Title: The Curtiss Aviation Book
Author: Curtiss, Glenn, Post, Augustus, Lettow-Vorbeck, General von (Paul Emil), Robinson, Hugh, Ellyson, Theodore
Language: English
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The Curtiss Aviation Book

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This book was transcribed from scans of the original found at the
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[Copyright, 1910, by The Pictorial News Co.]

CURTISS' HUDSON RIVER FLIGHT OVER THE STATUE OF LIBERTY

THE CURTISS

AVIATION BOOK

BY

GLENN H. CURTISS

AND

AUGUSTUS POST

WITH CHAPTERS BY CAPTAIN PAUL W. BECK, U. S. A.

LIEUTENANT THEODORE G. ELLYSON, U. S. N.

AND HUGH ROBINSON

With Numerous Illustrations from Photographs

NEW YORK

FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY

PUBLISHERS

Copyright, 1912, by

FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY

All rights reserved, including that of translation into foreign

languages, including the Scandinavian

October, 1912

TO

MRS. MABEL G. BELL

WHO MADE POSSIBLE THE AERIAL EXPERIMENT ASSOCIATION

THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED BY

THE AUTHORS

Table of Contents

-   PART I BOYHOOD AND EARLY EXPERIMENTS OF GLENN H. CURTISS by Augustus
    Post
    -   CHAPTER I THE COMING AIRMEN AN INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER
    -   CHAPTER II BOYHOOD DAYS
    -   CHAPTER III BUILDING MOTORS AND MOTORCYCLE RACING
    -   CHAPTER IV BALDWIN'S BALLOON
-   PART II MY FIRST FLIGHTS by Glenn H. Curtiss
    -   CHAPTER I BEGINNING TO FLY
    -   CHAPTER II FIRST FLIGHTS
    -   CHAPTER III THE "JUNE BUG" FIRST FLIGHTS FOR THE SCIENTIFIC
        AMERICAN TROPHY AND FIRST EXPERIMENTS WITH THE HYDROAEROPLANE
    -   CHAPTER IV FIRST FLIGHTS IN NEW YORK CITY
-   PART III MY CHIEF FLIGHTS AND THE WORK OF TO-DAY by Glenn H. Curtiss
    -   CHAPTER I THE RHEIMS MEET FIRST INTERNATIONAL AEROPLANE CONTEST
    -   CHAPTER II HUDSON-FULTON CELEBRATION FIRST AMERICAN
        INTERNATIONAL MEET, AT LOS ANGELES
    -   CHAPTER III FLIGHT DOWN THE HUDSON RIVER FROM ALBANY TO NEW YORK
        CITY
    -   CHAPTER IV THE BEGINNING OF THE HYDROAEROPLANE
    -   CHAPTER V DEVELOPING THE HYDROAEROPLANE AT SAN DIEGO–THE HYDRO
        OF THE SUMMER OF 1912
-   PART IV THE REAL FUTURE OF THE AEROPLANE BY GLENN H. CURTISS WITH
    CHAPTERS BY CAPTAIN PAUL W. BECK, U. S. A., LIEUTENANT THEODORE G.
    ELLYSON, U. S. N., AND AUGUSTUS POST
    -   CHAPTER I AEROPLANE SPEED OF THE FUTURE
    -   CHAPTER II FUTURE SURPRISES OF THE AEROPLANE–HUNTING, TRAVEL,
        MAIL, WIRELESS, LIFE-SAVING, AND OTHER SPECIAL USES
    -   CHAPTER III THE FUTURE OF THE HYDRO
    -   CHAPTER IV FUTURE PROBLEMS OF AVIATION
    -   CHAPTER V THE AEROPLANE AS APPLIED TO THE ARMY (By Captain
        Paul W. Beck, U. S. A.)
    -   CHAPTER VI THE AEROPLANE FOR THE NAVY (With an Account of the
        Training Camp at San Diego. By Lieutenant Theodore G.
        Ellyson, U. S. N.)
    -   CHAPTER VII GLIDING AND CYCLE-SAILING A FUTURE SPORT FOR BOYS,
        THE AIRMEN OF TO-MORROW (By Augustus Post.)
-   PART V EVERY-DAY FLYING FOR PROFESSIONAL AND AMATEUR BY GLENN H.
    CURTISS WITH CHAPTERS BY AUGUSTUS POST AND HUGH ROBINSON
    -   CHAPTER I TEACHING AVIATORS HOW AN AVIATOR FLIES
    -   CHAPTER II AVIATION FOR AMATEURS
    -   CHAPTER III HOW IT FEELS TO FLY (By Augustus Post.)
    -   CHAPTER IV OPERATING A HYDROAEROPLANE (By Hugh Robinson.)
-   PART VI THE CURTISS PUPILS AND A DESCRIPTION OF THE CURTISS
    AEROPLANE AND MOTOR BY AUGUSTUS POST
    -   CHAPTER I PUPILS
    -   CHAPTER II A DESCRIPTION OF THE CURTISS BIPLANE
    -   CHAPTER III THE CURTISS MOTOR AND FACTORY

ILLUSTRATIONS 

- CURTISS' HUDSON RIVER FLIGHT–OVER THE STATUE OF LIBERTY
- CURTISS THE BOY AND CURTISS THE MAN
- CURTISS WINNING WORLD'S MOTORCYCLE RECORDS
- THE BALDWIN ARMY DIRIGIBLE, WITH EARLY CURTISS MOTOR
- WIND WAGON AND ICE BOAT WITH AERIAL PROPELLER 
- THE AERIAL EXPERIMENT ASSOCIATION
- STARTING TO FLY FIRST PUBLIC FLIGHT IN AMERICA; THE "JUNE BUG," 
JUNE, 1908; BALDWIN IN GLIDER
- THE FIRST MACHINES THE "WHITE WING" AND "RED WING"
- CURTISS' FIRST FLIGHT FOR THE SCIENTIFIC AMERICAN TROPHY
- WINNING THE GORDON BENNETT CONTEST IN FRANCE
- PRESIDENT TAFT WATCHING CURTISS FLY, HARVARD MEET, 1910
- THE ALBANY-NEW YORK FLIGHT–START; OVER WEST POINT
- THE HUDSON FLIGHT–OVER STORM KING
- THE HUDSON FLIGHT–STOP AT POUGHKEEPSIE; FINISH, AT 
GOVERNOR'S ISLAND
- THE EVOLUTION OF THE HYDRO;–THE FIRST HYDRO IN THE 
WORLD; DUAL CONTROL HYDRO OF 1911; LANDING IN 
HYDRO AT CEDAR POINT, OHIO
- ELY LANDING ON THE U. S. S. "PENNSYLVANIA"
- CURTISS AND HYDRO HOISTED ON U. S. S. "PENNSYLVANIA"; 
- ELY LEAVING "PENNSYLVANIA"
- DIAGRAM OF CURTISS FLYING BOAT OF 1912
- THE EVOLUTION OF THE HYDRO–THE FLYING BOAT OF 
SUMMER 1912; THE 1911 HYDRO
- HYDRO FLIGHTS–CURTISS OVER LAKE ERIE; WITMER RIDING 
THE GROUND SWELLS
- CAPTAIN BECK AND POSTMASTER-GENERAL HITCHCOCK 
CARRYING THE MAIL
- STUDENTS OF AERIAL WARFARE–BECK, TOWERS, ELLYSON, 
MCCLASKEY; WITH CURTISS AND ST. HENRY
- ELLYSON LAUNCHES HYDRO FROM WIRE CABLE
- HUGH ROBINSON'S FLIGHT DOWN THE MISSISSIPPI
- AUGUSTUS POST FLYING; AEROPLANE SHIPMENT
- CURTISS PUPILS–J. A. D. MCCURDY RACING AN AUTOMOBILE; 
- LIEUTENANT ELLYSON; MR. AND MRS. W. B. ATWATER
- CURTISS PUPILS–C. C. WITMER, BECKWITH HAVENS, J. A. D. 
MCCURDY, CROMWELL DIXON, CHAS. K. HAMILTON, 
CHAS. F. WALSH, CHAS. F. WILLARD 
- LINCOLN BEACHEY FLYING IN GORGE AT NIAGARA
- DIAGRAM OF CURTISS AEROPLANE, SHOWING PARTS
- DIAGRAM OF CURTISS MOTOR, SHOWING PARTS
- CURTISS MOTORS, OLD AND NEW
- AT THE AEROPLANE FACTORY, HAMMONDSPORT

PART I BOYHOOD AND EARLY EXPERIMENTS OF GLENN H. CURTISS 
by Augustus Post

CHAPTER I THE COMING AIRMEN AN INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER

The time has come when the world is going to need a new type of
men–almost a new race. These are the Flying Men. The great dream of
centuries has come true, and man now has the key to the sky. Every great
invention which affects the habits and customs of a people brings about
changes in the people themselves. How great, then, must be the changes
to be brought about by the flying machine, and how strangely new the
type of man that it carries up into a new world, under absolutely new
conditions!

Each year there will be more need of flying men; so that in telling this
story of a pioneer American aviator, his struggles, failures, and
successes, it has been the desire to keep in mind not only the
scientific elders who are interested in angles of incidence, automatic
stability and the like, but also the boys and girls–the air pilots of
the future. It is hoped that there will be in these introductory
chapters–for whose writing, be it understood, Mr. Curtiss is not
responsible a plain unvarnished story of an American boy who worked his
way upward from the making of bicycles to the making of history, an
inspiration for future flights, whether in imagination or aeroplanes,
and that even the youngest reader will gain courage to meet the
obstacles and to overcome the difficulties which Glenn H. Curtiss met
and overcame in his progress to fame.

Here is a man who is a speed marvel who has beat the world at it. First
on land, riding a motorcycle, next in a flying machine, and finally in a
machine that was both water and air craft, which sped over the surface
of the sea faster than man had ever travelled on that element, and which
rose into the air and came back to land with the speed of the fastest
express train; a man who traveled at the rate of one hundred and
thirty-seven miles an hour on land, fifty-eight miles an hour on the
water and who won the first International speed championship in the air.

More than that, they may see what sort of a boy came to be the speed
champion and to know some of the traits that go to make the successful
airman, for it is said of the great aviators, as of the great poets,
they are born flying men, and not developed. The successful flying man
and maker of flying machines, such as Glenn H. Curtiss has shown himself
to be, realises how dangerous is failure, and builds slowly. He builds,
too, on his experience gained from day to day; having infinite patience
and dogged perseverance. And yet a great aviator must be possessed of
such marvelous quickness of thought that he can think faster than the
forces of nature can act, and he must act as fast as he thinks.

He must be so completely in harmony with Nature and her moods that he
can tell just when is the right time to attempt a dangerous experiment,
and so thoroughly in control of himself that he can refuse to make the
experiment when he knows it should not be made, even though urged by all
those around him to go ahead. He must feel that nothing is impossible,
and yet he must not attempt anything until he is sure that he is ready
and every element of danger has been eliminated, so far as lies in human
power. He must realise that he cannot change the forces of nature, but
that he can make them do his work when he understands them. Some of
these qualities must be inbred in the man, but the life-story of Glenn
H. Curtiss shows how far energy, courage, and tireless perseverance will
go toward bringing them out.

It is from among the country boys that the best aviators will be found
to meet the demands of the coming Flying Age. They have been getting
ready for it for a long time long before the days of Darius Green. Does
any one now read "Phaeton Rogers," that story of the inventive boy back
in the eighties, and recall the "wind-wagon" which was one of his many
inventions? There were many like him then, and there are more like him
now; always tinkering at something, trying to make it "go," and go fast.
And there are many of these who are building up, perhaps without knowing
it, the strong body, the steady brain, courage, perseverance, and the
power of quick decision the character of the successful airmen of the
future.

The history of aviation is very brief, expressed in years. In effort it
covers centuries. First come the inventors, a calm, cautious type of
men, holding their ideas so well in trust that they will not risk their
lives for mere display and the applause of the crowd. Then the
exploiters, eager for money and fame; men who develop the possibilities
of the machines, always asking more and getting more in the way of
achievement with each new model built. Though covering a period of less
than a half score of years, aviation already has its second generation
of flyers, pupils trained by the pioneers, young and ambitious, eager to
explore the new element that has been made possible by their mentors.
From the country districts, where the blood is red, the brain steady and
the heart strong, will come many an explorer of the regions of the air.
Just as the city boy in developing the wireless telegraph strings his
antennae on the housetops and the roofs of the giant skyscrapers, so
will the country boy develop his glider or his aeroplane in the pasture
lands and on the steep hillsides of his own particular territory, and we
shall have a race of flying men to carry on the development of the
flying machine until it shall reach that long dreamed-of and sought-for
perfection.

CHAPTER II BOYHOOD DAYS

Glenn Hammond Curtiss was born at Hammondsport, New York, May 21, 1878.
His middle name shows his connection with the pioneer family for which
the town is named. Then Hammondsport was a port for canal boats that
came up Lake Keuka; nowadays it is an airport for the craft of the sky.
It is a quaint little town, lying on the shores of a beautiful lake that
stretches away to Penn Yann, twenty miles to the north. Glenn's old home
was called Castle Hill. It was nearly surrounded by vineyards and fruit
trees. It was once the property of Judge Hammond, who built the first
house in Hammondsport. On this site now stands the Curtiss factories.

All about Hammondsport are the great vineyards that have made the town
famous for its wine, for Hammondsport is in the very heart of the
grape-growing section of New York State. These vineyards give the boys
of Hammondsport a fine opportunity to earn money each year, and Glenn
was always among those who spent the vacation time in tying up grape
vines, and in gathering the fruit on Saturdays and at other odd times.

Some of the neighbours' children picked wintergreen and flowers, and
sold them to the summer excursionists. One time Glenn was invited to go
with them. He sold six bunches for sixty cents. His mother applied the
amount toward a pair of shoes in order to teach him the use and value of
money. He was then three years old and wore a fresh white dress and a
blue sash.

Glenn was afterwards taught how to prune and tie vines and gather fruit
and at harvest time he was often seen with pony and wagon making a fast
run to the station to get the last load of grapes on the train.

With the care of his sister and the work on the home vineyard, life was
not all play, for Glenn was "The Man of the House," after his father's
death, which occurred when he was four years old. At this time, he went
with his mother and sister, to live with his grandmother who lived on
the outskirts of the village.

Hammondsport is divided by the main street, and the boys of the two
sections, like the boys in cities, were always at war. The factional
lines were tightly drawn and many were the combats between the up-town
boys and the low-town boys. The hill boys had a den in the side of a
bank that sloped down from Grandma Curtiss' yard, walled in with stones
of a convenient size. This gave them good ammunition and a great
advantage in time of battle.

Among the members of the up-town gang were, "Fatty" Hastings and "Short"
Wheeler, "Jess" Talmadge and "Cowboy" Wixom and Curtley, as the boys
called Curtiss. He was captain of the band, because he had a sort of
ownership of the den. Thus the war waged until one day they punctured
Craton Wheeler's dog "Pickles," which so infuriated the enemy of the
lower village that they were on the point of storming the fort in the
hillside from above, and would no doubt have done so had they not
chanced to trample upon Grandma Curtiss' flower beds which caused this
indignant lady to issue forth and put the entire gang to rout. The cave
continued to be a safe refuge for the hillside gang until "Fatty"
Hastings grew too big to squeeze through the entrance and sometimes got
stuck just as the gang was ready to sally forth against the enemy, or
blocked the whole crew when they were in retreat.

During the winter months Glenn gave his hand to making skate-sails, and
became very proficient at it, and when summer came and the boys went on
bird-nesting excursions in the woods, he was usually the daring one who
allowed himself to be lowered by a rope over the cliff's edge or climbed
to the topmost limbs of the big hickory trees. At school, mathematics
was young Curtiss's strong point, and when finally he came to pass his
final examinations in the high school, he topped his class in that study
with a perfect score of one hundred, and in Algebra he stood
ninety-nine. It is reassuring, however, to find that in spelling he was
barely able to squeeze through with a percentage of seventy-five. Glenn
sometimes slipped up on the figuring, but the principle was usually
right; he had figured that out beforehand. The boys of Hammondsport used
to say that Glenn would think half an hour to do fifteen minutes' work.
One wonders what they would have said, if they had been told that in
after years he was to think and plan and scheme for a year, and then
when he was all ready, to wait hour after hour, day after day, to
accomplish something requiring a little more than two hours' time; like
his flight from Albany to New York, the first great cross-country flight
made in America.

When Curtiss was twelve years old his family went to live in Rochester,
New York, so that his sister might be able to attend a school for the
deaf at that place. He went on working at Rochester after school hours
and during vacation time, first as a telegraph messenger, then in the
great Eastman Kodak works, assembling cameras. He was one of the very
first boys hired by that establishment to replace men at certain kinds
of work, and while the men had received twelve dollars a week, Glenn
received but four dollars. Before long, however, he had induced his
employers to make his work a piece-work job, and had improved the
process of manufacture and increased the production from two hundred and
fifty to twenty-five hundred a day. He was thus able to earn from twelve
to fifteen dollars a week. It was while employed in the camera works at
Rochester that Curtiss saved the life of a companion who had fallen
through the ice on the Erie canal. When praised for his act of bravery
he simply remarked: "I pulled him out because I was the nearest to him."

All during the time that Curtiss was working for others for wages, he
continued to tinker making things and then taking them apart. Once he
told some of his companions that he could make, out of a cigar box, a
camera that would take a good picture. Of course they laughed at him and
bet that he couldn't do it. But Glenn did do it, and a picture of his
sister with a book was produced and is still unfaded, and in good
condition, in possession of his family. He constructed a complete
telegraph instrument out of spools, nails, tin, and wire and this so
impressed the lady with whom the Curtisses boarded that she remarked to
one of her friends that "Glenn Curtiss will make his mark in the world
some day; you mark my words." This particular lady tells of the time
that Glenn used to talk of airships, and he was not yet sixteen years
old. Curtiss was fond of all sorts of sports, taking part in the games
the boys would get up after school and on Saturdays. He liked to play
ball, to run, jump, swim, and to ride a bicycle.

His time was too much taken up, however, with more productive efforts,
such as the wiring of dwellings for electric light or telephones, to
permit of much time being given to boyish sports.

He was most original and had a keen sense of humour. He was fond of an
argument, and had one striking characteristic; once he had made up his
mind as to the why and wherefore of a thing, he could never be induced
to change it. To illustrate this trait; one day an argument arose
between Glenn and another boy as to whether or not a whale is a fish,
Glenn holding that it could be nothing but a fish. The other boy finally
reenforced his argument by producing a dictionary to show that a whale
is not a fish, whereupon Curtiss asserted that the dictionary was wrong
and refused to accept it as authority.

Curtiss was always eager for speed–to get from one place to another in
the quickest time with the least amount of effort. He was obsessed with
the idea of travelling fast. One of the first things he remembers, says
Curtiss, was seeing a sled made by one of his father's workmen for his
son beat every other sled that dashed down the steep snow-clad hills
around Hammondsport. He begged his father to let "Gene" make him a sled
that would go faster than Linn's. "Gene" made the sled and Glenn painted
it red, with a picture of a horse on it. Furthermore, he beat every sled
in Hammondsport or thereabouts.

The bicycle became all the rage when Curtiss was growing into his early
teens and nothing was more certain than that he should have one as soon
as he could earn enough money to buy it. And when he got it he made it
serve his purposes in delivering telegrams, newspapers, and such like.
He developed speed and staying powers as a rider, and soon thought
nothing of making the trip from Rochester to Hammondsport to see his
grandmother, who still lived in the old home in that village. The roads
of New York were not as good as they are nowadays, when the automobile
forces improvements of the highways, but Curtiss rode fast nevertheless.
In fact, he managed all his regular work this way. His idea was first,
to find out just how to do it, and then do it. Then he would find out
how fast a certain task could be performed, and get through with it at
top speed. The surplus time he devoted to tinkering with something new.

Grandmother Curtiss finally prevailed upon him to go back to
Hammondsport and live with her. For a time after his return he assisted
a local photographer and his experience in photography gained at this
time has since proved of great value to him, and, incidentally, to the
history of aviation; for in photographing his experiments Curtiss'
pictures have a distinct value, as much for being taken just at the
right instant, as for their pictorial detail. Following his photographic
employment, Curtiss took charge of a bicycle repair shop. It was a
little shop down by the principal hotel in Hammondsport, but Curtiss
foresaw the popularity and later the cheapness of the bicycle, and he
believed the shop would do a good business. James Smellie owned the
shop, but Curtiss' mechanical skill soon asserted itself and he became
the practical boss. This was in 1897. George Lyon, a local jeweler, was
a competitor of Smellie's in the bicycle business, and got up a big race
around the valley, a distance of five miles over the rough country
roads. When Smellie heard of the race he made up his mind that Curtiss
could win it and went about arranging the equipment of his employee.
That race has passed into the real history of the town of Hammondsport.
Everybody in the town and the valley was there, and great was the
excitement when the riders lined up for the start. They started from a
point near the monument in front of the Episcopal church and within a
few moments after the crack of the pistol they were all out of sight,
swallowed up in the dust clouds that marked their progress up the
valley. After a long interval of suspense a solitary rider appeared on
the home stretch, hunched down over his handle-bars and riding for dear
life, without a glance to right or left. It was Curtiss, who probably
has never since felt the same thrill of pride at the shouts of the
crowd. The next man was fully half a mile in the rear when Glenn crossed
the finish-line.

This was Curtiss' first bicycle race, but later he acquired greater
speed and experience and rode in many races at county fairs in the
southern part of New York State. What's more, he won all of his races.
This was good for his bicycle business, which thrived in the summer, but
languished in the winter. During the dull period Curtiss took up
electrical work, wiring houses, putting in electric bells, and doing
similar work of a mechanical nature. An incident is told of his
mechanical skill at this time that illustrates his inquisitive mind. An
acetylene gas generator in one of the stores got out of order one day,
and no one in the store could tell just how to repair it. Curtiss had
never seen a gas generator, but that did not deter him from going at it.
He studied it out in a little while and then put his finger on the
trouble. After that the generator worked better than ever. A little
later he decided to build a gas generator after his own ideas. He
started with two tomato cans and built it.

This was the first appearance of Curtiss' two tomato cans. They played
an important part in his subsequent experimental work, figuring all the
way through from this first gas generator to the carburetor of a
motorcycle, and at last to enlarge the water capacity of Charles K.
Hamilton's engine on his aeroplane so that he might cool his engine
better in making the record flight from New York to Philadelphia and
return in the same day. In this first case the two tomato cans developed
into an acetylene gas plant with several improvements, and his own home
and shop were lighted by it. Later the plant was enlarged so as to
furnish light for several business houses of Hammondsport.

CHAPTER III BUILDING MOTORS AND MOTORCYCLE RACING

In the spring of 1900 Curtiss embarked in the bicycle business for
himself, opening a shop near his old place of employment. This shop soon
came to be known as the "industrial incubator," because experiments of
many kinds were tried there a hatching-place for all sorts of new
machines. The first one developed was destined to open up to Curtiss a
new field of action, one that furnished the opportunity for new speed
records, and enlarged the scope of his activities beyond the limits of
the little town and the valley, and spread before him possibilities as
wide as the boundaries of the continent.

Curtiss had ridden a bicycle in races, and got the utmost speed out of
it; but the bicycle, as a man-propelled vehicle, did not travel fast
enough to suit him. He therefore set about devising means for increasing
its speed possibilities. One day Smellie, his old employer, came into
Curtiss' shop, tired out and perspiring from his efforts in pedaling his
bicycle up the hill. "Glenn," he said, "I'm going to give the blamed
thing up until they get something to push it." That was Curtiss' cue,
and it promptly became his problem–getting something to push it! He
determined to mount a gasoline engine on a bicycle, and at once began to
search for the necessary castings. Finally he secured them and began the
task of building a motor. Unfortunately, the man who sold him the
castings sent no instructions for building a motor, so the problem was
left to Curtiss and to those who interested themselves in his work. They
studied and planned and made experiments, learning something new about
motors all the while. Eventually, with the assistance of local
mechanics, the castings were "machined" and the motor assembled.

Curtiss afterward described it as a remarkable contrivance; but it did
the work. This motor had a two-inch bore and a two-an-a-half-inch
stroke, and drove the bicycle wheel by a friction roller pulley. First,
Curtiss made the pulley of wood, then of leather, and finally of rubber.
It was tried first on the front wheel and then on the rear one, and so
numerous were the changes in and additions to its equipment, that the
bystanders and there was the usual number of these saw only the humorous
side of the thing and declared that it looked like a sort of Happy
Hooligan bicycle with tin cans hung on wherever there was room. The
tomato can again came to the front in Curtiss' experiments, and now
served to fashion a rough and ready sort of carburetor, filled with
gasoline and covered over with a gauze screen, which sucked up the
liquid by capillary attraction. Thus it vaporized and was conducted to
the cylinder by a pipe from the top of the can.

Then came the first demonstration of a bicycle driven by power other
than leg muscles, and it attracted almost as much attention in
Hammondsport as the first bicycle road race which Curtiss had won some
years before. The newfangled machine, which the village oracle declared
could not be made to go unless the rider put his legs to work, did not
promise much of a success on its initial trip. Curtiss started off for
the post-office, but had to pedal all the way there, the motor refusing
to do its part. Coming from the post-office, however, it began popping
and shoved the wheels around at an amazing rate, while Curtiss sat
calmly upright and viewed the excited citizens of Hammondsport as he
sped by.

[Illustration: THE EVOLUTION OF AN AVIATOR]

[Illustration: (A) POST CARD SENT BY CURTISS TO HIS WIFE, JANUARY 
24, 1907

(B) CURTISS MAKING WORLD'S MOTORCYCLE RECORD, ORMOND]

That was the beginning of Curtiss' motorcycle; but the ambitious
inventor did not rest with the first success. Work at the "incubator"
went on unceasingly. The young mechanical genius carried on his regular
duties during the days but spent most of the nights in his experiments.
Curtiss would not have said that he worked nights, but that he spent his
evenings in "doping out" the best way to build something. He has never
changed his habits in this respect. He still "dopes out" something for
the next day or the next month while "resting" from his daylight duties;
though the process would now be expressed in somewhat more scientific
terms. In truth, one may say that Curtiss worked all the time. In office
or shop hours, like other persons, he did what he had to do; while at
other times he did what he wanted to do. Curtiss was different only in
that he wanted to do those things which other people would call labor.
Experimental work was recreation to Curtiss, and because of this mental
attitude he was able to stick at a task day and night and keep up
"steam" all the while.

Curtiss seldom planned on paper. Plans seemed to outline themselves in
his active mind, and when, later, he became an employer of a number of
men, he simply outlined his ideas, describing just what he wanted to
accomplish, and left it to their ingenuity. Sometimes one of his
assistants would ask him a question and after standing for minutes as if
he had not heard, Curtiss would suddenly reply and outline a task which
it would require all day to carry out. Once Curtiss had decided that a
certain course of action would bring certain mechanical results, it
usually turned out that way, and because of this and the further fact
that he was as good a workman as he was a designer, the men he had
gathered around him grew to regard his judgment as final and therefore
went ahead with absolute confidence as to the results.

There was a remarkable spirit of cooperation in the "industrial
incubator." This spirit continued through the early years of Curtiss'
first business successes, and it obtains to-day in the big Curtiss
aeroplane and motor factories at Hammondsport. The alertness of the men
around Curtiss, and the atmosphere of cooperation may be due, in some
measure, to the curious interest they always hold as to what he will do
next and there is certain to be something happening out of the ordinary.
Thus, work with Curtiss seldom becomes monotonous and without its
surprises.

To go back to the first motor Curtiss built; it was quickly found to be
too small, and he secured another set of castings, as large as he could
get. With these he constructed a motor with a cylinder three and a half
by five inches, and weighing a hundred and ninety pounds. This machine
proved to be a terror. It is true that it exploded only occasionally,
but when it did it almost tore itself loose from the frame. But it drove
the motorcycle as fast as thirty miles an hour and gained such a
remarkable reputation in Hammondsport that a story is still told in the
town of the time Curtiss made his first trip with it, when it carried
him through the village, up over the steep hills, through North Urbana
and as far as Wayne, where it ran out of gasoline and came to a stop of
its own accord.

Thus Curtiss went ahead with his work to construct and improve his
motors, and improvement came with each successive one. The third motor
was better suited to the needs of the bicycle and furnished better
results. Meantime, Curtiss began to receive inquiries and even some
orders, and business took a decidedly favorable turn. Judge Monroe
Wheeler took a great liking to the young man, who used to come over to
his office to get the judge's stenographer to typewrite his letters, and
helped him to establish credit at the local bank, and in other ways.
Half a dozen fellow-townsmen became interested enough in Curtiss'
motorcycle experiments to put money into the business, and within a
short time a little factory was built on the hill back of Grandma
Curtiss' house. It was an inconvenient place to put up a factory, and
all the heavy material was hauled up to it with some difficulty, but the
light, finished product, which in this case could go under its own
power, rolled down the steep grade without trouble. In spite of these
little obstacles; in spite of the fact that Hammondsport is located at
the end of a little branch railroad which seems to the visitor to run
only as the spirit moves the engineer in spite of every handicap, the
business grew rapidly.

Curtiss was, by this time, happily married and Mrs. Curtiss helped with
the office work at the factory, which stood then, as it does to-day, at
the very back door of the old Curtiss homestead on the hillside. Curtiss
used to take out his best motorcycle in these days and go off alone to
all the motorcycle races held in that section of the State.
Incidentally, he scooped in all the prizes, for he had the fastest
machine, and he was a finished rider. On Memorial Day in 1903, Curtiss
ventured far afield for an event that brought him his first notices in
the big newspapers of New York City. He entered and won a hill-climbing
contest at New York City, on Riverside Drive, and immediately afterward
mounted his wheel, rode up the Hudson to another race, at Empire City
Track, and won that also. This gave him the American championship.

Later, at Providence, R. I., he established a world's record for a
single-cylinder motorcycle, covering a mile in fifty-six and two-fifths
seconds. While this was phenomenal speed, it was as nothing in
comparison with the record he was soon to establish. He built a
two-cylinder motor and on January 28, 1904, at Ormond Beach, Florida, he
rode ten miles in eight minutes fifty-four and two-fifth seconds, and
established a world's record that stood for more than seven years.
Curtiss was not content even with this. He wanted to travel faster than
man had ever traveled before. He had built a forty horse-power,
eight-cylinder motor for a customer who wanted it to put in a flying
machine which he was building, and in order to try out the motor Curtiss
built an especially strong motorcycle, using an automobile tire on the
rear wheel and a motorcycle tire on the front wheel. On a strong frame
the big forty horsepower motor was mounted. It was not given a thorough
try out at Hammondsport, for it was winter and snow lay deep on the
roads. With the aid of some of his shopmen, Curtiss took the freak
machine out on the snow-covered roads, merely for the purpose of seeing
if it could be started as it was geared in the machine. It proved that
it would start all right, and so it was hurriedly boxed and rushed to
the train, which was actually kept waiting several minutes. Curtiss was
going South to make new records, and even the railroad men on the little
branch road from Hammondsport to Bath, felt an interest in his
undertaking. This, by the way, is typical of the way things are done at
Hammondsport. When there is need for rushing matters, the men work night
and day without complaint. These last-moment rushes are often due to the
giving of much thought to the details before commencing to build, and
sometimes because, in building, improvements which must be incorporated
suggest themselves. Curtiss' rule, as he expresses it, is: "What is the
need of racing unless you think you are going to win; and if you are
beaten before you start, why take a chance?" But there are other
considerations for the builder of racing machines to take into account.
If your competitors know what you are doing, and they will know,
somehow, if you give them a little time, they will go you one better.
Therefore, this belated activity at the Curtiss factory is not always
without its motive. Take, for instance, the first big International race
for the Gordon Bennett aviation trophy, which Curtiss won at Rheims,
France, in 1909. In spite of the fact that Curtiss' motor was built in a
great hurry, barely giving the necessary time to finish it and reach
Rheims for the race, Bleriot, the chief French builder of the monoplane
type, changed his motor as soon as he had read a description of the one
Curtiss was to use.

The motorcycle which Curtiss had built and mounted with the
eight-cylinder motor proved to be a world-beater the fastest vehicle
ever built to carry a man. It was taken to Ormond Beach, Florida, where
it was tried out on the smooth sandy shore, which stretches for miles,
as level as a billiard table and almost as hard as asphalt. Here, on
January 24, 1907, Curtiss mounted the heavy, ungainly vehicle and
traveled a mile in twenty-six and two-fifth seconds, at the rate of one
hundred and thirty-seven miles an hour! This stands to-day as the speed
record for man and machine. Curtiss, without goggles and with no special
precautions in the matter of costume, simply mounted the seat, took a
two-mile running start before crossing the line, and was off. Bending so
low over the handle-bars that he almost seemed to be lying flat and
merged into a part of the machine itself, he flashed over the mile
course in less time than it takes to read these dozen lines. This speed
trial was the culmination of weeks of study, work, and experiment. Day
after day, and even at night, Curtiss had schemed and worked; now to get
the weight properly placed and balanced; here to strengthen the frame
and overcome the danger from the torque, and the tendency to turn the
machine over, and finally to obtain the right sort of tires and to put
them on securely. Ordinary tires, on wheels revolving at such an amazing
speed, would have been cast off the rims like a belt off a pulley, by
the centrifugal force.

These and a thousand other details were worked out so thoroughly that
the machine, when ready, required very little testing out. In describing
the trial Curtiss said that he could see nothing but a streak of grey
beach in front of him, a blur of hills on one side, and the white ribbon
of foaming surf on the other. The great crowd that watched the smoking,
whirring thing that flashed by as if fired from a great gun, caught but
a fleeting glimpse of Curtiss.

The record could not be accepted as official, because the motor was too
big and powerful to be classed as a motorcycle engine. It therefore
stands as an absolutely unique performance, unequalled, and not even
approached as regards speed, until three years later, when Barney
Oldfield, driving a two hundred horse-power Benz automobile, covered a
mile over the same course in twenty-seven and thirty-three hundredths
seconds.

Curtiss had developed, improved, and exhausted the motorcycle as far as
speed possibilities were concerned, and was soon to give it up for
something of far greater potential possibilities–the aeroplane.

CHAPTER IV BALDWIN'S BALLOON

Thomas Scott Baldwin was engaged in building a dirigible balloon in
California when he chanced to see a new motorcycle, the motor of which
seemed to be exactly what he wanted to propel his new airship. He
learned that it was the design and product of a man named Curtiss, at
Hammondsport, N. Y., with whom he entered into correspondence. The
result was that Captain Baldwin went to Hammondsport for a personal
interview with the man who had turned out the motor.

Baldwin expected to find, as he afterward said, a big, important-looking
manufacturer, and great was his surprise to find a quiet, unassuming
young man, scarcely more than a youth. The jovial Baldwin and the
unobtrusive Curtiss became great friends at once. They discussed motors
of all sorts, but particularly motors suitable for dirigible balloons,
then in the first stage of development. When Baldwin asked Curtiss the
price of one of the type then used in the Curtiss motorcycle, he was
surprised at its cheapness, and ordered one on the spot. This was built
at once and proved successful. Later several other motors were built at
the Curtiss factory for Baldwin, each one showing some improvement, and
some of them designed to meet the increasing demand for a more powerful
motor of light weight for use in dirigible balloons. As a natural
consequence of Baldwin's success with the use of the Curtiss motor, it
was but a short time until it came to be the best known motor in America
for aeronautic work. At the St. Louis World's Fair, in 1904, Captain
Baldwin's "California Arrow," the only successful airship out of all
those which were brought from Europe and every part of America to
contest for big prizes, was equipped with one of Curtiss' motors.
Baldwin's success at St. Louis was a triumph for Curtiss, and soon all
dirigible balloons operating in this country were driven by Curtiss
motors.

Hammondsport was now to have a new sensation and to witness an
experiment which eventually led to momentous developments. In order to
test the power of the motors he was building for Captain Baldwin, and
for the purpose of determining the efficiency of his aerial propeller,
Curtiss constructed a "wind-wagon," a three-wheel vehicle with the motor
and propeller mounted in the rear of the driver. When he took this queer
contrivance out on the road for its first trial, the town of
Hammondsport turned out to witness the fun. Consternation among the
usually mild-eyed work horses spread throughout the little valley as the
"wind-wagon" went scooting up and down the dusty roads, creating a
fearful racket. Before the start was made an automobile was sent ahead
to clear the way and to warn the drivers of other vehicles. The
automobile, however, was quickly overhauled, passed, and left far in the
rear by the whirring, spluttering, three-wheeled embryonic flying
machine.

[Illustration: THE BALDWIN ARMY DIRIGIBLE–CURTISS MOTOR]

Curtiss at front, at motor; Captain Thomas S. Baldwin at rear

[Illustration: NEARLY UP IN THE AIR]

(A) The wind wagon Curtiss in 1904.

(B) Ice boat with aerial propeller

Protests by farmers, business-men and others quickly followed this
experiment. They argued that it frightened the horses, made travel on
the roads unsafe, and was "bad for business generally." As the machine
had served its purpose with Curtiss, and had given Hammondsport its
little diversion, the famous "wind-wagon" passed into history, and, like
so many other of Curtiss' experiments, remains only in the memories of
those who were directly interested or those who watched in idle
curiosity.

Other airships were built by Baldwin and Curtiss from time to time, and
these were used successfully in giving exhibitions throughout the United
States. The work of these two pioneers of the air had attracted the
attention of the United States Government, in the meantime, and great
was the elation at Hammondsport when an order came from the War
Department at Washington for a big dirigible balloon for the use of the
Signal Corps. Baldwin was commissioned to build the balloon and Curtiss
the motor to propel it. This was an important undertaking, and both
Baldwin and Curtiss appreciated the fact. It marked the beginning of
Governmental and military interest in aeronautics in this country, the
possibilities of which were already engaging the attention of the
military authorities of Europe. The success of this airship meant much
to both men, and Baldwin and Curtiss worked all through the winter of
1904-05 to make it so, Baldwin, meanwhile, having moved to Hammondsport
in order to be in touch with the Curtiss factory, where all the
mechanical parts of his airships were being made.

