The Romance of Aircraft
by Laurence Yard Smith · English · Gutenberg #40170 · 403,177 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: The Romance of Aircraft
Author: Laurence Yard Smith
Release date: July 8, 2012 [eBook #40170]
Most recently updated: October 23, 2024
Language: English
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ROMANCE OF AIRCRAFT ***
Transcriber's note:
Text in italics has been marked with underscores (_text_).
Further Transcriber's Notes will be found at the end of this text.
THE ROMANCE OF AIRCRAFT
[Illustration: _Copyright Underwood and Underwood_
SEAPLANES NC-1, NC-3 AND NC-4 OF THE U. S. NAVY STARTING THE
TRANS-ATLANTIC FLIGHT FROM ROCKAWAY]
[Illustration: _Copyright Underwood and Underwood_
THE NC-4 ON ITS VICTORIOUS TRANS-ATLANTIC FLIGHT, SIXTY MILES AT SEA.
THE SHADOW IS MADE BY A STRUT OF THE PHOTOGRAPHERS' PLANE]
THE ROMANCE OF AIRCRAFT
BY
LAURENCE YARD SMITH
_WITH SIX DIAGRAMS AND THIRTY-THREE ILLUSTRATIONS FROM PHOTOGRAPHS_
LONDON
GRANT RICHARDS, LTD.
ST. MARTIN'S STREET
MDCCCCXIX
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA BY
THE PROSPECT PRESS
CONTENTS
PART I
CHAPTER PAGE
I THE CONQUEST OF THE AIR 3
II "A B C'S" OF A BALLOON 14
III EARLY BALLOON ADVENTURES 20
IV THE PARACHUTE 28
V BALLOONING IN THE GREAT WAR 36
PART II
I DEVELOPMENT OF THE DIRIGIBLE 47
II FORERUNNERS OF THE ALLIED DIRIGIBLES 60
III DIRIGIBLES IN THE WORLD WAR 68
PART III
I EARLY EXPERIMENTS WITH HEAVIER-THAN-AIR MACHINES 77
II FIRST PRINCIPLES OF AN AIRPLANE 91
III THE PIONEERS 99
IV THE AIRPLANE IN THE WORLD WAR 128
V SOME OF THE PROBLEMS THE INVENTORS HAD TO SOLVE 150
VI FAMOUS ALLIED AIRPLANES 170
VII GERMAN AIRPLANES IN THE WORLD WAR 189
VIII HEROES OF THE AIR 205
IX THE BIRTH OF AN AIRPLANE 223
X THE TRAINING OF AN AVIATOR 232
XI THE FUTURE STORY OF THE AIR 244
READING LIST 256
INDEX 259
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Seaplanes NC-1, NC-3 and NC-4 of the U. S. Navy starting the
trans-Atlantic flight from Rockaway. The NC-4 on its
victorious trans-Atlantic flight, sixty miles at sea _Frontispiece_
FACING
PAGE
Montgolfier experiment at Versailles, 1783 10
The first cross-channel trip 11
Diagram showing the main features of the spherical balloon 16
Cocking's parachute 30
A German Zeppelin 31
Inflating a service balloon on the field 40
Army balloon ready to ascend 41
Giffard's airship 54
Santos-Dumont rounding the Eiffel Tower 55
Baldwin U. S. "Dirigible No. 1" 66
The British Army "Baby" dirigible 67
Cross section of the gas bag of the _Astra-Torres_, showing
method of car suspension 70
"The Blimp," C-1, the largest dirigible of the American Navy 72
The balloon of the _U. S. S. Oklahoma_ 73
Diagram showing the essential parts of an airplane 95
Wright starting with passenger 98
An early Farman machine prior to start 99
Wright machine rising just after leaving the rail 114
An early Wright machine, showing its method of starting from a
rail 114
The propeller department in one of the great Curtiss factories 115
A photograph of northern France taken at a height of three
thousand feet 138
An airplane view of the city of Rheims, showing the cathedral 139
Diagram of an internal combustion engine cylinder, showing
principle on which it works 157
This photograph shows the relative size of the giant Caproni
bombing plane and the French baby Nieuport, used as a speed
scout 170
The Spad, the pride of the French air fleet 171
A Handley-Page machine tuning up for a flight 182
The launching of a Langley, a giant bombing airplane 183
Side view of a Sopwith triplane 187
An American built Caproni airplane 188
This Curtiss triplane has a speed of one hundred and sixty miles
an hour 189
A giant Gotha bombing plane brought down by the French 198
German Fokker plane captured by the French 199
Captain Eddie Rickenbacker 218
The first bag of mail carried by the U. S. Aero Mail Service 219
A photograph made ten thousand feet in the air, showing machines
in "V" formation at bombing practise 242
A group of De Havilland planes at Bolling Field near Washington 243
PART I
THE ROMANCE OF AIRCRAFT
CHAPTER I
THE CONQUEST OF THE AIR
On a beautiful afternoon in the latter part of the eighteenth
century--June 5, 1793--a distinguished company of Frenchmen were
gathered in the public square of the little village of Annonay, not far
from Lyons. They had come there by special invitation of the brothers
Stephen and Joseph Montgolfier, respected owners of a paper manufactory
in the little town. It was whispered that the brothers had a great
surprise in store for them, a remarkable discovery. Yet all their
curious gaze could make out was a great linen bag, that swung, like a
huge limp sail, from a rope that was suspended between two high poles.
By means of this seemingly helpless piece of fabric the brothers
Montgolfier proposed to accomplish the conquest of the air.
Those who ventured near to this strange object perceived at its base a
wide circular opening, sewed fast to a wooden ring. The ring hung
directly over a deep pit, in which had been heaped fuel for a
bonfire,--straw and wood and chopped wool. At a given signal one of the
brothers applied a torch to the mass and in an instant the flames shot
up. A dense column of smoke arose through the neck of the bag. The
latter gradually began to fill, spreading out in all directions, until,
before the astonished gaze of the spectators, it assumed the shape of an
enormous ball, that overshadowed the square, and that pulled and
wrestled feverishly at the restraining ropes.
From the ranks of the onlookers a great shout of applause went up. The
keepers let go the ropes, and the globe, like a live creature, freed
from its bonds, rose triumphantly before their eyes. Up, up, higher and
higher it went, so fast that they could scarcely follow it. For a moment
it was hidden behind a patch of cloud, then it reappeared again, still
ascending, until it rode majestically in the heavens, seven thousand
feet above their heads!
The shouts and cries of the onlookers were deafening. Like wildfire the
news spread from house to house of the little French village. Grave old
legislators who had witnessed the surprising spectacle forgot their
dignity and tossed their hats in air. Women, seeing the unusual object
from a distance, fell on their knees to pray, thinking it a sign in the
heavens, that portended, who knew what?
Man's age-old dream of conquering the air was now, for the first time,
an accomplished fact. Those who stood in the little public square of
Annonay on that auspicious afternoon long ago, watching the first
Montgolfier globe on its victorious ascent, knew that it could be but a
very short time indeed until men would be able to explore at will the
dim regions of the upper air.
Meanwhile picture the consternation and terror among a group of humble
peasants, who were tilling the fields a short distance from the spot
where the famous Montgolfier balloon was launched. Suddenly in the sky
there appeared a great black moon, which slowly and ominously descended
toward the earth. The village priest himself led forth a little band of
his stout-hearted followers to attack this dread instrument of the Evil
One. With pitchforks and scythes they rushed upon the unfortunate
balloon as it lighted gently on the ground, heaving this way and that
with every puff of breeze that blew against it. With courage born of
fear they prodded and beat the unfortunate monster. When the gas had
finally escaped through the great gashes in its sides, and nothing
remained but a disordered heap of tatters and shreds, the proud
"conqueror of the skies" was tied fast to a horse's tail, and the
terrified creature galloped off with it into the open country.
But the news of the Montgolfier brothers' discovery spread throughout
the length and breadth of France and the civilized world. The French
king ordered a special demonstration at Versailles, before himself and
the Royal family. On this occasion a wicker basket was swung from the
richly ornamented balloon. In order to test the safety of travel in the
skies there were placed in it a sheep, a cock and a duck. A fire was
lit beneath the base of the balloon and it was filled with heated air.
It rose with its strange cargo to a height of 1500 feet, traveled along
peacefully two miles with the breeze and descended slowly into a near-by
wood. There two gamekeepers, hurrying to the scene, were amazed to find
its occupants calmly feeding, apparently unaffected by their voyage.
This incident gave the experimenters renewed courage and enthusiasm. A
gallant Frenchman, Pilâtre de Rozier, volunteered to be the first man to
make the ascent into the skies. A new and stronger machine was
constructed, this time oval in shape instead of round, 74 feet high and
48 feet in diameter. At the bottom was a huge circular opening, 15 feet
across. Just beneath this there was swung from iron chains an open
grate, on which the fire was built by means of which the balloon was
inflated. This grate hung down into a wicker basket or "gallery," in
which the occupant stood, heaping fuel upon the fire. For of course, as
soon as the fire died down, the heated air in the balloon commenced
slowly to escape, and the whole thing sank to earth.
Pilâtre de Rozier was not at first permitted to set himself free and go
voyaging unguarded into the upper air. Who knew whether this air above
the clouds was fit to breathe?--who, for that matter, knew whether there
actually _was_ air at any distance above the surface of the earth? It
was considered the better part of valor to try the experiment the first
few times with the balloon tied firmly to the ground, with strong
cables which only permitted it to rise some eighty or ninety feet. Even
with these precautions a good deal of apprehension was felt regarding
the healthfulness of the sport. But a sigh of relief was breathed by
those who had the undertaking in charge when the bold de Rozier insisted
that never in his life before had he known any experience so pleasurable
as this of rising far above the housetops and of feeling himself
floating, gently and peacefully, in a region of noiseless calm.
Impatient of this mild variety of aerial adventure, de Rozier finally
won permission to make a "free" ascent, and he and his friend, the
Marquis d'Arlandes, made a number of daring voyages in the Montgolfier
fire balloon. Assuring their friends that no harmful results could come
to them from ascending into the clouds, they loosed the ropes and went
merrily sailing away until far out of sight. So long as they kept the
fire in the grate burning the balloon remained aloft, and floated along
in the direction in which the wind bore it. When they wished to descend
they had merely to put out the fire, and as the heated air gradually
escaped, the balloon sank gently to earth.
But the dangers of this sort of aerial adventure were very great indeed,
and it required the most remarkable heroism on the part of de Rozier to
undertake them. A chance spark from the grate might at any moment set
fire to the body of the balloon, and bring it, a flaming firebrand, to
earth. De Rozier understood this, and on his very first voyage carried
along in the gallery of the balloon a bucket of water and a sponge. It
was late in November of 1893 that he and d'Arlandes floated over
Paris,--de Rozier heaping fuel upon the grate and tending the fire which
kept the balloon afloat. Suddenly d'Arlandes heard a slight crackling
noise high in the balloon. Looking up he caught a sight which turned him
cold with horror,--a tiny licking flame far above his head. He seized
the wet sponge and reached up to extinguish it. But another and yet
another appeared, little tongues of fire, eating away at the body of the
balloon. As each showed its face water was dashed upon it. From below
the balloon could be seen peacefully journeying across the city. But far
above, in its basket, de Rozier and d'Arlandes were coolly beating off
the danger that hung over them like a Sword of Damocles. Not until they
had been in the air twenty-five minutes, however, did they put out the
fire in the grate and allow themselves to sink to earth.
These early experiments of the Montgolfiers and de Rozier fired the
imaginations of scientific men in every part of the world, and it was
only a very short time before a safer and more reliable type of balloon
than the fire balloon was developed. Stephen Montgolfier's invention was
based on the idea that smoke and clouds rise in the atmosphere. "If,"
said he to himself, "it were possible to surround a cloud with a bag
which did not permit it to escape, then both would ascend." Of course
this was a rather childish explanation of the cause of a balloon
ascension, but it was the best that the Montgolfiers or any of their
learned friends knew at that early day.
Now it was only a little while before this that an Englishman had
discovered the gas which is now known as hydrogen, but which was then
called "inflammable air." This gas, of which the Montgolfiers apparently
knew nothing, is exceedingly light, and therefore rises very quickly in
the air. The year before the Montgolfier balloon was invented, this
Englishman, Cavallo, tried to fill small bags with hydrogen gas, on the
theory that they would rise in the atmosphere. He failed merely because
he did not hit upon the proper material of which to construct his bags.
The fabric he chose was porous, and the gas escaped through it before
the balloon could rise. Cavallo did, however, succeed in blowing
hydrogen into ordinary soap bubbles, which arose with great velocity and
burst as they struck the ceiling.
The problem of the material to be used in balloon construction had been
fairly well solved by the Montgolfiers. Their balloons were of linen
fabric, varnished and lined with paper, to render them as nearly as
possible air-tight. This set the philosophers of Paris thinking how they
might construct a globe which could be successfully inflated with
hydrogen.
The brothers Roberts and M. Charles made the first hydrogen balloon. It
was fashioned of very fine silk, varnished with a solution of gum
elastic. This made it impossible for the hydrogen to leak through. The
balloon was filled through an opening in the neck, which was fitted
with a stopcock, so that the gas could be poured in or allowed to escape
at will.
The funds for constructing this first hydrogen balloon had been raised
by popular subscription, and the whole French people were alive with
enthusiasm over the success of the experiment. Even at that early day
France was the ardent champion of aerial conquest.
The day set for its ascension was the 27th of August, 1783. By the night
of the 26th it had been partially filled with gas. It was tied to a
cart, and long before daylight, started its journey to the Field of
Mars. Throngs of spectators crowded every avenue. From the roof tops
thousands of eager men, women and children peered down upon it through
the darkness. Every window in every building was crowded with faces. A
strong military guard surrounded it, riding on horseback and carrying
flaring torches.
All day long multitudes crowded and jostled each other impatiently at
the point where the ascension was to take place. At five o'clock in the
afternoon the sudden booming of artillery fire gave notice to the
hundred thousand waiting that the great event was on. Released from its
bonds the balloon shot up, and in two minutes it was over 3,000 feet
above the heads of the watchers. Still it continued steadily to rise,
until finally it was lost to sight by the heavy storm clouds through
which it had cut its passage.
[Illustration: MONTGOLFIER EXPERIMENT AT VERSAILLES, 1783]
[Illustration: THE FIRST CROSS-CHANNEL TRIP]
The spectators were overjoyed, as on that first occasion when the
Montgolfier balloon rose into the skies. It was pouring rain, but they
did not seem to notice it as they cheered themselves hoarse at the
second great air victory.
The balloon, likewise, was undiscouraged by the rain. Far above the
clouds, where all was quiet sunshine, it journeyed peacefully along for
fifteen miles, and descended in an open field.
The first two important chapters in the history of ballooning had now
been written. Looking back, we are filled with gratitude to the French,
whose courage, intelligence, and boundless enthusiasm made possible the
conquest of the skies.
In other countries, of course, experiments were also in progress, though
they lacked to a great extent the popular backing which helped the
French efforts to bear such splendid results. In London, an Italian,
Count Zambeccari, constructed a hydrogen balloon of oil silk, 10 feet in
diameter and _gilded_, so that in the air it was dazzling to look upon.
A few months after the three Frenchmen launched their hydrogen balloon
in Paris, this gorgeous affair was sent up in London, in the presence of
thousands of spectators. One month later still, the city of Philadelphia
witnessed the first ascension of a hydrogen balloon in the New World. It
carried a carpenter, one James Wilcox, as passenger.
"What is the use of a balloon, anyway?" Benjamin Franklin was asked when
in Paris at the time of the Montgolfier experiments. "What is the use of
a baby?" the great American replied, smiling. Perhaps he had some
inkling of the remarkable future in store for the science of
aeronautics, then in its infancy!
The first really notable ascent in a hydrogen balloon after the early
efforts was that of a Frenchman, M. Blanchard, who rose from Paris in
1784, accompanied by a Benedictine monk. Before they had got far above
the ground a slight accident brought the balloon bumping down again. The
monk, thoroughly scared, abandoned his seat, and M. Blanchard ascended
alone. This balloon was fitted out with wings and a rudder, by which it
was hoped to steer its course, but they proved useless, and its occupant
had to allow himself to drift with the wind. He reached a height of 9600
feet, remaining in the air an hour and a quarter. Suffering from the
extreme cold which is experienced so high in the atmosphere, and almost
overcome with numbness and drowsiness, he was at length compelled to
descend.
In England at about this time, Vincent Lunardi accomplished a free
ascent in the presence of the Prince of Wales. But again it was the
Frenchman, M. Blanchard, who succeeded in making the first _long_
balloon voyage. In January, 1785, he and Dr. Jeffries, an American
physician, sailed across the English Channel from Dover. It was a
perilous adventure, with the ever present danger of falling into the
sea. Half way across they found themselves descending. Then began a
constant throwing out of ballast in a race with time and the wind. When
the bags of sand they had brought for the purpose were exhausted they
hurled overboard bottles, boxes, pieces of rope, even their compass and
the apparatus of the balloon. They were still falling when in the
distance they caught sight of the dim outline of the French coast, and
in a last effort to keep afloat they began dropping articles of clothing
over the basket's edge. Suddenly, however, the balloon began to mount.
They floated in over the land, coming to earth safely not far from
Calais.
Pilâtre de Rozier at once set about to imitate M. Blanchard's feat, and
to avoid the danger of falling he constructed a hydrogen balloon with a
fire balloon below it, so that by heaping on fuel he could force it to
rise whenever he noticed a tendency to fall. In this ingenious
contrivance he attempted to fly the Channel. At a height of 3,000 feet
both balloons were seen to burst into flames, and de Rozier fell. So the
gallant Frenchman who was first to explore the skies came to his
unfortunate end.
His death cast a gloom over the many aeronautic enthusiasts of France,
England and America. But his splendid pioneer exploits had borne their
fruit in a permanent and growing interest in the navigation of the air.
The science of aeronautics marched on, and new and important schemes
were invented for conquering the skies.
CHAPTER II
"A B C'S" OF A BALLOON
Why does a balloon rise in the atmosphere?--is the very natural question
we are apt to ask as we read the story of these early balloon
experiments. The Montgolfier brothers themselves could probably not have
answered it, for they claimed that some marvelous secret properties
existed in "Montgolfier smoke." Stephen Montgolfier seems to have had
the idea of "holding a cloud captive in a bag," since he had observed
that clouds rise in the air.
The real explanation can best be understood by a simple experiment.
Throw a stone into a pool of water and it will sink, because it is
"heavier than water": that is, it weighs more in proportion to its
volume than the same quantity of water weighs. But throw into the same
pool a piece of cork and it will rise, because it is lighter in
proportion to its volume than water. This truth was long ago expressed
as a law by the old Greek philosopher Archimedes, who said: "_Every body
immersed in a liquid loses part of its weight, or is acted upon by an
upward force equal to the weight of the liquid it displaces._" In the
case of the cork, the weight of the water it displaces is greater than
the weight of the cork, and consequently the upward force acting upon
it is sufficient to lift it to the surface of the pool; but with the
stone it is different: the water it displaces weighs _less_ than the
stone, and therefore the upward force acting upon it is not sufficient
to prevent it from sinking.
