Sunday the 7th, and it is the only one that has been heard of.”

This was the loftiest ascent ever made up to that time; and thus Glaisher,
or rather Coxwell, who was in the ring above him, could be called the
“highest man” of the first century of aëronautics. Their greatest elevation,
however, is now generally estimated at much less than seven miles, and
probably below six miles, due allowance being made for inaccuracies of
estimate made by Mr. Glaisher. His results, nevertheless, were considered
valuable, revealing as they did, that the balloon may be used safely up to
the neighborhood of five miles; that the temperature of the atmosphere does
not, as previously supposed, decline one degree for each 300 feet of ascent,
but often declines more rapidly, and sometimes even increases with the
elevation for considerable stretches; that the moisture percentage is
extremely slight at an altitude beyond five miles; that at all elevations

attainable by man the dry- and wet-bulb thermometers can be used
effectively, etc.
A still loftier ascent was made by Professor Berson of Germany, aided by
the respiration of oxygen. On July 31, 1901, accompanied by Dr. Süring, he
ascended from Berlin in the balloon Preussen to an elevation of 10,800
meters, which at present constitutes the world’s record for altitude. The
balloon had a capacity of 300,000 cubic feet, and left the ground two thirds
filled with hydrogen, and carrying 8,000 pounds of ballast in the form of
sand bags attached to the sides of the basket, so that they could be cut loose
with the slightest physical effort.
The Preussen was one of the largest passive balloons ever constructed. In
cubic capacity it was comparable with the colossal Montgolfière, La
Flesselle, already described, and the huge free balloon Le Geant,
constructed by Nadar in 1863. But all were eclipsed by the great balloon of
Henri Giffard. This latter measured 450,000 cubic feet, and even to-day
ranks as the largest captive balloon ever constructed. It was a familiar
object at the Paris Exposition of 1878, where it was installed by the famous
inventor Henri Giffard, to give sightseers a bird’s-eye view of Paris. It could
take up forty persons at one time, or eight more than once ascended in
Nadar’s Geant.
No serious attempt has been made to surpass the altitude flight of
Professor Berson and Dr. Süring; for though it is easily possible to carry
human beings to a greater height than seven miles, the results seem hardly
to justify the cost. To ascend very much higher would require an enormous
and costly balloon, and to ensure the comfort of the passenger might require
an air-tight car, or armor supplied continuously with fresh air, or oxygen.
Such a suit, or car, however, can be made very light, since its pressure must
naturally be internal; and it would admit of an extremely rapid change of
elevation without discomfort to the passenger. A steel bottle weighing fifty
pounds, and filled with compressed air, or oxygen, would supply a
passenger several hours, and allow him to breathe under normal pressure.
The total weight of a bottle and air-tight car, or suit, need not exceed the
weight of a man. Moreover, the ballast could be largely dispensed with, thus
admitting of a very rapid ascent from the earth. A celluloid car would have
the advantage of transparency, though it might become too brittle at very
low temperatures. A suit, or car, with glass portholes would serve in lieu of

a celluloid car for transparency. The usual balloon and basket, carrying a
steel bottle, furnishing air at normal pressure to a man in a rubberized silk
suit is a sufficiently simple and practicable device; the air entering the suit
near his mouth and leaving below through a check valve regulated to
maintain the desired internal pressure. An air-tight silk fabric capable of
enduring safely a tensile stress of 150 pounds per running inch would
answer the purposes. But at present there seems to be no incentive to
attempt a balloon trip exceeding the heights already attained, unless it be
that of notoriety or sentiment.
The French meteorologists have devised a much simpler and cheaper
method of exploring the upper atmosphere, by use of small balloons
carrying recording instruments. An ordinary silk or gold-beater skin
balloon, partly inflated, ascends to a great height with the instruments, drifts
away losing gas, and on landing is found by some one who returns it
according to written directions accompanying the craft. Another method,
introduced by Professor Assman, is to employ closed rubber balloons which
at great altitudes burst by the expansion of the hydrogen within them, and
allow the instruments to descend in parachutes softly to the ground.
Instrument-carrying balloons of the above type are called “sounding
balloons,” or balloons sondes, whereas if they carry no instruments, but
merely show the course of the wind, they may be called “pilot balloons.”
Such sounding balloons have been used to explore the temperature of the
atmosphere to an altitude of 18 miles.
In the preceding pages some extended balloon voyages have been
described. These were considered very long in their day, but in recent years
have been surpassed frequently, first by the professional aëronauts, then by
the amateurs and members of various aëronautic clubs practicing
aërostation as a sport, and stimulated by attractive prizes. But the man who
achieved the longest balloon flight during the first century of the art, seems
to have been Mr. John Wise, America’s foremost pioneer balloonist.
Mr. Wise was a rare composite of showman, scientist, sport and dare-
devil, who during the four decades succeeding his first ascension at
Philadelphia in 1835, made no fewer than 440 voyages. At first the aërial art
captivated him by the beauty and sublimity of the natural panoramas
witnessed from on high; then he amused himself by dropping things from
the basket and hearing them whistle through space; and finally he coquetted

with the balloon itself, in various ways to observe the result. On one
occasion the neck was choked and the valve could not be operated, so that
when the hydrogen expanded with increasing altitude, it overstretched the
cover and started a rent in the side of the bag. The balloon descended
rapidly, but landed without injurious shock.
The audacious aëronaut then decided to make an ascension and
deliberately burst the balloon, by confining the gas in it and throwing out
ballast. But first he tried the experiment on a dog, taking him up 4,000 feet,
dropping him in a small collapsed balloon and watching him settle slowly
to earth. Then rising to an altitude of 13,000 feet he stood debating whether
to follow the example of the dog. The balloon quickly ended the question
by exploding at the top. The hydrogen rushed out with a tempestuous
sound, and the great vessel sank swiftly with a moaning noise of the wind in
her rigging. In a few seconds the bag was empty and collapsed on the top of
the net thus forming an effective parachute. After an exciting fall of more
than two miles, Mr. Wise landed on a farm, with a lively thump, which
overturned the basket, and threw him sprawling on the ground. It was fine
sport; he decided at once to advertise a repetition of it, and thus was led by
degrees to the invention of the ripping panel.[7]
Mr. Wise firmly believed that a steady wind from west to east prevails at
a height of two miles. He wished to use this for long voyages, and even
contemplated crossing the Atlantic; for he trusted his varnish to hold
hydrogen a fortnight if need be. Accordingly in 1873 the New York Daily
Graphic paid the cost of a balloon to carry him and two others on that
hazardous voyage. The bag had a capacity of 400,000 cubic feet, but was
too frail in construction to receive Mr. Wise’s approval, and actually burst
during inflation when slightly more than three fourths full. Fortunately,
perhaps, for Mr. Wise, he never had an opportunity to attempt the trans-
Atlantic voyage; but on one occasion he enjoyed a memorable cruise in the
great west wind which so took his fancy. Rising from St. Louis on June 23,
1859, he sailed northeastwardly for twenty hours, and landed at Henderson,
N. Y., having traversed a distance of 809 miles, measured directly. But in
attempting another long voyage with two companions, in September, 1879,
he passed over Lake Michigan, where all were drowned.
In recent years Mr. Wise’s long voyage has been exceeded several times.
In 1897 M. Godard sailed from Leipsic to Wilna, a distance of 1,032 miles

in 24½ hours; but this was not an official flight nor in a direct course as the
crow flies. In October, 1900, M. Balsan voyaged from Vincennes, France,
to Rodom, Russia, a distance of 843 miles in 27 hours and 25 minutes, and
De la Vaulx starting from the same point landed at Korosticheff, Russia,
having traversed 1,193 miles in 35¾ hours. This latter is the longest balloon
flight thus far recorded. A close second to this record was made by A. R.
Hawley in his spherical balloon America, aided by Augustus Post, in the
Gordon Bennett International Balloon Race of 1910. Sailing from St. Louis,
October 17th, they drifted 1,172.9 miles from their starting point, and
landed in a great forest at Peribonka River, North Lake Chilogoma, Canada,
where they were lost for several days.

Fig. 12.—Diagram of a Modern Spherical Balloon with Ripping Panel.

Quite as eventful was the ocean voyage of Walter Wellman, who left
Atlantic City October 15, 1910, for Europe in a motor balloon with a drag
rope, or equilibrator, voyaged with favorable wind to a point 140 miles
northeast of Nantucket Island, then was driven by adverse wind toward
Bermuda, and finally rescued by a passing steamer, after 69 hours in the air
and a journey of about one thousand miles. A full account of this strange

voyage is given in the New York Times of October 19, 1910, and in the
Scientific American of subsequent date.
The recent advances in aërostation, though not radically changing the
balloon itself, contribute much to its usefulness and convenience.
Improvements have occurred in the means of inflation and deflation, in
devices for making topographical and meteorological observations, as also
for transmitting and receiving signals. Hydrogen shipped in steel tubes is
now available for easy and rapid inflation, the process of obtaining it on a
large scale making it practically as cheap as illuminating gas. The ripping
panel, invented in 1844 by America’s foremost pioneer aëronaut, John
Wise, is a simple and an excellent practical device. This is a long patch
running longitudinally above the equator[8] of the balloon, feebly sewed to
the envelope, and having a cord, called the “ripping cord,” extending down
to the car along the outside or inside of the bag, so that the pilot on coming
to earth can let out the gas quickly by tearing a rent in the balloon, thus
flattening it promptly on the earth’s surface, so as to avoid dragging and
bumping if any wind prevails. During an ascension the rise or fall of the
vessel may be instantly noted on the dial of the statoscope, the temperature,
pressure and moisture of the atmosphere may be read on recording
instruments, messages may be sent by telegraph and telephone either by
wire or through space, and sky or landscape may be photographed if there
be sufficient light. The bag itself has been improved by making it of special
fabrics formed of several layers of silk, or cotton, with thin layers of rubber
vulcanized between them to render the cloth impermeable, also the bag,
when not designed to cleave the wind, is usually given a spherical form
which is the figure of greatest volume for a given surface, the figure
originally used by the inventor of the gas balloon; but when designed to be
tethered in a wind, it is given a longish shape and a tail so that it may ride
the wind like a kite. This type of balloon, though first proposed by Douglass
Archibald about 1845, was first made a practical invention by Captain von
Sigsfeld and Major von Parseval. In a certain sense it is a tethered motor-
balloon, just as a kite is a tethered aëroplane.

CHAPTER III
EARLY HISTORY OF POWER BALLOONS

Directly after the first launching of human passengers in a crude
aërostat, numerous schemes for controlling the course of a balloon were
evolved. Apparently mere flotation afforded less contentment to the early
pioneer aëronauts than to the free balloonists of the present hour. Many
were eager to apply propelling mechanism to their gas bags, expecting thus
to achieve practical locomotion through the air, even a generation before the
advent of practical steam navigation. Magnificent dreams they had, indeed,
but none the less futile. Few suspected the enormous power required to
propel swift balloons of the very best shape and size; still fewer realized the
impossibility of driving spherical bags at a practicable velocity.
On the other hand, it must be said, to the credit of that era of
investigators, that certain noted scientists, after computing the power
required to drive a balloon at high speed, promptly recognized the
inadequacy to that task, of any motors then available. In conjunction with
favorable aërial currents something might be effected; that they fully
grasped; for they knew that the wind frequently has different directions at
different levels. They believed, therefore, that by causing the craft to rise or
fall to a suitable stratum, by use of various then known devices, it could be
made to travel in any direction at the will of the pilot. Likewise they
deemed that the rise and fall of a balloon, due to change of buoyancy, could
be used to propel it, if sails attached to the vessel were set obliquely to the
motion, so as to receive fair pressure; or if the balloon were made flat, or
longish, so as to glide horizontally, like a kite or parachute.
Several devices for changing the altitude of the balloon were proposed or
tried. If the vessel were a Montgolfière, the mere increase or lessening of
the fire would promptly cause it to rise or fall. If a gas bag were employed it
could be sent up or down by casting out ballast or opening the valve; or
again, as proposed by Pilâtre de Roziere, by having a Montgolfière
underneath the gas balloon, and lifting or depressing the whole by altering

the intensity of the flame. Finally, an air balloon within a gas balloon was
proposed by the Roberts, and a gas balloon within an air balloon was
proposed by General Meusnier, in either of which combinations, a change
of level could be effected by pumping air into, or letting it escape from, the
air bag. All of these devices can be effected and practically operated by a
competent balloon maker and pilot; and yet they have not enabled man to
realize his dream of navigating the air in all directions without motive
power.
The first attempts at balloon propulsion could not be seriously regarded
by trained engineers, even at the inception of aëronautics; but still, as
infantile steps in the new art, they may deserve passing notice.
Blanchard, on March 2, 1784, made the first real effort to steer a balloon,
using for that purpose a spherical gas bag and car provided with aërial oars
and a rudder. As he was about to ascend, however, from the Champs de
Mars, a young officer with drawn sword persisted in accompanying the
pilot, thus compelling Blanchard to leave his wings on earth to allow
sufficient buoyancy for himself and his obtrusive guest. His first trial was,
therefore, frustrated; but subsequent ones made with that inadequate
contrivance also proved futile under the best circumstances; for the scheme
was evidently puerile, though tried by various grown-up men besides M.
Blanchard.

Fig. 13.—Blanchard’s Dirigible Balloon, 1784.

A no less simple and quaint device for propulsion was that of the two
physicists, the Abbé Miolan and Janinet. The balloon was a Montgolfière
with a large hole in one side, through which the hot air was to escape with
such strong reaction as to drive the bag forward, on the principle of a lawn

sprinkler, or of Newton’s reaction wagon. The projectors failed, however, to
make an ascent, and the crowd becoming furious destroyed the balloon.
A more reasonable plan for practical navigation was devised and tried by
the Robert brothers. A melon-shaped balloon, fifty-two feet long by thirty-
two feet in diameter, was made of silk and inflated with pure hydrogen.
Beneath was suspended a longish car of light wood covered with sky-blue
silk. This elegant ship was to be rowed through heaven by means of six
silken oars actuated by sturdy sailors. A silken rudder should guide her at
pleasure when the winds were asleep, or softly playing in the placid sky.
She was a fairy bark, indeed, a soaring castle lovely to behold.
After a preliminary trial, accompanied by their patron, the Duke de
Chartres, they were ready for a substantial journey. On September 19, 1784,
the vessel was inflated and taken to the Garden of the Tuileries, in front of
the palace, where its cords were held by Marshall Richelieu and three other
noblemen. At eleven forty-five the two Roberts and their brother-in-law
arose and drifted beyond the horizon on a seven hours’ cruise. Before
coming to earth, they plied the oars vigorously, and described a curve of
one kilometer radius, thus deviating 22° from the feeble wind then
prevailing. In a lighter wind they could deviate still more. They considered,
therefore, that the experiment was a complete success. They had
constructed the first elongated balloon, and had “solved the problem of
aërial navigation.” In very happy mood, therefore, they landed at dusk
among the delighted inhabitants of Artois, where they were graciously met
and hospitably entertained by the Prince de Ghistelles-Richbourg.

Fig. 14.—Robert Brothers’ Dirigible, 1784.

The Robert brothers were the first to employ in practice an air bag inside
a gas bag. This was held within the balloon by ropes and connected with the
outer atmosphere by a tube, the idea being to regulate the internal pressure
of the balloon by introducing air into, or withdrawing it from, the smaller
bag. But during an ascension with their patron, the Duke de Chartres, they

entered a violent eddy which tore away the oars and rudder, at the same
time agitating the balloon so violently that the internal air bag broke its
sustaining cords and fell upon the bottom of the gas bag, thus throttling the
connection with the external atmosphere. The vessel rose swiftly and the
gas expanded dangerously near to the bursting pressure. At a height of
16,000 feet the Duke de Chartres, perceiving the imminent danger of an
explosion of the envelope, drew his sword and cut a rent ten feet long in its
lower part. A part of the gas immediately rushed forth, and the balloon sank
rapidly, but after the discharge of the ballast, landed safely without further
mishap. The Duke acted wisely enough, but he was afterwards ridiculed for
his apparent lack of courage. If he had possessed more bravery and less
caution he might have allowed the balloon to burst and descend as a
parachute, thus anticipating the spectacular performance of John Wise, in
1838.
Simultaneously other inventors were evolving designs of no less
importance in the ultimate perfection of the dirigible. In a letter written to
Benjamin Franklin on May 24, 1784, Francis Hopkinson of Philadelphia
proposed to build a balloon of spindle shape and to drive it by means of a
wheel-like propeller at the stern, consisting of vanes set at an angle to the
line of progression, like the common smokejack. This proposed craft, the
harbinger of the modern screw-driven motor balloon, far antedated the
screw-driven boat and the submarine torpedo which it most resembles.[9]
While Blanchard and other aëronauts were paddling their globose bags in
search of favorable winds, vainly hoping thereby to direct their course in
the air, General Meusnier of the French army, and member of the Academy
of Sciences, made a systematic study of the requirements for practical air
navigation. After some research on forms suitable for aëronautic hulls, he
designed a power balloon having a pointed car suspended from a bag of
goose-egg form, this latter embodying his idea of the best shape for a
balloon that must cleave the air swiftly and resist deformation. The
propulsion was to be effected by means of three coaxial screw propellers,
supported on the rigging between car and bag, and actuated by eighty men,
for lack of a light artificial motor. He thus hoped to obtain a moderate
velocity which, combined with skillfully selected air currents, would enable
the ship to reach her destination in ordinary weather.

Fig. 15.—Gen. Meusnier’s Proposed Dirigible, 1784.

General Meusnier introduced important special features in the design of
dirigibles for preserving their form and poise. He insisted that the bag and
boat should be so rigidly connected that one could not swerve from
alignment and relative position with the other. He also emphasized the
necessity of preserving the vessel from deformation during flight, in order
to diminish its resistance. To that end he proposed to provide the hull with a
double envelope, the inner one thin and light but impermeable to hydrogen;
the outer one strong and air-tight; the space between the two envelopes to
be pumped full of air under pressure sufficient to preserve the form of the

bag when beating its way swiftly against a buffeting wind. This was an
important invention which in later years was adopted in many of the most
powerful motor balloons—for all, indeed, except those of the rigid type. He
also proposed the use of stabilizing planes to control the poise of the vessel,
thus anticipating the Lebaudy brothers by more than a century. Like the
Robert brothers he proposed to raise or lower the vessel in search of
suitable currents, by altering the quantity of air in the space between the
inner and outer envelope, by use of hand bellows.
Apparently General Meusnier and his colleagues were endowed with
constructive genius sufficient to have developed a practical motor balloon,
had they been able to secure a light engine. Lacking this the early aëronauts
could do little more than describe their projects, and await the growth of the
collateral arts and sciences. Accordingly no substantial advance in motor
balloons beyond Meusnier’s designs was effected till after the middle of the
nineteenth century; and until then the art of aëronautics remained in the
hands of showmen. Hundreds of projects, indeed, were advanced, some
exciting considerable interest and expectation, but nevertheless of such
paltry value as hardly to deserve comment. One notable exception to these
was the invention of Porter in America.
In 1820 Rufus Porter, a Yankee inventor, and later the original founder of
the Scientific American, patented an air ship of very promising appearance
for that early day. Its hull was a long, finely tapering symmetrical spindle,
suspending a car of similar shape by means of cords, which were vertical at
its middle but more and more slanting toward its ends. Midway between the
hull and car was a large screw propeller actuated by a steam engine in the
car. A model of this dirigible exhibited in Boston and New York, some years
later, is reported to have carried its own power, at fair speed, and to have
obeyed its helm satisfactorily.

Fig. 16.—Rufus Porter’s Dirigible, 1820.

The inventor, being too poor to develop his air ship alone, did little with
the patent during its life; but in 1850 he organized a stock company to
realize the needed funds. From the sale of 300 five-dollar shares he
expected to raise $1,500, and with this sum build an “aëroport,” 150 feet
long, capable of carrying five persons sixty miles an hour, the whole to be
completed in six weeks. Once this was in operation he would easily
command funds sufficient to build a full-sized vessel adapted to regular
passenger service. For, after careful calculation, he reported that: “It appears
certain that a safe and durable aërial ship (or aëroport) capable of carrying
150 passengers at a speed of ninety miles an hour, with more perfect safety
than either steamboat or railroad cars, may be constructed for $15,000, and
that the expense of running it would not exceed $25 per day.”
The language and project seem very modern, even at the present time,
and might well be copied now by a promoter of that identical project. But it
must be observed that the most successful European experimenters, after
spending hundreds of thousands of dollars on giant air ships, have not yet
attained one half the speed contemplated by that ambitious and chimerical
Yankee. The picture was handsome and alluring, none the less. It may even
be said to excel in outward design any of the air-ship plans produced in
either hemisphere before the middle of the nineteenth century.
In 1850 a clockmaker and skillful workman, Jullien by name, exhibited
in the Hippodrome, at Paris, a torpedo-shaped model balloon of gold-
beater’s skin, provided with a screw propeller at either side of its bow, and a
double rudder at its stern. It measured 23 feet in length and weighed 1,100
grammes complete. The propellers were actuated by spring power, and
proved able to drive the tiny vessel against a moderate wind. The most
suitable form for the bag was determined by towing models through water.

Fig. 17.—Jullien’s Model Dirigible, 1850.

Aërodynamically considered, this tiny motor balloon was by far the best
in design of any that appeared during the first century of aëronautics. It may
be regarded as the harbinger of the swiftest modern French balloons. It was

also an inspiration to Henri Giffard who assisted Jullien in constructing his
clever model, and shortly afterwards built the first dirigible ever driven by a
heat engine.
The illustrious Henri Giffard was perhaps the first aëronautical engineer
adequately endowed and circumstanced to realize, on a practical scale,
General Meusnier’s well pondered and truly scientific plans for a motor
balloon. He had studied in the college of Bourbon, and had worked in the
railroad shops of the Paris and St. Germain railway. He had further
equipped himself by making free balloon ascensions, under the auspices of
Eugene Godard, for the purpose of studying the atmosphere; and by
building light engines, one of which weighed 100 pounds, and developed
three horse power. Finally in 1851 he patented an air ship, consisting of an
elongated bag and car, propelled by a screw driven by a steam engine. He
had not the means to build such a vessel, but he had the genius and training
necessary to construct it, and at the same time enough enthusiasm and
persuasive power to induce his friends, David and Sciama, to loan him the
requisite funds.

Fig. 18.—Giffard’s Steam Dirigible, 1852.

Giffard’s first dirigible was successful in both design and operation. It
consisted of a spindle-shaped bag covered with a net whose cords were
drawn down and attached to a horizontal pole, from which the car and
motor were suspended, and at the end of which was a triangular sail serving
as a rudder. To guard against fire, the furnace of the vertical coke-burning
boiler was shielded by wire gauze, like a miner’s lamp, and the draft, taken
from its top through a downward pointing smoke pipe, was ejected below
the car by force of exhaust steam, from the engine, thus obviating, as
Giffard asserted, all danger from the use of fire near an inflammable gas.
The car hung twenty feet below the suspension pole, and carried a three
horse-power engine driving a three-blade propeller 11 feet in diameter,
making 110 turns a minute. The motor complete, including the engine and
boiler without supplies, weighed 110 pounds per horse power. The bag
measured 143 feet long, 39 feet in diameter, and 75,000 cubic feet in
volume. Giffard reports of his first voyage, made from the Hippodrome in
Paris at five fifteen o’clock, September 23, 1852, that although he could not
sail directly against the strong wind then blowing, he could attain a speed of
six to ten feet per second relatively to the air, and he could easily guide the
vessel by turning her rudder. He continued his journey till nightfall, then
made a good landing, near Trappes, and by ten o’clock was back in Paris.
This vessel was but a prelude to mightier projects. After some further
experience with dirigibles of moderate size, Giffard designed a colossal air
ship calculated for a speed of forty-four miles an hour. Its hull was to be of
torpedo shape, measuring 2,000 feet in length, 100 feet in diameter, and
7,000,000 cubic feet in volume. It was a most audacious project, one
worthy of the genius and energy of that illustrious engineer, the most
original and daring inventor known in the aëronautical world during the
nineteenth century.
Stimulated by this huge enterprise, Giffard’s first step was to pay his
debts and make a fortune. He soon acquired a hundred thousand francs from
the sale of small high-speed engines of his own construction, and with this,
settled his account with David and Sciama. Next he realized several million
francs from his world-famous injector, a device by which steam flowing
from a boiler is made to drive in feed-water against the same pressure.
He now made definite plans to build a motor balloon of one and a half
million cubic feet capacity, driven by a condensing engine drawing steam

from two boilers, one fired with oil, the other with gas from the balloon, so
as to keep the vessel from rising with loss of weight. His designs were
complete, and everything was provided for. He had deposited a million
francs in the Bank of Paris to defray the estimated cost. But, in the words of
Tissandier,[10] “above the human will and foresight are the fatal laws of
destiny to which the strongest must submit.” The great inventor was visited
with a painful affliction of the eyes; his sight waned, unfitting him for work;
he became disconsolate, pined away with pain and grief, and in 1882 ended
his life by taking chloroform.
Giffard was succeeded in France, first by Dupuy de Lome; then by
Gaston Tissandier, well-meaning projectors of steerable balloons, but too
cautious to effect an important advance in the art. The first of these
gentlemen, an eminent marine engineer, in 1872, completed a gas balloon
for the French government, resembling the one designed by General
Meusnier in 1784, and like that also driven by muscular power actuating a
screw, and kept rigidly inflated by use of an internal balloon, or ballonet.
The car was suspended from the bag by a close fitting cover instead of a
net, in order to lessen the resistance, and it was kept in alignment by use of
crossed suspension cords. A speed of but six miles an hour was attained by
the industrious work of eight men operating an ample screw propeller. A
decade later Tissandier, with a balloon of like design, but driven by the
power of an electric motor and bichromate of potash battery, attained a
speed of six to eight miles an hour.

Fig. 19.—Dupuy de Lome’s Dirigible, 1872.

The two vessels were safe but of no practical value, for lack of sufficient
power to cope with the wind. Their motors were fundamentally unadapted
to the purpose of swift propulsion, and incapable of development to very
great lightness and strength. Furthermore, the vessels themselves were
unsuitably designed for speed; their shape being one of too much resistance,
and their dynamic balance being that of a pendulum, or clumsy parachute,
rather than that of a vessel adapted to cleave the air with celerity, grace and
steadiness. If there had been danger of fire from placing the motor and
screw near the gas bag, that might justify or excuse the clumsiness of
design in the craft of De Lome and of Gaston Tissandier; but, having
perfectly safe motors, it is astonishing that they did not place the center of
mass and the line of thrust more nearly in the line of resistance. This
obvious requirement was duly recognized by several of their
contemporaries, notably by Hänlein in Germany, and by Captain Renard of
the French War Department, and had been observed by Jullien.
Captain Charles Renard proved to be a worthy inheritor of the dreams,
experience and inventions of the first century of aëronautical votaries. He

did not, indeed, have the picturesque madness displayed by some of his
predecessors; he did not project schemes of marvelous originality or
boldness; but he manifested uncommonly good judgment and excellent
scientific method in combining the researches and contrivances of others
with those of himself and his collaborator, Captain Krebs. As a consequence
they produced the first man-carrying dirigible that ever returned against the
wind to its starting point, and the first aërial vessel whose shape and
dynamic adjustment even approximated the requirements of steady and
swift navigation in a surrounding medium presenting various conditions of
turbulence or calm. Captain Renard had been studying and designing
dirigibles since 1878 in coöperation with Captain La Haye and Colonel
Laussedat, president of an aëronautic commission appointed by the Minister
of War; and had endeavored to secure from the latter an appropriation
sufficient to construct a dirigible; but his request was at first denied, owing
to the waste of funds on similar projects in 1870. However, with the help of
Gambetta, who promised a sum of $40,000, Renard was enabled to proceed.
In the meantime he had been made director of the laboratory at Chalais
Meudon, seconded by Captain Krebs.

Fig. 20.—Renard’s Dirigible, La France, 1884.

These officers first worked out the separate elements in the design of
their motor balloon before proceeding to build on a practical scale. They
chose the torpedo form for their gas bag, thereby ensuring in the hull itself,
projectile stability, and diminution of resistance. They placed the car near
the envelope, thus minimizing the disturbing moment of the screw thrust,
and the resistance of the suspension cords. They employed an
extraordinarily powerful electric motor actuating a large screw so as to
obtain a strong thrust with the least effort. In addition they adopted the best
ideas of their predecessors in aëronautical design; the internal ballonet of
Meusnier, and the close fitting cover of De Lome, with crossed suspension
cords. But unfortunately they used an electric motor instead of some light
engine. Finally, having carefully computed its requisite dimensions, they
proceeded to construct the elegant air ship, La France, which was tested in
1884 and aroused anew the hope of ultimately conquering the air.
Further details of this successful ship are of interest. Its hull was 165 feet
long, 27.5 feet in greatest diameter, at one fourth the distance from its front

end, and cubed 66,000 feet, thus having a buoyancy of two long tons. It was
kept rigid under varying conditions, by means of a ballonet filled with air
driven in by a common fan blower coupled to the motor. Beneath the
envelope, a long narrow rectangular car made of bamboo, covered with silk,
was suspended from the cords of the balloon cover which embraced the hull
throughout nearly its entire length. The car was 108 feet long and 6 to 7 feet
across, carried at its forward end the propeller, at its rear a rectangular
rudder, and between them the aëronauts and the batteries and electric motor.
A sliding weight was used to alter the poise of the ship, and a guide-rope to
soften its descent.
The electric motor and battery which furnished the propulsive power
were designed expressly for such use, and were considered at the time to be
remarkably light and effective. The motor, which was designed with the
assistance of M. Gramme, weighed 220.5 pounds, and developed nine horse
power. The battery, composed of chlorochromic cells, was the result of the
researches of Renard himself. Having made a careful study of the best
geometrical arrangement of the parts of the cell, Renard found that this
battery would deliver to the shaft one horse power for each eighty-eight
pounds of its weight. Thus the power plant rivaled in lightness the steam
engine of Giffard, and at the same time was free from danger; but
apparently it could not be much reduced in weight, whereas Giffard’s
steam-power plant could be reduced tenfold, as shown by Renard’s
contemporaries.
The trials of La France in 1884–85 were most successful and
encouraging; not that they represented or pointed to the complete mastery
of aërial navigation, but because they so far surpassed all previous
achievements. The vessel moved through the air as steadily as a boat on the
water, and obeyed her rudder perfectly, heading against the wind, or at any
angle to it, or turning entirely about, at the will of the aëronauts. On her first
voyage from Chalais, August 9, 1884, she traversed a distance of four and
one half miles in twenty minutes, made various evolutions in the air with
the greatest ease, and returned to her point of departure. The following
account of this voyage is given by Renard:

“As soon as we had reached the top of the wooded plateaus which
surround the valley of Chalais, we started the screw, and had the

satisfaction of seeing the balloon immediately obey it and readily
follow every turn of the rudder. We felt that we were absolutely
masters of our own movements, and that we could traverse the
atmosphere in any direction as easily as a steam launch could make its
evolutions on a calm lake. After having accomplished our purpose, we
turned our head toward the point of departure and we soon saw it
approaching it. The walls of the park of Chalais were passed anew, and
our landing appeared at our feet, about 1,000 feet below the car. The
screw was then slowed down, and a pull at the safety-valve started the
descent, during which, by means of the propeller and rudder, the
balloon was maintained directly over the point where our assistants
awaited us. Everything occurred according to our plan, and the car was
soon resting quietly on the lawn.”

Six other similar voyages were made within the two years following, and
we have as a result, that in five out of the seven trials, the balloon returned
to its point of departure. Its failure to return in the other two trials was due,
in the one case, to the breaking down of the motor; in the other, to the
resistance of a strong wind which made it necessary to land at a distance
from the starting point. The last of these remarkable voyages was performed
in presence of the Minister of War, on September 23, 1885. The balloon
started from Calais and sailed against the wind directly to Paris, passed over
the fortifications, described a graceful curve and returned to its place of
departure, recording an average speed of 14.5 miles an hour.
The torpedo form of hull, chosen by Renard and Krebs, has two
important advantages; one is projectile stability, the other is economy of
propulsive power. Owing to the blunt bow and long tapering stern, the
center of mass is well forward, while the center of side wind pressure is
more to the rear. As a consequence, if the vessel should encounter a
quartering wind-gust, or have her nose slightly turned from the course, she
would promptly right herself like a dart or an arrow. If on the contrary, the
hull were a symmetrical spindle, the vessel would move forward in unstable
equilibrium, and, once slightly diverted from her course, would tend to
deviate further, like an arrow with unloaded head.
The second advantage mentioned is also worth attention, viz.: that at
ordinary transportation speeds a longish spindle has less resistance with a

blunt bow than with a very sharp one. Renard and Krebs did not account for
this fact; but the present writer, by determining separately the skin friction
and the impactual resistance of the air, proved that in sharpening the bow
beyond a certain best form, its friction increases faster than its head
resistance diminishes, the most suitable shape being that of a torpedo whose
nose has a radius of curvature of about two diameters, and its stern a radius
of about twelve diameters.
While the successors of Giffard in France were thus engaged in
developing dirigibles driven by muscular or electric power, a few German
experimenters were applying gas and benzine engines to such vessels, with
better promise of ultimate practical success and usefulness. The first of
these was Hänlein, who in 1872 advanced the meritorious project of driving
a well shaped balloon by means of a gas engine taking its fuel from inside
the balloon, and making good the loss by pumping air into the ballonet.
This balloon was of far better design for swiftness and kinetic stability than
the contemporary one of Dupuy de Lome. Its hull was a well pointed
cylinder 164 feet long, 30 feet in diameter and of 85,000 cubic feet capacity,
made air-tight by a thick coating of rubber inside, and a thin one outside.
The car was rigidly suspended near the envelope and carried a 6 horse-
power Lenoir gas engine actuating a large screw. Notwithstanding that the
buoyancy was small, owing to the use of coal gas, this air ship attained a
speed of 15 feet per second. By employing hydrogen, a much larger engine
could have been carried, entailing a much swifter speed. During its trial the
balloon was kept near the earth’s surface, held loosely by ropes in the hands
of soldiers. The air ship was remarkably successful for that early date, and
had the potency of greater achievement than its contemporaries in France;
but owing to lack of funds its capabilities were not fully developed. If it had
been inflated with hydrogen, and propelled by use of gas and petrol, so that
the loss of weight would compensate for the loss of buoyancy, it might have
anticipated the speed and endurance of the best air ships built toward the
close of the nineteenth century, or later.

PLATE II.

HAENLEIN’S GAS-DRIVEN DIRIGIBLE.

WÖLFERT’S BENZINE-DRIVEN DIRIGIBLE.

SANTOS-DUMONT’S DIRIGIBLE, NO. 16.
Photo E. Levick, N. Y.

In 1879, Baumgarten and Wölfert in Germany built a dirigible equipped
with a Daimler benzine motor, but otherwise not possessing any special
merit. An ascension was made at Leipsic in 1880, but owing to improper
load distribution the vessel reared on end and crashed to earth. After further
experiments, an ascension was made on the Templehofer field, near Berlin,
in 1897, but this ended disastrously; for the benzine vapor ignited; the fire
spread to the balloon, and the vessel fell flaming to the earth, killing
Wölfert and his assistant. Baumgarten had died some years before.
In 1897, an aluminum air ship invented by an Austrian engineer, named
Schwartz, was launched on the Templehofer field. Its hull was of cylindrical
form with conical ends, made of sheets 0.008 thick, and stiffened with an
internal frame of aluminum tubes. Being leaky and inadequately driven, it
voyaged but four miles, drifting with the wind, then fell to earth with
considerable shock. The pilot, a soldier of the Balloon Corps, escaped by
jumping, before the vessel struck ground, but the frail unbending hull was
soon demolished by the buffeting of the winds as it lay stranded on the
unyielding earth. This was the second air ship built after the plans of poor
Schwartz, the first having collapsed on inflation. He had, however, the
credit of being the first to drive a rigid air ship with a petrol motor, and thus
to inaugurate a system of aërial navigation capable of immense

development, in the hands of sufficient capital and constructive skill. Thus
the rigid type, conceived and crudely tried by Marey Monge and Dupuis
Delcourt in the early part of the century, began to approach practical
realization toward the end of the century.
The process of inflating with hydrogen such a rigid hull is interesting.
Schwartz’s plan, carried out by Captain Von Sigsfeld, was to place the
hydrogen in one or more sacs inside the hull, thus expelling the air and
filling the space, then withdrawing the sacs and leaving the hydrogen
within. A better plan is to have a single sac inflated with air just filling the
hull like the lining of an egg, then to force the gas between the lining and
metal wall of the hull, thus expelling the air from the sac, which when
completely collapsed can be removed. Practically the same result can be
obtained by use of a thin fabric covering one half the inner wall, like the
lining of an egg. Further provision can easily be made for manipulating the
ballonet in such a case.

