The Romance of Aircraft Part 7

By the middle of October he was in France, and was present at the Juvisy Meeting, when the Comte de Lambert, leaving the course unexpectedly, made his sensational flight over Paris, circling round the Eiffel Tower at a height of 1,000 feet. Paris was filled with amazement and delight at the sight of an airplane soaring over the city. It was almost an hour before the Comte de Lambert, flying with the greatest ease, arrived once more at the course, to be overwhelmed with congratulations.

[Ill.u.s.tration: WRIGHT MACHINE RISING JUST AFTER LEAVING THE RAIL]

[Ill.u.s.tration: AN EARLY WRIGHT MACHINE, SHOWING ITS METHOD OF STARTING FROM A RAIL]

On November 3rd, Henry Farman made a world's record of 144 miles in 4 hours, 17 minutes and 53 seconds, wresting from Wilbur Wright the coveted Michelin Cup. In December Bleriot attempted an exhibition of his monoplane in Constantinople, but his machine lost its balance in the severe wind which was blowing and came crashing to earth. Though severely wounded, the great aviator recovered rapidly, justifying the oft-repeated superst.i.tion that he was possessed of a charmed life.

[Ill.u.s.tration: _Copyright Underwood and Underwood_

THE PROPELLER DEPARTMENT IN ONE OF THE GREAT CURTISS FACTORIES]

Thus the year which had meant so much in the forward march of aviation drew to a close. Beginning at Rheims, the reputation of the heavier-than-air machine had spread in ever widening circles throughout all civilized lands. Most important of all, the military authorities of several nations had opened their eyes to tremendous importance of the airplane as an implement of warfare, and their realization of this fact was destined to bring about new and weighty developments within the next few years. Among the great European states only one nation slept while the rest were up and doing, and she saw the day when, with the shadow of war looming on the horizon, she had cause for bitter regrets.

The beginning of 1910 saw the famous aviator Paulhan in the United States for a series of exhibition flights. On January 12th he made a world's record for alt.i.tude, climbing at Los Angeles to a height of 4,140 feet, in a Farman machine.

In the Spring there occurred in England a memorable contest between Paulhan and a young flier who up to that time was unheard of, but who rapidly made a reputation for himself in aviation. The London _Daily Mail_, which had already done so much to arouse enthusiasm for the airplane in the British Isles, now offered a prize of 10,000 for the first cross-country flight from London to Manchester. There arose as England's champion Claude Grahame-White, and Paulhan with his Farman biplane was on hand to dispute the honors with him. The distance to be covered was about 183 miles, and the task seemed almost impossible, largely owing to the nature of the country over which the flight must be made. It was rough and hilly and thickly sprinkled with towns, making the task of a forced landing a very perilous one. Engines in 1910 were none too reliable and were apt to play strange tricks. To be forced to descend over a town or in rough country meant a chance of serious accident or death. Rough country moreover is apt to be windy country, with sharp, unlooked-for gusts blowing from unexpected quarters. It was these above all things which filled the airman's heart with dread, for he knew only too well the limited stability of his pioneer craft.

Late in the afternoon of April 27th, Paulhan, whose biplane, in perfect repair, was awaiting him at Hendon, near London, ascertained that the wind was favorable, and at once rose into the air and started on his long trip. Grahame-White had a.s.sumed that it was too late in the day to make a start, and had left his machine, all ready for flight, at Wormwood Scrubbs, intending to make a start in the early morning.

Shortly after six the news was brought to White that Paulhan was on his way, and he immediately rushed to his starting point and hurried after his rival.

Paulhan had studied every inch of the ground and knew what conditions to expect. His earlier start gave him a great advantage, for he managed to get farther before nightfall, and also before any adverse winds arose.

With darkness both pilots were forced to make landings, but Paulhan was far ahead, and the prospect of victory began to wane for the plucky young English flier. In the emergency he determined on a desperate attempt to overcome his handicap. Night flying then was a thing unheard of, but Grahame-White prepared to try it, however risky. At half past two in the morning, by the wan light of the moon he arose from the field where his machine had been landed and flew off into the murky night.