In order to meet the specifications drawn up by the War Department, the
big airship was required to make a continuous flight of two hours under
the power of the motor, and be capable of manoeuvring in any direction.
Curtiss realised that in order to fill these requirements a new type
motor would be needed. He designed and set about building, therefore, a
water-cooled motor, something which had not been attempted at the
Curtiss factory up to this time, and the success of which marked a long
step in advance. Although Baldwin had built thirteen dirigibles, all of
which had been equipped with motors built by Curtiss, and all of which
had been operated successfully in exhibitions, the Government contract
was his most ambitious undertaking. About the balloon itself, there was
never any doubt; the thing that clung constantly in the minds of these
men who were bending every effort to the conquest of the air, was: "Will
the motor do its work in a two-hours' endurance test, and will it
furnish the necessary power to drive the big airship at a speed of
twenty miles an hour?" The conditions under which the trial was to be
made were entirely unique. The motor had to be suspended on a light but
substantial framework beneath the great gas-bag, and from this framework
the pilot and the engineer had to do their work.

The Army dirigible was completed on time and its test took place at
Washington in the summer of 1905. Captain Baldwin acted as pilot and
Curtiss as engineer. The airship met every specification and was
accepted by the Government. A flight of two hours' duration was made
over the wooded hills of Virginia, and this stands to-day as the longest
continuous flight ever made by a dirigible airship in this country.

PART II MY FIRST FLIGHTS by Glenn H. Curtiss

CHAPTER I BEGINNING TO FLY

In 1905, while in New York City, I first met Dr. Alexander Graham Bell,
the inventor of the telephone. Dr. Bell had learned of our light-weight
motors, used with success on the Baldwin dirigibles, and wanted to
secure one for use in his experiments with kites. We had a very
interesting talk on these experiments, and he asked me to visit him at
Bienn Bhreagh, his summer home near Baddeck, Nova Scotia. Dr. Bell had
developed some wonderfully light and strong tetrahedral kites which
possessed great inherent stability, and he wanted a motor to install in
one of them for purposes of experimentation. This kite was a very large
one. The Doctor called it an "aerodrome." The surfaces not being planes,
it could not properly be described as an aeroplane. He believed that the
time would come when the framework of the aeroplane would have to be so
large in proportion to its surface that it would be too heavy to fly.
Consequently, he evolved the tetrahedral or cellular form of structure,
which would allow of the size being increased indefinitely, while the
weight would be increased only in the same ratio.

Dr. Bell had invited two young Canadian engineers, F. W. Baldwin and J.
A. D. McCurdy, to assist him, and they were at Baddeck when I first
visited there in the summer of 1907. Lieutenant Thomas Selfridge, of the
United States Army, was also there. Naturally, there was a wide
discussion on the subject of aeronautics, and so numerous were the
suggestions made and so many theories advanced, that Mrs. Bell suggested
the formation of a scientific organisation, to be known as the "Aerial
Experiment Association." This met with a prompt and hearty agreement and
the association was created very much in the same manner as Dr. Bell had
previously formed the "Volta Association" at Washington for developing
the phonograph. Mrs. Bell, who was most enthusiastic and helpful,
generously offered to furnish the necessary funds for experimental work,
and the object of the Association was officially set forth as "to build
a practical aeroplane which will carry a man and be driven through the
air by its own power."

[Illustration: THE AERIAL EXPERIMENT ASSOCIATION]

Left to right: F.W. Baldwin, Lieutenant Thomas Selfridge, Glenn Curtiss,
Alexander Graham Bell, J.A.D. McCurdy, Augustus Post

[Illustration: STARTING TO FLY]

(A) F. W. Baldwin makes first public flight In America.

(B) The "June Bug," June, 1908.

(C) Baldwin in Aerial Association's Glider

Dr. Alexander Graham Bell was made chairman; F. W. Baldwin, chief
engineer; J. A. D. McCurdy, assistant engineer and treasurer; and Lieut.
Thomas Selfridge, secretary; while I was honored with the title of
Director of Experiments and Chief Executive Officer. Both Baldwin and
McCurdy were fresh from Toronto University, where they had graduated as
mechanical engineers, and Baldwin later earned the distinction of making
the first public flight in a motor-driven, heavier-than-air machine.
This was accomplished at Hammondsport, N. Y., March 12, 1908, over the
ice on Lake Keuka. The machine used was Number One, built by the Aerial
Experiment Association, designed by Lieutenant Selfridge, and known as
"The Red Wing." The experiments carried on at Baddeck during the summer
and fall of 1907 covered a wide range. There were trials and tests with
Dr. Bell's tetrahedral kites, with motors, and with aerial propellers
mounted on boats. Finally, at the suggestion of Lieutenant Selfridge, it
was decided to move the scene of further experiments to Hammondsport, N.
Y., where my factory is located, and there to build a glider. I had
preceded the other members of the Association from Baddeck to
Hammondsport in order to prepare for the continuance of our work. A few
days after my return I was in my office, talking to Mr. Augustus Post,
then the Secretary of the Aero Club of America, when a telegram came
from Dr. Bell, saying: "Start building. The boys will be down next
week." As no plans had been outlined, and nothing definite settled upon
in the way of immediate experiments, I was somewhat undecided as to just
what to build. We then discussed the subject of gliders for some time
and I finally decided that the thing to do was to build a glider at the
factory and to take advantage of the very abrupt and convenient hills at
Hammondsport to try it out. We therefore built a double-surface glider
of the Chanute type.

As almost every schoolboy knows in this day of advanced information on
aviation, a glider is, roughly speaking, an aeroplane without a motor.
Usually it has practically the same surfaces as a modern aeroplane, and
may be made to support a passenger by launching it from the top of a
hill in order to give it sufficient impetus to sustain its own weight
and that of a rider. If the hill is steep the glider will descend at a
smaller angle than the slope of the hill, and thus glides of a
considerable distance may be made with ease and comparative safety.

Our first trials of the glider, which we built on the arrival of the
members of the Experiment Association, were made in the dead of winter,
when the snow lay deep over the hillsides. This made very hard work for
everybody. It was a case of trudging laboriously up the steep hillsides
and hauling or carrying the glider to the top by slow stages. It was
easy enough going down, but slow work going up; but we continued our
trials with varied success until we considered ourselves skilful enough
to undertake a motor-driven machine, which we mounted on runners.

CHAPTER II FIRST FLIGHTS

It was my desire to build a machine and install a motor at once, and
thus take advantage of the opportunity furnished by the thick, smooth
ice over Lake Keuka at that season of the year. But Lieutenant
Selfridge, who had read a great deal about gliders and who had studied
them from every angle, believed we should continue experimenting with
the glider. However, we decided to build a machine which we believed
would fly, and in due time a motor was installed and it was taken down
on Lake Keuka to be tried out. We called it the "Red Wing," and to
Lieutenant Selfridge belongs the honour of designing it, though all the
members of the Aerial Experiment Association had some hand in its
construction. We all had our own ideas about the design of this first
machine, but to Lieutenant Selfridge was left the privilege of accepting
or rejecting the many suggestions made from time to time, in order that
greater progress might be made. A number of our suggestions were
accepted, and while the machine as completed cannot properly be
described as the result of one man's ideas, the honour of being the
final arbiter of all the problems of its design certainly belongs to
Lieutenant Selfridge.

Now that the machine was completed and the motor installed, we waited
for favourable weather to make the first trial. Winter weather around
Lake Keuka is a very uncertain element, and we had a long, tiresome wait
until the wintry gales that blew out of the north gave way to an
intensely cold spell. Our opportunity came on March 12, 1908. There was
scarcely a bit of wind, but it was bitterly cold. Unfortunately,
Lieutenant Selfridge was absent, having left Hammondsport on business,
and "Casey" Baldwin was selected to make the first trial. We were all on
edge with eagerness to see what the machine would do. Same of us were
confident, others sceptical.

Baldwin climbed into the seat, took the control in hand, and we cranked
the motor. When we released our hold of the machine, it sped over the
ice like a scared rabbit for two or three hundred feet, and then, much
to our joy, it jumped into the air. This was what we had worked for
through many long months, and naturally we watched the brief and
uncertain course of Baldwin with a good deal of emotion. Rising to a
height of six or eight feet, Baldwin flew the unheard-of distance of
three hundred and eighteen feet, eleven inches! Then he came down
ingloriously on one wing. As we learned afterward, the frail framework
of the tail had bent and the machine had flopped over on its side and
dropped on the wing, which gave way and caused the machine to turn
completely around.

But it had been a successful flight and we took no toll of the damage to
the machine or the cost. We had succeeded! that was the main thing. We
had actually flown the "Red Wing" three hundred and eighteen feet and
eleven inches! We knew now we could build a machine that would fly
longer and come down at the direction of the operator with safety to
both.

It had taken just seven weeks to build the machine and to get it ready
for the trial; it had taken just about twenty seconds to smash it.

But a great thing had been accomplished. We had achieved the first
public flight of a heavier-than-air machine in America!

As our original plans provided for the building of one machine designed
by each member of the Association, with the assistance of all the
others, the building of the next one fell to Mr. Baldwin, and it was
called the "White Wing." The design of the "Red Wing" was followed in
many details, but several things were added which we believed would give
increased stability and greater flying power. The construction of the
"White Wing" was begun at once, but before we could complete it the ice
on the lake had yielded to the spring winds and we were therefore
obliged to transfer our future trials to land. This required wheels for
starting and alighting in the place of the ice runners used on the "Red
Wing." An old half-mile race track a short distance up the valley from
the Lake was rented and put in shape for flights. The place was called
"Stony Brook Farm," and it was for a long time afterward the scene of
our flying exploits at Hammondsport.

It would be tiresome to the reader to be told of all the discouragements
we met with; of the disheartening smashes we suffered; how almost every
time we managed to get the new machine off the ground for brief but
encouraging flights, it would come down so hard that something would
give way and we would have to set about the task of building it up
again. We soon learned that it was comparatively easy to get the machine
up in the air, but it was most difficult to get it back to earth without
smashing something. The fact was, we had not learned the art of landing
an aeroplane with ease and safety–an absolutely necessary art for every
successful aviator to know. It seemed one day that the limit of hard
luck had been reached, when, after a brief flight and a somewhat rough
landing, the machine folded up and sank down on its side, like a wounded
bird, just as we were feeling pretty good over a successful landing
without breakage.

Changes in the details of the machine were many and frequent, and after
each change there was a flight or an attempted flight. Sometimes we
managed to make quite a flight, and others and more numerous merely
short "jumps" that would land the machine in a potato patch or a
cornfield, where, in the yielding ground, the wheels would crumple up
and let the whole thing down. Up to this time we had always used silk to
cover the planes, but this proved very expensive and we decided to try a
substitute. An entirely new set of planes were made and the new covering
put on them. They looked very pretty and white as we took the rebuilt
machine out with every expectation that it would fly. Great was our
surprise, however, when it refused absolutely to make even an
encouraging jump. For a time we were at a loss to understand it. Then
the reason became as plain as day; we had used cotton to cover the
planes, and, being porous, it would not furnish the sustaining power in
flight. This was quickly remedied by coating the cotton covering with
varnish, rendering it impervious to the air. After that it flew all
right. I believe this was the first instance of the use of a liquid
filler to coat the surface cloth. It is now used widely, both in this
country and in Europe.

We had a great many minor misfortunes with the "White Wing," but each
one taught us a lesson. We gradually learned where the stresses and
strains lay, and overcame them. Thus, little by little, the machine was
reduced in weight, simplified in detail, and finally took on some
semblance to the standard Curtiss aeroplane of today.

All the members of the Aerial Experiment Association were in
Hammondsport at this time, including Dr. Alexander Graham Bell. We had
established an office in the annex which had been built on the Curtiss
homestead, and here took place nightly discussions on the work of the
day past and the plans for the day to follow. Some of the boys named the
office the "thinkorium." Every night the minutes of the previous meeting
would be read and discussed. These minutes, by the way, were religiously
kept by Lieutenant Selfridge and later published in the form of a
bulletin and sent to each member. Marvellous in range were the subjects
brought up and talked over at these meetings! Dr. Bell was the source of
the most unusual suggestions for discussion. Usually these were things
he had given a great deal of thought and time to, and, therefore, his
opinions on any of his hobbies were most interesting. For instance, he
had collected a great deal of information on the genealogy of the Hyde
family, comprising some seven thousand individuals. These he had
arranged in his card index system, in order to determine the proportion
of male and female individuals, their relative length of life, and other
characteristics. Or, perhaps, the Doctor would talk about his scheme to
influence the sex of sheep by a certain method of feeding; his early
experiences with the telephone, the phonograph, the harmonic telegraph,
and multiple telegraphy. At other times we would do a jig-saw puzzle
with pictures of aeroplanes, or listen to lectures on physical culture
by Dr. Alden, of the village. Then, for a change, we would discuss, with
great interest and sincerity, the various methods of making sounds to
accompany the action of a picture, behind the curtain of the
moving-picture show, which we all had attended. Motorcycle construction
and operation were studied at the factory and on the roads around
Hammondsport. McCurdy used to give us daily demonstrations of how to
fall off a motorcycle scientifically. He fell off so often, in fact,
that we feared he would never make an aviator. In this opinion, of
course, we were very much in error, as he became one of the first, and
also one of the best aviators in the country. Atmospheric pressure, the
vacuum motor, Dr. Bell's tetrahedral construction, and even astronomical
subjects all found a place in the nightly discussions at the
"thinkorium."

Of course there were many important things that took up our attention,
but we could not always be grave and dignified. I recall one evening
somebody started a discussion on the idea of elevating Trinity Church,
in New York City, on the top of a skyscraper, and using the revenue from
the ground rental to convert the heathen. This gave a decided shock to a
ministerial visitor who happened to be present.

When summer came on there were frequent motorcycle trips when the
weather did not permit of flying, or when the shop was at work repairing
one of our frequent smashes. "Casey" Baldwin and McCurdy furnished a
surprise one day by a rather unusual long-distance trip on motorcycles.
"Let's go up to Hamilton, Ontario," said Baldwin, probably choosing
Hamilton as the destination because he was charged with having a
sweetheart there.

"All right," answered McCurdy.

Without a moment's hesitation the two mounted their wheels, not even
stopping to get their caps, and rode through to Hamilton, a hundred and
fifty miles distant, buying everything they required along the way. They
were gone a week and came back by the same route.

A favourite subject of talk at the "thinkorium," at least between
McCurdy and Selfridge, was on some of the effects of the "torque" of a
propeller and whenever this arose we would expect the argument to keep
up until one or the other would fall asleep.

After the nightly formal sessions of the members of the Association the
courtesy of the floor was extended to any one who might be present for
the discussion of anything he might see fit to bring up. Later we would
adjourn to Dr. Bell's room, where he would put himself into a
comfortable position, light his inevitable pipe, and produce his note
books. In these note books Dr. Bell would write down everything his
thoughts on every subject imaginable, his ideas about many things,
sketches, computations. All these he would sign, date, and have
witnessed. It was Dr. Bell's custom to work at night when there were no
distracting noises, though there were few of these at Hammondsport even
during the daylight hours; at night it is quiet enough for the most
exacting victim of insomnia. Dr. Bell often sat up until long after
midnight, but he made up for the lost time by sleeping until noon. No
one was allowed to wake him for any reason. The rest of us were up early
in order to take advantage of the favourable flying conditions during
the early morning hours. Dr. Bell had a strong aversion to the ringing
of the telephone bell the great invention for which he is responsible. I
occasionally went into his room and found the bell stuffed with paper,
or wound around with towels.

"Little did I think when I invented this thing," said Dr. Bell, one day
when he had been awakened by the jingling of the bell, "that it would
rise up to mock and annoy me."

While the Doctor enjoyed his morning sleep we were out on "Stony Brook
Farm" trying to fly. We had put up a tent against the side of an old
sheep barn, and out of this we would haul the machine while the grass
was still wet with dew. One never knew what to expect of it. Sometimes a
short flight would be made; at others, something would break. Or, maybe,
the wind would come up and this would force us to abandon all further
trials for the day. Then it was back to the shop to work on some new
device, or to repair damages until the wind died out with the setting of
the sun. Early in the morning and late in the evening were the best
periods of the day for our experimental work because of the absence of
wind.

On May 22, 1908, our second machine, the "White Wing," was brought to
such a state of perfection that I flew it a distance of one thousand and
seventeen feet in nineteen seconds, and landed without damage in a
ploughed field outside the old race track. It was regarded as a
remarkable flight at that time, and naturally, I felt very much elated.

CHAPTER III THE "JUNE BUG" FIRST FLIGHTS FOR THE SCIENTIFIC AMERICAN 
TROPHY AND FIRST EXPERIMENTS WITH THE HYDROAEROPLANE

Following the success of the "White Wing" we started in to build another
machine, embodying all that we had learned from our experience with the
two previous ones. Following our custom of giving each machine a name to
distinguish it from the preceding one, we called this third aeroplane
the "June Bug." The name was aptly chosen, for it was a success from the
very beginning. Indeed, it flew so well that we soon decided it was good
enough to win the trophy which had been offered by The Scientific
American for the first public flight of one kilometer, or five-eights of
a mile, straightaway. This trophy, by the way, was the first to be
offered in this country for an aeroplane flight, and the conditions
specified that it should become the property of the person winning it
three years in succession. The "June Bug" was given a thorough try-out
before we made arrangements to fly for the trophy, and we were confident
it would fulfill the requirements.

The Fourth of July, 1908, was the day set for the trial. A large
delegation of aero-club members came on from New York and Washington,
among whom were Stanley Y. Beach, Allan E. Hawley, Augustus Post, David
Fairchild, Chas. M. Manley, Christopher J. Lake, A. M. Herring, George
H. Guy, E. L. Jones, Wilbur E. Kimball, Captain Thomas S. Baldwin and
many other personal friends. The excitement among the citizens of
Hammondsport in general was little less than that existing among the
members of the Aerial Experiment Association, and seldom had the Fourth
of July been awaited with greater impatience.

[Illustration: THE FIRST MACHINES]

(A) "The White Wing," Baldwin driving, 1908.

(B) Selfridge's "Red Wing" on the ice, Lake Keuka

[Illustration: CURTISS' FIRST FLIGHT FOR THE SCIENTIFIC AMERICAN TROPHY]

(July 4, 1908)

When Independence Day finally dawned it did not look auspicious for the
first official aeroplane flight for a trophy. Clouds boded rain and
there was some wind. This did not deter the entire population of
Hammondsport from gathering on the heights around the flying field,
under the trees in the valley and, in fact, at every point of vantage.
Some were on the scene as early as five o'clock in the morning, and many
brought along baskets of food and made a picnic of it. The rain came
along toward noon, but the crowd hoisted its umbrellas or sought shelter
under the trees and stayed on. Late in the afternoon the sky cleared and
it began to look as if we were to have the chance to fly after all. The
"June Bug" was brought out of its tent and the motor given a try-out. It
worked all right. The course was measured and a flag put up to mark the
end. Everything was ready and about seven o'clock in the evening the
motor was started and I climbed into the seat. When I gave the word to
"let go" the "June Bug" skimmed along over the old race track for
perhaps two hundred feet and then rose gracefully into the air. The
crowd set up a hearty cheer, as I was told later for I could hear
nothing but the roar of the motor and I saw nothing except the course
and the flag marking a distance of one kilometer. The flag was quickly
reached and passed and still I kept the aeroplane up, flying as far as
the open fields would permit, and finally coming down safely in a
meadow, fully a mile from the starting place. I had thus exceeded the
requirements and had won the Scientific American Trophy for the first
time. I might have gone a great deal farther, as the motor was working
beautifully and I had the machine under perfect control, but to have
prolonged the flight would have meant a turn in the air or passing over
a number of large trees. The speed of this first official flight was
closely computed at thirty-nine miles an hour.

Dr. Bell had gone to Nova Scotia, unfortunately, and, therefore, did not
witness the Fourth of July flight of the "June Bug." The other members,
however, were all present. It was a great day for all of us and we were
more confident than ever that we had evolved, out of our long and costly
experiments, a machine that would fly successfully and with safety to
the operator. Lieutenant Selfridge was particularly enthusiastic, and I
recall when Mr. Holcomb, special agent for a life insurance company,
visited the field one day and heard Selfridge talk about flying.

"You must be careful, Selfridge," said Mr. Holcomb, "or we will need a
bed for you in the hospital of which I am a trustee."

"Oh, I am careful, all right," replied Selfridge, but it was only a few
days later when he left Hammondsport for Washington, and was killed
while flying as a passenger with Orville Wright at Fort Meyer.

In Selfridge we lost not only one of the best-posted men in the field of
aeronautics, a student and a man of practical ideas, but one of our
best-loved companions and co-workers, as well.

Three machines had thus far been built and flown, first the "Red Wing,"
designed by Lieutenant Selfridge; next the "White Wing," by Baldwin, and
last the "June Bug," by me. It was now McCurdy's turn and he designed a
machine which he named the "Silver Dart." While this was building we
decided to take the "June Bug" down to the lake, equip it with a set of
pontoons, or a boat, and attempt to fly from the water. It was my idea
that if we could design a float that would sustain the aeroplane on an
even keel and at the same time furnish a minimum of resistance, we would
be able to get up enough speed to rise from the water. Besides, the lake
would afford an ideal flying place, and, what was more important still,
a fall or a bad landing would not be nearly so likely to result in
injury to the aviator.

Accordingly, we mounted the "June Bug" on two floats, built something
like a catamaran, and re-named it the "Loon." It required some time to
construct light and strong floats and it was not until the beginning of
November, 1908, that we were ready for the first attempt to fly from the
water ever made in this or any other country. The "Loon" was hauled down
to the lake from the aerodrome on a two-wheeled cart, there being no
wheels for rolling it over the ground. I remember we had to build a
platform on the cart and to strengthen the wheels to carry the weight of
nearly one thousand pounds which the added equipment had brought the
total weight up to.

This first experimental hydroaeroplane was a crude affair as compared
with the machine in which I made the first successful flight from and
landing upon the water, more than three years later at San Diego, Cal.
The cleaner lines, the neat, light-weight boat and the other details of
the Curtiss hydroaeroplane offer as striking a contrast to the "Loon" as
the modern locomotive offers to the crude, clumsy affairs that now exist
only in the museums. So great is the difference that one is inclined to
marvel that we had any success whatever with the first design.

We made many attempts to rise from the water in the "Loon," but owing to
the great weight were unable to make any real flights, although the
observers on shore were sure that the pontoons were sometimes clear of
the water. By the end of November our experiments had convinced every
one of us that we needed more power and more time than we had at our
disposal just then. The best motor we had at our command was able to
deliver only enough power to drive the "Loon" at twenty-five miles an
hour on the water. This was not enough to get the machine into the air,
unless assisted by a strong head wind, and we were not anxious to try
flying in a strong wind.

In the meantime McCurdy's machine, the "Silver Dart," had been completed
and mounted on wheels. The first flight was made by McCurdy on December
12, 1908, over the "Stony Brook" flying field. The "Silver Dart" was
practically the same as the "June Bug." Shortly after this it was
shipped to Dr. Bell's place at Baddeck, Nova Scotia, where McCurdy and
"Casey" Baldwin used it all through the winter in practice, making
flights from the ice and covering all the country thereabouts. McCurdy
estimates that in his some two hundred flights in the "Silver Dart," he
covered more than a thousand miles.

CHAPTER IV FIRST FLIGHTS IN NEW YORK CITY

As a result of the winning of the Scientific American Trophy, the
Aeronautical Society of New York City placed an order in the winter of
1908-09 for an aeroplane to be demonstrated at Morris Park Track, New
York City, in the spring.

Plans were outlined for enlarging the Hammondsport factory and work
commenced on the machine ordered by the Aeronautical Society. It was the
plan of this Society to purchase the aeroplane and have one or more of
its members taught to fly it. The machine was finished in due time,
thoroughly tried out at Hammondsport before it was shipped to New York,
and finally sent to the old Morris Park Race Track, where the
Aeronautical Society had arranged for the first public exhibition ever
held in the history of aviation. There, on June 26, 1909, I had the
honour of making the first aeroplane flights in New York City, in the
machine bought by the Aeronautical Society.

The Society intended to make Morris Park the scene of aviation meets and
of experiments with gliders, but the grounds proved too small and I
recommended a change to some other place in the vicinity of New York
City, where there was plenty of open country and where the danger from
unexpected landings would be minimized. I looked over all the suitable
places around New York City and finally decided upon Mineola, on Long
Island. The Hempstead Plains, a large, level tract lying just outside
Mineola, offered an ideal place for flying and the Aeronautical Society
machine was brought down there from Morris Park.

There was such a fine field for flying at Mineola that I decided to make
another try for the Scientific American trophy, which I had won on the
previous Fourth of July at Hammondsport with the "June Bug." I wanted
that trophy very much, but in order to become possessed of it I had to
win it three years in succession, the conditions being changed from year
to year to keep pace with the progress and development of aviation. The
second year's conditions required a continuous flight of more than
twenty-five kilometers (about sixteen miles) in order to have the flight
taken into account in awarding the prize, which was to go to the person
making the longest official flight during the year.

I believed I could make a fine showing at Hempstead Plains and
preparations were made for the attempt. The aeroplane was put together
near Peter MeLaughlin's hotel and a triangular course of one and a third
miles was measured off. After I had made a number of trial flights over
the course I sent formal notice to the Aero Club of America that all was
ready for the official flight, and the Club sent Mr. Charles M. Manley
down as official representative to observe the trial for the Scientific
American trophy.

On July 17th, 1909, a little more than a year from the first official
flight of the "June Bug" at Hammondsport, we got out on the field at
Mineola at sunrise, before the heavy dew was off the grass, and made
ready. It was a memorable day for the residents of that particular
section of Long Island, who had never seen a flying machine prior to my
brief trial flights there a few days before. They turned out in large
numbers, even at that early hour, and there was a big delegation of
newspapermen from the New York dailies on hand. Flying was such a
novelty at that time that nine-tenths of the people who came to watch
the preparations were sceptical while others declared that "that thing
won't fly, so what's the use of waiting 'round." There was much
excitement, therefore, when, at a quarter after five o'clock, on the
morning of July 17, I made my first flight. This was for the Cortlandt
Field Bishop prize of two hundred and fifty dollars, offered by the Aero
Club of America to the first four persons who should fly one kilometer.
It took just two and a half minutes to win this prize and immediately
afterward I started for the Scientific American trophy.

The weather was perfect and everything worked smoothly. I made twelve
circuits of the course, which completed the twenty-five kilometers, in
thirty-two minutes. The motor was working so nicely and the weather man
was so favourable, that I decided to keep right on flying, until finally
I had circled the course nineteen times and covered a distance of
twenty-four and seven-tenths miles before landing. The average speed was
probably about thirty-five miles an hour, although no official record of
the speed was made.

Great was the enthusiasm of the crowd when the flight ended. I confess
that I, too, was enthusiastic over the way the motor had worked and the
ease with which the machine could be handled in flight. Best of all, I
had the sense of satisfaction that the confidence imposed in me by my
friends had been justified.

As the machine built for the Aeronautical Society had thus met every
requirement, I agreed to teach two members to fly at Hempstead Plains.
Mr. Charles F. Willard and Mr. Williams were the two chosen to take up
instruction, and the work began at once. Mr. Willard proved an apt pupil
and after a few lessons mastered the machine and flew with confidence
and success, circling about the country around Mineola.

These flights at Mineola gave that place a start as the headquarters for
aviators, and it soon became the popular resort for everyone interested
in aviation in and near the city of New York.

[Illustration: SCIENTIFIC AMERICAN TROPHY]

PART III MY CHIEF FLIGHTS AND THE WORK OF TO-DAY by Glenn H. Curtiss

CHAPTER I THE RHEIMS MEET FIRST INTERNATIONAL AEROPLANE CONTEST

Prior to the first flights in New York City I had formulated plans for
an improved machine, designed for greater speed and equipped with a more
powerful motor. I wanted to take part in the first contest for the
Gordon Bennett Aviation cup at Rheims, France, August 22 to 29, 1909.
This was the first International Aviation Meet held, and much was
expected of the French machines of the monoplane type. Great was my
gratification, therefore, when I received word from the Aero Club of
America, through Mr. Cortlandt Field Bishop, who was then president,
that I had been chosen to represent America at Rheims.[1]

Without allowing my plans to become known to the public I began at once
to build an eight-cylinder, V-shaped, fifty horse-power motor. This was
practically double the horse-power I had been using. Work on the motor
was pushed day and night at Hammondsport, as I had not an hour to spare.
I had kept pretty close watch on everything that had been printed about
the preparations of the Frenchmen for the Gordon Bennett race and
although it was reported that Bleriot, in his own monoplane, and Hubert
Latham, in an Antoinette monoplane, had flown as fast as sixty miles an
hour, I still felt confident. The speed of aeroplanes is so often
exaggerated in press accounts that I did not believe all I read about
Bleriot's and Latham's trial flights.

The motor was finished, but there was no time to put it in the new
machine and try it out before sailing. It was, therefore, given a short
run on the block, or testing-frame, hurriedly packed, and the entire
equipment rushed to New York barely in time to catch the steamer for
France.

The time was so short between the arrival of our steamer and the opening
of the meet that in order to get to Rheims in time to qualify, we had to
take the aeroplane with us on the train as personal baggage. Thanks to
the kindness of the French railway officials, who realised our
situation, and evidently had imbibed some of the prevailing aviation
enthusiasm, we arrived at Rheims in quick time. In those early days of
aviation there was not the keen partisanship for monoplane or biplane
that one finds everywhere to-day; nor was there the strong popular
feeling in France in favor of the monoplane that exists today. An
aeroplane was simply an aeroplane at that time, and interesting as such,
but naturally all Frenchmen favored their compatriots who were entered
in the race, particularly Bleriot, who had just earned world-wide fame
by his flight across the English channel. The Frenchmen, as well as
Europeans in general, fully expected Bleriot to win with his fast
monoplane.

My own personal hopes lay in my motor. Judge of my surprise, therefore,
upon arriving at Rheims, to learn that Bleriot, who had probably heard
through newspaper reports that I was bringing over an eight-cylinder
motor, had himself installed an eight-cylinder motor of eighty
horse-power in one of his light monoplanes. When I learned this, I
believed my chances were very slim indeed, if in fact they had not
entirely disappeared. The monoplane is generally believed to be faster
than the biplane with equal power. I had just one aeroplane and one
motor; if I smashed either of these it would be all over with America's
chances in the first International Cup Race. I had not the reserve
equipment to bring out a new machine as fast as one was smashed, as
Bleriot and other Frenchmen had. Incidentally, there were many of them
smashed during the big meet on the Plain of Bethany. At one time, while
flying, I saw as many as twelve machines strewn about the field, some
wrecked and some disabled and being hauled slowly back to the hangars,
by hand or by horses. For obvious reasons, therefore, I kept out of the
duration contests and other events, flying only in such events as were
for speed, and of a distance not to exceed twenty kilometers, which was
the course for the Gordon Bennett contest in 1909.

It is hard enough for any one to map out a course of action and stick to
it, particularly in the face of the desires of one's friends; but it is
doubly hard for an aviator to stay on the ground waiting for just the
right time to get into the air. It was particularly hard for me to keep
out of many events at Rheims held from day to day, especially as there
were many patriotic Americans there who would have liked to see
America's only representative take part in everything on the programme.
I was urged by many of these to go out and contest the Frenchmen for the
rich prizes offered and it was hard to refuse to do this. These good
friends did not realise the situation. America's chances could not be
imperilled for the sake of gratifying one's curiosity, or national
pride. On top of the urgings of my American friends to go out and fly
and take chances of having a whole machine when the day for the Gordon
Bennett should arrive, I was penalised for not starting in the speed
race, the Prix de la Vitesse, the penalty being one-twentieth of the
time made when I should start in this event. However, I made a number of
trial flights and ten official ones, during the meet, without mishap,
except a sprained ankle. This was the result of running through growing
grain at the time of landing and being thrown out of the machine. I was
also fortunate in being the only aviator who took part in this first big
meet to land at the hangar after each flight.

During this period of waiting, and making explanations to enthusiastic
Americans who could not understand why I did not fly all the time, my
mechanician, "Tod" Shriver,[2] attracted a tremendous amount of
attention from the throngs that visited the hangars because he worked in
his shirt sleeves. They thought "Tod" picturesque because he did not
wear the French workman's blouse. Shriver used to say that if he were
picturesque in shirt sleeves there were about fifty million perfectly
good Americans across the Atlantic who formed probably the most
picturesque crowd on earth.

In the try-outs it became evident to the Frenchmen that my aeroplane was
very fast and it was conceded that the race for the Gordon Bennett Cup
would lie between Bleriot and myself, barring accidents. After a
carefully timed trial circuit of the course, which, much to my surprise,
I made in a few seconds less than M. Bleriot's time, and that, too, with
my motor throttled down slightly, I gained more confidence. I removed
the large gasoline tank from my machine and put on a smaller one in
order to lessen the weight and the head-resistance. I then selected the
best of my three propellers, which, by the way, were objects of
curiosity to the French aviators, who were familiar only with the metal
blades used on the Antoinette machine, and the Chauviere, which was
being used by M. Bleriot. M. Chauviere was kind enough to make a
propeller especially fitted to my aeroplane, notwithstanding the fact
that a better propeller on my machine would lessen the chances of the
French flyers for the cup. However, I decided later to use my own
propeller, and did use it and won.

August 29 dawned clear and hot. It was agreed at a meeting of the
Committee, at which all the contestants were present, that each
contestant should be allowed to make one trial flight over the course
and that he might choose his own time for making it, between the hours
of ten o'clock in the morning and six o'clock in the evening. The other
starters were Bleriot, Lefebre, and Latham for France, and Cockburn for
England. As I have already stated, Bleriot was the favourite because of
his trip across the English channel and because of his records made in
flights at various places prior to the Rheims meet.

As conditions were apparently good, I decided to make my trial flight
shortly after ten o'clock. The machine was brought out, the engine given
a preliminary run, and at half past ten I was in the air. Everything had
looked good from the ground, but after the first turn of the course I
began to pitch violently. This was caused by the heat waves rising and
falling as the cooler air rushed in. The up and down motion was not at
all pleasant and I confess that I eased off on the throttle several
times on the first circuit. I had not then become accustomed to the
feeling an aviator gets when the machine takes a sudden drop. On the
second round I got my nerve back and pulled the throttle wide open and
kept it open. This accounts for the fact that the second lap was made in
faster time than the first. The two circuits were made safely and I
crossed the finish line in seven minutes, fifty-five seconds, a new
record for the course.

Now was my chance! I felt that the time to make the start for the Cup
was then, in spite of the boiling air conditions, which I had found
existed all over the course and made flying difficult if not actually
dangerous. We hurriedly refilled the gasoline tank, sent official notice
to the judges, carefully tested the wiring of the machine by lifting it
at the corners, spun the propeller, and the official trial was on. I
climbed as high as I thought I might without protest, before crossing
the starting line probably five hundred feet so that I might take
advantage of a gradual descent throughout the race, and thus gain
additional speed. The sun was hot and the air rough, but I had resolved
to keep the throttle wide open. I cut the corner as close as I dared and
banked the machine high on the turns. I remember I caused great
commotion among a big flock of birds which did not seem to be able to
get out of the wash of my propeller. In front of the tribunes the
machine flew steadily, but when I got around on the back stretch, as we
would call it, I found remarkable air conditions. There was no wind, but
the air seemed fairly to boil. The machine pitched considerably, and
when I passed above the "graveyard," where so many machines had gone
down and were smashed during the previous days of the meet, the air
seemed literally to drop from under me. It was so bad at one spot that I
made up my mind that if I got over it safely I would avoid that
particular spot thereafter.

Finally, however, I finished the twenty kilometers in safety and crossed
the line in fifteen minutes, fifty seconds, having averaged forty-six
and one-half miles an hour. When the time was announced there was great
enthusiasm among the Americans present, and every one rushed over to
offer congratulations. Some of them thought that I would surely be the
winner, but of this I was by no means certain. I had great respect for
Bleriot's ability, and besides, Latham and his Antoinette might be able
to make better speed than they had thus far shown. In a contest of this
sort it is never safe to cheer until all the returns are in. I confess
that I felt a good deal like a prisoner awaiting the decision of a jury.
I had done my best, and had got the limit of speed out of the machine;
still I felt that if I could do it all over again I would be able to
improve on the time. Meantime Cockburn, for England, had made a start
but had come down and run into a haystack. He was only able to finish
the course in twenty minutes, forty-seven and three-fifth seconds. This
put him out of the contest.

Latham made his trial during the afternoon but his speed was five or six
miles an hour slower than my record. The other contestants were flying
about thirty-five miles an hour, and were, therefore, not really serious
factors in the race.

It was all up to M. Bleriot. All day long he tinkered and tested, first
with one machine and then another; trying different propellers and
making changes here and there. It was not until late in the afternoon
that he brought out his big machine, Number 22, equipped with an
eight-cylinder water-cooled motor, mounted beneath the planes, and
driving by chain a four-bladed propeller, geared to run at a speed
somewhat less than that of the engine. He started off at what seemed to
be a terrific burst of speed. It looked to me just then as if he must be
going twice as fast as my machine had flown; but it must be remembered
that I was very anxious to have him go slow. The fear that he was
beating me was father to the belief.

As soon as Bleriot was off Mr. Cortlandt Field Bishop and Mr. David
Wolfe Bishop, his brother, took me in their automobile over to the
judges' stand. Bleriot made the first lap in faster time than I had made
it, and our hearts sank. Then and there I resolved that if we lost the
cup I would build a faster aeroplane and come back next year to win it.