CHAPTER IV
INTRODUCTION OF GASOLINE-DRIVEN DIRIGIBLES

We have now traced the art of balloon guidance and propulsion from its
earliest inception to the close of the nineteenth century. It was a period of
extravagant hope and chimerical scheming, but withal a period fruitful in
devices of fundamental value. The best experiments paid no dividends, but
they prepared the way for really useful vessels. The methods of
manipulation and control had been sufficiently developed to answer
immediate needs. The air ship was at least dirigible, if not practical. It kept
its shape, obeyed its rudder, rose and fell according to the operator’s will. It
was, however, a fair-weather machine, beautiful in appearance, but helpless
in any considerable wind. Speed was now the desideratum, and the
attainment of this involved new difficulties. The storm-proof balloon was
still a dream.
Naturally one inquires what velocity makes a dirigible air ship really
practical, assuming all other requirements satisfied. The minimum
allowable speed depends largely upon the locality and season. On Long
Island an assured velocity of forty to fifty miles an hour would seem
desirable; for there the winds are swift and the water near. In Washington,
or Berlin, thirty miles an hour is enough, though each additional mile per
hour must be regarded as a considerable gain on a small margin of progress
in facing a stiff breeze. Colonel Renard has estimated, from a study of the
wind records near Paris, that a dirigible is practically useful in that locality
if it can maintain a speed of twenty-eight miles an hour for ten or twelve
hours; since in that case it can maneuver 81 days in 100.
Renard’s own graceful ship attained a speed of but half that much. In
order, therefore, to give his vessel the desired usefulness its speed must be
doubled. This would require an eightfold[11] increase of motive power
without increase of weight. Evidently then the cardinal requisite was a light
durable motor of extraordinary output. Such motors fortunately were now

coming into the market, owing to the development of gasoline engines for
automobile racing.
The year 1898 witnessed the commencement of two famous systems of
navigation by the lighter than air, one in France, the other in Germany,
destined quickly to revolutionize the art, and to establish it on a practical
basis. The leading exponents of these two systems were Señor Don Alberto
Santos-Dumont, a rich young Brazilian living in Paris, and Count Ferdinand
von Zeppelin, Germany’s stanch old admiral of the air. Both achieved
success by applying the gasoline engine to the propulsion of elongated
balloons, but by very different methods. Santos-Dumont, apparently
ignoring, or fearing to adopt, the excellent hull and car designed and used
by Renard, began where Tissandier left off, with a symmetrical hull and
low-hung car, thus producing a safe aërial pendulum, if not a racing
machine; then by degrees he gradually felt his way to something more
efficient. Zeppelin began with a long cylindrical hull pointed at the ends,
rigidly framed like that of Schwartz, and supporting its car and propellers
well aloft near the line of resistance. His was a bold and effective design but
difficult to execute. Santos-Dumont scored the first success, and startled the
world by his spectacular flights; but ere long he was surpassed by other
builders of non-rigid balloons. Zeppelin won his success slowly and by
heroic perseverance in the face of enormous obstacles, finally emerging as
the most successful and illustrious figure in the history of aëronautics. The
achievements of these two pioneers and colleagues make the first decade of
the twentieth century memorable in the annals of aërial navigation.
Santos-Dumont, who spent his early years on his father’s large coffee
plantation in Brazil, had, during boyhood, dreamed of navigating the air,
and in 1897, at the age of twenty-four, made in France his first ascension in
a spherical balloon. While living at Paris during that year he gave much
time to motorcycling, automobiling and operating spherical balloons, of
which he possessed two constructed after his own ideas; one, the smallest in
the world, designed for solitary voyages, the other large enough for more
than one person, intended for social excursions. Thus by way of
amusement, and probably by impulse rather than deliberate purpose, he was
equipping himself to become both the designer and the pilot of his future
dirigibles.

Having acquired experience and skill in operating both balloons and
engines, the young enthusiast set about realizing his boyhood dream of
navigating the air independently of the course of the wind. His first dirigible
was designed to carry his weight of 110 pounds and a 3½ horse-power
petroleum engine taken from his tricycle, and reduced in weight to 66
pounds. The hull was a cylinder of varnished Japanese silk, 82½ feet long
including its pointed ends, 11½ feet in diameter and 6,354 cubic feet in gas
capacity. A ballonet, or air pocket, occupied the lower middle of the
envelope. The basket for the little pilot, engine, and two-blade propeller was
suspended far below the hull, to which its cords were attached by means of
small wooden rods inserted into hems along each side of the envelope, for a
great part of its length. The poise of the vessel was controlled by shifting
weights fore and aft, while the turning right and left was effected by means
of a silk rudder stretched over a steel frame. On the whole it was a crude
and primitive affair, but of considerable interest as the first dirigible of a
young man destined to give a strong impulse to the development of motor
balloons of the non-rigid type.
After some preliminary tests, the little air ship and pilot soared away
from the Zoölogical Garden in Paris, on September 20, 1898, rising in the
face of a gentle wind, to the wonder and delight of a large crowd of
witnesses, some of them professional aëronauts and very skeptical as to the
outcome of this venturesome experiment. The ship maneuvered round and
round overhead of the applauding throng, steering readily in all directions.
Then the green navigator ascended a quarter of a mile and merrily
continued his evolutions in the direction of the Longchamps race course.
But when he wished to descend he observed the envelope contracting in
volume, and was appalled to find that he could not pump air into the
ballonet fast enough to keep the hull distended. It became swaybacked, and
“all at once began to fold in the middle like a pocket-knife; the tension
cords became unequal and the balloon envelope was on the point of being
torn by them.” As he was falling swiftly toward the grassy turf at Bagatelle,
he called to some boys who were flying kites, to grasp his guide-rope and
run against the wind. They understood and ran so swiftly with the canted
balloon that it played kite, and descended with a moderated fall, landing the
frightened aëronaut safely on the turf.

Except for the doubling of his long balloon, Santos-Dumont’s first
voyage was satisfactory, and he returned to Paris elated. He had found it
easy to steer in all directions. He could change his level hundreds of feet
without discharge of gas or ballast, by merely canting his balloon, and
allowing it to run obliquely up or down grade. He had stemmed the wind
and gone whither he pleased, at such speed as to make his clothes flutter.
And best of all he had found no danger in using a gasoline motor near an
inflammable gas bag. The mere buckling of the long bag was a trifle, to be
remedied by using an air pump adequate to maintain the flabby thing well
inflated. He felt, therefore, that he had the conquest of the air well in hand,
and that he was drifting into air ship construction as a life work. Small
wonder that he continued his conquests till he had built, in less than one
decade, fourteen motor balloons.
Santos-Dumont No. 2 was closely patterned after its predecessor, but was
a little larger and carried a rotary fan worked by the motor, to keep the
balloon plump by filling the air pocket, or ballonet. On May 11, 1899, an
ascension was made from the old starting place, but in rainy weather. As the
vessel rose its hull contracted faster than air could be pumped into the
ballonet, the long bag doubled worse than before, and dropped into the trees
with its chagrined but fearless rider.
The No. 3, which followed, was a short, thick vessel, 66 feet long by 25
feet in diameter, having in outward appearance the features of Dupuy de
Lome’s very stable and very slow dirigible. It was apparently a safety ship
for a scared young man who had not yet learned fully to appreciate
Renard’s elegant design. It served for a few pleasant trips, while the
inventor was screwing up courage to build another cylindrical vessel, and
gradually realizing the advantage of an elongated car such as Renard had
employed in La France. Not only was the hull short and thick, but it was
further secured from buckling by a horizontal stiffening pole placed
between it and the basket, and from which the latter was hung. After some
voyages in No. 3, which the captain found very tractable, and probably
capable of fifteen miles per hour, he was ready to begin a new vessel.
The No. 4 was a compromise between the better features of No. 3 and its
predecessors. The elongated hull and ballonet were resumed, and the
stiffening pole was elaborated into a longish car resembling Renard’s, but of
triangular cross section. On this long trussed frame were placed the motor,

propeller, rudder and the rider in his basket. A seven horse-power engine
turning, at one hundred revolutions per minute, a screw propeller having
two blades, each 13 feet across, gave a thrust of 66 pounds. Frequent trials
of the ship during the summer of 1900, in presence of the Exposition
crowds, brought the inventor into extraordinary prominence, and secured
for him the “Encouragement Prize” of the Paris Aëro Club, consisting of the
yearly interest on one hundred thousand francs, this being one of M.
Deutsch’s numerous foundations for the promotion of aëronautics.
In the spring of 1900, M. Deutsch de la Meurthe had established another
prize which Santos-Dumont now greatly coveted, and hoped ere long to
win. This was a cash sum of one hundred thousand francs to be awarded by
the Scientific Commission of the Aëro Club of France to the first dirigible
that, between May 1 and October 1, 1900, 1901, 1902, 1903, 1904, should
voyage from Saint Cloud to and around the Eiffel tower, and return within
half an hour. The distance to the tower and back, not counting the turn, was
nearly seven miles, and the estimated speed required to fulfill the conditions
for winning the prize, even in calm weather, was 15½ miles per hour.
As Santos-Dumont thought his No. 4 scarcely swift enough to win the
Deutsch prize, he enlarged it by inserting an additional length of sixteen
feet at its middle, supplied it with a stronger car, and applied a larger
engine, naming the new vessel so formed, his No. 5. Its hull was 109 feet
long, 17 feet in largest diameter and cubed nearly 20,000 feet. A four
cylinder air-cooled petroleum motor driving a screw propeller having two
blades, each 13 feet across, gave a thrust of 120 pounds, at 140 revolutions
per minute, and produced such draft as to give the inventor pneumonia.
Among other novelties water ballast was used, and piano wires replaced the
old-time suspension cords.
The No. 5 proved so powerful and swift that on July 13, 1901, Santos-
Dumont attempted to win the Deutsch prize. Starting from the Aëro Club
grounds at Saint-Cloud in presence of official witnesses, at half past six in
the morning, when the air is usually stillest, he turned the Eiffel Tower in
the tenth minute, thus gaining twenty minutes for the home stretch. But on
his return he encountered an unexpected head wind, and after a terrific
struggle reached the timekeepers at Saint-Cloud in the fortieth minute.

To add to the romance of this voyage, the genii of the upper elements
stopped his motor, shortly after his return, and the bold sailor in his shining
ship landed in a stately chestnut tree very near the house of the Princess
Isabel, daughter of Dom Pedro. She very thoughtfully arranged a breakfast
for him and sent it up in a basket, where he was at work disengaging the
balloon, at the same time inviting him to call and relate to her the story of
his voyage. A few days later she sent him a medal of St. Benedict “that
protects against accidents.” He wore the medal, and on his very next trial
escaped without a scratch from an appalling accident which might have
terminated fatally. He continued to wear the gift of that gracious princess,
on a thin gold chain circling his wrist, and many a time thereafter endured
unscathed the most dreadful accidents, as if he possessed a charmed life.
On August 8, 1901, the dauntless aëronaut again sailed for the coveted
prize, at the same still morning hour, sacred to duels and aërial contests. In
nine minutes he turned the tower and headed bravely for home. But soon a
leaky valve let the balloon shrink and the wires sag into the whirring
propeller, which therefore had to be stopped. Santos-Dumont now had the
choice of drifting back against the tower and destroying his vessel high in
air, or of descending at once, by allowing the balloon to sink without
discharge of ballast. He chose the latter course, hoping to land on the Seine
embankment; but instead his balloon struck the top of the Trocadero hotel,
exploded and fell in fluttering shreds into the courtyard. Some firemen who
had been watching the flight from a distance, came with a rope and found
the long car leaning like a ladder against the wall of the court, the balloon
shreds hanging from it in graceful folds, and Captain Santos-Dumont
perched aloft in his wicker basket wearily waiting for St. Benedict’s further
aid. As usual, he was rescued intact.
On the evening of his fall on the roof of the hotel Santos-Dumont issued
specifications for his famous No. 6, which surpassed all its predecessors in
safety and speed. It had the shape of an elongated ellipsoid with pointed
ends, measured 110 feet in length, 20 feet in major diameter, 22,239 cubic
feet in volume, and had an absolute ascensional force of 1,518 pounds. It
was driven by a twelve horse-power four-cylinder water-cooled engine
which gave the propeller a thrust of 145 pounds. To insure against buckling
of the gas bag, an air pump connected with the motor, kept the ballonet
under constant pressure, regulated by an escape valve through which the

excess of air passed outward. To secure the envelope against rupture, due to
the expansion of the hydrogen at unusual elevations, a stronger valve was
used to let the gas escape from the envelope into the atmosphere. Thus the
air escape valve kept the pressure constant in the partially distended
ballonet, and consequently also in the surrounding gas envelope itself;
while the stronger gas valve in the envelope opened only in an emergency,
when the gas pressure had fully collapsed the internal air pocket and was
threatening to explode the envelope. With all its improvements this new
vessel was finished and inflated by August 4, being a work of twenty-two
days, and after some preliminary trials was ready to try for the Deutsch
prize.
The day of triumph followed quickly. On October 19, 1901, at 2.45 P. M.,
Santos-Dumont again headed for the Eiffel Tower in presence of the official
witnesses. In spite of a wind of six meters per second striking him sidewise,
he held his course straight for the goal, and turned it in the ninth minute, as
in his preceding attempt. On the return he had to struggle against a
quartering wind and the caprice of his motor, which sometimes threatened
to stop, and again spurted so actively as to turn the ship upward at a steep
angle. The mighty throng below, in the Auteuil race track and the Bois de
Boulogne, sent up immense applause, then suddenly held its breath in
alarm, as the vessel pitched violently. But the hardy little rider was self-
possessed and at home on his vaulting Pegasus. Alert to every prank he held
his course straight for the timekeepers and passed over their heads at
exactly twenty-nine and one-half minutes after starting.
His unmercenary disposal of the two rich awards which he had won
seemed no less commendable than the dauntless industry which achieved
such rapid success. The Deutsch prize amounting in all to one hundred and
twenty-five thousand francs he divided into two unequal parts. The greater
sum of seventy-five thousand francs he gave to the prefect of police of
Paris, to be used for the deserving poor; the remainder he distributed among
his employés. The Encouragement Prize of four thousand francs a year,
mentioned before, he also declined to retain, but instead he founded with
the money a new prize at the disposal of the Aëro Club. As a second reward
for his triumphal voyage around the Eiffel Tower, he received from the
Brazilian government one hundred and twenty-five thousand francs and a

beautiful gold medal bearing appropriate and very complimentary
inscriptions.
Now that the stimulus and excitement of striving for the Deutsch prize
was over, the ardent inventor was free to develop and test his air ships in a
deliberate and scientific manner. He therefore set about building specialized
types of motor balloons, and practicing with them over all kinds of territory,
smooth and rough. Within the next six years he constructed eight more air
ships making altogether fourteen, besides his various free balloons, to say
nothing of the aëroplanes and hydroplanes which he found time to develop.
But before indulging in these new luxuries he would have more experience
with his No. 6.
When the cold weather set in, following his victorious flight about the
Eiffel Tower, Santos-Dumont went with his No. 6 to Monaco, to practice air
cruising over the Mediterranean. The Prince of Monaco had erected for him
an “aërodrome,” or balloon shed, facing the sea and very near shore. On
pleasant days the daring pilot would cruise up and down the bay, not far
from shore, trailing his guide-rope over the waves with the greatest ease,
and to the applause of thousands of spectators. But on February 14, 1902,
he set forth on a pleasure cruise over the bay with insufficient gas pressure,
and thus came to grief. The bag grew flabby; the hydrogen poured to its
higher end; the vessel reared up so steeply that the propeller had to be
stopped to avoid its cutting the envelope. Rather than drift at the mercy of
the wind, the pilot opened the valve and sank slowly to the water where he
was rescued by a boat. On the following day the parts of his No. 6 were
fished out of the sea and sent back to Paris. His few days’ practice had
taught him the delights of guide-roping over the waters, and his accident
induced him in future to sew unvarnished silk partitions across his balloons,
to prevent the hydrogen passing too suddenly from one end to the other.
Returning to Paris he built for himself an “aërodrome,” provided with
great sliding doors like the one at Monaco, and equipped with a hydrogen
plant, constructive appliances, and everything needed for the rapid
rebuilding or repair of air ships. It stood in a vacant lot surrounded by a
high stone wall and was made of posts covered with red and white canvas,
so that it looked like a great striped tent. Inside, the central stalls were 31
feet wide, 165 feet long, and 44½ feet high,[12] the whole enclosure having
accommodation for seven dirigibles all inflated and ready for instant

service. When completed, in the spring of 1903, it was at once used to
harbor three new air ships. These were the No. 7, designed for racing
contests; the No. 9, called the Runabout, a minim air ship used for calls and
short pleasure trips; and the No. 10, called the Omnibus, intended for
several persons, with ample supplies for a considerable journey.
The No. 7, which excelled its predecessors in length and bulk, was
intended greatly to outstrip the best of them in velocity. The first air ship
had attained fourteen miles per hour, the No. 6, nearly twenty miles an hour
in winning the Deutsch prize, and over twenty miles per hour on subsequent
occasions, though provided with a motor rated at only 12 horse power. The
new vessel which had little greater resistance than No. 6, was to carry four
times the internal pressure, or about 12 centimeters of water, and to be
propelled by an engine of 60 horse power. The inventor expected therefore
to attain a speed of between forty and fifty miles per hour. A very lofty
expectation for that day, and one still unrealized for many years.
The racing air ship, or No. 7, was of cigar form, supporting a long car
beneath, and generally resembling the No. 6, but slightly more tapering. Her
length was six times her major diameter, and her volume 45,000 cubic feet.
The envelope was made of two layers of the strongest French silk, four
times varnished, and was built exceptionally thick at the stern, where the
differential outward pressure is greatest in flight. The propulsion was
effected by a 60 horse-power water-cooled four-cylinder Clément engine
actuating two screw propellers 16½ feet in diameter, one in front the other
at the rear of the car. The poise and maneuvering were to be controlled in
the usual way, by means of the rudder and shifting weight. The inventor
seemed not to realize that the bow of his vessel was too sharp to cleave the
air with minimum resistance, though his predecessor, Jullien, in 1850, had
discovered experimentally that a torpedo form is better for speed than the
symmetrical spindle form used by Santos-Dumont in his racing vessel. He
did, however, in time, learn that the torpedo form of hull is better for
stability of forward motion, and hence adopted that form in his little
Runabout.
The No. 9 was a thick torpedo-shaped air ship originally cubing only
7,770 feet, though later enlarged to 9,218 feet. It was so thick as to appear
nearly egg-shaped. In order to make it respond promptly to the rudder
Santos-Dumont drove it through the air blunt end foremost, but with

apparent regrets, thinking that it would cleave the air more easily than sharp
end foremost. In this he was mistaken; for the writer has shown that a body
of such shape encounters much more resistance—roughly one hundred per
cent more—when driven sharp end foremost than when driven blunt end
forward. This fact furnishes one reason why most whales and swift fishes
have blunt bows and long tapering sterns. However this be, the practical
man felt his way to success, whether right or wrong in his theory of
resistance. When actuated by a three horse-power Clément motor, weighing
26½ pounds, the little air ship carried its jaunty pilot twelve to fifteen miles
an hour on many a merry trip about Paris and its environs.
The No. 10, or Omnibus, was a well shaped vessel of nearly eighty
thousand cubic feet capacity, and amply provided with steering devices. Its
hull tapered slightly from front to rear, terminating in projectile-shaped
ends, and had a length of nearly six times its major diameter. Underneath
was suspended a long car provided with aëroplane surfaces, in addition to
the usual rudder, for controlling its movements.
Its arrow-like appearance was suggestive of some of the greatest German
balloons of the decade. Indeed, the Omnibus, if well powered, might have
proved a very swift vessel, in addition to a powerful carrier. But she was
designed merely for easy going passenger service, for the purpose of
popularizing aëronautics and stimulating its growth.
Santos-Dumont now had three typical air ships, a spacious and well
equipped “aërodrome,” and ample facilities for advancing the science of
motor balloons on a moderate scale. He could not, however, maintain the
ascendency in this branch of science in France; for he encountered the
rivalry of great wealth employing highly trained engineering and
constructive talent. He could, however, still promote the art as a pioneer and
a popularizer. This he continued to do. With his little Runabout he would
one day guide-rope along the boulevard, another day take up a little boy,
another day send up a beautiful young lady to navigate the air alone for a
short distance, another day voyage over the military parade grounds and
with his revolver fire a salute of twenty-one shots to the President of
France, and give exhibitions to arouse the interest of the War Department.
But he could not keep pace with the new giants in aëronautics, and he did
not attempt it. Nor did he ever build a vessel of sufficient power, speed and
durability to be purchased by the French nation. That honor went to his

opulent contemporaries who had not failed to take cognizance of his
contributions to the aërial art.

CHAPTER V
PRACTICAL DEVELOPMENT OF NON-RIGID DIRIGIBLES

In 1899 the Lebaudy brothers, wealthy sugar refiners in Paris,
commissioned their able engineer, Julliot, to make investigations and
develop plans for a large and swift air ship. This he did with the assistance
of Surcouf, a well-known manufacturer of balloons at Billancourt, Paris.
Emulating the example of Santos-Dumont and certain German aëronauts in
making their plan, they adopted the light petroleum engine for motive
power, but experimented on a larger scale, thus creating a new era in
military aëronautics in France. Their first vessel was the Jaune whose bag
was built at Surcouf’s place, and its mechanical part at the Lebaudy Sugar
Refinery. When launched, in 1902, it so pleased the owners that they
determined to continue the experiments on a larger scale. Their second air
ship, called the Lebaudy, after fulfilling various tests, was accepted by the
French government and formed the beginning of its modern aërial fleet.
Moisson, near Paris, where the balloons were kept, now became quite an
aëronautical center. Here, under military supervision and the skillful
management of the aëronaut Juchmes, other dirigibles were built in rapid
succession. Of these the Patrie was launched in 1906, and the République
in 1908, both fine swift vessels capable of voyaging many hours and
carrying many passengers. The Lebaudy vessels were the first air ships of
the “semi-rigid type,” in which the long and flexible envelope, or hull, is
provided with a rigid keel or floor, from which the car is suspended with its
machinery and passengers. They are, therefore, of unusual interest both for
their scientific design and for the stimulus they imparted to the growth of
aërial fleets. For this reason they may well be studied in some detail.
The first Lebaudy air ship, called the Yellow, because of its color, had an
envelope constructed of a rubber-treated cotton fabric, made in Hanover
and covered with a yellow coating of lead chromate, to ward off the sun’s
actinic rays from the rubber, and thus prevent deterioration. Her hull, which
was cigar shaped and inflated with hydrogen, measured 183 feet in length,

32 feet in diameter, and 80,000 cubic feet in volume. She was propelled by
a 40-horse-power Daimler motor actuating twin screws, and attained a
maximum speed of twenty-six miles an hour. During her first year’s service
she made many ascensions, returning to her starting point twenty-eight
times out of twenty-nine. Her longest voyage, made at Moisson, June 24,
1904, was sixty-two miles in two hours and three quarters, with an average
speed of twenty-two miles an hours. But in November, 1902, while landing
in a high wind at the end of her voyage from Paris to Chalais-Meudon, she
was wrecked by colliding with a tree. Her motor, however, was uninjured,
and a new envelope was at once prepared.
The second vessel, called the Lebaudy, and brought out in 1904, though
resembling her predecessor, had a number of improvements in detail. Her
hull was somewhat larger than the Jaune, and no longer pointed at the stern,
but rounded off to an ellipsoidal shape, and provided, like the rear of an
arrow, with guiding, or steadying planes. It measured 190 feet in length and
94,000 cubic feet in volume. It was provided with two windows for internal
inspection, and had an air bag of 17,650 cubic feet, divided into three parts.
This air bag was inflated by a rotary fan near the main body, driven by the
motor during flight, and by a storage battery when at rest. Suitable
horizontal and vertical sails were used to steady and guide the vessel; also a
guide-rope and anchor were carried. The car, suspended by steel ropes, ten
feet below the hull, carried the passengers and supplies; also the motor
actuating twin propellers, one on either side. At night an abundance of light
was available, each passenger carrying a small lamp fastened to his clothes,
the car itself bearing a powerful acetylene projector in its front, and two
other lamps of 100 candle power each, to illumine the vessel. It was an
elaborate affair, costing fifty to sixty thousand dollars, and was the outcome
of experiments costing ten times that sum.

PLATE III.

THE LEBAUDY.
Photo E. Levick, N. Y.

LA PATRIE.
(Courtesy E. L. Jones.)

LEBAUDY’S MORNING POST.

The Lebaudy, with these various improvements, gave much satisfaction
to her owners, and received favorable recognition from the French War
Department. During the thirty ascensions and voyages of her first year’s
service, she proved herself a swift vessel, easy to control, very stable, and
safe to land on solid ground. The Minister of War, who had followed her
developments with much interest, appointed a commission to test her value
for military service, with a view to her adoption by the government. The
test required that the balloon remain in active service three months, always
being anchored in the open, and that it perform certain prescribed
maneuvers and voyages. In one of these it sailed with three persons on July
3, 1905, from Moisson to Meaux, an air-line distance of 57 miles in two
hours and thirty-five minutes, at an average speed of 22 miles an hour,
thence to Chalons, 61 miles in three hours and twenty minutes. Here it was
anchored to some trees, but presently was caught in a strong wind, lifted
high in the air, then dashed violently against other trees, with the complete
destruction of its envelope. Within eleven weeks it was repaired in the
military riding school at Toul, nearby; then, after some evolutions, returned
to its harbor at Moisson. Other maneuvers were made subsequently, in
which five officers were carried at one time, and interesting experiments
were tried, such as dropping a sand bag upon a given spot, photographing
fortifications, etc. The Minister of War, accompanied by two officers and
other passengers, made a trip on October 24th, which was the seventy-sixth

voyage of this stanch vessel. On November 10th, the hard-worked and
successful air ship went into winter quarters, being now the property of the
French government, and the first of her modern aërial cruisers.
The Patrie and the République, planned on the general lines of the
Lebaudy, but in ascending scale of magnitude, were built expressly for the
French government, and experienced brilliant if ill-fated careers. Both
vessels had whale-shaped hulls, with rather sharp-pointed noses and
rounding sterns. The original volume of the Patrie was 111,250 cubic feet,
which was later increased to 128,910, by the insertion of a cylindrical
section at the major diameter of the hull. The République had a volume of
2,000 cubic feet more than the Patrie, and a length of 200 feet, or a little
less than the enlarged Patrie. She also had a diameter of 35½ feet as against
33¾ in the sister vessel. As the technical reader may like more complete
details of these two noted air ships, a fuller account is given in Appendix
III.
The Patrie was a swift and graceful ship which, during its brief activities
in 1906–7, made many remarkable trips at an altitude of about half a mile,
and frequently maneuvered with the troops. She sailed with excellent
stability, had a speed of about 28 miles an hour, and, with four men, had a
radius of action of 280 miles. In November, 1907, carrying four passengers,
she voyaged from Paris to Verdun, on the German frontier, where she was
to be stationed. In spite of a quartering wind, the total distance of 175 miles
was traversed in seven hours and three quarters, or at an average
overground speed of 25 miles an hour. But while at Verdun, after some
maneuvers, she was too insecurely anchored to the ground by means of iron
stakes. A strong wind came, tore out the pickets, and overpowered the
soldiers, some two hundred in number, who were trying to hold the vessel.
As she was pulling them along the ground, they were ordered to let go. The
huge ship bounded high into the air, soared across France, England, Wales,
and part of Ireland, then far out over the Atlantic where she vanished,
leaving no trace behind.
The République also had a brilliant but ephemeral career, from July,
1908, to September, 1909. She surpassed the Patrie not only in bulk and
buoyancy, but also in power and speed. She had an 80-horse-power motor
as against the Patrie’s motor of 60 to 70 horse power. She could carry eight
to nine men, had a speed of about thirty miles an hour, and a radius of

action of 500 miles. She made a number of long flights and manifested
satisfactory steadiness and stability. But on September 25, 1909, while
maneuvering near Paris, one of her propellers broke and tore a great gash in
her envelope. At once, with outrushing gas and collapsing hull, the great
ship fell 500 feet crashing to the earth, a total wreck, and killing her crew of
four officers. This disaster illustrated forcibly the advantage of the cellular
system of balloon construction, and drew more favorable attention to the
rigid type of air ship cultivated in Germany.
The famous firm that produced the République brought forth, in 1909,
two other fine vessels patterned after it, the Russie and La Liberté, built
respectively for Russia and France. The Russie made her first voyage on
May 29th, ascending 600 feet with eight passengers, and maneuvering
under perfect control. After her official trial, in June, she was sent to St.
Petersburg, being the first dirigible furnished to a foreign government by a
private concern. The Liberté was launched the last week in August and,
after various practice and official tests, was accepted by the French
government two months later. On a notable voyage, made on September
20th, she sailed ten hours with her Panhard motor constantly working.
The escape of the Patrie was a loss keenly felt by the French people, but
soon compensated by the generosity of M. Deutsch de la Meurthe. This
liberal patron of aëronautics had a dirigible of excellent design, whose hull,
based on the plans of Colonel Renard, was contrived and built by E.
Surcouf, director of the Astra aëronautic establishment, along with H.
Kapferer, while its other parts were built by Voisin, both of Billancourt. In
September preceding the accident to the Patrie, he had offered the use of
his air ship, the Ville de Paris, to his government, which accepted the gift
with the understanding that it was not to be delivered except in case of war
or emergency. When, therefore, in November, 1907, the disaster occurred to
the Patrie, M. Deutsch at once placed his dirigible in the hands of the
military authorities.

Fig. 21.—La Ville de Paris.

The Ville de Paris showed considerable resemblance to her prototype, the
France of 1884, but differed from that elegant vessel in various important
features. Her hull was shaped like a wine bottle with its thickest end, or
bow, brought to a sharp projectile point, and its other end furnished, like an
arrow, with four fixed guiding surfaces to steady its flight. These guiding
surfaces were elongated, finlike, cylindrical sacs, inflated as shown in the
illustration. The hull measured 200 feet long, 34½ feet in major diameter,
112,847 cubic feet in volume. Heavy bands of canvas with their edges
sewed along the sides of the balloon served as flaps for the attachment of
the cords suspending the long car beneath. With this long suspension the
weight of the car was more evenly distributed over the envelope than in the
Lebaudy balloons. An interesting improvement in this air ship was the
stabilizing planes, placed above the car, fore and aft, to lift or depress
aëroplanelike, thus enabling the pilot to raise or lower the vessel, also to
alter her trim, or to check her pitching. As might be expected, her flight was
very steady, but as the motor developed only 70 to 75 horse power, her
velocity did not exceed twenty-five miles per hour. In January, 1908, she
made a run of 147 miles in seven hours, six minutes, with an average speed
of 21 miles an hour. Further details of construction are given in Appendix
III.
We now have had examples of the three leading types of motor balloons;
the rigid, the semirigid, the flexible. The rigid type, as exemplified in the

Schwartz and Zeppelin air ships, is characterized by its solidly trussed hull
of invariable size and form to which all other parts are directly attached.
The semirigid type, exemplified in the Lebaudy vessels, has a flexible hull,
generally of woven fabric, with a trussed floor or platform for its ventral
part, from which the car is suspended. The flexible type, as seen in the Ville
de Paris, the France, and its predecessors, consists of a flexible hull
entirely devoid of stiffening framework, together with a car, usually quite
long, suspended from the bag directly. These are all of the important kinds
in use at present. A combination of balloon and aëroplane has been tried by
Santos-Dumont, Malecot, and others, but thus far has not resulted in a very
successful and distinct type. Of the many powerful, swift, and elegant
balloons which sprang into being after the success of the Lebaudy vessels,
all could be classified under the above three types. Neither kind proved
preëminently the fittest for all service, but the semi-rigid and flexible
balloons multiplied most rapidly; partly, no doubt, because of their
cheapness and convenience of management. We may review briefly this
new crop of air ships, before turning to the novel and huge rigid vessels of
Count von Zeppelin.
The Ville de Paris was followed, in 1909, by the Clément-Bayard, a
slightly larger vessel of very similar pattern, constructed for the Russian
government for $40,000. It also, like the Ville de Paris, was built by the
Astra Society. The most striking feature of this new balloon was its curious
stern with its bulblike steadying surfaces. These fin surfaces were not flat,
as in the Patrie, nor cylindrical, as in the Ville de Paris, but of pear form,
with the blunt ends pointing rearward and inflated like the rest of the hull.
Apparently these tail bags were not economical of power, since, as is well
known, a pear shape encounters greater resistance when moving sharp end
forward than when moving blunt end forward. However this be, the
stabilizing force proved very effective. The vessel was driven by a Clément-
Bayard motor of 100 horse power actuating a wooden screw placed in front
of the long car, as in the France. A speed of 30 miles an hour was
attainable, and the ship could accommodate eight passengers. On one
occasion it made a round trip from Sartrouville, traversing 125 miles at an
average speed of 27 miles an hour. It was acquired by the Russian
government on August 23, 1909, having on that day completed its third
official test, and satisfied the requirement of rising 1,550 meters and
voyaging two hours at a height of 1,200 meters. Two notable incidents of

that voyage were that the air ship made a new record for altitude, and on
landing was caught by a squall which tore it from the hands of thirty men,
after which, owing to motor failure, it drifted freely across country, tripped
on a willow, and fell into the Seine, whence it was rescued after
considerable pains and labor.
Other vessels presently built by the Astra Society may be listed, together
with their size in cubic meters, as follows: Ville de Bordeaux, 3,300 m3;[13]
Ville de Nancy, 3,300 m3; Colonel Renard, 4,000 m3; España, 4,000 m3;
Clément-Bayard II, 6,500 m3; Transaerienne I, 6,500 m3; Flandre, 6,500
m3 (228,579 cubic feet). These were among the most noted air ships
produced in France toward the close of the first decade of the twentieth
century. On the whole they proved to be swift and stable ships adapted
either for military use, or for exhibitions and sport, and even for regular
transportation of passengers.
The Ville de Nancy was one of the conspicuous dirigibles of the summer
of 1909. It was constructed primarily for use at the Exposition at Nancy,
and was owned by the Compagnie Générale Transaerienne, an aërial
passenger transportation society organized at Paris, in March, 1909, with a
capital of one million francs. This society planned to inaugurate an aërial
line from Paris to Bordeaux, in 1910, equipped with other vessels of the
Astra construction, more powerful than the Ville de Nancy, and capable of
transporting a dozen passengers.

PLATE IV.

LA VILLE DE PARIS.
Photo E. Levick, N. Y.

COLONEL RENARD.
Photo E. Levick, N. Y.

The Ville de Nancy was slightly smaller and slightly more powerful than
the Clément-Bayard I, besides differing in minor details. It measured 55
meters in length, 10 meters in greatest diameter, and cubed 33,000 meters,
as against the 35,000 meters of its predecessor. It was driven by a 100-
horse-power Bayard-Clément motor actuating a Chauvière screw propeller
at the front of the car. The car itself was made of steel tubes covered with
fabric, and near the engine with sheet aluminum. The tail bags were an
evident improvement on those of the previous air ships, being less blunt at
the rear, and therefore less adapted to generate a retarding suction. They
were still rather bulbous, however.
This splendid vessel made various interesting voyages during the summer
of 1909, the first on June 27th, piloted by Surcouf and Kapferer, directors of
the Astra Society. On July 14th, she maneuvered at Longchamps, side by
side with the République, thus contrasting nicely with the ship designed by
Julliot. It was the first time two dirigibles navigated together in regular
maneuver. The Ville de Nancy was naturally the swifter, having greater

power and less bulk than the other. About the middle of July she sailed from
Sartrouville to Nancy, where she was to sail about the Exposition grounds
and make daily excursions, carrying passengers for 100 francs per trip.
These voyages proved very popular, being the first of their kind, and in
themselves quite attractive. As the vessel was endowed with excellent
stability and had manifested high speed, she was well suited to be the first
regular passenger air ship, and the herald of the aërial liners projected to
cruise between Paris and Bordeaux.
The Colonel Renard was closely patterned after the Ville de Nancy, but
was larger and more powerful. She measured 212 feet in length, 140,000
cubic feet in volume and carried an engine of 120 horse power, driving a
Chauvière propeller. On July 13th she made her first trip, cruising one hour
with notable facility, then reëntered the hangar[14] of the Astra Society, at
Beauval near Meaux. Thence, on August 23d, she sailed for Rheims to
compete in the aëronautical races, arriving after a very successful cruise. On
August 29th, she circled the ten kilometer rectangular course at Betheny,
near Rheims, five times in 1 hour, 19 minutes, 40 seconds, thus winning the
Prix des Aëronats,[15] of 10,000 francs offered for the vessel that should
accomplish, in the least time, those five rounds, aggregating 50 kilometers.
The showing was not remarkable, but the vessel could sail much faster in a
straightaway voyage.
The prize-winning Renard was quickly followed by the España, a vessel
of the same size and pattern, built for the Spanish government by the same
capable firm. During October this fine air ship made several trial trips,
carrying seven men. On November 2d she made a splendid official test
voyage of five hours, sailing from the Astra aërodrome, at Beauval, to Paris
and return, a distance of 250 kilometers in 5 hours and 10 minutes, or at the
average rate of 31 miles an hour for the entire course. On November 5th,
she started on a ten-hour voyage, with five men and fuel for fifteen hours;
but after five hours, stopped her engine, and came to earth, owing to the
bending of the main shaft of the motor.
Besides the great auto balloons designed by Julliot and Surcouf, of which
the République and Colonel Renard are examples, a number of convenient
cruisers were brought forth in 1909 by the Zodiac Company. One of the
leading spirits in this enterprise was the famous Count de la Vaulx, well
known for his auto balloon designs and his long voyages in sphericles. The

chief merit of these modest air ships, which ranged in volume from 25,000
cubic feet upwards, was cheapness and facility of demounting and
shipment. They were intended to popularize the art among the masses, by
giving everyone a chance to make a voyage at no great expense. Besides
their applicability to sport, touring, and public uses, some were designed for
considerable speed and endurance; which qualities, together with their
demountability and partial independence of hangars, were expected to give
them military value. They were of the flexible type, so arranged that the
various parts were easily detachable, so as to be packed for transportation,
by wagon or car. The smaller ones might be called semi-navigables, since
they had the organs of a swift motor balloon, but, like the common
sphericles, could easily be demounted and hauled home—a likely issue on a
day of any considerable wind. The first one cost $5,000, cubed 25,000 feet
and, with its 16-horse-power engine, traveled 13 miles per hour. Its hull had
the form of a whale with docked and rounded tail. From this body hung an
elongated car with a screw at the rear and elevating planes in front. Others
of similar make, but larger, followed in rapid order, their common mission
being that advocated by Santos-Dumont, in the early part of the decade,
when he produced his Runabout and Omnibus—to give everybody a ride.

Fig. 22.—Le Petit Journal, Zodiac Type.

PLATE V.

ZODIAC III.

ZODIAC IV.