Now all this applies just as well to a body in the atmosphere as it does
to the body immersed in water. The air in this case corresponds to the
liquid. Therefore any object placed in the air which weighs less in
proportion to its volume than the atmosphere, is bound to rise. Every
object we see about us, including ourselves, which is not fastened down
to earth, would, if it were not "heavier than air," go flying off toward
the skies.
Imagine a balloon all ready to be inflated, that is, ready to be filled
with gas. The bag or "envelope" hangs limp and lifeless. Together with
the basket, ropes, etc., which are attached to it, it probably weighs
several hundred pounds, yet because its _volume_ is so small it
displaces very little air. Now we commence to inflate the balloon. As
the gas rushes in, the envelope commences to swell; it grows larger and
larger, displacing a greater volume of air every moment. When fully
inflated it displaces a volume of air much greater in weight than
itself. This weight of displaced air acts upon it with a resistless
upward force, sufficient to lift it into the clouds. The moment its
straining bonds are loosed, it rises with great velocity.
Of course, the lighter the gas that is used to inflate the balloon,
the less weight will be added by it to the total weight of the
structure,--although a lighter gas adds just as much to the volume as a
heavier one would do. If two balloons of exactly the same weight before
inflation are filled, one with the comparatively heavy coal gas which
weighs 1/2 oz. per cubic foot, and the other with the very light hydrogen,
which weighs 1/10 oz. per cubic foot, it is easy to see that the
hydrogen-filled balloon will rise much faster and have a greater lifting
power.
It is a simple matter to calculate what size balloon will be required to
lift one, two or three passengers and a given weight of cargo, for we
know that the balloon envelope must be large enough when filled with
gas, to displace a greater weight of air than its own weight, together
with the weight of the basket, equipment, passengers and cargo.
Once a balloon has been inflated and begun to ascend it would, if
unchecked, continue rising indefinitely until it reached a point in the
greatly rarefied upper air where it was exactly displacing its own
weight, or, as science puts it, was "in equilibrium with the air." But
this is usually not desirable, and so in all modern balloons arrangement
is made for lessening the volume of the envelope and so decreasing the
upward pressure. This is managed from the basket by pulling a cord which
connects with a valve at the top and thus allows some of the gas to
escape. There is also a valve in the neck of the balloon which opens
automatically when the pressure becomes too great, or which can be
operated by a cord. In addition to these two, balloons to-day have what
is known as a "_ripping panel_," or long slit closed over with a sort of
patch or strip of the envelope material. In case it becomes necessary to
make a quick descent, the ripping panel may be torn open by pulling the
cord which connects with this ripping strip. A wide rent is thus
produced in the envelope and the gas escapes very rapidly. As the
balloon becomes deflated (that is, loses its gas), it grows smaller,
displaces less and less air, and so sinks to the earth.
[Illustration: DIAGRAM SHOWING THE MAIN FEATURES OF THE SPHERICAL BALLOON]
The accompanying diagram gives a very good idea of the main features of
the spherical balloon. The envelope is usually made of strong cotton
diagonal cloth, cut in pear shaped gores and varnished with a solution
of rubber in order to prevent the gas from leaking through. At the
bottom it ends in the long _neck_,--through this the balloon is inflated
by joining it securely to a gas pipe which leads to the main supply of
gas. Over the envelope there is spread a strong _net_ made of heavy
cord. From the net hang the stout _leading lines_. The leading lines in
turn are attached to a strong wooden _hoop_, and from this hoop the car
is suspended by ropes which are called _car lines_. The cords that
connect with the upper and lower valves and the ripping panel hang down
into the car and may be operated by the occupants, or crew.
Unless the balloon is held captive it is supplied also with a _trail
rope_. This is a very heavy cable which is allowed to hang down from the
car during an ascent. When descending, as the trail rope reaches the
ground the balloon is relieved of a portion of its weight and becomes
more buoyant. This makes its descent more gradual, for as it is relieved
of one pound of weight of the dragging trail rope, it gains a slight
tendency to rise again which counteracts the severity of its downward
motion. The free balloon also has a _grapnel_ or anchor for use in
landing.
The _car_ or _basket_ of the balloon is usually made of woven willow and
bamboo, which insures strength and lightness.
This brief description of the spherical balloon is intended to give the
reader an idea of the essential features of any balloon. In modern
warfare the captive balloon has proved its usefulness for purposes of
observation, but the old spherical type is passing out. Balloons of many
shapes and sizes, all designed for greater stability, are taking its
place. Among these the "kite" or "sausage" balloon is by far the best
known. Partly a kite and partly a balloon, with its long sausage-shaped
body, its air-rudder or small steering ballonet attached to its stern,
it possesses considerable "steadiness" in the air.
The kite balloon is used over the trenches to direct artillery fire and
to report movements of the enemy: and it is likewise used over the sea,
as a guide to direct the movements of the fleet in an attack, and as a
sentinel on the look-out for enemy ships or submarines.
CHAPTER III
EARLY BALLOON ADVENTURES
No sooner had the news of the remarkable balloon exploits of de Rozier
and Blanchard spread throughout the nations, than people of all classes
became interested in the future of ballooning. There were those who
regarded it as the great coming sport, and there were also those who,
like the French military authorities, saw in this new invention a
possible weapon of war whose development they dared not neglect. It was
only a short time before the French had an army training school for
aeronauts, and a number of military service balloons.
The romance of ballooning had captured the imaginations of great masses
of people and they proved their eagerness to back up the efforts of
sportsmen balloonists with the necessary funds to carry on the many
aeronautic projects which were suggested. We have already mentioned
Chevalier Vincent Lunardi, the young Italian who was the first to
accomplish a voyage in a balloon in England. The English people had read
with ever increasing curiosity and impatience the stories of the French
balloonists. What was their delight when this young Italian, poor but
clever, proposed to give them an exhibition of their own. He had little
difficulty in obtaining permission for a start to be made from London.
The next step was to obtain funds by popular subscription for the
construction of the balloon. For a time money flowed freely into the
coffers; but a Frenchman named Moret came into the limelight as a rival
of Lunardi and announced a balloon ascent some little time before that
planned by his opponent. The demonstration promised by Moret never came
off, his balloon refused utterly to take to the air, and the indignant
spectators went home, feeling that they had been cleverly hoodwinked out
of the price of admission. Their wrath naturally turned upon the
unfortunate Lunardi, and it was only with difficulty and after much
discouragement that he actually succeeded in carrying his undertaking to
completion. Finally, however, he had his balloon built. The King had
withdrawn his permission for a flight from the grounds of the Chelsea
hospital, but he succeeded in securing another starting place, and
announced that he was ready to demonstrate what the balloon could do.
Vast crowds gathered to witness the spectacle. The balloon itself was
gorgeous to behold. It looked like a mammoth Christmas-tree ball, of
shining silk, in brilliant stripes of red and blue. It was filled with
hydrogen gas, and as it gradually took form before their eyes, the
people shouted with excitement and eagerness.
It was a pleasant September afternoon in the year 1784. When all was in
readiness, Lunardi, no less eager and excited than the masses who had
gathered to witness his exploit, climbed into the car. The cords were
loosed and in a few moments the balloon, in its gala dress, was soaring
far in the sky. Lunardi enjoyed his flight immensely. After traveling
along without a mishap for a considerable time, he decided to come down,
but once he had touched the earth he was seized by the desire to soar
again. Putting out some of his ballast he allowed the balloon to arise
once more into the sky. Finally in the late afternoon he came to earth
for the second time, landing in a field and greatly terrifying the
simple country folk who were at work there. He was cold and hungry after
his long journey in the rarefied upper air, but happy at the remarkable
triumph he had achieved. Henceforth ballooning would not be regarded
with derision and unbelief in England. The English nation was as wild
with joy as the French had been at the early balloon ascents. Lunardi
was lionized and became the favorite of the hour; his presence was
demanded everywhere and he was royally entertained by the foremost
people of the realm.
The British Isles became, from this time on, the scene of many a
thrilling adventure with the balloon. It was only a few years later that
Charles Green, the most famous of all the early English aeronauts, began
his voyages in the _Great Nassau_, the balloon whose name is even to-day
a tradition. In it he started out, one fall day in the year 1836,
carrying provisions for a long voyage, but with no idea where the winds
would carry him. The great balloon passed out over the British Channel
and in again over the coast of France. Day faded into twilight and
twilight into the blackness of night, but still it continued steadily on
its way. Through the darkness Green and the friends who accompanied him
in the large car of the balloon peered anxiously over the side, trying
to guess where they were being blown. Finally after an all night ride,
the dawn began to break, and in the morning the great balloon was
brought to earth on German territory. Green had accomplished the longest
balloon trip of his day. In the years that followed he made many
voyages, but none that won for him more renown than this one.
Since the days when Blanchard accomplished the first trip across the
British Channel, and the fearless de Rozier sought to imitate him, a
number of aeronauts had made interesting voyages between France and
England. One of the most adventurous was that of Mr. C. F. Pollock, in
July, 1899. Accompanied by a friend, Mr. Pollock ascended early one
afternoon, and after a picturesque and beautiful trip across the English
countryside, sailed out over the sea. Behind them rose the white cliffs
of the English coast, while before them gathering clouds hung like a
curtain, through which they peered anxiously. Suddenly the balloon began
to fall, and, fearful lest they should land in the rough waters of the
channel, they began throwing overboard the sand which they had carried
along as ballast. By means of this they succeeded in rising once more to
a height of seven or eight thousand feet. It was early evening. Far
below the sea had ceased to roar. They floated along in a realm of
silence where nothing was visible through the veil of mist. At length
the veil was broken by the dim outline of the French coast. On and on
they drifted yet seemed to draw no closer to it. There it remained,
always ahead of them, tantalizing and provoking. Their ballast was
almost gone, and they had unpleasant visions of landing in the water
within view of their goal. So calmly and evenly did the balloon move
forward that it was practically impossible for its occupants to tell
whether it was moving at all. As they peered ahead uncertainly,
searching the sea for a vessel by which they might gauge their progress,
they felt themselves once more commencing to sink. In another few
minutes the rest of the sand had been thrown overboard. There was
nothing left with which to check the falling of the balloon, which
surely and ominously continued. The French coast was still many miles
away. Almost in despair the two aeronauts cast about them for something
which could be hurled over the side to lighten the weight of the
balloon. As a last measure they decided upon the anchor. In another
moment they had tossed it into the sea. Relieved of so great a weight
the balloon shot up with lightning speed. The coast was drawing closer,
but after its first swift ascent the balloon commenced to sink again and
the aeronauts almost gave up hope of actually reaching shore. But just
about eight o'clock they discovered to their great relief that the
cliffs that marked the coast were below them. In another few minutes
they had sailed in over the land. They opened the valve of the balloon
and effected a descent in a field, where they were soon surrounded by an
admiring circle of French peasants.
It was only about ten years after the pioneer voyages of de Rozier that
the balloon was actually used on the battlefield, for in 1794 the French
employed it against the Austrians at Mayence and at Charleroi. Under the
fire of the Austrians who sought to prevent him from ascending, the
French Captain Coutelle rose in an observation balloon at Mayence to a
height of over a thousand feet. At that height he was beyond the range
of the Austrian guns and could sit at ease watching their movements and
preparations, at the same time dropping communications to the officers
below. By his pluck he made possible a French victory, although the
Austrians, much chagrined at their own lack of observation balloons,
declared that this sort of warfare was unfair.
It may surprise Americans to know that balloons were used to good
purpose for observation work in our own Civil War, and that they
assisted the army of the North to keep an eye on the movements of
Confederate troops around Richmond. They were once more employed by the
French during the siege of Paris in 1870 and 1871, when 66 balloons left
the city at various times, bearing messages, passengers, and flocks of
carrier pigeons, which were used for delivering return messages. One
plucky Frenchman dropped thousands of messages from his balloon upon the
German soldiers, warning them of France's determination to fight to the
bitter end. The incident reminds us somewhat of similar ones in the
Great War, when the Allied aviators bombed the cities of Germany with
proclamations.
The first notable employment of the balloon by the British army occurred
during the Boer War. During the siege of Ladysmith captive balloons were
used to good purpose for observation and they were likewise made use of
during a number of battles and under heavy fire. The French again
employed them during the wars in Madagascar. Balloons had by the end of
the nineteenth century become an important adjunct of every great army,
and had proved themselves indispensable. Strange to relate they have
never been driven from the field, and although we have to-day the swift
dirigible and the still swifter airplane, there are certain military
duties which they can perform best.
While the balloon was thus becoming a recognized instrument of war it
was likewise gaining in favor among sportsmen. In all the great nations
Aero Clubs were formed and races and contests began to be announced. In
1906 Gordon Bennett made the offer of a Challenge Cup for the longest
trip by balloon. The contestants were to start from Paris. On September
30th, 1906, sixteen balloons arose from the Tuileries Gardens and
started on their way. An American, Lieutenant Frank P. Lahm, carried off
the cup, accomplishing a total distance of 401 miles and landing in
Yorkshire.
The second race for the Gordon Bennett cup was held in America, and was
won by a German. The third was held in 1908 in Germany. The winner,
Colonel Schaeck, made a dangerous descent upon the sea near the coast of
Norway, where he was rescued by a fishing boat. Several other
contestants had perilous adventures. The American balloon _Conqueror_
exploded in mid-air, much to the excitement of the thousands of
spectators who had gathered to witness the start of the race. Instead of
crashing to earth, however, as they had expected, it sank down gently,
the upper part of the envelope forming a parachute. The aeronauts made
an amusing landing on a housetop, little the worse for their sudden drop
of several thousand feet. Another American balloon landed in the
branches of a tree, while several of the remaining contestants came down
in the sea and were rescued. On the whole it was a thoroughly exciting
race, and the news of it aroused intense enthusiasm for the sport of
ballooning in many lands.
CHAPTER IV
THE PARACHUTE
The story of the parachute is inevitably linked in memory with that of
the balloon. Those who look back a few years can remember when
exhibition balloons were in their heyday, and the sensation the
parachutist used to create as he leapt from on high and came flying
recklessly through the air. For a breathless moment or two the parachute
remained folded, and when, finally, its umbrella-like form spread out
protectingly above the hero, a thrill of relief ran through the anxious
crowd of spectators.
In the early days of ballooning the parachute was looked on as a sort of
life belt the aeronaut might don in the event of a serious accident to
his craft in mid-air. Many experimenters gave their attention to
developing it for this purpose; but when it was found that the
balloonist actually needed no protection, since the balloon itself would
"parachute" to earth after an explosion, interest in the matter waned.
To-day the parachute has come once more into prominence because of the
heroic work it performed in connection with the kite balloon and with
the airplane in the war, and so our concern in it has revived. Many
stories reached us from the front, of artillery spotters who jumped to
safety when their observation balloons were unexpectedly attacked by
enemy airplanes. It has actually become the "life-belt of the air."
More often in the early days of ballooning it was a source of grave
danger to the plucky aeronaut who sought to try it out and improve it,
and its history includes the record of several sad accidents.
It was in the very year that the balloon was invented that a Frenchman,
M. Le Normand began experimenting with a contrivance resembling an
umbrella, with which he jumped from the branches of a tree, and sank
gently to earth, the parachute saving him from injury. Successful as his
first attempt was it seems that he afterward lost his nerve, and later
attempts were made with animals placed in a basket below the parachute
and dropped to earth from a considerable height.
Blanchard, the famous balloonist, became interested in the idea of the
parachute, and made a number of very interesting experiments. While
making a public ascent in a balloon at Strasbourg, he dropped over the
side of his balloon a dog with a parachute attached to him. The
spectators were greatly pleased when the little creature came to earth
quite unharmed, and public interest in the contrivance as a means of
saving life was aroused.
In 1793 Blanchard himself undertook to make a parachute descent. He was
not wholly successful, for before he reached the earth the apparatus
gave way and he crashed down heavily, fortunately escaping with nothing
worse than a broken leg. In spite of his injury he did not give up the
idea of the parachute as a "life belt" for the aeronaut, and looked
forward to the time when it should be so improved that it could be
relied upon to bring the aeronaut to earth uninjured if any accident
should make it necessary for him to escape from his balloon in mid-air.
However it was again a Frenchman, M. André Garnerin who accomplished the
first descent by parachute from a great height without injury. His
parachute was attached to a balloon. At a height of several thousand
feet in the air, he freed himself and descended gradually, alighting
gently upon the earth. That was in 1797 and five years later he gave a
public demonstration of his parachute in England. This time he was not
so successful, for his apparatus broke before he reached the ground and
he received a number of injuries by his fall.
The parachute actually saved a life, however, in 1808, when the aeronaut
R. Jordarki Kuparanto, whose balloon caught fire in mid-air during a
demonstration at Warsaw, leapt over the side with his parachute and came
to earth unharmed.
[Illustration: COCKING'S PARACHUTE]
The parachute which Garnerin and the early aeronauts used in their
experiments was fashioned to resemble an umbrella. As the aeronaut
descended and the swift current of air caused by the fall rushed up
under this canopy, it tended to hold it in the air much as the wind
supports a kite, and thus the force of the descent was broken. In the
year 1837 an Englishman named Cocking, who had been studying the
principles of the parachute, came forward with an idea which differed
greatly from this. The parachute he invented resembled an umbrella that
had been blown inside out by the wind,--it was in other words an
inverted cone, with a basket for the aeronaut hung from the cone's apex.
The upper rim of the cone was made of tin to strengthen it, and the
sides were of cloth.
[Illustration: _Copyright Underwood and Underwood_
A GERMAN ZEPPELIN]
Cocking was very enthusiastic over his invention, for he believed that
his inverted parachute would descend more smoothly through the air than
the old kind, which, while it supported the aviator, had a tendency to
rock and pitch in the air after the manner of a kite. He sought an
opportunity of giving his idea a public trial, but experienced aeronauts
advised him not to do so, as they did not trust the safety of his
apparatus. However, he insisted, and he finally persuaded the famous
aeronaut Green to take him up.
On July 24th, 1837, the famous experiment was made. Green ascended in
the great Nassau balloon, with Cocking's parachute suspended beneath it.
Thousands of spectators had gathered to watch the ascent, but as the
balloon was carried away by the breeze it was finally lost to their
view, and so they were spared witnessing the accident which followed.
Green had been greatly worried over the safety of the parachute and had
refused to free it from his balloon, but this difficulty Cocking had
overcome by arranging a contrivance which permitted him to free himself
when he thought the proper moment had arrived for his experiment.
Finally, at a height of about 5000 feet, he called good-by to Green and
let himself go. Relieved of his weight the balloon bounded up with great
swiftness, and it was some time before it recovered its equilibrium.
Meanwhile the parachute fell earthward with tremendous speed, rocking
from side to side, until finally, unable to stand the strain any longer
it went to pieces in the air, and the unfortunate parachutist came
crashing to the ground. He died a few moments later.
Cocking's death cast a gloom over parachute enthusiasts, and for some
time the contrivance fell into disfavor. But the real reason for its
disuse was that balloonists found they needed no "life belt," as the
balloon itself, if for any reason an explosion should occur, would sink
gently to earth, the upper portion of the envelope forming a natural
parachute.