[Illustration: WINNING THE GORDON BENNET CONTEST IN FRANCE]

(A) Curtiss flying at Rheims, (B) The welcome home to Hammondsport

[Illustration: Copyright, 1910, by Photo News Co.

"A POSITION HIGHER THAN THE PRESIDENT'S"

President Taft watching Curtiss fly, Harvard Meet, 1910]

Again Bleriot dashed past the stand and it seemed to me that he was
going even faster than the first time. Great was my surprise, therefore,
when, as he landed, there was no outburst of cheers from the great
crowd. I had expected a scene of wild enthusiasm, but there was nothing
of the sort. I sat in Mr. Bishop's automobile a short distance from the
judges' stand, wondering why there was no shouting, when I was startled
by a shout of joy from my friend, Mr. Bishop, who had gone over to the
judges' stand.

"You win! You win!" he cried, all excitement as he ran toward the
automobile. "Bleriot is beaten by six seconds!"

A few moments later, just at half past five o'clock, the Stars and
Stripes were slowly hoisted to the top of the flagpole and we stood
uncovered while the flag went up. There was scarcely a response from the
crowded grand stands; no true Frenchman had the heart to cheer. A good,
hearty cheer requires more than mere politeness. But every American
there made enough noise for ten ordinary people, so that numbers really
counted for very little in the deep feeling of satisfaction at the
result of the first great contest in the history of aviation. Mr. Andrew
D. White, accompanied by Mrs. Roosevelt and Miss Ethel Roosevelt, came
over to our car and congratulated me. Quentin Roosevelt, who had been in
a state of excitement throughout the day, declared it "bully," while his
brother Archie wanted to be shown all about the working of the machine.
M. Bleriot himself, good sportsman that he is, was among the first to
extend congratulations to America and to me personally.

There was a reason beyond the mere patriotism why the Americans felt so
happy over the result; it meant that the next international race would
be held in the United States, and that the best foreign machines would
have to come across the ocean to make a try for the cup the following
year.

In commenting upon the result the Paris Edition of the New York Herald
said that the race had rehabilitated the biplane; that while the
lightness and bird-like lines of the monoplane had appealed to the crowd
as the ideal representation of artificial flight, "the American aviator
proved that the biplane not only possessed qualities of carrying weight
and undoubtedly of superior stability, but that, if need be, it can
develop speed equal to, if not superior to, its smaller rival."

Offers of engagements to fly in Germany and Italy came pouring in. To
accept these meant a good deal of money in prizes, for it had been
proven that I had the fastest aeroplane in the world. I accepted some of
them, as I had learned that the conditions for flying at the big meets
in Europe were almost ideal and that there was a tremendous amount of
interest everywhere, among all classes. A big meet was organized at
Brescia, Italy, and I went there from Rheims.

Here I carried my first passenger, the celebrated Italian poet and
author, Gabriele D'Annunzio. He was wildly enthusiastic over his
experience, and upon being brought back to earth said with all the
emotion of his people: "Until now I have never really lived! Life on
earth is a creeping, crawling business. It is in the air that one feels
the glory of being a man and of conquering the elements. There is the
exquisite smoothness of motion and the joy of gliding through space–It
is wonderful! Can I not express it in poetry? I might try."

And he did express it in poetry, a beautiful work published sometime
later.

After winning the Grand Prize at Brescia and taking a wonderful motor
trip over the Alps with Mr. Bishop, I hurried home to America to look
after my business affairs, about which I had not had time even to think
during the Rheims and Brescia meets.

NOTE BY AUGUSTUS POST

Delegations of enthusiastic friends met Mr. Curtiss in New York, among
them members of the Aero Club of America and other representative
organisations. There followed a series of luncheons and dinners which
seemed without end. Among all these the luncheon given by the Aero Club
of America at the Lawyers' Club was notable because every one present
showed such a warm interest in the success of American aeronautics, and
such a firm determination not only to keep the trophy in this country,
but to defend it the next year in an aviation meet that should be even
greater than that with which Rheims had led the way.

But the real celebration took place in the little village of
Hammondsport, the place where Mr. Curtiss was born and reared, and where
he knew every man, woman, and child. The men in the factory and all his
other warm friends got together and decided that there must be something
out of the ordinary when he got back to town. They planned a procession
all the way from Bath to Hammondsport, a distance of ten miles, with
fireworks along the route. But a heavy rain came on just in time to
spoil the fireworks plan, so they engaged a special train and this
passed through a glow of red fire all the way home from Bath. At the
Hammondsport station there was a carriage to draw him up the hill to his
home, and fifty men furnished the motive power. There were arches with
"Welcome" in electric lights, banners, fireworks, and speeches. Through
the pouring rain there was a continuous procession of his friends and
acquaintances–townspeople who had always given him their loyal support
and the men from the shop who had made his success possible.

It was after eleven o'clock when the crowd dispersed–an almost unholy
hour for Hammondsport.–AUGUSTUS POST.

CHAPTER II HUDSON-FULTON CELEBRATION FIRST AMERICAN INTERNATIONAL 
MEET, AT LOS ANGELES

I was not permitted to remain long in Hammondsport, although there was
much work for me to do there in the way of planning improvements in the
factory, as well as on my aeroplane, which had now come to be known
throughout the world by reason of winning the Gordon Bennett Cup. There
were tempting offers from all quarters to give exhibitions with the
flying machine, which up to that time had been seen in but few places in
this country. Some of these offers were accepted because I could not
afford to reject them. Moreover, it required a great deal of money to
run the shop, and there was no commercial demand for aeroplanes. They
were, as yet, valuable only as "show machines," to see which the public
was willing to pay goodly sums. For a long time preparations had been
going on at New York City to celebrate the tri-centenary of the
discovery of the Hudson river, and the centenary of the first steamboat
trip on that stream by Fulton in the Clermont. It had been the idea of
the originators of the Hudson-Fulton celebration–an idea that was
expressed in the tentative plans published long before the celebration
itself–that the new conquest of the air should be recognised, in some
way, at the same time. At first it was intended that some sort of
airship should accompany the naval parade the entire length of the
Hudson, with a replica of Hendrik Hudson's Half Moon leading the way,
Robert Fulton's old steamboat Clermont following, and the airship
hovering above them thus furnishing a striking illustration of the
wonderful advancement in the means of locomotion in a hundred years, and
signalising the new science of air navigation. With this end in view the
Celebration Committee engaged the Wright Brothers and myself to bring
aeroplanes to New York, furnishing us with every facility on Governor's
Island, in the Lower Bay, from which point all flights were to be made.

But aerial navigation in the fall of 1909 was not such a sure and
certain thing as all that. Much depended upon the wind and weather, and
it was soon demonstrated that the best that could be hoped for at the
time of the celebration would be flights made at such times as the wind
would permit. Day after day the public waited anxiously for flights to
be made up the Hudson from Governor's Island, but day after day the wind
blew up or down the Hudson in such blasts that it was not deemed safe to
attempt a trip. For it must be remembered that there is scarcely a more
difficult course anywhere in the country than over the Hudson river in
the vicinity of New York. On both sides of the river, which is a
swift-running stream, rise lofty hills, and at some places precipitous
cliffs called the Palisades. On the New York side are miles upon miles
of lofty apartment houses along Riverside Drive. If the wind blows
across the river, either from the east or west, dangerous currents and
eddies suck down through the canon-like streets, or over the steep
Palisades, making flying extremely hazardous. For this reason there has
never, even up to this time (August, 1912), been any flying to speak of
over the Hudson, and for these reasons, the great river will not become
a popular flying course for aeroplanes until they are so constructed as
to be able to defy the treacherous, puffy wind currents. The
hydroaeroplane, however, may navigate the course with safety, as it is
perfectly safe in one of these machines to fly within a few feet of the
water where there is the least danger from contrary air currents.

So much was printed in the New York newspapers while we were waiting for
propitious weather that the public was keyed up to expect great things
from the aeroplanes–far greater than the aeroplane could accomplish.
Bulletins were posted by the newspapers from day to day, informing the
public that flights would surely be made "to-day" provided the wind
abated. In the meantime interest was doubly stimulated by the
announcement of a ten-thousand-dollar prize for the first air-flight
over Fulton's course, from New York to Albany, or from Albany to New
York. One of the paintings made at the time as an "advance notice," I
remember, showed so many aerial dreadnaughts in the sky, passing down
the river by the Palisades at the same time, that one was forced to
wonder how all of them were going to find room to navigate. However, the
atmosphere had cleared long before the actual flight was made down the
Hudson, the following summer.

In spite of the disappointment felt by the public at not seeing a fleet
of aeroplanes sporting over the Hudson daily during the Hudson-Fulton
celebration, there were many other things to divert the attention of New
York's five millions and some few hundred thousands of visitors from
this and other countries. The week of pomp and pageantry culminated in
the most wonderful marine and land parades ever staged in this country,
and seldom, if ever, excelled in the Old World. The marine parade
extended all the way up to Albany, and at every stopping place there was
a repetition, on a smaller scale, of the scenes of enthusiasm and
general holiday spirit that had prevailed in the Metropolis. New York
City was decorated as no one had ever seen it decorated before, and the
great fleet of over a hundred warships that swung at anchor in the
Hudson were visited by thousands by day and were outlined in myriads of
electric lights at night, disguising their ominous guns in soft shadow
and giving them a peaceful and almost fairy-like appearance. Then there
were the dirigible balloons to command the attention of the crowds that
thronged Riverside Drive waiting for the aeroplanes. They, too, were
after the rich prize offered by the New York World. They furnished the
only real contest during the Hudson-Fulton celebration. There were two
of them, one entered by the intrepid Captain Thomas Baldwin, and the
other by a Mr. Tomlinson. These were housed in great tents raised within
an enclosure at Riverside Drive and One Hundred and Nineteenth street,
behind a high fence, on which was painted "Hudson-Fulton Flights." This
was the center of interest for great crowds for days during the period
of waiting. Captain Baldwin, always popular with the people wherever he
goes, was the centre of interest with the crowds that stood around the
sheds, watching the mild, blunt noses of the big dirigibles as they
bobbed and swayed with the gusts that swept around Grant's Tomb,
reminding one of the ceaseless weaving of a restless elephant. But the
elements seemed to be as much against the dirigibles as against the
aeroplanes. Tomlinson made a start, after a long wait, but came to grief
almost at once, while Captain Baldwin fared but little better. His trip
extended but a few miles up the river, when he was forced to come down,
thus ending the chances of the dirigibles.

The aeroplanes were scarcely more fortunate. October winds around New
York are most unruly things, and at that particular period seemed worse
than usual. Weather-wise folk learned after awhile to look out at the
flags on the high buildings; if they stood out straight from the staff,
the people went about their business, knowing there would be no flying
that day. But every one kept an ear cocked for the firing of a big
cannon on Governor's Island, the signal that a flight was about to be
made. Even these were deceiving, for there were so many salutes being
fired by the great fleets in the river and bay, that no one could tell
when to give heed to gun signals. So the crowds sat along Riverside
Drive, or depended upon the unhappy and over-worked policemen for word
of the aeroplanes. Some people were disposed to hold the policemen
personally responsible for the failure of the airships to fly. "You'd
think," said one of the blue-coated guardians on Riverside Drive, "that
I was keepin' 'em back, the way these people go at me. They blame me and
not the wind!"

The wind held out and the week of festivities ended; still there had
been no flying. I could not remain in New York any longer, as I had
accepted an engagement some time before to fly at St. Louis. I was
obliged therefore, much to my chagrin, and the disappointment of the
crowds, to leave the city without making a flight up the river, although
I did make a short flight over Governor's Island.

Mr. Wilbur Wright, however, remained in New York, and during the
following week made a magnificent flight up the river from Governor's
Island to Grant's Tomb and return, a distance of about twenty miles.
This gave the larger part of New York's millions their first glimpse of
an aeroplane in flight.

At St. Louis we gave a very successful meet. There were flights by
Captain Baldwin, Lincoln Beachey, and Roy Knabenshue, in their dirigible
balloons, and myself in my aeroplane. The weather conditions were
favourable, and St. Louis turned out enthusiastic throngs to witness the
exhibitions.

The Pacific Coast, always progressive and quick to seize upon every
innovation, no matter where it may be developed, had been clamoring for
some time for an aviation meet. The enterprising citizens of Los Angeles
got together and put up a large sum of money to bring out from Europe
and the eastern part of the United States, a number of representative
aviators for an international meet, the first ever given in this
country. Louis Paulhan, one of the most celebrated French aviators, was
brought over with a biplane and a monoplane, and there were a number of
American entries, including Charles F. Willard and myself. Los Angeles
furnished the first opportunity for a real contest in this country
between the French and American machines, and these contests aroused
immense interest throughout the country.

The importance of the Los Angeles meet to the aviation industry in this
country was very great. The favourable climatic conditions gave
opportunities for every one to fly in all the events, and the wide
publicity given to the achievements of Paulhan and others, especially to
the new world's altitude record established by the French aviator,
stimulated interest throughout the country. There was cross-country
flying such as had not been seen in this country, brilliant exhibitions
of altitude flying, and speed contests of the hair-raising variety.
Sometimes it takes just such a public demonstration as the Los Angeles
meet not only to spread the news of the general progress of mechanical
flight, but to show the builders of aeroplanes themselves just what
their machines are capable of.

It was at the Los Angeles meet, by the way, that Charles F. Willard
coined that apt and picturesque phrase which soon was used the world
over in describing air conditions. Willard had made a short flight and
on coming down declared the air "was as full of holes as a Swiss
cheese." This made a great hit with the newspapermen, who featured it,
using it day after day in their stories until it went the rounds of the
press of the world. There were special articles written on "holes in the
air," and interviews of prominent aviators to determine how it feels to
fall into "a hole in the air."

The expression was more picturesque than accurate, for it is not
necessary to explain, in this advanced stage of aviation, that there are
no "holes" in the atmosphere. If there were a hole in the atmosphere, a
clap of thunder would result, caused by the rushing in of the
surrounding air to fill the vacuum. The only holes in the air are the
streaks that follow a rifle bullet or a flash of lightning. The real
cause of the conditions described by Willard, and which has since
probably been responsible for the death of several well known aviators,
is a swift, downward current of air, rushing in to fill a vacuum that
follows a rising current from a heated area. The hot air rises and the
cool air rushes down to take its place. An aeroplane striking one of
these descending currents drops as if the entire atmospheric support had
been suddenly removed, and if it be not high enough, may strike the
ground with fatal results to the aviator. Every experienced airman has
met these conditions. They are especially noticeable over water, streaks
of calm water showing where the up-currents are just starting, and waves
or ripples where the down-currents strike the surface.

The representative of the Aero Club of America at the Los Angeles meet
was Mr. Cortlandt Field Bishop, of New York, who had been at Rheims the
previous summer when I won the Gordon Bennett Cup and who had been of
inestimable assistance to me at that time. Mr. Bishop had his
oft-expressed wish to fly gratified at Los Angeles. He was taken up by
Louis Paulhan several times, and Paulhan also took Mrs. Bishop for her
first aerial ride. Great crowds came out at the Los Angeles meet, and
they for the first time in the history of aviation in this country
expected the aviator to fly and not to fall. Paulhan did some wonderful
cross-country flying, and as a climax to the week of aerial wonders, he
established a world's altitude record by ascending 4,165 feet. This was
regarded as marvellous at that time. Since then the mark has been
successively raised by Brookins, Hoxsey, Le Blanc, Beachey, Garros and
others. Legagneux now (September, 1912) holds the record at 18,760 feet.

Interest in aviation was keen following the Los Angeles meet and I
decided to try for the New York World's ten-thousand-dollar prize, which
was still open, for a flight down the Hudson from Albany to New York
City. Notwithstanding all the natural obstacles in the way of the
accomplishment of the undertaking, the conditions were so fair as to
stops, time-limit, etc., and it was so obviously a prize offered to be
won, that I considered it worth a serious effort.

I fully realised that the flight was much greater than anything I had
yet attempted, and even more difficult than Bleriot's great flight
across the English channel from France to England, news of which was
still ringing throughout the world, and even greater than the projected
flight from London to Manchester, England, and for which a prize of
fifty thousand dollars had been offered. Although the course covered
about the same distance as the London-Manchester route, there was not
the difficulty of landing safely over the English route. The Hudson
flight meant one hundred and fifty-two miles over a broad, swift stream,
flowing between high hills or rugged mountains the entire distance and
with seldom a place to land; it meant a fight against treacherous and
varying wind currents rushing out unawares through clefts in the
mountains, and possible motor trouble that would land both machine and
aviator in the water with not much chance of escape from drowning, even
if uninjured in alighting.

CHAPTER III FLIGHT DOWN THE HUDSON RIVER FROM ALBANY TO NEW YORK CITY

To fly from Albany to New York City was quite an undertaking in the
summer of 1910. I realised that success would depend upon a dependable
motor and a reliable aeroplane. In preparation for the task, therefore,
I set the factory at Hammondsport to work to build a new machine. While
awaiting the completion of the machine, I took a trip up the Hudson from
New York to Albany to look over the course and to select a place about
half way between the two cities where a landing for gasoline and oil
might be made, should it become necessary.

There are very few places for an aeroplane to land with safety around
New York City. The official final landing place, stipulated in the
conditions drawn up by the New York World, was to be Governor's Island,
but I wanted to know of another place on the upper edge of the city
where I might come down if it should prove necessary. I looked all over
the upper end of Manhattan Island, and at last found a little meadow on
a side hill just at the junction of the Hudson and Harlem rivers, at a
place called Inwood. It was small and sloping, but had the advantage of
being within the limits of New York City. It proved fortunate for me
that I had selected this place, for it later served to a mighty good
advantage.

There was quite a party of us aboard the Hudson river boat leaving New
York City one day in May for the trip to Albany. As an illustration of
the scepticism among the steamboat men, I remember that I approached an
officer and asked several questions about the weather conditions on the
river, and particularly as to the prevailing winds at that period of the
year. Incidentally, I remarked that I was contemplating a trip up the
river from New York to Albany in an aeroplane and wanted to collect all
the reliable data possible on atmospheric conditions. This officer, whom
I afterward learned was the first mate, answered all my questions
courteously, but it was evident to all of us that he believed I was
crazy. He took me to the captain of the big river boat and introduced
me, saying: "Captain, this is Mr. Curtiss, the flying machine man;
that's all I know," in a tone that clearly indicated that he disclaimed
all responsibility as to anything I might do or say.

Copyright, 1910, by The Pictorial News Co.

[Illustration: THE ALBANY-NEW YORK HUDSON FLIGHT]

(A) Start of the flight at Albany. Mrs. Curtiss and Augustus Post
standing by Curtiss. (B) Over West Point Military Academy–"The new kind
of invader."

Copyright, 1910, by The Pictorial News Co.

[Illustration: THE HUDSON FLIGHT]

Over Storm King

The captain was very kind and courteous, asking us to remain in the
pilot house, where we might get a better view of the country along the
way, and displaying the keenest interest in the project. He answered all
our questions about the winds along the Hudson and seemed to enter
heartily in the spirit of the thing until we approached the great bridge
at Poughkeepsie and I began to deliberate whether it would be better to
pass over or beneath it in the aeroplane. Then it seemed really to dawn
upon the captain for the first time that I was actually going to fly
down the river in an aeroplane. He apparently failed to grasp the
situation, and thereafter his answers were vague and given without
interest. It was "Oh, yes, I guess so," and similar doubtful
expressions, but when we finally left the boat at Albany he very kindly
wished me a safe trip and promised to blow the whistle if I should pass
his boat.

Albany afforded a better starting place than New York, because there
were convenient spots where one might land before getting well under
way, should it become necessary. This was not true of the situation at
New York City. As to the advantage of prevailing winds, it seemed to be
in favour of Albany as the starting place, and I finally decided to have
everything sent up to the capital city. On my way up I had stopped at
Poughkeepsie, in order to select a landing place, as at least one stop
was deemed necessary to take on gasoline and to look over the motor. We
visited the State Hospital for the Insane, which stands on the hill just
above Poughkeepsie, and which seemed to be a good place to land. Dr.
Taylor, the superintendent, showed us about the grounds, and when told
that I intended stopping there on my way down the river in a flying
machine, said with much cordiality: "Why, certainly, Mr. Curtiss, come
right in here; here's where all the flying machine inventors land."

Notwithstanding the Doctor's cordial invitation to "drop in on him," we
went to the other side of Poughkeepsie, and there found a fine open
field at a place called Camelot. I looked over the ground carefully,
locating the ditches and furrows, and selected the very best place to
make a safe landing. Arrangements were made for a supply of gasoline,
water, and oil to be brought to the field and held in readiness. It was
fortunate that I looked over the Camelot field, for a few days later I
landed within a few feet of the place I had selected as the most
favoured spot near Poughkeepsie. This is but one thing that illustrates
how the whole trip was outlined before the start was made, and how this
plan was followed out according to arrangement.

I shall always remember Albany as the starting place of my first long
cross-country flight. My machine was brought over from Hammondsport and
set up; the Aero Club sent up its official representatives, Mr. Augustus
Post and Mr. Jacob L. Ten Eyck, and the newspapers of New York City sent
a horde of reporters. A special train was engaged to start from Albany
as soon as I got under way, carrying the newspapermen and the Aero Club
representatives, as well as several invited guests. It was the purpose
to have this train keep even with me along the entire trip of one
hundred and fifty-two miles, but as it turned out, it had some trouble
in living up to the schedule.

The aeroplane, christened the "Hudson Flier," was set up on Rensselaer
Island. It was now up to the weather man to furnish conditions I
considered suitable. This proved a hard task, and for three days I got
up at daybreak, when there is normally the least wind, ready to make an
early start. On these days the newspapermen and officials, not to
mention crowds of curious spectators, rubbed the sleep out of their eyes
before the sun got up and went out to Rensselaer Island. But the wind
was there ahead of us and it blew all day long. The weather bureau
promised repeatedly, "fair weather, with light winds," but couldn't live
up to promises. I put in some of the time in going over every nut, bolt,
and turnbuckle on the machine with shellac. Nothing was overlooked;
everything was made secure. I had confidence in the machine. I knew I
could land on the water if it became necessary, as I had affixed two
light pontoons to the lower plane, one on either end, and a
hydro-surface under the front wheel of the landing-gear. This would keep
me afloat some time should I come down in the river.

We bothered the life out of the weather observer at Albany, but he was
always very kind and took pains to get weather reports from every point
along the river. But the newspapermen lost faith; they were tired of the
delay. I have always observed that newspapermen, who work at a high
tension, cannot endure delay when there is a good piece of news in
prospect. One of those at Albany during the wait, offered to lay odds
with the others that I would not make a start. Others among the
journalists believed I was looking for free advertising, and when
another of the advertised starters for the World prize reached Albany he
was greeted with: "Hello, old man, are you up here to get some free
advertising, too?" One of the Poughkeepsie papers printed an editorial
about this time, in which it said: "Curtiss gives us a pain in the neck.
All those who are waiting to see him go down the river are wasting their
time." This was a fair sample of the lack of faith in the undertaking.

The machine was the centre of interest at Albany during the wait. It
seemed to hold a fascination for the crowds that came over to the
island. One young fellow gazed at it so long and so intently that he
finally fell over backwards insensible and it was some time before he
was restored to consciousness. Then one of the newspapermen dashed a
pail of water over him and at once sent his paper a column about it.
They had to find something to write about and the countryman, the flying
machine, and the fit made a combination good enough for almost any
newspaper-man to weave an interesting yarn about.

Our period of waiting almost ended on Saturday morning, May 30th. The
"Hudson Flier" was brought out of its tent, groomed and fit; the special
train provided by the New York Times to follow me over the New York
Central, stood ready, with steam up and the engineer holding a
right-of-way order through to New York. The newspapermen, always on the
job, and the guests were watching eagerly for the aeroplane to start and
set out on its long and hazardous flight.

Then something happened–the wind came up. At first it did not seem to be
more than a breeze, but it grew stronger and reports from down the river
told of a strong wind blowing up the river. This would have meant a head
gale all the way to New York, should I make a start then. Everything was
called off for the day and we all went over and visited the State
Capitol. The newspapermen swallowed their disappointment and hoped for
better things on the morrow.

Sunday proved to be the day. The delay had got somewhat on my nerves and
I had determined to make a start if there was half a chance. The morning
was calm and bright–a perfect summer day. News from down the river was
all favourable. I determined it was now or never. I sent Mrs. Curtiss to
the special train and informed the World representative and the Aero
Club officials that I was ready to go. Shortly after eight o'clock the
motor was turned over and I was off!

It was plain sailing after I got up and away from Rensselaer Island. The
air was calm and I felt an immense sense of relief. The motor sounded
like music and the machine handled perfectly. I was soon over the river
and when I looked down I could see deep down beneath the surface. This
is one of the peculiar things about flying over the water. When high up
a person is able to see farther beneath the surface.

I kept a close lookout for the special train, which could not get under
way as quickly as I had, and pretty soon I caught sight of it whirling
along on the tracks next to the river bank. I veered over toward the
train and flew along even with the locomotive for miles. I could see the
people with their heads out the windows, some of them waving their hats
or hands, while the ladies shook their handkerchiefs or veils
frantically. It was no effort at all to keep up with the train, which
was making fifty miles an hour. It was like a real race and I enjoyed
the contest more than anything else during the flight. At times I would
gain as the train swung around a short curve and thus lost ground, while
I continued on in an air line.

All along the river, wherever there was a village or town, and even
along the roads and in boats on the river, I caught glimpses of crowds
or groups of people with their faces turned skyward, their attitudes
betokening the amazement which could not be read in their faces at that
distance. Boatmen on the river swung their caps in mute greeting, while
now and then a river tug with a long line of scows in tow, sent
greetings in a blast of white steam, indicating there was the sound of a
whistle behind. But I heard nothing but the steady, even roar of the
motor in perfect rhythm, and the whirr of the propeller. Not even the
noise of the speeding special train only a few hundred feet below
reached me, although I could see every turn of the great drive-wheels on
the engine.

On we sped, the train and the aeroplane, representing a century of the
history of transportation, keeping abreast until Hudson had been past.
Here the aeroplane began to gain, and as the train took a wide sweeping
curve away from the bank of the river, I increased the lead perceptibly,
and soon lost sight of the special.

It seemed but a few minutes until the great bridge spanning the Hudson
at Poughkeepsie, came into view. It was a welcome landmark, for I knew
that I had covered more than half the journey from Albany to New York,
and that I must stop to replenish the gasoline. I might have gone on and
taken a chance on having enough fuel, but this was not the time for
taking chances. There was too much at stake.

I steered straight for the centre of the Poughkeepsie bridge, and passed
a hundred and fifty feet above it. The entire population of Poughkeepsie
had turned out, apparently, and resembled swarms of busy ants, running
here and there, waving their hats and hands. I kept close watch for the
place where I had planned to turn off the river course and make a
landing. A small pier jutting out into the river was the mark I had
chosen beforehand and it soon came into view. I made a wide circle and
turned inland, over a clump of trees, and landed on the spot I had
chosen on my way up to Albany. But the gasoline and oil which I had
expected to find waiting for me, were not there. I saw no one for a
time, but soon a number of men came running across the fields and a
number of automobiles turned off the road and raced toward the
aeroplane. I asked for some gasoline and an automobile hurried away to
bring it.

I could scarcely hear and there was a continual ringing in my ears. This
was the effect of the roaring motor, and strange to say, this did not
cease until the motor was started again. From that time on there was no
disagreeable sensation. The special train reached the Camelot field
shortly after I landed and soon the newspaper-men, the Aero Club
officials, and the guests came climbing up the hill from the river, all
eager to extend their congratulations. Henry Kleckler, acting as my
mechanic, who had come along on the special train, looked over the
machine carefully, testing every wire, testing the motor out, and taking
every precaution to make the remainder of the journey as successful as
the first half. The gasoline having arrived, and the tank being
refilled, the special train got under way; once more I rose into the
air, and the final lap of the journey was on.

Out over the trees to the river I set my course, and when I was about
midstream, turned south. At the start I climbed high above the river,
and then dropped down close to the water. I wanted to feel out the air
currents, believing that I would be more likely to find steady air
conditions near the water. I was mistaken in this, however, and soon got
up several hundred feet and maintained about an even altitude of from
five hundred to seven hundred feet. Everything went along smoothly until
I came within sight of West Point. Here the wind was nasty and shook me
up considerably. Gusts shot out from the rifts between the mountains and
made extremely rough riding. The worst spot was encountered between
Storm King and Dunderberg, where the river is narrow and the mountains
rise abruptly from the water's edge to more than a thousand feet on
either side. Here I ran into a downward suction that dropped me in what
seemed an interminable fall straight down, but which as a matter of fact
was not more than a hundred feet or perhaps less. It was one of
Willard's famous "holes in the air." The atmosphere seemed to tumble
about like water rushing through a narrow gorge. At another point, a
little farther along, and after I had dropped down close to the water,
one blast tipped a wing dangerously high, and I almost touched the
water. I thought for an instant that my trip was about to end, and made
a quick mental calculation as to the length of time it would take a boat
to reach me after I should drop into the water.

The danger passed as quickly as it had come, however, and the machine
righted itself and kept on. Down by the Palisades we soared, rising
above the steep cliffs that wall the stream on the west side. Whenever I
could give my attention to things other than the machine, I kept watch
for the special train. Now and then I caught glimpses of it whirling
along the bank of the river, but for the greater part of the way I
out-distanced it.

Soon I caught sight of some of the sky-scrapers that make the sky-line
of New York City the most wonderful in the world. First I saw the tall
frame of the Metropolitan Tower, and then the lofty Singer building.
These landmarks looked mighty good to me, for I knew that, given a few
more minutes' time, I would finish the flight. Approaching Spuyten
Duyvil, just above the Harlem river, I looked at my oil gauge and
discovered that the supply was almost exhausted. I dared not risk going
on to Governor's Island, some fifteen miles farther, for once past the
Harlem river there would be no place to land short of the island. So I
took a wide sweep across to the Jersey side of the river, circled around
toward the New York side, and put in over the Harlem river, looking for
the little meadow at Inwood which I had picked out as a possible landing
place some two weeks before.

There I landed on the sloping hillside, and went immediately to a
telephone to call up the New York World. I told them I had landed within
the city limits and was coming down the river to Governor's Island soon.

I got more oil, some one among the crowd, that gathered as if by magic,
turned my propeller, and I got away safely on the last leg of the
flight. While I had complied with the conditions governing the flight by
landing in the city limits, I wanted to go on to Governor's Island and
give the people the chance to see the machine in flight.

From the extreme northern limits of New York to Governor's Island, at
the southern limits, was the most inspiring part of the trip. News of
the approach of the aeroplane had spread throughout the city, and I
could see crowds everywhere.

New York can turn out a million people probably quicker than any other
place on earth, and it certainly looked as though half of the population
was along Riverside Drive or on top of the thousands of apartment houses
that stretch for miles along the river. Every craft on the river turned
on its siren and faint sounds of the clamour reached me even above the
roar of my motor. It seemed but a moment until the Statue of Liberty
came into view. I turned westward, circled the Lady with the Torch and
alighted safely on the parade ground on Governor's Island.

General Frederick Grant, commanding the Department of the East, was one
of the first officers who came up to extend congratulations and to
compliment me on the success of the undertaking. From that moment I had
little chance for anything except the luncheons and dinners to which I
was invited. First came the luncheon at the Astor House given by the New
York World, and then the big banquet at the Hotel Astor, presided over
by Mayor Gaynor and attended by many prominent men interested in
aviation. The speeches were all highly laudatory, of course, and there
were many predictions by the orators that the Hudson river would become
a highway for aerial craft, as it had for steam craft when Fulton first
steered the old Clermont from New York to Albany.

On the trip down from Albany I carried a letter from the mayor of that
city to Mayor Gaynor, and delivered it in less time than it would have
taken the fastest mail train. My actual flying time was two hours,
fifty-one minutes, the distance one hundred and fifty-two miles, and the
average speed fifty-two miles an hour.

From Albany to Poughkeepsie is eighty-seven miles, and by making this in
a continuous flight I had, incidentally, won the Scientific American
trophy for the third time. It now became my personal property, and its
formal presentation was made at the annual dinner of the Aero Club of
America for that year.

NOTE BY AUGUSTUS POST

The newspapers made much of Mr. Curtiss' flight, drawing comparisons
between the Hudson river course and the flight made by Bleriot across
the English channel, and the trip of Paulhan from London to Manchester,
which he had just accomplished a flight of about the same distance, for
which he received fifty thousand dollars from the London Daily Mail.

The New York Times offered a large prize for a flight from New York to
Philadelphia and return, immediately afterward, which Charles K.
Hamilton won, and also offered a prize of twenty-five thousand dollars
for a flight between New York and Chicago, which was never won. Mr. W.
E. Hearst was also moved to offer fifty thousand dollars for a flight
between New York and a point on the Pacific Coast, the offer standing
open for one year. This flight was accomplished by Calbraith P. Rodgers,
but was not concluded within the time limit.

There was, naturally, an outburst of editorial comment from newspapers
all over the United States, not only long and scholarly leaders, but
brief, snappy paragraphs that make the press of this country an
interesting record of public feeling and sentiment on all extraordinary
achievements. For instance, the St. Louis Times spoke of the passing of
the new aerial menace over West Point where cadets were studying the
history of military science along ancient lines, and the Chicago
Inter-Ocean chuckled over how this latest achievement "would jar old
Hendrik Hudson."

Copyright, 1910, by The Pictorial News Co.

[Illustration: THE HUDSON FLIGHT]

(A) Stop at Poughkeepsie. (B) Finish, at Governor's Island

[Illustration: THE EVOLUTION OF THE HYDRO]

(A) The first hydro in the world–the "June Bug" on pontoons,
Hammondsport, November 5, 1908. (B) Developing Hydro at San Diego
Curtiss and Ellyson in hydro of winter, 1911; dual control–either of two
military aviators may steer. (C) Curtiss Landing in hydro at Cedar
Point, Ohio.

The Newark News declared that "the Indian canoe, the Half moon, the
Clermont and the Curtiss biplane each represented a human achievement
that marked an epoch," while the Providence News believed that "valuable
as was astronomer Halley's naming of a comet, Mr. Curtiss has
accomplished something of more practical value to the world" and the
York Gazette compared the flight down the Hudson Valley by the aeroplane
to the conquest of the North Pole. There were other interesting points
of view taken by the press, the Birmingham News, for instance,
expressing the opinion that the New York World was extravagant, as "it
had paid $10,000.00 for Curtiss' ticket from Albany to New York, when it
might have brought him down by train for $4.65." The Battle Creek
Enquirer said that Mr. Curtiss ought to go into politics, for "a man who
can soar as high, stay up as long, travel as far, light as safely, all
on wind, would have the rest of them tied to the post." But the Savannah
News intimated that nobody could blame Mr. Curtiss from flying away from
the Albany Legislature at the rate of a mile a minute. The Birmingham
Age-Herald declared that the way was paved for other and greater
flights, even across the Atlantic ocean, and indeed, the ocean flight
now seemed to the press a not far distant possibility. The Rochester
Chronicle-Democrat argued that the bench and bar would now have an
opportunity for the exercise of all their legal ability to settle the
question "who owns the air!" But it was left to the Houston Post to
break into poetry in the following outburst of local pride:

"The wonder is that Curtiss did
Not pass New York and onward whiz
Southwest by south, half south, until
He got where Houston, Texas, is."

But perhaps the most characteristic comments were those like that of the
New York Evening Mail:

"In every newspaper that you picked up yesterday you read a thrilling
account of the great achievement of Glenn H. Curtiss. The detailed
description of his wonderful flight stirred every emotion in you. Chills
ran up your spine and tears of joy came to your eyes as you read on and
on of the courage of the man who propelled his airship at a speed of
fifty-three miles an hour at a height of a thousand feet above the
earth. He realised all of the time that a broken bolt or some little
thing gone wrong might dash him to death." It is of course quite
impossible to give even a small proportion of the bright comments that
were made by the newspapers not only of this country, but even by the
foreign press. The New York Times sent a special train to follow the
flight, on which I rode as the representative of the Aero Club of
America. Here is my report in the Times:

"7:02–A. M. Mr. Curtiss started from Van Rensselaer Island, Albany.
Jacob L. Ten Eyck official starter for Aero Club of America.

7:03–Passed over the city limits of Albany.

7:20–New Baltimore.

7:26–Twenty-one miles. The Times special train caught up with aeroplane.

7:27–Milton Hook brick yards. Wind still. Aeroplane flying about 45
miles per hour. Passed lighthouse on west side of Hudson River.

7:32–Stockport. Twenty-four miles.

7:35–Hudson. Twenty-nine miles. Aeroplane flying high. Catskill Mountain
houses could be seen in the distance. Machine flying steady, water was
calm, small ripples along the surface.

7:36–Thirty miles. The Times special train passed through tunnel
parallel with 'plane.

7:40–2 Tower 81, New York Central Railroad. Greensdale ferry.

7:41–Catskill on west shore of Hudson River. Flying high.

7:44–Water trough in centre of track. Train equal with 'plane. Linlithgo
Station.

7:46–Germantown steamer dock. Aeroplane flying well.

7:48–Passed old steamboat on west side of the river. Germantown Station.
Aeroplane pitched when foot oil pump was used. Slight ripples on the
water.

7:51–*The Times* special train running parallel with aeroplane.

7:53–Tivoli. Forty-four miles. Aeroplane 1,000 feet high. Wind slightly
from the west.

7:58–Barrytown. Forty-nine miles. Aeroplane about 800 feet high,
descending a little lower until about 400 feet high.

8:03–Kingston. Brick yards on west shore of river. Mr. Curtiss is flying
very near The Times special train, within perhaps 100 yards.