Disappointment awaited the dauntless pilot, however. He had a stern struggle with the wind, his engine began to give trouble, and finally he was compelled to come to earth.

Paulhan got away at dawn and being the more experienced pilot of the two, managed, after a sharp tussle with the wind, to arrive intact at his destination. He was greeted with wild enthusiasm and was indeed the hero of the day.

But England was not without grat.i.tude to her defeated airman, who in the face of enormous difficulties, had persisted so gallantly in his effort to uphold his country's honor in the records of aviation. Though official England was slow to recognize the airplane's claims, the British public showed keenest interest in all the exploits of their sportsmen of the air, and before long there was quite a fair-sized group of such men demanding attention.

America also had a remarkable feat to record in the summer of 1910. The New York _World_ had offered a $10,000 prize for a flight down the Hudson River from Albany to New York. The difficulties were even greater than those of the London-Manchester contest, for here the airman had to fly the entire distance over a swift stream. The high hills on either side meant increased peril, for there were sure to be powerful wind gusts rushing out between the gaps in the hills and seeking to overturn the machine. If the engine should give out, there was no place to land except in the water itself, with slight chance of escape for either the pilot or his airplane.

Nevertheless, Glenn Curtiss, whose accomplishments at the Rheims Meeting we have already witnessed, determined to try for the prize. His machine was brought from Hammondsport to Albany ready for a start, and on May 31, after a long wait for favorable atmospheric conditions, he was on his way. A special train steamed after him, carrying newspaper reporters and anxious friends, but he left it far in the distance while he flew swiftly down the Hudson. Villagers and boatmen waved and shouted to him as he pa.s.sed. At one point he encountered an air "whirlpool" that almost sucked him down, but he succeeded in righting his machine and getting on his way again. Near Poughkeepsie he made a landing to obtain more fuel, and from there he flew straight on to his journey's end, reaching New York City and descending in a little field near Inwood.

In July of 1910 came the second big Rheims Meeting, to show what unprecedented advances had been made in one short year. Almost 80 contestants appeared, as compared with the 30 of 1909. Machines were in every way better and some very excellent records were made. The Antoinette monoplane flew the greatest distance (212 miles), and also reached the greatest height; while a new machine, the Morane monoplane, took the prizes for speed.

Meanwhile the French Army had been busy training aviators and securing new machines. In the Fall these were tried out at the Army Maneuvers in Picardy, and for the first time the world saw what military airplanes really could accomplish. In the sham warfare the army pilots flew over the enemy's lines and brought back astonishingly complete reports of the movements of troops, disposition of forces, etc. The French military authorities themselves, enthusiastic as they had been over the development of the airplane, had not antic.i.p.ated such complete success.

They were delighted with the results of their efforts, and a strong aerial policy was thereupon mapped out for France.

England at this date possessed _one_ military airplane, and it was late before she awakened to the importance of aviation as a branch of warfare.

Germany, Italy, Russia, and America were looking on with keen interest, but for a while France maintained supremacy over all in her aerial projects. By the end of the following year she had over 200 military machines, with a competent staff of pilots and observers.

To follow the course of aviation achievement we must now go back to England, where in July, 1911, another big _Daily Mail_ contest took place. This time the newspaper had put up a prize of 10,000 to be won by flying what was known as the "Circuit of Britain." This had been marked out to pa.s.s through many of the large cities of England, Scotland and Ireland. There were seventeen entrants for the contest, which was won by a lieutenant of the French navy, named Conneau. Cross-country flights were growing longer and longer, keeping pace with the rapid strides in the development of the airplane. Still another contest during 1911 was the "Circuit of Europe," which lay through France, Belgium and England; while a flight from Paris to Rome and one from Paris to Madrid served to demonstrate the growing reliability of the aircraft.

Money had always flowed freely from French coffers for this favorite of all hobbies. At the Rheims Meeting in October of 1911 the Government offered approximately a quarter of a million dollars in prizes for aerial feats and in orders for machines. Representatives from many countries visited the meeting to witness the tests of war airplanes.