So for a number of years the parachute was little heard of, except as a
"thriller" at country fairs. In this connection it was always fairly
popular. It was usually a folding umbrella parachute that the performer
used on such occasions. As he leapt from the balloon he dropped straight
down during a few terrifying seconds. Then to the relief of the
spectators the parachute slowly and gracefully opened like a huge canopy
over his head. From that moment his fall was checked and he sank
gracefully and slowly to the earth.
With the coming of the Great War the day of the parachute was revived.
Greatly improved in construction it came into its true and important
rôle as the "life-belt" of the aeronaut. The life of the balloon
observer in war times is a precarious one. His balloon is not free but
is held captive by heavy cables reaching to the ground below. Hour after
hour he sits watching the situation over the enemy's lines by means of a
telescope. In the balloon basket he has a telephone which connects with
the ground station, and thus he is able to send constant instructions to
the artillery, enabling them to hit their objectives, as well as to keep
the officers informed of the general situation. But his stationary
position makes him an easy target for enemy bombs and bullets. At any
moment he may find himself attacked by a squadron of airplanes. At the
first indication of danger his comrades on the ground begin hauling his
balloon down, and this precaution may possibly save his life. But often
the emergency is very great. The aeronaut, attacked, unexpectedly and
with no means of defending himself, has but one chance of saving his
life, and that is to spring with his parachute from the balloon.
Thus the parachute was instrumental in saving many lives during the
Great War, and in peace times it will probably be further developed for
use in connection with the airplane as well as the balloon. Here the
great difficulty lies in the fact that the pilot is strapped in his
seat, and that he would not have time, in case of an accident in
mid-air, to unstrap himself and attach a parachute device to his body.
This might be overcome by having an apparatus already attached, so that
all he would have to do would be to free himself from his seat and leap
over the side. Here again he would run a very great danger of being
instantly killed, as unless he maneuvered his control levers just right
before taking the leap, he would probably be hit by his own machine.
The idea has been suggested of a parachute arrangement to be attached to
the upper wing of the airplane itself. This parachute would remain
closed except in case of accident, when a lever operated by the pilot
would cause it to open and carry the airplane safely to the ground. But
the plan has never been worked out and it is impossible to say at this
early date whether it would prove of much real benefit. In cases of
engine failure the aviator can very often glide down safely to the
earth; while in wartime, there is always the possibility that if the
wings of the airplane were damaged by enemy fire the parachute also
might be impaired.
An interesting use of the parachute was made by bombing airplanes and
Zeppelins during the Great War. The pilots of these craft dropped flares
or lights attached to parachutes, and by means of these they succeeded
in locating their objectives and at the same time in "blinding" the
operators of searchlights and anti-aircraft guns.
Just what the future of the parachute will be it is hard to predict. If
there are to be future wars it will no doubt play an important part in
them in the saving of human life.
The next few years will probably see the advent of huge aerial liners,
built somewhat on the design of the Zeppelin. These great airships will
travel in regular routes across the important countries of the world,
bearing heavy cargoes of merchandise and large numbers of passengers.
And we can easily imagine that in that day every traveler in the air
will be supplied with a parachute as the ocean traveler of to-day is
provided with a life-belt. Thus the simple little parachute will have
performed its useful mission in the triumphal progress of aeronautics.
CHAPTER V
BALLOONING IN THE GREAT WAR
If you went down New York Bay during wartime you probably saw at the
entrance of the harbor a United States cruiser stationed, with a "kite"
balloon attached to it, standing sentinel against enemy submarines or
aircraft. From their positions high in the basket, the observers could
see far below the surface of the water, for the higher one rises in the
air the clearer the depths of the water become to the vision. They had
powerful glasses and by means of them could see far out over the water,
where at any moment a periscope might have shown its face. The observers
in that sentinel balloon could spot a submarine while it was still a
long way off. A telephone connection reaching from the basket to the
ship below made it possible for them to report a danger instantly, and
soon the news would be traveling by wireless to the waiting destroyers
and chasers.
This was probably the most important war duty that was being performed
by a balloon on this side of the Atlantic. But over in Europe the kite
balloon did valiant service above the trenches.
The coming of the heavier-than-air machine, with its powerful motor, its
bird-like body, its great speed and lifting power, seemed at first to
have driven the balloon from the field as an implement of war. And in
fact, in the early days of the World War the airplane was almost
exclusively employed by the Allies for scouting over the lines, watching
enemy movements, directing artillery fire, and keeping the general staff
informed of the strategic situation.
It was the Hun who first discovered that many of these duties could be
far more efficiently performed by the "kite" or "sausage" balloon--the
drachen balloon, as the Germans called it. This was not originally a
German invention. It was first proposed in 1845 by an Englishman named
Archibald Douglas, but his experiments did not meet with success and the
undertaking was allowed to drop. Two Prussian officers, Major von
Parseval and Captain von Sigsfeld, seizing upon the idea of the kite
balloon as of great military importance, set themselves to developing
it. In 1894 they produced the first drachen balloon, and it was this
that gave the German army at the outbreak of the war one of its greatest
advantages over the Allies.
The chief requirement for any observation balloon is that it shall rest
in the air absolutely steady and motionless, so that the observer may
not be interrupted in his study of the enemy's territory. The spherical
balloon is apt to sway and roll with every puff of wind. The "kite"
balloon therefore is a great improvement. Long and sausage-shaped, it
combines the features of a kite and a balloon. Set at an angle to the
wind, it is supported partly by the gas with which the main envelope is
inflated, and partly by the action of the breeze blowing against its
under surface, exactly as a kite is held in the air.
A smaller balloon, or steering ballonet, as it is called, is attached to
the stern of the kite balloon and acts as a rudder. This ballonet is not
inflated with the gas. It hangs limp while the balloon ascends, but the
breeze quickly rushes into its open end beneath the main envelope and
fills it out. This air-rudder, as it catches the breeze, acts as a
steadier for the balloon. The main envelope has also an air chamber or
section at the rear, which is partitioned off, and which is not filled
with gas but is kept inflated by the action of the breeze; while on
either side of the rudder there are two small rectangular sails, which
help resist any motion of the breeze which might cause the balloon to
sway.
Before the war the other large powers had made no attempts to imitate
the German "drachen," although they had every opportunity of observing
and studying it, and it seems very likely they actually underestimated
its military importance. But when the war began, Germany surprised the
Allies by the efficiency of these observation posts in the air. The fact
that they were captive gave them certain advantages over the airplane
for particular lines of work. They were able to direct artillery fire
and keep the general staff informed of the situation over the lines.
High in the air these lookouts could spot the tiniest change in the map.
Provided with the finest instruments for observing, and connected with
the artillery station or the headquarters by telephone, they could send
in momently reports of the progress of the battle. While the airplane
was circling the sky to watch the effects of the last artillery fire,
and had to get back to the ground before it could give full instructions
to the gunners, the man in the basket of the kite balloon with a
telephone in his hand, could report every second just where the last
shell struck, whether the shooting was too high or too low, and how to
vary the aim to get closer to the target. He was the eye of his battery.
The story of how the French military authorities at Chalais Meudon
succeeded in obtaining plans for the first French military kite balloon
was one of the carefully guarded secrets of the war. In the spring of
1915 the manufacture of kite balloons was well under way in France. In
record time whole battalions of them were ready for service on land and
on sea. They played a gallant rôle in the Dardanelles in connection with
the British fleet. Soon afterward they were employed over the trenches
in France.
The military kite balloon's first and chief aim is the directing of
artillery fire. This it can do better than the airplane, which travels
at high speed and must constantly circle or fly backward and forward in
order to keep close to and be able to watch the target that is being
aimed at. But the observer in the balloon basket sits practically
motionless, while with the aid of a powerful telescope he watches the
results of the firing. Before him he has a map on which he can plot the
location of the target, and through a telephone connection he can
advise the men in the ground station how to vary the range.
Think how much easier it is for him to explain to the men below by word
of mouth the results of his observations, than for the observer in an
airplane, soaring through the sky, to send that same message in a few
brief words by means of wireless.
As a matter of fact the kite balloon at the front usually carries two
observers in its basket: one to work directly with the artillery and the
other to do general look-out work. The first has his eye on the target
which the men below are trying to hit, and watches for the explosions of
shells fired by his battery. But his comrade lets his gaze roam all over
the horizon. He sees the movements of enemy troop trains, the massing of
men and supplies, the flashes of the enemy's batteries. Should some
objective of great importance loom up in the distance, such as a convoy
of ammunition, the word is passed instantly to the battery below, and
the guns are trained on it.
[Illustration: INFLATING A SERVICE BALLOON ON THE FIELD]
After the work in connection with the batteries, the second great rôle
of the observation balloon is to keep the commanding officer at
headquarters informed of the movements of the enemy, the effects of the
firing and the general situation. The men in a balloon of this sort must
know the territory very intimately, so that they can spot the tiniest
change. It is their duty to discover concealed batteries and other
objects behind the enemy's lines which may help the Divisional staff to
lay its plans. And remember that they have no landmarks to go by. Out in
that dread region of battle not a tree nor a mound has been left to vary
the dull monotony of the brown earth, swept clean by the constant rain
of shells. So it requires sharp eyes to distinguish the carefully
camouflaged batteries of the enemy.
[Illustration: ARMY BALLOON READY TO ASCEND]
Of course the observation balloon at the front has to be carefully
protected, for it furnishes a good target for the bombs from enemy
aircraft. Every kite balloon has its detachment of defending airplanes,
which circle round it in wide circles, on the lookout for approaching
bombing planes of the enemy. Anti-aircraft guns also stand guard against
the danger. Nevertheless the observer's life is a perilous one, the more
so because he is a fixed target, unable to shift his position. A story
is told of the heroism of Emile Dubonnet, the wealthy French sportsman,
who was observing for the French "75's" near Berry-au-Bac when he was
attacked by two German taubes. Appearing suddenly out of the clouds,
they swooped down upon him, hovering over his balloon and dropping
shells, which fortunately missed their aim. The taubes were so near to
the balloon that the French were forced to stop firing lest they hit
their own man. Coolly Dubonnet continued his observations of the enemy's
territory, telephoning the results of their fire to the French batteries
below him, until a couple of French planes arrived on the scene and
drove the taubes back to their lines. So severe is the strain of
constant scanning of the enemy's territory through high powered glasses
that it was found necessary to draw the observation balloon down about
every two hours in order to change observers. At dawn the first balloons
were sent up. All day long, except for the brief intervals when
observers were changed, they stood there in the sky. Often far into the
night they continued to play their silent rôle in the great drama of
war. Some of the observers in fact became so experienced that they were
able to do almost as good work at night as by day. It is said that enemy
guns so camouflaged that they are not visible by day not infrequently
show up in the darkness.
The kite balloon is connected with the earth by means of a strong steel
cable, which winds onto an immense reel. To send the balloon up, the
reel is turned and the cable is played out; when it is necessary to draw
the balloon to earth once more, the cable is again wound about the reel.
An electric motor is attached to the reel and turns it in one direction
or the other. Through the center of the cable runs the telephone wire
which connects the observer in the basket with the battery with which he
works. The observer is equipped with a parachute for use in case of
sudden danger. This parachute has straps like those of a man's
suspenders which hold it to his back. When he springs from the balloon
the parachute quickly opens and lands him gently and safely on the
ground.
The kite balloon itself has been greatly improved since it was first
constructed by the Germans. One of its greatest disadvantages lay in the
great drag upon the cable, which when the wind was very high caused
such an excessive strain that it was dangerous to use the balloon. The
German "drachen" was badly "streamlined," that is to say, its shape
offered great resistance to the wind. This resistance was increased by
the rush of air into the open mouth of the steering ballonet.
An attempt to improve the design of the kite balloon was made by an
American firm, the Goodyear Tire and Rubber Company of Akron, Ohio. They
constructed a balloon which in general outline resembled the German
"drachen," but which had not the steering ballonet or rudder at the
stern. In its place they substituted large flat fins at the stern, and
these, while they offered less resistance and thus reduced the strain or
tug of the balloon upon its cable, did not hold the balloon absolutely
steady in the air, as the steering ballonet had done. In order to give
great steadiness the Goodyear people designed a tail like that of a
kite, consisting of a number of very small inverted parachutes. These as
they caught the breeze produced a resistance which steadied the balloon
after the manner of the air rudder.
The Goodyear kite balloon was not an unqualified success, and it
remained for Captain Cacquot of the French army to produce the most
satisfactory design. His was an almost perfect streamline model. Long
and sausage-shaped like the German "drachen," it has, in place of the
steering ballonet, three small ballonets at the stern which are in
reality inflated fins. They are filled with air which is fed to them by
a mouth or opening underneath the main envelope. These inflated fins,
while acting as a rudder to hold the balloon steady in the air, do not
offer the resistance that was caused by either the flat fins of the
Goodyear model or the open-mouthed steering ballonet of the old type.
Thus the French streamline balloon came to be the accepted model of the
Allied nations, and proved itself an efficient arm of the service during
the war.
Ballooning in itself will probably never be the sport that it once was,
for the coming of the swift motor-driven dirigible and the still swifter
airplane has made the old wind-driven vessel a hopelessly obsolete
contrivance. It is therefore all the more interesting to know that the
captive balloon, developed to highest form of efficiency, gave good
service in the war against Germany and made itself a reliable and
valuable servant of our armies, accomplishing its mission in a
particular field in which neither the airship nor the airplane was able
to compete with it successfully.
PART II
CHAPTER I
DEVELOPMENT OF THE DIRIGIBLE
No sooner had the Montgolfiers and their colleagues constructed their
earliest balloon models than scientific men and the general public,
aroused by the possibilities of navigating the heavens, set themselves
to devising schemes for steering aircraft. For of course the one great
faculty which the balloon lacked was the ability to choose its own
course. Once it arose into the air it was carried along in the direction
and at the speed of whatever wind happened to be blowing.
Interest in the problem waxed so hot that there was scarcely a banker,
farmer or grocer of those early days who did not have his private theory
concerning the steering of balloons. Many learned essays on the subject
were written, and many foolish solutions were advanced, among them that
of harnessing a flock of birds to the balloon, with reins for guiding
them. But the idea every one thought most likely was that of oars, sails
and a rudder.
Now there are several very good reasons why this method, adapted from
sailing vessels, is useless when it comes to a balloon. In the first
place, no sooner has the balloon risen to its maximum height into the
atmosphere than it is caught in an air-current and carried along at
exactly the same rate of speed as that at which the air itself is
moving. To the occupants it seems to be hanging motionless in a dead
calm, where there is no breeze blowing. Since its motion and that of the
surrounding air are exactly equal, there is of course no resisting
pressure against a sail, which simply hangs dead and lifeless.
To "row" in the air, on the other hand, would require oars of enormous
size or else moving at a tremendous speed and a superhuman strength
would be needed for moving them. Stop to think of the great velocity and
power of the wind and then try to imagine the strength that would be
necessary to row against this tide.
These facts, however, did not occur to the early experimenters, and
balloons equipped with sails and oars were actually constructed. In
order that they might present less resistance to the air, they were made
egg-shaped, or long and cylindrical, sometimes with pointed ends, and
this, at least, was an advance.
Another step in the right direction was the suggestion of paddle wheels,
projecting from each side of the car, and beating the air as they
revolved. This was coming very close to the correct solution, that of a
revolving propeller.
But unfortunately at this early date the mechanical sciences were in
their infancy, and although soon afterward the idea of a screw propeller
did come up, the inventors were handicapped by the fact they knew of no
other power than "hand-power" with which to drive it.
The man who might almost be called the father of the modern dirigible
balloon was the French General Meusnier, an officer in the army and a
man of great scientific and technical skill. Meusnier just proposed that
air-bags or ballonets as they are now called be placed inside the
balloon proper. By pumping air into these the balloon envelope could be
filled out again when it had become partly deflated by loss of gas, for
one of the great problems was to maintain the _shape_ of the balloon
after a quantity of gas had escaped. This was a good idea, but
unfortunately its first public trial almost resulted in a tragedy. One
Duke de Chartres ordered a balloon of this sort to be built for him by
the brothers Robert, Parisian mechanics. Accompanied by the Roberts
themselves and another man he ascended in it in July, 1784. The balloon
was fish-shaped and was equipped with oars and a rudder. No sooner had
it started on its upward journey than it was caught in a violent swirl
of air which tore away the oars. The opening in the neck of the balloon
became closed over by the air bag inside, and there was no outlet for
the gas, which expanded as the balloon rose. Undoubtedly a terrific
explosion would have occurred, but the Duke, with great presence of
mind, drew his sword and cut a slash ten feet long in the balloon
envelope. He saved his own life and that of his comrades. The gas,
escaping through the rent, allowed the balloon to settle slowly to
earth, without injury to its occupants.
But the spectators did not understand the emergency, and the Duke was
covered with ridicule for his supposed cowardice.
The idea of the air-bags, however, was a useful one, and in later
experiments worked well.
Meusnier gave a great deal of earnest study and experiment to the
dirigible balloon, and he originated a design which was far ahead of his
day. He decided on an elliptical or "egg" shape for the envelope, with
small air bags inside it, and he suggested using a boat shaped car,
which would offer less resistance to the air than the old round basket.
The car was attached to the balloon by an absolutely rigid connection,
so that it could not swing backward as the balloon drove ahead. Halfway
between the car and the envelope he placed three propellers, and these,
for want of any form of motor, were driven by hand pulleys.
Meusnier's design for a dirigible was the cleverest and most practical
of its day, but owing to the cost, it was never actually carried out. In
1793, General Meusnier was killed at Mayence, fighting against the
Prussians. After his death, little was heard of the dirigible balloon
for another fifty years. Except perhaps for the novelty balloons at the
country fair, the science of aeronautics slept.
The next appearance of the dirigible in history was in 1852, when the
work of the Frenchman Giffard attracted widespread attention.
In 1851, Giffard had constructed a small steam engine, of about three
horsepower, and weighing only 100 pounds. He thought it could be used
for driving a balloon, and with the aid of a couple of friends he set
to work building an airship, which was somewhat the shape of a cigar,
pointed at the ends. It was 144 feet long and 40 feet in diameter at its
thickest part, and it held 88,000 cubic feet of gas. Over the envelope
was spread a net from which a heavy pole was suspended by ropes. At the
end of this pole, or keel, as Giffard called it, was a triangular sail
which acted as a rudder. Twenty feet below the pole hung the car, in
which was the steam motor and propeller.
With this new means of driving the propeller, the dirigible began to
show signs of proving a success, although as yet it could not develop
any very great speed. One reason was that the engine was too heavy in
proportion to the power it generated. Giffard's airship under the most
favorable conditions could only go at from four to five miles an hour,
when there was no wind.
One of the problems Giffard had to solve was that of preventing an
explosion of the gas escaping through the neck of the balloon, as it
came in contact with the heat of the engine. To avoid this, he placed a
piece of wire gauze, similar to that used in safety lanterns, in front
of the stokehole and the smoke of the furnace was allowed to escape
through a chimney at one corner of the car, pointing downwards.
Giffard's second airship, of somewhat different design, was destroyed by
an accident on its very first trip. He at once began working on a design
for a giant airship, which was to be 1,970 feet long, and 98 feet in
diameter at the middle. The motor was to weigh 30 tons, and he estimated
that the airship would fly at 40 miles an hour. He worked out the scheme
in every detail, but owing to the expense the dirigible was never made.