8:04–Aeroplane turns toward west. Heads a little more into the wind and
crosses to the west side of the river at high speed.

8:05–Private yacht dock on east side of river. Aeroplane flying high
again.

8:06–Rhinecliff: Ferry. Fifty-four miles. Aeroplane has been flying one
hour and four minutes. Seems to be flying well.

8:08–Passing Tower 67, New York Central Railroad.

8:08–*The Times* special train passed through tunnel. Mr. Curtiss goes
back to west side of river, flying over ice-houses.

8:11–Passed lighthouse in middle of river. The aeroplane seems to be
rising and falling slowly on the varying currents of air. River is very
wide at this point. There are large stone crushers on the west shore,
and a large stone building of an institution on the bank of the river.

8:12–Staatsburg. Sixty miles.

8:16–Aeroplane now is passing over a large white house, some private
residence on the west shore of the river. Aeroplane is flying past
freight train on the West Shore Railroad.

8:18–Hyde Park Station. Sixty-four miles. The Times special train
passing water trough in centre of railway track. Passing Insane Asylum
at Poughkeepsie.

8:20–Passing upper portion of Poughkeepsie. 'Plane over river.

8:24–Passing Poughkeepsie Bridge. Aeroplane about 200 feet above it.

8:25 1/2–*The Times* special train goes through Poughkeepsie Station.

8:30–*The Times* special train arrives at Gill's Mill Dock, opposite
landing place of Mr. Curtiss. Aeroplane landed according to Mr.
Curtiss's watch on his machine at 8:26. I left special train and went to
the field where Mr. Curtiss had landed, arriving a few minutes later.
The tanks of the machine were filled with eight gallons of gasoline and
one gallon and a half of oil. The machine was examined carefully and
found to be in good order, one wire being stayed to prevent vibration.
George Collingwood took The Times special train party to New Hamburg
Station.

9:26–Mr. Curtiss started for New York from field on property of Mr.
Gill.

9:31–Camelot.

10:02–West Point. Aeroplane passed over Constitution Island at an
altitude of about 400 feet above the land.

10:06–Manitou.

10:15–Ossining. Aeroplane flying on west side of the river.

10:25–Dobbs Ferry.

10:30–Yonkers. Aeroplane flying about level with top of Palisades.

10:35–Landed 214th Street. Inwood. After passing down river to Dyckman
Street and returning to Spuyten Duyvil and passing over drawbridge the
aeroplane landed upon the property of the Isham estate.

11:42–Mr. Curtiss left his landing place, flying again over the
drawbridge, out over the Hudson River, turned south.

12:00–M. Passed New York City and landed at Governor's Island at noon.

"Mr. Curtiss also entered for the Scientific American trophy and the
first flight from Albany to the landing place at Poughkeepsie, the exact
distance of which is to be determined later, will count as a record for
this event, and if not exceeded in the year will stand as Mr. Curtiss's
trial for this trophy.

"The figures as finally corrected show that Mr. Curtiss was in the air
on the first leg of his flight from Albany to the Gill farm near
Poughkeepsie 1 hour and 24 minutes; from the Gill farm to the Isham
estate at 214th Street 1 hour and nine minutes, and from 214th Street to
Governor's Island 18 minutes, making a total flying time for the 150
miles of 2 hours and 51 minutes.

"Figured on the basis of 150 miles for the entire flight, Mr. Curtiss is
shown to have maintained an average speed of 52.63 miles per hour."–A.
P.

CHAPTER IV THE BEGINNING OF THE HYDROAEROPLANE

The Albany Flight was a great stimulus to aeronautics in this country.
Prizes were at once offered in several different places by several
different newspapers, and a great many cities wanted to have public
flights made and particularly wanted flights to be made over water.

At Atlantic City I flew over the ocean, making a record for fifty miles
over water on a measured course. It was here at the same time that
Walter Brookins made a world's altitude record of over six thousand feet
in a standard Wright machine. Later I flew from Cleveland to Cedar
Point, near Sandusky, Ohio, a distance of sixty miles over the waters of
Lake Erie, and returned next day in a rain storm.

After making flights in Pittsburgh, Pa., I thought that a successful
meet could be held in New York City, so I arranged to have all of our
forces gathered together at Sheepshead Bay race track, near Brighton
Beach, N. Y., and during the week of August 26, 1910, we had an
aeroplane meet at which Messrs. J. C. Mars, Charles F. Willard, Eugene
B. Ely, J. A. D. McCurdy, and Augustus Post made flights and this meet
was so successful that it was continued for a second week. Mr. Ely flew
to Brighton Beach and took dinner and then flew back. Mr. Mars flew out
over the Lower Bay and we had all five of the machines in the air at one
time on several occasions a record for New York at that time. It was
here that Mr. Post made a Bronco Busting Flight over the hurdles at the
Sheepshead Bay track, landing safely after putting his machine through
all manner of thrilling manoeuvres.

The Harvard Aeronautical Society had arranged a meet at Boston, Mass.,
which followed directly after this one, and Claude Grahame-White, the
famous English aviator, who was later to win the Gordon Bennett cup at
Belmont Park, came over from England, bringing his fast Bleriot
monoplane with him. A special race was arranged between Mr. White in his
Bleriot and my racing biplane. The meet was a great success, and but a
very small margin separated Mr. White's Bleriot and my machine when we
tried out our best speeds.

Then came a meet at Chicago,[3] after which it was arranged that three
machines should start to fly from Chicago to New York for the New York
Times' prize of $25,000. A team was made up and Mr. Ely was chosen to
make the attempt to fly to New York. This was a very ambitious
undertaking for this period in the history of aviation in America, for
the longest flight that up to this time had been made in this country
was between New York and Philadelphia, one hundred and eighty miles;
while the distance between Chicago and New York was fully one thousand
miles and landings were very difficult to accomplish in the broken
country along the way. Mr. Ely made a good attempt, but there was not
sufficient time to complete the trip as flights had already been
arranged at Cleveland, Ohio, and in order to go there, this attempt was
given up.

The Gordon Bennett Aviation Cup race was the next thing to arouse the
interest of patriotic Americans and the Aero Club of America had been
busy with arrangements for a big meet to be held at Belmont Park, near
New York. This was the largest undertaking that the club had up to this
time attempted and they taxed every possible resource, with the splendid
result of securing all the foremost fliers of Europe, as well as of
America, to participate.

I had built a machine for the trials which I thought would be very fast
and had constructed it as a type of monoplane in order to cut down the
head resistance to the very least possible point. America was
represented by Anthony Drexel, Jr., in a Bleriot; by the Wright
Brothers, who had constructed a racing machine by putting a powerful
motor in a small machine which was about one-half the size of their
regular model, and by Mr. Charles K. Hamilton, who flew a Curtiss type
machine, but with a large power motor of another make. Mr. Grahame-White
won the race in his Bleriot, although Mr. Alfred Leblanc, representing
France, made remarkable time, but on the last lap ran into a telegraph
pole on one of the turns and smashed his machine and had a most
miraculous escape from being killed.

I did not try out my monoplane, although my regular type was the
speediest standard biplane at the meet and was very well handled by Ely,
Mars, Willard, and McCurdy who flew in the contests. I had given up
public flying in contests at this time.

A new line of thought or to express it more accurately, the following
out of a very old one was taking my interest and a great part of my
time. The experiments I had in mind involved the problem of flying from
the water and alighting on the water.

The season of 1910 was now far advanced and it was time to make plans
for the winter. Flying meets were to be held at Los Angeles again, and
also at San Francisco, and California seemed the best place to go, for
the weather there would be most favourable not only for winter flying,
but also for carrying on the experiments which I had in mind. Meantime,
when it seemed as if all the paths were open to the aeroplane over the
land, and it was only a question of development, not of pioneering, it
was suggested to me by the New York World to launch an aeroplane from
the deck of a ship at sea and have it fly back to shore carrying
messages.

The Hamburg American Steamship Company offered their ocean liner
Pennsylvania for this test, and I sent a standard Curtiss biplane to be
operated by J. A. D. McCurdy. The ship was fitted with a large platform,
erected on the stern, a platform sloping downward, and wide enough to
allow an aeroplane set up on it to run down so that it could gather
headway for its flight. The plan was to take McCurdy and the aeroplane
fifty miles out to sea on the outward voyage from New York, and then
launch them from the platform.

A mishap at the last moment upset all the well-laid plans. In trying out
the motor just as the Pennsylvania was about to leave her dock at
Hoboken, an oil can, carelessly left on one of the planes by a mechanic,
was knocked off and fell into the whirling propeller. The result was a
broken propeller, and as the ship could not delay its sailing long
enough for us to get another, the attempt was abandoned.

In the meantime, however, the Navy became interested in the sea
experiments and offered the armoured cruiser Birmingham, then at Hampton
Roads, to be fitted up with a similar platform for launching an
aeroplane. This was accepted and Eugene Ely, who was flying in a meet at
Baltimore and already in the vicinity of Norfolk, took his Curtiss
biplane over to the Birmingham for the test, fired with enthusiasm by
McCurdy's attempt. On November 14 the Birmingham, equipped with a
platform for starting the aeroplane, awaited good weather for the
flight. The good weather did not come and after waiting impatiently on
board for some time, Ely determined to risk a start, even though there
was a strong wind coming off shore carrying a heavy mist that made it
almost impossible to see more than half a mile. The ship was at anchor,
but starting up his motor he flew off with the greatest ease, slightly
touching the water with the wheels of his machine, but quickly rising
and flying straight to shore, where he landed without difficulty.

This flight attracted world-wide attention, especially among the
officers of the navies of the world. It was the first demonstration of
the claims of the aeronautical enthusiasts of the navy that an aeroplane
could be made that would be adaptable to the uses of the service, and it
appeared to substantiate some of the things claimed for it.

When I found that business would bring me to California during the
winter, and probably would keep me there for several months, I decided
to grasp the opportunity to do the development work I had long wanted to
do, and at the same time to request the honour of instructing
representative officers of the Army and Navy in the operation of the
aeroplane. I believed the time had arrived when the Government would be
interested in any phase of aviation that promised to increase the
usefulness of the aeroplane for military service.

So, on November 29, 1910, I sent letters to both Secretary Dickinson of
the War Department and to Secretary Meyer of the Navy Department,
inviting them to send one or more officers of their respective
departments to Southern California, where I would undertake to instruct
them in aviation. I made no conditions. I asked for and received no
remuneration whatsoever for this service. I consider it an honour to be
able to tender my services in this connection. Other governments had
already organised their aeronautical military branches and instructed
men to fly, and it seemed to me that our own Government would do
likewise were the opportunity afforded the officers to familiarise
themselves with the aeroplane.

The invitations to the War and Navy Departments were written just prior
to my departure for the Pacific Coast, and three weeks later I was
notified that the Secretary of the Navy had accepted, and that they
would detail officers for instruction.

It began to look, even to the doubters, as if an aeroplane could be made
adaptable to the uses of the Navy, as the aeronautic enthusiasts of the
service had claimed. The experiment begun would have to be completed,
however, by flying from shore to the vessel, and for this opportunity we
were eager. The chance came when we were all at San Francisco and
another Pennsylvania, this time the big armoured cruiser, was in the
bay. Rear Admiral Thomas, and Captain Pond, in command of the
Pennsylvania, readily consented to assist in these further experiments.
The Pennsylvania went to Mare Island to be outfitted, Ely and I going
there to tell the Navy officials at the station just what would be
required for such a hazardous test.

The platform was like that built on the Birmingham, but in the case of a
flight to, instead of from, a ship the serious problem is to land the
aeroplane on the deck and to stop it quickly before it runs into the
masts of the ship, or other obstructions. The platform was built over
the quarterdeck, about one hundred and twenty-five feet long by thirty
feet wide, with a slope toward the stern of some twelve feet. Across
this runway we stretched ropes every few feet with a sand bag on each
end. These ropes were raised high enough so they could catch in
grab-hooks which we placed under the main centrepiece of the aeroplane,
so that catching in the ropes the heavy sand bags attached would drag
until they brought the machine to a stop.

To protect the aviator and to catch him in case he should be pitched out
of his seat in landing, heavy awnings were stretched on either side of
the runway and at the upper end of it.

[Illustration: ELY LANDING ON U.S.S. PENNSYLVANIA]

[Illustration: TWO FAMOUS MILITARY TEST FLIGHTS]

(A) Curtiss and hydro hoisted on U. S. S. "Pennsylvania," at San Diego.

(B) Ely leaving "Pennsylvania," San Francisco harbor

When all arrangements had been completed, and only favourable weather
was needed to carry out the experiment, I was obliged to leave for San
Diego, and, therefore, was unable to witness the flight. I regarded the
thing as most difficult of accomplishment. Of course, I had every faith
in Ely as an aviator, and knew that he would arrive at the ship without
trouble, but I must confess that I had misgivings about his being able
to come down on a platform but four feet wider than the width of the
planes of the aeroplane, and to bring it to a stop within the hundred
feet available for the run.

Ely rose from the Presidio parade grounds, flew out over the bay,
hovered above the ship for an instant, and then swooped down, cutting
off his power and running lightly up the platform, when the drag of the
sand bags brought him to a stop exactly in the centre, probably one of
the greatest feats in accurate landing ever performed by an aviator. As
I have said, the platform was only four feet wider than the planes of
the Curtiss biplane that Ely used, yet the photograph taken from the
fighting top of the ship shows the machine touching the platform
squarely in the centre. When one stops to think that the aeroplane was
travelling about forty miles an hour when it touched the deck and was
brought to a stop within a hundred feet, the remarkable precision of the
aviator will be appreciated.

Not only was there not the least mishap to himself or to the machine in
landing, but as soon as he had received a few of the many excited
congratulations awaiting him, he started off again and flew back the ten
miles to the camp of the 30th Infantry on the Aviation Field, where wild
cheers greeted the man and the machine that had for the first time
linked the Army and the Navy. For this is what, in the wars of the
future, or even in the preservation of the future's peace, the aeroplane
is certainly going to do, joining as nothing else can the two branches
of the service.

I don't think there has ever been so remarkable a landing made with an
aeroplane as Ely's, and probably never so much store put by the mere act
of coming down in the right place. A few feet either way, a sudden puff
of wind to lift the aeroplane when it should descend, or any one of a
dozen other things, might have spelled disaster for the whole
undertaking, deprived the daring aviator of a well earned success, and
the world of a remarkable spectacular demonstration of practical
aviation.

On the day of the test I was in San Diego and awaited news from San
Francisco with a good deal of impatience. When at last the Associated
Press bulletin announced that Ely had landed without mishap I first felt
a great relief that there had been no accident to mar the success of the
thing, and then a sense of elation that we had taken another long step
in the advancement of aviation.

Early in January I went to Southern California to establish an
experimental station, and at the same time to instruct the officers of
the Army and Navy whom I had invited the War and Navy Departments to
assign for that purpose. A part of our experiments were along the line
of a new "amphibious" machine that had been on my mind ever since my
first experiments in Hammondsport.

I believed that with the proper equipment for floating and attaining a
high speed on the water, an aeroplane could be made to rise as easily as
it could from the land.[4] I had carried these experiments just far
enough in Hammondsport to convince me that the thing was feasible, when
I was obliged to discontinue them to take up other business. I knew it
would be safer to land on the water than on land with the proper
appliances, and that it would be easier to find a suitable landing place
on water, for the reason that it always affords an open space, while it
is often difficult to pick a landing place on the land. So, when I made
preparations for my flight from Albany to New York City, I fitted
pontoons beneath the chassis of my machine and a hydro-surface under the
front wheel. I wanted to be prepared for alighting on the water should
anything go amiss. As a matter of fact, the river course was the only
feasible one for this flight, as there were mountains and hills for
almost the entire distance.

It was while on that trip that I decided to build an aeroplane that
would be available for starting or landing on the water. I don't know
that I had the idea of its military value when I first planned it; but
it came to me later that such a machine would be of great service should
the Navy adopt the aeroplane as a part of its equipment. I thought the
next step from pontoons, to float an aeroplane safely on the water,
would be a permanent boat so shaped that it could get up speed enough so
the whole machine could rise clear of the water and fly in the air.

It was important to find a location where it would be possible to work
along the lines I had mapped out a place where I might be free from the
pressing calls of business and the hampering influence of uncertain
climatic conditions. In short I wanted a place with the best climate to
be found in this country, with a field large enough and level enough for
practice land flights by beginners, and with a convenient body of smooth
water for experiments with a machine that would start from or land upon
water.

Above all, I wanted a place not easy of access to the curious crowds
that gather wherever there is anything novel to be attempted; for a
flying machine never loses its attraction to the curious. Mankind has
been looking for it ever since the beginning of the world, and now that
it is actually here he can't get away from it, once it is in sight. A
machine that has actually carried a man through the air takes on a sort
of individuality all its own that acts as a magnet for the inquiring
mind. Once people have really seen an aeroplane fly, they want to know
what makes it fly and to come into personal contact with the machine and
the man who operates it.

San Diego was brought to my attention as affording every advantage for
experimental work in aviation. A study of the weather bureau records
here showed a minimum of wind and a maximum of sunshine the year round.
I visited that city in January, 1911, and after a thorough inspection of
the grounds offered as an aviation field, decided to make that city the
headquarters for the winter and to carry on the experimental and
instructional work there.

North Island, lying in San Diego Bay, a mile across from the city, was
turned over to me by its owners, the Spreckels Company. It is a flat,
sandy island, about four miles long and two miles wide, with a number of
good fields for land flights. The beaches on both the ocean and bay
sides are good, affording level stretches for starting or landing an
aeroplane. Besides, the beaches were necessary to the water experiments
I wished to make. North Island is uninhabited except by hundreds of jack
rabbits, cottontails, snipe, and quail. It joins Coronado Island by a
narrow sand spit on the south side, which is often washed by the high
tides. Otherwise the two islands are separated by a strip of shallow
water a mile long and a couple of hundred yards wide, called Spanish
Bight. Thus the island on which we were to do our experimenting and
training was accessible only by boat and it was a comparatively easy
matter to exclude the curious visitor whenever we desired to do so.
There was no particular reason for excluding the public other than the
desire to work unhampered by crowds, which is always a distracting
influence.

In the meantime Lieutenant Theodore G. Ellyson of the submarine service,
then stationed at Newport News, Virginia, had been detailed by the Navy
Department to report to me in California for instruction in aviation. He
had joined me in Los Angeles, where, though there are all the climatic
requirements, and good fields for practice flights, the ideal body of
smooth water for experiments on that element was lacking. The War
Department responded later, instructing General Bliss, commanding the
Department of California at San Francisco, to detail as many officers as
could be spared to go to San Diego for instruction in the art of flying.

There was much eagerness among the officers of the Department of
California and I was informed that some thirty applications were made
for the detail. Lieutenant (now Captain) Paul W. Beck, of the Signal
Corps, located at the Presidio, San Francisco, and Lieutenant John C.
Walker, Jr., of the 8th Infantry, Monterey, Cal., were named at once,
and later Lieutenant C. E. M. Kelly, 30th Infantry, San Francisco, was
added to the Army's representation. This made a list of four officers,
three from the Army and one from the Navy, and with these I began work.
In February, however, the Navy Department designated Ensign Charles
Pousland of the destroyer Preble, at San Diego, to join Lieutenant
Ellyson as a Navy pupil in aviation.

There are a dozen good landing or starting fields on North Island, but
we chose the one on the south side, which gave us easy access to the
smooth shallow water of Spanish Bight. A field was cleared of weeds and
sagebrush, half a mile long by three or four hundred yards wide. Sheds
to house the machines were built by the Aero Club of San Diego, and
landings put in for the small boats that carried us to and from the
city. The Spreckels Company gave us every assistance in fitting the
place up, and the people of San Diego, anxious to make the island the
permanent home of an aviation experimental station and school, were
prompt to lend a hand and to impress upon us the climatic advantages of
their city.

I have asked Lieutenant Ellyson to write his own story of the work on
North Island, and it is to be found in another part of this book.

CHAPTER V DEVELOPING THE HYDROAEROPLANE AT SAN DIEGO–THE HYDRO OF THE 
SUMMER OF 1912

January had nearly passed before the first machine was ready. Although
this proved unsuccessful, I was not discouraged and learned a good deal
about what sort of a float was necessary to support the aeroplane and
how it acted when under way over the water. Nearly every day for over
two weeks we dragged the machine down to the edge of the water, launched
it on the smooth surface of San Diego Bay, and drew it out again after
testing out some new arrangement of floats and surfaces. We kept it in a
hangar, or shed, on the beach, and there we would sit and study and
change and plan how to improve the float.

We were in the water almost all day long; no thought was given to wet
clothing and cold feet. We virtually lived in our bathing suits. The
warm climate aided us, but there were some chilly days. Discomfort and
failure did not deter the Army and Navy officers, who watched and worked
like beavers, half in and half out of the water.

On the 26th of January the first success came. That day the aeroplane
first rose from the water and succeeded in alighting gently and without
accident after the flight. A page was added to aviation history, which
extended its domain and opened the lakes, rivers, and seas to the
hitherto land-locked flying machine. It was no more a land bird, but a
water fowl as well.

The machine was crude, and there remained many things to be improved,
but the principle was correct. We kept adjusting the equipment, adding
things and taking them off again to make some improvement; perhaps the
float was too heavy, or leaked, or the spray would fly up and chips
would be knocked out of the whirling propeller, which the drops of water
would strike like shot out of a gun. The least projection on the floats
would send up spray while travelling at such high speed as was made
through the water. The balance of the machine was as troublesome as
anything, because the push of the propeller would give it a tendency to
dive if the floats were not properly adjusted.

When we brought the machine out on the 26th day of January I felt that
we ought to get some results. There were no crowds of people present and
there was no announcement of what was about to happen. I had not
expected to make a flight, but climbed into the aviator's seat with a
feeling that the machine would surely rise into the air when I wished,
but that I would only try it on the water to see how the new float
acted. Lieutenant Ellyson spun the propeller and I turned the machine
into the wind. It ploughed through the water deeply at first, but
gathered speed and rose higher and higher in the water and skipped more
and more lightly until the float barely skimmed the surface of the bay.
So intent was I in watching the water that I did not notice that I was
approaching the shore and to avoid running aground I tilted the
horizontal control and the machine seemed to leap into the air like a
frightened gull. So suddenly did it rise that it quite took me by
surprise.

But I kept the machine up for perhaps half a mile, then turned and
dropped lightly down on the water, turned around and headed back to the
starting point. The effect of that first flight on the men who had
worked, waited, and watched for it was magical. They ran up and down the
beach, throwing their hats up into the air and shouting in their
enthusiasm.

I now headed about into the bay, in the direction of San Diego, and rose
up into the air again even more easily than the first time. I flew for
half a mile and turned twice to see how the machine would act in the air
with the clumsy-looking float below it. The naval repair ship Iris
caught sight of me as I went flying by and sent its siren blast far out
over the water, and all the other craft blew their whistles, until it
seemed as if all San Diego knew of the achievement. Satisfied that it
was all right, I landed within a few yards of the shore, near the
hangar.

We made flights nearly every day after this, taking the Army and Navy
officers as passengers. I found the machine well adapted for passenger
work and it became very popular. While experimenting we kept changing
things from day to day, adding and taking off, lightening the machine,
or adding more surface. We tried putting on an extra surface, making a
triplane, and got remarkable lifting power. We changed the floats and
finally made one long, flat-bottomed, scow-shaped float, twelve feet
long, two feet wide, and twelve inches deep. It was made of wood, the
bow being curved upward the full width of the boat and at the stern
being curved downward in a similar manner. This single float was placed
under the aeroplane so that the weight was slightly to the rear of the
centre of the float, causing it to slant upward, giving it the necessary
angle for hydroplaning on the surface of the water.

I will confess that I got more pleasure out of flying the new machine
over water than I ever got flying over land, and the danger, too, was
greatly lessened.

I then decided upon a test which I had been informed the Navy regarded
as very important. In fact, I had been told that the Secretary of the
Navy regarded the adaptability of the aeroplane to navy uses as
depending very largely on its ability to alight on the water and be
hoisted aboard a warship. With the hydroaeroplane I had developed, I had
no doubts about being able to do this, without any platform or
preparation on board the vessel.

So, on February 17, at San Diego, I sent word over to Captain Charles F.
Pond, commanding the armoured cruiser Pennsylvania, then in the harbour,
that I would be pleased to fly over and be hoisted aboard whenever it
was convenient to him. He replied immediately, "come on over." The
Pennsylvania is the ship that Ely landed on at San Francisco in his
memorable flight, and it was Captain Pond who at that time gave over his
ship and lent every assistance in his power to make the experiment the
success it was. He lent his aid to this second experiment as willingly
as he did to the first.

There were no special arrangements necessary for this test. All that
would be needed to get the aeroplane and its operator on board would be
to use one of the big hoisting cranes, just as they are used for
handling the ship's launches.

The hydroaeroplane was launched on Spanish Bight, and in five minutes I
was on the way. The machine skimmed over the water for a hundred yards
and then rose into the air. In two or three minutes I was alongside the
cruiser, just off the starboard quarter. There was a strong tide running
and when I shut off the propeller the aeroplane drifted until a rope
thrown from the ship was made fast to one of the planes by Lieutenant
Ellyson of the Navy. It was drawn in close to the side of the ship,
where a boat crane was lowered and I hooked it in a wire sling attached
to the top of the planes. I then climbed up on top of the aeroplane and
slipped my leg through the big hook of the crane, not caring to trust
too much weight to the untested sling.

In five minutes from the time I landed on the water alongside the ship,
the hydroaeroplane reposed easily on the superstructure deck of the big
cruiser, just forward of the boat crane. It had been the easiest sort of
work to land it there, and thus one more of the problems that stood in
the way of a successful naval aeroplane was overcome.

The rest of the experiment was performed with equal promptness and ease.
After a stay of ten minutes on the cruiser, the aeroplane was dropped
overboard by the big boat crane, the propeller was cranked by one of the
military pupils in aviation, and I got under way for the return trip to
the island. Two minutes later I brought the hydroaeroplane to a stop a
few yards away from the hangar on the beach. The entire time taken from
the moment I left North Island for the cruiser to the moment I landed on
the water at the hangar on my return was less than half an hour, and yet
within this brief space had been written one of the most interesting
chapters in the history of naval aviation.

I regard this experiment as one of the most interesting, from my idea of
a military experiment, that had been attempted up to that time, for the
reason that no special equipment was needed on board the ship. Obviously
the objections to the landing of an aeroplane on deck from a flight had
to be overcome, and this could be done with a machine that could land on
the water and be picked up. For a flight from the ship, all that was
necessary was to drop it over the side and watch it rise from the water
into the air. Such a machine could be "knocked down" and stored in a
very small space when not in use; and when wanted for a flight, it could
be brought out and set up in a short time on deck.

An aeroplane sent from a scout ship on a scouting flight must, to be
efficient, be able to carry a passenger, especially if it be sent for
any purpose other than as a messenger, where speed would be the first
consideration. But if sent to seek information as to an enemy's
position, to take observations and make maps of the surrounding country,
or with any of a dozen other objects in view where a trained observer
would be necessary, it seems to me it should be equipped to carry at
least two, and possibly three, persons the aviator and two passengers.
There were many machines capable of carrying one or more passengers on
land flights, so I set about equipping one to carry passengers on water
flights.

This I first succeeded in doing on February 23, when I took up
Lieutenant T. G. Ellyson of the Navy, in the hydroaeroplane. We rose
from the water without difficulty, flew over San Diego Bay and
returning, alighted on the water with perfect ease.

This was all very well and good where a flight was to be made from the
water and back to the water; but I believed we should go further and
provide a machine that would be able to go from one to the other from
water to land and land back to water before it could be said that all
the difficulties of making the aeroplane adaptable to both Army and Navy
uses had been overcome. This was of comparatively easy accomplishment,
and on Sunday, February 26, I made the first flight from water to land
and from land back to water. Starting from North Island, on the waters
of Spanish Bight, I flew out over the ocean and down the beach to a
point near Coronado Hotel, where I came down on the smooth sand of the
beach. Returning, the machine started from the beach and came back to
the water on Spanish Bight whence I had started.

With these achievements it seems to me the aeroplane has reached the
point of utility for military purposes either for the Army or Navy. It
now seems possible to use it to establish communication between the Navy
and Army, when there are no other means of communication. That is, a
warship could launch an aeroplane that can fly over sea and land and
come to earth on whichever element affords the best landing. Having
fulfilled its mission on shore it could start from the land, and,
returning to the home ship, land at its side and be picked up, as I was
picked up and hoisted aboard the Pennsylvania at San Diego.

Here let me call attention to the splendid field that California offers
for the development of aviation, with its climate, permitting aviation
to be pursued all the year, and its large winter tourist population with
wealth and leisure to devote to furthering the art of flight. In
California even the legislature recognises the increasing popularity of
flying, and it has given careful attention to the formation of laws to
protect the aeroplane and the aviator.

There remained one thing further to accomplish complete success with the
hydroaeroplane, and that was to devise a method of successfully
launching the machine from a ship without touching the water and without
resorting to any cumbersome platform or any other launching apparatus
that would interfere with the ship's ordinary working. To accomplish
this would solve the principal obstacle that stood in the way of using
the hydroaeroplane at sea.

Lieutenant Theodore G. Ellyson, of the United States Navy, had been
working out a plan for doing this and it was not until September, 1911,
that the experiment was finally completed at Hammondsport, where
operations were continued after breaking up the camp at San Diego, late
in the spring.

A platform sixteen feet high was erected on the shore of Lake Keuka and
a wire cable two hundred and fifty feet long was stretched from the
platform to a spile under water out in the lake. The hydroaeroplane was
set on this wire cable near the platform on which the men stood to start
the propeller. A groove was made along the bottom of the boat in which
the cable fitted loosely, to guide it as it slid down, until sufficient
headway was obtained to enable the wings of the aeroplane to support the
weight of the machine. A trial of this method of launching was entirely
successful. The machine started down the cable gathering headway and we
all watched it gracefully rise into the air and fly out over the lake.
This launching from a wire is the last step in the development of
handling the aeroplane and it is hardly possible to foresee all the many
important applications which will be made in the future of this type of
machine, since a cable can be easily stretched from the bow of any
vessel, which can then steam into the wind, easily enabling an aeroplane
to be launched in almost any weather, while it can without difficulty
land under the lea of the vessel and be hoisted on board again.

As the wireless has almost revolutionised ocean navigation by furnishing
a means of constant communication between steamers, perhaps the
hydroaeroplane will be able to bring passengers back to shore or take
them from shore to a ship on the high sea, or enable visits to be made
between ships that pass on the ocean. Great, powerful hydroaeroplanes
may be able to cross the ocean itself at high speed, and they will no
doubt add greatly to the safety of ocean travel, as well as furnish the
Navy with an arm of destruction much more far-reaching than its most
effective guns or torpedoes.

Frank Coffyn in May, 1912, took a belated passenger from the Battery,
New York City, out to a steamer as it was steaming out of the lower bay
and landed him safely aboard a hint of future possibilities.

We had a curious opportunity to prove how the hydroaeroplane can be an
arm of preservation as well as destruction, when at the Chicago meet of
1911. Simon, dashing over the lake, dropped in his machine. Hugh
Robinson had been putting a hydroaeroplane through its evolutions, to
the great interest of the crowd, who evidently thought it a sort of
freak machine, but when Simon fell Robinson was after him instantly, and
for the first time in the history of the world, a man flew through the
air from dry land, alighted on the water beside a man in distress, and
before anything else could get there, invited him to fly back to shore
with him. As there were boats close at hand, the offer was not needed,
but the value of the land-air-water machine had been proved, for it had
left its hangar and flown a mile from shore in a little more than a
minute.

The hydroaeroplane can already fly sixty miles an hour, skim the water
at fifty miles, and run over the earth at thirty-five miles. Driven over
the surface of the water the new machine can pass the fastest motor boat
ever built and will respond to its rudder more quickly than any water
craft afloat. Its appeal will be as strong to the aquatic as to the
aerial enthusiast.

Flying an aeroplane is thrilling sport, but flying a hydroaeroplane is
something to arouse the jaded senses of the most blase. It fascinates,
exhilarates, vivifies. It is like a yacht with horizontal sails that
support it on the breezes. To see it skim the water like a swooping gull
and then rise into the air, circle and soar to great heights, and
finally drop gracefully down upon the water again, furnishes a thrill
and inspires a wonder that does not come with any other sport on earth.

The hydroaeroplane is safer than the ordinary aeroplane, and for this
reason is bound to become the most popular of aerial craft. The beginner
can take it out on his neighboring lake or river, or even the great
bays, and skim it over the water until he is sure of himself and sure
that he can control it in the air. He can fly it six feet above the
water for any distance, with the feeling that even if something should
happen to cause a fall, he will not be dashed to pieces. The worst he
will get is a cold bath.

The hydroaeroplane may compete with motor boats as a water craft, or in
the air with the fastest aeroplane. It can start from the land on its
wheels, but launch itself on the water where there is lack of room for
rising from the land.

Its double qualities as a water and air craft make possible flights that
could not be attempted with the aeroplane.

At Cedar Point, Ohio, I had to fly the new machine when a strong gale
was blowing across Lake Erie, kicking up a heavy surf. However, I
determined to make the attempt under what were extremely trying
conditions, and so started it on the beach and under the power of the
aerial propeller, launched it through a heavy surf.

Beyond the surf I found very rough water, but turning the machine into
the wind, I arose from the water without the least difficulty, and
circled and soared over the lake for fifteen minutes. I landed without
trouble on the choppy water a few hundred yards off shore, and after
guiding the hydroaeroplane up and down the beach for the inspection of
the great crowd, made a second flight of ten minutes' duration, and
landed safely upon the sandy beach. That was the hardest test I have
ever given the hydroaeroplane, and I think a very severe one. I am
satisfied that it can be used in more than ordinarily rough water, if it
is properly handled.

There is no question that in this particular line of aeronautics,
America is now leading the world; but the hydroaeroplane contests
recently held at Monte Carlo and the experiments made in France by the
Voisin Brothers' "Canard," which was erroneously hailed by the French
press as being the first occasion when a machine had risen from the
water with two men, show that the French are not far behind us.

Other experiments have been made in Europe by Fabre, who was the first
to achieve any degree of success in this line, and by the Duf aux
Brothers on the Lake of Geneva, to say nothing of the flights made by
Herbster, the old Farman pilot, on an Astra-Wright at Lucerne, and if
the American aeronautic industry does not awaken to the immediate
possibilities along this line, it will once more be overtaken by
Europeans.

There are thousands of men throughout the country who would gladly take
up a new mechanical sport as a successor to motor boating and motoring
if they felt they could do so with a reasonable degree of safety to
themselves, and adequate assurance that the life of their machine would
be commensurate to the price paid for it.

Followers of the sport of motor boating, which has made thousands of
converts during the past few years, are already turning to the
hydroplane, which skims over the water at much greater speed and less
power. The next step will be the hydroaeroplane, which can skim over the
water in exactly the same way and has the further enormous advantage of
rising into the air whenever the driver so desires. The sport should
develop rapidly next summer and be in full swing in a few years. Several
improvements of detail will have to be made. Ways of housing the
craft–of stopping the engine–of muffling the roar of the motor, will be
devised; while more comfort for the pilot and passengers will be
arranged.

If a cross-country flight is too dangerous to attempt because of the
rough character of the land, the hydroaeroplane can follow a river
course with perfect safety. Or, if there is no water course and the
country is level, it can take the land course with equal safety.

In short, it matters little whether an aerial course takes one over land
or water, the hydroaeroplane is the safest machine for flight. With the
"Triad," as we called the machine from its triple field–air, land, and
water–the Great Lakes offer no impassable obstacle to a long flight, and
it is within the vision of him who watches the trend of things, that an
over-sea flight is not far in the future.

NOTE BY AUGUSTUS POST

THE "FLYING BOAT"

At San Diego, on Jan. 10, 1912, a new type of Curtiss hydroaeroplane, or
"flying boat," was given its first trial on the bay. It had been
designed and constructed under strict secrecy at Hammondsport. The
public knew nothing as to the details of this craft until it was taken
out on the bay in order to test its balance and speed on the water.

This craft, which was equipped to carry a passenger, was driven by a
sixty horse-power motor. In contact with the water, it went at over
fifty miles an hour; and lifted off the water, it travelled at more than
sixty miles an hour in the air. It differs in many respects from the
hydroaeroplane now in use by the United States Navy officers who, by the
way, were present and witnessed the test. There were two propellers
instead of one and these were driven by clutch and chain transmission.
They were really "tractors," being in front of the planes; the motor had
a new automatic starter, and there was also a fuel gauge and bilge pump.
The transmission has since been changed to direct drive.

The boat, or hydro equipment, contained a bulkhead fore and aft, was
twenty feet long, with an upward slope in front and a downward slope in
the rear. The hydro equipment, which was more like a boat than anything
yet designed, was able to withstand any wind or wave that a motor boat
of similar size could weather. The aviator sat comfortably in the hull
with the engine not behind him, but forward in the hull in this model.

THE "FLYING FISH"

A "No. 2 flying boat," just built by Mr. Curtiss, and successfully
tested on Lake Keuka, Hammondsport, in July, 1912, is the "last word" in
aviation so far. An illustration in this book, made from photographs
taken in mid-July, 1912, shows fully the bullet-shape of the "flying
fish."

It is a real boat, built with a fish-shaped body containing two
comfortable seats for the pilot and passenger or observer, either of
whom can operate the machine by a system of dual control, making it also
available for teaching the art of flying.

All the controls are fastened to the rear of the boat's hull, which
makes them very rigid and strong, while the boat itself, made in
stream-line form, offers the least possible resistance to the air, even
less than that offered by the landing gear upon a standard land machine.
Above the boat are mounted the wings and aeroplane surface. In the
centre of this standard biplane construction is situated the eighty
horse-power motor with its propeller in the rear, thus returning to the
original practice, as in the standard Curtiss machines, of having a
single propeller attached direct to the motor, thus doing away with all
chains and transmission gearing which might give trouble, and differing
from the earlier model flying boat built in San Diego, California, last
winter (1911-12), which was equipped with "tractor" propellors
propellers in front driven by chains.