In the two years since the first Rheims Meeting many vast changes had taken place. Pilots no longer feared to fly in high winds; machines were reliable, strong and swift. A number made non-stop flights of close on to 200 miles, and showed as well remarkable climbing abilities.

It was the Nieuport monoplane which led all others at this Rheims Meeting. To-day the name of Nieuport is familiar to every one, for the little scout machines carried some of the bravest pilots of France and America to victory in the air battles of the Great War. Even in 1911 the Nieuport monoplane was breaking all records for speed. Carrying both a pilot and a pa.s.senger it flew as fast as 70 miles an hour at Rheims.

Another new machine that attracted attention was the Breguet biplane, a heavy general service machine weighing 2420 pounds and carrying a 140 h.

p. Gnome motor. The Gnome had so far outdistanced all compet.i.tors that it had virtually become the universal motor for airplanes, and, many of those seen in 1911 were equipped with it. Since then vast improvements have been made in stationary engines but at that time they almost entirely failed to meet the requirements of light weight, high power and reliability.

One development in the biplanes of 1911 cannot be pa.s.sed over, for it bears a very interesting relation to their efficiency as war machines.

Any one who has seen a photograph of one of the early biplanes must have been struck by the curious kite-like appearance it presented, due to the fact that it had no _body_ or fuselage, but only two large planes, connected by strong wooden supports, and usually with a seat for the pilot in the center of the lower plane.

It was in the monoplane that a car or airplane body first made its appearance, and to it the wing surfaces of the monoplane were strongly braced with wires. Many of the biplanes of 1911 had adopted the idea and in consequence began to take on a more modern appearance. It was a thoroughly good idea, for by means of its greater stability and strength, protection for the pilot and general efficiency were obtained. Biplanes of this type now carried their engines in the fuselage bow with the pilot's seat just behind it, while instead of the _front_ elevating plane of the earlier models, the elevating surfaces were at the rear of the fixed tail plane. The Breguet was one of these progressive type biplanes of 1911. Constructed very largely of steel, it had a long, tapering body with its controlling planes--rudder and elevators--at the rear. Instead of a number of wooden supports between the planes the Breguet had exactly four reliable struts.

Henry Farman developed a military biplane in 1911 which had one particularly new feature. Instead of the upper main plane being placed exactly above the lower it had been moved slightly forward or "staggered"--giving it an overhang in front. The idea was that this gave a greater climbing power and was helpful in making descents, though the point has never been satisfactorily proved.

Until 1911 Germany had pinned her faith almost wholly to the Zeppelin as the unit for the aerial fleet which she had hoped to build up, and she had confidently expected it to prove its superiority to the heavier-than-air machine in the event of war. No funds had been spared to rush the work of designing and constructing these huge air monsters.

Carefully and quietly the perfecting and standardizing of the Zeppelin under government supervision had moved forward, and German engineers had not been behindhand in designing engines particularly suitable to aircraft. While France was amusing herself with the clever little monoplanes and biplanes of the pioneer days--machines which could fly but a few yards at low alt.i.tude, Germany, possibly with the dream of world conquest tucked away in her mind, was sparing no expense to get ready her fleet of lighter-than-air craft. Imagine her chagrin when the feeble winged birds of 1908 and 1909 became the soaring eaglets of 1911, swiftly circling the sky, swooping, climbing and performing aerial tricks which made the larger and clumsier Zeppelin appear as agile as a waddling duck.

Whatever the feelings of the German military authorities were on the subject, they wasted no time in crying over spilt milk, but at once began a policy of construction by which they hoped soon to outstrip their brainier French neighbors. As in everything German, _method_ was the characterizing feature of the airplane program they inst.i.tuted.

France had sought to encourage makers of all types of planes, and thus obtain a diversity of machines of wide capabilities. The plan did not appeal to Germany. From the very beginning she aimed at reducing everything to a fixed standard and then turning out airplanes in large numbers. When the War broke out it seemed for a time that she had been right, but it was not long before she looked with sorrow upon the sad lack of versatility of her fleet of standardized biplanes. They were hopelessly outdistanced and outmaneuvered by the small, fast fighting machines of the French, while they were by no means so strong as the heavy service planes the French could put into the air.