The Zodiac I was quickly followed by vessels II and III, cubing
respectively 1,200 and 1,400 meters. The No. II had a speed of twenty, or
more, miles per hour, and carried two passengers when inflated with coal
gas, three with hydrogen. The No. III, of torpedo form, measured 133 feet
long, 28 feet in major diameter, carried four persons, and sailed 25 miles an
hour with her 40-horse-power Ballot engine. On August 29th, piloted by
Count de la Vaulx, she competed with the Colonel Renard, at Rheims, for
the Prix des Aëronats, making five rounds of the ten kilometer course in
one hour and twenty-five minutes, this being at the average speed of 22
miles an hour. On October 30th, again piloted by the same renowned
aëronaut, she sailed from Brussels to Anvers, rounded the lofty Cathedral
spire, and returned to her aërodrome, traversing a distance of sixty
kilometers in one hour and twelve minutes, or with an average speed of 31
miles an hour, a good showing for so small an air ship.
A very handsome dirigible, named the Belgique, was constructed early in
1909, by the skillful aëronautical engineer, Louis Godard, of Paris, in
collaboration with the prominent Belgian engineer and sportsman, Robert
Goldschmidt. It was a flexible balloon of elegant torpedo form, measuring
175 feet long, 30 feet in major diameter, and 106,000 cubic feet in volume.

It was propelled by two 60-horse-power Vivinus engines actuating two
screws, made of fabric stretched over radial sticks, and placed at either end
of the spindle-shaped car. The control was provided for by ample keel
surface, an elevating plane in front, and ingeniously designed fins on the
rear of the hull to steady the motion. The entire structure showed much
originality and skill. When the dirigible was tested near Brussels, on June
28th, it was piloted by Louis Godard, the famous expert in sphericals,
accompanied by Goldschmidt. Godard’s début in this capacity was reported
as excellent.
The Italian government brought forth, in the summer of 1909, a swift and
elegant auto balloon showing considerable originality of design. It has a
porpoise-shaped hull of 2,500 cubic meters capacity, divided into seven
compartments, so as to obviate the accident which wrecked the République.
An ample keel along the rear bottom, and large aëroplane surfaces at the
stern, serve to guide and steady the vessel. Propelled by twin screws well
above a short car, she readily attained thirty miles an hour, carrying four
persons. On October 31st, starting on her seventeenth voyage, she cruised
from the aëronautic park, Vigna de Vale, near Rome, to Naples and back to
Rome by ten o’clock at night, having sailed over the edge of the
Mediterranean Sea and over the French squadron in the bay, remaining
fourteen hours in the air and traversing 520 kilometers, or 323 miles. It was
one of the finest voyages of the year. Further details of this Italian military
dirigible No. I bis, together with illustrations, are given in Aërophile for
January 15, 1910, together with its prototype the dirigible No. I, which
maneuvered so successfully in 1908.
England and America all along had pursued an oriental, or semicivilized,
policy toward the auto balloon, languidly watching the progress elsewhere,
and hoping some time to enjoy the fruition, if not the glory, of the costly
and successful experiments made in other countries. In 1909, however, the
British government appropriated nearly $400,000 for aëronautics, and the
United States House of Representatives voted $500,000, but promptly
reversed its action, and gave nothing, though it may be said that even then
there was a growing sentiment in favor of a more liberal policy. The
movement to secure the beginning of an aërial fleet in England is
summarized in the following paragraph.[16]

PLATE VI.

LA BELGIQUE.

ITALIAN MILITARY DIRIGIBLE NO. I BIS.

“The naval authorities were entrusted with the building of a rigid
ship, whilst to the military department was delegated the work of
building non-rigid and semi-rigid ships. A national air-ship fund was
organized by the Morning Post with the object of purchasing a French
Lebaudy semi-rigid dirigible which would be presented to the War
Office; whilst Mr. Arthur du Cros and other members of the
Parliamentary Aërial Committee arranged for a Clément non-rigid air
ship of new design, to sail from Paris to London, and also to qualify
for purchase as a unit of the British aërial fleet.”

The non-rigid auto balloon ordered from Clément, and afterwards known
as the Clément-Bayard II, was the masterpiece of that skilful designer, and
occupied his best thought and energy for eighteen months, aided by his
devoted and capable engineer, Sabathier. She was completed in the
Clément-Bayard factory at Lamotte-Breuil in April, 1910, and during the
next five months made thirty-two test ascensions and practice voyages. In
particular she took a conspicuous part in the military maneuvers at Picardie

during the early half of September, where with wonderful precision and
airworthiness she made forced voyages in fair weather and foul, remaining,
when so desired, in continuous communication with the land office by
means of wireless telegraphy. Finally, on a fair day, September 16th, the
tried and perfected vessel was brought forth from her hangar for the long
contemplated voyage to London, her machinery and rigging in trimmest
order, and her car furnished with supplies for twenty hours, or thrice the
anticipated time of transit.
The voyage was a glorious achievement for aëronautics, and for the
enthusiastic constructor and his devoted aids. Starting at seven o’clock in
the morning, with seven men aboard, including happy Clément, Sabathier,
and an English delegate, the whalelike cruiser sailed directly to London
with admirable regularity, covering the entire distance of 242 miles in six
hours, or at the rate of forty miles an hour, which is better time than could
be made by land and water. Enthusiastic cheers from the English spectators
greeted the arrival of this French dirigible, built for the English government.
Then quietly the English soldiers took the vessel in hand, as if performing a
familiar duty, and housed her in the Daily Mail hangar, at Wormwood
Scrubs. Thus simply and without unusual incident terminated the first
motor-balloon cruise between the two countries, and one of the finest
voyages in the history of aëronautics.
In outward appearance the Clément-Bayard II closely resembled her
predecessor, except for the absence of empennage on her envelope. In the
whalelike elegance of her hull she was, in fact, a reversion to the trim and
efficient model of Renard’s dirigible of 1884, which in turn was a fair copy
of Jullien’s model of 1850, all having excellent forms for speed and
stability. But the new vessel was of greater size and power than her
predecessor. Her net buoyancy was sufficient to carry twenty passengers.
Her average speed tested in a round-trip voyage was about 50 kilometers or
31 miles per hour when her two motors developed 200 horse power, and 55
kilometers or 34 miles per hour when the engines developed their maximum
effort of 260 horse power. The details of construction were so elaborate and
important, and so representative of the best aëronautical workmanship of
the time that a full account of their chief features is presented in Appendix
III. In passing it may be added that some time before sailing to England the
Clément-Bayard II, because of her excellent workmanship and maneuvers,

received the first prize at the review of dirigibles by the French Minister of
War.

PLATE VII.

CLÉMENT-BAYARD I.
(Courtesy E. L. Jones.)

CLÉMENT-BAYARD II.
Photo E. Levick, N. Y.

Fig. 23.—Clément-Bayard II, 1910.

The dirigible to be purchased with the money secured by the popular
subscription organized by the Morning Post was ordered from the Lebaudy
factory at Moisson in July, 1909, to be delivered directly through the air to
Farnborough before November 6, 1910. This stipulation was severe enough,
but furthermore the vessel was to be a considerable departure from any thus
far built at that famous factory, and was to be the largest air ship yet
constructed in France. As usual the general design of the huge balloon was
entrusted to the distinguished aëronautical engineer, Henri Julliot, and this
was a certain guarantee of its successful operation.
The general features of this great military dirigible resemble those of her
prototype, the Patrie, differing chiefly in the shape of her hull and the
method of stiffening. The hull itself was more longish than the Patrie’s, but
had the same sharp prow and blunt stern; for a blunt stern offers better
support to the empennage planes, though it increases the resistance more
than a tapering stern. The trussed framing to stiffen the ship was no longer a
platform inserted in the base of the hull, but a long trussed beam of
cruciform cross section, made of steel tubing and suspended intermediately
between the hull and car.
The hull was of excellent workmanship and bold design. The envelope
was of rubberized tissue, measured 338 feet in length, 39.4 feet in diameter
and cubed 353,000 feet. Its length was, therefore, 8.5 times its diameter, an
extraordinary proportion for a balloon of the flexible type. The hull was
provided with three ballonets, two ripping panels, and various valves, as
shown in the scale drawing.

Fig. 24.—Morning Post Dirigible, 1910.

The car, made of steel tubing and large enough for twenty persons,
carried two Panhard-Levassor motors of 135 horse power each, actuating
two Chauvière wooden screws, sixteen feet in diameter, placed on either
side, well outward and upward, the transmission gear permitting either
engine, or both, to drive the screws at one time. Below the car and well
forward was a ground keel, or post, on which the whole vessel could pivot
with the wind, when riding at anchor, while a shorter ground post was
placed at the rear of the car.
The controlling surfaces were adequate and skillfully arranged. To
maintain steadiness and directness of flight, fixed empennage planes, both
horizontal and vertical, were provided, some attached to the stern of the
hull, others at the rear of the trussed suspension beam. To direct the up and
down movement, ailerons placed well to the front and rear of the long
framing, were turned about conjunctively in opposite directions, thus
causing the vessel to raise or lower her bow. Needless to say, all these
navigation appliances worked with ample force and effectiveness from the
beginning of the earliest tests.
After four preliminary ascensions the great air ship started from Moisson
to her destination at Farnborough, having on board Henri Julliot, Louis

Capazza, the pilot, Alexander Bannerman, director of the aëronautic
military school at Aldershot, and five other men. It was a triumphant and
glorious voyage, one of the most splendid in the history of aërostation.
Piloted by aid of chart and compass, and by signal fires and captive
balloons arranged along her route, the vessel followed a direct course,
without check or hindrance, crossing a wide part of the English Channel
and arriving before the hangar at Aldershot, where the British soldiers
awaited her, and where she was safely landed, having made the whole
voyage of 230 miles in 5.5 hours, at a level varying between five hundred
and two thousand feet. As shown by the accompanying map, about one
third of the route lay over the Channel, or, more accurately, 78 miles, which
was traversed in two hours. Thus the whole journey was accomplished at an
average speed of nearly forty-two miles an hour, or in less time than it could
be effected in any other way than through the air.

15 Novembre 1910

Fig. 25.—Route of British Military Dirigibles from France to England, 1910.

The United States War Department, in 1908, started an aërial squadron by
purchasing from Thomas S. Baldwin, for $10,000, a tiny air ship of the
flexible type, a trifle larger than Santos-Dumont’s Runabout, but in fact the
smallest military dirigible then in existence. It had a rubberized gray silk
cylindrical hull slightly tapering toward the rear and terminating in ogival
ends, its length being 96 feet, its major diameter 19½ feet. From this was
suspended, by means of netting and steel cables, a longish car having at the
rear a double rudder working about a vertical hinge, at the front an

elevating plane and an 11-foot wooden screw driven by a Curtiss 20-horse-
power water-cooled engine. With two men aboard, this vessel readily
attained over twenty miles an hour in a straightaway course, and at times
more nearly thirty miles an hour. Its total ascensional force was 1,350
pounds, of which 500 were available for men, ballast and supplies.
Santos-Dumont’s most strenuous disciples outside of France were found
among the German military officers. These advocated and promoted both
the semirigid and the flexible types of auto balloon, with such ability as to
match the best productions of the foremost French designers. The most
successful pioneers of these two types in Germany were respectively, Major
von Gross, commander of the balloon battalion at Tegel, near Berlin, and
Major Von Parseval of the Bavarian army, and director of the Society for
the Study of Motor Air Ships.
Beginning in 1907, a number of Gross auto balloons were built in
succession, for the German Aëronautical Battalion, by Master Engineer
Basenach, under the supervision of its commander, Major Gross. The first
was intended only as a model, though it was large enough for two
passengers. It cubed 63,000 feet, but having an engine of hardly more than
20 horse power, was necessarily slow. It was succeeded by the Gross I, and
others, all having rigid ventral parts, like the Patrie, but with hulls of rather
better form for speed and bulk combined, having blunter bow and longer
stern.

PLATE VIII.

U. S. SIGNAL CORPS DIRIGIBLE I.
(Courtesy U. S. Signal Corps.)

GROSS II.
(Courtesy E. L. Jones.)

The second Gross air ship, built in 1908, cubed 176,000 feet, and attained
a speed of 27 miles per hour, driven by two 75-horse-power Daimler
motors. On September 11th of that year, with four persons aboard, she made
a round trip from Berlin lasting 13 hours, covering 176 miles, and attaining
altitudes up to 4,000 feet. This was one of the finest voyages known at the
time. This air ship was purchased by the German government, named Gross
I, and sent to Metz. A detailed description is given in Appendix III.
The Gross II, brought forth in April, 1909, resembled her predecessor in
build, but had greater power and speed. Her hull cubed 176,000 cubic feet,
had a blunt bow, full body and sharp stern, was provided with horizontal
and vertical keels, a sliding weight, and a ballonet at either end. She was
propelled by two Körting engines of 75 horse power each, actuating two
three-blade propellers. Under the action of her keels and stabilizing planes
and rudder, her motion was steady and precise. A special feature of this air
ship was the wireless telegraph equipment by which she could send
messages in all directions over a range of 300 miles or more. She made

many practice voyages during the season of 1909, sometimes alone, again
in concert with other auto balloons and with troops. In August she made a
fine voyage of sixteen hours, from Tegel to Apolda and return, traversing
470 kilometers.
The above described vessel was followed by others, large and small. The
Gross III measured 70 meters long, cubed 7,500 meters, and was propelled
by four Körting motors aggregating 300 horse power. This was a splendid
vessel, and one of extraordinary speed.
Various auto balloons of the Parseval type were designed by Major Von
Parseval of the Bavarian army, who also was one of the inventors of the kite
balloon. Satisfactory experiments with his air ship were made as early as
1906. These formed the basis of larger vessels, subsequently constructed in
the same factory of August Riedinger of Augsburg, for the Motor Air Ship
Study Society, of which Parseval was general manager. This society,
organized practically at the command of the Emperor, purchased the
Parseval patents and began the development of auto balloons as a business
enterprise, soon furnishing a series of its flexible air ships to the German
army.
After the experiments of 1906, the Parseval air ship was enlarged from
2,500 to 2,800 cubic meters, its length becoming 52 meters and its major
diameter 8.7 meters. Its hull was of cylindric form, with rounded bow and
egg-shaped stern; had two air bags—one fore, the other aft—and at the
stern carried two fixed horizontal planes and a vertical rudder. From this
envelope the car, made largely of aluminum, was hung by steel cables, and
on its bottom had trolley wheels resting on suspension cables joining the
front and rear parts of the hull. The vessel was propelled by a 50-horse-
power Mercedes motor actuating a four-blade screw propeller 13 feet in
diameter, mounted between the car and hull. This screw was made of thin
steel tubes covered with shirting. Among the merits of Parseval’s air ship
may be mentioned its lightness and demountability, and its kite-like effect
on the air, got by canting the hull while the car, rolling on the suspension
cables, allowed the screw mounted above it to thrust horizontally. The
canting was effected by giving one ballonet more air than the other, thus
causing its end of the hull to sink. The speed was about twenty-five miles
per hour.

PLATE IX.

PARSEVAL I.
(Courtesy W. J. Hammer.)

PARSEVAL II.
(Courtesy E. L. Jones.)

The second Parseval was of greater bulk and power than her predecessor.
Her hull which was of cylindric form, with round prow and pointed stern,
measured 190 feet long, 30.5 feet in diameter, and 113,000 cubic feet in
volume. She resembled her predecessor in the arrangement of the two
ballonets, and in the “loose,” or trolley, system of suspension of the car. The
propeller was a unique patented device of Von Parseval’s. It had four cloth
blades so weighted with lead as to stand out firmly under centrifugal force,
assuming an effective shape for propulsion, though limp and deformed
when at rest. Various interesting evolutions were performed by this vessel in
the autumn of 1908, including tests imposed by the military authorities, as a
condition of purchase by the government, one requirement being a voyage
of one hour at an altitude of 1,500 meters; another requirement being a
continuous cruise of twelve hours. These tests completed, the Motor-
Luftschiff-Studien-Gesellschaft sold its proud ship to the Vaterland for
210,000 marks.
About the same time the War Department purchased the Gross I, already
described, and Zeppelin’s third great ship, naming it Zeppelin I. Germany
thus began her program of developing a great aërial fleet, by acquiring three
powerful and well tried ships, each capable of remaining all day in the air,

and having a radius of action of several hundred miles. They were
frequently called upon to make test voyages in all kinds of weather, to
maneuver with the troops, to pass in review before the Emperor, at times
conveying prominent officers and members of the noblest families,
including Prince Henry and the Crown Prince, who manifested a fondness
for navigating about their newly opened empire of the sky. But sometimes
the tests were crucial. On September 11, 1908, both the Gross and Parseval
were summoned to Potsdam by His Majesty. They set forth from their
sheds, at Tegel, in face of a strong wind. After journeying some distance
they each had to abandon the voyage, the Gross returning home, and the
Parseval falling to the ground owing to an accident.
The third Parseval air ship was brought forth on February 18, 1909, by
the Luftfahrzeug-Gesellschaft, an aëronautical firm founded by merging the
Motor-Luftschiff-Studien-Gesellschaft with the A. E. G. This vessel closely
resembled her predecessor, but possessed greater size, power, and
perfection of detail. Her hull at first measured 224 feet long, 47 feet in
diameter, and 198,000 cubic feet in volume, but later was enlarged to
235,000 cubic feet by increasing its diameter.
Her car, which could accommodate twelve passengers, was framed of
steel tubing covered with canvas, and was divided into two parts, separated
by the big gasoline cylinder running athwart ship, the passenger cabin being
to the fore, the engine room aft. Here were stationed the two engines, of 120
horse power each, actuating reversible right and left Parseval screws 13
feet in diameter, located to the rear, well aloft and outward on either side. In
the forepart of the passenger cabin was space for the pilot and his
navigating appliances; his chart desk, his valve controls, his statoscope,
manometers, etc.
The great ship with her nine tons burden was to have sailed from
Bitterfeld to Frankfort, for the Aëronautical Exposition, but owing to
excessive gales, she was sent by rail. Once there, she made many
excursions, at times carrying passengers at a schedule rate, reported to be
200 marks for a voyage of one to two hours. In October she made an inter-
city excursion covering a distance of nearly 500 miles, during which she
passed four nights in the open air, finally returning in good form to
Frankfort. On October 27th she made a farewell tour about Frankfort, then
voyaged along the Main and down the Rhine valley to Cologne, there to

participate in the aëronautic military maneuvers, together with the Parseval
I, the Gross II and the Zeppelin II. Having passed creditably through these
and other operations in the autumn, she was eventually stationed at Tegel,
as a part of the national fleet.
The fourth Parseval, a smaller vessel, was built for the Deutscher Aëro
Club early in 1909. Her hull cubed 113,000 feet, and her framing was made
of the strongest materials, carefully hollowed, to eliminate undue weight. At
the rear of the car, on either side, were two 100-horse engines, driving two
Parseval propellers at a common speed, whether both engines were in
operation, or only one. In many respects she resembled her immediate
predecessors, and her little successor Parseval V of 1,200 cubic meters
capacity and 30 meters length, built for the Imperial Automobile Club.
The maneuvers at Cologne constituted the first grand demonstration of
the new fleet of military dirigibles, and proved a severe test of the powers
of the air ships, even when manned by experienced crews and commanded
by regular military officers. Two companies of the balloon corps battalion
were in attendance. Large provisions of hydrogen loaded on wagons, each
carrying 100,000 cubic feet, were kept in readiness to be attached to an
express train and rushed at the first alarm to any balloon in need of
replenishing. On Sunday, October 31, three of the dirigibles representing
each type, Zeppelin IV, Parseval I, Gross II, left Cologne together, by
official order, and returned after flights of 7, 10 and 11 hours respectively,
covering in the aggregate 930 miles. Again, leaving Cologne shortly before
noon on November 3d, they went down the Rhine, simulated a concerted
attack on the great fortress of Eherenbreitstein, and returned in the evening,
each having covered 155 miles. And so on for many days they continued to
execute maneuvers under military orders and in severe forced marches.

CHAPTER VI
DEVELOPMENT OF RIGID DIRIGIBLES

Count Ferdinand von Zeppelin, the famous cavalry general of
Würtemburg, and hero of the Franco-Prussian war, after retiring from the
army, organized, in 1898, a limited liability company for the purpose of
developing a new type of dirigible which he had long contemplated. It was
to be a vessel far larger and swifter than any the world had yet seen. In the
summer of 1900, after two years of industrious experimental research and
active construction, he brought forth from his floating laboratory on Lake
Constance, near Manzell, the first of those wonderful air ships which have
aroused such expectation and enthusiasm in Germany. In outward
appearance and in its chief features of design it typified the whole series of
motor balloons thus far developed and navigated by that illustrious inventor.
Many valuable improvements were added, as a result of trial and the
advance of the collateral sciences; but the fundamental plans seem to have
proved as practical as they were bold and original. One by one were
surmounted the greatest obstacles, physical, financial and finally political;
for the Prussian Ministry did not favor his project at first, and many
aëronautical adepts were adverse to it. Those huge ships faced the fury of
many a tempest; their dauntless builder endured the storm of hostile
criticism; but in the end, builder and ships alike won the plaudits of a proud
empire and of an astonished world.
Outwardly a Zeppelin balloon may be described as a long cylinder with
ogival ends and a V-shaped keel running the length of its bottom. From afar
the cylinder and pointed ends appear circular in cross section, but they are
sixteen-sided. About one-third the distance from either end of the great ship
a small boat is suspended from the hull so closely that at those places the
keel is omitted to make room. These two boats are rigidly connected with
the hull and support it when the vessel rests on, or is towed along the water.
Within them are the crew and petroleum engines, while above them and
outward on each side of the hull, and fastened to it by outriggers, are two

pairs of screw propellers, so placed as to exert their united thrust along the
line of resistance. In some cases the crew can walk through the V-shaped
keel from one boat to another, the passageway being illuminated here and
there, by transparent covering, or windows of celluloid, along the sides and
floor. Again an observer may climb up through the hull and take
observations of the sky from above. Telephones, electric bells, and speaking
tubes serve to transmit intelligence from one part of the vessel to another.
The frame of the hull is formed of sixteen longitudinal beams, or girders,
of trellised metal work running from prow to stern and riveted at regular
intervals to cross bridges of similar trellised metal work, each cross bridge
being a sixteen-sided wheel with trellised rims strengthened by radial rods
running inward to a central flange of sheet aluminum. Thus the body of the
vessel is divided into many compartments, each bounded by two wheels,
and the surrounding longitudinal beams. Each compartment contains a
hydrogen balloon, or sac, which fairly fills it and exerts a lift against the
longitudinal beams and against a netting formed of ramie cords stretched
from wheel to wheel, diagonally between beams at their inner corners.
Similarly the outward corners of the beams are joined by strong diagonal
wires for the purpose of rigidity, and the whole external frame is covered
with a heavy fabric which forms the outer skin, or wall of the hull. Between
this skin and the hydrogen bags are air spaces, as also between bag and bag.
Thus the whole vessel is buoyed up by numerous thin hydrogen sacs,
protected by the frame and outer skin from the direct sun, from foul
weather, and from external shocks. The gas bags are also separated from
each other by the bridge work and flanges of aluminum.

PLATE X.

GROSS III.

ZEPPELIN AIRSHIP STRUCTURE.

Obviously there is a material advantage in having many gas cells and two
propelling plants; for if one fails it may not prevent navigation. The tandem
arrangement of bags separated by the wheel-like cross bridges also allows
the balloon to rear any amount without material displacement of the gas, or
dangerous increase of pressure; for it must be remembered that a single
hydrogen sac extending the full length of an up-ended balloon of such
length, would have an outward pressure of about thirty pounds per square
foot greater at the top than at the bottom. The poise of the vessel is
maintained by shifting weights, and also by use of fins, or rudders, when
driving through the air; but those arrangements vary in the different
machines. So much for the general features of these wonderful ships, of

which four were built during the decade from 1898 to 1908, and several
more since that period.
The construction and trial of Count Zeppelin’s first air ship proved a
formidable task, requiring all his resources of money and mechanical skill.
As it rivaled in size and fluid displacement a large ocean liner, it could not
well be launched and landed, except on the water. It was therefore housed in
a wooden shed 472 feet long, floating on 95 pontoons, and so anchored as
to swing freely with the wind and assume its direction. This shed, as well as
the ship, was very costly, and in an unfortunate hour was torn from its
moorings by a tempest, which did other damage entailing great expense and
time for repairs. The inventor’s resources were becoming strained; for, as
reported, the shed cost $50,000, while the first balloon cost more than twice
that sum.
Finally, the first launching was officially set for June 30, 1900. The lake
was thronged with people massed along the shores, and dotting its surface
with every kind of craft, from the fisherman’s primitive boat to the
handsomest private yacht, or launch. All day the expectant multitude
waited, only to learn at dusk, that the inflation was not completed. Next day
they tarried again till evening, and merely saw the raft on which the balloon
rested, towed out of the floating house. On the third day, July 2d, those who
waited were rewarded with an interesting spectacle. The long stiff air ship
was drawn forth from its shed, like a ram rod from a gun. Count Zeppelin,
with two men, occupied the front boat, while two others took the rear one.
After careful adjustment the vessel was liberated, at eight o’clock, rose
slowly and advanced over the water, accompanied by the droning of its
propellers and the shouts of the delighted spectators, who realized that they
might be witnessing the commencement of a new epoch in aërial
navigation. But the voyage was not an unqualified success. The controlling
mechanism became deranged, the framework was bent, and the propellers
could not be worked properly. A gentle wind was blowing and the vessel
drifted with it, having an independent speed of only thirteen feet per
second, at best. At eight-twenty she reached Immenstadt and landed on the
water, having voyaged three and one half miles, and having attained a
height of thirteen hundred feet on a part of the journey.
At that date the Zeppelin I was by far the largest and most elaborate air
ship ever constructed. Her hull measured 416 feet long, 38 feet across,

cubed nearly 400,000 feet, weighed 9 tons, and had a displacement of 10
tons. The trellised frame was made of aluminum, and its body comprised
seventeen compartments, of which fifteen were 26 feet long, and the other
two 13 feet long. The outer cover was of linen treated with pegamoid and
tightly stretched. The hydrogen sacs were of thin fabric. The propulsion was
effected by two benzine motors, one in either boat, which together
developed 32 horse power, each driving, by means of bevel gears and
shafting, a pair of four-blade propellers 3.77 feet in diameter, at 1,100
revolutions per minute. Steering sidewise was effected by means of vertical
rudders, while the trim was controlled by horizontal rudders at either side of
the vessel, as also by means of a sliding weight which could be drawn fore
and aft by means of a winch. Naturally some of these details were
superseded ere long by better devices suggested by subsequent experience.
On October 17, 1900, Zeppelin I made her second voyage, and with
much better result. Starting from the same balloon house at Manzell, at
four-forty-five, she promptly rose a thousand feet, and maneuvered in a
seven-mile wind, steering in great curves at the will of the pilot. At times
the speed was nearly twenty miles an hour, as determined by continuous
observations of the balloon’s position, taken from three points of a triangle,
together with the velocity of the wind on its course, duly recorded by an
anemometer. Finally a landing on the water was made at six o’clock,
without mishap.
This last demonstration left the Count triumphant in other respects, but
without sufficient funds to bring his invention into practical use. He must,
therefore, look for additional money for the proper continuation of his great
work. The financial task thus ensuing occupied much of his time during the
next five years, but he finally secured capital enough to continue his
experiments and to build a second airship. This was completed and ready
for trial in the latter part of 1905.
Zeppelin II resembled its predecessor in appearance, but embodied many
improvements suggested by the former trials. Its hull was 414 feet long, 38
feet in diameter, held 367,000 cubic feet of hydrogen in its sixteen gas bags,
and weighed with all appliances and cargo, about nine tons. It was,
therefore, about ten per cent smaller than its predecessor; but at the same
time it was far better powered than the earlier one, and more effectively
controlled. Each boat carried an 85-horse-power Daimler benzine motor,

actuating two enlarged propellers. Ample steering surfaces, operated by the
helmsman in the front boat, served to turn the great ship about either of
three axes and, at the same time, to displace her bodily up and down in the
air, either by direct lift or by canting her hull so that her screw thrust and the
pressure on her sides would produce the desired translation.
Two trials of Zeppelin’s second air ship were made on the Borden-See,
one on November 30, 1906, the other on January 17, 1907; but both met
with serious accident. In the first trial the balloon was towed by a motor
boat some distance, then cut loose in the wind, which was carrying it
forward faster than the boat. But it soon became unmanageable and plunged
into the water, suffering considerable damage. In the second trial it flew for
a short time at a speed of thirty feet per second, when the engines were
developing 36 horse power. Some maneuvering was effected in a strong
wind, but presently the propellers stopped, the vessel dropped to the shore
and was anchored on the ground. During the night it was so badly damaged
by the wind that Count Zeppelin ordered it to be taken to pieces to furnish
material for further construction.
The loss of two mammoth air ships after such brief trial seemed enough
to appall even a sturdy general of the Prussian army; but Count Zeppelin
was too resolute to waste time in futile tears and hopeless dejection. Strong
natures are usually stimulated by disaster, and aroused to fuller energy, to
grimmer determination, if not to desperate hazard. However, not
desperation, but buoyant hope and high expectation, based on ample
experience, were now his ruling motive. Had not his ship attained thirty feet
per second with less than one fourth her motive power? The year began
with disaster indeed, but he intended it to terminate in glorious victory. And
such, indeed, was the happy issue.
October, 1907, witnessed the launching of Zeppelin III. She had the same
length as her immediate predecessor, but she was a luckier vessel and better
powered. On her official trial she voyaged at the height of half a mile,
carrying eleven persons sixty-seven miles in two hours and seventeen
minutes, or at more than twenty-nine miles per hour. This was a record
velocity exceeding that of the best military balloon in France. At times she
attained a velocity of fifty feet per second, thus considerably outspeeding
the swiftest ocean liner. Moreover, her stability and steering qualities were
excellent. With pardonable elation, therefore, the illustrious inventor could

report to the Minister of War the complete success of his experiments. And
with good reason the German government now granted financial aid to test
more fully the merits of the rigid system of construction.
With this assistance the industrious aëronaut erected a new floating house
on the Borden-See at Friedrichshafen, and began the construction of a still
larger air ship embodying further improvements in various details. Zeppelin
IV was 446 feet long, 42.5 in diameter, held 460,000 cubic feet of hydrogen
in her sixteen compartments, and had a total buoyancy of sixteen tons. She
had a surplus buoyancy of over two tons, carried a crew of 18 men, and had
an estimated range of action of eighteen hundred miles. When drawn from
her shed in the autumn of 1907, her great buoyant hull resting lightly on the
water supported by her two floating cars, she had all the appearance of a
royal passenger express ready for important service. In general features the
vessel was like her three predecessors, but in the center of the keel, with
transparent floors and windowed sides, was a special stateroom designed
for passengers only. This seemed very suggestive, if not prophetic, of the
future trend of aërial navigation. Moreover, the mechanism of propulsion
and control were increased in power and effectiveness. In each boat-like car
was a 110-horse-power Daimler benzine engine, actuating a pair of three-
blade propellers about 15 feet in diameter. A large vertical rudder, mounted
on the extreme end of the stern, and supplemented by a pair of smaller
vertical rudders at either side of the stern, served to steer the vessel right
and left. For steering up and down, as also for exerting a direct lift up or
down, four superposed planes like a Venetian blind were placed at either
side of the hull fore and aft, at about the same level as the propellers. In
addition the hull was provided, like a feathered arrow, with fixed fin-like
planes at the stern, both vertical and horizontal, for securing steadiness of
flight.
Several trials of this leviathan were made preliminary to her official
government test which, if satisfactory, assured her purchase by the German
government for $500,000. At the builder’s suggestion this test should
include a voyage of 24 hours duration, a safe descent on land or water, an
ascent to 4,000 feet, and the fulfillment of various secret requirements. In
the autumn of 1907 a successful voyage of eight hours was easily
accomplished. In the early part of the next summer, 1908, a series of
voyages were made which aroused intense interest throughout the civilized

world. On June 13th the great ship, starting from her harbor at
Friedrichshafen, sailed over the Alps to Lucerne, steering in among the
mountains; here buffeted by eddies, and cross currents, there stemming such
stiff head winds that her shadow could hardly creep forward over the
ground, again driving through a dark lowering hailstorm which pelted with
ominous thunder on her resounding hull; but at length reaching Lucerne
safely, then returning in triumph to her harbor at Friedrichshafen. For
twelve hours the stanch vessel endured the elements, by no means
hospitable, and in that period voyaged 270 miles at an average speed of 22
miles an hour. It was a record journey and a triumph in the art.
The following picturesque account of a flight in Count von Zeppelin’s
gigantic air ship, written by Emil Sandt, appeared in the Scientific American
Supplement of August 15, 1908:

“Early in the morning Professor Hergesell, Freiherr von Bassus, Dr.
Stalberg, Herr Uhland, and myself set out in Count Zeppelin’s launch
for the shed in which the great air ship is housed. When we arrived
everything was in readiness for us. Count Zeppelin is proud of the fact
that his colossal craft can be drawn in and out of the shed with very
little help. In seven minutes the huge gas bag had emerged, and a few
minutes later we were floating up to the sky. I took my station in the
central car or cabin, a comfortable room flooded with the yellow light
that filters through the translucent balloon fabric of which the walls,
the floor and the ceiling are constituted. Comfortable seats suspended
from fine chains provide a seating capacity for a dozen passengers.
“For a great portion of their length the walls are provided with
celluloid panes. The floor is also transparent wherever it is not used as
a footway. Seated comfortably in the central car, I could look down
through my knees and see the green earth, water, people, cities and
castles far below. I could also see birds circling around and fluttering
anxiously, evidently frightened by the strange giant of the air.
“We crossed over to the Ueberlinger See, traversed the intermediate
neck of land, and turned into the valley of the Rhine at Konstanz. Here
I left the central car and walked toward the rear car along the keelway,
which is flanked with balloon cloth, and which is closed at the end of
the keelway by a celluloid door. I opened the door and stepped out on

the narrow aluminum gangway, which runs down sharply to the rear
car. The gangway has no protecting handrail. It is merely ribbed to
give a better foothold. That apparently flimsy structure bridges a
chasm of twenty feet between the end of the keelway and the car. From
below, the passage from the keelway and the car must seem perilous
indeed, but up in the air ship itself no fear is felt. I stood on this narrow
bridge and gazed on the landscape. To the north I could see the
Hohendtwiel. Behind us lay the Swabian See glistening in the
morning’s sun. In the southeast I saw Thurgau wrapped in violet light.
On the horizon the lofty peak of the Saentis rose broad and jagged,
capped with ice and snow. Below us writhed the Rhine. I looked across
at the propellers. Count von Zeppelin had signaled full speed ahead.
The giant air ship trembled. The propellers seemed like disks,
revolving with furious speed and yet as transparent as a locust’s wings.
They gave out a note like that of a deep organ, so loud that the human
voice, even when lifted to a shriek, could hardly be heard.
“I walked down to the rear car to obtain a better view. Here the
gigantic craft could be seen in a wonderful perspective. The sensation
was strange. The giant ship obediently sank and rose. Obediently
moved to the right or to the left, slavishly following the slightest
pressure of the human hand. Sometimes its angle was such that the
entire fabric seemed inclined like a kite. At times the forward car lay
below us; at times we had to look up at it.
“As we neared the splendid falls of the Rhine at Schaffhausen, the
Count brought the air ship down, in order to ascertain whether the
eddies occasioned by the waterfall would have any effect.
“We turned into the Reusstal, but were buffeted by the wind all the
way up the valley. To the south the sharp jutting peak of Mount Pilatus
hove in sight. Soon Lucerne appeared, a jewel among cities. The lake
itself shimmered brightly where it was struck by the sun; its darker
portions lay like an emerald, held in a setting of heliotrope. It was like
a melody in colors. Below us in Lucerne itself there was a hubbub and
a great jubilation. The streets were crowded with gayly clad people.
The roads were a-swarm. Zeppelin guided his air ship down, and
allowed it to glide full speed over the city at the height of a church
steeple.

“We traveled over the Vierwaldstaetter See, and crossed to
Knessnacht, to Zug Lake, and up northward to Zug itself. Then came
the most difficult task which Professor Hergesell had assigned to the
air ship. The craft was to carry us straight across to Lake Zurich,
through a narrow pass where it would be caught in a veritable cyclone.
The motors groaned and rattled. The propellers howled a deep
groaning song. The air ship did all that it could. The wind was dead
against us, traveling with a velocity of nearly thirty-one miles an hour.
The Count could easily have arisen and escaped the fury of the blast,
but it was his purpose not to avoid obstacles, but to court them.
Whenever the great air ship showed signs of swerving, it was brought
back to its course. Far below us in the valley the sharply marked
shadow of the air ship, crawling slowly from tree to tree, showed us
how hard it was struggling. There were minutes when it seemed as if
we stood stock still, despite the infernal music of the propellers.
Gradually the nose of the craft was thrust forward; once more the air
ship mastered the winds. We had forced our way through the pass, and
were dashing on at full speed. The vast shadow below us traveled with
the velocity of a bird over the mountain, valleys, cliffs and rocky
points, over railway embankments and road, over water and land.”

Two attempts were made in July, 1908, to complete the government test;
but they proved abortive, and in the second one the hull was damaged by
the wind pushing it sidewise against the shed, as it was being towed out by
motor boat. This accident caused a delay of two weeks, much to the
disappointment of the expectant populace. As a consequence Zeppelin
resolved to begin the next attempt unheralded. He had the repairs made
quickly and all was ready early in August.
On Tuesday, August 4th, at six forty-five in the morning, the great
twenty-four hour test for the government began, without previous
announcement, but with fairest prospect of success. Sailing from
Friedrichshafen, Zeppelin purposed to follow the Rhine as far down as
Mayence, then return in a direct line to his starting point. All went
splendidly at first. He passed Constance at seven o’clock in the morning,
Basle at nine-thirty, Strassburg about noon, then with slower speed passed
Mannheim at two-fifty and Darmstadt at four-thirty. At about six o’clock a
descent was made at Oppenheim, eleven and a quarter hours after starting.