The new flying boat is twenty-six feet long and three feet wide. The
planes are five and a half feet deep and thirty feet wide. It runs on
the water at a speed of fifty miles an hour, and is driven by an eighty
horse-power Curtiss motor. At a greater speed than this it cannot be
kept on the water, but rises in the air and flies at from fifty to sixty
miles per hour.

[Illustration: DIAGRAM OF THE CURTISS FLYING BOAT NO. 2.]

The boat itself is provided with water-tight compartments so that if any
one compartment should be damaged the flotation afforded by the other
would be sufficient to keep the craft afloat. It is also provided with
wheels for making a landing on the shore; these wheels fold up, thus not
interfering in the slightest with its manoeuvres over the water. The
boat is so strongly built that it can be readily beached even through a
high surf and handled the same as a fisherman would handle his dory, or
it may be housed afloat like a motor boat or anchored to a buoy like a
yacht.

In rough water the spray-hood with which this type of boat is provided
protects the navigators from getting wet and enables the craft to be
used very much as you might use a high speed motor boat, with the added
excitement of being able to rise above other crafts or fly over them if
they get in the way. It looks very much like a flying fish in the air
and although designed to skim close to the surface of the water at high
speed it can rise to as high an altitude as the standard land machine.

Mr. Curtiss states: "My idea was to provide a machine especially adapted
for the requirements of the sportsman, one that would be simple to
operate and absolutely safe. During the tests which we have made with
this flying boat it carried three people with ease and the boat rose
without difficulty with the extra passenger, although it is only
designed to accommodate two people."

With the hydroaeroplane a safe landing can always be made, and if,
through inexperience or carelessness of the driver, a bad landing is
made, no injury to the operator or passenger can occur other than what
may result from a "ducking."

[Illustration: THE EVOLUTION OF THE HYDRO]

(A) (B) The flying boat of summer, 1912–on land and in the air. (C) A
contrast–the hydroaeroplane of winter, 1911.

[Illustration: HYDROAEROPLANE FLIGHTS]

(A) Curtiss driving the "Triad" over Lake Erie, ground-swells at
Atlantic City.

(B) Witmer riding the ground-swells at Atlantic City.

This boat shows how directly aeroplane-builders are turning to air craft
available for amateur sport–not for exhibition "stunts." Such boats will
have ample protection for the passenger and be able to carry a large
quantity of fuel together with wireless apparatus and provisions, so
that long overwater journeys may be made in comparative comfort, and
also well within the radius of communication by wireless. And most of
all they are safe!–A. P.

THE NAVY ON THE HYDRO (AUGUSTUS POST)

Captain Washington Irving Chambers, head of the Aeronautical Bureau,
United States Navy, in a speech delivered at the Aeronautical Society's
banquet in New York, said:

"The hydroaeroplane is the coming machine so far as the navy is
concerned; in fact, it has already come.[5] The navy machine built by
Glenn Curtiss has had several tryouts and has proved itself a success. I
recently had a flight with Mr. Curtiss in this machine, the 'Triad,' at
Hammondsport, N. Y.

"With two passengers seated side by side, the control can be shifted
from one to the other easily while in the air. When we had gone a mile
Curtiss yelled to me to take the control. The levers had been explained
to me on the ground, but I had not familiarised myself with them for the
purpose of handling the machine under way. I turned on a notch and the
front plane tilted up, bringing the machine off the water to a level of
four feet in the air. We kept this level for another mile or two, when
Curtiss took the control again. He turned the plane lever another notch
and we rose to a ten-foot level and encircled the lake several times
without changing from this level more than a foot or two, lower or
higher."

As a justification of Captain Chambers' remarks, the Aero Club of
America, at their annual banquet held on January 27, 1912, awarded the
"Collier Trophy" to Mr. Curtiss for his successful development and
thorough demonstration of the hydroaeroplane, the terms of the deed of
gift stating that "it shall be awarded annually for the greatest
achievement in aviation in America, the value of which has been
demonstrated by use during the preceding year."

The trophy is a group in bronze by Ernest Wise Keyser of New York,
representing the triumph of man over gravity and other forces of nature.
The trophy was donated by Robert J. Collier, president of the Aero Club
of America.–A. P.

PART IV THE REAL FUTURE OF THE AEROPLANE BY GLENN H. CURTISS WITH 
CHAPTERS BY CAPTAIN PAUL W. BECK, U. S. A., LIEUTENANT THEODORE G. 
ELLYSON, U. S. N., AND AUGUSTUS POST

CHAPTER I AEROPLANE SPEED OF THE FUTURE

If you look over the books on aviation that were published even a
comparatively short time ago, you will see how much of them is given to
prophecies and how little to records of performance. Because, of course,
as soon as the aeroplane came into existence every one with eyesight and
a little imagination could see that here was a new factor in the world's
work that would change the course of things in almost every way, and
naturally every one began to forecast the possibilities of aerial
flight. And at first, when the machine was really so little known, even
to the inventor, that aviators hesitated to push it to the extreme of
its possibilities, writers had more to say about what the aeroplane
would probably do than what it had actually done. But the aeroplane,
which is bound to break all speed-records, has made history at the
fastest rate yet. Day by day we move things over from the prophecy
department to the history chapter, and as the days slip by on their rush
to join the future, hardly one but leaves a record of accomplishment and
achievement to justify the aeroplane prophets.

At first, as I have just said, aviators could not believe in the powers
of the machine; we used to trim down our garments to the lightest point,
to avoid extra weight, whereas now we bundle up in heavy furs, or wear
two suits, one over the other, to meet the intense cold of the upper
air; and a great surplus of weight can be carried by almost all
machines. We used to wait for a calm almost absolute before going up it
used to be a regular thing to see aviators wetting their fingers and
holding them up to see from which direction the faint breezes were
coming or dropping bits of paper to see if the air was in that complete
stillness we used to think necessary for successful flight. When I was
waiting for just the right moment in Albany to begin the Hudson Flight
which, because of the unusual and absolutely unknown atmospheric
conditions over a river flowing between precipitous and irregular hills,
had to be timed with unusual care the Poughkeepsie paper in an editorial
said the "Curtiss gives us a pain in the neck."

Even after I had made the flight the Paterson Call made the wait a
reason for denying the use of aeroplanes in time of war, pointing out
how amusing it would be to see in the newspaper reports of the wars of
the future, "Battle postponed on account of the weather!" Whereas now we
go up without hesitation into what is actually a gale of wind, and under
weather conditions that would have made the first flyers think it
absolute suicide.

This discussion of the future of the aeroplane will have more of a basis
of solid fact for its prophecy than if it had been written a couple of
years ago. Some ideas the world has as to the future of the machine we
have had reluctantly to abandon or at least indefinitely to postpone,
but so many new fields of activity have opened that one may only sketch
the principal lines along which it is reasonable to expect the aeroplane
and the art and science of mechanical flight to develop.

The most practical present and future uses of the aeroplane in the order
of relative importance which it seems to me that these uses will
naturally take, are: for sport, war, and special purposes which the
aeroplane itself will create.

SPEED–PRESENT AND FUTURE

In saying "for sport" I mean both for the aviator himself and for the
spectators interested in watching his aerial evolutions and enthusiastic
over results; over sporting competitions, speed races, and record
flights of all kinds. Such flights provide as much fun for the fellow
who looks on as the fellow who flies and gives an opportunity for those
who take pleasure in acting in an official capacity to exercise
authority to their hearts' content!

Speed will always be a most important factor in the development of the
sporting side of aviation. Almost all races depend upon speed and
activity; and the aeroplane, the material embodiment and symbol of
speed, equals and in many cases surpasses the speed of the wind.

Speed will have no bounds in the future. As I have already said briefly
in passing, aeroplanes will soon be going considerably over one hundred
miles per hour. A motorcycle has gone at the rate of one hundred and
thirty-seven miles per hour and an aeroplane should be able to go even
faster. With the help of a strong wind blowing in the direction of
flight, two hundred miles an hour ought to be possible of attainment.
Machines for high speed, however, must have some means of contracting
the wing area or flattening out the curve in the planes so that when we
want to go fast, we can reduce the amount of surface of the machine to
lessen friction and so that when we want to go more slowly and land, we
can increase the size of the wing surface.

The Etrich machine built in Austria has been constructed so that the
curvature of the planes can be changed by operating a lever near the
pilot; this enables the machine to attain high speed in flight and to
fly more slowly in starting and landing.

The record is one hundred and eight miles an hour now (September, 1912)
and we will not be surprised to see it climb up in proportion as rapidly
as the altitude record did in 1911.

There is no wonder that an aeroplane race should create such absorbing
interest, almost amounting to a craze, in the mind of the public
directly interested. Speed is the one thing about the aeroplane that
appeals both to the practical and to the imaginative man; the man of
business, to whom saving time means saving money, and the poet, or the
man of leisure, to whom the words "make a bee-line"–that is, an air
line–have always stood for speed and directness. Now in earth or rail
friction-machines, the limit of speed has almost been reached, except in
the case of monorail vehicles, and there seems to be little progress in
this direction. With the aeroplane, on the contrary, speed is only in
its infancy. None of the difficulties that check the development of
speed in the automobile or locomotive attend the aeroplane. What means
speed now–ninety or ninety-five miles an hour–merely marks a stage in
the machine's development; a hundred and fifty an hour is even now
within its possibilities, and a much greater speed is by no means beyond
the vision of the present generation. What the boys of to-day are going
to see when they grow up no one can foretell. It is largely a question
of motive power that and the reduction of resistance. In the latter
respect I have already materially cut down the resistance of the newest
type of Curtiss machine, in order to increase the speed. I was able, as
I have said, to win the International Cup at Rheims in 1909 with a speed
of forty-seven and one-half miles an hour. At Los Angeles during the
past winter my latest type was able to fly more than seventy miles an
hour, and the same type of engine, an eight-cylinder, has also been made
more powerful, thus the increased speed is due to the improvements in
the lines of the machine, the reduction of surface, and the controls,
and the increase of the power of the motor.

There is still room for reduction of surfaces, minor improvements in the
general outlines and in the control; but the largest element in any
increase of speed must rest with the development of the motor. Increased
power is the tendency, with as much reduction in weight as possible.
Personally, I can't see much room for reduction in weight. At present I
am using a motor of my own manufacture that weighs but three pounds to
the horse-power. This I consider extremely light as compared, for
instance, with the engines used in submarines of the Navy, which weigh
from sixty to seventy pounds to the horse-power. Still, there will be
some reduction in weight per horse-power.

With the great speed that will undoubtedly mark the aeroplane flights
even of the near future, the physical endurance of the operator will
count for a great deal in long flights. By the time we can fly much over
a hundred miles an hour there will have to be some means of protection
devised for the operator, for anyone who has travelled sixty or seventy
miles an hour in an automobile knows how uncomfortable such a trip
becomes if it keeps up over long distances. The driver of an aeroplane
sitting out in front unprotected causes far more "head-resistance." It
will be an easy matter to arrange some sort of protection for him.

How strong this "head-resistance" can be, I realised in a curious
experience while racing with Ely at Los Angeles, going at probably
sixty-five miles an hour. I looked upward to see just where Ely was
flying, and as I raised my head the wind got under my eyelids and puffed
them out like toy balloons. For a moment I was confused and could
scarcely see, but as soon as I turned my gaze on the ground the wind
pressure forced the lids back into their normal position.

SAFER THAN AUTOMOBILE RACES

I believe there are fewer dangers in racing aeroplanes than in racing
automobiles. Races run over the ground have to contend against
obstructions to the course, tire troubles, and "skidding" on a wet
track, or in making sharp turns. None of these exist in the race in the
air. The course is always clear, there is no "track," wet or dry, and as
for the turns that look so desperate to the inexperienced observer on
the ground, the operator, far from slipping out of his seat as he
"banks" sharply, sits tight and feels as if he were going on an even
keel. If you can imagine how the water in a pail would feel as you swing
the pail around your head so fast that not a drop spills, you can
realise the sense of stability that the aviator feels as he whirls
around a circular course at a tremendous rate of speed, in fact, once an
aeroplane is up in the air, it is often safer to travel fast than it is
to travel slow.

ACCIDENTS

Of course it would be folly, in view of the list of accidents, fatal and
otherwise, that the newspapers print and reprint every time a noted
aviator falls, to assert that there is no danger in flying. I doubt if
the American man, especially the American young man, would take to the
aeroplane so enthusiastically if the sport were as safe as parlour
croquet. There is, of course, always danger of something going wrong
with an aeroplane in flight that may bring it down too quickly for
safety, but unless the derangement is vital, an expert aviator can make
a safe landing, even with a "dead" motor. And the dangers of flight are
growing less and less every year as the machine is improved and as the
aviator becomes more skilful and more experienced in air conditions. The
report of the French Government for 1911 shows that there have been only
one-tenth as many fatal accidents in proportion to the number of flights
made, as in the first year of aviation, but each accident has made ten
times as much stir.

INCREASE IN SKILL

Perhaps the greatest advancement in aviation during the past year has
been due to the increased skill of the aviators. Men like Beachey,
McCurdy, Willard, Brookins, Parmelee, Latham, Radley, and others who
have made flights in this country, have shown remarkable strides in the
art of flying. This advancement has been in experience–in knowing what
to do in all sorts of weather–in taking advantage of air currents and in
knowing how to make safe landings when trouble occurs. A year ago it
would have looked like a desire to commit suicide to attempt some of the
"stunts" these men now perform as a part of their daily exhibitions.

At the same time, I want to make it plain that, personally, I do not
now, nor ever have encouraged so-called "fancy" flying. I regard some of
the spectacular gyrations performed by any of half a dozen flyers I know
as foolhardy and as taking unnecessary chances. I do not believe fancy
or trick flying demonstrates anything except an unlimited amount of
nerve and skill and, perhaps, the possibilities of aerial acrobatics.

CROSS-COUNTRY RACES

The year 1912 in America is the year of great cross-country flights. We
have already seen the foreshadowing of this development in the great
flights of Atwood from St. Louis to New York and Rodgers from coast to
coast. Rodgers' trip was a great feat. Just think! Clear across the
United States and so many smashes that only a man with indomitable will
and pluck would have kept on to success. Rodgers became an expert at
landing and made landings almost anywhere. Soon we shall see, instead of
men flying alone as in the case of these trips, double flights with two
pilots relieving each other so that the distance covered in flights may
be increased, and the capabilities of machines for endurance can be
fully shown.

The Gordon Bennett International Cup race at Chicago this year brought
to this country two of the best racing machines in the world and has
stimulated interest in aviation to a higher pitch than it has ever had
in the United States. At the next Gordon Bennett, I hope to see an
American surpass even Vedrines' speed of one hundred and five miles an
hour for one hundred twenty-four and eight-tenths miles.

RACING TYPES OF TO-MORROW

There have been many meets since Rheims, some international, some of
local importance; indeed almost every citizen of a civilised country has
had a chance to attend some one of them without too great a journey, but
what I have said of one meet is true to some degree of all: that racing
and contests in general, especially between different makes of machines,
is of the greatest use to the development of the aeroplane, just as
competition among automobile manufacturers, in putting out racing
machines, helped the development of that vehicle.

There are at the present time a number of types and makes of aeroplanes,
each claiming some especial advantage over the others, and trying to
demonstrate it. Some of these will drop out–some of them have dropped
already–some will develop toward the aeroplane of the future, which we
can only infer from the machines of to-day. The way to bring about this
"survival of the fittest" is by speed contests and endurance races,
where the American manufacturer pits his machine against the
foreign-made article and the biplane contends against the monoplane.

The public believed, when these two types came into being, that there
would be a sharp division of uses between them; that the biplane would
excel in just certain directions, the monoplane in others, and the
public has watched the various records of speed, of endurance, of
distance, as they changed back and forth between the two types, and has
found that deciding their relative merits and assigning their special
uses was by no means the simple and summary process they thought it
would be. The contests will have to evolve new rules and regulations;
for instance, there will have to be some means of handicapping machines
with very high-power engines and small plane surface as in the case of
monoplanes, which, with a minimum of plane surface and high power
engines, have a speed advantage over the biplanes, that with equal
engine power have much larger plane surface. Perhaps the method of
handicapping now used in certain races of stock automobiles, that is
cubic displacement of the engine, will be adopted.

PUBLIC INTEREST IN MEETS

The aviation meet at Los Angeles, California, in 1911, was a good
indication of what great and deep interest the public have in contests
in the air, and will have in the great races of the future.

Aeroplane flights called thirty thousand people through the gates the
second day of the ten days' meet. This is the biggest crowd, I believe,
that ever paid admission to an aviation meet, in this country, and
probably the largest that has ever attended any outdoor attraction
except the world's series baseball games and the few big football games.
In addition, there was a considerable crowd on the outside who did not
pay admission, but the actual paid admissions on Sunday were more than
thirty thousand. This third annual meet did better than either of those
held during the two previous years, and this, I am convinced, proves
that aviation is a standard and lasting attraction.

CHAPTER II FUTURE SURPRISES OF THE AEROPLANE–HUNTING, TRAVEL, MAIL, 
WIRELESS, LIFE-SAVING, AND OTHER SPECIAL USES

Many will be the future uses of the aeroplane; special uses not
necessarily dependent on speed.

Sportsmen are likely to find in the aeroplane, especially in the hydro,
an admirable vehicle for hunting, aside from their interest in its
racing capacity. Already there is pending in the California legislature
a bill designed to regulate shooting from an aeroplane, intended as an
addition to the California aeroplane traffic regulations, described
later. While this bill is probably intended as more or less of a joke,
it has been thoroughly demonstrated that it is possible to shoot wild
ducks from an aeroplane. Hubert Latham proved this fact in his
Antoinette monoplane at Los Angeles.

Latham flew from Dominguez Field to the Bolsa Chica Gun Club on the
shore of the Pacific, ten miles away, and chased wild ducks for thirty
minutes, finally bagging one. The sportsmen of California thought they
saw in this feat of Latham's the near approach of a time when the
aeroplane would be utilised for exterminating game, and seemed much
exercised over the incident. The newspapers saw only the humour of the
incident, however, and the sportsmen were quickly reassured.

Latham, not content with this achievement and thirsting for new thrills,
said that he was going to fly up into the Rocky Mountains and shoot
grizzly bears. His last undertaking was to take his aeroplane with him
to the Congo where he went to hunt big game and to use the aeroplane in
this novel and sensational sport. Strange to relate, after having braved
all the dangers of the air, he met his fate by being gored to death by a
wounded and infuriated wild buffalo, in July, 1912.

Some ranchers out west have clubbed together to purchase an aeroplane
for hunting wolves which have been killing their cattle, and four
aviators flew over San Fernando Valley in California recently, eagerly
watching the underbrush for a sight of two fugitive bandits who for two
days had eluded a large sheriff's posse after attempting to hold up a
railway agent and mortally wounding a deputy at San Fernando. Each
aviator was sworn in as a deputy and carried with him an observer
provided with a powerful field glass. They reported that they could see
objects very clearly below.

In scouring the hills one of the observers thought that he had surely
spotted his man and the plane was dipped abruptly toward the ground. On
returning he said, "It was a dog I saw and I'll bet that dog is running
yet."

I have heard on the best of authority that an aviator in this country
chased a buzzard until it fell exhausted and that in Europe this same
game was played by a German aviator upon a large stork.

AERIAL BIRD-NETTING

On my practice flights in a hydroaeroplane over San Diego Bay, I noticed
on several occasions that pelicans and sea gulls and even wild ducks got
in my path, and I was sometimes obliged to change my course in order to
avoid the slow-flying fowl. It occurred to me that with a net affixed to
the forward part of the planes it would have been an easy matter to run
down and bag a pelican, and possibly a sea gull. The ducks are too quick
to be caught by an aeroplane, as yet. Chasing ducks in an aeroplane and
catching them in a net would be about as thrilling a sport as one can
imagine. Perhaps when the killing of wild fowl with guns shall have
palled on sportsmen, we shall see the method of "netting" them with an
aeroplane come into use. Something after the manner of scientists who
hunt the lepidoptera.

Mrs. Lillian Janeway Platt Atwater, of New York, while taking
instructions in the operation of the hydroaeroplane at North Island,
early in 1912, tried my new method of catching seabirds. She asked
Lieut. J. W. McClaskey, instructor at the Curtiss school, to take out
the hydroaeroplane, with her as a passenger, and attempt to catch a
pelican or gull with a net. The instructor promptly agreed and for
almost half an hour the big hydroaeroplane with Lieut. McClaskey and
Mrs. Atwater chased pelicans and sea gulls up and down the bay. They
discontinued the hunt only when a large pelican barely escaped becoming
entangled in the propeller, which would have smashed it and possibly
caused an accident. On another occasion Mrs. Atwater did actually
succeed in catching a gull while flying with her husband.

Shooting rabbits from an aeroplane would be comparatively easy. I came
to this conclusion while flying over North Island, which is covered with
weeds and sagebrush for the most part, with hundreds of jack-rabbits and
cottontails living there. At first these rabbits were terribly
frightened by the aeroplane and ran in all directions to escape. They
soon became used to the sight, however, and would watch the aeroplane
with a great deal of curiosity. One of the big jack-rabbits, either from
fright or curiosity, waited too long to get out of the way of Harry
Harkness in his Antoinette, when he made a rather abrupt descent, and it
was cut in two by the propeller.

MAIL-CARRYING

One of the most important special uses to which the aeroplane is
particularly adapted is for carrying the mail. Royal mail was first
actually handled at Allahabad in India last summer, during which over
6,000 letters were transferred. This service was planned to prove the
great value of an aeroplane post during war time to a besieged town. A
mail route via aeroplane was established on trial between London and
Windsor in England, which carried several tons of mail matter. And in
this country last fall Postmaster-General Frank H. Hitchcock and Captain
Paul Beck, U. S. A., inaugurated the first aerial postal service
regularly established in the United States, over a route between the
Aero Club of America's flying grounds at Nassau Boulevard on Long
Island, and Mineola, L. I. A picturesque account of this little episode
is given by Frank O'Malley, who wrote:

"The flying events of the day at the Nassau Boulevard aviation meet came
to an end in a hubbub of joyousness among 1,500 spectators on the
grounds.

"Lieutenant Milling had busted the American record and was still flying
for the world's record when a tall, youngish man decked out in a blue
serge suit, and a gray cap, climbed into the Curtiss machine driven by
Captain Paul Beck of the army.

"'The Hon. Frank H. Hitchcock, Postmaster-Gen'rul of the whole United
States,' the megaphone man began to holler,'will now fly to Mineola with
Captain Beck to deliver the mail. Postmaster-Gen'rul Hitchcock of the
United States will carry the mail-bag on his knees and drop the bag at
Mineola into a circle in which will be the Postmaster-Gen'rul of I mean
the Postmaster of Mineola. Ladies and gentlemen, Postmaster-Gen'rul
Hitchcock.' (Much applause.)

"Mr. Hitchcock wasn't around to hear all this and so didn't lift his
gray cap in acknowledgment. He was far out on the field with
Attorney-General Wickersham and Captain Beck. Post Office Inspector
Doyle handed the Postmaster-General a mail bag containing one thousand,
four hundred and forty postcards and one hundred and sixty-two letters,
and Captain Beck and the Postmaster-General hiked off in a northerly
direction for the high spots,

"The Curtiss circled three-quarters of the field and then climbed
rapidly until it was three hundred or four hundred feet above the south
end of the track. Ovington, who had also got under way with a second bag
of mail in his monoplane, shot up into the same acre of sky occupied by
Captain Beck and Mr. Hitchcock and shot eastward as a track finder for
Captain Beck's machine.

"The field could see the two machines almost all the time during the
cross-country flight. The way the biplane with a passenger pegged along
just behind the monoplane with only a pilot aboard was a caution. Over a
big white circle painted on the Mineola real estate, Ovington from his
monoplane and the Postmaster-General from Captain Beck's machine,
plumped down to Mineola the two pouches and hit within the circle in
each case.

"The biplane teetered slightly as the mail bag was released and then the
two machines made a circle and spun back to where the crowd stood on
tiptoe peering over fences at Nassau Boulevard.

"'I was up once before,' the Postmaster-General said after he had shaken
hands all around upon his return to earth.' That was at Baltimore with
Count de Lesseps in his Bleriot. The biplane to-day I found was much
steadier.

"'Fly again? I hope so, because I like the experience very much. My trip
to-day was especially enjoyable because at Baltimore I could see very
little of the ground below, owing to the closed-in construction of a
monoplane. To-day from the biplane all this end of Long Island was
stretched out to be looked at.

[Illustration: CARRYING THE MAIL–NASSAU BOULEVARD, 1911]

Right to left: Attorney-general Wickersham, Captain Paul Beck,
Postmaster-General Hitchcock, with mail-bag.

[Illustration: STUDENTS OF AERIAL WARFARE]

Beck, St,. Henry, and Curtiss studying a flight by Kelley

Military pupils. Left to right: McClaskey, Curtiss, Beck, Towers,
Ellyson

"'Yes, air-routes are all right for practical mail-carrying,' Mr.
Hitchcock continued, in answer to a question.'I mean,' he smiled,'the
air is all right, but the vehicles must continue toward perfection. But
even with the aeroplane as it is now it would be very useful to us,
particularly in some parts of the country.

PRACTICAL VALUE TO-DAY FOR MAIL-CARRYING

"'Take along the Colorado River in the canon district of Yuma, for
instance, or in parts of Alaska. Along the Colorado there are places
where detours of fifty miles out of the way are made in mail routes to
get to a bridge. An aeroplane could hop right across the river.

"'The expensiveness of maintaining an aeroplane service is an obstacle,
but that will diminish. I would like to see the Post Office Department
do something definite in this direction for the good effect it would
have in stimulating the development of the machine. Fliers at present
have many lean months between the meets.'"

Ever since Postmaster-General Hitchcock made this trip he has been an
enthusiastic advocate of the aeroplane as a means of transporting mail
over difficult routes. During the next few months he granted permission
to a number of aviators, including Ovington, Milling, Arnold, Robinson,
Lincoln Beachey, Charles F. Walsh, Beckwith Havens, Charles C. Witmer,
and Eugene Godet, all of whom fly Curtiss machines, to act as special
mail carriers, and these men have carried mail bags in similar
exhibiting tests from aviation fields to points near the Post Office.
Among the cities where such tests have been officially made are
Rochester, N. Y.; Dubuque, Iowa; Fort Smith, Ark.; Temple and Houston,
Texas; Atlanta, Savannah, Columbia, and Rome, Ga.; and Spartanburg and
Salisbury, N. C.

The record for long-distance mail carrying is held by Hugh Robinson, who
took a bag of mail at Minneapolis, Minn., and carried it on his long
flight down the Mississippi River in a hydroaeroplane as far as Rock
Island, Ill. The distance covered by Robinson was 375 miles on this
trip, and letters and first class mail matter were put off and taken on
at Winona, Minn.; Prairie du Chien, Wis.; Dubuque and Clinton, Iowa; and
Rock Island, Ill.

Of course the aeroplane is, at present, best suited for carrying mail in
localities where the weather is equable; in such places it offers a
speedy, direct, and dependable service. These numerous experiments in
mail-carrying by aeroplane have brought about the urging of an
appropriation by Congress for this purpose. The second Assistant
Postmaster-General, who is in charge of mail transportation, in a report
that has just been made public at the time I am writing this, asks for
$50,000 for the transportation of mails by aeroplane. Part of this fund
may be devoted to mail routes in the Alaskan interior. One government
has actively entered on practical mail-carrying by aeroplane. Belgium
has voted a fund to establish routes across seven hundred miles of
impenetrable Congo jungle.

WIRELESS

The aeroplane is ideal for use with wireless telegraphy and the
combination of the aeroplane's ability to obtain information and the
ability to transmit it by wireless will be one of its most important
future developments in practical usefulness.

Wireless experiments do not involve any great problem, as messages have
been successfully transmitted from an aeroplane to land stations many
times. The receiving of a wireless message by an operator in an
aeroplane from a land station or from a warship involves considerable
difficulty because of the noise and vibration of the motor, but it is
expected, however, that this will be soon entirely overcome and that it
will be possible to transmit or receive telegrams in an aeroplane to or
from distant points with the same ease and accuracy that it is now seen
on the ground or on the water.

The telegraph seems to be the companion of the locomotive, the telephone
of the automobile, and now wireless has its side-partner in the
aeroplane!

Important experiments are being carried on by the signal corps of every
army with various methods of communication with an aeroplane in flight
and by the aviator with those on the ground. They have tried an
instrument for making smoke signals, with large and small puffs,
reviving a method used by the American Indians in the pioneer days and
quite familiar to all boys who have played Indian in the country.

FORESTRY SURVEY

The supervisor of the Selway forest, consisting of 1,600,000 acres,
which was formerly part of the Nez Perces reserve in Idaho, predicts
that aeroplanes and wireless telegraphy will be important factors in
forest fire prevention before a far distant date. He believes that a man
in an aeroplane could do more accurate and extensive survey work in the
forests of the Pacific slope country in a few hours when forest fires
are raging than is usually accomplished by twenty rangers in a week.
With wireless stations installed on peaks in the chief danger zones, he
believed it would be a comparatively easy task to assemble men and
apparatus to check and extinguish the flames and prevent fires from
spreading.

MOVING PICTURES

Aeroplanes have already been used for purposes of photography and moving
picture machines have also been attached to them and some remarkable
pictures taken. One of the large moving picture magnates said, "Now, Mr.
Curtiss, if you can take a series of moving pictures showing a trip
across the United States, I do not care if it takes you a year to get it
and even though it is taken piecemeal, or one section at a time over the
main cities on the way, I will pay you well for it. We will take the
film, trim it down, and run it through at lightning speed taking our
audience from New York to San Francisco 'as the bird flies' in twenty
minutes."

The value of moving pictures taken from above and from a swift
low-flying machine is apparent at a glance. The contour of the country
is shown as in no other way, and now that warfare is going to have a
quite different point of view, even a different range of action, it is
important that schools, and especially military schools, should be made
familiar with this aspect of the land. The flat map is superseded by
such a panoramic view. In time of actual war, moving pictures taken in
this way will have a unique value.

In photographing reviews of troops, public celebrations, lines of
battleships, or any scenes that require a panoramic representation, the
aeroplane has been used with success. It can also be of great service in
photographing animals and rare birds which may inhabit regions otherwise
inaccessible. With the advance of nature study and the steady
development of "camera hunting," the aeroplane will be used more and
more for such purposes as well as for photographing mountain tops and
other insurmountable or dangerous places to reach.

Robert G. Fowler has had some surprisingly good motion pictures taken
from his machine during his cross-continent flight, by an operator
sitting beside him, his camera placed on a temporary stand.

Mr. Frank W. Coffyn took a most interesting series of moving pictures of
New York City from the water front, portraying the Battery, the Brooklyn
Bridge, and the famous Statue of Liberty in the harbour. Mr. Coffyn used
a hydroaeroplane for this purpose, which made his flights comparatively
safe. In fact, such a feat would have been well nigh impossible for a
machine that could not land on the water, for there are no places where
an aeroplane can land in the business section of New York unless the
aviator should land on one of the large buildings, and then he would
have great difficulty in getting away again.[6]

Great care has to be exercised to keep the machine on an even keel, so
that the operator can manage the roll of film.

LIFE-SAVING

Another branch of the government service that will no doubt be greatly
aided by aeroplanes are the Life Saving Stations along the coast, whose
regular equipment might well include an aeroplane to fly to wrecks and
carry a line from shore to ship when the high seas make it impossible to
launch a lifeboat. It might be impracticable to go out during the period
of severe storm, but there is always a calm in the air after a storm, as
well as the proverbial calm before one, while the high seas in which a
lifeboat cannot live are still running. The aeroplane or the
hydroaeroplane, dashing through the air, even through high wind, would
bring the line that means life to helpless men clinging to a wreck.

I am awaiting with earnest expectation the first time that an aeroplane
actually saves a life; when that takes place, it will have conquered the
heart of the people as well as fascinated its intellect, aroused its
awe, or compelled its admiration. The first period of enthusiastic
acceptance of the new machine has been succeeded in the mind of the
general non-flying public by an admiration not at all like affection.

Realising how many lives have been given to its development, feeling
that the aviator takes, as they call it, "his life in his hands," the
crowd at a flying-meet feels with all its great and growing interest, an
attraction in which figures not a little fear and distrust. The first
time that an aeroplane saves a life as it can and will do many times it
will have begun to conquer this public distrust. That is why the exploit
of the hydroaeroplane already described, in coming first to the aid of
the aviator in the water, had a value far greater than its apparent
importance.[7]

EXPLORING AND ESCAPE FROM DANGER

The aeroplane will find one of its important uses not only in taking
pictures of inaccessible spots, but also in crossing otherwise
impassable places, especially in times of pressing need when fire,
earthquake, volcanic eruptions that leave beds of molten lava,
explosions, pestilences, floods, or other devastations occur, and quick
assistance is necessary.

In engineering and mining matters, the aeroplane may be of assistance in
exploring the best places to locate the route for railroads through
mountain passes and into such places as "Death Valley" where the salt
deposits are located.

TRAVEL

An important field in the sporting world of aviation of course will be
carrying passengers and initiating novices into the mysteries of the air
lanes and into the pleasures of aerial touring.

In this delightful method of travel the panorama below is equal to any
of the magnificent landscapes which may be seen from high mountains and
besides, the view is attended by most delicious thrills and sensations,
and when a good pilot is in control of the machine the passenger is sure
of a pastime absolutely unequalled for mere joy, aside from further use
or benefit it may have.

While travelling over torrid places like deserts and arid wastes, as
well as burning prairies, the aviator can fly high where the air is cool
and clear and escape the great humidity and the deadly alkali dust.

As for mountain climbing, it will have lost its peculiar fascination
when the aeroplane will be to mountains what the elevator is to high
buildings. The landscape has a greater, far greater beauty; for an
aviator can see a great distance over a level plane. At the height of
one mile you can, theoretically, see ninety-six miles in every direction
and as you ascend the distance to the horizon becomes greater. In hilly
country, one hill hides another when you look from the ground, but when
you are high up in the sky, like the eagle, the mountains all seem to
lose their height and appear flat and naturally your view is
unobstructed.

At great altitudes the sky becomes very deep blue and if you kept going
up you would reach a point finally where the sky became black and the
sun appeared like a ball of fire all by itself as a candle flame does in
the dark.

FOR HEALTH

In these regions there is no dust in the air to diffuse the light and
the air is dry and consequently excellent for persons with lung trouble.
There is even a possibility that physicians will advise patients
suffering from tuberculosis to ascend to these high altitudes, and it is
a fact that Hubert Latham was threatened with this disease, yet enjoyed
good health after taking up aviation, only to be killed by a wild
buffalo, as related. Perhaps this is one of those cases I was looking
for where the aeroplane has saved a life.

METEOROLOGY

An aeroplane will bring quick reports of changes in the weather. Rapid
investigations of conditions which exist in the strata of air at varying
altitudes above the surface of the earth, made by the use of flying
machines, may lend us material aid in understanding those conditions
which are closer to earth.

The study of the weather and meteorological conditions becomes of
greater and greater importance as the progress in the science of
aviation advances. The currents of air that are regular in their
direction of movement, like the trade winds, must be mapped and charted,
for with the aid of a strong wind an aviator can make marvellous speed,
as the speed of the wind is added to the speed of his machine and with
an aeroplane capable of making one hundred miles an hour a favourable
wind of fifty miles an hour would increase the total speed by one half.
For the wind is now no longer an obstacle to flight, and as I have
already noted at the beginning of this chapter, this is one of the most
noticeable advancements in aviation, one that can readily be seen,
understood, and appreciated even by the uninitiated.

THE TENDENCY TOWARD HYDROS

There is always more or less danger in flying over land, and the rougher
its surface the more difficult and dangerous the matter of landing. The
safest place and the most uniform surface is to be found over the water,
and there is much less danger to the aviator flying there than over the
land. The strength of the wind can be easily judged by the height of the
waves, and squalls and puffs can be seen coming so that if they seem to
be very bad you can come down on the surface of the water or skim along
very near it with the greatest safety, if you are in a hydroaeroplane.
Rivers will no doubt become the favourite highways of travel for the
airman, as they were once the only great avenues for the march of
civilisation when the canoe or the rude boat was the only vehicle of
transportation. This brings us naturally to another consideration of the
air-land-water machine.

CHAPTER III THE FUTURE OF THE HYDRO

The most interesting type of flying machine for sport and pleasure is
the hydroaeroplane, and this is undoubtedly the machine with the
greatest possibilities for the future. Indeed, it opens up an entirely
new region of activity, as boundless as the ocean itself, and as various
as the different bodies of water. Built along the lines of a motor boat
with the addition of aeroplane surfaces or horizontal sails, this craft
will be used for much the same purposes as motor boats are now, but in
ways immeasurably more varied and more effective.

The boat portion will be made large and comfortable for pleasure trips
and will be a veritable sportsman's machine which can be run up to a
dock where it can make an easy landing and be tied up when not anchored
out from shore. There will be a comfortable cabin, with cushioned seats
for the navigators, and celluloid windows will be placed in the planes,
so that the view below will not be obstructed. It will be handled in
heavy seas without difficulty.

With such an air and water craft you can go off hunting or fishing; you
can shoot ducks and you will not have to wait until Mr. Duck comes by
but you will be able to reverse the present custom and chase him in his
native element and overtake him, too, as you would a fox on horseback.
By rising to a good height you can see schools of fish or good places on
the bottom to cast your lines for fishing.