Italy, Austria, Russia, America and j.a.pan began also to make plans for the building of aerial fleets about 1911. The Italian Government relied at first on machines secured from France, or on those copied from French designs. Soon her own clever engineers began to be heard from and she was responsible for developing several of the powerful modern types.

Russia would scarcely seem a country where aerial progress might be expected, yet she has given a good account of herself in aviation, and one of her machines, the giant _Sikorsky_ did splendid work on the several fronts during the war.

I. I. Sikorsky, the inventor of the big Sikorsky machine was a little while ago merely a clever student at the Kieff Polytechnic. Like many other young men he dreamed of aerial conquest, but received little encouragement in carrying out his projects. At twenty-four, however, he became a student aviator, and almost immediately began work on original airplane designs. He succeeded in building a small monoplane which in some ways resembled the Bleriot, except in its habits of flight. In these it was quite balky, refusing to fly except in short hops and jumps. Sikorsky's friends good-naturedly nicknamed it _The Hopper_. But the young student was not one wit daunted. He plugged along steadily at new designs, and in the autumn of 1910 he actually took to the air in a tractor biplane of his own construction. Several other machines of somewhat the same type followed, and his efforts finally won the attention of the great Rus...o...b..ltic Works. They offered him financial a.s.sistance to carry on his study of the airplane problem. With this backing Sikorsky moved forward to sure success. In the meantime he had secretly prepared plans for an enormous airplane which at first he dared not divulge for fear of ridicule and disappointment. Finally he took courage and laid them before his friends at the Rus...o...b..ltic Works.

Whatever they may have thought of his wild scheme of air supremacy they consented to give it a tryout, and in the Spring of 1913 the first of the giant "Sikorsky" machines stood awaiting a flight. It was viewed with grave misgivings by a number of experts, but to their frank surprise it took to the air with ease and flew well. The sight was a strangely impressive one. In wing span the big machine measured almost 92 feet, while the body or _fuselage_ was over 62 feet long. The weight of the amazing monster flying machine was 4 tons. In the forward part of the fuselage cabins had been fitted, with a small deck on the bow. The fuselage construction was of wood, with a strong 8-wheeled landing cha.s.sis beneath it. Four 100 h. p. German "Argus" engines, driving four tractor propellers sent it racing triumphantly through the air. Its weight lifting ability was enormous, and it made a world record for flight.

Prodigious as this first great master of the air had seemed it was followed in 1913 by one still larger. The new machine was to the fullest extent an aerial wonder. Its enormous body consisted of a wooden framework covered with canvas, and in its interior a series of cabins were provided. There were three decks: the main one in the center of the fuselage, designed to carry heavy armament of machine guns and a searchlight; a small deck at the stern; and one set in the undercarriage, where additional heavy armament could be placed. Only a few months before the storm of war broke over Europe this Air Leviathan was born, and at the time no one suspected it would so soon be called into active service. In the Spring of 1914 it made flight after flight, scoring a succession of triumphs by its record breaking performances, and winning for its designer a decoration from the Emperor.

Sikorsky was a man of wealth but so recklessly did he lavish his personal funds on his airplane ventures that on many occasions he came very near to want as a result. It was no unusual thing to see him during those years of reckless experiment, braving the bitter winter weather of Russia in threadbare garments, shivering, but grimly and sternly determined. Then came the War, and at the first call his machines were ready to prove themselves in the battle against the Hun.