The air ship had voyaged 270 miles at the average speed of 22 miles an
hour. A wonderful demonstration it was for the inhabitants of that historic
valley, and a glorious tour for the brave old sailor and his crew. Resuming
the voyage, Mayence, the turning point, was reached at eleven o’clock at
night, and the vessel was headed for home. But now the engines, being
overworked, could not maintain the usual speed, which therefore was
lowered to twelve miles an hour. Next morning at eight o’clock, after
Stuttgart had been passed, a descent had to be made at the village of
Echterdingen, to adjust and overhaul the machinery. Ninety-five miles of
the return had been made in nine hours.
It was most unfortunate that a landing had to be made without a harbor,
particularly as a gale was in pursuit of the vessel. Ere long she was torn
from her moorings by a squall, carried into the air, and set on fire, probably
by an electric discharge. Immediately the great hull was enveloped in flame
and completely destroyed, leaving a tangled network of distorted framing. It
was a dismal termination to the greatest motor balloon voyage in the
world’s history up to that date; for the vessel had been in the air
continuously for twenty and three-fourths hours and had traveled 378 miles.
The hardy and venerable hero of so many voyages and long continued
experiments quite broke down at the sight of his grandest vessel in ruin. But
an unlooked for and a sudden turn of events brought him the greatest
triumph in his darkest hour. While the world expressed its grief and
sympathy his loyal countrymen hastened to his relief in an admirable burst
of enthusiasm. Within twenty-four hours the government had made him a
grant of $125,000, and subscriptions offered in all parts of Germany
brought the sum to over $500,000. By October, 1908, the total gift
amounted to $1,500,000, which was paid to the Zeppelin Air Ship
Company, formed for developing and building air ships on a large scale. A
tract of 300 acres was secured at Friedrichshafen for an air ship factory.
Here was erected the necessary shops, hydrogen plant, balloon harbor, and
everything necessary to enable the company to construct several mammoth
air ships each year. To these new grounds the Count’s former interests were
gradually conveyed, while his old station, with its air ship dock on Lake
Constance, was converted into a military post by the German government.
After the destruction of Zeppelin IV, its predecessor, the Count’s third air
ship, was again prepared for service and for new triumphs. Her hull was

lengthened by the addition of a cylindrical section having the length of one
compartment, or about 26 feet. This alteration gave a considerable increase
of net buoyancy with but slight increase of resistance. The dimensions now
were: length 446 feet, diameter 38 feet, volume 423,768 cubic feet. The gas
was contained in sixteen sacs, twelve in the cylindrical part and two at each
end. The ship was propelled by two 85-horse-power engines, supplied with
sufficient gasoline for a forty-one hour voyage at 25 miles per hour. The
loss of gas by leakage was less by weight than the loss of fuel. The famous
old cruiser, thus remodeled, was operated in the autumn of 1908 with her
usual precision and grace; thus winning new distinction and renown. On
one occasion she had as passengers the Crown Prince and the Kaiser’s
brother, Prince Henry. The Emperor himself witnessed the demonstration,
and decorated the Count, referring to him as “the greatest German of the
century.” Soon afterward the ship was taken over by the government and
assigned to the Prussian Battalion of Aëronauts, being christened Zeppelin
I, since it was the first vessel of the kind taken into the military service.
Beginning with March 9, 1909, the military Zeppelin I was kept in active
operation by the officers, and subjected to a wide variety of tests day by
day. She was driven through rain and snowstorms, at all elevations up to a
mile; she was anchored over land and over water, sometimes exposed for
hours to a gale; she was steered in and out of her shed without the aid of her
floating raft; she was sent on long trips, landed in the open country, by day
and by night, and returned to harbor in safety. On one occasion she carried
twenty-six passengers for over an hour and a half; again she made an
endurance flight of thirteen hours. These maneuvers exhibited for the first
time many capabilities of the ship, which all along had been stoutly
affirmed by the inventor, but questioned by his critics.
On April 1, 1909, at four o’clock in the morning, the renowned Zeppelin
I, with the Count as helmsman, started through the rain and wind on a
voyage from Friedrichshafen to Munich, a hundred miles distant. The ship
followed the railway as far as Ulm, guided by the station lights, which were
kept burning all night to mark the route. As she approached Munich, at the
appointed hour of nine next morning, her approach was announced from
afar by the droning of her machinery and propellers, whereupon she was
welcomed by loud music from many bands and the joyous ringing of all the
bells in the city. The Prince Regent of Bavaria and a great throng of

applauding citizens awaited her at the Teresenhohe park. Presently the swift
cruiser approached, sailing over the steeple tops like a monstrous arrow.
She halted before the Regent and dipped her bow three times, in graceful
salute. Then she circled widely over the city, intending to land at the
Oberwiesenfeld Parade Grounds, where part of the garrison troops were
drawn up to receive her. But now, while so near the goal, she found it
difficult to stem the increasing gale, and unsafe to land; so, with her bow
pointed to the city, and propellers humming furiously, she gradually yielded
to the storm, and drifted slowly backward toward the northeast.
The crucial hour had come for this stanch vessel and her audacious
captain. They wrestled with the storm bravely and obstinately, but were
beaten back steadily, with no port in view. The Count determined to weather
the gale till it should spend its fury. He coolly sent an aërogram to Munich,
saying that all was well and that he might reach the city late in the day.
Observing a suitable place to land, near the village of Loiching, he pointed
the prow of his ship downward, approached the earth and cast anchor. As
the front car touched the ground it was grasped by the willing hands of
thronging peasants and villagers. Presently the ship was taken in charge by
a military relief party which the Count had hailed on the way, at
Guendelkoven, and which had hastened to his aid in automobiles. Fifty
soldiers, in regular shifts, that night held the bow of the vessel by a short
leash. The anchor was firmly fastened, and additional ropes secured the
bow to an unwheeled wagon loaded with stones. Thus all night long that
mighty hull swayed to and fro in the passing storm, securely as a ship
anchored at sea.

PLATE XI.

ZEPPELIN DIRIGIBLE RESTING ON THE WATER.
Photo E. Levick, N. Y.

ZEPPELIN DIRIGIBLE OVER ZÜRICH.
Photo E. Levick, N. Y.

Next morning the vessel was well replenished and headed for home, by
way of Munich. The return was easy, for the wind had nearly reversed its
course. Sailing at 32 miles an hour, with a quartering current, the
stormbeaten ship soon reached Munich, where she was hailed with
boundless enthusiasm. The Prince Regent entertained the Count during his
sojourn of three hours, and decorated him with a gold medal. The ship then
sailed for Friedrichshafen, with the full speed of the wind and of her
propellers, at one time attaining 68 miles an hour. At nightfall she landed
gently on the lake near Manzell, having weathered that tempestuous voyage
without serious mishap.
This was a splendid proof of her stanchness; but a few days later she was
put through other tests quite as severe, one being a night voyage of thirteen
and a third hours, after a day of busy maneuvering. Following this came her

still longer voyage, to Metz, where she was stationed as a frontier war
vessel, and one of a considerable fleet contemplated by the German
government.
In the meantime the energetic Count had started his fifth vessel, or
military Zeppelin II, which now was nearing completion at the works of the
Zeppelin Air Ship Construction Company. Her hull measured 446 feet in
length, had a diameter of 42½ feet, and a volume of over half a million
cubic feet. It also had a ladder running through one of the compartments to
a platform on its top. Her motors of 220 horse power were taken uninjured
from the wreck of the old Zeppelin IV at Echterdingen.
Without previous notice this new air ship set forth in a rain on the
evening of May 29, 1909, headed toward Berlin, having on board the Count
and seven other men. The purpose of the voyage was merely to exercise the
ship; not to reach any definite goal; but by mistake she was reported on her
way to Berlin, so that the Kaiser and his retinue waited some hours in vain
to receive her. She voyaged bravely past Nuremberg and Leipsic to
Bitterfeld, within 85 miles of the capital; then turned for home, the Count
being unaware of the hopes he was disappointing. She returned successfully
past Weimar and Stuttgart, then, near Goeppingen, descended on an open
plain to take on gasoline from a neighboring petroleum refinery. As they
were nearing the ground in a heavy rain, Count Zeppelin, who was acting as
pilot, suddenly beheld, just before them, a half dead pear tree, with gaunt
bare limbs. He gave a sharp order to starboard the helm; but his aëronaut,
worn by too long service, thrust the helm to port, and the ship, impelled by
a sudden gust, plunged head on against the tree. Her prow was wrecked, the
frame and envelope being wrenched and torn for a distance of 100 feet.
The disaster seemed complete, but the dauntless Count was equal to the
emergency. Twenty workmen were summoned from Friedrichshafen, sixty
miles away, and sped to the rescue in automobiles. Electric wires from a
nearby plant were stretched to furnish light for night repairs. The grounds
were guarded by police and troops. The hull was detached from the tree;
furnished with a temporary prow of young firs covered with balloon cloth;
relieved of the forward motors and other impedimenta; furnished with fresh
supplies; and, in exactly 28 hours from the mishap, was ready for the
homeward voyage.

Slowly the crippled air ship sailed for Friedrichshafen, followed by the
white-haired inventor in an automobile, unmoved and triumphant. A mighty
shout ascended from the immense crowd of witnesses who had assembled
from many quarters. All Germany was elated and jubilant. The great voyage
and the prompt recovery from apparent disaster were a triumph of the
whole people, for they had helped their hero to build this ship, and now
participated in his victory over the spite of fortune and the elements. The
Emperor telegraphed his congratulations, affirming his renewed confidence
in the rigid system. Without further difficulty the vessel reached her port at
an easy gait of ten miles an hour, thus completing a memorable voyage of
seven hundred miles—one of the most glorious in the history of
aëronautics.
If the citizens of Berlin were disappointed on this occasion, they had not
long to wait for an aërial visit from the wizard of Friedrichshafen. On
August 27th, at 4.45 a.m., his crew of five men sailed for Berlin via
Nuremberg and Leipsic in his sixth air ship, his latest and largest, hurriedly
finished for the Berlin voyage. It cubed 533,000 feet, and was driven by
two Daimler engines of 150 nominal horse power each. In the afternoon
they reached Nuremberg, circled over the city and landed for the night.
Starting at 2.15 next morning they battled their way toward Leipsic against
a strong wind, and at 6.45 p.m. landed for the night at Bitterfeld, where they
arrived with a broken propeller. Here Count Zeppelin joined them. The next
morning, after a good night’s rest and some repairs, they started at half past
seven, in a dense fog, which, however, soon cleared. Finally they arrived at
Berlin at half past twelve o’clock, as the people were returning from
church. They circled over the city, to the delight of the multitude of
spectators who thronged the house tops, parks, and thoroughfares, finally
reaching the parade ground at Tegel. Here, after saluting the Emperor, the
happy navigator maneuvered before the imperial tribune, greeted by the
thunderous Hoch! Hoch! of a hundred thousand throats, and the ringing of
all the church bells of the nation’s capital. The venerable Count was
graciously received by the Emperor and members of the royal family. After
spending the day at Berlin, the crew sailed for Friedrichshafen, about
midnight, where, after various accidents and delays, they arrived in safety
on September 6th.

In some respects this was Von Zeppelin’s crowning voyage of the year,
though effected with a hurriedly finished vessel, not yet thoroughly
adjusted. In mechanical execution this journey was equaled on many other
occasions; for those great air ships were kept in active service and were
everywhere hailed with enthusiasm. Both the Emperor and his people were
proud to number those grand cruisers among the nation’s aërial warships.
With general commendation, therefore, was received the announcement that
four large Zeppelins were ordered for the use of the German navy. And not
surprising was the announcement that other inventors were at work on
designs for dirigibles of the rigid type. The projects of these new rivals,
who began to appear in 1909, are set forth in the following account:[17]

“Count Zeppelin, who proved that air ships have a practical future,
is no longer undisputed ‘king of the air.’ His rivals have taken his
pattern, and improved it until soon air ships will be able to keep afloat
for many days and in that case to cross oceans. A type of this modern
ship is the first Schütte leviathan of wood and steel bracing, now
nearly finished at Mannheim. It is expected to lift its twenty-four and
one-fifth tons one and a quarter miles, because its beam is sixty feet as
compared with the forty-four feet of the Zeppelin II. The car is one
hundred and thirty feet long, with a cabin to accommodate thirty
passengers. The new ship displaces nineteen thousand cubic meters, as
against fifteen thousand in the Zeppelin III. It is expected to carry a
cargo of five to six tons supported by ten spherical sustaining
chambers, and eight ring-shape reservoir chambers connected by a
secret apparatus. These eight reservoirs automatically receive all
expanding gas that escapes from the sustaining chambers, thus
conserving the entire supporting power. Four motors of combined five
hundred and forty horse power will drive the propellers. Expert
opinion predicts a speed of thirty-seven to forty-three miles an hour,
three miles faster than the Gross III, at this writing the fastest air ship
in the world. The whole enterprise is backed by Mr. Lanz, a rich
manufacturer, who is president of the German Air-Navy League. A
wooden-braced ship of equal equipment and size, designed by the
Engineer Rettich, is well under way.
“Another rival of the Zeppelin, so far only projected, has been
designed by the Engineers Radinger and Wagner, and is intended to be

an advance in endurance. It should float for fifty days without
replenishing gas. It is planned to have a rigid hull of hollow paper
tubes and steel bracing and to be thirty per cent lighter than a Zeppelin
built of aluminum, in any equal size. Drum-shape compartments are to
hold the sustaining hydrogen, none of which is to be lost through
expansion by the sun, as any surplus will be compressed by automatic
pumps into the hollow tubes.[18] Having six thousand meters less
displacement than the Zeppelin III, it will carry a reserve of seven
hundred cubic meters of gas. Thirty-two per cent of its weight-carrying
capacity will be given up to passengers, fuel, and baggage. Engines of
two hundred and forty-two combined horse power are expected to
develop a speed of forty to fifty miles an hour. Larger craft of the same
type would, of course, carry much heavier cargoes and have higher
speed. This type of ship, soon to be placed in the construction cradle, is
expected to cross the ocean easily with fifteen passengers.”

In keeping with the lively growth of these great ships was the formation
of the German aërial transportation company, with a capital stock of
$750,000, reported in l’Aérophile for December, 1909. A line of large
Zeppelins was to connect Baden-Baden, Mannheim, Munich, Leipsic,
Cologne, Düsseldorf, Berlin, Dresden, Essen and Frankfort. The first two
auto balloons of this line were to be the Zeppelin IV and Zeppelin V, to be
put in commission in the spring of 1910. The Zeppelin IV was to cube
706,000 cubic feet, and carry twenty passengers in three cars, each
containing a motor. The Zeppelin V was to be constructed of a remarkably
light rigid alloy “electrometal,” and was to carry at least thirty passengers.
This enterprise certainly formed an appropriate termination to the first
decade of practical auto ballooning.
The projected passenger line of the German Air Ship Society was
inaugurated the following summer with serene audacity and fairy-like
magnificence. The first ship employed, Zeppelin VII, was a huge vessel of
unusual power, speed and elegance of appointment. She was 485 feet long
by 46 in diameter, cubed 690,000 feet, and carried three engines totaling
420 horse power and competent to drive her 35 miles per hour. Midway
beneath her hull and rigidly joined to it, was a passenger car thirty-five feet
long, having a vestibule at one end, a lavatory at the other, and five
compartments between them, with seats for twenty persons. Beyond the

ends of the car were open decks leading to the boats fore and aft containing
the machinery.
At three o’clock on the morning of June 22, 1910, with Count Zeppelin
in charge, and a dozen passengers aboard, this majestic auto balloon sailed
from Friedrichshafen up the Rhine Valley for Düsseldorf, three hundred
miles, and after a prosperous voyage of nine hours, made an easy landing.
Next morning at eight thirty she voyaged from Düsseldorf to Dortmund,
thirty-seven miles north, sailing at a general height of one thousand feet,
over some of the finest industrial parts of Germany. Then she returned to
Düsseldorf with her delighted passengers who were all enthusiasm for the
new mode of travel so auspiciously begun. Of the thirty-two persons
aboard, the majority were regular public passengers who had paid fifty
dollars each for the trip, several of them tourists from various countries, and
ten of them women.
The maiden voyage of this first air liner was a marvel and dream of
delight to the fortunate few traveling in such celestial style. The comforts
and splendors of the service quite surpassed their expectations. Seated in
that fairy car of aluminum framing lined with mahogany and rosewood
inlaid with pearl, they looked from spacious windows over the beautiful
German landscape gliding beneath them, and enjoyed visions fit for
itinerating gods. Along the shining waters of the Rhine, and over its
castellated crags, and among its rolling hills terraced with luxuriant
vineyards, now lapped in the glory of summer, and above stately cities
murmuring with multitudinous life, they sailed in serenest comfort and
security, marveling at their own strange career through the sky, and equally
regarded with wonder by all the inhabitants below, not to say written and
read about by millions in all parts of the civilized world. The delights of
land and sea travel were happily mingled, without their inconvenience.
Neither dust nor smoke was here, nor rattle of iron rails, nor lurching and
rolling from heavy seas. Quite otherwise. The senses were charmed with the
fanning of fragrant winds forever and uniformly blowing, with the
melodious drone of the swift propeller wheels, with the green glories of the
earth and purple splendors of the sky. When the tourist was sated with these
he could turn to his book; when tired of his chair he could stroll to and fro
in the car on a soft carpet, or along the trellised deck beyond; when his
appetite called, he could answer with the choicest food and wine; for every

convenience of an ample buffet was available. It was all so enchanting if
only practical.
Encouraged by these trials the company announced, and hoped to make,
voyages at frequent intervals. But in this they promptly encountered
difficulties. On June 28th the Deutschland started from Düsseldorf on a
four-hour cruise, with nearly a score of passengers, mostly newspaper
representatives. But she remained in the air longer than intended. Passing
Solingen she tried to reach Eberfeld, but ineffectually; nor could she find a
landing place. Toward five o’clock she was caught in a great rising wind
and carried one mile aloft like a passive balloon in a vortex or thunderhead.
Here much gas was lost by expansion, and presently, as the ship emerged
from a snow cloud in the upper vortex, with cooled gas and hull laden with
precipitation, she descended at a terrible velocity. With crippled motive
power, the vessel could not be supported dynamically by the impact of the
air against her sustaining planes and against her canted hull, for lack of
forward speed. At length with a terrific crash she struck upon the forest of
Teutoberg, 80 miles from Dusseldorf, a great tree trunk piercing the rear
boat and projecting among the terrified crew. Here the vessel lodged with
her stern and controlling gear badly wrecked, and here she was abandoned
by the passengers, with her huge hull resting on the branches forty feet from
earth. Ere long she was retrieved by a company of infantry who sawed
down the trees, dismantled the ship, and returned the parts on railway trucks
to Friedrichshafen, to be used in building another vessel.
Thus in both civil and military aëronautics the pioneers had to endure
many losses and grievous hardships; but the direst disasters often mark the
way to the greatest victories.

PART II

GROWTH OF AVIATION

CHAPTER VII
MODEL FLYING MACHINES

From time immemorial man has admired the aërial evolutions of wing-
gifted creatures, and aspired to imitate them. But which evolutions should
he attempt first? Which if any are practicable for the ponderous lord of
creation? The question is still pertinent.
Nature in her bounty bewilders us with wondrous models. All about and
overhead, with exquisite art, they challenge us to float or fly. Before the
flower-bell drifts the ruby-throat, his long bill in the honey-hearted bloom;
now bulletlike he leaps through boundless space. Why not adopt that style
of locomotion? Call your rainbow equipage to the door, and take the family
forth in purple state, to the music of melodious wheels.
If the humming bird will not serve, look above you. There rides the dark-
winged master of aërial motion, throned like a god on the impetuous wind.
Mark his majestic sweep as all day long, with unbeating pinion, he scours
the wide plain and rugged regions of the hills, unwearied, reposeful,
deliberate; now skimming the fragrant forest, or meadow; now scaling the
precipice, or swinging above the abyss; now soaring cloudward beyond the
range of human vision. There is a model for the ambitious and the brave!
Or turn to mid ocean when the hurricane, shearing the tops of the arched
billows, scatters them in foam and spray over the watery chaos, and the big
ship strains in the storm. See the long-winged albatross, white vision of joy
in the darkness, careering all playfully round the imperiled vessel, and
above the monstrous waves; wheeling in glad curves, frolicking in the face
of the tempest, riding, without toil or trepidation, the rudest[19] winds a
thousand miles over the sea. What a jocund pace for man!
Of all the charming modes of flight now possible to us it is certain that
our ancestors could copy but one with any hope of success. Minus motive
power they could not imitate the direct flight of the homing pigeon, much
less the mid-air pause of the bumblebee floating round a daisy. Hence there

remained to them only passive flight on nonvibrant wings. The gliding of
vultures, of gulls, and of certain quadrupeds and fishes, they could imitate
with profit; but when they essayed power flight they invariably and
egregiously failed.
The art of aviation presents two main groups of fliers. The first comprises
the various man kites, parachutes, gliding machines, soaring machines.
These may be called passive flyers, because they carry no motive power,
but ride passively on the air by the force of gravity or a towline.
The second group comprises the bird-like flap-wing machines, called
orthopters by technical people; the screw-lift flyers, called helicopters; the
aëroplanes, also called monoplanes, biplanes, triplanes, according to the
number of superposed main lifting surfaces; and lastly the gyroplanes,
whose sustaining surfaces may turn over and over, like a falling lath, or
whirl round and round, like a boomerang. These all may be called dynamic,
or power, flyers. The technical names, however, are not so important, as
they are numerous; for the whole aëronautic nomenclature is in a formative,
not to say chaotic, state. We may, therefore, like Adam, name the creatures
as they pass before us for review or discussion.
Disregarding the crude essays at human flight, recorded in the early
literature and history of many peoples, we may notice first the well
authenticated sketches of Leonardo da Vinci. His fertile mind conceived
three distinct devices for carrying a man in the air. But he and his
successors for nearly four centuries could do little more than invent. For
lack of motive power they could not navigate dynamic flyers, however
ingeniously contrived.

Fig. 26.—Da Vinci’s Helicopter.

Da Vinci’s first design, as shown in Fig. 26, provides the operator with
two wings to be actuated by the power of both arms and legs, through the
agency of very ingenious harness. With this device an acrobat could fly
forward and downward, to the delectation of a multitude; but he would have
to be caught on something soft to escape injury. Since Leonardo’s day the
experiment has been tried occasionally, with varied results, sometimes
grotesque, sometimes tragic. He doubtless realized the impracticability of
an orthopter actuated by human muscle, and yet he has had many followers.
The orthopter is still a favorite device cultivated by a few persons who
propose to work its wings by means of a gasoline motor. Doubtless the feat
is physically possible, and may be accomplished in time.
Da Vinci’s second flyer was a helicopter, as shown in Fig. 26. An aërial
screw 96 feet in diameter was to be turned by a strong and nimble artist
who might, by prodigious effort, lift himself for a short time. Though
various small paper screws were made to ascend in the air, the larger
enterprise was never seriously undertaken. Many subsequent inventors
developed the same project; but the fellow turning the screw always found
it dreadful toil and a hopelessly futile task. Of late the man-driven
helicopter has been abandoned, but the motor-driven one is very much
cultivated. Scores of inventors in recent years, aided by light motors, have
been trying to screw boldly skyward, and some have succeeded in rising on
a helicopter carrying one man.

Da Vinci’s third scheme for human flight, as
shown in Fig. 27, was a framed sail on which a
man could ride downward, if not upward. This
device never fails to navigate with its confiding
sailor. Sometimes he lands in one posture, again
in another; but voyage he must, with the
certainty of gravitation. Leonardo is, therefore,
the father of the parachute. This, in turn, has had
a varied offspring. The common parachute, the
aërial glider, the soaring machine, or passive
aëroplane, that rides the wind without motive
power and without loss of energy.
The foregoing sketches by the great artist
were made toward the year 1500, and there the
science stood for nearly three centuries. Much
Fig. 27.—Da Vinci’s speculation followed, but no substantial
Parachute.
progress. Mathematicians proved by figures the
inadequacy of the human muscle to achieve human flight. Dreamers
demonstrated the same by launching themselves from high places, and
breaking their bones on the unfeeling earth, before unpitying crowds.
Finally came the balloon, giving a new impetus to an embryo art.
The earliest of Da Vinci’s aëronautic ideas to be practically realized was
the parachute. The exact date of its first employment is not exactly known.
In the year 1617 Fauste Veranzio published in Venice a good technical
description of the construction and operation of the parachute, accompanied
by a clear illustration, as shown in Fig. 28. But the first authentic account of
a parachute descent of a human being is that given by Sebastien
Lenormand. This dauntless inventor, on December 26, 1783, descended
from the tower of the Montpelier Observatory, holding in either hand an
umbrella sixty inches in diameter. A few days later he sent to the Academy
of Lyons the following description of his improved parachute, illustrated in
Fig. 29:

“I make a circle 14 feet in diameter with a heavy cord; I attach
firmly all around, a cone of linen whose height is 6 feet; I double this
cone with paper laid on the linen to render it impermeable to air; or

better, instead of linen, taffeta covered with gum elastic. I place all
about the cone small cords, which are attached below to a wicker
frame, and forming with this frame an inverse truncated cone. Upon
this frame I place myself. By this means I avoid the ribs and handle of
the umbrella, which would add considerable weight. I am sure to risk
so little that I offer to make the experiment myself, after once having
tried the parachute with different weights to make sure of its solidity.”

Fig. 28.—Veranzio’s Parachute.

Previous to Lenormand’s experiments, Blanchard, the aëronaut, had
dropped small parachutes from his balloon, sometimes carrying animals,
but never a human being. For unaccountable reasons the world had to wait
fourteen years longer to see a man make the new familiar parachute descent
from a balloon. On October 22, 1797, in presence of a large crowd Jacques

Garnerin ascended in a closed parachute to a height of 3,000 feet, then cut
loose. The people were astonished and appalled; but they soon saw the
umbrella-shaped canvas spread open and oscillate in the sky with its human
freight. As it was but eight yards in diameter, it descended rapidly and
struck the ground with violence, throwing Garnerin from his seat. He
escaped with a bruised foot, mounted a horse, and returned to the starting
point, where he received a lively ovation.
After this experiment,
parachute descents became
popular the world over, and
have been repeated up to the
present time substantially
without change. A slight
improvement in the
construction was made by
cutting away the top of the
canvas, thus allowing the air
to escape sufficiently to
check the oscillations; but no
radical change in the design
has come into general use. It
would seem easy to have
transformed the craft into a
traveling parachute gliding
down the sky like a great bird
on out-stretched wings. Such
Fig. 29.—Lenormand’s Parachute, 1784. a device would enable the
aëronaut to sail some miles
and direct his course in the air. If fair skill had been acquired it might have
hastened the advent of human flight twenty years, so far as it is practicable
without the aid of the internal combustion motor. For two decades ago
Maxim produced an abundantly powerful steam engine; but could find no
one to furnish him a manageable glider on which to mount it. Now, indeed,
such gliders are available; but they were developed by aviators, not by
balloonists, or parachutists, who should have effected that advance many
years ago.

Curiously enough, Nature has furnished a traveling parachute which
seems never to have been imitated by man, though not difficult to copy. It is
a large two-winged seed, which when dropped in any poise, immediately
rights itself, and glides gracefully through the air. The seeds grow on a tree
in India, bearing the name Zanonia Macrocarpa, and when shaken from its
branches look like so many sparrows sailing earthward in wide curves.
Artificial gliders of this type are easy to construct, and would make
interesting toys. However, if man has not copied such natural models, he
has done much better, by making his gliders concave below instead of
concave upward, as are the beautiful Indian seeds.
An interesting model of a traveling parachute, quite as efficient as the
gauzy-winged seed, is shown in the accompanying figure. It is a sheet of
paper twenty inches long by four inches wide, having a quarter inch strip of
tin folded in its forward margin, and having its rear margin turned upward
slightly, to steer the little craft from a too steep descent. In order to improve
the stability of the paper plane, its sides may be bent upward. The model
when dropped in any attitude quickly rights itself, and sails down a gently
sloping course, the rear margin functioning as a rudder or tail.
One of the earliest
trustworthy and
scientific accounts
of experimentation
with an aërial glider
was given by Sir
George Cayley in
Nicholson’s Journal,
in 1809 and 1810.
After a careful study
of the principles of
stability, he, in 1808,
constructed a glider
spreading 300
square feet of
surface and
Fig. 30.—Paper Traveling Parachute.
weighing with its
load 140 pounds. It had wing surfaces slightly inclined to each other, and a

tail inclined enough to determine a gentle downward course. “When any
persons,” says Cayley, “ran forward in it with his full speed, taking
advantage of a gentle breeze in front, it would bear him up so strongly as
scarcely to allow him to touch the ground, and would frequently lift him up
and carry him several yards together. It was beautiful to see this noble white
bird sail majestically from a hill to any given point of the plain below it,
with perfect steadiness and safety, according to the set of the rudder, merely
by its own weight, descending in an angle of about 18° with the horizon.”
Sir George Cayley made a brave start in the science of dynamic flight,
marshaling to it all the mechanical resources of his day. He applied the most
reliable data of fluid resistance then available. He formulated the laws of
equilibrium and control of a flying machine quite as well as any of his
successors for two generations. He estimated the propulsive power required
to carry a man, and computed the weight of the newly invented Bolton and
Watt steam engine capable of supplying that power. He even conceived the
idea of burning a gas or inflammable vapor behind a piston, thus
anticipating the modern aëronautical motor. But the project as a whole was
too formidable at that time for the genius of this one man, or of his
generation of colleagues. Sailing flight they could have practiced with profit
to the advancement of aviation, but power flight on a practicable scale had
to await the long evolution of the internal combustion engine.
The next great advancement in the devices and principles of aviation was
made by another Englishman, and a worthy successor to Sir George Cayley.
In 1842 Mr. Henson patented the aërial equipage shown in the
accompanying illustration. It was what in present-day parlance is called a
monoplane, being in fact the first commercially planned aëroplane known
to history. As seen at a glance it consisted of a large sustaining surface
rigidly trussed and driven through the air by two propellers actuated by a
steam engine. It was to be guided up and down by means of a horizontal
rudder, and guided to the right and left by means of a vertical rudder,
seconded by a keel cloth; both rudders being at the rear of the large plane.
The machine was designed to be launched by running down an inclined
plane or track. Fuller details of this first patent aëroplane are given in the
following official description in the South Kensington Museum of a model
aëroplane constructed by Henson and Stringfellow:

“The model consists of an extended surface, or aëroplane, of oiled
silk or canvas, stretched upon a bamboo frame made rigid by trussing
both above and below. A car is attached to the underside of the
aëroplane to contain the steam engine, passengers, etc. It has three
wheels to run freely upon when it reaches earth. Two propellers, three
feet in diameter, are shown with their blades set at 45°. They are
operated by endless cords from the engine. Behind these is a fan-
shaped tail stretched upon a triangular frame capable of being opened
out, closed, or moved up and down by means of cords and pulleys. By
this latter arrangement ascent or descent was to be accomplished. A
rudder for steering sideways is placed under the tail, and above the
main aëroplane a sail was to be stretched between two masts rising
from the car, to assist in maintaining the course. When in motion the
front edge of the machine was to be raised in order to obtain the
required air support. To start the model it was proposed to allow it to
run down an incline—e.g., the side of a hill, the propellers being first
set in motion. The velocity gained in the descent was expected to
sustain it in its further progress, the engine overcoming the head
resistance when in full flight. Experiments were eventually made on
the Downs near Chard, in Somerset, and the night trials were
abandoned, as the silk became saturated from a deposit of dew. After
many day trials, down wide inclined rails, the model was found to be
deficient in stable equilibrium for open-air experiments, little puffs of
wind or ground currents being sufficient to destroy the balance. The
actual machine was never constructed, but in 1847–48 F. Stringfellow
built a model which is supposed to be the first flying machine to
perform a successful flight.”

PLATE XII.

HENSON’S AËROPLANE.

ADER’S AËROPLANE.
Photo E. Levick, N. Y.

The creation of Henson’s flying machine at that early period is one of the
most original and fruitful achievements in the century-long development of
the modern aëroplane. Barring the torsional wing-tips invented more
recently, it hardly differs in principle from the successful monoplane of to-
day. The same mode of propulsion, the same mode of sustention, the same
mode of launching and lighting, the same mode of steering and control.
What has been added since is not so much original invention as perfection
of detail through the combined efforts of many designers. After Cayley,
Henson, as nearly as any one person was the inventor of the flying machine.
He did not bring his conception to practical maturity, nor was that to be
expected; but he did lay down the broad lines which have led others to
success. His ideas still feature every practical aëroplane, and particularly
every successful monoplane. Indeed, it is now possible to construct an
aëroplane from Henson’s description that will fly, even in breezy weather,
with a stability practically as good as that of the early Voisin and Antoinette
machines before the use of the aileron or torsional wing was practiced. It is
all a question of wise proportioning and sufficient motive power.

So much for Henson’s contrivance as an abstract invention. The concrete,
full scale machine was to spread 6,000 square feet of surface, weigh 3,000
pounds, and be propelled by a high pressure steam engine of 25 or 30 horse
power. The machine was not completed on a large scale, and wisely so; for
it was inadequately powered, and, moreover, required many refinements of
detail to make it entirely practical. These improvements had to be left to
succeeding inventors with accumulated experience and resources.
In 1844 Mr. Henson began the construction of a steam-driven model, in
partnership with his friend, Mr. Stringfellow, who designed the motor for it.
They experimented together for some weeks with only meager success, but
gaining valuable experience. A model of the Henson-Stringfellow machine
is on exhibition at the South Kensington Museum.
In 1846 Stringfellow built a steam model aëroplane about the size of a
large soaring bird, and weighing all together, with fuel and water, 6½
pounds. A special feature of this model was that its main surfaces were
sloped like the wings of a bird, slightly concave below and feathered toward
the back; thus making it more efficient and stable in flight. With a good
head of steam, and propellers whirling, the model ran down a stretched
wire, leaped into the air “and darted off in as fair a flight as it was possible
to make, to a distance of about 40 yards.” Thus the first power-driven
aëroplane to fly successfully was the little steam model constructed by
Stringfellow in 1846.

Fig. 31.—Wenham’s Aëroplane, 1866.

In 1866, two decades after the flight of Stringfellow’s monoplane, Mr. F.
H. Wenham, another Englishman illustrious in the annals of aëronautics,
patented the multiplane; that is, an aëroplane comprising two or more
superposed surfaces. This proved to be a valuable contribution to the art of
aviation, and continues in use at the present time. The device furnished an
increase of sustaining surface without enlargement of the ground plan. It
moreover lends itself conveniently to a strong and simple trussing of the
surfaces. Some designers protest that superposed surfaces blanket one
another; but the advantages just named seem amply to compensate for this
objectionable feature. If the surfaces be properly spaced, very little
interference is found; moreover, any blanketing that may occur diminishes
the drift as well as the lift,[20] though not necessarily in the same proportion.
Wenham’s aëroplane is illustrated in Fig. 31. The rider lies underneath
the multiple wings, so as to diminish the resistance to progression through
the air. The apparatus could thus be used as an aërial toboggan for coasting
down the atmosphere. To prolong the flights two flappers actuated by a
treadle were to be employed, their ends being hinged at a point above the
operator’s back. Though the device was patented, no very serious efforts
were made to operate it practically. Once, indeed, the inventor took his

glider to a meadow and mounted it, during a lull in the evening wind, but
soon a gust caught him up, carried him some distance from the ground and
toppled him over sidewise, breaking some of the surfaces. The machine
disclosed some good working principles; but it was inadequately ruddered,
and too feebly constructed, to weather the buffets of the prevailing ground
currents.

PLATE XIII.

STRINGFELLOW’S AËROPLANE (FRONT).
(Courtesy Smithsonian Institution.)

STRINGFELLOW’S AËROPLANE (SIDE).
(Courtesy Smithsonian Institution.)

Adopting the scheme of superposed surfaces then recently devised by
Wenham, Mr. Stringfellow in 1868 constructed the interesting steam-driven

model shown in Plate XIII. This consists essentially of three superposed
planes, rigidly connected by rods and diagonal wires, propelled by a pair of
screws actuated by a high pressure steam engine, and guided by a tail. The
three planes aggregated 21 feet in length and 28 square feet in surface;
totaling, with the tail, 36 square feet. The engine was rated at one third of
one horse power. Its weight is not known, but may be roughly surmised
from the fact that a separate engine exhibited simultaneously by
Stringfellow weighed thirteen pounds per horse power. The model was
entered for competition in the London Aëronautical Exhibition of 1868. In
actual operation, however, it seems not to have excelled the monoplane of
1846; but still it is of much interest as being the prototype of the multiple-
wing aëroplane now in common use. It seems to have been the first
aëroplane having two or more sustaining surfaces joined by rods and stayed
by diagonal cords after the manner of a Pratt truss. This historic little model
was purchased by Professor Langley for the Smithsonian Institution, and is
now to be seen suspended from the ceiling of the National Museum, beside
Langley’s own models and Lilienthal’s epoch-making glider.

Fig. 32.—Penaud’s Aëroplane Toy, 1871.

In 1871 M. A. Penaud produced the interesting toy aëroplane shown in
Fig. 32. The model is propelled horizontally forward by a single screw,
actuated by twisted rubber, and is fastened, as shown, to the middle of a
long stick or backbone. The center of mass of the machine is well to the
front, tending to plunge the model earthward like a heavy-headed arrow;
but this down-diving is promptly checked by the tiny rudder which is so

inclined as to counteract the diving proclivity. That is to say the rudder dips
so as to receive the aërial impact on its upper surface; which impact
increases with the speed of flight and causes the bow to rise, until the
weight before the wings just balances the impact on the rudder at the rear.
The equilibrium is thus automatic, on the principle expounded by Sir
George Cayley sixty years earlier. This quaint little bird when liberated in
the Garden of the Tuileries flew a distance of 131 feet in eleven seconds,
much to the delight of some members of the French Society for Aërial
Navigation. It may be added that Penaud, who was a most promising and
clever aëronautical inventor, contemplated a twin-screw monoplane large
enough to carry two men, but died in his early manhood, before the project
could be realized.