Inland lakes will be just the place for the water machine and even among
the mountains the surface of lakes will offer ideal places for landing
and starting, even where the shores are quite out of the question for
safe flying ground.

The construction of the hydroaeroplane, while keeping on the same
general lines of development, will adapt itself to the exigencies
arising from its extended uses. The propeller or propellers will be
protected from the flying spray which might break them for small drops
of water are like bullets out of a gun when hit by the rapidly revolving
blades of the propeller which travel so fast that water might just as
well be solid matter as far as getting out of the way is concerned.
Spray will chip pieces right out of a wooden propeller. Propeller blades
are now covered with tin on the tips for use on the water, and even
metal blades may be better in some respects for this purpose. The
control and rudders are placed on the rear of the long light boat, which
extends further to the rear to accommodate them.

The radius of action in the hydroaeroplane is now from four hundred to
five hundred miles, for the machine can carry a barrel of gasoline, or
fifty-two gallons, and as the engine uses about seven gallons an hour
this would mean about seven hours running at from fifty to sixty miles
an hour in still air; if the wind were blowing twenty-five miles an hour
in the direction in which the machine was flying it would add two
hundred and fifty miles to the distance covered in ten hours.

These machines can be equipped with more surface and they can be
specially built to carry as much as two barrels of fuel, which would
enable them to fly nearly twelve hundred miles if the wind were steady.
They can also fly in very high winds up to almost one hundred miles an
hour, which is the speed at which some of the higher air currents flow,
as proved by the flight of balloons. This would of course tremendously
increase the distance covered. All this is possible to-day and it seems
that the aeroplane has already done every thing possible to be done on
land. Bleriot crossed the English channel, Chavez crossed the Alps, and
Rodgers crossed the American continent, passing over the Rocky
Mountains, and making over four thousand miles in the air.

The only thing now left is to cross the ocean. An attempt has been made
to cross the Atlantic in a dirigible balloon. You all remember how
Walter Wellman flew out over the ocean from Atlantic City in one of the
largest dirigible balloons ever constructed here, the "America,"
remained three days in the air, and covered over twelve hundred miles,
even though his motors were running only a part of the time.

He was fortunate enough to be rescued and brought back to land by the
steamer Trent. And nothing daunted, his chief engineer Melville Vaniman
constructed another large dirigible the "Akron," on which he met such an
untimely end.

Another entrant in the world race to cross the ocean is Dr. Gans who,
with the backing of the German government, plans to start in his
dirigible balloon the "Suchard" from the Island of Teneriffe, one of the
Azores, to attempt the crossing of the Southern Atlantic. He will
endeavour to be the "Columbus of the air" and be wafted above the waves
by the selfsame winds which always blow in that part of the ocean to the
West Indies, just as the first man to accomplish this passage was driven
over the surface of the sea with his small ships. Such great enterprises
bid fair to embolden aviators in their aeroplanes to try to win the
laurels due the first to be successful.

Many aeronauts and aviators seem to be focussing their minds at the
present moment on this great problem. It seems always a condition
necessary to precede the accomplishment of any great thing that popular
thought should be centred upon it; then some one rises to the occasion
and the thing is done. There is no doubt that such a flight is possible
to-day, just as the flight across the United States was possible in even
the early stages of aviation. For the machine and motor which actually
accomplished this trip were almost the same as the very first models;
but it took the man to do it.

It will no doubt necessitate a double machine, and will need two pilots,
one to relieve the other, and possibly several engines to ensure against
stopping of the motor. Mr. Grahame-White has predicted that within
twenty years we will be flying across the Atlantic in fifteen hours upon
regular schedule between London and New York. Mr. Grahame-White once
even went so far as to say that the ocean in a few years would only be
used "to bathe in" but I think he might have added "and to fish in," and
left us that consolation!

Perhaps, backed by government aid, and with the co-operation of their
naval vessels, a chain of ships could be stretched across the ocean,
which would make it possible even now to fly with safety over the
distance between Nova Scotia and Ireland, about two thousand miles.
Already, Mr. Atwood who flew from St. Louis to New York, and Mr. James
V. Martin, have seriously planned such a trip. Mr. Martin has submitted
his plans to the Royal Aero Club of England. He proposes to keep in the
track of steamers and to endeavour to secure the most favourable wind
conditions possible. His machine is designed to have large floats and
five powerful engines.

Storms pass across the ocean with great rapidity and a
fifty-mile-an-hour wind would so increase the speed of an aeroplane as
materially to help it on its journey.

The accomplishment of this great flight over the ocean will no doubt
mean great things for the progress of the world but it also will require
further development along the lines of a flying boat, where a
substantial vessel will be provided, able to stand rough sea and yet
able to rise and skim the surface of the water.

Following up the success of my new hydroaeroplane, I have taken great
interest in the idea of a flight across the Atlantic Ocean by aeroplane.
I consider the flight possible, and I am willing to undertake the
construction of a machine for the purpose, provided any of the aviators
now considering flight wish me to do so. I am not prepared to give the
details of such a machine as would be required to make the flight, but I
simply express the opinion that the feat is possible and that under
certain conditions I will undertake to furnish the equipment.

CHAPTER IV FUTURE PROBLEMS OF AVIATION

In a consideration of the final structure of the Coming Aeroplane, we
pass into the realm of pure prophecy, for the aerial liners and
dreadnaughts of the future are still snug in the brains of men like
Rudyard Kipling or H. G. Wells. My part in the consideration of what is
coming is here confined to the consideration of the immediate, or at
least the not far distant, future.

Biplanes will always be the standard machines in my opinion, because you
can get more supporting surface for the same weight.

Surfaces may be set one far out in front of the other, as Farman has
done, but with three surfaces the third requires a full set of struts
and wires and just as much weight as for two ordinary surfaces, and adds
only one half more surface, and the head resistance is also increased
once again. Surfaces no doubt will be made larger and machines much
bigger in every way will be built.

Telescoping wings may be a feature of the future machines, so that a
graduated area of wing surface can be readily obtained and changed for
slow or high speed.

The limousine, or enclosed-cabin body, will be a familiar sight in the
future machines built for passenger-carrying. These cabins will be
provided with comfortable seats.

AUTOMATIC STABILITY

In regard to the question of automatic stability, or some device to
balance the machine automatically, there seems to be no doubt that this
problem will be solved; in fact it is already solved both for balancing
laterally and keeping the machine from tipping sideways and also to
govern its fore and aft pitching.

These devices may be of value in learning to fly. But in the practical
use of the aeroplane you may see conditions arising which you wish to
counteract before they occur and for which you wish to prepare.
Automatic stabilisers will no doubt prove very good auxiliary devices,
and some aeroplanes will have automatic stabilisers on them before this
is printed, but the aviator will no doubt have to regulate the
regulators in the future as he operates the levers personally in the
present.

AVIATION LAWS TO COME

The making of good laws is not to be overlooked when considering the
future development of the aeroplane, for aviators must be protected from
themselves, and the public must be protected from the rashness or
inexperience of airmen. Almost all nations have already begun to
exercise control over their new territory, the air, and are realising
that it may become one of their most valued possessions and of an
importance equal to their domain over water. For a nation without any
seacoast may no longer be cut off from direct intercourse with the world
through the aerial craft which can enter and leave at will, as vessels
now do on the sea, with no chance of a neighbouring nation restricting
this very freedom.

Laws are rapidly being passed by states regulating and licensing
aviators and requiring lights to be carried, but it seems that the
federal government should be the power that should control the air just
as it does the sea and navigable rivers. For fliers flit about so that
the whole country seems but a mere playground for men of the air.

Already the California legislature has made several laws to protect the
aeroplane and the aviator, as well as to safeguard the larger public
that stays on the ground. Some of these laws may seem a little
premature, but everything about aeroplanes goes so fast, that there is
no wonder the laws instead of lagging behind conditions as they usually
do, should speed up a little ahead of them, for the progress of flight
is such that by the time the law gets on the statute books the
conditions may be calling for it. For instance, bills have been
introduced at Sacramento to regulate the licensing of aeroplanes, which
are to be classed as "motor vehicles," and to carry numbers and lights,
the same as automobiles. The idea of providing for lights seems a little
far-fetched at this time, as it will be a long time before there will be
much flying at night. Besides, such lights as the proposed law provides
would be unnecessary, for the reason that the aeroplane would not be
confined to an arbitrary path, but could choose its own course.
Therefore, a single light in front and another behind would be all that
would be required, instead of one pair in front, one behind and one on
each plane, as the bill suggests.

FUTURE COST OF THE AEROPLANE

The cost of the machine is high at the present time because there are
but few made. No doubt when the great numbers of people who are now
deeply interested in the subject get to the point of practical flight
and desire to take flights, they will want to own machines, and learn to
operate them. Then aeroplanes will be made in quantities and the price
will be reduced in accord with the number that are built and some day we
will be able to buy a good aeroplane for about the price we have to pay
now for a small automobile.

Cortlandt Field Bishop is credited with having said when some one asked
him if the manufacture of a cheap aeroplane, to cost $150, including the
motor, would not be a great business undertaking, "Well, a great
undertaking business should certainly come of it."

LANDING PLACES

The most serious problem of flying to-day is to find a good course to
fly over and suitable landing places. The day will soon come when every
city and town will have public landing and starting grounds. As a matter
of fact the park commissioners of New York City have already been
discussing the setting apart of landing places or isles of safety in the
public parks of the city, although some authorities declare that it
would not be well to encourage fliers to risk themselves and the people
below by flying over the houses. There should be routes of travel
established between cities over which an aviator will have a right to
fly, just as there are highways on the surface of the earth.

GOVERNMENT ENCOURAGEMENT

Perhaps the greatest factor which is needed to further the development
of the aeroplane today is the thorough appreciation by the National
Government of the benefits which the aeroplane may bring to its various
departments besides the military and postal service.

When railroads first became practical the government gave millions of
dollars besides large grants of land to enable them to extend and
develop to a successful state. Steamship building was helped in the same
way both by government aid and by the building of warships and
transports.

The French Government continues to lead the world in its encouragement
of aviation. During the month of December, 1911, according to most
reliable statistics, the War Department ordered no less than four
hundred new aeroplanes, divided between a dozen or more types, and asked
the government to appropriate the sum of $4,400,000 for aeronautics.
Italy, next to France, is the most active European government in
aviation, the Italian War Department having ordered fifty French
machines of various types, as well as twelve aeroplanes of a new type
produced in Austria. The Turkish government has decided to establish
schools for the "fourth arm" immediately, while Russia will also
increase its aviation programme. The latest government to take up
aviation is that of Australia, where an aviation school is about to open
for the instruction of army officers. Germany is not as active in
aviation as the other principal European governments, although it is
difficult to say exactly what is being done by the Germans, as they
purchase machines made in their own country only.

A most interesting programme was arranged by the British military
authorities for the trial of machines in competition in the summer of
1912, at Salisbury Plain, in order to determine the best types of
military aeroplane. The winning types in this contest will receive large
orders from the British government to supply the Army and Navy with
aerial equipment.

FIRST AVIATION REGIMENT

(Newspaper Despatch)

PARIS, Jan. 25, 1912. The first aviation regiment, 327 strong, was
organised here to-day. A flag will be presented to the battalion later
on.

Having already organised an aviation regiment, French army officers are
now agitating the question upon the basis of having no less than a
thousand aeroplanes ready at a moment's notice under the command of
superior officers and under perfect control of army pilots trained to
handle them. This training of officers is the most important part, for
it takes time to make good fliers. Machines may be turned out very
rapidly, but fliers become skilled to the point where they may be of use
in army work only by long practice and practical experience. Our
government has given an appropriation, small in comparison with what
France, Germany and England appropriated, and we have a few aeroplanes
in the signal corps of the Army now and three machines in the Navy, but
these are only the first steps in this important branch of our military
and naval development. We all hope for at least adequate equipment, an
equipment that will equal, if not surpass, that of the European powers.

After the development of the aeroplane for sport and commercial
purposes, its greatest field of growth is for purposes of war and here
we find that the aeroplane can be at once the most deadly weapon of
offensive warfare as yet developed by man, and an even more serviceable
agent for defensive measures, or for all those most important duties
related to scouting and obtaining and carrying information.

WHAT THE AEROPLANE CAN DO IN WAR

I feel confident that an aeroplane can be even now built which will be
able to lift a ton of dynamite or other high explosive, and that it can
be so constructed that it will be an aerial torpedo or winged
projectile, the engine charged with compressed air and set to run any
required distance, from one mile to ten miles. Such a machine can be
steered by wireless controlling apparatus just as submarine boats and
small airships are directed.

A hydroaeroplane can be made to fly at just a certain height over the
water by attaching it to a drag or a float which would prevent its
exceeding the desired limit of altitude. The machine so equipped might
be started in a circle and flown around in a circular course gradually
widening and widening, like a bird dog hunting a scent, until the object
aimed at is hit.

One of the most important uses of an aeroplane adapted to the uses of
the Navy will be its valuable assistance in enabling the manner of
formation of the enemy's ships in line of battle to be made known to the
commanding officer and the angle of approach to be estimated, in order
that our own ships may be so formed in line of battle as to meet the
brunt of the attack effectually.

An aeroplane launched from the deck of a battleship and ascending to the
height of a mile will give the observers on board a range of vision of
ninety-six miles in every direction and powerful glasses will reveal
many details that can be seen more clearly from above than when observed
from the same level. Submarines can be located with great ease when far
below the surface of the water. Even the bottom appears clearly in some
of the tropic seas, and fogs, which obscure all things to the enveloped
mariner bound to the surface of the sea, usually hang comparatively low
down and even a moderate altitude will enable an aerial observer or
pilot to see clearly above the banks of mist which shut down like a pall
upon the water.

The military aeroplane will be able to muffle its motor and for night
operations will be equipped with search-lights and able to approach an
enemy unseen and unheard from a high altitude, a direction in which
there are no pickets.

In the school machines of one of the Chicago schools the motors have
already been muffled to permit the teacher more readily giving his
instructions to his pupils. U. S. Army officers have also experimented
with mufflers on their motors.

Aeroplanes have been recently used by the Italian Army near Tripoli and
bombs were dropped which not only frightened the enemy but stampeded
their horses and caused panic among the soldiers. They were also of
great service in directing the fire of the guns from the ships which
were quite out of sight of their targets, a captive balloon and an
aeroplane signalling the effect of the shots and the angles at which to
train the guns. The aviators took steel bomb-shells with them and filled
them while flying, holding the caps in their teeth, and steering with
their knees while performing this operation. They did not dare to carry
the bombs loaded for fear of being blown to pieces themselves in case of
an accident when landing.

In the fall of 1911, extensive tests were made by the French military
authorities which showed how reliable aeroplanes can be. The aviators
flew at the command of officers and under the strictest orders; the
machines were required to land in ploughed fields and to start away
again with their full complement of passengers and extra weight of fuel.
All the machines were required to carry a weight of about five hundred
pounds and to rise to a certain height in a specified time with their
complete load. The machines were also dismounted and assembled in the
field and packed and transported from one place to another, to test the
ease with which this could be done.

These military tests were won by Charles Weymann, who was also the
winner of the Gordon Bennett International Aviation Cup for America last
year.

Mr. Weymann drove a special Nieuport machine, which was the most speedy
type of aeroplane built at that time, and was successful in landing and
starting from a ploughed field, which many thought impossible for a very
fast type of machine. It took the greatest skill to land such a speedy
machine on rough ground, for he had to glide down with absolute
accuracy, to land without a smash.

Among Army officers the keenest competition is developed, and it is only
by a spirit of rivalry and a desire to excel that the best qualities in
officers and men are brought out in times of peace. Of course in time of
war there is a need which calls for the best there is in a man.

The needs of the Army and Navy aviators have developed some special
features in machines built for their purposes. They want to be as far
out in front of the machine as possible so they can have an unobstructed
view, and so that if they should be so unfortunate as to be pitched out,
they will be quite clear of everything. This is especially true of naval
machines built to fly over the water. Military aeroplanes also should
have a standard method of control, so that any Army or Navy aviator can
operate any Army or Navy machine.

CHAPTER V THE AEROPLANE AS APPLIED TO THE ARMY (By Captain Paul W. 
Beck, U. S. A.)

[8]

Whenever science discovers anything new or startling, such discovery is
immediately tested by practical men of commercial or professional life
to ascertain whether or not it can be applied to their business or
profession. In civil life these tests are to determine whether or not
this new discovery can be applied to cheapen production or benefit
mankind in any other way. In the Army two tests are always applied:
first, to determine whether or not the discovery can be used to kill the
other fellow and, second, to determine whether or not it can be used to
prevent the other fellow from killing us. These are the tests which have
been applied to the aeroplane by the military. Let us see how these
heavier-than-air machines have responded to these tests.

Can aeroplanes be used to kill the other fellow? Our problem here is not
ethical but practical; it is not based on the determinations of the
Hague peace convention, but upon the actual capabilities of the machine
from a physical standpoint, considered apart from humanitarian
principles. In other words we do not discuss whether or not it is
ethically right to use aeroplanes aggressively, but whether or not
aeroplanes are mechanically capable of such use. The Army does not
disturb itself with ethical questions until they become rules of
International Law, and then it only considers them as being binding in
their actual observance under the conditions imposed by such law.
Meanwhile the Army, by preparation in time of peace, seeks to gain the
fullest possible measure of information along the lines of investigation
necessitated by the mechanical side of the question.

Considered from this standpoint, the question is repeated: can
aeroplanes be used to kill the other fellow? Well, where may we expect
to meet this other fellow? He will be armed, of course. He will be on
the ground, on the water, or in the air. Wherever he may be we must get
close enough to see him, while we must remain far enough away to keep
him from having a decidedly better chance of hitting us than we have of
hitting him. If he is on the ground or on the water we must fly over
him. If he is in the air we must manoeuvre our air craft so as to gain
an advantageous position over him; one where we can shoot our machine
guns or rifles while he is unable to use his similar weapons against us.
That is where skill as an aviator and superiority of speed, climbing
powers, and control of the machine will play a prominent part in
deciding the supremacy of the air.

From the standpoint of the location of the enemy the problem can be
reduced to two cases: one, when the enemy is on the ground or on the
water, and the other when he is in the air. Against him in the first
case we must use projectiles dropped from on high. These may be
shrapnel, explosive shells or simply large, thinly encased masses of
high explosive, depending on whether we are attacking individuals or
animals in groups; gun emplacements, bridges, etc., or important
strategical or tactical points such as arsenals, barracks, or parts of a
defensive line.

Against the enemy in the skies we must use some small machine gun or
rifle, in an endeavour to brush him aside and allow our own
information-gathering aeroplanes to perform their functions unmolested.

But we are not progressing. Can aeroplanes be used to kill the other
fellow? Well, assuming him to be located as we have assumed him to be,
there are several other questions which must be answered before we can
clinch the main issue. Can a man act as aviator and at the same time
manipulate the mechanism that may be found necessary to the killing of
the other fellow? If not, can an aeroplane be built that will carry at
least two men, one as aviator and the other as manipulator of the
death-dealing apparatus, and, at the same time, carry enough extra
weight, i. e., fuel, to keep aloft long enough to accomplish the
necessary flight and also carry the projectiles and dropping device?
Yes. The two passengers may be estimated to weigh three hundred pounds.
The dropping device may be estimated to weigh not to exceed fifty
pounds. At least three known types of aeroplane carry six hundred and
fifty pounds of weight for a continuous flight of two hundred miles in
length. That leaves two hundred and fifty pounds that can be devoted to
the carrying of projectiles.

So far the coast seems clear, but a small storm appears in the offing;
can this two hundred and fifty pounds, or any considerable part of it,
be dropped from a moving aeroplane without disturbing its equilibrium to
such an extent as to render the machine unmanageable? Any weight can be
dropped from the centre of lift without disturbing the equilibrium.
Thirty-eight pounds have been dropped from one machine from a point
three feet in front of the centre of lift without disturbing the
equilibrium.

Admitting that the necessary weight can be carried and can be dropped,
we next encounter the highly important question, what can we hit from a
height of, say, three thousand five hundred feet? At this point the
problem becomes one of pure fire control, and is directly analogous to
target practice in our sea-coast defences. Since the aeroplane is moving
forward at a definite rate of speed at the instant of dropping the
projectile, it follows that there is an initial velocity given to the
projectile. This velocity is dependent upon the forward speed of the
machine and varies with it. Gravity exerts an influence on the drop of
the projectile, which influence increases the speed of drop as the
altitude from which the shell is dropped increases. The direction and
force of the wind currents through which the projectile must fall are
variable and they all exert influences tending to cause the projectile
to swerve from its original course to a degree dependent upon their
strength and the thickness of each stratum of air. The size of the
target and, if it be animals or men, the direction and rate of movement
of the target, are all factors to a successful hit.

Practice has shown us that the principal factors are the forward speed
of the machine and the altitude. The variations due to wind currents
through which the projectile must pass in falling are negligible. The
only targets to be chosen will be sufficiently large and immobile to
warrant an assumption that they can be hit. Aerial target practice will
never degenerate to the sniping of individuals. It will be directed
against ships, small boats, armies, cavalry, quartermaster and field
artillery trains and similar large bodies of men or animals, or against
the strategical and tactical points alluded to above.

The problem then simmers itself down to a more or less accurate solution
of a method for determining the forward speed of the machine and its
altitude, which, with a suitable set of tables and suitable mechanical
devices for releasing the projectile at the proper instant, will produce
a reasonably good target practice.

For some time the solution of the forward speed of an aeroplane seemed
impracticable. It has now been solved by the simple use of a telescope,
mounted on a gimbal so as to maintain its horizontal position and
movable vertically along a graduated arc. By setting the telescope to
read an angle of forty-five degrees and snapping a stop watch on an
object which lies in the line of sight of the telescope produced, and
then swinging the telescope so as to point vertically downward, we can,
by snapping the stop watch a second time as the sighting point again
comes into the field of vision, ascertain the exact time it has taken
the machine to cover the distance measured by forty-five degrees of arc.
Our altitude is known by reading a barometer. We then have two known
angles of a right triangle and one known side, viz., the altitude. By a
set of tables, already made out, we can determine our forward speed.

Now, all of this is done as a preliminary to actually dropping the
projectile. After we have the forward speed and the altitude we simply
consult another set of previously prepared tables and read from those
tables an angle. This angle shows the proper point of drop to hit
another point on the ground somewhere in advance of the aeroplane. After
picking the angle out of the table we set our telescope to read the
known angle and, when the line of sight, produced, is on the objective,
we release or "trip" the projectile. This has actually been done. Now I
ask you the question, can an aeroplane be used to kill the other fellow?

Can an aeroplane be used to prevent the other fellow from killing us? Of
course it is much superior to Santa Ana's mule for purposes of rapid
departure from the scene of hostilities, but that is hardly the test we
apply. It is, on the other hand, inferior as a shield to the ordinary
breastworks constructed by armies in the field, but, again, that is not
precisely the test to be applied.

The most effective way in which we can keep the other fellow from
killing us is to find out where he is, what he is doing and how he
proposes to accomplish his–to us reprehensible, to him laudable–object.
Accordingly we apply the information test to the aeroplane. Can we use
it to gather information of the enemy, his lines of communication, his
lines of defences, his probable lines of advance or retreat, his rail
and water communications, his artillery positions and gun emplacements,
and a host of other things, all of which tend to produce success or
failure in battle? In other words, can we use the aeroplane to prevent
the enemy from killing us?

In order to make use of information there are two distinct steps which
must be taken: First, it must be gathered; second, it must be
communicated to the proper officers for transmission to the Commanding
General in the field. No information is of value until it is
communicated to an officer competent to act upon it.

This problem of information is then divided into two parts: the getting,
and the transmitting. In getting information we must at once settle just
how far the aeroplane will be available. There is a certain class of
information, i. e., that concerning the road beds over which an army
must move, the fords it must cross, the bridges it must travel over, the
hills and valleys that might afford shelter for an offensive force or
may be used defensively, the location, extent, thickness and amount of
underbrush in woods, and much other, intimate, local knowledge that is
of great and indispensable value to a commanding officer in the field.
Such information can be gathered only from the ground. An aeroplane
could be of use in such gathering only as a means for transporting the
topographical sketchers quickly from point to point, allowing them
sufficient time to do their work before again taking the air. Also an
aeroplane would be of but little use in locating small bodies of the
enemy.

Where the aeroplane would begin to be of use, however, is in the
locating of the main body of the enemy, his defences, his artillery
positions, in determining the outline of his position, the natural or
artificial boundaries which cover and protect his flanks, his main
arteries of supply, the strong and weak points of his line of defence,
etc.

To accomplish these results the aeroplane must fly at a sufficient
elevation to render difficult the hitting of a vital part of the machine
or the aviator by hostile rifle or artillery fire. While the modern
rifle in use in our army will fire a ball about three thousand five
hundred yards straight in the air, it is generally accepted among
aviators that an aeroplane would be practically safe, save from a chance
shot, at three thousand five hundred feet. Of course there is a large
chance that if enough rifles are directed at an aeroplane for a long
enough time the machine or operator would be hit, at this altitude, but
war is not a game of croquet, and the men who would man these machines
in war would stand ready to take the risks demanded by the exigencies of
the service.

The proper machine to act as a gatherer of information is one that can
carry a pilot, passenger, and wireless outfit. It is proposed to equip
all information-gathering machines with wireless and to this end a
special set has been devised and is being tested out at the U. S. Army
Signal Corps Aviation School. That the wireless will be a success there
is no doubt, for certain simple experiments with crude apparatus have
been already tried out with remarkable success.

I have said that military aviators propose to fly at about three
thousand five hundred feet while seeking information. Perhaps this will
be increased to about five thousand feet if it can be demonstrated that
the reconnaissance officer can clearly discern, from that height, the
points which are of military value. This officer will be aided by
powerful field glasses, a camera and sketching case, and he will have at
hand a wireless outfit which he can use in sending back whatever he may
ascertain of value. Upon reporting back to the officer who sent him out
he will turn over his sketches and photographs. It is thought that in
this way very complete and valuable data will be available.

From an aeroplane or balloon the ground presents a very different
appearance than it does from our usual man's eye view. It takes time and
practice to determine just what the different strange-looking objects
are, let alone to determine relative sizes and distances. On this
account we have concluded that the reconnaissance officer and pilot must
both be trained at the same time. Since this is the case and since there
is a decided mental and physical strain connected with long-continued
flight, we have gone further and concluded that both officers who fly in
the aeroplane must be pilots and both must be trained in reconnaissance
duty. In this way each can relieve or "spell" the other.

There is much more to this than the mere acting as an aerial chauffeur.
To be a successful military aviator a man must be an excellent
cross-country flier. He must be an expert topographer or sketcher, he
must understand photography and he must be a practical wireless
operator, as well as have a knowledge of the theory of wireless. Above
all, he must be trained in military art, that most elusive of all
subjects. By that we mean that he must understand the military
significance of what he sees, he must understand the powers,
limitations, and functions of the three great arms–infantry, cavalry,
and field artillery, whether used in combination or separately; he must
know major and minor tactics to determine the worth or uselessness of a
position; he must be able quickly and accurately to reduce his
observations to a written report in order that the information gained
may be of immediate use to his chief.

For all of these reasons we have concluded that we must rely on
commissioned officers of the regular army or organised militia, trained
in time of peace to fulfil their functions in time of war. We can not
place dependence on civilian aviators, for they have not had the
training along the highly technical and specialised lines that are
necessary. We can not rely on enlisted men of the army, for the same
reason.

There is another class of fliers that will, undoubtedly, be of use in
war time. These are the men to drive fast-flying, single-passenger
machines for speedy messenger service between detached bodies of troops,
or to drive the heavy ammunition or food-carrying aeroplanes to relieve
a besieged place. These may well be chosen from the ranks of the
civilian volunteers who would, without doubt, flock to our colours and
standards at the whistle of a hostile bullet. There is plenty of room in
war time for all of the aviators we can scrape together, be they
civilian or military.

Two new types of aeroplane have been alluded to in the last, preceding
paragraph; the fast-flying, quick-climbing racer and the slow-going,
heavy-weight carrier. We are of opinion that there should be three types
in all for military purposes. Of greatest importance and in greatest
numbers we should have the middle-class machines; those capable of
staying in the air for at least three hours of continuous flight, while
carrying two men and one hundred and fifty pounds extra, of either
wireless apparatus or machine gun and ammunition. Such a machine will
climb two thousand feet in ten minutes, will travel above fifty miles an
hour on the level, is perfectly easy to manage, and forms the back-bone
of the aerial fleet.

One of these craft acting as a convoy, armed with a Benet-Mercier
machine gun weighing about twenty pounds and with ample ammunition,
could sweep the skies clean of hostile aeroplanes, while its mate,
carrying reconnaissance apparatus and two officers, could gather the
information which the Commanding General desires. The speed machine is
for use as described above. The weight-carrying machine can carry about
six thousand rounds of ammunition at a trip. Rifle cartridges weigh
about one hundred pounds per twelve hundred rounds. This machine could
carry enough emergency rations on one trip to subsist five hundred men
for a day. It could make a speed of forty miles per hour with this
weight and, in the course of a day, could, undoubtedly, make several
trips of succour, provided the sending point were within fifty miles of
the besieged place which is the usual case.

And now, can an aeroplane be used to prevent the other fellow from
killing us?

This is a very fascinating subject as a whole. The field opened is
almost limitless; but the greatest idea of all is that through this
conquest of the air we are approaching more nearly to that much
longed-for era of universal peace. Through the aeroplane and dirigible,
man is effacing artificial barriers; he is bringing the rich closer to
the poor, the powerful closer to the weak. No longer can unwise and
selfish potentates, be they royal, democratic, or financial, send forth
their armies to fight while themselves resting safe and secure at home.
The king in his palace or the money baron on his private yacht is in as
much danger from these air craft as is the high private in the muddy
trenches at the front. That touches the selfish side of things. At any
rate, while the aeroplane will, probably, do more to promote peace than
has any previous discovery, we of the Army are still busily engaged in
finding out just what it will do in war.

CHAPTER VI THE AEROPLANE FOR THE NAVY (With an Account of the Training 
Camp at San Diego. By Lieutenant Theodore G. Ellyson, U. S. N.)

THE first active interest of the Navy Department in the practical side
of aviation may be said to date from November, 1910, when Glenn H.
Curtiss offered to instruct one officer in the care and operation of his
type of aeroplane. Prior to this date the Department had carefully
followed the development of the different types of aeroplanes, but had
taken no steps toward having any one instructed in practical flying, as
at that time there was no aeroplane considered suitable for naval
purposes. Again, shortage of officers and lack of funds for carrying
along such instruction were reasons for the delay in taking the initial
step. There were unofficial rumours to the effect that there would be an
aviation corps organised, and it was understood that requests for such
duty would be considered, but it was looked upon as an event that would
take place in the dim future. At this time Mr. Curtiss made his offer to
instruct an officer at his flying field which was to be located in
southern California, and, as it was understood that he had in view the
development, during the winter, of a machine that could be operated from
either the land or the water, his offer was immediately accepted by the
Navy Department, and I was fortunate enough to be detailed for this
duty.

The training camp was located on North Island, opposite San Diego,
California, this spot having been selected on account of the prevailing
good weather, and because there was both a good flying field for the
instruction of beginners, and a sheltered arm of San Diego Bay, called
The Spanish Bight, for carrying on the hydroaeroplane experiments. The
camp was opened on January 17, 1911, and shortly thereafter seven pupils
were on hand for training, three army officers, one naval officer and
three civilians.

What was accomplished there is now history, namely the development of a
machine that could rise from, or land on, either the land or the water,
a feat that had never before been accomplished. It is true that one man
had been able to rise from the water; but in attempting to land on the
same he had wrecked his machine, so this could not be called a
successful experiment. This same machine which had risen from the water
and landed on the land and then risen from the land and landed on the
water, was flown from the aviation field to the U. S. S. Pennsylvania by
Mr. Curtiss, a landing made alongside and the aeroplane hoisted on board
with one of the regular boat cranes. No preparations had to be made
except to fit a sling over the engine section of the aeroplane so that
it could be hooked on the boat crane. The aeroplane was then hoisted
over the side and flown back to the aviation field.

As I have said, the above paragraph is now history. What is not
generally known is the hard work and the many disappointments
encountered before the hydroaeroplane was a real success. Mr. Curtiss
had two objects in view: First, the development of the hydroaeroplane,
and secondly, the personal instruction of his pupils. The latter was
accomplished early in the morning and late in the afternoon as these
were the only times when the wind conditions were suitable, and the
experimental work was carried on during the rest of the day, and, I
think, Mr. Curtiss also worked the best part of the remainder of the
time, as I well remember one important change that was made as the
result of an idea that occurred to him while he was shaving. No less
than fifty changes were made from the original idea, and those of us who
did not then know Mr. Curtiss well, wondered that he did not give up in
despair. Since that time we have learned that anything that he says he
can do, he always accomplishes, as he always works the problem out in
his mind before making any statement.

All of us who were learning to fly were also interested in the
construction of the machines, and when not running "Lizzy" (our practice
machine) up and down the field, felt honoured at being allowed to help
work on the experimental machine. You see it was not Curtiss, the genius
and inventor, whom we knew. It was "G. H.," a comrade and chum, who made
us feel that we were all working together, and that our ideas and advice
were really of some value. It was never a case of "do this" or "do
that," to his amateur or to his regular mechanics, but always, "What do
you think of making this change?" He was always willing to listen to any
argument but generally managed to convince you that his plan was the
best. I could write volumes on Curtiss, the man, but fear that I am
wandering from the subject in hand.

One of the results of the experiments at San Diego, was to show that
such a hydroaeroplane, or a development of it, was thoroughly suitable
for naval use. Although it was the first of May before Mr. Curtiss
returned to his factory at Hammondsport, specifications, which were
approximately as follows, were sent him and he was asked if he could
make delivery by the first of July:–

"A hydroaeroplane, capable of rising from or landing on either the land
or the water, capable of attaining a speed of at least fifty-five miles
an hour, with a fuel supply for four hours' flight. To carry two people
and be so fitted that either person could control the machine."

His reply was in the affirmative and the machine was delivered on time.
Since that time this machine has been launched from a cable, which can
easily be used aboard ship, and has been flown on an overwater nonstop
flight, one hundred and forty-five miles in one hundred and forty-seven
minutes. If such an advance has been made in a little over six months'
time, what will the next year bring forth?

In my opinion the aeroplane will be used by the Navy solely for scouting
purposes, and not as an offensive weapon as seems to be the popular
impression. This impression is probably enhanced by the recent newspaper
reports of the damage inflicted upon the Turks in Tripoli, by bombs
dropped from Italian aeroplanes. Even could an explosive weighing as
much as one thousand pounds be carried and suddenly dropped without
upsetting the stability of the aeroplane, and were it possible to drop
this on a ship from a height of three thousand feet, which is the lowest
altitude that would ensure safety from the ship's gun fire, but little
damage would be done. The modern battleship is subdivided into many
separate water-tight compartments, and the worst that would be done
would be to pierce one of these, and destroy those in that one
compartment, without seriously crippling the gunfire or manoeuvring
qualities of the ship. In only one way do I see that the aeroplane can
be used as an offensive weapon, and that is when on blockade duty, with
the idea of capturing the port, ships out of range of the land batteries
could send out machines with fire bombs and perhaps set fire to the
port.

Innumerable instances could be cited where the use of an aeroplane for
scouting purposes would have been invaluable. In recent times may be
cited the blockade of Port Arthur during the Russo-Japanese War, and the
blockade of Santiago, during the Spanish-American War.

[Illustration: ELLYSON LAUNCHES HYDRO FROM WIRE CABLE]

(A) The start. (B) Leaving the wire

[Illustration: HUGH ROBINSON'S HYDRO FLIGHT DOWN THE MISSISSIPPI]

Again suppose that several scouts were on the lookout for an enemy's
fleet, and that they sighted the enemy's smoke. It has been proven that
by modern scouting methods it is next to impossible for an enemy to
start for any of several destinations, no matter how many miles apart,
and not be discovered by the opponent's scouts before reaching their
destination. The enemy's main strength, or battleships, will be covered
by a screen, that is cruisers and torpedo boat destroyers, spread out
many miles from the main body, whose duty it is to prevent our scouts
from getting near enough to obtain any information. In order to obtain
the necessary information our scouts would have to pierce this screen,
and the chances are very great that they would be sunk in the attempt,
or so crippled that they would be unable to convey the information to
the Commander-in-Chief. In any event, why run such a risk? If equipped
with aeroplanes it would be an easy matter to send them out, and the
information would be obtained in a much shorter time, without danger of
the loss of a ship, and with the surety that the information would be
secured. In this connection it must be remembered that there is nothing
to obscure the vision at sea, that the range of vision from a height of
three thousand feet is approximately forty miles, and that the wind
conditions are always better than over land; that is, steady. These are
simply a few instances of the value that an aeroplane may be to the
Navy.

In my opinion, the ideal aeroplane for naval use should have the
following characteristics: The greatest possible speed, while carrying
two people and fuel supply for at least four hours' flight (not under
sixty miles an hour speed, as this has already been accomplished), and,
at the same time, capability of being easily handled in a thirty-mile
wind. There are many machines for which this quality is claimed, but few
that have really proved it. Double control so that either person can
operate the machine. Ability to be launched from shipboard, without
first lowering into the water, as on many occasions the wind at sea will
be suitable for flying, whereas the sea will be too rough to rise from.
Ability to land on rough water. The engine to be fitted with a
self-starter. Also that the engine be muffled and the machine fitted
with a sling for hoisting on board ship by means of a crane, and so
constructed that it can be easily taken apart for stowage, and quickly
assembled.

A search-light for making landings at night, and an efficient wireless
apparatus, should also form part of the full equipment.