The first "military dirigible" ever built was that constructed by Dupuy
de Lôme for the French government during the siege of Paris, and tried
out in 1872. Its propeller was driven by a crew of eight men, a very
curious proceeding, since the steam engine had been successfully tried.
A dirigible which was almost modern in design was meanwhile being
constructed by Paul Haenlein in Germany, and made its appearance in
1872. It was long and cylindrical, with pointed ends, the car placed
close to the balloon envelope, to give a very rigid connection. Its
really noteworthy feature was the gas engine, replacing the steam engine
that Giffard had used as a means of driving the propeller. The gas for
the engine was taken from the balloon itself and the loss was made good
by pumping air into the air-bags. The balloon envelope held 85,000 cubic
feet of gas, and of this the engine consumed 250 cubic feet an hour.
This dirigible, on trial trips, attained a very fair speed, which would
have been greater had hydrogen gas been used in the envelope instead of
ordinary gas. But lack of funds prevented further experiment, and
Haenlein had to abandon his attempts.
Ten years now passed before the next notable effort at dirigible
construction. The delay was probably due to the fact that no suitable
driving power was yet known. In 1882 the famous French aeronauts Gaston
and Albert Tissandier constructed an airship somewhat similar to
Giffard's models, but containing an electric motor. But although this
dirigible cost £2,000 or almost $10,000 to build, it had the same fault
as all that preceded it; it could not develop speed. The problem of
finding an engine of sufficiently light weight and high power was a
difficult one, which has not to-day been wholly solved.
The public generally had begun to think of the dirigible balloon as
impractical and impossible, when in 1884 came the startling news that
two French officers, named Renard and Krebs, had performed some
remarkable feats in a balloon of their own design. An electric motor of
8-1/2 horsepower drove the propeller.
Several details of this dirigible are extremely interesting. The axis on
which the propeller blades were fixed could be lifted in order to
prevent them from being injured in case of a sudden drop. A trail rope
was also used so as to break the shock which might result from a sudden
fall. At the back between the car and the balloon was fixed the rudder,
of unusual design, consisting of two four-sided pyramids with their
bases placed together.
Renard and Krebs christened their dirigible "La France," and on August
9, 1884, they gave it its first public tryout near Chalais, with great
success. They traveled some distance against the wind, turned and came
back covering a distance of about 5 miles in 23 minutes. Never before
had a balloon been able to make a trip and return to the place of its
ascension.
But in spite of the success of Renard and his comrade, construction of
dirigibles in France paused for sometime, and it was in Germany that the
next attempts were made.
In 1880, a cigar-shaped dirigible, equipped with a benzine motor was
demonstrated in Leipsic. It had been built the year before by Baumgarten
and Wölfert. At its sides it had "wings" or sails and three cars were
suspended from it instead of one. This airship met with a serious
accident on its very first trip. A passenger in one of the cars
destroyed the balance, the whole thing toppled over and crashed to the
earth, the occupants miraculously escaping injury.
Not long afterward Baumgarten died. Wölfert constructed a new dirigible
of his own design containing a benzine motor in which he ascended from
the Tempelhofer Feld, near Berlin, in June, 1897. Wölfert had neglected
to provide against contact of the gas escaping from the envelope with
the heated fumes from the engine. An explosion took place in mid-air,
and the machine fell to earth in a mass of flames, killing Wölfert and
the other occupant.
[Illustration: GIFFARD'S AIRSHIP]
Next in the long series of attempts came that of an Austrian named David
Schwartz, who designed a dirigible with one entirely new feature: a
rigid aluminum envelope. This balloon had a petrol engine. It was tried
out in Berlin in 1897, but an accident to the propellers brought it
crashing to the ground. Its occupant jumped for his life and barely
escaped killing.
Up to this time there is little to record in dirigible history but a
long series of valiant attempts and failures, punctuated all too
frequently by grewsome disasters. But the nineteenth century was drawing
to a close, the twentieth century with its era of mechanical triumphs
was at hand, and the time was ripe for those champions of the dirigible
to appear who should make it a potent factor in modern warfare.
[Illustration: SANTOS-DUMONT ROUNDING THE EIFFEL TOWER]
Almost at the same time there stepped into the limelight of public
interest two men, representing Germany and France, whose names are now
famous in the aeronautic world. In 1898 there appeared in Paris a young
Brazilian named Santos-Dumont, who began constructing a series of
dirigibles whose success astounded the authorities.
In exactly the same year Count von Zeppelin, in Germany, formed a
limited liability company for the purpose of raising funds for airship
construction. His first dirigible balloon was the longest and biggest
that had ever been built. Although the envelope was not, like Schwartz's
dirigible, of solid aluminum, it was practically rigid, for it was made
by stretching a linen and silk covering over an aluminum framework.
Zeppelin's first airship had two cars, with a motor in each, giving
about 30 horsepower. On its trial trips it made a better speed than had
yet been attained.
With the experience he had gained Zeppelin set to work on a new design.
It was five years before he secured enough funds for its construction,
but it was finally ready in 1905. The most important improvement was in
the motors, which were as light in weight as those of the first
dirigible but had a greatly increased power. As before, there were two
cars, with an 80 horsepower motor in each.
Even this airship, in spite of its greater speed, was not an unqualified
success, for it was discovered that it had too great a lifting power, so
that when launched it rose at once to a height of about 1500 feet, and
was impossible to operate at a lower level.
Santos-Dumont, meanwhile, in Paris, had been performing feats of
aeronautics which had made him the acknowledged "hero of the air."
Santos-Dumont was probably far from being the scientific student of
balloon construction that Zeppelin was, but while his dirigibles did not
attain a great speed or represent a tremendous advance in actual theory,
his public performances served one great purpose, they aroused the ardor
and enthusiasm of the whole French people and of many in other countries
for the sport of ballooning. Santos-Dumont had great wealth, and a
sportsman's courage. He constructed in all 14 dirigibles, each time
seizing upon the experience he had gained and incorporating it into a
new model, casting aside the old.
Santos-Dumont's airships were altogether different from those of
Zeppelin. While Zeppelin's had an inner framework to maintain the shape
of the envelope, Santos-Dumont depended entirely on the linen air bags,
placed inside the balloon, which as it became flabby through loss of
gas, could be pumped full of air to hold the envelope in place. His
balloons were either long and cylindrical with pointed ends,
"cigar-shaped," or else "egg-shaped," with ends rounded.
In spite of all the curious accidents that beset this young Brazilian on
his early trips, in the vicinity of Paris, he was never once deterred
from his efforts. He almost lost his life several times in his first
airship, but he profited by the mistakes of construction in building the
second. His dirigibles increased in size as he installed in each
successive model a more powerful and consequently heavier motor,
requiring greater lifting power.
In his third balloon Santos-Dumont ascended from the Champ de Mars in
Paris and circled the Eiffel Tower amid the cheers of thousands of
onlookers, finally descending in an open field outside Paris.
Public interest was now thoroughly aroused. A prize of £4,000 was
offered by Monsieur Deutsch to the aeronaut who could circle the Eiffel
Tower and return to the starting-point at Saint Cloud within half an
hour. Santos-Dumont attempted this with his 4th and 5th machines, but it
was not until he built his 6th model that he finally accomplished it.
The Brazilian government sent him a gold medal and an additional £5,000
with which to build new balloons.
Number 9 was the most popular of all Santos-Dumont's machines. He became
the idol of the French public, whom he was always surprising with his
spectacular and unlooked-for adventures. During the races at Longchamps
he descended on the race course, stayed to view the performance, then
mounted in his car and rode away. He amazed the passersby by alighting
before his own front door in Paris where he left his airship while he
went and ate breakfast. He sailed up opposite the grandstand when
President Loubet was reviewing the French troops, fired a salute, and as
unexpectedly departed.
Santos-Dumont's power of escape from death seems almost uncanny but it
was due to his coolness in facing any situation. In the majority of his
airships he used a petroleum motor, and with this there is considerable
danger of the petroleum in the reservoir catching fire. On one occasion
a fire did start, but he succeeded in extinguishing it with his panama
hat. Among all his mishaps, including that of falling into the
Mediterranean Sea, he never really had a serious explosion.
Another young Brazilian, however, named Severo, was killed in a
dirigible of his own construction, when the petroleum in the engine
caught fire. He ascended in May, 1902, in a balloon which he called the
_Pax_. His car was seen suddenly to burst in flames, a violent explosion
followed, and the whole thing crashed to earth.
Santos-Dumont placed his last three dirigibles at the disposal of the
French military authorities. Actually he had not developed a type
suitable for military use. But his public performances had aroused
intense popular interest and had succeeded in opening the eyes of the
French authorities to the possibilities of the airship in time of war.
His remarkable aerial feats had attracted the attention in particular of
two Frenchmen of his own fine metal and courage, who from this time
forth left no stone unturned to excel him in his achievements.
CHAPTER II
FORERUNNERS OF THE ALLIED DIRIGIBLES
It is to the two French brothers Lebaudy that France and the Allies owe
the credit for the development of the big military dirigible such as is
used in the present War. These brothers were wealthy and full of
enthusiasm for aeronautics. From a distance they had watched the
achievements of Santos-Dumont and they determined to expend every
possible effort to excel him in the construction of dirigibles. In 1899
they commissioned an experienced engineer named Jouillot to make a study
of the problem, to discover if possible why previous experimenters had
failed to produce a model of satisfactory speed and power, and to draw
up designs for an airship which should correct the faults of those
already known.
It took two years before a finger could be lifted toward the actual
building, but finally in 1901 the work of constructing the first Lebaudy
airship commenced. It was ready for a tryout in November, 1902. The
envelope was of bright yellow calico: it was cigar-shaped, 187 feet long
and 32 feet in diameter. The envelope was fastened at the bottom to a
rigid floor-work of steel tubing and from this the car was suspended.
The dirigible was fitted with a 40 horse power benzine motor; and its
total weight, including a supply of benzine, water and ballast, was two
and one-half tons.
During the next year this dirigible made at least 30 trips, at very fair
speed. Meanwhile the builders were studying it in every detail, working
out ideas for improvements and drawing up plans for their next model. In
1904 they built their second airship. It was somewhat longer than the
first and about the same shape, but the pointed end at the rear had been
rounded off. Calico was again used for the covering of the envelope, and
it was made absolutely air-tight by coating it inside and out with
rubber. Besides the main valve there were safety valves in the envelope
for allowing the gas to escape when the pressure became too great. The
envelope was also provided with two small windows, so that the inside of
the balloon could be easily inspected. It had sails to give it greater
stability, and two movable sail-like rudders, placed together at a
V-shaped angle. The driver could alter the position of the sails and the
rudder according to the wind.
The car of this Lebaudy airship was boat-shaped with a flat bottom. To
diminish the shock in case of a fall steel tubing was placed in a
slanting position beneath it in a pyramid arrangement, the point facing
downwards. The car was set very close to the envelope or body of the
airship, and carried the 40 horse power benzine engine. At the front of
the car was an electrically worked camera, a 1,000,000 candle power
acetylene projector providing lighting by night.
Many improvements were later added to this second dirigible which was
christened the _Lebaudy_. The interest of the French Minister of War was
aroused and he appointed a commission from the Balloon Corps to follow
the progress of the experiments.
Every one now began to look upon the dirigible as a factor to be
reckoned with in the event of a war. The Lebaudy brothers offered their
airship to the French government, and after it had accomplished a series
of tests to prove its value as an instrument of war, it was accepted,
and became a model for later airship construction.
Germany was not far behind, for already Count von Zeppelin's second
airship had proved itself a success, and plans were being laid for a
third. From this time on the two European nations destined to become
powerful adversaries in the World War, though working along somewhat
different lines, kept almost neck and neck in their struggle for air
supremacy.
The French military balloon department began at once the work of
constructing an airfleet with the _Lebaudy_ as a model and with the
engineer Jouillot as chief adviser, this work went forward with great
rapidity. The _Lebaudy_ was followed in design pretty closely, but a few
changes were made which experience had suggested. For one thing the
balloon envelope was rounded at the front and pointed at the rear,
exactly the reverse of the Lebaudy model, as this arrangement was
thought to offer less resistance to the air. It had an internal air-bag
or ballonet whose capacity was one-fifth that of the envelope. This
ballonet was of course empty on the ascent. It was calculated that the
balloon could reach a height of about a mile. To descend, gas would then
be allowed to escape, and, in order to keep the envelope fully inflated,
air would be pumped into the ballonet.
This first type of dirigible actually constructed by the French army was
called the _Patrie_. It was 197 feet long and carried a benzine motor of
from 30 to 40 horse power, which drove the two double-bladed steel
propellers. As in the case of the _Lebaudy_, the _Patrie_ was protected
from injury by a strong steel framework, coming to a point below the
car. In case of a sudden drop, this point would strike the ground first
and ward off the blow from the car, and the propellers. Good as this
plan _seemed_, it did not always work. The _Patrie_, after many
successful journeys, met with an accident to her motor, escaped her
guard of soldiers and drifted off alone. She crossed the English Channel
and fell in Ireland, breaking off her propeller. Before she could be
captured she rose again into the air, drifted out over the sea and was
never again heard from.
M. Deutsch, who had done so much to encourage the efforts of
Santos-Dumont, stepped forward in the emergency and offered the French
government his airship the _Ville de Paris_. This had been designed for
him by an engineer named Tatin. It was 200 feet long, made of German
Continental Rubber Fabric, and, like the _Patrie_, had an internal
air-bag of one-fifth its capacity. In one important respect it was
different from those that preceded it. At its stern it had eight small
cylinders, or ballonets, filled with gas, which added greatly to its
stability, though they detracted from its speed by causing a
considerable resistance to the air.
While the car of the _Patrie_ was about 16 feet long, this new airship
had a car measuring 115 feet, and the propeller was at the _front_, so
that as it revolved it _drew_ rather than _pushed_ the car through the
air. A propeller of this sort is termed a "tractor," and figures to-day
in many models of aircraft.
During these years of experiment in France, England and America had
looked on in comparative idleness. In 1902 England did indeed possess
one small airship, designed by Colonel Templer of the Army Balloon
Department, and christened the _Nulli Secundus_ (_Second to None_). She
was "sausage shaped:" rounded at the front and pointed at the stern with
a peculiar rudder design. Her car was boat-shaped and her propellers
were aluminum, both revolving in the same direction, which gave her a
curious tendency to "somersault." In spite of their "baby" dirigible's
rather pretentious title, the military authorities, and the English
public in general, evidently took slight store in the infant prodigy,
for from 1902 to 1908, she only came out of her shed for a few short
trips. In 1908 she was completely remodelled, and emerged for a trial
trip. But neither the government nor the public seemed interested in
Colonel Templer's schemes. The valiant little pioneer ship of England's
airfleet went back to her sheds, resigning herself to obscurity.
Our own country, which in many other lines has led the world in its
mechanical skill and enterprise, did not have a single army dirigible
till as late as 1908, when it gave out a contract for an airship which
was built by Captain Thomas S. Baldwin. The motor was designed and built
by a young mechanic in Hammondsport, N. Y., who for several years had
been manufacturing motors for automobiles. His name was Glenn Curtiss
and he afterward became one of the world's most famous aviators.
United States Army Dirigible No. 1 was long and cylindrical, pointed at
both ends, and covered with Japanese silk, vulcanized with rubber. The
water-cooled Curtiss motor was a 20 horse power, and the wooden
propeller was of the "tractor" type, placed in the front of the car.
Germany, while America and England stood idle, had been rapidly forging
ahead. By 1908 Count von Zeppelin had constructed his third and fourth
models, and his public demonstrations had aroused the whole German
people to unbounded enthusiasm. The Crown Prince made a trip in Zeppelin
No. 3 and its originator was decorated with the Order of the Black
Eagle. The German Association for an Aerial Fleet was formed, and within
a short time over a million dollars had been contributed by the people
for the purpose of building dirigibles.
Zeppelin No. 4 was destroyed by an accident, but Zeppelin No. 3 was
recalled into the national service and in 1909 given the official title
of _S.M.S. Zeppelin I_. From this time on dirigible construction in
Germany went forward with the greatest speed. Two other names became
prominent in the enterprise: those of Major von Parseval and Major von
Gross. The "Parseval" design resembled more the French, for it was
covered with "Continental fabric," was long and cylindrical, rounded at
the front and pointed at the stern, with a large internal air ballonet.
The car was suspended from two steel cables or trolleys, which it could
slide along, altering its position and the "balance" of the whole
airship.
The "Gross" type of airship resembled the _Lebaudy_ and the _Patrie_,
with its boat-shaped car hung from a steel platform attached to the
bottom of the envelope.
Out of this brief story of the development of the early airship models
of all the nations, we can, if we look carefully, see certain definite
types of dirigibles emerging. The experimenters had to solve this
problem: What shall we do when owing to loss of gas the balloon envelope
begins to get flabby? For of course a flabby, partially filled envelope
would flop from side to side, destroying the balance of the airship and
checking its speed.
[Illustration: BALDWIN U. S. "DIRIGIBLE NO. 1"]
The German inventors settled the problem by making the envelope _rigid_,
either with a solid covering or with a covering of fabric stretched over
an inner framework. Thus the _rigid type_ of airship was evolved.
The French inventors solved the same problem by placing inside the
envelope a large _empty_ bag of fabric, into which air could be pumped
when necessary to fill the balloon out and hold the envelope firm. The
air could not be pumped directly into the envelope itself as it would
produce an explosive mixture with the gas already there. From this
method of dealing with difficulty, the _non-rigid_ type of dirigible was
evolved.
[Illustration: THE BRITISH ARMY "BABY" DIRIGIBLE]
But the _non-rigid_ dirigible presented a new difficulty: how could the
car be suspended from it in such a way that it would not swing? For only
with a rigid connection between the car and the envelope could the
greatest speed be obtained. The _Lebaudy_ solved this problem by
attaching to the base of the envelope a rigid steel flooring, from which
the car could then be suspended by an immovable connection. And so was
evolved the _semi-rigid_ type of airship.
In recent years another solution of this problem of preventing the car
from swinging has been employed to some extent: By making the car almost
as long as the envelope, the connecting cables by which the car is
suspended hang almost perpendicular, and there is not the same tendency
to swerve as with cables slanting down to a comparatively small car.
This type of airship is called the _demi-semi-rigid_.
These then are the four general classes of dirigibles which were used in
the Great War.
CHAPTER III
DIRIGIBLES IN THE WORLD WAR
When in August, 1914, the sinister black cloud of a world war appeared
on the horizon, only the Hun was prepared for the life and death
struggle in the air. His formidable fleet of super-Zeppelins had not
their match in the world, and his program of airship construction was
being pushed forward with the utmost speed and efficiency.
France had the largest fleet of dirigibles among the Allied nations.
They were of the semi-rigid type, of only medium size and slow speed.
They could not hope to compete on equal terms with the swift and
powerful German airships.
Great Britain was far worse off than France, for her airship fleet
practically did not exist. The army had only two large modern dirigibles
and a few very small vessels like the old _Nulli Secundus_, of little
practical value. The navy had no airships at all.