Fig. 33.—Tatin’s Aëroplane Model, 1879.

In 1879 M. Victor Tatin made some very promising tests with the model
shown in Fig. 33, so promising, in fact, as to convince many that human
flight was even then practicable. This little flyer was a twin-screw
monoplane mounted on wheels, and actuated by an oscillating compressed
air engine, the whole machine weighing 3.85 pounds, and supported by a
silk plane measuring 16 by 75 inches. The central body of the aëroplane
was a thin steel tube three feet long by four inches in diameter containing
the compressed air, and weighing only one pound and a half, though strong
enough to endure a pressure of twenty atmospheres. When the model was

allowed to run round a board walk 46 feet in diameter, tethered to a stake at
the center, it quickly acquired a speed of 18 miles an hour, rose in the air,
and flew a distance of fifty feet.
A remarkable deduction from the very careful measurements made with
this machine was that it carried at the rate of 110 pounds per tow line horse
power, when flying at an angle of 8 to 10 degrees. Mr. Tatin concluded:
“These experiments seem to demonstrate that there is no impracticability in
the construction of a large apparatus for aviation, and that perhaps even
now such machines could be practically used in aërial navigation. Such
practical experiments being necessarily very costly, I must to my great
regret, forego their undertaking, and I shall be satisfied if my own labors
shall induce others to take up such an enterprise.”
Tatin’s faith in the practicability of a large aëroplane was later voiced by
Mr. Chanute in his valuable book, Progress in Flying Machines, published
in 1894, but now unfortunately out of print. Recalling that Maxim had
recently produced a large motor weighing complete only ten pounds per
horse power, he says: “Aviation seems to be practicably possible, if only the
stability can be secured, and an adequate method of alighting be devised.”
Since the above quoted facts and opinions were published, no competent
man well informed in the science of aviation has for one moment doubted
the feasibility of human flight.

Fig. 34.—Hargrave’s Model Screw Monoplane, 1891.

In 1891, twelve years after Tatin’s experiment, Lawrence Hargrave, of
Sydney, Australia, made a similar compressed air monoplane, with a single-
screw propeller, but without wheels for launching and lighting. The model,
which is shown in Fig. 34, had a wing-spread of 20 square feet, weighed
about three pounds, and flew 128 feet in eight seconds. The weight carried
was at the rate of 90 pounds per horse power, a very encouraging result.
Two years later he described a small steam engine which he had developed,
weighing 10.7 pounds per horse power, and capable of driving the model
about two miles, though he did not use it for that purpose, being engrossed
with other researches.
One interesting outcome of his numerous experiments was the Hargrave
Kite, now more familiarly known as the box kite. A good example of his
kites is the type shown in Fig. 35. This consists of two arched biplanes
mounted tandem on a backbone, or connecting framework. The kite floats
steadily, and was thought suitable for the body of a flying machine to be
driven by an engine and propeller. Thus meteorology is indebted to
aëronautics for its most useful kite.

Fig. 35.—Hargrave’s Kite.

A very novel and interesting type of aëroplane model was tested by Mr.
Horatio Phillips in 1893. After careful preliminary experiments with various
forms of curved “sustainers,” or lifting surfaces, tested in a wind tunnel, to
determine which were most suitable wing forms, he finally constructed the
flying apparatus shown in Plate XIV. This consisted of a compound
aëroplane composed of many superposed narrow curved slats, the whole
resembling an open Venetian blind. These curved blades, or sustainers,
measured 12 feet long, 1.5 inches wide, 2 inches apart, and were held in a
frame sharpened to cleave the air with slight resistance. The entire
aëroplane spread 136 square feet of lifting surface, and was mounted on a
truck as shown, carrying a steam engine and boiler, to actuate a two blade
propeller 6 feet in diameter. The whole apparatus weighed 330 pounds, to

which a dead load was usually added, and ran around a circular wooden
track 628 feet in circumference, being tethered at the center, as in Tatin’s
experiment. The apparatus readily lifted itself, when running at a speed of
28 miles an hour, and carried at the rate of 72 pounds per horse power, the
added load weighing at times nearly one fourth that of the machine itself.
The ultimate purpose of the experiment was to prepare the way for a one-
man aëroplane like that shown in the lower part of the figure. This latter
model actually carried a man across a field in 1904, but was found defective
in longitudinal balance, because perhaps of its inadequate horizontal rudder.
Apparently Mr. Phillips had in 1904 a machine capable of well-balanced
flight, if he had made the rudders large enough, and provided a mechanism
for rotating the slats at either wing end, so as to control the lateral poise, as
proposed by the present writer in 1893, for practically that same flier (see
page 229).
Phillips’s aëroplane shows a distinct advance over its predecessors, even
Wenham’s multiplane, because of the careful curving of the sustainers.
Tatin’s flat wing machine had, indeed, shown a greater efficiency as a
whole, but that was likely due to less proportionate body resistance. To
Phillips we owe the introduction of superposed arched surfaces, now so
commonly used in mechanical flight. Whether he was wise in using so
many narrow wings, instead of a few broad ones, was a question to be
answered by precise measurement.
Prof. S. P. Langley, like Mr. Hargrave, made numerous flying models,
trying, in turn, the power of twisted rubber, compressed air and steam. He
constructed scores of gauzy winged contrivances which flitted about like
huge butterflies or birds, till their mission was accomplished—that of
illustrating a scientific principle to his inquiring mind. One by one they
came into existence, enjoyed an ephemeral life, and then were consigned to
the aëronautical attic of the Smithsonian Institution, a storehouse of quaint
flying creatures. It was a most interesting collection which well merited
preservation as the “juvenile” creations of an illustrious man. But the first
experiments of Langley, like the similar ones of Hargrave, were of value
chiefly as training to the inventor himself; they were not important
advances in the art of aviation. Such advances were to follow the long
preliminary training.

PLATE XIV.

PHILLIPS’ TETHERED AËROPLANE.

PHILLIPS’ AËROPLANE.

On May 6, 1896, Dr. Langley launched the picturesque steam model,
which, to his mind, first proved conclusively the practicability of
mechanical flight. It was the crowning success, and, as he thought then,
probably the termination of his aëronautic labors. “I have brought to a
close,” says he, “the portion of the work which seemed to be peculiarly
mine—the demonstration of the practicability of mechanical flight—and for
the next stage, which is the commercial and practical development of the
idea, it is probable that the world may look to others. The world, indeed,
will be supine if it does not realize that a new possibility has come to it, and
that the great universal highway overhead is now soon to be opened.”
As shown in Plate XV, Langley’s first successful steam flying machine is
a tandem monoplane[21] with twin screws amidships. It measures nearly 13
feet from tip to tip of its wings, about 16 feet along its entire length, and

weighs with motor and propellers 30 pounds. The boiler weighs 5 pounds,
the engine 26 ounces, and the power developed was between 1 and 1.5
horse power. The model is therefore somewhat larger than a large condor,
and very much more powerful.
Being too small to carry a pilot, it was launched over water, to obviate
wreckage on landing. The machine was capable of flying several miles
continuously, but in the actual test on the Potomac River the flight was
limited, in order to prevent the model passing beyond the shore. The flyer
was placed on launching ways on the top of a houseboat, hurled rapidly
forward by force of a spring, and liberated in space, with engine and
propellers running at full speed. Its subsequent behavior has been
graphically described by an eyewitness, Dr. Alexander Graham Bell, in the
following passage, published in Nature, May 28, 1896:

“On the occasion referred to, the aërodrome, at a given signal,
started from a platform about 20 feet above the water, and rose at first
directly in the face of the wind, moving at all times with remarkable
steadiness, and subsequently swung around in large curves of perhaps
a hundred yards in diameter, and continuously ascending till its steam
was exhausted, when at a lapse of about a minute and a half, and at a
height which I judged to be between 80 and 100 feet in the air, the
whole ceased turning, and the machine, deprived of the aid of its
propellers, to my surprise did not fall, but settled down so softly and
gently that it touched the water without the least shock, and was in fact
immediately ready for another trial.
“In the second trial, which followed directly, it repeated in nearly
every respect the actions of the first, except that the direction of its
course was different. It ascended again in the face of the wind,
afterward moving steadily and continually in large curves,
accompanied with a rising motion and a lateral advance. Its motion
was, in fact, so steady that I think a glass of water on its surface would
have remained unspilled. When the steam gave out again it repeated
for a second time the experience of the first trial when the steam had
ceased, and settled gently and easily down. What height it reached at
this trial I can not say, as I was not so favorably placed as in the first,
but I had occasion to notice that this time its course took it over a

wooded promontory, and I was relieved of some apprehension in
seeing that it was already so high as to pass the tree tops by 20 or 30
feet. It reached the water in one minute and thirty-one seconds from
the time it started, at a measured distance of over 900 feet from the
point at which it rose.

PLATE XV.

LANGLEY’S STEAM MODEL.
(Courtesy Smithsonian Institution.)

LANGLEY’S GASOLENE MODEL.
(Courtesy Smithsonian Institution.)

LANGLEY’S TWO SURFACE GASOLENE MODEL.
(Courtesy Smithsonian Institution.)

“This, however, was by no means the length of its flight. I estimated
from the diameter of the curve described, from the number of turns of
the propellers, as given by the automatic counter, after due allowance
for slip, and from other measures, that the actual length of flight on
each occasion was slightly over 3,000 feet. It is at least safe to say that
each exceeded half an English mile.
“From the time and distance, it will be noticed that the velocity was
between 20 and 25 miles an hour, in a course which was constantly
taking it ‘up hill.’ I may add that on a previous occasion, I have seen a
far higher velocity attained by the same aërodrome when its course
was horizontal.
“I have no desire to enter into detail further than I have done, but I
can not but add that it seems to me that no one who was present on this
interesting occasion, could have failed to recognize that the
practicability of mechanical flight had been demonstrated.”

In passing it may be added that in 1899 this model was again flown
successfully, having superposed surfaces; for its inventor all along
recognized the structural advantage of the bridge trussing in biplanes. If he
preferred the monoplane, or single-tier arrangement, it was because the best
flights were obtained with such models.
Many persons now thought that Langley would do well to rest on his
laurels, leaving to others the “commercial and practical development” of his

ideas. But he had caught the aëronautic fever. Like many another poor son
of fancy, he was haunted by magnificent dreams. Now, perhaps, was stirring
in his mind that vision of his childhood when he lay on his back in the New
England pasture and “watched a hawk soaring far up in the blue, and sailing
for a long time without any motion of its wings, as though it needed no
work to sustain it, but was kept up there by some miracle.” Mr. Andrew D.
White declares that Professor Langley was a poet by nature. Whatever the
dominant impulse, he followed his “aërodrome” like one possessed. It was
the all engrossing pursuit of the latter years of his life, entailing how much
vexation, toil and unjust censure!
In 1898 the Board of Ordinance and Fortification, after carefully studying
the flights of 1896, appropriated $50,000 to enable Professor Langley to
build a one-man flyer. He first tested a gasoline driven aëroplane having
one fourth the linear dimensions of the man-carrying one. In external
appearance this model resembled the steam “aërodrome,” described above,
but was considerably larger. It spread 66 square feet of surface, weighed 58
pounds, and developed 2½ to 3 horse power. When ready for the test,
August 8, 1903, this beautiful white-winged creature was taken to the
middle of the Potomac, 40 miles below Washington, mounted on the
launching ways, swiveled into the eye of the wind and shot forth like a
stone from a catapult, her engine and propellers humming merrily.
The flight must have been very graceful and dignified, for it elicited
commendation even from the squad of reporters present, men who
customarily recorded such events with uncontrollable mirth and ridicule.
Dr. Langley merely remarks: “This was the first time in history, so far as I
know, that a successful flight of a mechanically sustained flying machine
was seen in public.” It was also the first successful gasoline[22] aëroplane,
and the forerunner of the host of flyers presently to spring up in all parts of
the world. Its flight though very brief, owing to a surcharge of gasoline, was
so satisfactory in all its dynamic features, that it seemed to justify an
immediate launching of the one-man machine, with which like maneuvers
were anticipated. As will appear in the sequel this prospect of fair sailing
was beset with unsuspected shoals.
We have now traced the growth of the aëroplane from its earliest
conception to the present time, as exemplified by working models. First
came the parachute of da Vinci and others, whose sole function was to carry

a weight softly to earth, with no provision for steadiness of motion, or
control of direction. Then, in the beginning of the nineteenth century,
arrived the gliders adjusted for steadiness, equilibrium and a predetermined
slanting course in the air; beautiful passive birds, actuated by gravity, but
riderless and awaiting the advent of artificial motive power. Then suddenly
appeared Mr. Henson’s wonderful project; a large man-carrying aëroplane,
provided with a motor, propellers, rudders, wheels for launching and
landing—an impossible scheme for that day, but destined to be realized in
the course of two generations. Henson’s idea was doubtless the most
prolific in the history of aviation. After this followed the numerous
instructive models, actuated by twisted rubber, steam, gasoline, compressed
air—economic contrivances for ascertaining the secrets of propulsion,
equilibrium and control, of the prospective man-flyer. These may be said to
have demonstrated the practicability of man-flight, though many
contemporaneous and allied experiments, to be noticed presently, all
contributed to the triumphs subsequently achieved by the race of sanguine,
daring and tireless inventors.
In this brief outline, the two other main types
of flyers, the orthopters and helicopters, have
been omitted. The orthopters, or wing flapping
machines, have been very numerous, but have
not yet approached practical success in use.
Though a man-carrying orthopter has not yet
been produced, an elegant pigeon-like model
operated by rubber has been made by
Pichancourt, which flies and balances nicely. The
helicopters, or direct-lifting screws, have more
than once raised their weight and that of the
helicoptrist, or navigator. These latter, therefore,
seem to be of sufficient interest to merit a short
historical review.
Leonardo da Vinci, the fertile pioneer in
aviation, missed one novel device worthy even of
his genius. He constructed aërial screws of paper,
Fig. 36.—Launoy
and Bienvenu’s
but he did not endow them with motive force.
Helicopter, 1784. Such an achievement was in his power, and

would have ranked him with Archytas of Tarentum, who 400 b. c. invented
the kite, and an artificial dove said to have flown, no one knows how.
Having escaped da Vinci’s ingenuity, the power helicopter failed to
materialize for three centuries, but finally appeared in France.
In 1784 Launoy and Bienvenu, the first a naturalist, the second a
mechanician, exhibited before the French Academy the interesting toy
shown in Fig. 36. This was the first power-driven helicopter, and is said to
have lifted itself in the air quite readily. As may be observed it consists of
two coaxial screws rotating in opposite directions actuated by the power of
an elastic stick, like a bow. The screws were each about one foot in
diameter and made of four feathers; one screw being fastened to the top of
the rotating shaft, the other fastened to the bow, which rotated in the
contrary direction. The little model excited much interest, particularly as its
inventors expected to build a man-carrying helicopter on the same plan. The
larger project was obviously without merit; for no combination of springs
can maintain flight for more than a few seconds even on the most favorable
scale.
A more powerful toy helicopter was produced by Mr. Horatio Phillips in
England in 1842. This was a single aërial screw emitting jets of steam
which compelled it to spin, on the principle of a lawn sprinkler, or a Hero
engine. The whole apparatus weighed two pounds, and had screw blades
inclined 20° to the horizon. The steam was generated by the combustion of
charcoal, niter and gypsum, as in the fire extinguisher previously invented
by the same ingenious man. The performance of this curious helicopter, is
thus described by Mr. Phillips: “All being arranged, the steam was up in a
few seconds, then the whole apparatus spun around like a top, and mounted
into the air faster than any bird; to what height it ascended I have no means
of ascertaining. The distance traveled was across two fields, where, after a
long search, I found the machine minus the wings, which had been torn off
from contact with the ground.”
“The distance traveled was across two fields.” For vagueness this
surpasses the poet’s measure—“as far as oxen draw the plow in a day.” It
would be most interesting to have an exact description of this classical
experiment, when for the first time a flying machine rose in the air
propelled by a heat motor. It would be desirable also to know the
possibilities of such a helicopter, particularly since Prof. Cleveland Abbe

has proposed to employ a like agent to carry meteorological instruments
into the higher atmosphere.[23]

Fig. 37.—Forlanini’s Helicopter, 1878.

A still more ambitious helicopter was that shown in Fig. 37 invented by
Professor Forlanini, an Italian Civil Engineer, and launched in 1878. The
lower screw was fastened to the frame of a steam engine, the upper screw
was attached to the crank shaft. Steam was supplied from the globe shown
beneath, which was two thirds filled with water, and well heated over a
separate fire just before an ascension. As the globe was merely a reservoir
of hot water and steam, carrying neither fuel nor furnace, its power waned
rapidly. The best flight lasted about twenty seconds, attaining a height of 42
feet. The apparatus weighed 77 pounds, spread 21.5 square feet of screw
surface, and lifted about 26.4 pounds per horse power.
Many other helicopter models have been tried from time to time, with
various sources of power, without, however, yielding any important results
beyond those already given. But these were sufficiently encouraging. If a
large machine could be made to lift as many pounds per horse power, it
would be easy to build one competent to carry a man. That, indeed, has
been done on several occasions. Of the various inventors who have built
man-lifting helicopters M. Cornu and M. Bréguet, in France, seem to have
been first to attain a measure of success. While their machines have raised a
passenger directly from the ground, they have not yet maneuvered in
horizontal flight with sufficient speed to be of practical service. However, a

few helicoptrists in various countries are still industriously at work, and
hope eventually to rival the aëroplanists in the mastery of flight. There will
doubtless be room in the sky for both. Perhaps also there will be occupation
and a mission for both.

CHAPTER VIII
NINETEENTH CENTURY MAN-FLYERS

Having traced the growth of winged models from their earliest beginning
to the time when they proved the possibility of mechanical flight, we may
now study the evolution of larger machines, designed to carry human
beings. Considering first the aëroplane, we may follow the two general
methods advocated by various inventors for launching a man safely in the
air, both of which led to success. The first of these may be called Henson’s
method, the second Lilienthal’s, coupling them with the names of their
distinguished pioneer exponents. Henson in 1842 proposed that the pilot
should mount a full-power machine, run along a smooth course, and glide
into the air without previous experience in the art of navigating. Lilienthal
recommended careful preliminary training on a glider, by which the novice
should acquire sufficient skill in parrying the wind to qualify him to manage
a dynamic machine, under its more complex conditions of control. Others,
more cautious still, contended that automatic equilibrium should be secured
before a rider risked his bones on the aërial bronco; while still others
thought the uncertain beast should be tethered to some point in the sky, say
a balloon or taut wire, or the end of a pole; so that however he bucked, or
reared, he should not fall over on his rider.
We have noticed in the first chapter some picturesque man-flights,
usually deplorable or tragic; and always fruitless for lack of scientific
method in experimentation and report to the world. There can be no doubt
that such flights were accomplished, mainly, of course, by the aid of
gravity; but the difficulty is to ascertain the exact nature of any given
performance, the specifications of the apparatus, and the principles of
equilibrium and control. Gradually, however, the experimenters improved
both in the construction of man-carrying devices and in the manner of
imparting their results to their colleagues, or successors; and so the flying
enterprise began to assume a progressive aspect, attended with that
scientific dignity which invests secure and continuous advance in any

branch of knowledge. Little of value, however, can be gleaned from any
such flights made prior to the middle of the nineteenth century. From that
time forward observers and inventors made definite and fairly methodical
efforts to develop the art of gliding and soaring in the air, the first fruit of
which was to hasten the advent of the modern aëroplane.
A French novelist and aëronautic writer, G. de la Landelle, relates an
amazing adventure in the art of soaring, which may have some foundation
in fact, though savoring strongly of fiction. An experienced sailor, Captain
Le Bris, having observed the albatross soaring without wing-beat,
determined to imitate the fascinating flight of that limber-winged spirit of
the sea. To such end he built the bird shown in Fig. 38, a ninety-pound
albatross, with arched wings fifty feet across and articulated to the boat-like
body. In this the brave aviator would stand upright, turn the wings and tail
to maintain his balance, and steer grandly through the sky. Placing this
long-winged creature across a cart driven by a peasant, he stood erect and
headed against a breeze; the wings set low to prevent lifting till an
opportune moment, and the bird held down to the car by a rope which the
captain could quickly release. When the horse was a-trot, and the wind
blowing freshly, Le Bris raised the front edges of the wings. Thereupon the
albatross tugged upward, and the mooring rope was slipped, but
accidentally whipped around the driver’s waist. The horse galloped away
with the cart; the bird, with the exultant sailor on its back, soared 300 feet
into the air, and incidentally carried up the peasant, dangling at the end of
the rope and howling with fright. Noting the distress of his passenger, the
kindly captain sailed close to earth, so that the peasant might disembark and
run to his horse, meaning then to hie away for a long cruise in the clouds.
But with this change of weight the vessel seemed not to navigate well; so
she was brought skimming to land, with no mishap save a slight damage to
the advancing wing, which broke as it touched the ground.

Fig. 38.—Le Bris’ Aëroplane, 1855.

Having repaired the great bird’s wing, Captain Le Bris next made a
launching from the arm of a derrick, 30 feet above the ground, overlooking
a quarry 70 feet deep. The attendant swains stood open-mouthed,
wondering whether this madman would overleap the clouds, or promptly
butt out his brains on a jagged rock. When the wind blowing from the
quarry seemed to float him in perfect poise, he tripped the suspension hook,
and headed for the precipice on even keel. He was now happily launched,
and keen for an aërial journey; but after passing the brink, he seemed to
encounter an eddy which tilted his craft forward. The vessel dipped and
rose; the captain plied his levers, turning now the tail, now the pinions. He
crossed safely over the invisible breakers, and reached the quiet air of the
quarry on level wing. But now his forward speed was lost, the great bird
sank rapidly and crashed upon the rocky bed below. The wary seaman
anticipating a bump, sprang upward to soften his fall; but a lever
rebounding from the shock, hit one of his legs and broke it.
Some twelve or thirteen years later, in 1867, Le Bris, aided by a public
subscription at Brest, built a second albatross, with which he made a
number of small flights, sometimes riding it himself, and sometimes
replacing his weight by ballast. On one occasion the loaded bird, held by a
light line, rose 150 feet and advanced against the wind. Suddenly the sailors
holding the line observed it slacken, and saw with amazement the long-
winged creature soar forward 600 feet, as stately and serene as its living
prototype. Presently encountering a sheltered and quiet region of air before
some rising ground, it settled softly to earth in perfect equipoise. But on a
subsequent launching from the same favorable ground, the dumb creature
pitched forward and plunged to the earth where it lay shattered and torn in a
hopeless tangle. Le Bris looked on the wreck in despair, surveying sadly the
remains of his once cherished bird; then sat upon the débris a long time, his
head between his hands, his heart broken, his mind tortured with anguish.
Impoverished, chagrined, derided, he now must abandon the albatross
business. Five years later this intrepid sailor of sea and air was killed by
some ruffians, in 1872, while a constable in his native place, and after a
period of honorable service to the state in the Franco-Prussian War.
The story is more romantic than instructive, for want of exact data. To
give the experiments their proper value to others, fuller details of the
mechanism should be furnished, and adequate measurements of the speed

and direction of the aërial currents. At one time the sailing was even, at
another, rough, though outwardly the conditions appeared the same.
Apparently the successful flights occurred when the bird was launched to
windward from rising ground, that is, when the current had an upward slant,
to exert a propulsive effort. This species of soaring has been observed
frequently in nature, and has been imitated both with models and with man-
carrying gliders. Nevertheless Le Bris’ experiments were very remarkable
for the time, and, if adequately reported, might have proved to be of much
interest and value to aëronautical science.
Another Frenchman alert to the glory of aërial motion was L. P.
Mouillard, the poet-farmer of Algeria. From boyhood he studied the birds
with unabated interest and pleasure. He would journey miles to attend the
“morning prayer” of the starlings in the forest of Baba-Ali; noting, just
before sunrise, how their melodies suddenly hushed, and the forest seemed
to bound upward, and heaven filled with the music of innumerable wings.
He would time the shadow of the high bird of passage riding the hurricane
from continent to continent. He saw the tyrant eagle fold his wings in mid
air and plunge a thousand feet in ferocious swoop after the swift-fleeing
duck or rabbit. He loved to watch the great tawny vulture on the mountain
top shake the dew from his vast plumes, straddle the morning wind, and all
day long, with never a beat of those grand pinions, soar godlike through
immensity, the marvel and delight of the nether world. When the electric
wind of the desert, blowing from Central Africa, brought the big scavengers
and noble birds of prey, he sat on the ground scrutinizing their majestic
flight and planning to imitate it. He would lie in ambush where the silent-
rowing owl darted at dusk through the timber, fierce and swift as the eagle;
a dreadful thing, with its night piercing eyes, its big ears and beak, its horrid
talons, its sudden shriek startling the forest with ominous echoes. No
feature escaped him, and least of all an aërodynamic one.
For thirty years he continued these studies. He would bring home the
birds, lay them on their backs and mark their contour on paper, measure
their projected area, weigh and compare them. He formulated curious
conclusions about sailors and rowers, the functions of tail and quill feathers,
weight and wing-spread, bulk, agglomeration of mass, resistance and
velocity. He notes that only massive birds soar well, the broad-winged ones
requiring a moderate wind, the narrow-winged ones requiring a gale, and

sailing with perfect ease in a tempest; and he concludes that man may
imitate both types. His book[24] is replete with charming anecdotes,
observations and quaint theories, interesting alike to ornithology and
aviation.
But Mouillard did more than theorize; he built soaring machines and
soared a little. His third and best glider, illustrated in Fig. 39, was a tailless
monoplane made of curved agave sticks screwed to boards, and covered
with muslin. The aviator, standing in the open space C, harnessed the plane
on with straps looped round his legs and shoulders, and fastened to the
points D D. His forearms, passing under straps, rested on the board,
enabling him to tilt the whole by shifting his weight. In order to vary the
dihedral angle between the wings, they were hinged together and actuated
by rods running from the man’s feet to the ends of the boards, hardly as far
out as the center of wind pressure, thus apparently stressing his legs like a
wishbone.

Fig. 39.—Mouillard’s Aëroplane.

He now sent the home folks away from the farm, buckled on his wings
and walked along the prairie road waiting for a breeze. The road was raised
five feet above the plain and bordered by ditches ten feet wide. His wings
felt light; he ran forward to test their lift, and he thought to amuse himself
by jumping the ditch. The result is thus expressed in his own words:[25]

“So I took a good run across the road and jumped at the ditch. But,
oh, horrors; once across the ditch my feet did not come down to earth;
I was gliding on the air, and making vain efforts to land; for my
aëroplane had set out on a cruise. I dangled only one foot from the soil,
but, do what I would, I could not reach it, and I was skimming along
without the power to stop. At last my feet touched the earth; I fell
forward on my hands; broke one of my wings, and all was over; but
goodness, how frightened I had been! I was saying to myself that if

even a light wind-gust occurred, it would toss me up 30 to 40 feet into
the air, and then surely upset me backward, so that I would fall on my
back. This I knew perfectly, for I understood the defects of my
machine. I was poor, and I had not been able to provide myself with a
more complete aëroplane. All’s well that ends well. I then measured
the distance between my toe marks, and found it to be 138 feet.
“Here is the rationale of the thing. In making my jump I acquired a
speed of 11 to 14 miles per hour, and just as I crossed the ditch I must
have met a puff of rising wind. It probably was traveling some 8 to 11
miles per hour, and the two speeds added together produced enough
pressure to carry my weight.”

He repaired his wing and repeated the test a few days later. A violent
wind gust came; picked him up from the earth, and whelmed him over. In
his alarm he allowed his “wish-bone” to spread, and the wings to fold up
like those of a butterfly at rest, pinching him between them like a nut in a
nutcracker. One wonders whether the overwheeling vultures witnessed this
gentleman’s flight with any sense of humor.
After mature reflection, Mouillard concluded that he should give his
aëroplane a rudder, and flex the wings, in order to insure adequate control.
But here he halted, being a poor man unskilled in the art of construction. He
had reached the limit of his endowments. He had observed faithfully and
described charmingly the wonderful flights of various birds; but he must
leave to his technical successors the pleasure of imitating or excelling those
extraordinary maneuvers—leave them the pleasure, the sacrifice, the long
years of toil and danger, accompanied perhaps by indiscriminate applause
or derision.
In the meantime another distinguished disciple of the birds was
energetically at work in Germany. No less ardent than Le Bris, or
Mouillard, Otto Lilienthal was far better equipped and circumstanced. He
was a graduate of the Potsdam Technical School, and a student for three
years in the Berlin Technical Academy. He was engaged in practical
construction ten years in various machine shops at Berlin. After 1880 he
operated a flourishing machine factory of his own. From boyhood he with
his brother Gustavus had carefully studied the flight of birds, and had made
numerous experiments in aviation. On moonlight nights in their little home

place of Anclam, in Pomerania, the boys would run downhill, flapping their
home-made wings, like Dædalus and Icarus, but with no other danger than
discovery and teasing by their neighbors. At Potsdam and Berlin they
continued to experiment and to construct wings of increasing size and
power. Thus Otto Lilienthal reached early manhood thoroughly trained by
his long courses in the technical schools and shops, brimming with well
pondered ideas, strengthened by continuous observation and experiment,
and in financial circumstances which permitted him to devote time and
money to the unremunerative pursuit of aviation. To this may be added that
his mature years were cast in a time when the allied sciences could aid him
far more than they had aided his predecessors of the preceding generation.
After careful research for the most efficient form of alar surface,
Lilienthal resolved to imitate the birds. First he would build a pair of arched
wings, and learn to coast down the atmosphere, balancing and steering like
a stork in the gusty and treacherous current. He would thus acquire the
pilot’s skill, and ascertain the towline power required to sustain a given
weight. Then he would add a suitable propelling mechanism, test it
cautiously, and acquire the mastery of dynamic flight. Incidentally, perhaps,
he would learn to ride all over creation without motive power; for he was
convinced that certain great birds soar without muscular effort, and that
man could acquire this delightful art in favorable weather. To strengthen the
plausibility of that doctrine, he announced his discovery that the general
trend of the wind is three and a half degrees upward, a fact inexplicable and
almost incredible to his illustrious confrère of the Smithsonian Institution.
[26]
Such was Lilienthal’s ample program; more, indeed, than he would live
to accomplish, though possibly not beyond his power of achievement, if he
could have lived to enjoy the hale long years of his illustrious countryman
aëronaut, Count Von Zeppelin.
In the year 1891 Lilienthal made his first series of trials in sailing flight.
His glider was the bird-shaped apparatus shown in Plate XVI, made of
willow wood covered with waxed sheeting. It weighed about 40 pounds,
and spread 107 square feet of surface. Taking this in his arms he first ran 24
feet along a raised board and jumped off, gliding through still air. Then,
elevating the board to a height of six feet, he repeated the run, jump and
glide, always landing very softly. Thus he became “king of the air in calm
weather,” a title still creditably sustained by his numerous successors of the

present day; for as yet no one “mounts the whirlwind and directs the
storm.”
Next he went to some little mounds in a field beyond Werder, and jumped
from these, gradually lengthening his flights till he attained a range of
nearly 80 feet. As he was now gliding in light winds, he found it necessary
to add a vertical rudder, in order to preserve his balance easily, and keep his
bow toward the direction of the wind. His complete apparatus was,
therefore, a birdlike affair, with two rigid wings and a double tail for
steering vertically and horizontally. He found also that he could fly longer
and alight more softly when the wind was blowing—an obvious possibility.
Encouraged by this experience Lilienthal explored the country about
Berlin for sailing ground where he could make long glides, whatever the
direction of the wind. Such a region he found near Rathenow, where the
Rhinow hills, covered with grass and heather, slope gently upward from the
flat plowland to a height of over 200 feet. This he thought an ideal coasting
ground; for he felt the aërial currents very smooth, and he could always
select clear land sloping ten to twenty degrees toward the wind. Here in the
summer of 1893, with a new and improved glider, he made many flights,
finally ranging from 200 to 300 yards, steering up and down, or to right and
left at will; sometimes pausing in mid air, and several times returning to the
starting point. This was more than coasting; for a mere coaster never
maintains, nor returns to, his original level. It was a fair start at true soaring,
the ideal locomotion. A glorious sport it was, sailing like an eagle high over
the landscape and over the heads of the astonished spectators.
The new machine resembled its predecessors in form and maneuver; but
differed in dimensions. It was a birdlike craft with parabolically arched
wings and a double tail. It measured 7 meters across, spread 14 square
meters of surface, weighed with the rider 200 pounds, and in calm air could
sail down a slope of 9°, at a speed of 9 meters per second. This was very
efficient sailing, the work of gravity being hardly two horse power. With the
man lying prone, as eventually planned, the economy would be still greater.

PLATE XVI.

LILIENTHAL’S MONOPLANE GLIDER.
(Courtesy W. J. Hammer.)

LILIENTHAL’S BIPLANE GLIDER.
(Courtesy W. J. Hammer.)

PILCHER’S MONOPLANE GLIDER.

The craft was thought also to possess stability; and this it had, in a
measure, about those two axes corresponding to the two rudders; but the
control about the third axis, effected by dangling the legs to right or left,
was extremely crude and primitive. It was in keeping with his adage: “to
contrive is nothing; to construct is something; to operate is everything.” If
he had contrived more intelligently, he would have operated more easily,
and avoided those wild and dangerous dancings in space. A more scientific
adage would read: “To design effectually is everything, to construct is
routine, to operate is play.”
The marvel is that Lilienthal, the observant, the technically trained, the
practically skilled, should operate for three years, then patent, an aërial
glider having two rudders, but lacking the third rudder, or torsional wing,
now so commonly used throughout the world. But doubtless he
contemplated a device for preserving the lateral balance without shifting his
weight; for he acknowledged the economic advantage of lying prone on the
machine, and stated that this might be done after some important
improvements in the apparatus had been made.
Having executed nearly two thousand flights with his monoplane,
Lilienthal in 1895 built a two-surface glider. He found this still easier to
control, and now thought he had sufficiently acquired the art of sailing to
justify his undertaking the next and more difficult art of imitating the
rowing flight of birds. He had constructed a ninety-pound engine, of two

and a half horse power, to actuate the wings of his glider; but, before
applying this motor, he went to the Rhinow Hills for a little further
experience in sailing. Previously he had remained in the air twelve to fifteen
seconds; but he wished to exceed this record.
On the 9th of August, 1896, he made a long glide to prove the
effectiveness of the horizontal rudder, and then wished to undertake a
second flight of the greatest duration feasible. No intimation had he that this
sail would prove disastrous. Giving the timepiece to his assistant, he set
forth on a level course, but suddenly dipped forward and plunged headlong
to earth through a height of fifty feet. He was dragged out from the débris
with a broken spine, from which he died the following day.
The machine on which the father of aërial gliding made his last flight is
shown in Plate XVI. Of the hazardous nature of its construction Mr.
Chanute thus writes: “The two surfaces were kept apart by two struts, or
vertical posts, with a few guy wires, but the connecting joints were weak,
and there was nothing like trussing. This eventually cost his most useful
life. Two weeks before that distressing loss to science, Herr Wilhelm Kress,
the distinguished and veteran aviator of Vienna, witnessed a number of
glides by Lilienthal with his double-decked apparatus. He noticed that it
was much wracked and wabbly, and wrote to me after the accident: ‘The
connection of the wings and the steering arrangement were very bad and
unreliable. I warned Herr Lilienthal very seriously. He promised me that he
would soon put it in order, but I fear that he did not attend to it
immediately.’”
It will be observed that Lilienthal gave fair attention to the merits of both
the monoplane and the biplane, the two familiar types in lively competition
at the present hour. The first he found in Nature; the second he could have
found in England, as the developments principally of Wenham and of
Phillips. His example and prestige did much to promote the biplane; but he
seems to have had no very decided preference for either. Though he found
his biplane very satisfactory, he thought of returning to the monoplane.
In April, 1896, he wrote:[27] “I am now engaged in constructing an
apparatus in which the position of the wings can be changed during flight in
such a way that the balancing is not effected by changing the position of the
center of gravity of the body. In my opinion this means considerable

progress, as it will increase the safety. This will probably cause me to give
up again the double sailing surfaces, as it will do away with the necessity
which led me to adopt them.” He thus seems to have studied the two types
impartially, and to have invented a means for balancing the machine
without shifting the center of mass.
Lilienthal had given a powerful and permanent impulse to aviation, both
by his writings and by his practical experience in the air. He first showed
quantitatively the advantage of arched wings, by carefully derived tables of
wind pressure; then he mounted the wings himself and taught the world, by
bold and frequent flight, the art of aërial gravity sailing. The two remaining
achievements, dynamic and soaring flight, he was to undertake as promptly
as possible. If his life had been spared, no doubt he would have contributed
much to the advancement of these arts, both by example and by direct
effort; for he was in the prime of life, full of energy and daring, highly
equipped, and ardently devoted to his favorite science. He began his studies
in aviation at the age of thirteen and died at the age of forty-eight years.
Among the admirable traits of the father of sailing flight must be
mentioned his scientific liberality and esprit de corps. Though he patented
his invention he did not conceal, or withhold, his discoveries when he could
publish them properly. These discoveries were made at a great sacrifice of
time and means, and must have appeared to him valuable trade secrets; yet
he published all his scientific data, his theories, and observations; he
encouraged his confrères in various countries to witness and emulate his
experiments, to share intimately his laboriously developed knowledge of
aviation, to join hands with him in hastening the advent of practical flight.
Such is the esprit de corps which has ever prevailed among truly scientific
men, as distinguished from the mercenary and commercial; such are the
unselfish investigators whom the world delights to honor, both for their
genius and for their liberal contributions to the common and permanent
possessions of humanity.
Before his death Lilienthal had the pleasure of knowing that competent
disciples were emulating him in doctrine and practice. One of the earliest
and cleverest of these was Percy S. Pilcher, Assistant Lecturer in Naval
Architecture and Marine Engineering at the University of Glasgow. In the
summer of 1895 he built the glider shown in Plate XVI. This, like
Lilienthal’s, was a double-tailed monoplane arched fore and aft; but, better

than his for manual control, it was straight from tip to tip, like the designs
of Henson, Penaud, and other predecessors. This improvement was
introduced to prevent side gusts from rocking the craft so readily as they do
the V-shaped gliders. His best sailer, the Hawk, shown in the figure, had
wings curved one in twenty, about one third from their front edge.[28]
Sometimes he sailed downhill; again he was towed or launched, like a kite,
by means of a cord, running through five-fold multiplying gear, and drawn
by running boys, or a horse. In both cases he controlled the machine to his
own satisfaction, making in 1897 smooth downhill glides of 700 feet length,
from an elevation of 70 feet.[29] He had also visited Lilienthal, but only
after achieving success at home.
Having acquired some skill in sailing, Mr. Pilcher began work on a
power machine. This was to be propelled by a screw actuated by an oil
engine, and was to be mounted on wheels backed by stiff springs. Having
observed his speed of descent in gliding, he computed that two tow-line
horse power would float him and his machine, weighing together 220
pounds. A like result was obtained when he was flown as a kite. He was,
therefore, on the straight road to achieving human flight on a screw-
propelled, wheel-mounted monoplane. If he had been more cautious he
might have been the first person to achieve human flight in a practicable
type of dynamic machine; for he seems to have equaled, if not excelled, his
German master in aëroplane design. But like the master he provided
inadequately for the structural strength of his glider, and braved too far the
dangers of gusty weather. One stormy day, September 30, 1899, wishing to
please several persons who had come a long distance to see him, he made
two trial flights in a gentleman’s park near Rugby. The second of these
proved fatal. The spectators heard a cracking noise, saw the tail break, and
the whole craft plunge headlong to the ground. Poor Pilcher was mortally
hurt and died thirty-four hours later, without ever regaining consciousness.
He was then in his thirty-third year.
Had this talented young Briton and his German tutor both lived, there
would doubtless have been a pleasant race and rivalry between them; for
the pupil was forming opinions and plans sufficiently divergent from those
of his master and friend. He did not approve Lilienthal’s high wings and
low center of gravity, nor his V-shape for lateral equilibrium, nor his
flapping wing tips for propulsion, nor his method of launching the dynamic

machine. Fortunately both published their ideas and experiments, leaving to
their successors the task of judging the merits of their designs, and of
adding any improvements that might still be required in order to achieve
final success.
Contemporary with Pilcher, Mr. Octave Chanute and Mr. A. M. Herring,
in America, were emulating the work of Lilienthal. Mr. Chanute was an
experienced civil engineer, who had previously written a history of aviation,
and experimented with numerous flying models; Mr. Herring, his employee
for the time, was a mechanical engineer who had assisted in Langley’s
experiments, and previously had flown a Lilienthal glider, and had made
researches in the science of mechanical flight. On June 22, 1896,
accompanied by two assistants, they went into camp among the sand dunes,
on the southern shore of Lake Michigan, to study the art of navigating an
aëroplane without artificial motive power. Mr. Chanute thought that the
maintenance of equilibrium under all circumstances was at that time the
most important problem of aviation; and that until automatic stability was
secured, it would be premature and dangerous to apply a motor. He wished
to evade, for he did not relish, Lilienthal’s way of balancing by shifting the
body and kicking wildly at the stars. His main purpose, therefore, was to
acquire the pilot’s science; but secondarily he would learn much about the
architecture of gliders, the behavior of air currents, the elements of
propulsion and sustentation.