CHAPTER IV

THE AIRPLANE IN THE WORLD WAR

Picture to yourself a scene outside one of the Allied hangars or airplane sheds, just back of the front lines, while the Great War is in progress. It is early morning, gray and chilly. Small fighting machines, which their trusty mechanics have carefully gone over for the tiniest flaw, now stand ready to take to the air. Pilots, wrapped in their heavy clothing--leather jacket, helmet and overcoat, gloves, goggles and m.u.f.fler--prepare to face the frigid atmosphere above the clouds. The whirr of the motor, a short run over the ground, and up they go, one by one, until they become so many blackbirds, driving and looping and skimming through the sky. Over in this corner is a large reconnaissance machine, with pilot and observer, waiting to ascend. It is one of a squadron that will fly over the German lines to take photographs of the enemy's positions. With its rapid-firing machine guns it is prepared to give battle to the swifter enemy craft that will flash out to challenge its onward flight. Its role is a difficult one. It cannot climb to safety as the fighting machine can do and then swoop down on its enemy from a favorable height. Its duty is to bring back accurate views of the territory on the other side of No Man's Land. No matter what the dangers, it must fly straight on, sticking close enough to earth to accommodate its camera's range, and deviating as little as possible from its course, though the enemy's speed scouts blacken the air with bullets and the anti-aircraft guns spit at it maliciously from below.

All the machines in the squadron may not return, and there will be vacant chairs at the dinner table to-night when those pilots who have braved the stern hardships of the day relate their little experiences with the Hun. But those who do come back will bring information which will enable the Allied commanders to plan with intelligence the next move in the battle that is raging.

A tour of inspection would disclose still other machines, large and small, each designed and equipped for its special duties over the lines.

There are heavy, slower-flying day "bombers," and--silent this morning but waiting patiently for the curtain of night to descend,--enormous night bombing machines, the fiercest and hugest of all the great birds of the flying force. To-night, under cover of darkness these machines will speed upon their way, far over the enemy's lines. They carry fuel for a journey of many hours' duration, and heavy bombs which they will drop upon railway junctions, ammunition factories, staff headquarters and important positions deep in the territory of the Hun. Before they turn their noses homeward they will have crossed over the borders of Germany, and along their silent course fires will shoot up and enemy supplies and storehouses will be smoldering ruins when day breaks.

Unlike the night bombing machines of the Germans these great Allied aircraft will not drop their missiles upon open towns along the Rhine, nor will they leave behind them any toll of little children and civilians maimed and killed by their brutality. Their instructions are to bomb military objectives only, and when they have done that they will fly back silently through the night, pa.s.sing over quiet villages and towns, where the sleeping inhabitants never will know that the great blackbirds have hovered so close to them.

When the War broke out airplanes were not planned so carefully nor equipped so fully for their special duties as they are to-day. n.o.body foresaw exactly what those duties would be, and n.o.body once dreamed that the battalions of the air would play the tremendous role they have played in deciding the great struggle. Even Germany, who had been secretly planning and working and preparing for so long, had very little conception of the actual importance of her heavier-than-air machines.

She neglected to use them entirely when she began her swift stride across Belgium. That piece of neglect lost her the prize, for the plucky Belgians, seizing the opportunity, marshalled their air forces, a small handful of airplanes, and used them to good advantage in discovering the intentions of the enemy. By means of her air force, Belgium was enabled to hold back for awhile the onrushing tide of the Hun armies, until France could bring her men into the field and the "contemptible little army" of Britain could be hurried across the Channel.

As the air forces were the deciding factor in that first great onslaught, so they have remained during the whole struggle. They began as mere scouting machines, but they have taken upon themselves more and more duties, until at the present time they are used for a mult.i.tude of purposes, and are fitted with the most perfect equipment to carry out their various ends.

Airplanes have often been called the "eyes of the army," but in war it is not sufficient to be able to _see_ what the enemy is doing or is about to do. You must also be able to keep him from knowing what your plans are. So, there are the machines whose duty is to "see" and those whose duty is to "put out the eyes of the enemy." These latter must keep an eternal vigilance over the lines, on the lookout for enemy craft.

When one is spotted they dash out after it, pursue it back to its lines and prevent it from performing its mission of reconnaissance. Nor are they satisfied merely to drive it off, they follow and give fight. Over there against the sky you see a little puff of smoke and flame that goes shooting down to the horizon. It is an enemy plane that will never again come spying upon Allied troops. Perhaps a group of fast German fighting machines dart out unexpectedly to avenge it, and then there is a terrible battle in the clouds, with every machine that is in the air hurrying to the skirmish. You try to follow their swift movements as they loop and dart and dive, but all you can see is a rapid confusion of wings, and now and then a machine that separates itself from the general melee and goes crashing to earth.