Italy had a few good medium sized vessels, and four large dirigibles
were in process of building. Russia, too, had several airships purchased
from the other countries, of various makes and types, but she lacked
experienced aeronauts with which to operate them.
Both France and England had already made extensive plans for the
building of dirigibles, but few of the ships ordered were near to
completion in 1914. Only the Prussian was ready for hostilities; his
airships gave him a great strategic advantage. By means of them he
gained information about the movements of Allied troops and munitions;
directed his artillery, bombed Allied positions, and went his way, for
the most part unchallenged. His naval airships were likewise a terrible
menace. One of them, in the early part of the war, received an iron
cross for its work in connection with a German submarine, in an attack
on three British cruisers.
Every one knows of Germany's record in the bombing of cities and towns
by means of Zeppelins. In the first days of the war the Allies had no
anti-aircraft guns and very few airplanes with which to protect
themselves, and so Germany went unmolested while she waged her war
against defenseless civilians, women and children.
The spirit of the Allies, however, could not be daunted. England put her
few small dirigibles on duty over the English Channel, where they served
as patrols against submarines. For this work airships are very
effective, since it is a curious fact that from their height in the
atmosphere it is possible to see far below the surface of the water. So
during the first tragic weeks, when France and Belgium were pouring out
their life-blood to check the onward sweep of the Hun, these tiny
aircraft stood guard over the Channel across which the "contemptible
little army" of Britain was being hurried on transports to meet the
invader. Like the contemptible little army itself they proved a factor
to be reckoned with. Such aerial scouts now form a large arm of the
British, French and American navies. Soon after the war began they were
constructed in large numbers to serve as patrols against submarines. In
the language of the air, these little dirigibles are known as _Blimps_.
The _Blimp_ was first developed for use in the war by the British Naval
Air Service, but the United States soon saw its advantage as a means of
patroling and guarding our harbors and coastline, and so she set to
work to manufacture this type of dirigible in large numbers. To-day it
is the chief dirigible of our aerial fleet. In some important ways it
has the advantage over the airplane in combating the submarine. For the
airplane can only remain in the air while it keeps going at high speed.
Just as soon as its engines are stopped it commences to descend. But the
dirigible can sail out over the harbor, shut off its power and remain
motionless in the air for hours, while its observer keeps a constant
lookout for enemy undersea craft. When speed is necessary its powerful
motor makes it a fast flying craft, sometimes considerably faster than
the airplane. For the airplane must often travel against the wind, while
the dirigible simply rises until it reaches a current of air moving in
the desired direction, when it has the combined power of the wind and
its engine to drive it forward.
[Illustration: CROSS SECTION OF THE GAS-BAG OF THE _ASTRA-TORRES_,
SHOWING METHOD OF CAR SUSPENSION]
The U. S. A. _Blimp_ is about 160 feet long, rounded in front and
tapering to a pointed stern. Its stability and balance are increased by
five "fins" at its stern; and it has also four rudders. The car, which
is exactly like the ordinary airplane body, has two seats, for pilot and
observer, suspended directly from the base of the envelope by wire
cables. The _Blimp_ carries a 100 horse power Curtiss aviation motor,
and is equipped with wireless for exchanging messages.
The French have a small airship very much like the _Blimp_ which they
use for scout duty. It is called the _Zodiac_, and before the war was
designed as a private pleasure car. Because of the fact that it could be
easily packed and transported from place to place it was drafted into
the service early in the war. Naturally, if an airship has to be kept
inflated when not in use it is a constant target for the enemy's
gunfire; and a small dirigible which can be packed up in an hour when
not needed and readily inflated when the call for action comes is a very
much safer proposition.
There are several sizes and slightly different shapes of the _Zodiac_,
but the shape of the envelope in all of them is very similar to the
_Blimp_, tapering toward the stern with fins to give stability. A large
sail-like rudder is set beneath the stern of the ship.
Probably the most interesting thing about the _Zodiac_ is the car which
in most models has a very long wooden framework. This framework, or
girder, by its length distributes the weight along the whole length of
the envelope. The car, in which the pilot and observer sit, is set in
this girder.
[Illustration: _Copyright Underwood and Underwood_
THE "BLIMP," C-1, THE LARGEST DIRIGIBLE OF THE AMERICAN NAVY]
Nothing is more interesting to note in modern airships than the
simplification of the method of car suspension. In the early airships
the car was hung from the envelope by a large number of cables, which
either connected with a network that fitted over the envelope, or else,
in a semi-rigid dirigible, to the platform or keel at the base of the
balloon.
Now of course all these cables offered a great resistance to the air and
were an enemy to speed. Just as the question of speed affected the shape
of the envelope, until to-day we have the streamline balloon, tapering
to the rear, and just as it made the question of a rigid or non-rigid
envelope so important, it likewise finally did away with complicated
connections between the envelope and the car.
[Illustration: _Copyright International Film Service, Inc._
THE BALLOON OF THE U. S. S. OKLAHOMA]
From the point of view of car suspension one of the most interesting of
the modern French airships is the _Astra-Torres_. This is a dirigible of
the non-rigid type. Canvas partitions are stretched across the interior
of the envelope in such a manner as to form a triangle, its apex facing
downwards. The sides of this triangle are strengthened by cables and
from its apex hang the cables which support the car. The air resistance
produced by the cables is therefore very slight, since only two lines
are exposed.
Among the aerial war fleets of the Allied nations, the French offers by
far the greatest field for study, since it possesses many different
types of dirigibles. The _Astra_ and the _Astra-Torres_ are perhaps the
chief representatives of the non-rigid design, and are generally
considered the most successful of the French airships. The _Astra_ is
the older model, and, like the _Zodiac_, has the long wooden framework
or car girder, hung directly to the base of the envelope and
distributing to all parts of it the weight of the car. It can be
recognized by this and by its stabilizers or small inflated gas bags
around the stern of the envelope. The _Astra_ is of medium size, varying
in length from 199 to 275 feet. The _Astra-Torres_ is very much
longer, those of the 1914 type measuring 457 feet from nose to stern.
From the exterior, this airship has a peculiar three-lobed appearance.
It tapers very slightly to the stern and is pointed at both ends, but it
has not the _Astra's_ inflated stabilizers.
Another French airship of non-rigid design is the _Clement-Bayard_. It
is similar in design and in size to the _Astra_, but without the
inflated stabilizers. Rounded slightly at the nose, the envelope tapers
to a sharp-pointed stern.
The _Lebaudy_ is the chief example of a French semi-rigid airship. The
envelope is long and cylindrical, pointed at the nose and rounded at the
stern, where it is fitted with stabilizing "fins." The base of the
envelope is fitted to a long keel, which ends at the rear in a rudder
and fins. From this keel the car is suspended by strong cables, and
beneath the car extends a conical structure of steel tubes, with points
falling downward. These serve as a protection in case of a sudden
landing. In front of the car and on each side of the keel are planes
similar to those of an airplane, which help to give balance to the ship.
Among airships of the Allies, the French _Speiss_ furnishes an example
of the purely rigid design. Constructed on the plan of the German
Zeppelin, its envelope has an inner wooden framework which holds it in
place. The _Speiss_ is a large dirigible, measuring about 450 feet. It
carries two cars, and in each is a two-hundred horse power motor, giving
it great speed.
PART III
CHAPTER I
EARLY EXPERIMENTS WITH HEAVIER-THAN-AIR MACHINES
For many centuries before the ascension of the first Montgolfier
balloon, which, as we have seen, marked the beginning of aerial flight,
men had dreamed of a different method of conquering the skies,--in fact,
the very natural one suggested by the flight of birds. To build
artificial wings was the ambition of many an old-time scientist. Yet
practicable as the idea seemed, its working out was, as a matter of
fact, beset with difficulties. The Montgolfier balloon rose in the air
because it was _lighter_ than air,--just as a piece of cork rises in
water because it weighs less in proportion to its volume than the water.
But a man equipped with wings is a fairly heavy object; where is the
force that is to lift him and carry him soaring into the sky?
Unfortunately the early experimenters in aeronautics were not men who
had had the long training in keen observation nor the groundwork of
mechanical knowledge which would have fitted them for their task of
devising a flying machine. They were dreamers and philosophers, often
with very clever ideas about how man might succeed in flying. But the
exact science of mechanics was yet unborn, and it was not until the
nineteenth century, with its great advance in this direction, dawned,
that the time was ripe for any measure of success. Still, in many old
pictures and medieval manuscripts there are curious examples of the
ideas of these old philosophers, designs which were never actually tried
out, but which show the longing of men, even in those days, for the
great adventure of sailing above the clouds.
All these strange theories of the middle ages were hampered by the
superstition that there was some "magic" connected with the power of
birds to fly. Cameras were unheard of, or it would have been a simple
matter to have recorded on paper the actual motions of the bird's wings
in order to study their significance. The astounding ease with which
these little winged creatures were able to float across the heavens was
indeed baffling; it was difficult to determine just how it was
accomplished. Any one who watches the flight of a seagull realizes that
here is an accomplished aeronaut, able to balance himself with perfect
ease in the atmosphere, to mount upward on flapping wings, or, taking
advantage of a rising air current which can support him, to float
motionless with wings extended. All this requires an unusual amount of
skill, particularly in balancing. Drop a piece of paper and watch how it
turns and tumbles at every angle before it reaches the floor. That is
just what a bird or an airplane has a tendency to do, and it takes a
perfect system of control and a skilled pilot indeed, to keep it right
side up.
The first idea, of course, for a heavier-than-air machine, was that of
a pair of wings to be _attached directly to the human body_, and to be
worked with the arms. As early as 1480 Leonardi da Vinci drew up a
design for an apparatus of this sort. And the idea was not a bad one: it
would have worked all very well had it not been for one small fact which
the philosophers overlooked, that man is not provided with the powerful
shoulder muscles such as the bird possesses for moving his wings.
Altogether, it was not until the nineteenth century that any real
progress toward flight in a heavier-than-air machine was made. It came
when experimenters began to investigate the definite laws of air
resistance and air pressure which control the action of a bird just as
they do the action of a kite. As a matter of fact, a bird, or an
airplane, is nothing more than a complicated kite, controlled by an
intelligence within itself, rather than by an operator standing on the
ground and guiding it by means of a cord.
[Illustration: Kite]
Every one knows that a kite, if placed at an angle to the wind, will be
carried upward. The reason for this can be seen from a very simple
diagram.
The pressure of the wind would, if unhindered, push the kite into a
horizontal position. But the string prevents the angle of the kite from
altering, and since the pressure on its lower surface is greater than
that on its upper, it naturally rises. This is just what happens when
the bird sets his wings at such an angle to the wind that he is lifted
into the sky. It is also the principle which governs the airplane or
glider, whose planes are kept at a definite angle to the air current.
The bird can of course readjust the angle of his wings when he has risen
high enough, or when he meets a current of air moving in a different
direction, and in the same way the elevating plane of a modern airplane
can be lifted or deflected at the will of the flyer, to produce an
upward or a downward motion.
The first man to study seriously the effects of air pressure on plane
surfaces was an Englishman named Sir George Cayley, who in 1810 drew up
plans for a flying machine somewhat resembling the modern monoplane. In
1866 Wenham patented a machine which involved an ingenious idea, that of
several parallel planes ranged above each other, instead of the single
surface, as of the bird's wing. Wenham believed that the upward pressure
of the wind, acting on all these surfaces would give a far greater
lifting power, as well as a greatly increased stability, for the machine
could not be so easily overturned. Here was the principle of the modern
biplane and triplane in its infancy. Yet the idea of strict "bird-form"
was more appealing to the imagination, and the experimenters who came
after Wenham did not adopt his suggestions.
The man who may truly be said to have given the airplane its first real
start in life, was a German named Otto Lilienthal. His figure is a very
picturesque one in the long story of the conquest of the air. Lilienthal
was a very busy engineer, but from boyhood he had had a consuming
interest in the problems of flight, and as he traveled about Germany on
his business undertakings he cast about in his mind incessantly for some
plan of wings which would support the human body and carry it up into
the air. He finally began a very systematic study of the wings of birds
with the result that he made some unusual and important discoveries.
While the men who had preceded him had attempted only flat wings in
their plans for flying machines, Lilienthal decided that the wings
should be arched, like those of a bird, heavier in front, with an abrupt
downward dip to the front edge, and then sloping away gradually to the
rear where their weight was comparatively slight. When still quite a
young man he began building kites with planes curved in this manner. To
his surprise and joy he found that they rose very rapidly when set to
the breeze. They even seemed to move forward slightly in the air, as
though they had a tendency to fly. Like a bird resting on a current of
air with wings motionless, these little toy wings were carried along
gracefully on the breeze. Lilienthal was jubilant. A man equipped with
wings like these, he said to himself, would have no difficulty at all
in flying.
Lilienthal was not a rich man and it was many years before his
opportunity to test his ideas with a real flying machine came. When by
hard toil at his profession he had accumulated a comfortable fortune, he
turned at last to his beloved study. He had often watched the baby birds
in their efforts to fly, and he knew it would be a long time before he
attained any skill with wings, but he was absolutely confident that with
much practise and perseverance he could actually learn to fly like the
birds. So he constructed for himself a pair of bird wings, arched
exactly like those which he had studied. They were arranged with a
circular strip of wood between them for his body. Here he hung, with his
arms outstretched on each side, so that he could operate the wings.
The difficulties Lilienthal had looked for he experienced in large
measure. It was no easy thing to attempt to fly in this crude apparatus,
but day after day he went out upon the road, turned to face the breeze
as he had seen the baby birds do, ran swiftly a short distance, and then
inclined the wings upward so that they might catch the current of air.
For a long time he was unsuccessful, but imagine his joy when he
actually did one day feel himself lifted off his feet, carried forward a
few feet and set down. It was scarcely more than a tiny jump, but
Lilienthal knew he had commenced to fly. From that time on his efforts
were ceaseless. He succeeded in being lifted a number of feet off the
ground and carried for some distance. But try as he would he could not
get high in the air. He realized that what he lacked was any form of
motive power, and for want of a better, determined to make use of the
force of gravity to start him through the air at greater speed.
Accordingly he had built for him a hill with a smooth incline, and from
the top of this he jumped in his flying machine. The wings he had first
constructed he had since improved on, adding two tail planes at the rear
which gave greater stability and decreased the tendency to turn over in
the air. As he sprang from the hilltop in this curious apparatus, he
turned the wings upward slightly to catch the breeze, which supported
him exactly as if he had been a kite while he glided out gracefully and
finally came gently to earth. This spectacle of a man gliding through
the air attracted large crowds. People assembled from far and wide to
behold the flying man, and his achievements were greeted with wild
cheering. On his huge winged glider he floated calmly over the heads of
the astounded multitude, often landing far behind them in the fields. In
the difficult matter of balancing himself in mid-air he became
exceedingly skilful. Every slight gust of wind had a tendency to
overturn him, but Lilienthal constantly shifted the weight of his body
in such a manner as to balance himself. As he gained confidence he began
practising in stronger winds. His great longing was to soar like a bird
up into the sky, and so when he felt a rising air current, he inclined
his wings slightly upward to take advantage of it. Often he did rise far
above the hilltop from which he had sprung, but he never succeeded in
actually flying like a bird. His glider had not the motive power to
drive it against the breeze with sufficient velocity to send it up into
the air, and his wings were but crude imitations of the wonderful
mechanism on which the bird soars into the sky. Undaunted by his failure
he set to work on a double set of wings, very similar to a modern
biplane. He thought these would have greater lifting power, but when he
came to try them he found them exceedingly unwieldy and hard to control.
For where the biplane has an intricate control system, Lilienthal relied
entirely upon his own body to operate his glider.
Lilienthal became more and more reckless in his gliding efforts, and in
1896, while gliding in a strong wind, he lost control of his winged
contrivance and came crashing to the earth from a great height. When the
horrified spectators rushed to the spot, they found the fearless pioneer
flier dead beneath the wreck of his machine.
What Lilienthal had done for the cause of aviation, however, would be
hard to estimate. He had drawn the attention of thinking people the
world over to his experiments. He had pointed the way to the real
solution of the problem of flying: that of studying and imitating the
birds; and he had discovered the form of plane which on airplanes to-day
is well known to give the greatest lifting power: that of an arched
surface, deeply curved in front and sloping gradually back to its rear
edge where its thickness is very slight. Moreover, his attempts at
flight had presented a challenge to engineers and scientists--a
challenge which was quickly to bear fruit.
An Englishman named Percy S. Pilcher had followed the work of Lilienthal
with the deepest interest, and he now determined to begin a series of
experiments on his own account. Like Lilienthal he realized that it
would be useless to attempt a motor driven airplane until the principles
of glider construction were fully understood. A glider is simply an
airplane without an engine, and Lilienthal succeeded in giving it a
certain motive power by starting from a high point, so that the force of
gravity could draw him forward and downward. Pilcher adopted an even
more original scheme for making his glider "go." He treated it exactly
as if it had been a huge kite, fastening a rope to it and having it
pulled swiftly by a team of horses, until it had gained sufficient
momentum to carry it up in the air. The moment it began to rise,
Pilcher, who hung between the two large wings much as Lilienthal had
done, detached himself from the rope and went soaring into the air like
a kite, attempting to balance himself and prevent his glider from
overturning. But he had not the experience that long and careful
practise had given to Lilienthal, and before he had made very many
flights in his glider, he fell and met his death.
In 1896 an Australian, Hargrave, experimented with kites in order to
discover a glider form which possessed both lifting power and stability.
He was the originator of the familiar "box-kite," which flies so
steadily even in a strong breeze. Hargrave connected four very large
kites of this sort by a cable, swung a rope seat beneath them and
succeeded in making ascents without fear of accident.
Chanute, a Frenchman, now devised a biplane glider with which he
succeeded in making brief flights of a few seconds.
The way was now paved for the coming of two great pioneers in the
history of aviation. Wilbur and Orville Wright were owners of a small
bicycle shop in Dayton, Ohio. They were men with an innate mechanical
skill and with the same dogged persistence and indifference to physical
hardships which might have brought success to Lilienthal if he had had
the time to devote to his experiments.
The Wright brothers had read with fascination accounts of the gliding
efforts of Lilienthal. They determined to set to work to solve the
problem of human flight. For two years they read and studied everything
that had been written upon the subject, and then finally they felt ready
to make a trial of a glider of their own construction. They had made up
their minds that Chanute's idea of the biplane was most practicable, and
so the machine which they built was not strictly bird form, but had two
long planes extending horizontally and parallel to each other, attached
by wooden supports. The operator or flier lay face downward in the
center of the lower plane.
Their glider was too large to be operated with the arms as Lilienthal's
had been, and so they had to devise some new method for controlling and
balancing it in the air. This they managed by the use of small auxiliary
planes, which were operated by levers and ropes. In front of the two
large planes was a small horizontal plane which could be raised or
lowered. When raised to catch the wind it gave the glider an upward
motion which carried it into the air, bringing the large planes to an
angle with the wind where they could continue the climbing process.