PLATE XVII.

CHANUTE’S FIVE DECK GLIDER.

HERRING IN CHANUTE BIPLANE.

HERRING’S COMPRESSED-AIR BIPLANE.
(Courtesy Carl Dientsbach.)

They made some flights with a Lilienthal monoplane; but, finding this
unsafe and treacherous, they discarded it in favor of a multiple-wing glider
designed by Chanute, which after many empirical modifications in the
placement of the sustaining surfaces, assumed the form shown in Plate
XVII. This glider resembled the Lilienthal biplane in having the surfaces
vertically superposed, the rider below them, and the rudder in the rear; but it
was a five-decker whose wings, on either side, could swerve fore and aft, so
as to bring the center of lift always over the center of gravity, in order to
prevent excessive rearing or plunging. This glider was found very tractable
in a twenty-mile wind, and in a thirteen-mile breeze would sail down a
slope of one in four.
After further study, the five-decker was replaced by a three-decker;
which presently was deprived of its obtrusive and unessential lower surface,
thus assuming the familiar form shown in Plate XVII. As will be observed,
this was a radically new and elegant design, consisting of two superposed
arched surfaces held together by vertical posts and diagonal wires, like a
Pratt truss. It was, in fact, the renowned “Chanute glider” which has been
copied by so many succeeding designers of biplanes.
The Chanute glider weighed 23 pounds, spread 135 square feet, and
readily carried a total weight of 178 pounds at 23 miles an hour. It was
provided, as shown, with side planes and a double rudder, and this latter

was elastically connected to the main body to insure steadiness of flight, on
the principle of the elastic wing margins used by D. S. Brown in 1874. This
craft was found easy to manipulate in launching, sailing and landing, a two-
inch shift of the pilot’s weight equivalencing a five-inch shift on the
Lilienthal monoplane. It was steady at a speed of twenty to forty miles an
hour through the air, even when the wind was blowing seventeen miles an
hour overground. The angle of descent was 7.5° to 11°, depending on the
speed and trend of the wind. The work of gravity expended in maintaining
steady flight was at the rate of two horse power for the 178 pounds, a good
showing with the rider vertical.
Summer passed before Mr. Chanute could perfect the invention for
automatic stability by means of swerving wings; but otherwise the gliding
experiments were very satisfactory. The strong and simple biplane evolved
during those few weeks of fruitful study, though not an original creation,
having been foreshadowed theoretically and experimentally, in the work of
Wenham,[30] Stringfellow, Lilienthal, Phillips, and Hargrave, was
nevertheless an important contribution to the science of aviation, by reason
of its strength and simplicity of design, its efficiency, its stability, and, best
of all for that day, its record for good flights and safety. All who could
appreciate it understood that the addition of a light motor would transform
it to a dynamic flyer, navigable at least in mild weather. The most eager,
perhaps, was Mr. Herring; for he had not only mastered this glider, but
some years previously had flown successfully rubber-driven models very
much resembling it in design. These two aviators, therefore, came to a
parting of the ways, Chanute still pursuing automatic stability, Herring
impatiently heading for dynamic flight by the shortest route available. Had
they continued together on a practical course, they might, ere the close of
the century, have anticipated at least the early flights of the French aviators,
if they could have constructed or purchased an adequate motor.
After some further development of the aërial glider to adapt it to power
flight, Mr. Herring began the construction of a dynamic aëroplane. He had
previously built very light steam and gasoline engines,[31] and deemed the
latter best for a perfected flyer, though preferring steam or compressed air
in a first experimental test.
When seen by the present writer in October, 1898, at St. Joseph, Mich.,
Mr. Herring was about to launch himself in the compressed-air driven

biplane shown in Plate XVII. It was essentially a powered Chanute-Herring
glider, steadied by a double tail, and controlled by shift of the pilot’s
weight, the tail being elastically attached. The writer then suggested that
both a glider and a dynamic aëroplane should be controlled entirely by
steering and balancing surfaces, on the principle set forth in his paper of
1893; and, in particular, indicated that the lateral balance should be
controlled by changing the inclination of the wings on either side, while the
double tail should be used to steer and steady the aëroplane sidewise and
vertically; in other words, that a torque about each of the three rectangular
axes of the machine should be secured from impactual pressure, thus
obviating the need for shifting the pilot’s weight. Mr. Herring, while
making no objection to this proposal, intimated that he had a device for
insuring control without shifting the pilot’s weight, but believed the most
important effort for the moment should be to make a short flight with the
machine as it stood, for the purpose of enlisting capital, then to add the
controlling devices at leisure. He expected to remove the wheels shown in
the figure, hold the aëroplane against a stiff breeze from Lake Michigan,
start the propellers, strike a soaring attitude, and fly forward for a few
seconds against the wind.
The successful accomplishment of such a flight covering an overland
distance of seventy-three feet in eight or ten seconds, against a wind of
thirty miles an hour, was reported in the Chicago Evening News, of
November 17th of that year; but the present writer has not been able to
ascertain the reporter’s name, or that of any other witness to the event,
which, if true, is well worthy of verification and detailed record.
In following the votaries of passive flight, as represented by Lilienthal
and his school, we have overlooked the great man-carrying bird of Clément
Ader, one of the most prominent and successful aviators of that active
period. If the reports be true, Ader may justly claim to be the first person to
navigate the air in a dynamic flying machine. However, it must be observed
that his achievements did not at first arouse in France a great pitch of
exultation and enthusiasm. There seemed at the time to be some skepticism
as to the practicability of his device. But later cordial reparation was made
by placing it on the Stand of Honor at the Aëronautical Salon, held in the
Grand Palais, at Paris, in December, 1908.

Clément Ader set out in life with the fixed determination to make a
fortune, then to build a practical flying machine. Adopting the profession of
electrical engineer, he quickly accumulated enough capital, as he thought, to
realize his early ambition. He next visited Africa to study at close range the
great soaring birds that Mouillard had described with so much admiration
and vivacity. Going to Algeria he disguised himself as an Arab, and, with
two Arab guides, journeyed to the interior where he watched the great
soaring vultures, which he enticed with bits of meat to perform before him
their marvelous maneuvers, wheeling in wide circles, and without wing
beat, from earth to sky.
After several years of study of the anatomy and flight of birds, Ader
began, at the age of forty-two years, to construct an aëroplane. His first
machine was a birdlike monoplane mounted on skids, or wheels, and driven
by a 40-horse-power steam engine actuating a screw, placed forward. The
total weight was 1,100 pounds, the spread 46 feet, the length 21 feet. The
Eole, as he called it, received its first open-air test on the morning of
October 9, 1890, in the grounds surrounding the Chateau d’Armainvilliers,
near Gretz, a portion of the course being so prepared that the trace of the
wheels would be visible. When everything was ready for the trial, Ader
mounted the machine, in presence of a few friends, ran quickly over the
ground, urged by the propeller thrust, then rose into the air and sailed 150
feet. Such is the report of the witnesses to what is claimed as the first flight
of a human being in a power-driven flying machine.
Subsequently this bold inventor built Eole No. 2, which, by special
permission of the War Department, he tested on a prepared track, 2,400 feet
long, on the Satory Camp. Over this course he ran his machine several
times, and on one occasion flew 300 feet; but on alighting broke one of the
wings.
Ader, now having spent one and a half million francs on his experiments,
placed the Eole on exhibition in order to raise money for their continuation.
In this venture also he was successful, being presently subventioned by the
French War Department to build an aëroplane for its use. His subsequent
labors are concisely set forth in Automobilia and Flight for February, 1909,
as follows:

“Under these new conditions the workshop in the Rue Pajou was
abandoned for larger premises in the Rue Jasmin, where the
construction of the Avion was commenced in May, 1892, all persons
engaged with the construction being under a military vow of secrecy.
The motor was built first, and tested before a commission composed of
army officers and some of the leading technicians of France. It was
found to develop 30 horse power for a total weight of 32 kilogrammes;
and even now, though seventeen years old, is regarded as a chef
d’œuvre. In the spring of 1897 the Avion was ready to make flights.
Like its predecessors it was modeled on the form of a bat; but,
although the wings could not be flapped, they could be folded, and
could be advanced or retarded horizontally.
“Everything appearing satisfactory, Ader informed the military
commission that he was ready to undergo tests; the committee met at
the workshops in the Rue Jasmin on August 18, 1897; were pleased
with the machine, and ordered flights to be made immediately at
Satory. It was not, however, until October 12th that a flight was
attempted on the carefully guarded military ground, and in the
presence of General Mesnier. The apparatus covered a distance of
1,600 yards, and although it did not fly, for this distance it is certain
that on several occasions it completely left the ground. Ader declared
that according to whether the wings were carried forward or to the rear,
it was the front or the rear wheels only which left the ground. The
pressure in the generator at this moment varied between 3 and 4
atmospheres. On increasing it to 6 or 7 atmospheres none of the wheels
touched.
“Satisfied with the results of the test, General Mesnier called the
commission together for further trials on the following day, October
14, 1897. Unfortunately it was a rough, squally morning, that would
have prevented many a modern aviator from bringing a machine into
the open. But as the officers had been brought together specially for
this purpose, a flight was attempted.
“‘After several revolutions of the propellers, and a few yards
covered at a moderate speed, we were off at a high rate of travel,’
wrote Ader, who was at the wheel on this memorable occasion. ‘The
pressure was about 7 atmospheres. Almost immediately the vibrations

of the rear wheel ceased, and, directly after, those of the front wheels
were no longer felt, showing that we had entirely left the ground.
Unfortunately the wind had increased in strength, and I had some
difficulty in keeping to the line that had been marked out. I increased
the pressure to 9 atmospheres, and immediately the speed increased
considerably, the vibrations ceased again, showing that we had once
more left the ground. Under the influence of the wind the aëroplane
had a constant tendency to drift to the right, away from the circular
track that had been marked for it. Finally, with the wind broadside on,
the machine was in a rather dangerous position, for it was being still
more rapidly driven out of its course. I increased the pressure still
more and put the rudder hard over to the left, with the result that for a
few seconds the machine worked back towards the track and still
maintained itself in the air. But it was impossible to struggle against
the wind, and finding that the machine was being carried towards some
artillery sheds, and somewhat unnerved by the speed at which the
ground appeared to be rushing past, I stopped the engine; there was a
shock, and I was on the ground.’
“Ader was uninjured, but his machine was rather badly smashed. It
had certainly flown, but with such difficulty in the face of the wind
that the army commission was evidently little inclined to report
favorably upon it. Several weeks passed without any communication
being received from the War Department; then it became apparent to
Ader that the Government had no longer faith in his invention. This
was proved early in the following year by an official communication to
the effect that no further funds could be allotted to this work.
Discouraged at the abandonment after forty years’ labor and the
expenditure of about two million francs, Ader commenced the
destruction of his machines. The earlier ones were destroyed, but the
Avion, the one which had appeared before the army commission, was
saved and sent to the Museum of the Arts et Métiers in Paris.”

The last aëroplane, or Avion, weighed 1,100 pounds, spread 270 square
feet, and was driven by a 40-horse-power steam engine actuating twin
screws projecting before the bird-shaped flyer. The engine weighed but 7
pounds per horse power—quite a remarkable achievement for that day.

In following the votaries of passive flight, as represented by Lilienthal
and his school, we have overlooked the great dynamic aëroplane of Mr.
Maxim, one of the most prominent aëroplane builders of that active period.
Having in 1889 made elaborate experiments on the atmospheric resistance
of sustaining surfaces, and on the thrust of screw propellers, he proceeded
to build the gigantic aëroplane shown in Plate XVIII, the greatest flyer thus
far known to history. It was a twin-screw multiplane mounted on a platform
forty feet long by eight feet wide, and having four wheels running along a
track eight feet wide and half a mile long. Above the rails of this track were
guard rails to prevent the flyer from rising more than three inches during the
tests. The whole machine weighed 3.5 tons, spread 5,500 square feet of
surface, and, at a speed of 40 miles an hour, lifted more than a ton, in
addition to the weight of the three men and 600 pounds of water. Its
propelling plant comprised a naphtha tubular boiler, and a compound steam
engine of 350 horse power actuating twin screws 17 feet 10 inches in
diameter which gave a thrust approximating 2,000 pounds. These screws
were made of American yellow pine, covered with canvas and painted, then
smoothly sandpapered to reduce the friction; for Maxim, like certain French
aviators, erroneously imagined that a polished surface has less air friction
than a dead even surface. The framework was composed of seamless steel
tubing stayed with steel wire. The aëroplane was to be steered right and left
by a rudder, and up and down by horizontal planes, one fore, another aft,
and its lateral stability was to be secured by side planes set at a dihedral
angle. A meritorious feature for that day were the superposed arched
surfaces whose framing was smoothly covered below and above by
skillfully stretched fabric, causing the air to flow evenly without wasteful
eddies.

PLATE XVIII.

MAXIM’S AËROPLANE.
(Courtesy W. J. Hammer.)

LANGLEY’S LARGE AËROPLANE.
(Courtesy Smithsonian Institution.)

Many runs along the track were made to test the working of this great
apparatus before trusting it to launch forth in free flight. Dynamometers
gave independently the thrust of the screws, and the lift of the wings on the
front and rear axles. The ascensional planes for controlling the fore and aft
equilibrium were tested during the run, as also the practical operation of the
propelling plant. During the trials of 1893 the machine frequently lifted
clear of the lower track, and flew forward resting against the guard rails
above the wheels. Finally, on a gusty day, the lift against the upper track
caused this to give way, whereupon the machine rose into the air with Mr.
Maxim and his assistant, then toppled over on the soft earth, suffering some
damage to its framework. Here the experiments were discontinued for lack
of funds, having indeed demonstrated that a large weight can be carried in
dynamic flight, but having proved little as to the feasibility of controlling an
aëroplane in launching, in free flight, and in landing.
Compared with the work of his contemporaries this achievement of Mr.
Maxim was herculean, both in construction and expenditure, the cost being

reported as nearly one hundred thousand dollars. It raised high hopes for
aviation. It proved conclusively not only that a flying machine could be
made to lift a pilot, but that it could carry hundreds of pounds additional
weight. It still holds the world’s record for magnitude of machine and cargo.
But it had two great defects; it was improperly balanced and it was
inadequately powered; for, as Mr. Maxim says, “the quantity of water
consumed was so large that the machine could not have remained in the air
but a few minutes, even if I had had room to maneuver and learned the
knack of balancing in the air.”[32] These defects, however, would soon be
remedied by the work of others, and particularly by the costly experiments
of the automobilists, who were rapidly developing a light gasoline motor
suitable for aviation.
The inventors thus far noticed had developed most of the important
features of the present-day flying machines, but had not provided adequate
mechanism for preserving a steady lateral balance. The present writer had
proposed the combination of a double rudder and torsional wings to steer
and control a flyer, and had published a paper setting forth its general
principle and describing a specific device; but inventors had little need for a
third rudder till they encountered the dangers of dynamic flight in gusty
weather. The paper referred to was presented to the Third International
Conference on Aërial Navigation, in August, 1893, under the title, Stability
of Aëroplanes and Flying Machines, and was published with the
proceedings of the conference.[33] It discusses mainly the question of
automatic stability and steadiness; but recommends personal control during
the experimental period. It concludes as follows:

“We have been considering the question of automatic stability, in so
far as it may be secured in the construction of the craft itself,[34] apart
from a pilot, or special equilibrating devices. The application of the
latter would give exercise to an infinite amount of ingenuity, and
would, perhaps, best be left to the fancy of the individual inventor. One
curious design, however, occurs to me, which, since I have not seen it
described elsewhere, may be worth a moment’s notice.
“Suppose a Phillips’s machine (see Plate XIV) to be provided with a
double tail, and to have a vertical fin extending longitudinally along its
entire length, well above the center of gravity. These would steady its

flight and promote stability. Suppose also that its sustaining slats were
pivoted, so that a pilot could at pleasure change their inclination on
the right and left side independently. He could then set the engine for a
desired speed, sweep forward along the earth with the sustainer slats
horizontal, and at will mount into the air, by giving the slats an upward
inclination. Once in the air he could raise or lower the machine by
slightly changing the angle of the slats; he could wheel to right or left
by giving one set of slats a little different slope from the other; he
could arrest all pitching, rocking and wheeling by a slight counter
movement of the sustainers. It would be necessary, of course, to
preserve a rapid forward motion, for it is a peculiarity of the compound
aëroplane that, if it comes to a standstill in the air, it will drop plumb
down with a frightful plunge until it acquires headway.”

The succeeding paragraph disclosed a specific contrivance embodying
the principle just given. This showed two levers rotating drum shafts for
actuating wires adapted to change the impact angles of the wing surfaces.
Accordingly this much of the mechanism of control, together with the broad
device of the torsion wings, has been the common property of inventors
since the publication of that paper. Furthermore, the combination of
torsional wings and a double rudder, either fixed or movable, has been
public property since that date.[35]
Little was said about the manner of manipulating the double rudder and
torsional wings; for the rules of manipulation would vary in different
machines, depending upon structural design and external conditions. For
example, if the proposed fin and vertical rudder were ample and suitably
placed, the lateral balance could be controlled by merely twisting the wings,
without touching the vertical rudder; but if the fin and rudder were not
adequate, the lateral poise would be controlled by twisting the wings and
working the vertical rudder conjunctively. A novice might prefer leaving the
rudders fixed and controlling the poise in short flights by twisting the wings
by means of a single lever having two independent movements, one to
rotate the wings oppositely, the other to rotate them identically.
The principle of control expressed in italics had been set forth also in a
preceding paragraph. Having proposed means for securing both stability

and steadiness about each of the three axes of an aëroplane, the text
continued:

“These ends could probably be attained very well by mounting two
compound aëroplanes on a long backbone,[36] somewhat after the
manner of the Hargrave cellular kites, and adding a compound rudder
to the whole.” ... “If the inclination of the sustainers, front and back,
could be altered independently, it might be feasible for a pilot to
preserve the equilibrium of the machine even when its center of gravity
was frequently shifted, as by the moving of passengers to and fro.”[37]

At that date, 1893, an inventor doubtless could have secured a broad
claim on a mechanism embodying the torsion-wing-and-double-rudder
mechanism of control. But in those days aviation was pursued largely as a
liberal study by scientific men who wished to hasten the advent of practical
flight, by presenting important physical measurements and principles which
could be freely employed by all. Accordingly the three-rudder system of
control seems not to have been claimed by an inventor much before the
close of the nineteenth century. Since then it has been patented in one form
or other by many practical aviators, some endeavoring to claim the whole
broad contrivance, others claiming more restricted devices.
The static principle of the torsion wing is a familiar one in elementary
mechanics. It is this: a torque of given magnitude and direction has the
same effect on a rigid body whatever its point of application. The
longitudinal torque, or moment, may therefore be exerted by the wings, by
suitable rudders, by forward planes, by any auxiliary planes, or fins,
however placed or moved for the purpose. Accordingly there seems to be an
unlimited variety of concrete patentable devices available to the inventor
for securing impactual torque about the longitudinal axis, or either of the
other two axes. But in planning such devices it is well to remember that the
moment of a couple increases with its arm, so that in a wide aëroplane the
wing tips may best furnish the torque; while in a high short-winged
machine, vertical planes, fins, or rudders may give the desired longitudinal
moment. Obviously such vertical guiding or controlling surfaces may be so
placed as to tilt the machine toward the center of curvature of its path, at the
same time opposing the centrifugal force, and exerting a torque about the
vertical axis tending to steer the flyer along its path.[38]

The principle of projectile stability is another consideration of some
importance in aviation, or more generally in all submerged navigation,
whether of air or water. A submerged body has projectile stability if its nose
tends always to forerun its centroid, and follow a steady course. A dart is a
good example; a fish, a torpedo. Thus if a torpedo-shaped homogeneous
solid be hurled in any manner through a fluid, obliquely or even tail
foremost, it promptly turns its nose to the front and proceeds steadily along
an even course; but if the body has not true dynamical balance, it may
oscillate or gyrate, or flit about in the most erratic manner.
Projectile stability in a flyer, as in an arrow, may be attained by playing
the centroid in or near the line of forward resistance, and well ahead of the
side resistance. The reasons for this are manifest. If, however, this
arrangement be neglected, a special damping, or controlling, device is
required to preserve headlong and steady motion. In particular, the
objections to placing the centroid too low were emphasized in the above
quoted paper as follows:

“I have mentioned the advantage of placing the center of mass
below the center of surface; this has also its objections. While the
stability against inversion is increased, the stability against rocking is
sacrificed. The aëroplane so constructed may not easily overturn; but it
will sway to and fro with a pendular motion. This, when lateral, is very
objectionable, when fore and aft it is fatal to uniform progress, as we
shall see in studying the longitudinal stability of flying machines. We
shall then see that the center of mass cannot be lowered with
impunity.”

Of the various flyers and models thus far studied, some manifest fairly
good, others very imperfect projectile stability. Many inventors have been
more alert to the gravitational stability and safety of the parachute than to
the kinetic stability and keen, direct flight of the arrow. Some of the most
pretentious machines imitated the thistle down more nearly than the dart or
swallow. But the exigencies of actual flight would easily rectify such
imperfections of design.
Tractional balance also is a property of some importance in fluid
navigation. This requires that the line of propulsive thrust coincide with the

line of fluid resistance. It is a property, however, that inventors readily
apprehend, and usually provide for.
In general a flyer is subject to four forces: weight, thrust, air pressure and
inertia. When these balance about any axis the craft has equilibrium about
that axis; when they balance about the three axes the craft is completely
balanced, and preserves its orientation in flight. Devices for preserving this
complete balance have already been described; as also provision for
propulsion and sustentation, launching and landing safely.
Thus at the close of the nineteenth century all the essential principles and
contrivances of pioneer flight were worked out, except one—a suitable
motor. This was the real problem of the ages. The rest was easy by
comparison. A light enduring motor, if available to the old time inventors,
would have brought dynamic flight centuries ago. That only could have
baffled Da Vinci, Cayley, Henson, Wenham and the long line of pioneer
aviators. Eventually, of course, steam engines had come, endowed with
ample power; but costly to build and wasteful to operate. The light
automobile engine appeared in the latter nineties; promptly thereafter
followed the dynamic flyer, the snow-winged herald of the twentieth
century.

CHAPTER IX
AËROPLANES OF ADEQUATE STABILITY AND POWER

The dawn of the twentieth century found several votaries contriving
aëroplanes for one or more passengers. The epoch of models had virtually
closed, bequeathing a rich heritage. The essential elements of aviation,
barring the motor, had been clearly worked out. The age of practical flight
was at hand. No further need to prove feasible the heavier than air; for that
had been done repeatedly. Scientific design and patient trial, not invention
and physical research, were now the chief demand. Further research would
improve the aëroplane, but not bring it into practical operation. Capital,
constructive skill, judgment in adapting principles and devices already
known, energy, persistence, caution, imperturbability in danger and
derision; these were requisites. Science had led the way, with uplifted torch;
let the craftsmen follow her with kit and apron. The aëroplane was
sufficiently invented; it now wanted, not fastidious novelty, but concrete
and skillful design, careful construction, exercise in the open field.
Of the group of aëroplanists in the beginning of the nineteenth century
Mr. Hugo Mattullath, of New York, was one of the most original, daring
and resourceful. He had been a successful inventor, manufacturer and
business man, accustomed to large enterprises. In the latter nineties,
deeming the time opportune for practical aviation, he determined to build a
commercial flying machine. He would begin where Maxim had stopped. A
larger and swifter craft appeared to him most desirable. In his judgment any
clever mechanic could make a one-man flyer. “Take that for granted and
waste no time on toys!” Professor Langley’s “aërodrome,” with every spare
ounce filed away, should lift itself, of course. It might navigate a calm;
possibly even a zephyr, if no one sneezed; but never could it carry
passengers on schedule time. He therefore would jump the little flyers, and
build at once a commercial aëroplane strong enough to defy the storm,
powerful enough for regular traffic on a business scale. That meant a ship
for numerous passengers, equipped to fly fifty miles an hour against the

prevailing wind. A glorious project indeed; an enterprise suited to a
gentleman of first rate ability.
Mattullath’s aim was aërial transportation, not exhibition at county fairs
and crowded carnivals. Regular interurban routes were projected,
terminating in ample landing floors. Broad-winged aëroplanes, huge
catamarans with shining hulls, sumptuously furnished in gold and crimson,
should convey happy crews, in all seasons, from metropolis to metropolis.
Six great engines and propellers to drive the ship, with abundant reserve
power. Melodious strains of music rising incessantly, to soften the thunder
of motors and the demoniacal howl of the wind. Then transcontinental
voyages, outsailing the nimbus, how lovely to the anointed of fortune!
Jocund savannas nestling by the sea, or in the bosom of orchid-crested hills,
should welcome to earth the silken sojourners of the north migrating, gay-
plumed and potent, to their winter homes in tropic paradise. All the isles of
ocean, all the merry mountains, earth, sea and air, one shining empire,
blissful and secure as Olympus. Chimborazo, girt with every clime, from
torrid base to snowy peak should glow
With alabaster domes and silver spires,
And blazing terrace upon terrace high
Uplifted; here serene pavilions bright,
In avenues disposed; their towers begirt
With battlements that on their restless fronts
Bore stars—illumination of all gems!

Such were his holiday fancies, seldom revealed, even to his associates.
The public had no intimate part in his project. A few trusted engineers,
eminent in their profession, and a few financiers, formed his advisory
board. For two years he worked on the structural elements of the great sails,
propellers, and framing of his ship. But unhappily when he was preparing to
present his final plans to his council of engineers, before building the large
vessel, he was brought suddenly to the close of his career.[39]
Mattullath’s proposed air ship consisted of two parallel torpedo-shaped
hulls sustained by superposed plane or slightly arched surfaces, and
propelled by feathering-paddle disk wheels embedded in the planes; the
engines, cargo and passengers to be placed within the hulls.[40] This
arrangement would enhance the comfort of the passengers at high speeds,
eliminate resistance, distribute the load on the framing, and increase the

moment of inertia of the vessel, thereby rendering it less sensitive to side
gusts. To improve the projectile stability and steadiness, the centroid was
placed as high as practicable. Large steering planes were used fore and aft
on both sides of the vessel, whose inclination could be changed
independently, to turn the ship about its longitudinal or transverse axis. A
vertical rear rudder steered to right or left, in conjunction with the side
planes. All the posts were of double wedge shape; all the planes were
canvassed above and below to shield the framing, after the style of Maxim.
The hulls, the posts, the planes, all parts, were keenly sharpened to
economize power. The ship was to run over its smooth launching field till it
acquired a rising speed of forty to fifty miles an hour, then continue
accelerating up to velocities sufficient for competition with passenger trains
in all weather.
While one may easily point out certain questionable features in
Mattullath’s project, as for example, its odd propellers, one can not so easily
estimate its true merits. The torsion wing device for lateral control and
steering, which he claimed in his patent application, abandoned after his
death, now constitutes a very important feature of every flying machine. His
planes for fore and aft control, introduced by Maxim, are also in general use
to-day. The principle of load distribution, which he greatly prized for
diminishing stress and adding stability, has still to be evaluated by practical
test in larger craft than any now in operation. The closed hull, for comfort
and economy at high speed, is at present popular with many designers.
One tentative assumption of Mattullath’s, made on the authority of
Maxim and Langley, was that the friction of the air is a negligible part of
the entire resistance encountered by the hull, framing and sail surfaces.
Accepting their experimental conclusion, he designed a flyer so sharp and
smooth in all its parts as practically to eliminate the pressural, or head
resistance. With no skin friction, with scant hull and frame resistance, he
could afford[41] to fly at a very slight angle, thus minimizing the drift, or
wing resistance, while at the same time securing abundant lift by rapidity of
flight. He thus arrived, by cold deduction from the data of those prominent
experimentalists, at an aëroplane swift as the albatross, and wondrously
economical of power. But his financiers were loath to gamble on that
assumption. He therefore, at their suggestion, instigated systematic
measurements of air friction on smooth surfaces, which demonstrated that

in a sharp aëroplane flying at a very slight angle, the skin friction is nearly
equal to all the other resistances combined. These results were obtained and
published[42] some months after his death. They were unfavorable to his
project, and to all projects for attaining high speed through the air by
excessive sharpening of the vehicle.
The first dynamic aëroplane of adequate stability and power to carry a
man in prolonged flight, was that of Professor Langley. This machine was
nearly a duplicate, on a four-fold scale, of the gasoline model previously
described, which had flown many times with good inherent equilibrium.
There was accordingly every reason to expect that, weighted and launched
like the model, it would fly with the same poise and swiftness, even if left
to govern itself. Having in addition a living pilot, provided with rudders for
steering and balancing, together with adequate fuel for a long journey, it
seemed to promise still better results than the model. But an unfortunate
accident in the launching so crippled this carefully designed craft that it fell
down helpless, without a chance to exhibit its powers of sustentation and
balance, even for a moment, in normal flight.
The first trial occurred on September 7, 1903, in the middle of the
Potomac River at Widewater, Va. The aëroplane was placed on the same
catapult, above the boat, that had previously started the models on their
smooth and rapid maneuvers. The pilot took his seat, and started the 50-
horse-power engine which ran the propellers without appreciable vibration.
Tugs and launches were placed along the course where they might be of
service. Photographers, on the water and along shore, were ready to furnish
important pictorial records of the experiment. The aëroplane was released
and sped along the track attaining sufficient headway for normal flight; but
at the end of the rails it was jerked violently down at the front, and plunged
headlong into the river, sinking beneath the waves. Buoyed up by its floats,
it quickly rose to the surface, with its intrepid pilot uninjured, and with little
damage to the structure.
As revealed by an examination of the catapult and photographs, the guy
post that strengthened the front pair of wings had caught in the launching
ways, and bent so much that those wings lost all support. The aëroplane,
therefore, had not been set free in the air, but had been wrenched and jerked
downward. Thus the launching proved nothing of the propulsive or sailing
powers of the machine.

Those who understand the principles of aviation can judge the merit of
Langley’s “aërodrome”[43] from its mechanical description. As shown in
Plate XVIII, it was a tandem monoplane driven by twin screws amidships.
The pilot seated in the little boat could control the poise and course by
several devices; he could shift his weight longitudinally 4.5 feet, laterally
2.5 feet; he could elevate and depress the rear double rudder, which when
untouched ensured steady longitudinal poise, on the principle introduced by
Penaud; he could steer to right and left by turning about its vertical axis, the
wind-vane rudder shown below and rearward of the boat. The lines of lift,
propeller thrust and forward resistance passed through the centroid, or near
it, thus providing for projectile and gravitational stability. In this feature
Langley’s “aërodrome” far surpassed those of his immediate predecessors,
whose machines, by reason of their low centroid, possessed the stability of
a pendulum, rather than that of a dart, or swallow. These various devices
combined should give the craft better control in free flight than that
possessed by any of the models, which had flown successfully many times
in moderate weather.
If the projectile and steering qualities of Langley’s machine surpassed
those of its predecessors, the propelling mechanism was a still greater
advance in the art of aviation. The gasoline engine was a marvel of
lightness, power, endurance and smoothness of running. It weighed, without
accessories, 125 pounds, and developed 52.4 horse power in actual test at a
speed of 930 revolutions a minute. With all accessories, including radiator,
cooling water, pump, tanks, carburetor, spark coil and batteries, it weighed
200 pounds, or scarcely five pounds per horse power—a great achievement
for that time. It could run many hours continuously under full load,
consuming about one pound of gasoline per horse power per hour. Its five
cylinders, arranged radially round a single crank shaft, were made of steel
lined with cast iron, and measured 5 inches in diameter by 5.5 inches in
stroke. Its running balance was excellent. By means of bevel gears it drove
the twin screws at 700 revolutions per minute, giving a thrust of 480
pounds, the screws being very nearly true helices of unit pitch ratio and 30°
width of blade, carefully formed of three radial arms covered with canvas.
The whole machine weighed 830 pounds, including the pilot; spread
1,040 square feet of wing surface; measured 48 feet from tip to tip, and 52
feet from the point of its bowsprit to the end of its tail; soared at a speed of

about 33 feet a second and a ten-degree angle of flight, the wings arching
one in eighteen at one fourth the distance from their front edge. The double
rudder, at the extreme rear, measured 95 square feet in each of its
component surfaces.
It is evident from these figures, very kindly furnished by Mr. Manly, the
mechanical engineer in charge of the experiments, that such an aëroplane
had every equipment needed for a steady flight of many hours in fair
weather. A thrust of 490 pounds on well-designed surfaces should easily
carry 500 pounds of gasoline in addition to the 830 pounds regular weight
of ship and pilot. This would enable the machine to fly practically all day
without renewal of supplies. It appears, therefore, that Professor Langley
had, in 1903, a dynamic aëroplane quite the peer, in many respects, of the
best that were developed during the first decade of aviation, and that a mere
accident, which should be expected in such complex experimentation,
deprived him of the credit of the first man-flight on an adequately
controlled and powered machine. Quite true, he lacked launching wheels;
but how easy to add these, since they were proposed many times. He
omitted the front steering plane, but had a rear one serving the same
purpose. The worst that can be said is that he needed the equivalent of
torsion wings for lateral control; but in moderate weather he could have
flown successfully without them, as Farman, Delagrange, Paulhan[44] have
so fully demonstrated. Besides, Langley had already tested the torsion wing
device, and contemplated using it on his large machine.
A second launching was attempted on the Potomac River near
Washington, on December 8, 1903. This time the rear guy post was injured,
crippling the rear wings, so that the aëroplane pitched up in front and
plunged over backward into the water. After some repairs it was stowed
away in the Smithsonian Institution, where its frame and engine are still
intact, its wings having been injured in the wreck and discarded. The
experiments were now abandoned for want of funds to continue them.
Notwithstanding that Professor Langley had contributed much to the
science of aërodynamics, by his elaborate researches, and had really
developed a machine capable of sustained flight, if properly launched, he
was subjected to unmitigated censure and ridicule; for he had incurred the
enmity of various journalists and wiseacres, partly by his official secrecy,
and partly by that natural reticence which avoids premature publicity in

important scientific enterprises. This irresponsible criticism, combined with
the cessation of work which should have brought success, profoundly
grieved him, and doubtless hastened his death. He had, however, the
satisfaction of knowing that a few competent specialists appreciated his
labors, and would continue them to abundant fruition. A few days before his
death he had the gratification of receiving, from the newly formed Aëro
Club of America, the following communication acknowledging the value of
his efforts to promote aërial travel.