I did not make one of the requirements that the aeroplane be able to
rise from the water, for in actual service it could always be launched
from the ship. For practice work and for instructional purposes, it must
be so fitted, but this could be a different rig if necessary. In the
near future I predict that the aeroplane adopted for naval purposes will
operate from a ship as a base and the great part of the instructional
work will be done in the hydroaeroplane on account of the large factor
of safety.

CHAPTER VII GLIDING AND CYCLE-SAILING A FUTURE SPORT FOR BOYS, THE 
AIRMEN OF TO-MORROW (By Augustus Post.)

There is great popular interest in the problem of soaring, or flying as
birds do, without any apparent effort, and also in gliding flights, or
descending from a high altitude without the help of a motor.

Wonderful keenness of feeling on the part of an aviator, akin to that
remarkable sensitiveness which is exhibited by all blind people, may be
highly developed–for an aviator is just like a blind person in the air
as far as concerns seeing the eddies, gusts, and currents, which are so
dangerous to the balance of the machine–but the ability to advance and
go ahead against the wind is as far off as the wireless transmission of
power is to-day. It is necessary to have an up-current of air to enable
a machine to soar and it is necessary to find where these upward blowing
currents are. Any bicycle can coast down hill and a glider is only a
coasting aeroplane, and it may be as difficult to find the right air
current as to find a hill to coast down on a bicycle.

Great advances will be made in the art of aviation along the lines of
training men in the art of handling an aeroplane. No opportunity is so
good for this purpose as handling the machine as a glider with the motor
shut off, or by practise with a regular gliding machine. Boys will
naturally take to gliding, and as a glider was the first form of
flying-machine and the easiest to build mechanically, there is every
reason why sailing or soaring flights should be thoroughly mastered. The
instinct which birds have which enables them to seek out and to utilise
the rising currents of air in the wind and so to set and adjust their
wings as to enable them to take advantage of these rising currents, is
latent in the human mind and can be developed by practice to a point far
exceeding that of birds, on account of man's superior intelligence. It
is quite possible that some arrangement may be made by which an aviator
can see the air and can prepare for or escape conditions that are not
favourable to his manœuvres. It is clear that the wind gusts, swirls,
and turbulences exist in the air, for they are quite evident when we
watch a snowstorm and can see the snowflakes as they float, impelled now
in one direction, now another, or as we see dry leaves carried about by
a sudden gust of wind, or, even more clearly when over sandy plains we
can see the great columns of dust ascending in the center of whirlwinds
for hundreds of feet, carrying heavy particles to great heights. It is
quite possible that birds can see the air itself by some arrangement of
the lenses of their eyes which may either enable them to see the fine
dust particles or to so polarise the light that the direction of its
vibrations can be determined and the course of flight so changed that an
air lane favourable to the path of the bird can be followed and by
following out one stream lane among many, which has an upward trend
sufficient to counteract the falling tendency, the bird can remain at an
equal elevation.

Mr. Orville Wright has clearly demonstrated this to be possible by his
experiments lately made at Kitty Hawk, N. C., where he was able to soar
for ten minutes over the summit of a sand dune, so delicately adjusting
the surfaces of his glider to the up-trend of the wind that he was
falling or descending at the same speed that the wind was rising, and
thus he seemed to stand still over one spot on the ground. After
increasing his descent and approaching the ground, he was able by the
delicacy of adjustment of his controls to change the relation in such a
manner that the wind rising overbalanced the descending of the machine
and he was carried backward and upward to the crest of the hill again,
where he remained for a short time before again gliding downward to the
level ground below. In the same manner that a boat sails against the
wind by the force of the wind blowing against the sail, which is placed
at an angle to it and which resists sidewise motion by the pressure of
the water against the hull of the boat, a glider with horizontal sails
set at the proper angle will also sail into the wind which blows against
its surfaces and which makes the path of least resistance a motion
forward and slightly descending with relation to the direction of the
wind, but which, in the case of an upward moving current of air, may be
a path rising in respect to the ground.

The development of skill in this art will come by practice, and young
men will follow out the ideas and suggestions of the more experienced
until we will have small, light, flexible machines with such sensitive
control that, with small motors to enable them to rise or to get from
one place to another, much as a bird flaps its wings when necessary to
add a little to the power which it gets from the wind itself, or in
rising from the ground, will be able to sail around and glide on the
strength of the wind for hours at a time.

The clever aviator or real birdman with his keen instinct cultivated to
a state of perfection, fitted with polarising glasses possibly, may seek
out and utilise the various powers that are present in the air;
adjusting his wings so that he will be supported by the upward motion of
the air itself where it exists, or, by turning on his motor, moving from
one rising column of air to another, upon which he may hover and circle
around, steering clear of all those other air lanes which are leading in
some other direction.

These glasses, by showing where the air waves are all of one direction,
may reveal a current flowing in one way, while they may make great
masses of air flowing in some other direction appear as of some other
colour, say red, for instance; or, again, in another direction, all may
look green, and it will only be necessary to keep where all is pure
white.

Entirely new types of machines have been recently constructed in France
called "aviettes" and "cycloplanes." These are machines like gliders
which are mounted on bicycle wheels and small aeroplanes with wings
which have aerial propellers turned by the pedals which drive them along
the ground and through the air.

A contest was held in France in June, 1912, for a prize offered by the
Puegeot Bicycle Company for the first machine of this type to fly a
distance of about forty feet and later a second prize for the first
machine to fly over two tapes one meter three feet nine inches apart and
four inches high. Both of these prizes were competed for by machines
without any motor and driven solely by man power. Over two hundred
entries were received by the promoters of the contest, but no one
accomplished the flight on that date of the public contest. Three days
afterward, however, Gabriel Paulhain succeeded in winning the prize put
up for the second test. He flew eleven feet nine inches on his first
trial and ten feet nine inches on the second, which was made in the
reverse direction.

There seems to be great interest in this form of human flight, which was
the original way of attacking the problem of flight itself. When the
gasoline motor was perfected mechanical flight followed very quickly and
was rapidly developed to a high degree of practicability. It is possible
that with encouragement human flight may also become more common than it
now is.

PART V EVERY-DAY FLYING FOR PROFESSIONAL AND AMATEUR BY GLENN H. CURTISS 
WITH CHAPTERS BY AUGUSTUS POST AND HUGH ROBINSON

CHAPTER I TEACHING AVIATORS HOW AN AVIATOR FLIES

Teaching another man how to fly is a very important matter, in whatever
way you look at it.

You can take a perfect machine and select ideal conditions and let
everything be right for making a flight and then it is directly up to
the pupil–he must do the operating of the machine, no one else can do it
for him. In a single passenger machine, the instructor can clearly show
how it is done and then the other fellow must do it. The trick in
learning to fly is self-confidence and that must be gained by personal
practise. Any man who wants to fly badly enough can fly.

Almost all of the aviators that have flown and are now flying Curtiss
machines, like Hamilton, Mars, Ely, McCurdy, Beachey, and Willard and
the army and navy aviators, have been practically self-taught although
now we have a regular school under the supervision of Lieut. J. W.
McClaskey, U. S. M. C. (retired), who has had great success with his
pupils. I have been flying for over four years and I feel that I don't
know much about it yet.

The would-be aviator should go to a good school where the best
facilities can be had and where there is a good large place to fly,
without obstructions. The machine should be thoroughly mastered and
every part understood. Training a man to fly does not, as I regard it,
consist in putting him in an aeroplane and letting him go up before he
knows how to get down again. Anybody may be able to go up in an
aeroplane, but it requires skill and practice to come down without
damage to man or machine.

HOW TO FLY

An aeroplane is supported in the air by its wings. These are placed at a
slight angle to the direction in which it goes so that the front edge is
slightly higher than the rear edge. This tends to push the air downward
and the speed of the aeroplane must be great enough to skim over the air
before it has a chance to flow away. You may have had the experience of
skating over thin ice which would bend beneath your weight as long as
you kept moving, although it would have broken if you remained in one
place. This is precisely the same phenomenon, and as the water has not
time to flow away underneath from the thin ice so the air is caught
under the surfaces of the wings and the machine passes on gathering new
air as it goes to support it, faster than the air can flow away. A
curved surface is better than a flat one and to find just the proper
curve to be most efficient at the speed at which the machine is to fly
is a very difficult problem and must be determined by very careful
laboratory experiments.

The various flying machines have different ways of accomplishing the
control of the rudders for steering to the right or left, and up and
down, for a flying machine is different from all other vehicles in this
one respect. In addition to the steering, the machine must be balanced,
and as the air is the most unstable of all mediums, how to maintain the
equilibrium becomes perhaps the most important point in the construction
of an aeroplane, as well as the most necessary one for the aviator to
master. This is accomplished in various ways and is the characteristic
feature of the different machines.

The Curtiss machine is considered one of the simplest of all. When it is
remembered that Mr. C. F. Willard, my first pupil, learned to operate a
machine with hardly any instruction it would seem that the mere learning
to operate should not be a serious obstacle to overcome. If the air is
still and there are no wind gusts to strike the machine sideways and
upset it, flying is easy, but if the air comes in gusts and is rolling
and turbulent even the best and most skilful operator is kept busy
manoeuvring the front rudder and endeavouring to keep the machine headed
into the wind, and when it tips, moving the side controls to maintain
the balance. With all of these movements it is no wonder that the
aviator's mind must be active there is no time to think, every movement
and act must be absolutely accurate and the body must be under full
control.

The operator sits on a small seat just in front of the lower main plane;
directly in front of him is a wheel which he can push out or pull back.
Pushing the wheel out turns the elevating surfaces so that the machine
points down. On the other hand, pulling the wheel toward you points the
machine up, causing it to rise higher into the air. Turning the wheel to
the right or left steers the machine to the right or left in the same
manner as a boat is steered by turning its rudder.

The operator now must consider how to balance the aeroplane. On each
side at the extreme outer ends of the machine are placed small
horizontal planes so hinged at their front edge that they may be turned
up or down. They are connected together in such a manner that when one
points up the other points down, thus acting as a "couple"; wires
connect these stabilising planes to the movable back of the pilot's
seat. This has a yoke which fits over the shoulders of the operator.

When the machine tips to the left the aviator naturally leans to the
right or the highest side and the lever is moved to the right by the
pressure of the shoulder. This causes the left hand stabilising plane to
be pulled down so that it offers its surface at an angle to the wind and
exerts a lift on its side while the right hand plane is turned the
opposite way, which causes it to exert a depressing effect on its side;
this tends to right the machine.

The operator must use his feet also for there is a pedal for the left
foot which operates the throttle of the engine, causing it to go faster
or slower, and one for the right foot which operates a brake on the
front wheel, which helps to stop the aeroplane after it has landed and
is running over the ground on its wheels.

THE FIRST STEPS

It is necessary to know every detail of the machine–every bolt, nut and
screw, and the purpose each serves in the economy of the whole. It is
absolutely essential for the successful aviator to know his motor. The
motor is the heart of the aeroplane, and keeping it in good order is
just as necessary to the aviator's safety as is the keeping of his own
heart strong for any emergency that he may be called to face.

After becoming familiar with its workings, so that it becomes second
nature to make the right movements, get into the machine and when the
air is perfectly still run it over the ground. When there is no more
novelty in the sensation and the machine is in a good position to get up
speed you raise the elevator a little and try making short jumps into
the air. The other pupils standing in a group at the end of the field
are usually hoping and praying that you will not smash the machine
before their turn comes and so cause delay until it is repaired.

In San Diego, there was great rivalry between the Army and the Navy.
Witmer and Ellyson used to get up by sunrise and go over to the island
and take out the old machine we used for teaching, which was nicknamed
"Lizzy." They did this secretly because there was only one machine and
they did not want the Army to smash it and so keep them down on the
ground. After making their practice, they would go home and come back
later, pretending that it was their first appearance.

When the officers began their schooling they fell steadily into my way
of looking at the problem, and not one of them spared himself bruised
hands or grimy clothing. For the first ten days I did not offer them a
chance even to give the motor its full power while they were in the
aviator's seat. After they had worked around the aeroplane long enough,
however, and were familiar with all its details, they were allowed to
make "runs" over the half mile course, straight-away.

That is, they took their seats in the machine in turn, the propeller was
started, and the machine propelled along the ground on its wheels, like
an automobile, without being able to rise. To prevent the machine rising
while one of the men was in it, the throttle of the engine was so
arranged that it only got half power, which was not sufficient to give
it lifting power, but enough to drive it along on the ground at twenty
or twenty-five miles an hour. This "grass cutting," as the boys soon
dubbed it, gave them the opportunity to become used to the speed and the
"feel" of the machine. It also taught them to steer a straight course by
using the rudder and the front control, and to practise balance by the
use of the ailerons. After a few days of these runs the throttle was
given full vent, allowing full speed on the wheels, but the propeller
was changed to one without the usual pitch. Thus, while the engine would
drive the aeroplane at full speed on its wheels, this propeller did not
have enough thrust to lift it from the ground. In this way the military
pupils got the advantage of the speed, acquired balance, and adjusted
their control to suit it, without the danger of getting up in the air
too soon.

A little later, when they had thoroughly accustomed themselves to these
conditions, still another propeller was put on. This one had just
sufficient pitch to lift the aeroplane from the ground, when well
handled, and it would make "jumps" of from twenty to fifty feet at a
height of a few inches or, perhaps, a few feet.

These jumps served still further to develop the ability of the men to
control the machine and perfect their balance, and it gave them the
first sensation of being in flight at high speed, though not high enough
to do any great damage should one of them be so unlucky as to smash up.
A smash-up was what we particularly wished to guard against at all
times, not only because of the cost of repairs and the delay, but
largely because an accident, even though it may do no injury to the
aviator, may seriously effect his nerves. I have known of beginners who,
while making rapid progress in learning to fly, suffered a complete
setback just because of an unimportant accident to the machine in
flight, or in landing. Eagerness to fly too soon is responsible for many
of the accidents that befall beginners. An ambitious young man may
become thoroughly convinced after a few jumps that all he needs for
making a long and successful flight is the opportunity to get up a
hundred feet or so. The first chance he has, he goes up as he had
planned, and unless he is lucky or an exceptionally quick thinker, the
odds are that he will smash up in getting back to earth again.

I have never seen any one more eager to fly, and to fly as quickly as
possible, than were these officers. Probably they were following the
military bent of their minds or, perhaps, it was the enthusiasm of the
pioneer in a new science.

As a rule, the mornings at San Diego are fine. There is seldom any wind
during the forenoon, except when one of the winter rain storms blows in
from the ocean. We tried to get in as much work during this calm period
as possible. The mornings were found to be the best for doing this work.
It was most desirable, not to say necessary, that the pupils should have
a minimum of wind during their early practice work. Even the lightest
wind may sometimes give serious trouble to the beginner. A gust may lift
the aeroplane suddenly and then just as suddenly die out, allowing the
machine, should it be in flight, to drop as quickly as it rose. Such a
moment is a critical one for an inexperienced man. He feels himself
dropping and unless he keeps his head clear, he may come to grief
through doing too much or too little to restore his equilibrium.

In the practice work all the officers, as well as two private students,
C. C. Witmer of Chicago and E. H. St. Henry of San Francisco, used the
same machine. This was one of the older types of biplane, with
especially strong wheels, and with a four-cylinder engine. This type was
selected as best adapted to the strain of heavy work. It had sufficient
power, under its regular equipment, to fly well, but had not the very
high speed of the latest type, fitted with eight-cylinder engines. For
beginners, I consider the four-cylinder machines the best.

While most of the practice runs and jumps were made during the hours of
the forenoon, when there was little or no wind, there was plenty of work
on hand to fill in the afternoons as well. We were all the while
experimenting with various devices, some of them new, others merely
modifications of the old. All of these, whether new or old, involved
many changes in the equipment of the aeroplanes. There was seldom a time
when at least one or more of the four machines we kept on the island was
not in the process of being taken down or set up. Besides, there was the
long series of experiments with the hydroaeroplane, which were carried
on from day to day without affecting the regular practice work.

These frequent changes in motor, propeller, planes, or controls, were
always taken part in by the officers. Thus they became acquainted with
everything about an aeroplane and knew the results produced by the
changes. I consider this the most valuable part of their training.

All this "building up" process, as it may be called, that is, building
up a thorough knowledge of the aeroplane until every detail is known, I
believed to be necessary. I proceeded on the theory that confidence is
sure only when the aviator has a thorough understanding of his machine,
and confidence is the absolute essential to the man who takes a trip in
an aeroplane. If the aviator has not the knowledge of what to do, or
what his machine will do under certain conditions, he would better not
trust himself in the air. Once the men learned to make the runs and
jumps successfully and to handle the machine with ease and confidence,
they were ready for the next stage of their training before they could
be trusted to make a flight. This was to go as passengers. For the
carrying of a passenger, I chose the hydroaeroplane.

This machine was not equipped with wheels for landing on the earth, when
I first began to use it, but had all the equipment for starting from or
landing on the water. We had built a hangar for storing it at night
close down to the water on Spanish Bight, which gave us the smooth
shallow water for launching it and hauling it out with ease.

First, the men were taken in turn as passengers for runs over the
surface of the bay. On these runs I made no attempt to rise from the
water. I wanted to give the men time to accustom themselves to the new
sensation of skimming over the water at forty miles an hour, for that is
the speed at which I was able to drive the hydroaeroplane. The machine
would skim along under full power, with the edge of the float "skipping"
the water as a boy skips a stone on a pond.

After this I undertook short flights, taking each officer in turn as a
passenger, and keeping within fifty or a hundred feet of the water. At
intervals I would make landings on the water, coming down until the
float touched the surface, and then getting up again without shutting
off the power. When these flights had been made for several days and the
men had accustomed themselves thoroughly to the sensation of being in
flight, I believed they had progressed far enough to be taken up for
longer and higher flights over both land and sea. In these flights I
used a machine equipped for landing on both land and water with equal
safety.

One of the most important things that should be developed in the
beginner, and, at the same time, the most difficult, is the sense of
balance. Every one who has ever ridden a bicycle knows that the sense of
balance comes only after considerable practice. Once a bicycle is under
way the balance is comparatively easy, but in an aeroplane the balance
changes with every gust of wind, and the aviator must learn to adjust
himself to these changes automatically. Especially is a fine sense of
balance necessary in making sharp turns.

Some aviators develop this sense of balance readily, while others
acquire it only after long practice. It may be developed to a large
extent by going up as a passenger with an experienced aviator. I have
noticed that it always helps a beginner, therefore, to make as many
trips as possible with some one else operating the aeroplane. In this
way they soon gain confidence, become used to the surroundings, and are
ready for flights on their own hook.

One by one the officers were taken up as passengers on sustained flights
until they felt perfectly at ease while flying high and at great speed.
The machine I used for passenger-carrying practice work was capable of
flying fifty-five miles an hour without a passenger, and probably fifty
miles an hour with a passenger. This speed gave the men an opportunity
to feel the sensation of fast and high flying, an experience that
sometimes shakes the nerves of the amateur.

All this took time. As I have said elsewhere, I did not want to force
the knowledge of aviation upon the young officers. Bather, I wanted to
let them absorb most of it, and to come by the thing naturally and with
confidence. It was much better, as I regarded it, to take more time, and
give more attention to the little details, than to sacrifice any of the
essentials to a too-quick flight.

The men who had been detailed to learn to fly, I assumed, would be
called upon to teach other officers of the Army and Navy and, therefore,
they should be thoroughly qualified to act as instructors when they
should have completed their work at San Diego. This is the view they
took also, I believe, and I never saw men more anxious to learn to fly.

During the last period of instruction, when the men had gone through all
the preliminaries; when they had learned how to take down and set up a
Curtiss aeroplane; knew the motor, and how to operate it to the best
advantage; in short, were thoroughly acquainted with every detail of the
machine, they were ready for the advanced stage of the work. This was to
take out a four-cylinder aeroplane for flights of from three to ten
minutes' duration at various heights.

My instructions to all of the men were never to ascend to unaccustomed
heights on these practice flights; that is, not to venture beyond the
heights at which they felt perfectly at ease and capable of handling the
machine, and to make a safe landing without danger to themselves or to
the machine. These instructions were obeyed at all times. Perhaps the
caution exercised at every stage of the instructional period had had its
effect on the men and they felt no desire to take unnecessary chances.

When they were able to fly and to make safe landings in a four-cylinder
machine, I considered that I had done all I could do to make aviators of
them. I had tried not to neglect anything that would prove of benefit to
them in their future work things I had had to learn through long years
of experiments and many failures. In other words, I tried to give them
the benefit of all my experience in the many little details that go to
make the successful aviator.

Given the proper foundation for any trade or profession, the intelligent
man will work out his own development in his own way. I could only start
the men along the road I believed to be the easiest and safest to
travel; they had to choose their own way and time to reach the goal.

It has been a pleasure and satisfaction to work with the officers of the
Army and Navy. Their desire to learn the problems of aviation,
intelligently applied, has made the work easier than I had anticipated.
The many little annoyances that often beset us are forgotten in the keen
satisfaction of having been of some service to the men themselves, and
above all to our War and Navy Departments.

A BULLETIN ISSUED AT THE CURTISS AVIATION CAMP

The course is divided into six parts or stages.

1st. Ground work with reduced power. To teach running in straight line.

2nd. Straightaway flights near the ground, just sufficient power to get
off.

3rd. Straightaway flights off the ground at a distance of ten or fifteen
feet to teach use of the rudder and ailerons.

4th. Eight and left half circles and glides.

5th. Circles.

6th. Figure eights, altitude flights and landings without power and
glides.

In the above stages of instruction the men should learn the following
about flying:

FIRST STAGE

Learn to run straight, using rudder and keeping on the ground. The idea
is to be able to control under reduced power. Student must be kept at
this continuously until he is perfectly at home in the machine and
accustomed to the noise of the motor and the jar and movement of the
machine on the ground. This practice should be kept up from one to two
weeks, depending upon the ability the student shows in handling the
machine in this part of the instruction.

SECOND STAGE

Motor throttled, but with sufficient power to allow the student to jump
the machine off of the ground for very short distances. Care must be
taken in adjusting the throttle to allow for wind conditions, otherwise
machine may be shot up into the air suddenly and the student lose
control of it. Student should be also instructed during these jumps to
pay attention to the ailerons to keep the machine balanced. The throttle
can be gradually let out to full as soon as the student begins to
acquire the use of the ailerons and keeps good balance.

THIRD STAGE

Student should be instructed to rise fifteen or twenty feet from the
ground in straightaway flights, and use rudder slightly in order to
become accustomed to its use and its effect on the machine in the air.
As soon as the student has accomplished the above he may be permitted to
rise to the approximate height of one hundred feet if the field is large
enough and to glide down under reduced power. When he has done this
successfully many times, let him repeat the above gliding with motor cut
out completely.

FOURTH STAGE

Student may be permitted to rise to the height of twenty-five to fifty
feet and make half circles across the field to the right and then to the
left. These circles should be shortened or sharpened with increased
banking on turns until they are sufficient for any ordinary condition or
case of emergency.

FIFTH STAGE

The student may be permitted to rise to a height of not less than fifty
feet, and if the field is sufficiently large, permitted to make long
circles, gradually shortening these circles until the shortest circle
required is reached. Student should be cautioned not to climb on the
turns. He should be instructed to drop the machine on the turns, thus
increasing the speed and lessening the possibility of slipping side wise
in banking. He should be instructed to land as nearly as possible on all
three wheels at once. This may be accomplished by flying or gliding as
close to the ground as possible and parallel to it, then slowing the
engine and allowing the machine to settle to the ground.

SIXTH STAGE

In making figure eights for pilot's license, student should try to climb
as much as possible on the straightaways between the turns and drop
slightly on the turns. In making glides from high altitudes where motor
is voluntarily cut off, it is best to start the gliding angle before the
power is cut off. In case the motor should stop suddenly, the machine
should be plunged instantly if machine is at sufficient altitude and
considerably sharper than the gliding angle, in order to maintain the
head-on speed, and then gradually brought back to the gliding angle.

A DAY AT HAMMONDSPORT–NOTE BY AUGUSTUS POST

The Curtiss Aviation Camp at Hammondsport broke all records on June 22,
1912, by the number of flights made in a day. In all, two hundred and
forty flights were made. One hundred and twenty-six of these were with
the practice machine called "Lizzie" and constituted straight flights
for the length of the field and half circles. Sixty-four flights were
made with the eight-cylinder practice machine, and consisted of half
circles, circles, and figure eights. The other sixty flights were made
with the hydroaeroplane.

The twelve students who made these flights, some of whom were taking the
course in the hydro and land machine both, expressed themselves as
pretty thoroughly tired out at the end of this strenuous day's work. One
hundred or more flights are made practically every day in the week, but
the twenty-second being a particularly fine day, this new record was
made.

The day's flying used up a barrel of gasoline and four gallons of
oil.–A. P.

CHAPTER II AVIATION FOR AMATEURS

The man who contemplates buying an aeroplane for his own use will be
especially interested in three subjects: First, how difficult it is to
learn to fly; second, how long it takes to learn; and third, what is the
cost of up-keep. By difficult I do not mean dangerous; any one who has
gone far enough to consider owning and operating a machine knows and
discounts the element of danger, and as to cost, it is easy to get
figures on the first cost of an aeroplane; what the investigator would
like to know is what it is likely to cost him for maintenance, breakage,
and so on.

With a competent teacher and if ever competence was necessary it is here
learning to fly is neither difficult nor dangerous. Six weeks ought to
be time enough to teach one to fly, provided the pupil knows something
about motors and is apt in other ways. Contrary to popular belief,
reckless daring is not one of the requirements for success. Indeed, a
man who applies for a position as aviator with the announcement that he
is a daredevil afraid of nothing under heaven, is very likely to be
rejected for this very reason, and a pupil who has the common sense to
know that there is no especial point in defying a quite impersonal force
like gravitation will get up a much better start than one who has so
little caution that he wants to get up in the air too soon. Caution is
the great thing for the beginner. Let him learn the machine first from
the ground and on the ground, learn the controls and find out what to do
when he shall be up in the air. Then let him learn how it feels to run
over the ground on the wheels. Then he will begin to make "jumps,"
little ones, then longer and longer, until he is free of any fear of the
air. This comes sooner with some than with others, and it is said that
in some rare cases fear of the air never exists at all, for the great
aviator, the star performer, like any other great man, has to be born
with certain qualifications and a good many of them. There is no reason,
with the advancing improvement in the flying machine, why almost every
one with a real desire to fly should not be able in a comparatively
short time to learn to do so.

As for the third point, it will cost no more to keep an aeroplane than
to own an automobile. The initial cost is the greatest. Of course, there
are the same qualifications that obtain with the automobile the cost of
up-keep will depend upon whether you have many and serious breakages and
whether the owner looks after his own machine. Should the owner prefer
to hire a competent mechanic, his wages will be about the same as those
of a first-class chauffeur. As for smash-ups, the expense of these would
be considerable, but not as much as it would be if an automobile should
have an accident. For contrary to the ideas of a good many of the
uninitiated, it is quite possible to injure an aeroplane, and quite
seriously, too, without in the least hurting the aviator. In this
respect the hydroaeroplane is of course safest of all; I am reminded of
a recent accident at Antibes, near Nice, France, where Mr. Hugh
Robinson, who was demonstrating a Curtiss hydroaeroplane, suffered a
badly wrecked machine without the least injury. Forced to make a quick
landing, he chose, in order to avoid a flock of motor boats filled with
spectators, to dive directly into the water. The shock threw him out of
the machine and he swam about unconcernedly until a motor boat picked
him up. Of course a similar sharp contact with the solid ground would
have wrecked the aviator to some extent as well, but it is possible to
put a hydroaeroplane completely out of commission, necessitating
expensive repairs, and not be more than shaken up.

Really there is much less danger of smash-ups than the outsider would
think, provided the aviator is a careful driver. The main thing is to
have great judgment in choosing a time for flights. An inexperienced
aviator should never take up his machine in an unsteady wind of greater
velocity than ten miles an hour. The less wind the better, for the
beginner. The dangerous wind is the puffy, gusty sort, and this should
be avoided by any but the most experienced aviator. It must be
remembered, however, that it is the variations and not the velocity of
the wind which causes trouble.

Another item of expense to be taken into consideration is the
transportation of an aeroplane from one place to another, for it does
not always go on its own wings. This, however, is neither difficult nor
expensive. I am able, for example, to take down my machines and pack
them in specially constructed boxes so that they take up but a
comparatively small space for shipment. The setting up process is not
difficult, nor even complicated, and can be performed by any one having
had the proper instructional term at a first-class aviation school. An
illustration shows an aeroplane, in its case, carried on an automobile.

With regard to safety as a steady, every-day means of transportation,
all of us, in and out of the profession, know that, as Mr. Hudson Maxim
has said, to make the aeroplane a common vehicle for, say, the commuter,
"It must be improved so that flights shall become more a function of the
machine and less a function of the aviator." At present a great deal
depends upon the man who is flying especially upon his quick and
accurate judgment and his power to execute his judgment instantly and
automatically. The man who buys an aeroplane to fly knows this
beforehand and takes it into account; indeed it is a question whether,
if the flying machine were as safe as a rocking-chair, there would be so
much fascination about it; but while the aviator will always have to
take into account, no matter how the mechanism may be improved, a
certain element of danger that must attend it, he may as well remember,
to quote Mr. Maxim once more, that "the tenure of life of no
automobilist is stronger than his steering gear."

It certainly is not looking too far ahead to forecast the entrance of
the aeroplane into the commuter's life. The great mass of the people
certainly will not take the air-line, any more than they are now coming
in by automobile every morning, and yet how many business men–and not
necessarily the richest–do make the trip, that twice a day they used to
take in a railroad car, in the open air, with the exhilarating breezes
of their own automobiles? Perhaps not these same business men, but a
corresponding class, will undoubtedly reduce the dull hours of train
travel by half and turn them into hours of delight by the popularisation
of aeroplane transportation. As has been the case with every means of
transportation that has shortened time of travel, the habitable zones
around cities will grow larger and larger as places hitherto
inaccessible open before the coming of the swiftest form of
transportation known to man, and the only one not dependent upon the
earth's surface, whether mountain, swamp, or river, to shape its course.

If we had a course only a few hundred feet wide from New York to St.
Louis or Chicago, aeroplanes could go through every day and there would
be little danger; indeed, even as things are now, it would be a much
safer method of travel than by automobile, as well as of course much
faster. Long lanes with grass on each side and an automobile highway in
the middle would be of the greatest advantage to both forms of travel.
In crossing mountains on the downhill side an aeroplane could glide for
long distances at an angle of one to five, so that if the elevation were
a mile high it could glide five miles before landing. And on the up-hill
side it could of course land immediately and with ease.

To return to the amateur, it is always better to go around an object
that you can not land on immediately. Landing is indeed one of the most
important points for the amateur aviator to consider. If it is possible,
watch all accidents and study them closely. I take every means I can to
learn what causes an accident so as to guard against it myself. Strictly
speaking almost everything about the art of aviation is being learned by
experimentation and the causes of accidents, while not always exactly
ascertainable, are of the greatest interest to builders and operators of
flying machines, for out of the accidents of to-day often come the
improvements of to-morrow.

While learning, and indeed whenever possible, you should examine the
ground before attempting to fly over it. The pupil should inspect every
inch of the course over which he is to fly, by walking carefully over
it, noticing all the holes and obstructions in the ground. Then should
it be necessary to land, for any cause whatever, he will know
instinctively where to land and what to avoid in landing. Keep away from
other aeroplanes, for the wind-wash in their wake may tip up your plane
and cause serious trouble.

My advice to the amateur begins and ends with one injunction: "Go slow."
Yes, for more than a month, "Go slow." It is hard to resist the
temptation to try to do stunts; with a certain amount of familiarity
with your machine, so that you feel you could do a great deal more than
you are doing, and with some experienced and confident performer all but
turning somersaults with his machine over your head, to the delight of
the crowd, it is hard to resist giving one's self the thrill that comes
from taking a risk and not being caught, but you will do the stunts all
the better for going slow at first.

Mr. Charles Battell Loomis, the late American humourist, said once, in
talking about the opening of the fields of air:

"It was thought that the automobile was a machine of danger, but the
aeroplane has made it comparatively safe. A man in an aeroplane a mile
above the earth, taking his first lesson all by himself, is in a
perilous position. He has not one chance in a thousand of ever owning
another machine.

"A man who will fly over a city full of hard-working people is a selfish
brute. Until a man is absolutely sure of himself he should always fly
with a good-sized net suspended beneath his machine.

"The man in the street has always hated new things. He hated
velocipedes, then bicycles, then safeties, then automobiles, then
motorcycles, but he has not yet learned to hate the aeroplane. But wait
until monkey wrenches begin to fall on Broadway or beginners begin to
fall on the man in the street. Then he will be mad at the aeroplane–if
there is anything left of him."

Allowing for the humorous exaggeration, there is this element of truth
in this that mechanical flight has as yet a strong element of
uncertainty.

Yet there are certainly wonderful stunts to be done with a flying
machine, and the fun is as much in the effect on the flier as on the
audience; perhaps even more so. I would fly for the mere sport if I were
not in the business, for there is a fascination about flying that it is
unnecessary to explain and difficult to resist. You can chart currents
of the sea, but the wind is such a capricious element that though there
are, so to speak, outline maps that could be made of the general
direction of the winds, there will always be a certain uncertainty about
their conduct. Nevertheless there are so much greater possibilities in
flying than in any other of the arts, that it is no wonder the amateur
wants to develop them. And in conclusion I can say that an aeroplane in
perfect condition is as safe as an automobile going at the same
speed–*and I mean it!*

CHAPTER III HOW IT FEELS TO FLY (By Augustus Post.)

There is no one question that people ask more often than: "How does it
feel to fly!" Perhaps a passenger feels more keenly the sensations of
flight than an aviator because his mind is not taken up with the
operation of the controls.

As for the passenger, he climbs into the flying machine, takes his seat
beside the operator, and becomes at once the centre of interest to all
the people standing by. If he is himself an aviator it is another
matter, but if it is his first experience in the air, he is usually the
object of a certain shuddering admiration, not unmixed with envy.

The motor is started, making a terrific noise that almost deafens him,
and quite drowns the parting speeches and the efforts of the funny men
present to improve the occasion. With perfect calm, without the least
excitement, the aviator listens to the noise of the motor; he hears it
run and carefully notes the regularity of the explosions. When all is
ready, he waves his hand the signal for the man holding the machine to
let go. The machine runs along the ground, gathering speed, bounces a
little, so that one hardly knows when it leaves the ground; the front
control is raised, and the machine is in the air.

You feel the rushing of the wind, and things below seem dancing about
down there. The machine keeps its exquisite poise in the air, sensitive
to the slightest movement of the control. As it rises, the forward plane
is turned a little down, and as the machine varies in its elevation, the
plane is turned to bring it back to the level; it tips a little to one
side and the aviator moves, as it were instinctively, to correct the
balance. The rush of the wind by your face becomes more violent, and the
machine pitches and balances as if it were suspended by a string or by
some unseen force which holds it up in the air.

[Illustration: (A) AUGUSTUS POST FLYING AT THE FIRST HARVARD-BOSTON MEET]

(B) AN AEROPLANE PACKED FOR SHIPMENT–POST DRIVING

[Illustration: CURTISS' PUPILS]

(A) J A D McCurdy racing against automobile, Daytona Beach. (B)
Lieutenant T. G. Ellyson, U. S. N. (C) Mr. and Mrs. W. B. Atwater,
pupils at San Diego.

When the flight nears its end and the machine flies low over the
aviation field, the fences and trees there seem in a moment to be
rushing to meet one. The planes are pointed downwards, the machine
descends, is caught up again by the control, and glides along level with
the ground, skimming just above the grass. The wind moves it a little
side wise, perhaps, but the pilot, with the rudder, straightens the
machine around until it points right into the wind's eye and the wheels
are parallel with the direction of the machine over the ground. The
control now causes the machine to come lower until the wheels strike the
ground it rolls along bounces a little over the rough field the brake is
set, and the machine comes to a stop.

The aviator jumps down, the passenger climbs out with somewhat less
agility, perhaps, and expresses his very hearty thanks, the plane is
turned around, the propeller started, and the machine flies off again,
leaving the passenger to tramp slowly through the grass, contemplating
the insignificance of the human creature who is forced to walk humbly
along the ground. You may remember that the first time you descended
from an automobile and began to walk, you seemed to yourself to be only
marking time.

This new experience, though of the same nature as that, is far more
impressive; not alone the difference in speed, but the whole character
of the motion the altitude, the rushing wind, the sense of something
long awaited and now realised sets the sensation of flight apart from
any other, and makes him who once experiences it resolved to repeat the
experience as soon and as often as possible.

The passenger is at once the object of eager inquiries as to how he
felt, and he usually makes it his business to express his satisfaction
whenever asked and sometimes without being asked, so there is little
wonder that aviators are besieged by applicants for rides. A few months
ago a lady who had been a passenger in an aeroplane was certain to get
her picture in the papers; now there are so many that it would be
difficult even to keep a record of them.

Now that we are coming to regard the aeroplane seriously, more from the
practical and less from the grandstand side, it may be noted without
fear of loss to gate receipts, that its dangers have been greatly
exaggerated. Rational flight is hardly any more hazardous than motor
speeding, steeple chasing, and many other sports, not to mention
football! Engines stop and planes split, but steering gear breaks and
horses stumble. Danger lurks everywhere, but we disregard it because the
chances are long in our favour.

The real danger in aviation lies in the chances men take as desire lays
hold upon them; chances the dangers of which they fully realise, but
disregard for various causes. There are so-called "holes in the air,"
but they are hardly more numerous than gullies in the road. High wind is
dangerous, but the aviator can often avoid its perils if he will.
Briefly, aviation confined to its now well-defined limitations, is a
thoroughly rational sport.