One of the great difficulties of the early gliders was their tendency to
turn over sidewise. Lilienthal counteracted this whenever he felt one
side of his glider falling by shifting his weight toward the highest
wing and thus pulling it down. This crude method was impossible in the
Wright biplane. The brothers set themselves to seeking a solution from
the balancing methods of birds, and right here they made a discovery
which was of the greatest importance to the progress of the airplane.
The bird when he feels one of his wings falling below the level of the
other, simply droops the rear portion of the wing which is lowest,
forming a cup or curve at the back which catches the air as it rushes
under. This increased pressure of air forces the wing up again until in
a second the bird has regained his balance. Imitating this method, the
Wright brothers constructed the planes of their glider in such a manner
that a cord fastened to the rear sections of each plane could be pulled
to draw the rear edge downward. If the left side of their machine became
lower than the right it was a simple matter to pull down the left halves
of the rear edges of the two planes, and so catch the air currents which
would force that side upward. This ingenious scheme of obtaining
sidewise or "lateral" balance is used in a modified form in airplanes
to-day, and is known as "wing-warping."
The brothers chose the coast of North Carolina as the best place for
their first attempts to fly, for there the breezes were usually not too
strong. After a good deal of difficulty they learned not only to glide,
as Lilienthal had done, but also to soar some distance into the air.
They had so far no means of turning around, but this was remedied by
fastening at the rear of the two large planes a small vertical plane
which could be moved from side to side and which served to turn the
glider.
There were three achievements in airplane construction which so far
could be placed to the credit of the Wrights. One was the _elevating
plane_ by means of which an upward or downward motion of the glider was
obtained. The second was the ingenious _wing-warping device_, for
securing stability. The third was the _rudder_, which enabled the pilot
to turn around in mid-air.
Not satisfied with what they had already accomplished, the brothers now
turned their attention to constructing a motor suitable for use in a
flying machine. This had to be exceedingly light and at the same time
strong, and some means had to be discovered for converting its power
into motion. The first engine they built was a four-cylinder petrol, and
it was used to revolve two wooden propellers acting in opposite
directions. The blades of these propellers as they churned the air, gave
"thrust" to the airplane exactly as the propellers of a ship drive it
through the water. In this new model airplane the flier no longer lay
face downward as in the old glider, but sat on a bench between the
planes, from which he controlled the action of the engine, the elevating
plane, the rudder and the wing warping arrangement by means of levers
and cords.
It was in the memorable year of 1903 that this first real airplane was
flown by the Wrights. They continued to work steadily upon the problems
of design and construction, and after many trials in the next two years,
they succeeded by 1905 in building an airplane which would actually fly
a number of miles.
They determined to offer their precious secret to some government, and
decided on France, which has always been the patron of aviation. But the
French government, after an investigation did not accept their offer,
and so, disappointed, but still dogged, they retired into silence for a
period of several years. In 1908, when their inventions had been
patented in every country, they began a series of public demonstrations
of their remarkable machine, Orville in America and Wilbur in France.
By that time, unfortunately, other pioneers had stepped forward to claim
honors in the field which they first had explored, but the Wright
biplane easily outstripped its contemporaries. Their wonderful
demonstration flights made them heroes, acclaimed by millions, and their
achievements aroused immediate and intense interest in aeronautics.
CHAPTER II
FIRST PRINCIPLES OF AN AIRPLANE
It is almost humorous that man, who for centuries had nourished the
secret ambition of acquiring wings, should have found his dream
imperfectly realized in the twentieth century by riding in a kite. For
that is all an airplane actually is. Yet a "kite" which is no longer
tied to earth by a cord and which is equipped with a motor to drive it
forward at a great speed has one decided advantage over the
old-fashioned sort. The paper kite had to wait for a favorable breeze to
catch it up and bear it aloft. We saw in the last chapter how the push
of the air against the underneath side of the kite caused it to rise. If
instead of the air current pushing against the kite, the kite had pushed
against the air, exactly the same result would have been attained. A
bird, flying in a dead calm, creates an upward pressure of air by his
motion which is sufficient to support his weight. But the bird, as he
flies forward against the air creates more resistance under the front
portion of his body than under the rear, and this increased upward
pressure would be sufficient to turn him over backward if his weight
were not distributed more toward the front of his body, in order to
counterbalance it.
This fact can be easily illustrated with a piece of cardboard. Take a
small oblong sheet of cardboard and mark a dot at its center. If the
cardboard is of even thickness this dot will be the _center of its
weight_. Now hold the cardboard very carefully in a horizontal position
and allow it to drop. It should fall without turning over, for it is
pressing down evenly on the air at all points. You might say it is
creating an upward air pressure beneath it, which is evenly distributed.
The _center_ of the supporting air pressure exactly coincides with the
center of weight. If you have not held the cardboard in a precisely
horizontal position this will not be true. The unequal air pressure will
cause it to lose its balance and "upset." This is very much the sort of
experiment that Lilienthal tried when he jumped from the top of a hill
in his glider, and it is easy to imagine how much skill he must have
required in balancing himself in order to prevent his crude contrivance
from overturning.
But now suppose that instead of dropping the piece of cardboard straight
down, we give it a _forward push_ into the air. As the cardboard moves
_forward_ it naturally creates more air resistance under the front than
under the rear, and this unequal pressure will cause it to do a series
of somersaults, before it reaches the floor. The same thing would happen
to the bird or the airplane whose weight was evenly and equally
distributed.
Now since the air pressure is greater under the front of the cardboard,
add a counterbalancing weight by dropping a little sealing wax at the
center front. The dot that you made in the middle of the sheet is no
longer its center of weight. The _center of weight_ has moved forward,
and if it now corresponds to the _center of pressure_ the cardboard can
be made to fly out and across the room without overturning.
The whole problem of balancing a glider or an airplane is simply this
one of making the center of weight coincide with the center of the
supporting air pressure. Adding weight at the front of the glider is not
the only way of doing this: perhaps the reader has already thought of
another. Since the air pressure is caused by the weight of the cardboard
and its forward motion, we could cut the sheet smaller at the front so
as to lessen its air resistance there, or we could add a "tail" at the
stern in order to create more air resistance at that end. Either of
these plans would move the _center of pressure_ back until it
corresponded with the _center of weight_, and so would complete the
balance of our cardboard glider.
In the bird's body all of these methods of obtaining balance are
combined. His body and head taper to a point at the front in order to
decrease the forward air resistance. The weight of his body is
distributed more toward the front, thus counterbalancing any tendency to
whirl over backward. His tail increases the stern resistance, thus
helping to draw the center of pressure back to correspond to the center
of weight.
We begin to see some reasons why a man equipped with wings could never
be taught to fly,--as well as how perfectly the form of the bird is
planned to correspond to his mode of travel. No wonder the early
experimenters with wings, finding themselves so utterly helpless and
awkward, attributed the bird's ease and grace of carriage to "magic."
[Illustration: DIAGRAM SHOWING THE ESSENTIAL PARTS OF AN AIRPLANE]
The modern airplane is constructed with the most painstaking attention
to this principle of _balance_. Next to it in importance is that of
_wing construction_: that is, the size, shape and proper curve of the
supporting planes. Here again the construction of the airplane follows
very closely the general form of the bird. A large bird which flew very
high would be found to have his wings arched high in front, where they
would have considerable thickness, and sloping down very rapidly toward
the rear, while their thickness rapidly diminished. This sort of wing
has great lifting power, and it is the sort that is used on an airplane
which is built to "climb" rather than to develop speed.
As the arched wing cuts through the air it leaves above it a partial
vacuum. Nature always tends to fill a vacuum, and so the airplane is
drawn upward to fill this space. As the wings cut through the air a new
vacuum is constantly created and so the airplane mounts higher and
higher. The airplane is being carried upward by two forces: the air
pressure beneath it and the vacuum above it which draws it up. The air
pressure beneath it increases with the speed at which the airplane is
traveling, and it has a tendency to press the wing into a more
horizontal position, thus destroying its climbing properties. At the
same time, when this happens, the thick front section of the wing
presents a great "head resistance" which retards progress, and a very
high speed becomes impossible.
Wings of this type can never be used on an airplane which is intended to
travel at high speed. They were used on the heavy bombing and battle
planes of the Great War, for they are capable of lifting a very great
weight. But on the scouting planes, where speed is essential, a totally
different sort of surface was employed. Here the plane is very little
arched and of almost even thickness, tapering only very slightly to the
rear edge. It also tapers somewhat at the front, so as to lessen its
"head resistance" as it cuts through the air.
Such a surface creates little vacuum above it, and consequently has not
a great lifting power. On the other hand it offers little "head
resistance" and so permits a high speed. And right here it should be
mentioned that a powerful motor does not in itself make a swift
airplane, unless the wings are right,--for if the wings create a strong
resistance _in front of the airplane_ they destroy speed as fast as the
motor generates it.
Remember that the lifting power of the airplane wing is made up of two
factors. _First_, there is the resistance or the supporting air pressure
created by the weight and speed of the wing; _second_, the arch of the
wing creates a vacuum above it which tends to lift the airplane up. Now
when for speed the arch is made very slight, the lifting power can still
be increased by increasing the _area_ of the wing, thus adding to the
upward pressure. Thus for certain war duties an airplane with very
large, comparatively flat wings can develop both a very good lifting
power and a very high speed.
We have already mentioned the "head resistance" of the airplane wing. If
the wing could strike the air in such a way as to sharply divide it into
currents flowing above and below, there would be no head resistance. But
the very arch of the wing in front gives it a certain amount of
thickness where it strikes the air, so that instead of flowing above or
below, a portion of the air is pushed along in front, retarding the
progress of the airplane. This resistance is called by aviators the
"drift." The best wing is the one which has the maximum lifting power
with the minimum head resistance, or, to use technical language, the
greatest "lift" in proportion to its "drift."
Of course, not only the wing but all parts of the airplane offer
resistance to the air. In order to reduce this total head resistance to
the minimum, every effort is made to give the body or "fuselage" of the
airplane a "streamline" form,--that is, a shape, such as that of a fish
or a bird, which allows the air to separate and flow past it with little
disturbance. For this purpose the fuselage of the airplane is usually
somewhat rounded and tapering toward the ends, often "egg shaped" at the
nose.
The method of "wing warping" invented by the Wright brothers is still
used on all modern airplanes to preserve lateral stability. The part of
the wing which can be warped is called the _aileron_. There are two
ailerons on every wing, one on each side at the rear, and they may be
raised or drawn down by the action of a lever operated by the pilot.
If the pilot feels that the left side of his machine is falling, he
draws down the aileron on that side and raises the right hand aileron.
The aileron which is lowered catches the air currents flowing beneath
the wing on that side. At the same time the raised aileron on the right
lessens the pressure under the wing on that side and so gives it a
tendency to fall. In this way, in a fraction of a minute the wings are
brought level again and lateral stability is restored.
Whereas the old Wright biplane had an elevating plane in front of the
main planes, most machines to-day have the elevating surfaces at the
rear. By raising the "elevators" an upward motion is obtained, or by
lowering them, a downward motion.
[Illustration: WRIGHT STARTING WITH PASSENGER]
Steering to right and left is accomplished by a rudder at the rear of
the airplane body or "fuselage." This rudder may be turned to right or
to left, working on a hinge.
[Illustration: AN EARLY FARMAN MACHINE PRIOR TO START]
CHAPTER III
THE PIONEERS
While the Wright brothers, lacking both funds and encouragement to
continue their remarkable project, remained, from 1905 to 1908 in almost
total obscurity--their wonderful flying machine packed away
ignominiously in a barn,--in France a number of eager experimenters were
working assiduously to outstrip them, and it was only by great good
fortune that when Wilbur Wright arrived in France in 1908 he did not
find himself beaten from the field. Actually the Wright machine was far
in advance of the early French models, and although the French, with
true spirit of sportsmanship, were quick to admit it when the fact was
demonstrated, yet prior to 1908 they had no idea that such was the case,
and were enthusiastically proud of their home-made models.
Among the very first of the French pioneers of flight was that gallant
little Brazilian, Santos-Dumont, whose exploits with the dirigible had
done so much to popularize air sports. His name was a household word
with the French, who literally lionized him. Impatient of the limited
opportunities for adventure presented by the dirigible, Santos-Dumont
cast about in his mind for some means of procuring a more agile steed
on which to perform his aerial tricks. In 1904 he became deeply
interested in the subject of gliding, and made up his mind to try a few
gliding experiments of his own. Like everything else he had attempted
his method of attacking this new problem was startlingly original.
Lilienthal and the other gliders had all made their flights above the
solid ground. Santos-Dumont liked the idea of rising from the water much
better. He ordered built for him a glider of his own design for this
particular purpose. On every clear day when the wind was favorable, the
plucky little aeronaut was out, learning to use his new-found wings. His
glider, which floated on the surface of the water, had to be towed
swiftly for some distance by a boat in order to give it the initial
speed which Lilienthal secured by taking advantage of the force of
gravity in his downward jump from the hilltop. Once he felt his speed to
be sufficient, Santos-Dumont gently inclined his wings upward to catch
the air current. To the surprise of every one he was remarkably
successful. He actually succeeded in soaring short distances, and after
a series of efforts he acquired a fair amount of skill in the use of his
glider apparatus.
The next step was to attach some motive power to his flying machine.
Before very long he had ready for trial a much more pretentious biplane
glider, equipped with an 8 cylinder motor which drove a two-bladed
aluminum propeller, and fitted with several original appliances to
increase its soaring powers and its stability. In front was a curious
arrangement resembling a box-kite, which was intended to fulfil the same
purpose as the elevating plane which the Wright brothers placed in front
of the two main planes of their machine. Santos-Dumont had experienced
the same trouble as all the other gliders: the difficulty of keeping his
machine in a horizontal position. The tiniest gust, blowing from one
side or the other, was sufficient to cause it to lose its balance, and
over it would topple sidewise. To overcome this obstacle the Wright
brothers had adopted the ingenious method of wing-warping, imitated
directly from the habits of birds. Santos-Dumont was not nearly of so
scientific a turn of mind as the two great American pioneers. Without
having gone so deeply into the subject, he determined to place upright
planes between his main planes, to ward off gusts and increase the
lateral stability. The idea was not a bad one, though far from being the
best. In the summer of 1906 he flew with his glider successfully very
short distances. In October of the same year he accomplished _a
demonstration flight of 200 feet_ at Bagatelle, near Paris. At the
present day when airplanes go soaring above our heads faster than
express trains, making long, continuous cross-country flights, that
journey of 200 feet seems humorous, but at the time it was the European
record. It aroused a great deal of popular enthusiasm, for the French,
with their vivid powers of imagination, were quick to see the
possibilities in this new, heavier-than-air contrivance. At once the
Brazilian set to work to outstrip this first achievement. This time his
originality took an entirely new turn. Instead of the biplane type he
decided on a monoplane, and he began laying out plans for a monoplane so
tiny, yet so efficient, that it was destined to become famous. But it
was several years before this miniature flier was ready, and so for a
while the idol of the French public dropped almost completely out of
sight.
In the meantime others were up and doing in France. Henry Farman, who
already had made his name famous in motor car racing, was the next to
win popular acclaim for exploits in the air. Farman was known as a man
of the most consummate daring, cool-headedness in emergency, and quick
judgment. An Englishman by birth, he had resided all his life in France,
where with his brother Maurice he had achieved an enviable reputation as
a sportsman. Farman afterward designed and constructed airplanes of his
own, but it was in one built by the Voisin brothers that he first took
to the air.
The Voisins were very ambitious indeed in their first airplane project.
The machine which they built was both large and heavy, and possessed of
many unscientific features. Like the Wrights' machine it had two large
horizontal planes, in front of which was placed a small elevating plane,
which could be inclined up or down to lift the airplane into the air or
bring it to earth again. Unlike the Wright model it had a large "tail,"
or horizontal plane at the rear, intended to give it increased
longitudinal stability. This feature represented an improvement. The
Wrights had to keep their machine on the level by raising or lowering
the front elevating plane in such a way as to counteract any pitching
motion, but the tail of the Voisin biplane gave it a great deal more
steadiness in the air. Fitted to the tail was a rudder, by which turning
to right or left was accomplished. But the Voisin brothers had no
wing-warping device on their large flier. Instead they used the upright
curtains or planes between the main planes, which we have already seen
on the machine designed by Santos-Dumont. Their airplane was equipped
with an 8-cylinder motor, which turned a large propeller.
In this large and unwieldy machine, weighing possibly 1400 pounds, Henry
Farman made a short flight in a closed circuit in 1908. At the time it
was the record flight in Europe, and the French people fondly imagined
it was the best in the world. That same year Wilbur Wright arrived on
French soil and showed them in a few astounding experiments what the
Wright biplane could do.
The successes of this tall, untalkative American, who had come over to
France and with ease made the aerial adventures of Santos-Dumont and
Farman seem like the first efforts of a baby learning to crawl, greatly
as they surprised, and, perhaps, disappointed the French people, in the
outcome had the result of spurring Frenchmen on to greater effort in the
problem of airship design. Before the end of 1908 Henry Farman, in an
improved Voisin, had wrested back the lost honors by flights which were
longer than those made by Wilbur Wright.
And other Frenchmen were hard at work. After building a number of
machines and meeting with many accidents and failures, Blériot emerged
in the summer of 1909 with a successful monoplane. At almost the same
time the Antoinette monoplane made its appearance, and soon these two
similar machines were pitted against each other in a famous contest.
The London _Daily Mail_, with the intention of stimulating progress in
aviation, put up a prize of £1000 for the first machine to fly the
British Channel. In July, Blériot brought his monoplane to Calais; and
Hubert Latham appeared as his antagonist, with an Antoinette machine.
Both of the contestants were skilled pilots, and both were men of
fearless daring. The feat which they were about to attempt required men
with those qualities, for in these pioneer days of aviation it was not
the easy task to fly the Channel which at first glance it might seem to
be. Over the Channel the winds were almost always very severe, and they
represented the greatest danger the airman had to face. The first
airplanes had so small a factor of stability that it was almost
impossible to fly them in even the gentlest breeze. The most intrepid
aviators never once thought of attempting flight in unfavorable weather.
To be overturned in crossing the Channel meant taking a big risk of
death, and both Blériot and Latham realized that they were taking their
lives in their hands in undertaking the trip. They had a long wait for
calm weather, but on July 24th conditions seemed right for a start the
next morning. Just at dawn Latham flew out across the sea and
disappeared in the distance. Not very long behind him, Blériot, having
tested with the utmost care every part of his little machine, climbed
into the pilot's seat, and with a "Good-by" to the little group of
mechanics and friends who stood about, sped away, hot on the trail.
On and on flew Latham in his larger Antoinette monoplane, and the hope
of victory began to loom big. Far out over the Channel however, his
engine suddenly "went wrong," as engines in those days had a habit of
doing, and the much feared thing happened: he began to fall. In a very
few moments the plucky pilot was clinging to his airplane, as it floated
for a few moments on the choppy sea. Before it could sink a vessel had
hurried to the rescue, and Latham was hauled on board, disappointed, but
safe.
Blériot, meanwhile, was far from being sure of his course as he flew on
steadily through the early morning haze. But his engine continued to run
smoothly, and finally far ahead, the white cliffs of England began to
emerge out of the distance. With joy in his heart the Frenchman flew
proudly in over the land and brought his airplane to the earth in the
vicinity of Dover Castle. He was greeted as a hero by the British and
the glad message of his triumph was speeded back to Calais.