Resolutions of the Aëro Club of America

Adopted January 20, 1906.

“Whereas, our esteemed colleague, Dr. S. P. Langley, Secretary of
the Smithsonian Institution, met with an accident in launching his
aërodrome, thereby missing a decisive test of the capabilities of this
man-carrying machine, built after his models which flew successfully
many times; and whereas, in that difficult experiment, he was entitled
to fair judgment and distinguished consideration because of his
important achievements in investigating the laws of dynamic flight,
and in the construction of successful flying models; therefore be it
“Resolved, That the Aëro Club of America, holding in high
estimation the contributions of Dr. Langley to the science of aërial
locomotion, hereby expresses to him its sincerest appreciation of his
labors as a pioneer in this important and complex science; and
“Be it further resolved, That a copy of these resolutions be sent to
the Board of Regents of the Smithsonian Institution and to Dr.
Langley.”
This kindly message from America’s foremost aëronautic society
brought a moment’s pleasure to the last hours of the illustrious
scientist. “Professor Langley was on his deathbed when these
resolutions were brought to his attention, and when asked what should
be done with the communication, his pathetic answer was: ‘Publish it.’
To all who know his extreme aversion to publicity in any form, this

reply indicates how keenly he felt the misrepresentation of the
press.”[45]

Professor Langley’s progress with the “aërodrome” was due largely to the
skill, energy and devotion of his designer and superintendent of
construction, Mr. Charles M. Manly. This talented young graduate in
mechanical engineering, of Cornell University, in 1898, went directly from
the class room to assume the chief burden of Langley’s researches in
aërodynamics, and his practical experiments in mechanical flight,
remaining till their termination in 1904. He was the confidential secretary
and adviser to his chief in that whole enterprise. When in 1900 Dr. Langley
stood baffled before the greatest obstacle in aviation, unable to find any
manufacturer, in America or Europe, who could furnish a practical engine
of the desired power, lightness and durability, Manly came to his rescue
with a design which guaranteed success and which resulted in the
wonderful gasoline motor built in the Smithsonian shops. Finally when the
aëroplane was ready to be launched, it was Manly who bore the long weeks
of trial in the malarial region of Widewater, harassed by accidents and foul
weather, not to mention the merry agents of the press; and it was he who
twice rode the ponderous aërodrome, shot forth in mid air at the imminent
risk of his life.
While Langley was building his great tandem monoplane, Wilbur and
Orville Wright of Dayton, Ohio, were developing a biplane which was an
improvement on the aërial glider of Chanute and Herring. This was to be
their preliminary effort toward achieving continuous flight. Their first
product, tried at Kitty Hawk, North Carolina, in the summer of 1900, is
shown in Plate XIX. The chief points of departure from Chanute and
Herring’s glider were (1) to place the rider prone on the lower surface, as
first proposed and tried by Wenham, forty years’ previously; (2) to discard
the vertical rudder; (3) to place the horizontal rudder forward, as done by
Mattullath and Maxim; (4) to control the lateral balance by changing the
impact angles of the wings, as recommended by the present writer in 1893.
Of these four modifications the first was impractical for general use, though
good for soaring and possibly racing; the second was unsatisfactory and
later abandoned; the third was effective, and has been accepted by some
aviators as an improvement, but rejected by others who prefer the rear[46]

horizontal rudder; the fourth proved acceptable to them, as to various other
inventors before and after them.
With this glider they made a number of satisfactory flights. The front
rudder and the torsional wings proved adequate to control the craft in
sailing straight ahead down the Kill Devil sand hills, near Kitty Hawk, N.
C. In this, as in all their machines to the present date, sled runners, fixed
under the machine, as proposed by Ader and others, were used for
launching and landing. With a surface of 165 square feet, they could glide
down a slope of 9.5° at a speed of 25 to 30 miles an hour. This showed only
a moderate efficiency, but it was a beginning.
The glider used in the summer of 1901 was modeled after that of the
previous year, but larger. It was 22 feet wide, 14 feet long, 6 feet high,
spread 308 square feet, and weighed 108 pounds. With this a number of
glides were made, of various lengths up to 400 feet. At a speed of 24 miles
an hour gravity exerted on the aërial coaster 2½ tow line horse power,
showing an efficiency nearly equal to that of Pilcher’s glider of 1897.
In camp with the Wright brothers in 1901 was Mr. Chanute, the leading
aëronautic expert in America. They thus had the advantage of his long
experience, both as a student of aviation and a practical experimenter. With
them were also two other specialists, Mr. E. C. Huffaker, an experienced
aëronautical investigator, who had worked successively with Langley and
Chanute; and Dr. G. A. Spratt, who had made some important investigations
on the value of curved surfaces and the travel of the center of pressure with
the varying angles of flight. The numerous animated conferences with these
gentlemen were instructive and profitable. When the season closed the
brothers returned home and experimented on curved surfaces to improve
the efficiency of their glider.

PLATE XIX.

FIRST WRIGHT GLIDER.

SECOND WRIGHT GLIDER.

The 1902 machine, shown in Plate XIX, had two main surfaces,
measuring each 32 by 15 feet, and a front rudder measuring 15 square feet.
The whole weight was 116 pounds. It will be noted that a vertical rudder
was now employed. This was a reversion to the design of Chanute and
Herring, but after some experience, the rudder was made adjustable, as in
Henson’s aëroplane of 1842. Its surface was 12 square feet, but later
reduced to six. With this machine they obtained between 700 and 1,000
glides during the season. It showed greater efficiency than its predecessors,
its normal angle of descent being estimated at seven degrees or less. This
was some improvement over the efficiency of the Chanute-Herring glider,
partly due, of course, to placing the rider flat, instead of allowing him the
more comfortable erect posture adopted later.
Whatever improvements of efficiency and strength had been made, these
were of secondary importance compared with the provisions for projectile
stability and manual control. Here at last, after ten years’ groping, was an
actual glider with sufficiently high centroid to minimize the pendulum
effect, and with three rudders to give impactual torque about the three axes.

These simple provisions had been previously pointed out in aëronautic
writing, and, in the latter nineties, had been embodied in Mattullath’s
aëroplane, but not tested in the large machine, owing to his death. The
wonder is that, of all the practical inventors of aëroplanes, Mr. Mattullath
was the only one of that period fully to grasp and adopt these main ideas
before starting to build a man-carrying machine. However, it must be added
that he had previously made small flying models, which may have
suggested the advantage of kinetic stability and the three-torque system of
control. If Lilienthal and his disciples, who laid so much stress on gliding
experience, had started like Mattullath with three torque-surfaces, they
would have missed indeed those acrobatic and picturesque kickings at the
sky, but they would have reached the desired goal with less danger, time
and expense. They displayed more skill in riding a fractious glider than in
designing a tractable one, by providing for impactual torque about each of
three axes. Had they started with a good theory of dynamic control, they
could have dispensed with coasting entirely, and commenced aviating with
short runs over a smooth course followed by cautious leaps in the air, after
the style of certain ingenious French aviators. However, the knack of
balancing was finally acquired, and thus the glider was ready to receive the
propelling mechanism.
In 1903 a 16-horse-power engine and twin-screw propellers were applied
to the navigable glider at Kitty Hawk, as shown in Plate XX. The power
machine weighed 750 pounds, and was usually started by aid of a tow line
and falling weight which helped the craft to acquire headway. After many
trials and modifications, the first successful launchings, four in number,
were made on December 17th. The first flight lasted 12 seconds, the next
two a little more, the fourth lasted 59 seconds, covering a distance of 852
feet over the ground in the face of a twenty-mile wind. To the superficial
observer these performances did not seem a very remarkable advance on the
flights of Ader, but they had in them greater promise and potency of
practical flight. They were the first flutterings of a fledgling endowed with
the chief essential organs of aërial locomotion—an awkward but healthy
creature that had been evolving steadily for several generations. It would
grow rapidly, and ere another half decade, increase the 59 seconds to so
many minutes.

PLATE XX.

FIRST WRIGHT AËROPLANE (REAR).

FIRST WRIGHT AËROPLANE (SIDE).

The experiments were continued during the next two years with
increasing success. During the season of 1904, on a field near Dayton, one
hundred and five flights were made, some short, others covering the entire
circuit of the field no fewer than four times, the two largest measuring each
nearly three miles, each accomplished in about five minutes. Various
improvements were made in the propelling and steering mechanism, and
increased skill in maneuvering was gradually acquired.
In 1905 the flights were resumed with a new machine embodying some
changes dictated by experience, particularly in the method of control. Forty-
nine landings were made involving seven breakages, but no personal injury.
On September 26th a flight of eleven miles was achieved. This was
followed, within the next nine days, by flights of twelve, fifteen, twenty-one
and twenty-four miles, at a usual speed of 38 miles an hour. After this the
field practice ceased for more than two years, and the machine was
dismantled to preserve secret its mode of construction till the patents could
be disposed of. As these performances and those preceding are of unusual
interest, a fuller account is given in Appendix IV.

The Wright brothers now had to assume in aviation the rôle of cautious
business men. The gliding experiments had been a scientific recreation, and
had been fairly well reported to engineers, except in those details to be
covered by patent claims; but the details of the power machine were
withheld, or sparingly disclosed. The brothers had sacrificed time and
money. They were making aviation a profession. They must, therefore, be
repaid. But if they exhibited too promptly their machine and aërodynamic
data, they might jeopardize their financial interests by assisting or
stimulating rival aviators. On the other hand, by procrastination and
concealment they might, in various ways, forfeit priority and scientific
credit. Chanute’s glider was already familiar in Europe, and it was
estimated to have ample efficiency for successful flight with existent
motors. Their own published experiments were being studied and repeated.
They might, therefore, expect that, at any time, some rash or cunning fellow
would bolt into the air and proclaim to all the world that their unpublished
devices, if they possessed any novelty, were by no means necessary, as they
fancied, to usher in actual dynamic flight. The aëroplane would thus appear
to be the sudden outgrowth of fertile and mature conditions, rather than the
product of uncommon originality. Scores of aviators would immediately
spring into being—chauffeurs, mechanics, sporting gentlemen of every dye.
Light motors being now available, any intelligent artisan could power a
Hargrave kite, or Chanute glider, and soar aloft. Every odd craft, not too
absurdly designed, would navigate, with some showing. Publicity and prize
money would develop and perfect the various types with feverish haste. But
in 1905 the Wright brothers apprehended no portentous or imminent
invasion of the sky. The foreign bogie was five years behind, being
unfamiliar with sand hill practice and the torsion wing. They would,
therefore, chance the result of withholding their data and concealing their
machine. It was a curious situation; Langley and Manly, who produced the
first aëroplane endowed with all the essential powers of prolonged flight,
were bound to official secrecy; the Wrights, who had a finished machine,
tried and fairly ready for public exhibition, were hampered by trade secrecy.
These silent leaders in aviation presented a gratifying contrast to the
shouting fraternity who, in the daily press, announced impending marvels
which never materialized.
The same year, 1905, which crowned with most success the private
flights of the Wright brothers, brought into unusual prominence the quarter

century long experiments of Prof. J. J. Montgomery of Santa Clara College,
Santa Clara, Cal. He had given much attention to the science of aviation,
particularly to passive flight, and had constructed several successful gliders
operated by himself or his friends. The most remarkable of these machines
was a glider resembling in general appearance Langley’s tandem
monoplane, but having means for changing the wing curvature during
flight, thus varying the lift on such wing, and thereby enabling the operator
to control the equilibrium and direction during his glides in the air.
On April 29, 1905, a forty-five pound glider of this pattern bearing an
intrepid parachute jumper, Daniel Maloney, was lifted from the college
grounds by a hot-air balloon to an elevation of 4,000 feet, then cut loose.
“In the course of the descent,” writes one of his pupils, “the most
extraordinary and complex maneuvers were accomplished—spiral and
circling turns being executed with an ease and grace almost beyond
description, level travel accomplished with the wind and against it, figure-
eight evolutions performed without difficulty, and hair-raising dives were
terminated by abrupt checking of the movement by changing the angles of
the wing surfaces. At times the speed, as estimated by eye-witnesses, was
over sixty-eight miles an hour, and yet after a flight of approximately eight
miles in twenty minutes the machine was brought to rest upon a previously
designated spot, three-quarters of a mile from where the balloon had been
released, so lightly that the aviator was not even jarred, despite the fact that
he was compelled to land on his feet, not on a special alighting gear.” This
daring performance amazed the world, and most of all, the specialists who
all along knew such a feat to be practicable. As a further description of
Professor Montgomery’s wonderful experiments may interest the reader, the
following account, written by himself, is inserted from Aëronautics for
January, 1909:

“When I commenced practical demonstration in my work with
aëroplanes I had before me three points. First, equilibrium; second,
complete control; and third, long continued or soaring flight. In
starting I constructed and tested three sets of models, each in advance
of the other in regard to the continuance of their soaring powers, but
all equally perfect as to equilibrium and control. These models were
tested by dropping them from a cable stretched between two mountain
tops, with various loads, adjustments and positions. And it made no

difference whether the models were dropped upside down or in any
other conceivable position, they always found their equilibrium
immediately and glided safely to earth.
“Then I constructed a large machine patterned after the first model,
and with the assistance of three cowboy friends personally made a
number of flights in the steep mountains near San Juan (a hundred
miles distant). In making these flights I simply took the aëroplane and
made a running jump. These tests were discontinued after I put my
foot in a squirrel hole, in landing, and hurt my leg.

PLATE XXI.

MONTGOMERY’S AËROPLANE.

“The following year I commenced the work on a larger scale, by
engaging aëronauts to ride my aëroplane dropped from balloons.
During this work I used five hot-air balloons and one gas balloon, five
or six aëroplanes, three riders—Maloney, Wilkie and Defolco—and
had sixteen applicants on my list and had a training station to prepare
any when I needed them.
“Exhibitions were given in Santa Cruz, San José, Santa Clara,
Oakland and Sacramento. The flights that were made, instead of being
haphazard affairs, were in the order of safety and development. In the
first flight of an aëronaut the aëroplane was so arranged that the rider
had little liberty of action, consequently he could make only a limited
flight. In some of the first flights, the aëroplane did little more than
settle in the air. But as the rider gained experience in each successive

flight I changed the adjustments, giving him more liberty of action, so
he could obtain longer flights and more varied movements in the
flights. But in none of the flights did I have the adjustments so that the
riders had full liberty, as I did not consider that they had the requisite
knowledge and experience necessary for their safety; and hence, none
of my aëroplanes were launched so arranged that the rider could make
adjustments necessary for a full flight.
“This line of action caused a good deal of trouble with aëronauts or
riders who had unbounded confidence and wanted to make long flights
after the first few trials, but I found it necessary as they seemed slow in
comprehending the important elements and were too willing to take
risks. To give them the full knowledge in these matters I was
formulating plans for a large starting station on the Mount Hamilton
Range from which I could launch an aëroplane capable of carrying
two, one of my aëronauts and myself, so I could teach him by
demonstration. But the disasters consequent on the great earthquake,
completely stopped all my work on these lines. The flights that were
given were only the first of the series with aëroplanes patterned after
the first model. There were no aëroplanes constructed according to the
two other models, as I had not given the full demonstration of the
workings of the first, though some remarkable and startling work was
done. On one occasion, Maloney in trying to make a very short turn
during rapid flight pressed very hard on the stirrup which gives a
screw shape to the wings and made a side somersault. The course of
the machine was very much like one turn of a corkscrew. After this
movement, the machine continued on its regular course. And
afterwards Wilkie, not to be outdone by Maloney, told his friends he
would do the same, and in a subsequent flight, made two side
somersaults, one in one direction and the other in an opposite, then
made a deep dive and a long glide, and when about three hundred feet
in the air, brought the aëroplane to a sudden stop and settled to the
earth. After these antics, I decreased the extent of the possible change
in the form of wing surface so as to allow only straight sailing or only
long curves in turning.
“During my work I had a few carping critics that I silenced by this
standing offer: If they would deposit a thousand dollars I would cover

it on this proposition. I would fasten a 150-pound sack of sand in the
rider’s seat, make the necessary adjustments, and send up an aëroplane
upside down with a balloon, the aëroplane to be liberated by a time
fuse. If the aëroplane did not immediately right itself, make a flight,
and come safely to the ground, the money was theirs.
“Now a word in regard to the fatal accident.[47] The circumstances
are these: The ascension was given to entertain a military company in
which were many of Maloney’s friends, and he had told them he would
give the most sensational flight they ever heard of. As the balloon was
rising with the aëroplane, a guy rope dropping switched around the
right wing and broke the tower that braced the two rear wings and
which also gave control over the tail. We shouted Maloney that the
machine was broken but he probably did not hear us, as he was at the
same time saying ‘Hurrah for Montgomery’s air ship,’ and as the break
was behind him, he may not have detected it. Now did he know of the
breakage or not, and if he knew of it did he take a risk so as not to
disappoint his friends? At all events, when the machine started on its
flight the rear wings commenced to flap (thus indicating they were
loose), the machine turned on its back and settled a little faster than a
parachute. When we reached Maloney he was unconscious and lived
only thirty minutes. The only mark of any kind on him was a scratch
from a wire on the side of his neck. The six attending physicians were
puzzled at the cause of his death. This is remarkable for a vertical
descent of over 2,000 feet.”

CHAPTER X
ADVENT OF PUBLIC FLYING

In 1903, Mr. Ernest Archdeacon stimulated by a conference with Mr.
Chanute, at a meeting of the Aëro Club of France, founded a prize of 3,000
francs to be awarded to the first person who should sail or fly 25 meters,
with a maximum descent not exceeding one third of the range. As yet no
one in either hemisphere had flown in a practical machine, but various
aviators were industriously pluming their wings. Captain Ferber had been a
follower of Lilienthal since 1898, and a pupil of Mr. Chanute since 1891.
Dozens of votaries in France, not to mention other countries, had entered, or
were about to enter, the aviation field. Archdeacon himself, Voisin, Blériot,
Esnault-Pélterie, Vuia, Delagrange, Tatin, Cornu, Bazin, Levavasseur and
many others, were stanch apostles of the heavier than air. Many of these
were disciples of Lilienthal, but they were destined all to be distanced by an
impetuous Hensonite, who could not realize the necessity for spending
months, or years, cautiously coasting downhill to acquire the adroitness
requisite to speed a flying chariot over the plain.
In 1906, while many aviators in Europe were developing flyers, and
cautiously testing them in various ways, by gliding above sand or water, or
swinging from a high wire or traveling arm, Señor Alberto Santos-Dumont,
of Brazil, brought forth in France the quaint and crude biplane shown in
Plate XXII. Aërodynamically this was not a great improvement on the
aëroplane of Sir George Cayley constructed 98 years earlier; but it had a
petrol motor whose power and lightness would have astounded that talented
pioneer in aviation. The motor was an eight-cylinder Antoinette, weighing
170 pounds and developing 50 horse power. The screw, formed of two
aluminum blades, was of two meters diameter, one meter pitch, mounted on
the engine shaft, and, at 1,500 revolutions a minute, gave a thrust of 330
pounds. The total lifting surface of the aëroplane was 650 square feet, and
the weight, including pilot, 645 pounds. This bird-shaped craft ran tail
foremost through the air, having the screw at the rear, and the rider in a

small basket just before the wings. By means of a pilot-wheel and lever, he
could operate the “tail,” i. e., the front rudder, sidewise and vertically, thus
steering the craft in two directions. The lateral balance was preserved
automatically by means of the dihedral inclination of the wings, aided
sometimes by the rider swaying his weight to right or left.
After some days of preliminary adjustment and trial, Santos-Dumont was
ready for a dash in his new aëromobile. On August 22d, 1906, he made a
brief tentative flight, the first witnessed in Europe since Ader’s surreptitious
experiment. On October 23d, he ran this strange machine swiftly over the
ground and glided boldly into the air, flying above the excited spectators at
a speed of 25 miles an hour, and covering a distance of 200 feet, thus
gaining the Archdeacon cup. Again on November 12th, 1906, he made four
flights, the last one covering 220 meters in twenty-one seconds, thus
gaining the prize of 1,500 francs offered by the Aëro Club of France for the
first person who should fly 100 meters. The demonstration was made before
the general public and technical witnesses, including an official committee
of the Aëro Club of France, who reported that the aëroplane preserved good
balance and a true soaring speed independent of the acquired momentum.
Intrinsically the achievements of November 12th were crude and
primitive; but in moral effect they were very important. They marked the
inception of public aëroplaning before the professional and lay world alike.
There was no patent mechanism to conceal, no secret to withhold from
rivals, such as had shrouded the work of more circumspect aviators in
Europe and America. If Santos-Dumont was not the first to fly, he was the
first aëroplane inventor to give his art to the world, and to inaugurate true
public flying in presence of technical men, as he had initiated modern motor
ballooning. His liberal enthusiasm and that of his colleagues, both
aëroplanists and patrons, quickly made France the world’s foremost theater
of aviation, at least for the moment. The contagion would of course spread
swiftly, and involve the entire civilized world.
Santos-Dumont’s unconventional dash into the air sounded the knell of
Lilienthalism. This slow method served to pass time profitably in the
nineties, while the gasoline motor was still developing. But with an
Antoinette in hand, what live man, particularly what live Frenchman, could
tinker long years on the sand hills? Why not mount the craft on little wheels
and take a cautious little run; then after some adjustment, make more runs

followed by innocuous saltatory flights? This would be so easy, so
fascinating, so instructive. How much better than to make two thousand
preliminary jumps down the hill slope with the body dangling wildly to
keep the balance, then to redesign the entire frame before an engine could
be successfully applied! An Antoinette motor, placed on a competently
designed Henson aëroplane, would have obviated the whole Lilienthal
school. However, they did noble and opportune work, while awaiting the
growth of the gasoline engine. This school achieved success by a
roundabout method because Henson’s method was not available till the
present century, for want of a cheap, light motor. When that appeared
Lilienthalism quickly subsided. In other words, Lilienthal’s method was a
passing convenience, never a necessity. It could have been employed very
profitably in Cayley’s time to develop the art of gliding and soaring; but in
the time of Santos-Dumont and his colleagues, flying by Henson’s method
would have burst upon the world by reason of its superior value and the
allied progress, even if the Lilienthal school had never existed. This is
illustrated by the fact that Santos-Dumont succeeded without aid from the
sand-hill votaries.

PLATE XXII.

SANTOS-DUMONT’S BIPLANE.
Photo E. Levick, N. Y.

SANTOS-DUMONT’S DEMOISELLE.
(Courtesy A. J. Moisant.)

The next daring aëroplanist to arouse the world of aviation was Henri
Farman, also a votary of the wheel-mounted flyer. He had been an adept
motorist, therefore accustomed to brisk driving. In the summer of 1907 he
received from the Voisin brothers the aëroplane illustrated in Plate XXIII.
With this he made a number of preliminary flights during the autumn,
proving that his aëroplane had suitable stability and motive power. On
October 26th, on the government drill grounds at Issy-les-Moulineaux he
surpassed Santos-Dumont’s record, by flying 771 meters. But this was to
him of minor importance; he was preparing to win the Deutsch-Archdeacon
prize of 50,000 francs offered for the first person who should fly one
kilometer over a returning course. On January 12th, he convoked a
committee of the Aëro Club of France to witness a trial on the morrow.
Next morning at ten o’clock, the weather being calm and clear, his great
machine ran a hundred yards across the course, then rose gracefully into the
air, and sailed away for the 500-meter post. Here, making a wide curve, it
rounded safely and returned, passing the home line in elegant flight, thus
winning the grand prize.

The machine with which Farman achieved his first success, and which
broadly resembles his subsequent triumphal flyers, seems to be a cross
between a Hargrave kite and a Chanute glider, having a Maxim horizontal
steering plane in front. As shown in the figure it was mounted on four
bicycle wheels; was steered up and down by the front plane, and sidewise
by the box rudder seen in the rear. The rider seated between the large
supporting surfaces, and in front of his engine, operated these rudders
separately, by pushing or rotating a pilot wheel, and abetted the automatic
lateral balance by swaying his body. The machine spread 559 square feet of
sustaining surface, weighed 1,100 pounds and carried a 50-horse-power
Antoinette motor actuating a single two-blade aluminum propeller 6.9 feet
in diameter by 3.6 feet pitch, directly connected to the engine shaft. The
stability in mild weather was so great that Farman, during his first few
weeks’ practice, made over 200 flights, measuring in length from 100 to
500 yards, without serious mishap. In gusty weather, however, his machine
was defective in steadiness, and unsafe near the ground. This objection was
remedied later by adding flexible wing margins for controlling the lateral
balance.
The age of prize flying was thus fairly ushered in by the feeble but very
important public demonstrations of Santos-Dumont and Henri Farman.
Other public flyers would quickly follow. Delagrange, Blériot, Curtiss
would soon become international figures, not to mention numerous more
recent aviators. They, were men of originality, skill and energy, who would
shortly be in the front line contesting for world laurels, and winning them
gloriously.

PLATE XXIII.

FARMAN BIPLANE, 1908.
(Courtesy W. J. Hammer.)

FARMAN BIPLANE, 1909.

HARMON IN FARMAN BIPLANE.

Leon Delagrange, the sculptor-inventor, who first had demonstrated the
biplane, on March 30, 1907, aspired in 1908 to outfly Farman. He now
practiced industriously on the military drill ground at Issy-les-Moulineaux,
a large field which the Minister of War permitted the Aëro Club of France
to use for such purpose. Here he and Farman, in friendly competition, flew
day by day over gradually increasing courses. At times they were joined by
other aviators, and thus the drill grounds at Issy became famous as an
aviation school.
Farman’s new rival made startling progress during those frequent trials of
March, 1908. “Just imagine,” he says, “that within a week I was able to
complete my education as an aviator.” On March 17th he made an official
flight of 269.6 meters, thus winning a prize of 200 francs offered by the
Aëro Club of France for a beginner who should fly over 200 meters. Four
days later he engaged in contest with Farman. Two poles were erected 500
meters apart to mark the points about which the men must race. The
machines were brought forth from their sheds in the morning, gleaming
dimly through a dense fog, and were given some preliminary trials. Then
Farman made a flight of 2004.8 meters, going twice around the course in 3
minutes, 31 seconds. He thus trebled his grand prize flight of January.
Presently Delagrange took wing and flew 1,500 meters in 2.5 minutes.
Having been beaten by Farman, he invited his successful rival to take a seat
behind him, and the two sailed away close to the ground, covering a

distance of 50 meters. This was the first trip ever made by two men in one
flying machine. For the first time also two machines had flown in
competition over a considerable course.
Delagrange continued to pursue Farman for the championship. On April
11th, he flew 2,500 meters, and would have exceeded Farman’s official
record of 2,004 meters, had he not touched the ground. The next day he
summoned the official committee of the Aëro Club of France to witness and
time his performance. Poles were erected at the corners of a triangle 350,
200, 275 feet apart respectively. Around this course he flew nearly five
times, covering a distance of 5,575 meters in 9¼ minutes. Of this range the
last 3,925 meters were covered without touching the ground. Thus at last he
had out-flown Farman and established a new official record, the total
distance actually covered being about ten kilometers, or approximately six
miles. This ended, at least temporarily, the friendly competition at Issy; for
now the aviators separated, Farman going to Belgium, Delagrange to Italy.
Delagrange’s fortune accompanied him abroad. On May 24th, he made
some impressive demonstrations on the Place d’Armes at Rome in presence
of the Minister of War and thirty thousand people. On May 27th, he flew
before the King and Queen of Italy and many other court personages,
remaining in the air nine and one half minutes, thus surpassing all previous
European records for endurance and distance. But this was only
preliminary. On the morning of May 30th, he came forth again on the Place
d’Armes, a light breeze blowing. His machine rolled quickly over the
ground, then circled gracefully ten times around in the air at a height of four
to seven meters, covering an official distance of 12.75 kilometers, and
remaining aloft 15 minutes, 26 seconds. On June 22d, at Milan, he flew
before 15,000 people in the Place d’Armes, covering seventeen kilometers
in 16 minutes, 30 seconds. Finally, on September 6th, at Issy-les-
Moulineaux, he flew 29 minutes, 54 seconds, covering 14.8 miles, which
proved his crowning effort for the year. As the two flights just mentioned
surpassed all previous official ones in duration, it appears that Delagrange
raised the world’s record four times within five months, increasing his own
time from six and a half minutes in April to about thirty minutes in
September, or nearly fivefold.
In the meantime, Farman was making rapid progress, gathering prizes
and achieving wide renown. On May 30th, at Ghent, Belgium, taking with

him M. Archdeacon, he flew 1,241 meters at a height of seven meters. He
thus established a new record with two people, and won the 1,200 franc
wager made with Santos-Dumont and Archdeacon against M. Charron, who
contended that a flying machine would not, within the year, carry two men
weighing sixty kilograms each. On June 6th he flew 20 minutes, 20
seconds, covering 19.7 kilometers, thus again increasing the world’s record,
and winning the Armengaud prize of ten thousand francs for the first aviator
to remain aloft fifteen minutes in France. On September 29th and October
2d, at Chalons, he successively increased the world’s record, and achieved
his best results for the year. The first of these trials lasted 42 minutes,
covering 24.5 miles; the second lasted 44.5 minutes, covering 25 miles.
This last flight was forty times as long as the one of January, which gave
him the grand prize of fifty thousand francs, and is a good index of the
wonderful progress in aviation made in France during the year 1908.
Between these two performances he, on September 30th, sailed from
Chalons to Rheims, a distance of 27 kilometers, in twenty minutes. This
flight was made over trees and houses, sometimes at an elevation of 200
feet, and was the first town-to-town flight ever accomplished. The
following day he won the 500 franc prize for height, passing over balloons
82 feet from the ground. Such was the lively pace Farman set for the rest of
the world.
Mr. Curtiss drifted into the business of building and operating air ships
and flying machines by frequent association with inventors, who came to
his bicycle works at Hammondsport, N. Y., for assistance in the design and
construction of aërial craft. He was particularly sought as a constructor of
propelling mechanism, for he had special skill and experience in producing
light gasoline engines. As a motor expert he was invited to the laboratory of
Dr. Alexander Graham Bell, at Beinn Breagh, near Baddeck, Nova Scotia,
in the summer of 1907. Dr. Bell had developed his wonderfully light, strong
and stable tetrahedral kites to such an extent that he wished to convert them
into “aërodromes” by applying light propelling mechanism. He accordingly
invited two young Canadian engineers, F. W. Baldwin and J. A. D.
McCurdy, to consult with him regarding the structural details of his
proposed flyer, and contracted with Mr. Curtiss to supply the motive power.
These gentlemen with Lieutenant T. Selfridge, a guest of Dr. Bell,
developed so many independent ideas that Mrs. Bell suggested the
advantage of forming themselves into a scientific organization, at the same

time offering the capital required for experimentation. Acting on this advice
and generous offer, they formed themselves into the now famous Aërial
Experiment Association, whose object was the construction of a practical
aëroplane, driven through the air by its own motive power, and carrying a
man.

PLATE XXIV.

THE RED WING.

CURTISS BIPLANE.

CURTISS BIPLANE WITH PONTOONS.

After some preliminary downhill glides[48] and studies with a motorless
aëroplane, the association, on March 12, 1908, brought forth their first
dynamic machine, the Red Wing, shown in Plate XXIV, in order to speed it
along the ice of Lake Keuka, near Curtiss’s factory; the purpose being, not
to fly, but to test the effect of the vertical rudder. To the surprise of the
twenty-five onlookers, the machine, after running two hundred feet along
the ice, serenely rose into the air and flew 319 feet. “This,” says Dr. Bell,
“was the first public exhibition of the flight of a heavier-than-air machine in
America.” It is noteworthy also that this machine was completed and ready
for trial in less than seven weeks from the time of starting. Its design, while
embodying suggestions from each member of the association, was
attributed chiefly to Lieutenant Selfridge, who took the leading part in
evolving the plans, and who gave them his final approval, it being the
intention of the association to offer each man a chance to produce a flying
machine after his own notions, aided by the experience and liberal advice of
his fellows.
As the advantage of flying from the ice had been suggested some years
before the death of Lilienthal, it seems remarkable that this method did not
yield important results earlier in the development of aviation. A smooth ice
field is such an ideal place for testing a dynamic aëroplane, that previous
gliding experience would seem unnecessary, providing the machines were
designed with a fair knowledge of the elementary principles of stability and

control. Even glider practice could be effectively conducted over a smooth
ice field after momentum had been acquired by aid of gravity, or a tow line.
Having sufficient momentum the aviator could test his rudders cautiously
without rising, then, after a little experience, make short glides in the air,
and so be prepared to install the motor. Landing or falling on smooth ice at
great horizontal speed, from a low elevation, is much less hurtful than
tumbling on the ground, as every bold skater knows from experience.
The aëroplane II, designed by Mr. Baldwin, aided by his associates and
their combined experience, resembled that of Lieutenant Selfridge in the
trussing of its body surfaces, but was mounted on wheels, and provided
with torsional wing tips for lateral control. When tested, it was found easy
to launch and land, besides responding very promptly to the three-rudder
control. In the hands of Mr. Curtiss, on May 22d, this aëroplane, called the
White Wing, flew 1,017 feet in 19 seconds, and landed smoothly on a
plowed field. This at the time was the longest flight ever made by an aviator
in his first trip on a heavier-than-air machine.
It was now Mr. Curtiss’ turn to be captain of design and construction.
Under his supervision aëroplane III, called the June Bug, was ushered forth,
in the month of honeymoons. It differed from the two preceding in having a
box tail; also in having a nainsook cover, instead of the red and white silk
that characterized the Red Wing and the White Wing.
After some practice, this flyer behaved so well that it seemed competent
to win the Scientific American Cup offered for a public flight of one
kilometer straight away. Accordingly an official trial was arranged with a
committee of the Aëro Club of America, for the fourth of July, 1908. It was
the first official flight in the western hemisphere, and proved in every way
most satisfactory. The machine flew 2,000 yards over an S-shaped course at
a speed of 39 miles an hour, displayed admirable control, and had abundant
motive power. The performance was an intimation and augury of the
victorious flights to come the following year. As the Association now
repaired to Dr. Bell’s summer home, the Hammondsport experiments
terminated for the season.
The year 1908 also brought to happy fruition the long and persistent
experiments of Louis Blériot, the most illustrious pioneer and champion of
the monoplane. Beginning in 1900, he had tried one type after another, of

flying machine, till he became world renowned for his fertility of invention,
his daring, his picturesque accidents and hairbreadth escapes. So long as he
was not killed he was certain to make progress; for he had every
endowment that ensures success. He possessed the energy of early
manhood, having been born in 1872; he had the thorough technical training
of the Central School of Arts and Manufactures, where he graduated in
1895; he possessed extraordinary talent for invention and constructional
detail; he had the prowess, courage and coolness requisite for testing
intractable and dangerous flyers; he was in the world’s most active center of
aviation; he also had sufficient means. If he was late in achieving success, it
was because he preferred to develop original ideas, and could not be content
with merely copying his predecessors.
Like many other novices in aviation, Blériot began by trying to build a
machine with flapping wings that should fly like a bird. This was to be
actuated by a carbonic acid motor. In 1904 he abandoned his first machine,
of bird type, and turned to aëroplanes, beginning with a biplane of the
Farman, or Voisin type. His second machine was built by Gabriel Voisin,
one of the most experienced of the pioneer aëroplane manufacturers. This
biplane, unprovided with an engine, was mounted on floats, towed along
the Seine by a motor boat, and rose from the surface carrying Voisin as
pilot. Blériot III, composed of elliptical cells, or sustaining surfaces, and
powered with two Antoinette motors of 25 horse power each, was tested
without success on Lake Enghien during the year 1905–6. Blériot IV was
made of quadrangular cells, and launched at Bagatelle in 1906, carrying a
soldier, Peyret; but crashed to earth in its first trial. Finally in 1907, Blériot
V, mounted by the inventor himself, rose into the air and flew successfully,
but was lacking in stability. His sixth aëroplane was of the Langley type,
provided with a 24-horse-power motor, then with a 50-horse-power
Antoinette; but it was unstable fore and aft. One day it traversed 184 meters,
then fell from a height of 25 meters and was shattered on the ground. His
seventh was one of the swiftest yet constructed, attaining a speed of nearly
80 kilometers an hour, and, in two private trials, covering a distance of 500
meters. Thus seven years had slipped away, leaving Blériot still in the
tentative period of his work. But now he was at the threshold of a career of
brilliant success, which soon brought him the highest honors at home and
throughout the world.

After various minor flights in the spring and summer of 1908, Blériot, on
October 31st of that eventful year in aviation, determined to attempt a cross
country voyage, as Farman had done the day before. As will be
remembered, Farman had flown from Chalons to Rheims, above trees and
houses, a distance of nearly 17 miles, thus achieving the first town-to-town
flight in history. Blériot would improve that record at once, by flying in a
closed circuit embracing several villages.
His renowned cross-country flight was directed from Toury to Artenay, a
village nine miles distant. Mounting his aëroplane VIII-ter, at mid
afternoon, in presence of a large gathering, Blériot followed the course
shown in Fig. 40. In the neighborhood of Artenay he landed for a few
minutes. After some slight repairs to his magneto, he reascended, turned
about and headed for home. Half way on his return course he stopped again
for a few minutes, at the Village of Santilly; then readily reascended and
flew to the neighborhood of his starting point. He thus traveled about 17
miles in a closed circuit. This performance, with that of Farman the day
before, inaugurated the period of aërial voyages in heavier-than-air
machines. It appealed so powerfully to the sentiment of the community that
a monument was erected at Toury to commemorate the glorious
achievement.

PLATE XXV.

BLÉRIOT FLYING OVER TOURY-ARTENAY CIRCUIT.

BLÉRIOT MONOPLANE NO. VIII.

BLÉRIOT MONOPLANE NO. IX.