Loth to be behindhand in airplane activities, America was also busily at
work developing the heavier-than-air machine, and another famous name
had by this time been added to that of the Wright brothers. By 1909
Glenn Curtiss with a group of distinguished co-experimenters had
succeeded in constructing several very interesting flying machines.
Curtiss' story is an interesting one. In 1900 he was the owner of a
small bicycle shop in Hammondsport, New York. He had a mania for speed,
having ridden in many cycling races, and it was he who first thought of
attaching a motor to a bicycle for greater speed. He soon sprang into
the limelight as a motorcyclist and a manufacturer of motorcycles. A
small factory went up at Hammondsport, and achieved a reputation for the
very good motors it turned out.
Curtiss first became interested in flying through an order he received
from Captain Thomas Scott Baldwin for a motor to be used in a dirigible
balloon. He set to work on the problem of constructing a motor suitable
for the purpose, and, as might be expected, he became fascinated with
the possibilities of flight. Curtiss and Baldwin made some very
interesting experiments with the dirigible. Then, in 1905, Curtiss made
the acquaintance of Dr. Alexander Bell. The famous inventor of the
telephone was engrossed in the study of gliding machines, and had been
carrying on a series of experiments with kites by which he hoped to
evolve a scientific airplane. To further these experiments he had called
in as associates in the work two engineers, F. W. Baldwin, and J. A. D.
McCurdy, while Lt. Thomas Selfridge of the U. S. Army was also greatly
interested.
Thus it came about that in the summer of 1907 this group of capable men
formed what they were pleased to call the "Aerial Experiment
Association," of which Curtiss was perhaps the moving spirit. The first
machine built by the Association was christened the _Red Wing_, the
second the _White Wing_; the third was called the _June Bug_, and it
proved so successful a flier that on July 4th, 1908, it was awarded the
_Scientific American_ trophy for a flight of one kilometer, or
five-eighths of a mile.
While, in France, Farman and the Voisin brothers, Latham and Blériot
were pushing steadily along the rough road to aviation successes,--in
America, the Wright brothers and Curtiss with his associates, were
demonstrating to the public on this side of the water what flying
machines could do.
In fact, the airplane had definitely begun to assert its superiority as
master of the air, and many eyes in all parts of the world were fixed on
it and on the great future possibilities for which it stood. Everywhere,
warm interest had been aroused, and, at least in France, the military
importance of the heavier-than-air machine was coming to be realized.
Now the time was ripe for the great public demonstration of the world's
airplanes which took place at Rheims in August, 1909. The Rheims Meeting
is probably the most memorable event in the history of aviation. It
placed the work of a dozen or more earnest experimenters definitely in
the limelight, and gave the chance for comparisons, for a summing up of
knowledge on the subject of flight, and for a test of strength, which
resulted in the mighty impetus to aerial progress which followed
immediately afterward.
Here at Rheims were gathered many famous flying men who already had made
their names known throughout Europe and America. There were Farman,
Latham, Paulhan, Blériot, Curtiss, and the three who flew Wright
machines, the Comte de Lambert, Lefevre and Tissandier,--as well as many
others, for there were thirty contestants in all. Many unusual feats
delighted the spectators. Lefevre, a student of the Wrights, and up to
that time unknown, amazed the assemblage by his wonderful aerial stunts.
He circled gracefully in the air, making sharp, unexpected turns with
the utmost skill, and winning round after round of applause.
Curtiss and Blériot emerged as contestants for the speed prize over 10
kilometers, and after several breathless attempts in which records were
made and broken, the honor was finally carried off by Blériot, who
covered the distance of 10 kilometers (about 6-1/4 miles) in 7 minutes,
47.80 seconds. Curtiss replied by beating his famous opponent in the
contest for the Gordon Bennett Cup, offered for the fastest flight over
20 kilometers; and Curtiss also was the winner of the 30 kilometer race.
It was Farman, in a biplane of his own design, who surprised every one
by his remarkable performance, and turned out to be the victor of the
occasion. Flying for three hours without stopping, round the course, he
covered 112 miles without the slightest difficulty, and was only forced
to make a landing because of the rapidly approaching dusk. For his feat
he was awarded the Grand Prize, and was hailed as the most successful of
all the contestants.
Finally Latham, in an Antoinette monoplane, proved he had the machine
with the greatest climbing powers, and carried off the Altitude prize on
the closing day of the meeting.
Among those who looked on at the famous Rheims Meeting of 1909 there
were none more keenly and intelligently interested than the
representatives of the French military authorities. They had come for
two reasons: to ascertain at first hand which were the best machines and
to order them for the French Government; on the other hand, to encourage
to the fullest extent possible all those men present who were earnestly
working in the interests of aviation. France was ready and willing to
spend money freely for this purpose, and the Rheims Meeting resulted in
orders for machines of several makes. Some of these were regarded as
having great possibilities from a military point of view; and others,
though not looked on so favorably, were purchased as a sign of goodwill
and support to future experiment. It was this far-seeing patronage which
paved the way for France's later aerial triumphs, for it gave her a
diversity of machines and a devoted coterie of workers all following
original lines of experiment.
Let us glance for a moment at the little group of machines which stood
out by their merits most prominently at that Rheims Meeting of 1909,
and which gave the greatest promise for the future. To-day they seem
antiquated indeed, but for all their rather curious appearance they were
the legitimate forefathers of our powerful modern airplanes. Among the
biplanes, those especially worthy of note were the Farman, the Wright,
and the Voisin; while the Blériot and Antoinette monoplanes gave a most
excellent account of themselves.
Farman, who had first learned to fly in a machine designed and built by
the Voisin brothers, was far from satisfied with his sluggish,
unmanageable steed and at once set to work on a design of his own. His
one idea was to construct a biplane of light weight, speed and general
efficiency. He did away with the box-kite tail of the Voisin model and
substituted two horizontal tail planes with a vertical rudder fitted
between them. Instead of the vertical planes or "curtains" between the
main planes by which the Voisins attempted to preserve the lateral
stability of their airplane, Farman adopted the "wing-warping" plan of
the Wrights in a somewhat modified form. The Wright machine, it will be
remembered, had wings whose rear portions were flexible, so that they
could be drawn down at the will of the pilot. If the latter felt that
the left side of his machine was falling he simply drew down or "warped"
the rear edges of the wings on that side. The air rushing under the wing
was blocked in its passage and the greater pressure thus created forced
the wing upward on the left side until balance had been restored.
Acting on this principle, Farman attached to the rear edges of the main
planes at each side a flap, or as it is called to-day, an _aileron_,
which worked on a hinge, so that it could be raised or lowered.
Another novel feature of this first Farman biplane was its method of
starting and landing. Below the planes had been placed two long wooden
skids, and to these small, pneumatic tired wheels had been attached by
means of strong rubber bands. In rising, the airplane ran along the
ground on these wheels until it had acquired the momentum necessary to
lift it into the air. When a descent was made, the force of contact with
the ground sent the wheels flying upward on their flexible bands, and
allowed the strong skids to absorb the shock. This underbody or
_chassis_ was a distinct improvement on anything that had yet been
devised, for it was light in weight and efficient.
In one other important respect the Farman machine was superior to all
those demonstrated at Rheims in 1909, and that was in its engine.
Airplane engines up to this time had been nothing more or less than
automobile engines built as light in weight as possible. But in France a
new engine had made its appearance, designed especially for airplane
needs. Hooted as a freak at the first, and rejected by experts as
"impossible," it carried Farman round the course on his three hour
flight without a hitch and made him the winner of the Grand Prize. This
remarkable engine was the Gnome and the reason for its excellence lay in
its unusual system of cooling. The overheating of his motor was a thorn
in the flesh of many an early aviator. An engine which gave good service
in an automobile would invariably overheat in an airplane because of the
constant high speed at which it must run. Now motor car engines of
whatever type, and whether water-cooled or air-cooled, had fixed
cylinders and a revolving crankshaft. In the Gnome motor the cylinders
revolved and the crankshaft was stationary. Flying through the air at
tremendous speed they necessarily cooled themselves. This was the secret
of the perfect running of the Farman biplane. Though Farman had been the
first to recognize the merits of the Gnome and install it in his
machine, he was not the last, for after the Rheims Meeting it rapidly
became the favorite of practically all builders.
Next to the Farman, the Wright machine was probably the best for
all-around service of the many demonstrated at the great meeting. Its
one greatest disadvantage was the fact that it had to be launched from a
rail. It carried no wheels--merely skids for landing--and so to gain
initial momentum it had to be placed on a small trolley which ran down a
rail. Such a method of gaining speed was exceedingly complicated, and
the question at once arises: What would the pilot do if forced to make a
landing far from his starting point? Of course it would have been quite
impossible for him to have risen into the air for a return trip, and his
machine, though in perfect condition, would have to have been packed and
carted back home.
The Voisin biplane, though improved since Farman had piloted it in
1908, was still in 1909 an overly heavy, slow flying machine, more or
less difficult to steer. It still had its "box-kite" tail and its
upright curtains between the main planes. And it carried a rather
weighty landing chassis built of hollow metal tubing, to which were
attached pneumatic-tired bicycle wheels. Small wheels were also placed
under the tail, to support it when running along the ground.
The Blériot monoplane could have claimed the honors for _simplicity_. It
had a body built up of light woodwork, over part of which fabric had
been stretched. On either side of the body extended the two supporting
planes, supported above and below by wires. In the front of the body was
the engine and at the rear extremity a small stabilizing plane. At the
ends of the stabilizing plane, on either side, were two small planes
which could be moved up and down. They took the place of the front
elevating plane employed on the other machines. Just behind the
stabilizing plane was the vertical rudder, which turned to right or
left. The wings of the Blériot had the Wright brothers' wing warping
arrangement. The pilot sat just behind the engine, operating the
controls.
Larger in wing span and longer in body than the Blériot was the
Antoinette monoplane. Like the Blériot it had its elevating planes at
the rear, and carried its engine in the bow. Instead of the wing warping
device it made use of movable flaps or _ailerons_ at the rear edges of
the wings. Another idea had been incorporated in this machine for the
purpose of maintaining lateral stability. Its wings, instead of
extending in a horizontal position from the body were inclined slightly
upward,--a plan which met with serious condemnation from the engineering
experts.
These five then, were the machines which claimed most attention in 1909,
although many others,--as for instance the R. E. P. monoplane, built by
M. Esnault-Pelterie, and the Breguet biplane--were flown at the famous
meeting.
The Rheims event had been hugely successful, and the news of the
splendid achievements of the airplane spread like wildfire throughout
the world. Smaller meetings were arranged for in other cities, and
everywhere the great aviators were called for to give exhibition
flights. In September Santos-Dumont came once more before the public
with the tiniest monoplane in existence, a little machine which he
called the _Demoiselle_, and in a series of experiments proved its
remarkable capabilities. Santos-Dumont had been residing for some time
at St. Cyr, where he had worked on his designs for the _Demoiselle_. One
of his aviator friends, M. Guffroy, was also experimenting at Buc, five
miles away. The two men agreed that the one who first completed an
airplane should fly in it to the home of the other and collect £40. In 6
minutes and 1 second Santos-Dumont covered the five miles on the 14th of
September and claimed his reward.
Orville Wright at about this time was exhibiting his airplane in Berlin
and winning new laurels before the Crown Prince and Princess of Germany.
By the middle of October he was in France, and was present at the Juvisy
Meeting, when the Comte de Lambert, leaving the course unexpectedly,
made his sensational flight over Paris, circling round the Eiffel Tower
at a height of 1,000 feet. Paris was filled with amazement and delight
at the sight of an airplane soaring over the city. It was almost an hour
before the Comte de Lambert, flying with the greatest ease, arrived once
more at the course, to be overwhelmed with congratulations.
[Illustration: WRIGHT MACHINE RISING JUST AFTER LEAVING THE RAIL]
[Illustration: AN EARLY WRIGHT MACHINE, SHOWING ITS METHOD OF STARTING
FROM A RAIL]
On November 3rd, Henry Farman made a world's record of 144 miles in 4
hours, 17 minutes and 53 seconds, wresting from Wilbur Wright the
coveted Michelin Cup. In December Blériot attempted an exhibition of his
monoplane in Constantinople, but his machine lost its balance in the
severe wind which was blowing and came crashing to earth. Though
severely wounded, the great aviator recovered rapidly, justifying the
oft-repeated superstition that he was possessed of a charmed life.
[Illustration: _Copyright Underwood and Underwood_
THE PROPELLER DEPARTMENT IN ONE OF THE GREAT CURTISS FACTORIES]
Thus the year which had meant so much in the forward march of aviation
drew to a close. Beginning at Rheims, the reputation of the
heavier-than-air machine had spread in ever widening circles throughout
all civilized lands. Most important of all, the military authorities of
several nations had opened their eyes to tremendous importance of the
airplane as an implement of warfare, and their realization of this fact
was destined to bring about new and weighty developments within the next
few years. Among the great European states only one nation slept while
the rest were up and doing, and she saw the day when, with the shadow
of war looming on the horizon, she had cause for bitter regrets.
The beginning of 1910 saw the famous aviator Paulhan in the United
States for a series of exhibition flights. On January 12th he made a
world's record for altitude, climbing at Los Angeles to a height of
4,140 feet, in a Farman machine.
In the Spring there occurred in England a memorable contest between
Paulhan and a young flier who up to that time was unheard of, but who
rapidly made a reputation for himself in aviation. The London _Daily
Mail_, which had already done so much to arouse enthusiasm for the
airplane in the British Isles, now offered a prize of £10,000 for the
first cross-country flight from London to Manchester. There arose as
England's champion Claude Grahame-White, and Paulhan with his Farman
biplane was on hand to dispute the honors with him. The distance to be
covered was about 183 miles, and the task seemed almost impossible,
largely owing to the nature of the country over which the flight must be
made. It was rough and hilly and thickly sprinkled with towns, making
the task of a forced landing a very perilous one. Engines in 1910 were
none too reliable and were apt to play strange tricks. To be forced to
descend over a town or in rough country meant a chance of serious
accident or death. Rough country moreover is apt to be windy country,
with sharp, unlooked-for gusts blowing from unexpected quarters. It was
these above all things which filled the airman's heart with dread, for
he knew only too well the limited stability of his pioneer craft.
Late in the afternoon of April 27th, Paulhan, whose biplane, in perfect
repair, was awaiting him at Hendon, near London, ascertained that the
wind was favorable, and at once rose into the air and started on his
long trip. Grahame-White had assumed that it was too late in the day to
make a start, and had left his machine, all ready for flight, at
Wormwood Scrubbs, intending to make a start in the early morning.
Shortly after six the news was brought to White that Paulhan was on his
way, and he immediately rushed to his starting point and hurried after
his rival.
Paulhan had studied every inch of the ground and knew what conditions to
expect. His earlier start gave him a great advantage, for he managed to
get farther before nightfall, and also before any adverse winds arose.
With darkness both pilots were forced to make landings, but Paulhan was
far ahead, and the prospect of victory began to wane for the plucky
young English flier. In the emergency he determined on a desperate
attempt to overcome his handicap. Night flying then was a thing unheard
of, but Grahame-White prepared to try it, however risky. At half past
two in the morning, by the wan light of the moon he arose from the field
where his machine had been landed and flew off into the murky night.
Disappointment awaited the dauntless pilot, however. He had a stern
struggle with the wind, his engine began to give trouble, and finally he
was compelled to come to earth.
Paulhan got away at dawn and being the more experienced pilot of the
two, managed, after a sharp tussle with the wind, to arrive intact at
his destination. He was greeted with wild enthusiasm and was indeed the
hero of the day.
But England was not without gratitude to her defeated airman, who in the
face of enormous difficulties, had persisted so gallantly in his effort
to uphold his country's honor in the records of aviation. Though
official England was slow to recognize the airplane's claims, the
British public showed keenest interest in all the exploits of their
sportsmen of the air, and before long there was quite a fair-sized group
of such men demanding attention.
America also had a remarkable feat to record in the summer of 1910. The
New York _World_ had offered a $10,000 prize for a flight down the
Hudson River from Albany to New York. The difficulties were even greater
than those of the London-Manchester contest, for here the airman had to
fly the entire distance over a swift stream. The high hills on either
side meant increased peril, for there were sure to be powerful wind
gusts rushing out between the gaps in the hills and seeking to overturn
the machine. If the engine should give out, there was no place to land
except in the water itself, with slight chance of escape for either the
pilot or his airplane.
Nevertheless, Glenn Curtiss, whose accomplishments at the Rheims Meeting
we have already witnessed, determined to try for the prize. His machine
was brought from Hammondsport to Albany ready for a start, and on May
31, after a long wait for favorable atmospheric conditions, he was on
his way. A special train steamed after him, carrying newspaper reporters
and anxious friends, but he left it far in the distance while he flew
swiftly down the Hudson. Villagers and boatmen waved and shouted to him
as he passed. At one point he encountered an air "whirlpool" that almost
sucked him down, but he succeeded in righting his machine and getting on
his way again. Near Poughkeepsie he made a landing to obtain more fuel,
and from there he flew straight on to his journey's end, reaching New
York City and descending in a little field near Inwood.
In July of 1910 came the second big Rheims Meeting, to show what
unprecedented advances had been made in one short year. Almost 80
contestants appeared, as compared with the 30 of 1909. Machines were in
every way better and some very excellent records were made. The
Antoinette monoplane flew the greatest distance (212 miles), and also
reached the greatest height; while a new machine, the Morane monoplane,
took the prizes for speed.
Meanwhile the French Army had been busy training aviators and securing
new machines. In the Fall these were tried out at the Army Maneuvers in
Picardy, and for the first time the world saw what military airplanes
really could accomplish. In the sham warfare the army pilots flew over
the enemy's lines and brought back astonishingly complete reports of the
movements of troops, disposition of forces, etc. The French military
authorities themselves, enthusiastic as they had been over the
development of the airplane, had not anticipated such complete success.
They were delighted with the results of their efforts, and a strong
aerial policy was thereupon mapped out for France.
England at this date possessed _one_ military airplane, and it was late
before she awakened to the importance of aviation as a branch of
warfare.
Germany, Italy, Russia, and America were looking on with keen interest,
but for a while France maintained supremacy over all in her aerial
projects. By the end of the following year she had over 200 military
machines, with a competent staff of pilots and observers.
To follow the course of aviation achievement we must now go back to
England, where in July, 1911, another big _Daily Mail_ contest took
place. This time the newspaper had put up a prize of £10,000 to be won
by flying what was known as the "Circuit of Britain." This had been
marked out to pass through many of the large cities of England, Scotland
and Ireland. There were seventeen entrants for the contest, which was
won by a lieutenant of the French navy, named Conneau. Cross-country
flights were growing longer and longer, keeping pace with the rapid
strides in the development of the airplane. Still another contest during
1911 was the "Circuit of Europe," which lay through France, Belgium and
England; while a flight from Paris to Rome and one from Paris to Madrid
served to demonstrate the growing reliability of the aircraft.