Fig. 40.—Blériot’s Toury-artenay Aëroplane Circuit, 1908.

A fair view of the famous monoplane, in its renowned cross-country
voyage, is presented in Plate XXV. It consisted of a single sustaining
surface firmly attached to a long trussed spine mounted on three wheels,
and carrying at its front end the gasoline motor and propeller, at its rear end
two of the rudders, the third, or lateral, rudder being placed at the wing

terminals. A part of the trussed frame was covered, to minimize the
atmospheric resistance against the framing, pilot and engine. The vertical
rudder at the rear turned the machine to right or left; the horizontal rear
rudder controlled the elevation and pitching of the machine; the torsional
wing tips controlled the lateral stability, and could be used to cant the
aëroplane or check its listing, as in the Wright and Curtiss machines. The
craft exhibited an easy poise in the air, and possessed good equilibrium,
owing to its arrowlike structure and its three-rudder system of control. It
was a strong rival of the biplanes previously noticed, and a herald of better
things to come.
In the meantime the Wright brothers had resumed their field practice.
During the month of May, 1908, they tested their famous aëroplane of 1905,
provided with increased engine power, and carrying two passengers upright.
A few brief flights were made at speeds of 41 to 44 miles an hour, showing
that all the mechanism was adequate and effective. But on May 14th a false
push on a lever, made by Wilbur Wright, brought the flyer to earth,
wrecking it too badly to be repaired in the few days available for
experimentation. These flights were but preliminary to the official trials set
for the approaching summer; for the brothers had contracted to furnish one
machine to the United States Signal Corps, another to a French syndicate.
The Chief Signal Officer of the United States Army in December, 1907,
had issued specifications, and invited bids, for a flying machine apparently
far in advance of the art. The flyer was to carry two men aggregating 350
pounds, was to remain aloft one hour continuously, and was to maintain an
average speed of 40 miles an hour in a cross-country flight to and fro,
covering a distance of ten miles. The contractor must instruct two officers
to operate the flyer. Furthermore the machine must be capable of flying 125
miles without stopping. The requirements seemed severe, even to those well
versed in aviation. Nevertheless two bids were received; one from the
Wright brothers for a biplane to cost $25,000, another from Mr. A. M.
Herring for a biplane costing $20,000. Both bids were accepted for the
summer of 1908; but only the Wright contract was eventually carried out.
About the same time the Dayton inventors had sold their patent rights in
France to a syndicate in that country. The contract specified a machine for
two passengers, having a speed of 50 kilometers an hour, and a range of 125
miles. Furthermore, the inventors agreed to instruct three pupils to manage

the aëroplane. The fulfillment of these two contracts occupied some
months, but presented no formidable difficulties. Though neither of the
brothers had ever flown an hour, and though both were comparatively
unskilled as operators, they had such faith in their invention that they
undertook to launch themselves publicly in untried machines, Wilbur
Wright in France, Orville in America, at about the same time.
Of these two tests, the one conducted by Orville Wright at Fort Myer,
near Washington, was the most successful at first. After a few brief
preliminary trips, he suddenly astonished the world by phenomenal flying.
On the morning of September 9, 1908, he made a voyage above the drill
ground lasting 57 minutes, 31 seconds, and again in the evening another
flight lasting one hour and three minutes, this time before a throng of
distinguished spectators. Immediately thereafter he took aboard Lieut.
Frank P. Lahm for a flight of six minutes’ duration. These records were
improved day by day, and all things seemed propitious for the official tests
of speed and endurance. But on September 17th, while sailing with
Lieutenant Selfridge at a height of about 75 feet, a blade of the right-hand
propeller struck and loosened a stay wire of the rear rudder. Instantly the
wire coiled about the blade, snapping it across the middle. Thereupon the
machine became difficult to manage, and plunged headlong to earth,
throwing the men with their faces on the bare ground, fatally wounding
Lieutenant Selfridge, and seriously injuring Mr. Wright. Lieutenant
Selfridge did not recover consciousness, and died within three hours, from
wounds on the forehead and concussion of the base of the brain. Mr. Wright
suffered a fracture of the left thigh and of two ribs on the right side. The
aëroplane was badly shattered in its framing, but the engine was practically
intact. This accident terminated the tests for the season; but ere long a date
was set for their resumption during the following year.

PLATE XXVI.

WRIGHT BIPLANE OF 1908.

STANDARD WRIGHT BIPLANE OF 1910.

WRIGHT RACING BIPLANE OF 1910.

Wilbur Wright began his demonstration for the French syndicate on the
plain of Auvours, ten miles from Le Mans, France, on August 8, 1908. For
some weeks his flights were very brief, owing to the balky condition of his
engine; but this difficulty was removed by the middle of September. After
the accident to his brother he remained inactive for a few days; then, to
reassure his supporters, he raised the world’s record by flying a distance of
over 52 miles, remaining aloft 1 hour, 31 minutes, 25 seconds. After this he
continued at frequent intervals to make long flights, quite usually taking a
passenger with him, and on several occasions a lady. His endurance, his
altitude, his abandon and perfect control amazed and delighted Europe.
Incidentally he won some valuable prizes, beating the French records for
duration, distance and elevation. Once he rose to a height of 380 feet. On
September 21st, he flew 42 miles in 1 hour and 31 minutes; on October
11th, he carried a passenger an hour and ten minutes; finally on the last day
of the year he flew 77 miles in two hours and twenty minutes, thus winning
the much coveted Michelin prize, of twenty thousand francs for the longest
distance flown during the year. It was a triumphal close to the most
progressive and eventful year in aviation—the first year of exhibition
flying, the inaugural year of a noble art.
Having completed the speed and distance tests at Le Mans by the close of
the year 1908, Wilbur Wright went to Pau, in the South of France, for the
winter practice with his three pupils, Count de Lambert, Paul Tissandier and
Alfred Leblanc. Here on the vast trial grounds at Pont Long, six miles from

Pau, he had a commodious hangar with a workshop on one side, and on the
other, apartments for the aviator and his mechanics. He arrived with his
pupils, on January 14th, and next day was joined by his brother and sister,
who had followed him from Paris, Orville being now well recovered from
his injuries received at Fort Myer. In a short time the machine was set up,
and early in February began its regular service, having a pair of levers for
the teacher and another pair for the passenger. The pupils quickly acquired
the art of steering, being first allowed to control one lever, with Mr. Wright
holding the other; then being entrusted to manage the whole machine, with
their tutor as passenger; and finally becoming themselves teachers of the
newly acquired art. Only a few hours’ practice was needed to attain
proficiency, the whole time in the air aggregating hardly half a day for each
pupil, though the lessons extended over many days.
A pleasant feature of the sojourn at Pau and Le Mans was the number and
character of the visitors, and the boundless enthusiasm displayed toward the
new art. Tens of thousands of people from the neighboring places, and
tourists from many parts of the earth assembled to see the flights;
statesmen, military officers, scientific and parliamentary delegations,
representatives of innumerable periodicals. Queen Margherita, having
missed a flight on her first visit to Le Mans, came a second time, and
remained three hours standing on the field, fascinated by the wonderful
aërial equipage. The King of Spain, Alfonso XIII, who visited the
aërodrome at Pau, on February 20th, manifested the keenest interest and
delight in examining the aëroplane and seeing it fly; first with the pilot
alone, then with an extra passenger. He took a seat in the machine beside
Mr. Wright, discussed its working, and expressed his deep regret that
reasons of state prevented him from making an ascension. A month later the
King of England, who was at Biarritz, adjourned to Pau, where he remained
to witness two unusually fine flights. He expressed the greatest pleasure in
the performance, questioned the brothers about the details of the machine,
and complimented them on their achievement.
From Pau, Wilbur Wright went to Italy, about the end of March, to fulfill
an engagement to give demonstrations and lessons in the use of the biplane.
He was welcomed at Rome by the King of Italy, on April 2d, and later gave
a public exhibition of flying, to aid the sufferers in the recent earthquake at
Messina. His flights were attended with great enthusiasm, and his lessons in

aviation were quickly mastered; his pupil, Lieutenant Calderara, soon
making public flights alone. A rare sight it was, this modern winged chariot
soaring above the ruins of that ancient campagna, bearing with it a moving-
picture camera.
By the end of April Mr. Wright had finished his task in Italy, and was
journeying homeward with his sister and brother by way of London, where
they enjoyed the hospitalities of the Aëronautical Society of Great Britain;
and where, on May 3d, the brothers received the beautiful gold medal of
that famous society, the oldest aëronautical organization in the world.
The return to America was primarily for the purpose of completing the
official tests at Fort Myer; but incidentally the brothers must find time to
receive new honors and ovations. While in the shop at Dayton, working
vigorously to complete a new aëroplane for the War Department, in the
hope of finishing the demonstrations by June 28th, the limit of their allotted
month, they were showered with attentions too numerous for their comfort.
They must drop their tools in order to go to Washington to receive the gold
medal of the Aëro Club of America from President Taft, at the White House,
on June 10th. On June 17th they must witness an elaborate demonstration in
their honor at Dayton, where they received a gold medal from the city,
another from the State, and another from the Federal Government. Finally
late in June, they arrived in Washington with the rehabilitated biplane, to
make good their contract with the Signal Corps.
The early tests of this aëroplane were not an unmixed triumph for the
Wright brothers and their well-wishers. At first the machine failed to fly
completely about the drill ground. It took the air with difficulty, and came
to the earth on the first turn. Some lack of adjustment in the frame was
suspected. The motor was accused of weakness. The launching weights[49]
were too light. The brothers explained that a new flyer is like a new horse;
the driver must learn his idiosyncrasies before attempting to show him off
to advantage. They intimated also that they would be pleased to have the
great throng of prominent people, who flocked daily to the drill ground,
kept away until their flying instrument was properly tuned for public
performances. They discouraged superfluous attentions. The big legislators
who ventured audaciously to peep into the sacred shed containing the
marvelous machine, were hailed by the military guard, and
unceremoniously marched across the line among the plain people. It was a

dreadful shock to these mighty signors, and many a fat lawmaker cursed
audibly, vowing never to vote a cent for flying squadrons. But still they
haunted the drill ground daily, despite the long journey and the late dinner;
for they were fascinated by the untold and unconjecturable possibilities of
the new art.
June 28th came quickly, obliging the patient aviators to beg another
extension of time. They were granted thirty days longer, which seemed to
them more than necessary; but in this judgment they were mistaken. One
accident after another delayed the consummation of their official task of
flying one hour above the field, then five miles across country and return.
Finally, on July 27th, Orville Wright, who was making all the flights, took
with him Lieut. Frank P. Lahm, and sailed gloriously for one hour, twelve
minutes and forty seconds, before ten thousand delighted spectators. It was
an ideal summer evening, and all the maneuvers were performed with
excellent poise, security and grace. A new world’s record was established.
Now all the vast throng from the President and his cabinet to the simplest
laborer, appreciating the achievement as a triumph for America and for
humanity, burst forth into prolonged acclamation and applause.
The cross-country flight was next in order. The course from Fort Myer to
Alexandria lay over scattered forests and a deep valley. The flight seemed a
difficult and hazardous enterprise; but the brothers, confiding in their
machine, seemed to have little apprehension of failure or peril. Indeed, they
seemed most concerned about the bonus to be secured by flying at an
average rate exceeding the contract speed of 40 miles an hour; for each
additional mile an hour would pay them $2,500 above the normal price of
the aëroplane. They accordingly declined to fly in any but very calm
weather, no matter how vast the gathering of visitors, or how illustrious.
They wished, of course, to expedite the final and crucial test; but they could
not always have ideal conditions, and would not take undue chances. On the
evening after the endurance test the engine balked, owing to the clogging of
a rubber pipe from the gasoline tank. Dusk came on, and the disappointed
crowd went home to a late dinner. The Secretary of War, who was present,
very kindly granted a third extension of time, covering the rest of the
month. Next evening it was a trifle breezy. Wilbur Wright announced that
the flight could be made, but that the bonus would be less than on a still
evening; he would therefore wait for calmer weather. Twelve thousand

people were turned away disappointed. There was muttering among the
impatient and warm of blood. It was remarked that the War Department
could easily drop these procrastinated experiments and buy a practical
aëroplane in the open market for $5,000. But the discommoded officers
good-naturedly allowed the thrifty sons of Dayton to have their way in
striving for a large bonus, beyond the normal price of $25,000.
On the following evening the weather was clear and fairly still. All was
in readiness for the flight to Alexandria and return. Orville Wright, taking
with him Lieut. B. D. Foulois, circled the drill ground on easy wing, then
sailed directly across country for the captive balloon at Shuter’s Hill. In a
few moments they vanished beyond the forest, and for a while even the
most optimistic were doubtful of their safety. At length they reappeared
sailing homeward at very great speed. The machine proudly circled the drill
ground amid thunders of applause, and landed softly at the lower end,
beyond the shed.
The multitude hastened to congratulate the aviators on their marvelous
performance. For everybody it was a scientific and national triumph; for
Wilbur Wright it was something more. With pencil and pad he quickly
computed the bonus, surrounded by a wall of reporters. “Wise old Wilbur,”
remarked one, “he knows the worth of coin in a crude republic. While Fame
blows her trumpet he counts the solid gain.” The figures showed an average
speed of 42.6 miles, making the bonus $5,000. The voyage was one of the
finest ever executed up to that date; it was a glorious termination to a long
and troublesome, but epoch-making demonstration. Now there remained
only the task of instructing two officers to fly, and this was leisurely
accomplished by Wilbur Wright in October.
As shown in Plate XXVI the Wright aëroplane used at Fort Myer in
September, 1908, was a twin screw biplane mounted on skids and having
the three-rudder system of control. The rear rudder turned the machine right
or left, the front rudder raised or lowered it, the warping of the wings
controlled the lateral poise. The turning right or left could be effected on
level wing; but the inventors canted the machine sidewise, to obviate
skidding, or sidewise gliding of the craft, due to centrifugal force. These
three-rudder movements were performed by three separate levers actuating
suitable mechanism; but they could be performed easily by a single lever
having three separate movements, as preferred by some designers. The

aëroplane in launching ran along a monorail, accelerated by a towrope
passing over pulleys, and attached to a falling weight comprising nearly a
ton of iron. The dimensions of the various parts are given as follows by
Major George O. Squier,[50] the officer in charge of the experiments:

“The aëroplane has two superposed main surfaces 6 feet apart with a
spread of 40 feet, and a distance of 6½ feet from front to rear. The area
of this double supporting surface is about 500 square feet. A horizontal
rudder of two superposed plane surfaces about 15 feet long and 3 feet
wide is placed in front of the main surfaces. Behind the main planes is
a vertical rudder formed of two surfaces trussed together about 5½ feet
long and one foot wide. The motor, which was designed by the Wright
brothers, has four cylinders and is water cooled. It develops about 25
horse power at 1,400 r. p. m. There are two wooden propellers 8½ feet
in diameter which are designed to run at about 400 r. p. m. The
machine is supported on two runners and weighs about 800 pounds.”

On the whole the demonstrations at Fort Myer in 1909 did not greatly
enhance the prestige of aviation. They were attended by too many delays
and accidents, and too much waiting for ideal weather. As a consequence
the guardians of the national purse were not clamoring for an aërial flotilla.
Some few, no doubt, understood that the aëroplane could brave more than a
zephyr with safety; but the general public accepted the demonstrations at
their face value. The unthinking multitude did not realize that with
sufficient incentive, such as war presents, the Wright brothers could repeat
those brilliant flights, of the end of July, under more severe weather
conditions. Fortunately, events were transpiring elsewhere which vastly
increased the popular fame and valuation of the new art. This refers more
particularly to those startling achievements in aviation abroad which were
largely stimulated by competition and prizes.
After the Fort Myer flights the Wright brothers separated, Orville going
to Germany to represent their interests and give demonstrations; Wilbur
exhibiting at the Hudson-Fulton celebration in New York, and teaching the
Signal Corps officers to manipulate the newly purchased government
aëroplane. As usual, both achieved distinction in their new fields. At
Potsdam, on October 2d, Orville Wright, after a ten-minute flight with
Crown Prince Frederic William, ascended alone, mounting steadily in

circles for fifteen minutes, and reaching an elevation roughly estimated at
500 meters, after which he descended safely in five minutes. On September
18th, he made a new record at Berlin by carrying a passenger, Captain
Englehardt, for 1 hour, 35 minutes and 47 seconds. Wilbur Wright, on
September 9th, flew from Governor’s Island, in New York harbor, to and
around the Statue of Liberty, then returned to the point of departure. On
October 4th, starting from the same point, he flew over the waters of New
York Bay and above the Hudson River to a point opposite Grant’s Tomb,
then returned to Governor’s Island, covering a distance of about 19½ miles
in 33½ minutes. The trip upward was made at an elevation of about 200
feet, through a stratum disturbed by vortices rising from the steamer
smokestacks, and eddies caused by the northeast wind blowing over the tall
buildings. The return was made at a level of 50 feet on the Jersey side of the
river where the air was less turbulent. He intended later in the day to make a
long flight, but, owing to the bursting of a cylinder head, he stopped his
demonstrations and returned to Washington to finish his instruction of the
Signal Corps officers. This was easy routine, and it afforded opportunity to
try the effect of transferring one of the forward steering planes to the rear
and applying it there as a fixed horizontal tail, as used by Voisin, Curtiss
and others. The new arrangement was reported to increase the longitudinal
steadiness of the aëroplane, and was used in subsequent Wright aëroplanes.
The brothers now ceased public flying for a while, to attend to the
business of manufacturing and selling their craft. They formed an American
company, enlarged their facilities for constructing machines, procured
grounds for training operators, and prepared generally to fill orders both for
aëroplanes and for public exhibitions. Not the least of their labor was to
defend their patent claims, which they wished to be interpreted so broadly
as practically to exclude all flyers whose lateral poise is controlled by
changing the angle of incidence of the wings, or of lateral stabilizing
planes. This was not an easy undertaking, since the torsion wing was a well-
known device, having been described many times in public print, and
having figured in earlier patents and experiments in various countries. To
add to the difficulty, their patent claims apply specifically to the warping of
normally flat sustaining surfaces, the warping of arched wings having been
patented by Prof. J. J. Montgomery, whose invention antedates theirs.[51]
However, if they produced no novel and radical invention in aviation, they,
like Santos-Dumont in aëronautics, were first to achieve some measure of

practical success, by applying a light automobile engine to a familiar
machine in which former inventions and ideas were skillfully employed. On
this ground of practical success they strove for an interpretation broad
enough to establish a monopoly covering even Montgomery’s rights, which
apparently they were infringing. But when to this end they applied for a
preliminary injunction restraining Curtiss from using his system of control,
and Paulhan from using Farman’s system, they were unable to convince the
court of the justice of their petition, and the injunction suit was vacated.

CHAPTER XI
STRENUOUS COMPETITIVE FLYING

The cardinal allurements in aviation for 1909 were the prize offered for
the first flight across the English Channel, and the prizes to be won at the
world’s first aviation meet, scheduled for the last week in August of that
year, at Rheims, France. The desire to win these honors stimulated to
livelier effort the most noted designers and operators of aëroplanes, all of
whose machines were represented at the great tournament. It also brought
into sudden prominence several new aviators. Young men, little versed in
the science or literature of flight, took to wing, and in a few days found
themselves world-famous. Aërial chauffeurs, skillful and daring, delighted
vast throngs of people, kept the cables warm with news, and incidentally
filled their purses with money. Thus the trade of aëroplane jockey was one
of the interesting products of this eventful year.
The first half of the aviation season of 1909 brought forth many
improvements which seemed to augur well for the public demonstrations to
follow. Hubert Latham, with the swallowlike Antoinette monoplane,
designed by Levavasseur, the inventor of the Antoinette motor, began
soaring grandly in the sky and into fame. Paul Tissandier, on May 20th at
Pau, established a new French record by flying 1 hour and 2 minutes. The
Voisin brothers were perfecting in detail their boxlike aëroplanes, noted for
inherent stability, and destined to achieve further renown during the
summer, under the dexterous hand of intrepid young Paulhan. This new and
daring young aviator, after a few practice flights, began making world
records. On July 15th, he flew 1 hour, 7 minutes and 19 seconds. On July
18th he made a new world’s record for altitude, driving his Voisin aloft 150
meters at Douai. Impatient Roger Sommer, rejecting his own make of
biplane, purchased a machine from Farman, and after a little practice, broke
the world’s record for distance on August 7th, by flying at Chalons, 2 hours,
27 minutes, 15 seconds. Many others were advancing in skill, and would
erelong achieve excellent results. Most strenuous of all, perhaps, were

Curtiss and Blériot, the champions of high speed, respectively in the biplane
and monoplane, and Farman, the winner of large prizes.
In the latter part of April, Henri Farman tested a new biplane of his own
design and manufacture, which proved very satisfactory. It resembled his
former craft, but was provided with small balancing planes hinged to the
rear margins of the wings near their tips. This machine, furthermore, was
provided with both landing skids and wheels, the latter yielding to any
unusual stress by means of elastic connections, so that the skids took up the
shock. With this improved biplane, Farman beat his former records by
flying continuously 1 hour, 23 minutes, at Chalons, on July 19th. Four days
later he made a new cross-country record by flying from the Chalons parade
ground to Suppe, about forty miles, in 1 hour and 5 minutes. These flights
were gently suggestive of what might be expected at Rheims the following
month.
During the opening period of the 1909 aëroplane season, Glenn H.
Curtiss brought forth a new biplane, designed for the Aëronautic Society of
New York, with the coöperation of his new partner, Mr. A. M. Herring, and
began active practice for various prizes at home and abroad. After some
brief trials at Hammondsport, N. Y., he shipped his aëroplane to Morris
Park, in order to participate in the Aëronautic Society’s first flight
exhibition of the year. On June 26th he flew, but without official witness,
far enough to win one of the $250 prizes offered to the Aëro Club of
America by its president, Mr. Cortlandt Field Bishop, for the first four
persons who should fly one kilometer. He now wished to make an official
flight for this prize and also for the Scientific American trophy, a beautiful
engraved silver cup—which he had won a year previously for the first
public flight of one kilometer, made in America, but which now should go
to the person making the longest official flight of the year 1909, not under
25 kilometers. But the Morris Park race track proved unsuitable for such
contest, being too restricted. He therefore took his biplane to Mineola, Long
Island, where he could practice on a wide plain, and possibly make some
new records. Here a triangular course 1.3 miles long was staked off, and
some short trial flights were made. Then Mr. C. M. Manly, who was official
timekeeper for the Aëro Club of America, was notified that a trial for the
prize would be made.

The demonstrations near Mineola were most successful, and proved the
beginning of a brilliant summer for Mr. Curtiss. On July 17th he won in
quick succession both of the prizes mentioned above. The trial for the
smaller prize began at 5.15 in the morning and lasted but 2½ minutes,
followed 6 minutes later by the start for the coveted cup. In both cases the
machine took the air with ease and grace, after a 200-foot run over the
rough marsh land. In the cup trial the first twelve turns, aggregating 25
kilometers, were accomplished in 33½ minutes, but the machine continued
for seven more rounds, and finally landed in excellent form, just 52½
minutes after it had crossed the starting line. The actual measured distance
flown was 24.7 miles, but the true distance traversed by the machine was
probably 30 miles, making the time speed between 30 and 40 miles per
hour. This was slow, indeed, but the control was satisfactory. Those who
wished for high speed would find it in the new aëroplane which Mr. Curtiss
would presently take to Rheims for the speed contest, in which he was to fly
as sole champion of the United States.
The type of machine used by Mr. Curtiss in 1909 was a natural outgrowth
of his previous ones, but very much perfected in power and finish. It was a
biplane mounted on a three-wheeled chassis, two wheels under the main
body and one well to the front, so as to prevent toppling forward. It was
propelled by a single screw at the rear, directly connected to a water-cooled
motor of the Curtiss make. Its flight was controlled by three rudders
exerting torque respectively about the three axes of the aëroplane,
supplemented by two fixed keels, a vertical one in the front and a horizontal
one in the rear. Of the three rudders mentioned, one in the rear turned the
craft right and left, like a boat, one in the front raised or lowered her, while
the third or lateral rudder, consisting of small horizontally pivoted planes
between the wing-ends, and turning oppositely to each other, controlled the
lateral poise. These lateral rudders, or winglets, used by Curtiss, Farman
and others, are commonly called ailerons.

PLATE XXVII.

BLÉRIOT XI WITH MOISANT AVIATOR ON MEXICAN BORDER.
(Courtesy A. J. Moisant.)

BLÉRIOT XII.
(Courtesy E. L. Jones.)

Louis Blériot with his two new machines, his No. XI at Douay and his
No. XII at Issy-les-Moulineaux, practiced nearly every fine day in June and
July, making fast progress in the art, and achieving some notable records.
By warping the wings he could keep his balance better than in former years,
and dare more severe weather. On June 12th, he made a straightaway flight
of 820 feet in his No. XII, taking as passengers A. Santos-Dumont and A.
Fournier, the entire weight being 1,232 pounds. This was the first flight of
three passengers in an aëroplane. On June 25th, despite a strong wind, he
circled in his No. XII eleven times about the parade ground at Issy-les-
Moulineaux in 15½ minutes, maintaining excellent stability. Next day he
made 30 circuits in 36 minutes, 55⅗ seconds, stopping finally because of
spark failure due to excess of oil. On July 4th, at the aëronautic meet at the
Juvisy Aërodrome, for sufferers from the earthquake in the south of France,
he flew in his No. XI for 50 minutes, 8 seconds, at a height of 50 to 80 feet,
finally stopping because of feed trouble in his engine. This flight was his
second up to that date. On July 13th, he made a new cross-country record
by an early morning flight in his No. XI from Etampes to within eight miles
of Orleans, stopping some minutes en route, to show the practicability of
his monoplane. Thirty-five minutes after landing, his machine was taken
apart and shipped back to his factory at Neuilly, near Paris. After this record
he received gold medals from the Aëro Club of Great Britain and the Aëro

Club of France. He was also awarded the Prix de Voyage of 14,000 francs,
of which he himself received 5,000 as pilot, 4,000 as constructor, while
3,000 went to the motor manufacturer and 2,000 to the propeller designer.
The monoplanes No. XI and No. XII represented Blériot’s most successful
types. They bore a family resemblance to his preceding machines, but had a
more vigorous lateral control due to warpage of their main surfaces instead
of the wing-tips, as of old. Both were provided with a single-screw
propeller in front, and both were mounted on three-wheeled chassis with
shock absorbers. The larger machine, or No. XII, had a wing surface of 337
square feet; the smaller a surface of 151 square feet. The latter, on its
historic cross-Channel trip, carried a three-cylinder air-cooled Anzani
engine.
Hubert Latham, in his beautiful Antoinette monoplane, began to achieve
distinction for himself and his admirably designed long-tailed flyer early in
the spring, and, ere midsummer, was one of the favorite idols of the
thronged aërodromes. He preferred a lofty course; he cut through the sky
with the precision and grace of a winged-spear; he fascinated the spectators
by the steadiness of his sweep. The French reporters declare they saw him
roll and light cigarettes in full flight. Not only did he delight the artist, but
he surprised the official measurer. Toward the end of May he established a
new monoplane record by a flight lasting 37 minutes and 3 seconds. On the
5th of June he flew continuously 1 hour, 7 minutes and 37 seconds, at a
speed of 45 miles an hour. This was done in a wind and heavy rain which
drenched and blinded him, finally inducing him to come down. On June 7th
he carried a passenger, something new for a monoplane. In July he
increased the altitude record by flying 450 feet high. Next day he flew
across country from Arras to Douai, 12½ miles, in 20 minutes. Very
reasonably, therefore, he announced, his intention of sailing for England
above the waters of the turbulent strait.
The Antoinette monoplane resembled, at a distance, a long-winged fish
with its head cut off and replaced by a screw-propeller. It had a skifflike
body with the screw in front, followed by the Antoinette engine, then by the
pilot’s seat, the tail part carrying fixed horizontal and vertical fins and
movable horizontal and vertical rudders. These rudders together with
ailerons, or warping wings, controlled the poise in flight. The body was
mounted on a light chassis having cushioned wheels, and a landing skid for

absorbing shocks. The engine employed no carburetor, and was cooled by
water which turned to steam in the engine jackets, condensed in tubes on
the side of the prow, then was pumped back to the jackets.

PLATE XXVIII.

ANTOINETTE MONOPLANE OF 1909.
(Courtesy W. J. Hammer.)

ANTOINETTE MONOPLANE OF 1910.

The cross-Channel prize, above mentioned, was a cash sum of one
thousand pounds, offered by the London Daily Mail for the first successful
flight from France to England. Many would fain have it, though the voyage
seemed dangerous, if not foolhardy. Of the various aviators who coveted the
prize, Latham and Blériot were the most strenuous in competing for it. The
bold boy tried first.
Housing his aëroplane on the high cliff facing the Channel near Calais,
Latham looked toward England, impatiently waiting for placid weather, and
a chance to soar. The venture was hazardous. By some it was deemed rash,
owing to the uncertainty of having to alight upon the water, if the motor
should fail. But the brave youth was less alarmed than the old aviators, who
had no intention of competing with him. So, with a boy’s confidence, he
brought forth his huge-winged Antoinette, on July 19th, skimmed along the
ground, soared grandly above the high cliffs, and sped over the waters at a
great elevation, as usual in his aërial voyages.
Latham’s flight was magnificent, but brief. Owing to spark failure and
the stoppage of his motor six miles from the French shore, he settled

promptly, but skillfully, down upon the sea. When found by the
accompanying torpedo boat destroyer, detailed to follow him from Calais,
he was seated on the aëroplane, serenely smoking, buoyed up by the great
hollow wings. He was quickly brought to shore, undaunted and eager for
another trial; but in the rescue his frail flyer was roughly handled and very
much wrecked.
Louis Blériot now hurried to Calais eager to attempt the cross-Channel
flight. Placing his little monoplane, No. XI, in a tent on a farm near Calais,
he waited an opportune moment to sail. On Sunday, July 25th, he was
routed from bed very early by his friend, Alfred LeBlanc, and taken forth all
reluctant to the field, for preliminary practice before sunrise; for the
weather was favorable and he should sail as soon as the sun arose. Though
suffering from a foot burned in a recent accident, he discarded his crutches
and mounted his winged machine with eager courage, remarking: “If I
cannot walk I will show the world that I can fly.” For some minutes he
circled about the ground where, even at that early hour, many scores of
people were assembling. All was now in readiness; the flyer was in
excellent trim, the pilot in buoyant spirits, and the torpedo boat destroyer,
Escopette, well out at sea to escort her swift aërial charge as well as might
be.
The moment of departure had come. Blériot, buttoned in his close-fitting
suit and hood, sat on his white-winged machine, headed for the cliff, and
surrounded by a group of well-wishers. At 4.35 the light-wheeled craft with
propeller whirring, sped along the ground, rose gracefully in the air and
shot bravely over the precipice, with the hustling aviator on its back. The
admiring spectators were wild with excitement and joy. But there was one
sad group in Calais that morning. Latham and his watchers, who had been
waiting for better weather, rose in time to see his rival on the wing, but too
late for pursuit, as the wind had suddenly risen. The unwary boy remained
behind, weeping with disappointment.
Blériot was now soaring high over the sea, faring toward Dover without a
guide or a compass. For some time he could observe the Escopette
following him, her great column of smoke obscuring the new risen sun.
Presently both shores vanished, and for ten minutes he could descry neither
land nor signal of any kind. He was sailing over the sea at forty miles an
hour and drifting with the air he knew not whither; but he allowed his fiery

steed to follow its instinct, as a bewildered horseman does sometimes.
Along the horizon now appeared the white cliffs of the English shore. He
was headed not for Dover but for Deal, carried adrift by the southwest
wind. Three boats crossing his course seemed plying for some port on his
left, and hailed him with lively greeting. He could not well inquire the way,
but he followed the general course of the vessels, soaring high aloft. At
length he saw a man on the cliff violently waving the tricolor, and
strenuously shouting: “Bravo! Bravo!” He plunged in the direction of the
signaler, whom he knew to be his friend M. Montaine. On nearing the earth
he was caught in a violent turmoil of air and whirled about. Wishing to land
at once, he stopped his power sixty feet aloft, and swooped abruptly down
with an awakening thud upon the old English soil, sleeping in the peaceful
sunlight of a Sabbath morning.[52]
Blériot’s landing was the greatest jolt to British insularity since the birth
of steam navigation. Nevertheless it was welcomed with unfeigned delight
as emphasizing the triumph of a new art which enriches all people. Shortly
afterward was erected on the spot a monument in white granite having the
plan and size of the renowned No. XI monoplane.
Sportsmanlike, Latham wired his congratulations to Blériot, expressing
the hope to follow ere long. Two days later he flew across the Channel to
within one mile of the English coast, where he had to land in the water
again because of motor failure. This time he struck the sea violently and
suffered a broken nose. His goggles were shattered and cut his face.
The big competitive flyers of the world now turned toward Betheny Plain
near Rheims, where the first International Aviation Meet was to be held
August 22–29, 1909. Here was a place to make record flights, to win rich
prizes, and to achieve great distinction. A well-designed aërodrome had
been prepared for the occasion. In the midst of a broad plain was marked by
means of high poles, or pylons, a rectangular course, measuring roughly
one by two miles, or more exactly, 1,500 by 3,500 meters. At one end was
the judges stand, the grand stand, the café and the aëroplane sheds. The
numerous cash prizes offered for speed, for distance, for endurance, for
altitude, etc., totaled in value nearly forty thousand dollars. But the most
coveted prize of all was the James Gordon Bennett Aviation Cup, together
with $5,000 cash, the winner of which should have the honor of placing the
next international contest in his own country. This should be awarded to the

aviator having the best speed over a two-round, or 20-kilometer course. The
next most desired prize was a cash sum of $10,000 for the longest flight. A
special charm of the tournament was that each fortunate entrant should meet
the distinguished aviators from all localities, and should fly in presence of a
world-gathering. Aëroplanes of all the most successful types were there,
numbering together thirty-eight machines.
The first day of the great aviation week, Sunday, August 22d, was
devoted to elimination trials to determine which aviators should represent
France in the race for the Bennett trophy. Of the seventeen entrants in these
trials the three who should cover two rounds of the course in the shortest
time should be selected as champions, the next six, in order of speed, to act
as reserve pilots. But owing to the severe weather of that day, only six of
the seventeen entrants succeeded in flying well enough to be admitted in
either capacity. Of these six the cup champions were: Blériot, Lefebvre,
Lambert and Latham; the reserve champions being in order, Tissandier,
Paulhan and Sommer. These men won their places by bold flying in rough
conditions; for rain had fallen heavily during the previous night, and the
wind was still blowing in swift and gusty current over the sodden field.
Indeed, the weather seemed anything but propitious at the opening of that
great experimental tournament, on the success of which should be based the
estimates and forecast of so many subsequent meets. Swift clouds overhead,
and black flags displayed on high masts, indicated that flying would be
impossible. A passing storm raged at five o’clock in the afternoon. But
toward evening the face of Nature brightened, and with it the hopes of the
aviationists. The weather at last became ideal. Nearly all the aëroplanes
came forth, and at six o’clock no fewer than seven were on the wing at one
time. Some of them were doing most startling feats. Lefebvre would make a
threatening swoop at the grand stand, then circle swiftly away. Blériot, in a
moment of unsteadiness, charged a wheat stack with his swift monoplane,
damaging his sharp-bladed propeller. Count de Lambert sailed under Paul
Tissandier, heedless of the aërial wake beneath. The crowds applauded and
cheered every novel and bold maneuver. The closing hour with its sunny
calm atmosphere and its vivacious well-pleased populace, presaged greater
joys for the morrow. Sir Henry Norman, who was present, declared that
those events marked the birth of a new epoch in human development.

Monday, the second day of the meet, dawned fair and calm, with promise
of settled weather. It was the last qualifying day for the ten-thousand-dollar
long-distance prize, the Grand Prix de la Champagne. No one who had not
flown a reasonable space on, or before Monday, could take part in the trials
for that coveted honor on Wednesday, Thursday and Friday. The aviators
were about early, and many had qualified before evening. Several of the
pilots tried for speed records. Blériot, with an 80-horse-power monoplane,
made one round of the course in 8 minutes, 42⅖ seconds. Curtiss, in his 60-
horse-power biplane, lowered the time to 8 minutes, 35⅗ seconds. This was
an achievement of the greatest concern, since Curtiss stood alone, as
champion of America, against the more experienced flyers of Europe. He
thought of nothing, engaged in nothing, except the speed trials, for in these
he hoped to win, with his 60-horse flyer, even against renowned Blériot, in
his 80-horse machine. Other interesting events were designed solely to
entertain or amuse the people. Lefebvre again furnished merriment by
sweeping over and under, and around Paulhan, who was flying at an
elevation of 25 feet. M. Kapferer had navigated from Meaux, in the
dirigible Colonel Renard, and sailed about the grounds, with fine effect.
Tuesday should have brought ideal conditions and performances; for it
was the day set for the visit of M. Falliéres, President of France. But the
morning was dark, with ominous clouds gathering over the aërodrome, and
black flags streaming in the strong wind. When the President arrived,
though the clock told four, no flying had yet begun. He examined the
machines, held an informal reception, and at five took his box in the grand
stand. Presently Bunau-Varilla in his Voisin biplane, rocking in the fifteen-
mile wind, flew past, waving his hat to the distinguished spectators. After
him came dauntless young Paulhan who also passed the President, shortly
before the latter, with his party, returned to the railway station. He flew at
an elevation of 300 to 500 feet, his Voisin heaving and lurching in the
tumultuous wind, like a boat on the breakers. He had no lateral stabilizing
plane, so he let his box kite rock. The people were appalled, but what cared
he for wind gusts, so far from earth? Let the craft roll and pitch; he was not
uneasy. On the return lap he raced and beat a railway train. These were but
inklings of what he would do with increased experience. Latham followed
presently on his long swift monoplane, to the delight of all who love the
graceful in mechanism and motion. Ere long he was chased and overhauled