Money had always flowed freely from French coffers for this favorite of
all hobbies. At the Rheims Meeting in October of 1911 the Government
offered approximately a quarter of a million dollars in prizes for
aerial feats and in orders for machines. Representatives from many
countries visited the meeting to witness the tests of war airplanes.
In the two years since the first Rheims Meeting many vast changes had
taken place. Pilots no longer feared to fly in high winds; machines were
reliable, strong and swift. A number made non-stop flights of close on
to 200 miles, and showed as well remarkable climbing abilities.
It was the Nieuport monoplane which led all others at this Rheims
Meeting. To-day the name of Nieuport is familiar to every one, for the
little scout machines carried some of the bravest pilots of France and
America to victory in the air battles of the Great War. Even in 1911 the
Nieuport monoplane was breaking all records for speed. Carrying both a
pilot and a passenger it flew as fast as 70 miles an hour at Rheims.
Another new machine that attracted attention was the Breguet biplane, a
heavy general service machine weighing 2420 pounds and carrying a 140 h.
p. Gnome motor. The Gnome had so far outdistanced all competitors that
it had virtually become the universal motor for airplanes, and, many of
those seen in 1911 were equipped with it. Since then vast improvements
have been made in stationary engines but at that time they almost
entirely failed to meet the requirements of light weight, high power and
reliability.
One development in the biplanes of 1911 cannot be passed over, for it
bears a very interesting relation to their efficiency as war machines.
Any one who has seen a photograph of one of the early biplanes must have
been struck by the curious kite-like appearance it presented, due to the
fact that it had no _body_ or fuselage, but only two large planes,
connected by strong wooden supports, and usually with a seat for the
pilot in the center of the lower plane.
It was in the monoplane that a car or airplane body first made its
appearance, and to it the wing surfaces of the monoplane were strongly
braced with wires. Many of the biplanes of 1911 had adopted the idea and
in consequence began to take on a more modern appearance. It was a
thoroughly good idea, for by means of its greater stability and strength,
protection for the pilot and general efficiency were obtained. Biplanes
of this type now carried their engines in the fuselage bow with the
pilot's seat just behind it, while instead of the _front_ elevating
plane of the earlier models, the elevating surfaces were at the rear of
the fixed tail plane. The Breguet was one of these progressive type
biplanes of 1911. Constructed very largely of steel, it had a long,
tapering body with its controlling planes--rudder and elevators--at the
rear. Instead of a number of wooden supports between the planes the
Breguet had exactly four reliable struts.
Henry Farman developed a military biplane in 1911 which had one
particularly new feature. Instead of the upper main plane being placed
exactly above the lower it had been moved slightly forward or
"staggered"--giving it an overhang in front. The idea was that this gave
a greater climbing power and was helpful in making descents, though the
point has never been satisfactorily proved.
Until 1911 Germany had pinned her faith almost wholly to the Zeppelin as
the unit for the aerial fleet which she had hoped to build up, and she
had confidently expected it to prove its superiority to the
heavier-than-air machine in the event of war. No funds had been spared
to rush the work of designing and constructing these huge air monsters.
Carefully and quietly the perfecting and standardizing of the Zeppelin
under government supervision had moved forward, and German engineers had
not been behindhand in designing engines particularly suitable to
aircraft. While France was amusing herself with the clever little
monoplanes and biplanes of the pioneer days--machines which could fly
but a few yards at low altitude, Germany, possibly with the dream of
world conquest tucked away in her mind, was sparing no expense to get
ready her fleet of lighter-than-air craft. Imagine her chagrin when the
feeble winged birds of 1908 and 1909 became the soaring eaglets of 1911,
swiftly circling the sky, swooping, climbing and performing aerial
tricks which made the larger and clumsier Zeppelin appear as agile as a
waddling duck.
Whatever the feelings of the German military authorities were on the
subject, they wasted no time in crying over spilt milk, but at once
began a policy of construction by which they hoped soon to outstrip
their brainier French neighbors. As in everything German, _method_ was
the characterizing feature of the airplane program they instituted.
France had sought to encourage makers of all types of planes, and thus
obtain a diversity of machines of wide capabilities. The plan did not
appeal to Germany. From the very beginning she aimed at reducing
everything to a fixed standard and then turning out airplanes in large
numbers. When the War broke out it seemed for a time that she had been
right, but it was not long before she looked with sorrow upon the sad
lack of versatility of her fleet of standardized biplanes. They were
hopelessly outdistanced and outmaneuvered by the small, fast fighting
machines of the French, while they were by no means so strong as the
heavy service planes the French could put into the air.
Italy, Austria, Russia, America and Japan began also to make plans for
the building of aerial fleets about 1911. The Italian Government relied
at first on machines secured from France, or on those copied from French
designs. Soon her own clever engineers began to be heard from and she
was responsible for developing several of the powerful modern types.
Russia would scarcely seem a country where aerial progress might be
expected, yet she has given a good account of herself in aviation, and
one of her machines, the giant _Sikorsky_ did splendid work on the
several fronts during the war.
I. I. Sikorsky, the inventor of the big Sikorsky machine was a little
while ago merely a clever student at the Kieff Polytechnic. Like many
other young men he dreamed of aerial conquest, but received little
encouragement in carrying out his projects. At twenty-four, however, he
became a student aviator, and almost immediately began work on original
airplane designs. He succeeded in building a small monoplane which in
some ways resembled the Blériot, except in its habits of flight. In
these it was quite balky, refusing to fly except in short hops and
jumps. Sikorsky's friends good-naturedly nicknamed it _The Hopper_. But
the young student was not one wit daunted. He plugged along steadily at
new designs, and in the autumn of 1910 he actually took to the air in a
tractor biplane of his own construction. Several other machines of
somewhat the same type followed, and his efforts finally won the
attention of the great Russo-Baltic Works. They offered him financial
assistance to carry on his study of the airplane problem. With this
backing Sikorsky moved forward to sure success. In the meantime he had
secretly prepared plans for an enormous airplane which at first he dared
not divulge for fear of ridicule and disappointment. Finally he took
courage and laid them before his friends at the Russo-Baltic Works.
Whatever they may have thought of his wild scheme of air supremacy they
consented to give it a tryout, and in the Spring of 1913 the first of
the giant "Sikorsky" machines stood awaiting a flight. It was viewed
with grave misgivings by a number of experts, but to their frank
surprise it took to the air with ease and flew well. The sight was a
strangely impressive one. In wing span the big machine measured almost
92 feet, while the body or _fuselage_ was over 62 feet long. The weight
of the amazing monster flying machine was 4 tons. In the forward part of
the fuselage cabins had been fitted, with a small deck on the bow. The
fuselage construction was of wood, with a strong 8-wheeled landing
chassis beneath it. Four 100 h. p. German "Argus" engines, driving four
tractor propellers sent it racing triumphantly through the air. Its
weight lifting ability was enormous, and it made a world record for
flight.
Prodigious as this first great master of the air had seemed it was
followed in 1913 by one still larger. The new machine was to the fullest
extent an aerial wonder. Its enormous body consisted of a wooden
framework covered with canvas, and in its interior a series of cabins
were provided. There were three decks: the main one in the center of the
fuselage, designed to carry heavy armament of machine guns and a
searchlight; a small deck at the stern; and one set in the
undercarriage, where additional heavy armament could be placed. Only a
few months before the storm of war broke over Europe this Air Leviathan
was born, and at the time no one suspected it would so soon be called
into active service. In the Spring of 1914 it made flight after flight,
scoring a succession of triumphs by its record breaking performances,
and winning for its designer a decoration from the Emperor.
Sikorsky was a man of wealth but so recklessly did he lavish his
personal funds on his airplane ventures that on many occasions he came
very near to want as a result. It was no unusual thing to see him during
those years of reckless experiment, braving the bitter winter weather of
Russia in threadbare garments, shivering, but grimly and sternly
determined. Then came the War, and at the first call his machines were
ready to prove themselves in the battle against the Hun.
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
muffler--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 rôle 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, passing 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. Nobody
foresaw exactly what those duties would be, and nobody once dreamed that
the battalions of the air would play the tremendous rôle 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 multitude 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
mêlée and goes crashing to earth.
Not the least dangerous of the many services the airplane is performing
is that of the artillery "spotter." It belongs to some particular
battery whose guns are thundering away at the enemy. Hovering above No
Man's Land, where its position is a trifle too exposed to be
comfortable, it radiographs back to the gunners the exact locations of
important objectives, then watches the firing and reports the results.
Thanks to it the big guns do not speak in vain, and almost every shot is
a direct "hit."
And then there are the dreadnaughts of the sky who actually take part in
an attack, flying low over the lines and attacking the enemy infantry
with guns and with death-dealing bombs. They must run the gauntlet of
the enemy's fire, but on the other hand they spread terror and confusion
in the ranks of the soldiers massed below, distracting their attention
and leaving them open to the surprise of a sudden onslaught of Allied
troops.
There are other machines which help in an attack by keeping the various
parts of the long line in close communication with each other, so that
all efforts are in unison. Their duties correspond in a way to those of
the swift horseback rider we read of in the stories of old wars, who
sped with news of great import from one commander to another. Only that
the airplanes of to-day are so much more efficient than the gallant
horseback rider of old, that although the line stretches across a
nation, it can act as a man when the moment comes for a big "push."
Long before the war Germany had been busy turning out airplanes in
large numbers in her factories, and in August, 1914, her air force was
far superior in numbers to that of her great opponent France. She fondly
imagined that she would be able with the greatest ease to put out her
enemy's eyes, but in this she failed utterly. In spite of her military
program of construction, according to which airplanes were turned out as
if by clock-work, there was something wrong with her calculations. It is
amusing to look back and see how German "method" had been carried to the
absurd point of defeating itself. In manner truly characteristic, the
Hun had standardized his airplane down to the last bolt. Every machine
turned out was of exactly the same pattern, and built up of exactly the
same parts--parts which could be manufactured in large quantities and
put together with unusual speed. It was certainly _system_ raised to the
_n_th degree. And the machines themselves were good enough--sturdy
biplanes intended to be maids-of-all-work over the front lines. Yet in a
little while after the fighting had begun, Germany withdrew them in more
or less chagrin, and set herself to constructing others of varied
patterns. They were well made and splendidly equipped, but they were not
sufficiently _specialized_ for the many different kinds of work they
were called on to perform.
France had a motley array of airplanes of every size, shape and make
when the war broke out. They had varying systems of control, so that a
pilot who flew one with ease was nothing more than a novice when he
stepped into another. He did not know how its new set of levers
operated, nor how the plane would behave in the air. Moreover, the parts
for these French airplanes and for their engines had been specially
designed by each maker, and were quite unsuitable for any other type of
machine. The result was that when a machine had to be repaired at the
front, it was "laid up" for a long time, while the special part it
required was being ordered and made for it. When finally it arrived,
very often there had been some mistake, and so there was another long
period of uselessness. France had prided herself on her versatility in
airship design. She now had cause to regret it as she viewed the almost
helpless confusion it had caused in her air service. Her machines,
moreover, were much inferior to the German in armament, speed and
climbing gauges, cameras, and all the hundreds of accessories which gave
the German machines their initial advantage. But experience is the best
teacher, and no sooner had she seen wherein she fell short than
dauntless France mustered all her resources to correcting past mistakes.
Order was brought out of confusion, and it was only a very little while
before the German war lords had need to look to their laurels, for the
Frenchmen were far outstripping them in the air.
There was one "accessory" which the airplane of the Hun lacked, and
which all his mechanical skill and ingenuity were not able to provide:
_a pilot with the dash and daring of the French!_ Even in those first
dark days when the French planes were the equals of their adversaries
neither in numbers nor in capabilities,--a continuous stream of gallant
French pilots took to the air and proved that they could surprise and
outmaneuver their slower-thinking opponents. While they held the line in
their inferior craft, French manufacturers were rushing newer and better
equipped machines to reenforce them.
Great Britain was far behindhand in aircraft production when the trumpet
of war sounded,--in fact, her air force was considered a negligible
quantity by friend and foe alike. By dint of persevering search she
managed to scrape up a small group of planes of many makes and for the
most part antiquated. She sent them--along with her "contemptible little
army "--to France, and there they succeeded in holding their own during
the first great German push. When the Stories of heroic fighting against
hopeless odds, of British airmen flinging their lives in challenge
against the foe in the great air struggle, began to reach home, the
British lion repented his tardiness and a program of aircraft
construction on a large scale was instituted without delay.
In carefully standardizing those first airplanes there was one point
which the crafty Germans overlooked: which is, that you can't make a
dray horse run fast, nor a race horse draw heavy burdens. The same thing
holds good with the "steeds" of the air. A plane which is designed for
great speed is never as good a burden bearer as one which is built to
lift heavy weights at the expense of swiftness in flight. As soon as the
duties of the airplane began to be specialized, the airplane itself
began to appear in certain definite types.
Now of course the duties of the airplane in wartime are numberless, but
out of the early confusion _three_ types of machines were finally
evolved, which, with the addition of equipment, such as a camera,
machine guns, etc., are suitable for practically any sort of work over
the land. They are:
1. The high speed fighting machines.
2. The reconnaissance machines.
3. The bombing machines (including the day and the night bombers).
Of all military airplanes there is none so fond of "aliases" as the high
speed fighting machine. Possibly in order to baffle the uninitiated, or
to surround itself with an atmosphere of uncertainty and romance, it
goes by first one title and then another. Most often we hear it called a
_speed scout_, perhaps for the reason that _it does no scouting!_ At
other times it masquerades proudly under the fine French titles of
"Avions de Chasse" or "Avions de Combat." It is referred to as a
"chaser," a "pursuit machine," a "battle plane" and a "combat
machine"--but whatever it is _called_, in type it is the small, fast
airplane, usually a single seater, quick in climbing, agile as an
acrobat, able to "go" high and far,--for its duty is to run every enemy
machine out of the sky and sweep the board clean before the heavier
service machines begin their tasks of the day. It should be able to
reach a height of from 18,000 to 23,000 feet, or in the language of the
air, it must have a high "ceiling." From altitudes so tremendous that
they awe the mere earthly pedestrian it swoops down upon its
unsuspecting victim, opening upon him a stream of machine gun fire. For
its pilot is also a skilled gunner and a crack shot. Upon his ability to
maneuver his machine swiftly and cleverly and hit his target unerringly
depends his own life and the life of a costly military airplane.
The reconnaissance machines and the bombing planes may do valuable
service,--and indeed they invariably do--but it is the "speed scout"
that covers itself with glory. The reason is that its career brings it
nearer to the "personal combat" of the knights of old than anything in
modern warfare. Driving his swift Nieuport scout as a knight would have
ridden his charger, the beloved Guynemer went forth to challenge the
German fighters,--and other Frenchmen and Englishmen and Americans have
followed him. It is a fact beyond all question that this branch of the
service has produced some of the most truly unselfish and heroic figures
of the whole war. The "speed scout" pilot did not need to be a man
deeply versed in military affairs--as for instance the pilot and
observer of the reconnaissance machine must be,--but he did need
dauntless courage, unfailing nerves of steel, dash and daring and
contempt for his own safety. So wherever the "speed scout" has blazed
its trail of fire across the sky, there have sprung up the names of men
whose heroic deeds have made them the idols of the whole world. Usually
they have been very young men--young enough for their ideals to have
kept fresh and untarnished from the sordid things of life, and thus they
have written their names among the immortals.
[Illustration: _Copyright Underwood and Underwood_
A PHOTOGRAPH OF NORTHERN FRANCE TAKEN AT A HEIGHT OF THREE THOUSAND
FEET]
Less appealing to the imagination, perhaps, but no less vital to the
progress of modern warfare, is the slower flying reconnaissance craft.
This machine is always a two-seater, and sometimes a three, for at the
very minimum it must carry a pilot and an observer, while a gunner is a
very convenient third party in case of an attack from enemy scouts. This
type of machine is used for photographic work, for artillery "spotting,"
and for many general service duties over the lines. In the early days of
the war it was customary for the photography airplane to be escorted on
its mission by a group of fighting machines, who hovered about it and
engaged in battle any airplanes of the enemy that might seek to
interrupt its important work. But the last year or so have brought many
improvements in airplane construction and it has been found possible to
build a machine which can not only carry the heavy photographic
apparatus and a couple of machine guns, but which can also travel at a
good speed and climb fast enough to escape from the anti-aircraft guns.
Instead of the rather helpless, clumsy, slow-flying reconnaissance
machines of the early part of the war, we now have powerful "aerial
dreadnaughts," which no longer need to run away, but can stay and fight
it out when they are interrupted in the course of their air duties.
Military photography is one of the most fascinating of the side issues
of the war. Before the day of the airplane it was the scout or spy who
worked his way secretly into the enemy's lines and at great personal
risk,--and often after many thrilling adventures, if the story books are
to be believed--brought back to his commanding officer news of the
disposition of troops, etc., in the opposing camp. To-day the spy's job
has been taken away from him. No longer is it necessary for him to creep
under cover of night past the guard posts of the enemy. A big,
comfortable and efficient airplane flies over the ground by broad
daylight and collects the necessary information a great deal better than
the spy ever could have secured it.
[Illustration: _Copyright Underwood and Underwood_
AN AIRPLANE VIEW OF THE CITY OF RHEIMS, SHOWING THE CATHEDRAL]
A reconnaissance camera has very little in common with a kodak. The
observer does not tilt it over the edge of the machine, focus it on some
interesting object and "snap" his picture. As a matter of fact it works
more after the manner of a gun. It is fixed in the bottom of the
airplane, facing downward. The observer has been instructed before
leaving the ground that a certain area or trench is to be photographed.
Straight to the beginning of that trench line the pilot heads his
machine. The observer compares the country over which he is flying with
the chart or map which he carries. Just as a gunner sights a target, he
locates the beginning of the trench line to be photographed through a
bull's eye, and immediately pushes the button which sets the camera
working. From that point the camera operates automatically, taking a
series of overlapping pictures of the country it looks down upon. With
calm determination the pilot holds his machine to the course laid out,
in spite of any opposition that may arise in his path, for the slightest
deviation from that fixed line of flight will mean a gap in the
reconnaissance report which the pictures represent. But once he has
covered the required area, he turns and flees. In less time than it
takes to tell that magazine of films is being developed in a dark room.
From there the printed pictures are rushed to an expert interpreter who
reads the secret meanings of the things he sees--this or that dark
blotch or peculiar looking speck suggests to his trained mind a machine
gun nest, a railroad center, an observation post, a barbed wire
entanglement, a camouflaged battery, an ammunition dump, or what-not.
Pasted together so that they give a continuous view of the foe's
territory, the printed pictures are hurried to headquarters, where in a
few brief moments their message has been turned into a command to the
troops. By the word that those pictures bring the battle is directed,
and the blow is aimed straight at the enemy's vital spots.
Occasionally instead of a series of photographs of a trench line or
limited area, a continuous set of pictures of a broad space of country
is desired. Then instead of a single machine as described above, a
squadron of reconnaissance machines set forth, flying in V formation,
with the leader of the squadron flying in front at the point of the V.
The moment he reaches the area to be photographed, he notifies the
machines behind him by firing a smoke rocket with a signal pistol. At
that signal the V broadens instantly, so that it becomes almost a
straight line, the comma
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