The "queer" sensation of flight comes in a quick rise, dip or short
turn, and you can experience the same sensation in the elevator of a New
York sky-scraper, Ferris wheel, shoot-the-chutes or even the back yard
swing, for that matter! Dizziness from height is not experienced, for
one sees the landscape spread out from high up and afar off, as if from
a sheltered balcony; the tendency is not to look down but away.

While the rush of air is tremendous, it is not disagreeable, and one
even forgets the deafening, unmuffled motor in the indescribable joys,
mainly because of the wondrous charm and variety of the landscape which
we have known only in detail, ignorant of its beauty as a mass.
Apprehension, shuddering, gruesome, childish apprehension perhaps, at
the starting, replaced by profound security as mastery, perfect mastery,
is apparent; a sense of joyous freedom following as the marvellous world
below is revealed. Like an exquisite monotone in low relief it is, each
note of colour with its value and in perfect harmony with the whole;
ever subtly changing, always some new surprise, some unexpected
revelation, lifting one on the wings of exaltation.

The popular literary vehicle of to-day, rivalling the "fairy coach of
Cinderella," is without question the alluring aeroplane, fitted with all
the latest improvements: tachometer, inclinometer, animometer,
barograph, aneroid, compass with map holders, lights, and all the modern
conveniences and aviation equipment, including a wire-less telegraph
outfit, having shock absorbers for landing and an enclosed limousine
cabin with mica or celluloid windows, in which not only can our spirits
be wafted about, but in which we may enjoy all the material comforts of
speedy travel, free from present annoyances and inconveniences, and
without requiring the inflated rubber suits which Mr. Rudyard Kipling so
kindly provided for his passengers on board the now famous "Night Mail."
Vehicles of this description already exist and an "aero-bus" has carried
as many as thirteen passengers besides its driver. It is confidently
predicted that twenty passengers will soon be carried in an aeroplane at
one time.

There is no doubt but that in flying the higher faculties are called
into play. No such elaborate preparation is necessary for learning to
drive an automobile, but some instruction is usually found necessary
when learning how to balance a bicycle for the first time and until
confidence is secured, as is also the case in learning to swim. A good
chauffeur does not necessarily make a good aviator even though he have
exceptional ability as a driver of racing automobiles, although I think
that an aviator might make a good driver of a racing automobile. This
seems to indicate clearly to my mind that there is some additional
quality required in flying. I know of one case where a successful
automobile builder and driver killed himself on account of desperation
over the fact that he could not master flying.

Actors and men with a keen sense of feeling seem to do well in the air.
They seem to get the "feel of the air," or to have the delicate sense of
touch which is required to handle an aeroplane among the illusive
vagaries of the atmosphere, and to be able to sense its rapid action and
feel its ever-changing conditions almost before they take effect. One
must be absolutely en rapport with his machine, as an expert horseman is
part of his horse or his horse is part of him; such a rider stands out
from all the rest, a beautiful sight to see and an expression of the
poetry of motion; such also is the manner of the master at the piano,
whose very soul is in tune and vibrating with every subtle and rich
harmony of the instrument, feeling at the same time the ever-changing
mood of his audience as he sways them or is swayed by them in turn,
keeping in close sympathy with their thoughts as well as suggesting to
their minds the trend that they shall take.

AVIATING AND BALLOONING

The sensations which an aviator has during great flights of both
duration and altitude are somewhat comparable to those of the balloon
pilot[9] who sails in the sky far above the earth, feeling a peculiar
realisation of the immediate presence of the Supreme Being, overwhelmed
with the magnitude of the universe, with a sense of being a part of it,
untrammelled, unaffected by ordinary things, surrounded with
extraordinary conditions, supersensitive and yet keenly realising, now,
matters of vast importance; now, minutely weighing his life in his hands
as if it were something far removed from himself; breathing an air full
of vigour and inspiration, with a sense of exaltation pervading every
cell of the body is it a wonder that men enjoy such delights and really
live only when they can cast off mere existence and rise either to the
contemplation of such experiences by reading and thinking about them or
to a full realisation of these experiences by actually trying them out
personally? Such moments, rapidly passing moments each going to make up
our individual life are usually but too few.

Is it then a wonder, that, after actual days of such vivid living, upon
descending to earth or coming back among people, one should look at
those who gather around about one as some kind of lower order of animal,
that it should take a few moments to feel their presence gradually
dawning upon him, and to bring his faculties slowly back where they can
begin to understand what these bystanders are thinking and talking
about?

This seems but a dream, but is in reality an actual experience of a
return to earth after two days spent in the air and a visit to regions
over four miles above its surface, much of the time out of sight of this
dear old sphere, when ears had become unaccustomed to sound, and so
impaired by the change of pressure due to the high altitude that we
could not, for some time after landing, hear when spoken to. Our own
voices rang hollow and stuck in our throats, and our thought had become
unattuned to those expressed by the gaping, wondering crowd, struck dumb
at the sight of our arrival, and standing like cows in the pasture when
you walk among them.

Such is the state of mind in store for the airman, the artist, the
thinker, the person desiring to become isolated for a while to feel as
Adam felt in all reality, when he stood in the midst of the garden of
Eden, monarch of all he surveyed. This appeals strangely to the
imagination but when it becomes a reality by virtue of actual
experience, it also becomes a sensation most difficult to express; for
so few people understand what you are talking about, few having had the
sensations of being removed from this world and coming back again to it.

CHAPTER IV OPERATING A HYDROAEROPLANE (By Hugh Robinson.)

The general impression among aviators and manufacturers of aeroplanes is
that the hydroaeroplane is rapidly becoming the flying craft of the
future, by reason of its ease of control, extensive bodies of water upon
which to operate it, and, above all, its safety.

It is practically impossible for the operator of a hydroaeroplane to
suffer injury in case of accident. Even in the worst kind of an
accident, the most that can happen to the operator is an exhilarating
plunge into salt or fresh water as the case may be, with the beneficial
effects of a good swim if so desired, otherwise, the operator may "stand
by" the wreckage, which cannot possibly sink. The several pontoons,
together with the necessary woodwork to construct the planes, etc.,
furnish ample buoyancy to support the machine and operator even in case
of a total wreck, which rarely ever happens. One can bang down upon the
water with a hydro in any old fashion, and beyond a tremendous splash
nothing serious happens.

Of course, this article refers entirely to the Curtiss hydroaeroplane,
which I have been operating since its invention. The Curtiss pontoon is
divided into six water-tight compartments, three of which will support
the machine under average conditions. Recently, while the writer was
abroad, a demonstration was made of these compartments for safety in
case of accident to any part of the pontoon.

This demonstration took place at Monaco, and consisted in removing the
drain plugs from two compartments, after which the hydro with pilot and
passenger was pushed out into the harbour and allowed to stand thirty
minutes to let the opened compartments fill with water, after which the
motor was started and a flight made without the slightest difficulty.

The operation of a hydro is very similar to that of the ordinary land
machine–only, if anything, considerably easier and more simple. The
start of the hydro is simply starting the motor while the hydro is
resting on the land or bank of the lake or river, with the front towards
the water. The operator takes his place, and on opening the throttle
gradually the thrust of the motor slides the apparatus along the ground,
or planks if ground be unsuitable, and into the water. The pontoons
being fitted underneath with steel shod runners makes it possible to
start on rocks, gravel, or in fact most any reasonable surface. The
finish can be made in the same manner, without assistance.

It is possible to start the hydro on dry land if the surface is
reasonably smooth, with the assistance of one or two mechanics. It is
also possible, in an emergency, even to land on the earth with the hydro
pontoon attachment; and, of course, with wheels attached to the landing
gear, one can come down on land as with the ordinary type of machine.

Once out upon the water, the operator rapidly increases his speed by
opening the throttle, taking care, however, to accelerate gradually, to
allow the pontoon to mount the surface of the water without throwing an
unnecessary amount of water into the propeller. Once a speed of
twenty-five to thirty miles an hour is obtained, the pontoon skims
lightly over the surface of the water. As the ailerons do not become
effective until the machine acquires considerable speed, the small
floats on the lower ends of wings maintain the balance until necessary
speed is acquired. The small flexible wooden paddles on the lower rear
ends of the wing tanks slide over the water and exert a great lifting
effect, thus rigidly preserving the balance on the water at slow speeds
or standing, and also preventing damage to wings in case a bad landing
is made whereby one wing strikes the water first. In such a case,
instead of the wing digging into the water, the paddles cause a glancing
blow which levels the machine automatically.

When the machine has acquired a certain speed it leaves the water in
exactly the same manner as on the land and immediately increases its
speed, due to the released friction from the water. It also has a slight
tendency to jump into the air due to the released friction between the
boat and water. Once into the air, the operator is the same as with the
regular land-equipped Curtiss aeroplanes.

The landing is made in the ordinary manner, bearing in mind to keep the
boat as near level fore and aft as possible, and if the water be very
rough to allow the tail of the machine to settle on the water first.
This will prevent any possibility of sticking the front of the boat into
an unexpected wave.

As should be the case with any aeroplane, it is advisable to start and
land against the wind if there be much, but this is not compulsory. The
hydro may be landed even while drifting sideways, in an emergency case.
It is obvious that to do this with a land machine would be to invite
disaster.

The writer saw a forcible demonstration of the one and two pontoon types
of hydros during the Hydroaeroplane Meet in France, and he had the only
machine there with the single pontoon, and also the only one able to go
out on rough water. He successfully made flights and landings in waves
six to eight feet high, whereas three hydros of the two pontoon type
were wrecked in waves less than two feet high. The single
pontoon-equipped hydro may be dragged out on the banks any place where a
space two feet wide may be obtained, and on my recent trip down the
Mississippi, I had occasion to rejoice in this fact and put it to a
practical test, as I was hauled out on shores between large rocks or
stumps in several instances. The turning of the hydro is accomplished by
simply turning the rudder and leaning towards the turn, the same as on a
bicycle, allowing the motor to run on reduced or half throttle.

The exhilaration of flying a hydro cannot be described on paper. It is
the fastest motor boat in the world, and to be able to approach a launch
and jump over it and observe the consternation of the passengers is the
keenest pleasure imaginable.

The hydro may be used solely as a motor boat if desired, at a speed of
sixty miles per hour, without a drop of water ever touching its
passengers, or if weather be favorable, flights may be made at will of
the operator.

The surface of a river or lake offers the ideal condition for landing or
starting an aeroplane, and these are more numerous than suitable grounds
for land machines, besides this the air conditions over water are always
better than over land, due to its unbroken surface, which does not
obstruct the air currents as do trees, houses, etc., on land.

An automatic safeguard exists in the hydro to prevent accidents, such as
has caused the loss of lives on land, and that is as follows:

It is possible to rise in an ordinary land machine with too little power
to make a turn or climb fast, and as a result get a bad fall. Owing to
the fact that there is a suction between the water and the pontoon it
requires more power actually to leave the water than to fly once the
plane is in the air. This fact prevents a hydro taking flight with too
little reserve flying ability, and once in the air the operator may be
sure of a considerable reserve of power to enable him to fly strongly
and safely under all conditions.

PART VI THE CURTISS PUPILS AND A DESCRIPTION OF THE CURTISS AEROPLANE 
AND MOTOR BY AUGUSTUS POST

CHAPTER I PUPILS

All great masters have been represented by pupils who have done honour
to their teacher and have achieved personal success in a large measure.
Mr. Curtiss is no exception to this rule, for he has taught more than a
hundred pupils.

There have been representatives of all classes and all nationalities.
The list includes all trades and professions, from horse trainers to
bankers. And in all these have been pupils from thirteen nationalities
including Russians, Germans, French, Canadians, Scotch, Irish, English,
Japanese, Indians, Cubans, Mexican, Spaniards, and Greeks.

Instruction has been given in all languages, including the sign
language. Some nationalities are naturally a little harder than others
to instruct, largely because of national characteristics of thought, and
also for the reason that in a southern climate those native to it are
often unaccustomed to the rapid action necessary at times in flying.

Negroes have not yet as a class taken to aviation, but there is one
Chinaman in California, Tom Gun, who has been successful as an aviator.
But conspicuous among the list of pupils is the number of Army and Navy
officers of our own, as well as of foreign countries, that have
graduated from the Curtiss School.

Hydroaeroplane operation has also been taught to a number of pupils both
at Hammondsport, N. Y., and at San Diego, California, where the training
camps are located.

The life that the pupils lead at these schools is most interesting and
healthful. The students get up early, sometimes at four in the morning,
when it is just light enough to see and when the air is usually calm and
the best conditions for learning to fly exist. Pupils are outdoors
practically all day, flying, or working on the machines when any thing
breaks or goes wrong. Many pupils have engaged in exhibition flying
after completing their course of instruction, and among the large number
of very excellent aviators that have followed in Mr. Curtiss' wing beats
(for you can hardly say foot steps) have been some of the foremost
aviators in the world and men whose fame and exploits are household
words to-day.

A partial list of some of these men at present active in the field is
here given:

Chas. F. Willard, Hugh Robinson, Chas. K. Hamilton, J. C. Mars, C. C.
Witmer, E. C. St. Henry, Lincoln Beachey, Beckwith Havens, Lieut. T. G.
Ellyson, U. S. N.; Capt. P. W. Beck, U. S. A.; Lieut. J. H. Towers, U.
S. N.; William Hoff, J. B. McCalley, S. C. Lewis, C. W. Shoemaker, W. B.
Atwater, Al. Mayo, Al. J. Engle, J. Lansing Callan, G. E. Underwood,
Irah D. Spaulding, C. F. Walsh, Carl T. Sjolander, Fred Hoover, E. C.
Malick, Ripley Bowman, T. T. Maroney, C. A. Berlin, H. Park, W. M.
Stark, E. H. McMillan, F. J. Terrill, Francis Wildman, F. J. Southard,
Lieut. P. A. Dumford, W. B. Hemstrought, Earl Sandt, E. B. Russell,
Lieut. J. E. McClaskey, W. W. Vaughn, Barney Moran, M. Kondo, J. G.
Kaminski, Mohan Singh, K. Takeishi.

[Illustration: CURTISS' PUPILS]

  ------------------- --------------------------------- ------------------
  Beckwith Havens     C. C. Witmer                      Cromwell Dixon
  Chas. K. Hamilton   J. A. D. McCurdy Chas. F. Walsh   Chas. F. Willard
  ------------------- --------------------------------- ------------------

[Illustration: LINCOLN BEACHEY FLYING IN GORGE AT NIAGARA]

(Insert: Portrait of Beachey)

Among those in this list who have done wonderful things, it might be
interesting to mention some of the marvellous feats of daring as well as
a few of the achievements of Lincoln Beachey, who is credited with being
the greatest exhibition aviator in the world.

At the meet in Chicago in the summer of 1911, Beachey flew more miles
than any other aviator. He flew all the time and was in the air during
all the flying hours in one contest or another. He did all the special
tricks in the air that were known, he carried passengers, won speed
races, and established a new world's altitude record at 11,642 feet.
After flying as high as he could, at Chicago, with a seven gallon tank
full of gasoline, Beachey came down and said: "To-morrow I'll go
higher." He had a ten gallon tank fitted to his machine, filled it full
up to the top, and started right up from where his machine was standing
on the ground, so as not to waste a drop of gasoline, and flew up and up
until it was completely exhausted and his motor thus compelled to stop,
but not until he had set the world's record at 11,642 feet. He
deliberately started out on this trip to climb up as long as his fuel
would last. He knew his motor would stop and he would have to glide
down. It was not an unintended glide but it was the longest glide on
record. He brought out all the points and possibilities of his machine;
distance, speed, weight-carrying, and altitude. Wilbur Wright said:
"Beachey is the most wonderful flyer I ever saw and the greatest aviator
of all." Calbraith P. Bodgers said upon his arrival at Los Angeles after
flying across the American continent, a distance of over four thousand
miles, "Beachey's daring flight down the gorge of Niagara and through
the spray of the falls was a greater achievement than mine." Beachey has
been remarkably free from serious accidents even though now he pitches
straight down from the sky, seeming to fall straight to the earth and
just catching his machine up in time to avoid striking the earth.

At Hammondsport on July 29th, 1912, Beachey was trying out a new model
military type and he ascended six thousand five hundred feet in fifteen
minutes, while he came down in one minute, making one of his
perpendicular dives with the engine still. The whistling of the wind
through the taut wires of the machine could be heard half a mile away.
On this occasion one of the lady visitors to the testing grounds, who
had never seen Beachey fly before, thinking that he was falling and
would surely strike the ground and be dashed to pieces, fainted. Beachey
said, "Flying did not come to me at first but it seemed to come all of a
sudden and then it came big."[10]

Once Beachey had to land in a very small place surrounded with trees and
the only way he could do it with the fast machine that he was driving
was to kill its speed in the air by skimming over the trees, shutting
off his motor, and gliding along to the place where he wanted to stop,
and then pointing the machine up suddenly, very much as a bird comes to
a stop, and then "pancaking" down, as it is called when you come down
"kerflop" like a pancake.

Beachey broke a wheel by this performance and he has worried over that
little breakage as much as another man would over smashing up a whole
machine.

Beachey flew from New York to Philadelphia in company with Eugene Ely
and Hugh Robinson in August, 1911, winning the first inter-city race to
be held in the United States.

Among the skilled operators of hydroaeroplanes is Mr. Hugh Robinson who
flew down the Mississippi River in the spring of 1912, carrying mail and
covering the river course between Minneapolis, Minn., and Rock Island,
Ill. Mr. Robinson also went to France in May of 1912, and competed in
the first contests and races ever held in this new sport at Monte Carlo.
Since his return to America, Mr. Robinson has been the instructor in
hydroaeroplaning at Hammondsport.

CHAPTER II A DESCRIPTION OF THE CURTISS BIPLANE

No type of aeroplane is more familiar in America than the Curtiss
biplane. By long experimentation, this machine has been developed for
practical use; and is now used for military purposes in Russia, Japan,
Italy, Germany, France, and the United States. The machine is of the
general type known as "biplane," in which there are two sets of wings,
or surfaces, one being directly above the other. This type of machine
seems to be the most favoured by Americans, for it not only allows of a
greater spread of lifting surface for a given width of plane than in the
monoplane, or single-wing type, but also it is much stronger than other
machines of the same weight, as its design permits of a system of
bridge-trussing known as the "Pratt Truss." In the Curtiss machine this
feature is especially pronounced, because of the greater safety which
rigid planes have when compared with the flexible wings.

The woodwork of these aeroplanes is entirely of selected spruce and ash,
all the posts, beams, and ribs being laminated. The propeller is a
particularly difficult piece of laminated work, being built up of from
twelve to eighteen layers of thinly cut wood, while the upright posts of
the central section are made up of ash and spruce, the heavier and more
flexible wood forming the core. A feature of strength is to be found in
the double trussing which is placed in all of the vital parts of the
aeroplane, where the greatest strength is required. All this trussing is
made with a cable of galvanised steel wire tested to withstand a pulling
strain of nearly half a ton.

Transportation and military use have been especially considered in the
construction of the planes. The upper and lower planes are made up of
interchangeable panels, which are so joined together that the machine is
easily assembled and taken apart and may be transported compactly in two
flat boxes which scarcely make one full wagon load, as indicated in an
illustration in this book.

The wing-panels are made up with a light and strong wooden framework
covered with cloth especially made and treated with a rubber coating for
the purpose. The curved ribs are laminated also and the panels held
together by a system of trussing which gives them great strength. These
panels are covered both top and bottom.

Light and strong bamboo rods extend to the front of the main planes,
supporting the elevator or forward horizontal surface, which acts as a
rudder to steer upward and downward. Similar bamboo rods at the rear
support the vertical rudder and rear elevators and stabilising plane.
Front and rear elevators work in conjunction with each other so that as
the front of the machine is directed up, the rear of the machine is
depressed by the two rear elevators, called "flippers" from their
resemblance to these appendages of a seal or a turtle, each of which is
controlled by an individual set of cables, so that if one should break
or get out of order the other may be used independently. The front or
rear elevators are sufficient to maintain the fore and aft balance of
the machine in flight, so if anything happens to one the other will
enable a safe landing to be made. Some aviators take off the front
elevating plane entirely, relying solely upon the two rear ones for
horizontal control.

The elevators and the vertical rudder are manipulated by a single
steering post at the top of which is the steering wheel. Turning the
wheel to the right or left steers the aeroplane to the left or to the
right as a boat or an automobile is steered, while pushing the wheel
forward directs the machine downward and pulling the wheel causes it to
rise, a system of control in accord with the natural impulse of the
operator.

To maintain the lateral balance of the aeroplane, there are small
movable planes, or "ailerons," attached at the ends of the main
framework, midway between the upper and lower planes, at the rear. These
ailerons are so arranged that the front edge remains in the same
position; while one swings upward, the other swings downward, at the
back, thus giving an upward pressure of air on the under side of the
one, while the other is depressed by the air which strikes it on top.
This movement is controlled by a movable back to the aviator's seat or a
frame or yoke which fits around the shoulders of the aviator in such a
way that he moves the ailerons to the proper position when he leans to
the high side of the aeroplane as it tilts and is thus able
automatically to correct its balance.

The motors with which the military and cross-country models are equipped
are of the eight-cylinder "V-shaped" type, developing sixty and eighty
horse-power. The propeller is attached directly to the motor shaft, thus
doing away with any necessity of gearing, which consumes power,
increases the risk of breakage, and decreases reliability. The speed of
the motor is controlled by a throttle opened and closed by a movement of
the left foot.

The seat for the aviator is placed well forward of the main planes,
giving him a clear view not only ahead, but also straight downward. On
the military model, a passenger-seat is provided immediately beside that
of the aviator, and a dual system of control makes it possible for
either passenger to operate the machine independently of the other.

[Illustration: DIAGRAM OF CURTISS AEROPLANE, SIDE VIEW]

1. Motor; 2. Radiator; 3. Fuel Tank; 4. Upper Main Plane; 5. Lower Main
Plane; 6. Aileron; 7. Vertical Rudder; 8. Tail Surface; 9. Horizontal
Rudder, or Rear Elevator; 10. Front Elevator; 11. Vertical Fin; 12.
Steering Wheel; 13. Propeller; 14. Foot Throttle Lever; 15. Hand
Throttle Lever; 16. Foot Brake.

[Illustration: DIAGRAM OF CURTISS MOTOR, SIDE AND FRONT VIEWS]

1. Cylinder; 2. Engine Bed; 3. Fuel Tank: 4. Oil Pan; 5. Radiator; 6.
Propeller; 7. Crank Case; 8. Carbureter; 9. Gasoline Pipe; 10. Air
Intake; 11. Auxiliary Air-pipe; 12. Drain Cock; 13. Water Cooling
System; 14. Gas Intake Pipe; 15. Rocker Arm; 16. Spring on Intake Valve;
17. Spring on Exhaust Valve; 18. Exhaust Port; 19. Rocker Arm Post; 20.
Push Rod.

The aeroplane is mounted upon a three-wheeled chassis with one skid
extending from front to rear, the whole landing gear being built strong
and rigid to withstand the shock of landing, the most dangerous part of
flying.

Elaborate tests are made of the different parts of the machine; the
panels forming the surfaces are tested by loading them with gravel until
they break and weighing the amount of gravel heaped upon them before
they give way. These tests have shown a factor of safety in excess of
any strain that could be put on the machine in the air.

The strain on the various wires and cables is also measured, with a
special instrument made for that purpose, as seen in an illustration.
Every conceivable test has been tried which could give information that
would lead to any improvement in strength to withstand strains, in
addition to the complete knowledge that has come from actual tests under
all conditions in the air, and on the ground itself, by expert flyers
who have done almost everything that it is possible to do with the
machine as far as trying to find its weak point is concerned. Dives
almost straight down with abrupt turns at the end of the drop put many
times the ordinary strain on every part. Rough landings also show up any
lack of strength or fault in the design of the running gear or frame of
the machine, especially since this machine is not provided with any
springs or other device for taking up the shock of a bad landing.

CURTISS AEROPLANE PARTS–A COMPLETE LIST[11]

1, Engine Section Panel; 2, Wing Panel; 3, Wing Panel, Sparred Beam;
4-5, Aileron, Right & Left; 6, Tail; 7-8, Flipper, Right and Left; 9,
Rudder; 10, Front Control, Elevator only; 11, Hydro Front Control,
Elevator only; 12-13, Fin, Top & Bottom; 14-15, Non Skid Surface,
Headless & Large.

BAMBOOS

16-17, Front, Upper, Right & Left; 18-19, Front, Lower, Right & Left;
20, Front Cross Tie, Headless; 21-22, Front Bamboo Brace, Right & Left;
23-24, Rear, Upper, Right & Left; 25-26, Rear, Lower, Right & Left; 27,
Push Rod Bamboo, 45"; 28-29, Bamboo Post, Short & Long.

30, Full Set Rear Bamboos, Wired Complete; 31, Full Tail Equipment,
consisting of Rear Bamboos, Posts, Tail, Rudder and Flippers.

POSTS

32, Wing Panel, 3/8" x 2 3/4" x 54 1/2"; 33, Wing Panel, 3/8" x 2 3/4" x
60"; 34, Engine Section, 1 1/2" x 2 3/4" x 54 1/2"; 35, Engine Section,
1 1/2" x 2 3/4" x 60”.

DIAGONAL ASH BRACES, FROM FRONT WHEEL TO ENGINE BED

36-37, Diagonal Ash Brace, Tinned, Right & Left; 38-39, Diagonal Ash
Brace, Left & Right; 40-41, Diagonal Ash Brace, Tinned & Ironed, Left &
Right.

DIAGONAL SPRUCE BRACE, FROM FRONT WHEEL TO WING PANEL

42-43, Diagonal Spruce Brace, Left & Right; 44-45, Diagonal Spruce
Brace, Ironed, Left and Right; 46, Skid; 47-48, Engine Bed, not Tinned,
Right & Left; 49-50, Engine Bed, Tinned, Right & Left.

ENGINE BED POSTS. BRACES AND TUBING BRACES ABOVE LOWER PLANE

51-52, Engine Bed Post, Front, Right & Left; 53-54, Engine Bed Post,
Rear, Right & Left; 55-56, Engine Bed Brace, Front, Lower, Right & Left;
57-58, Engine Bed Brace, Rear, Lower, Right & Left; 59-60, Engine Bed
Brace, Rear, Upper, Right & Left; 61-62, Engine Bed to Surface, Rear,
Upper, Right & Left; 63, A Brace to Surface, Front, Upper; 64, Cross Tie
Brace under Upper Surface; 65-66, Aileron Brace, Upper, Right & Left;
67-68, Aileron Brace, Lower, Right & Left; 69-70, Seat Post, Right &
Left; 71-72, Carburetor Brace, Right & Left.

CHASSIS BRACES. FORKS AND TUBING UNDER LOWER PLANE

73, Cross Tie Rod, Lower, Under Lower Surface; 74, Long Span Brace, Rear
Wheel to Rear Wheel; 75-76, Skid Fork, Right & Left; 77-79, Vertical
Fork, Front & Rear, Right & Left; 80-81, Leader Fork, Rear, Right &
Left; 82-83, M Brace, Right & Left; 84, Y Brace; 85, V Brace, Front,
Skid to Diagonal; 86, V Brace Spreader and Bolt, Front; 87, Brace,
Center, Skid to Diagonal; 88, V Brace, Center, Skid to Double Seat; 89,
V Brace, Rear, Skid to Diagonal; 90-91, Combination Foot Throttle &
Brake, Single & Dual.

92, Brake Shoe; 93, Brake Shoe Hinge; 94, Brake Shoe Lug; 95, Brake Shoe
Spring; 96, Steering Column, Single; 97, Steering Wheel, Spider, Fork
and Bolt; 98, Steering Wheel, Spider, Fork & Column, Assembled & Wired;
99, Steering Column, Dual; 100, Steering Wheel, Spider, Fork & Bolt,
Dual; 101, Steering Wheel, Spider, Fork, Bolt & Column, Assembled &
Wired, Dual; 102, Foot Rest; 103, Push Rod, Metal, with Swivel End,
Dual.

104, Seat, Single; 105, Seat with Fittings for Shoulder Yoke, Single;
106, Seat, Complete with Shoulder Yoke, Whiffle-tree Case and
Whiffle-tree, Single; 107, Seat, Double; 108, Seat with Fittings for
Shoulder Yoke, Double; 109, Seat, Complete with Shoulder Yoke,
Whiffle-tree Cases and Whiffletree, Double; 110, Seat, Passenger; 111,
Seat Supporting Brace, Passenger; 112, Rear Beam Reinforcing Plates.

113, Cable, 1/32"; 114, Cable, 1/16"; 115, Cable, 3/32"; 116, Cable
Casing; 117, Short Circuiting Switch; 118, Snaps, 3"; 119, Main Plane
Socket; 120, Main Plane Socket, Wired Complete; 121, Main Plane Plate;
122, Aileron End Wire Connection; 123–124, Aileron Cross Wire Clamp &
Clip; 125, Aileron L; 126, Aileron Post Lug; 127, Aileron Brace Wire
Connection; 128, Aileron Corner Wire Guide; 129, Aileron Corner Pulley,
3"; 129, Aileron Pulley, 3".

131, Bamboo Curved Rudder Wire Guide; 132, Skid Safety Wire Connection;
133, Copper Sleeve; 134, Tin Thimbles; 135, Diagonal Ash Brace Iron;
136, Diagonal Spruce Brace Iron; 137-138, Engine Bed Post Plate & Wire
Connection; 139, Engine Bed Bolt; 140, Fin L Irons; 141, Fin Hinge;
142-143, Front Control Bracket & L Iron; 144, Hydro Front Control, Brace
Lug; 145-146, Hydro Front Control Supporting Post, L & R; 147-148, Hydro
Front Control, Supporting Post Lug, Left & Right; 149-150, Hydro Front
Control Push Rod & Bracket; 151-152, Hydro Front Control Post & Diagonal
Brace; 153, Hydro Splash Boards.

154-155, Flipper Post & Wedge; 156, Flipper Hinge; 157, Flipper Wire
Guide, Straight; 158, Rudder Swivel; 159, Curved Corner Wire Guide; 160,
Rudder Lever Clip; 161, Rudder Wire Connection; 162, Rudder Wire Guide,
Curved; 163-164, Terminals, Short & Long; 165, Turnbuckles; 166, Wheel,
20" x 4", Complete; 167, Wheel, 20" x 4", Less Tire; 168-169, Wheel, 20"
x 2 1/2", Complete & Less Tire; 170, Inner Tube, 20" x 4"; 171, Casing,
20" x 4"; 172, Tire, 20" x 2 1/2"; 173, Axle.

174, Gas Tank, to Attach to Engine Bed; 175, Bamboo Brace Clip; 176,
Flexible Gasoline Pipe; 177, Radiator; 178, Radiator Brace; 179-180,
Propeller, Bolt & Tinned; 181, Propeller, Complete Not Tinned; 182, Cap
Screw, Nickel Steel, 5/16-24 x 1 3/4; 183, Cap Screw, Nickel Steel,
5/16-24 x 2 1/4; 184-185, Spring Washer, 1/4 x 3/16 & 5/16 x 3/8; 186,
Wing Pontoon, Complete; 187, Pontoon Paddles; 188, Hydro Drain Plug;
189, Hydro Braces; 190-191, Hydro Spacing Tube & Bolt, Short & Long.

CHAPTER III THE CURTISS MOTOR AND FACTORY

The history of the Curtiss motor goes back to the early days at
Hammondsport; it was the keynote of the development of the motorcycle,
the airship, the aeroplane, and the hydro. From a crude single-cylinder
engine used on an experimental bicycle, the motor has developed to an
eight-cylinder engine giving over eighty horsepower, on which the
reliability of the Curtiss aeroplane is dependent. Indeed, flight
itself, in the history of the world, was delayed until the development
of the gas engine made it possible to get a power that was applicable
for this purpose, and one that was, at the same time, light enough.

To describe the motor intelligibly to one who has had no
acquaintanceship whatever with gas engines would require many chapters,
but to those who have ever examined automobile, marine, or other motors,
the following technical data will give an idea of the distinctive
feature of this aeroplane motor.

MOTOR DESIGN AND MATERIAL.

Crankshaft:

The crankshaft is supported in five bearings of more than ample size. It
is extremely difficult, if not impossible, to design a shaft which will
be light enough for aeronautical purposes, and still be sufficiently
rigid without a special support. The propeller end of the shaft is
supported in two places eleven and three-eighth inches apart, at one end
in a plain bearing two and seven-sixteenth inches long and at the other
in a combined radial and thrust ball bearing of ample size. This
construction is stronger than is the case where the propeller is mounted
immediately behind the last main bearing proper or even in some cases
carried at a distance of several inches from the bearing without
support. Any lack of mechanical or thrust balance is multiplied and
transmitted directly to the last crank throw, the tremendous racking and
twisting strain thus occasioned causing ultimate failure.

The crankshaft is made of imported Chrome-Nickel steel, properly heat
treated. This steel, particularly after heat treatment, has an enormous
tensile strength combined with a very high elastic limit and great
resistance to fatigue and crystallisation.

Connecting Rods:

The connecting rods are machined from a solid Chrome-Nickel steel
forging, heat treated. The body of the rod is tubular, which cross
section gives a maximum strength with minimum weight. Rough forging
weighs five pounds; finished weight one pound eight ounces.

Piston:

The piston is long enough to give sufficient bearing surface to sustain
the side thrust from the connecting rod and at the same time weighs but
two and one-half pounds. The domed head, with properly placed ribs,
assures strength. The piston pin bearing is seven-eighth inches diameter
by two and three-fourth inches long. Reversing common practice, the pin
turns in the piston instead of the rod end, as considerable gain in
bearing surface is thus made.

Engineers will appreciate that with a combined piston and rod weight of
four and one-half pounds, the strains from twenty-two hundred reversals
of motion per minute at normal speed are very slight.

It has three rings together with fourteen oil grooves aiding the rings
in retaining compression and assisting the oiling. All pistons are rough
turned and then thoroughly annealed before grinding, to insure against
warping in service.

The piston rings are of clean springy iron, ground all over. As a ring
must be tight on the sides as well as where it comes in contact with the
cylinder, there must not be a variation in width of over a quarter
thousandth of an inch.

Cylinder:

The cylinder is symmetrical in design, insuring even expansion without
distortion.

Valve-in-the-head construction gives an efficient shape of combustion
chamber; the compact charge fired in the centre giving quick, complete
combustion, and the large valves give free ingress and egress for the
gases.

The water jacket is brazed to the cylinder-casting autogenously, the
metal being a composition of nickel and copper known as "Monel" metal,
which is proof against corrosion.

Cylinders are bored, ground and finished by lapping, to get a glass
smooth surface.

Water Circulation:

The water circulation is so carried out that all cylinders are cooled
equally, the water pump being divided by a partition which passes water
in equal quantities to each set of four, thus avoiding any possibility
of a steam-trap on one side causing all the water to pass through the
other side. The pump is driven from the crankshaft by a floating joint.
The pump shaft is made of a carbon spindle steel.

A portion of the hot water is returned through the carburetor water
jacket, which is essential with present day gasoline, particularly in
cold weather or high altitudes.

Lubrication:

The lubrication is a combined circulating and splash oiling system. A
gear driven oil pump submerged in the oil pan forces a constant stream
of filtered oil through the hollow cam shaft bearing, thence to each
individual cam shaft bearing, thence to the main crankshaft bearings
whence it is forced through the hollow crankshaft and cheeks to the
crank pins, the surplus replenishing the oil pan into which the rods
dip, thus oiling the cylinder walls by splash and also filling oil
pockets on each main bearing, as an additional insurance against their
running dry.

The pump is driven off a bevel gear integral with the crankshaft and is
of the gear type, being without valves or moving parts other than two
simple spur gears. It is entirely enclosed in a fine mesh screen through
which the oil must pass to reach the pump.

Valves:

The valves have cast-iron heads reinforced with a perforated steel disc
embedded in the cast iron, the whole being electrically welded to a
carbon steel stem. The cam shaft is hardened and ground and cams formed
integral with the shaft. The cam contour is also ground, the valve
timing being exactly the same in each cylinder.

[Illustration: CURTISS MOTORS]

(A) The first Curtiss aerial motor; used In Baldwin dirigible. (B) Motor
used in both the "White Wing" and "Red Wing." (C) Motor of 1912.

[Illustration: AT THE AEROPLANE FACTORY, HAMMONDSPORT]

(A) Testing aeroplanes. Gravel on reversed planes tests strength; scale
shows wire-strain. (B) Assembly room of factory.

Castings:

The majority of non-moving parts, including the crank case, are cast of
special aluminum alloys. Recent laboratory tests have shown tensile
strengths of as high as fifty thousand, five hundred pounds per square
inch.

Weight:

The weight of model "A" motor alone is two hundred eighty-five
pounds–three and eight-tenth pounds per horse-power. The weight of power
plant including propeller, radiator, and necessary connections is three
hundred forty-seven pounds.

Note that the forty horse-power cylinder motor weighs one hundred
seventy-five pounds and gives a thrust of three hundred ten pounds when
equipped with a seven foot diameter by six foot pitch propeller turning
at nine hundred revolutions per minute. The pitch speed of the propeller
at this rate is in excess of a mile a minute.

Gas-Consumption:

The consumption of gas is three-fourths pint per horse-power per hour.
The engine can be throttled and consumption reduced in nearly direct
ratio to the horse-power developed.

Consumption on full throttle per hour is seven and one-fourth gallons
gasoline and one gallon of oil. The oil capacity of the small pan is
four gallons; of the large pan, six gallons.

Testing and Power:

Each engine is given an extended run with propeller load. After giving
the required standing thrust at the proper speed, the engine is
completely torn down for inspection and carbon removed. After
assembling, it is given a second test on a water dynamometer, which
gives the horse-power developed.

Miscellaneous:

Few people realise that the aeronautical motor is subjected to usage
equalled by few internal combustion engines. The average car engine is
seldom run on full throttle for extended periods. The marine engine is
ordinarily a very heavy, slow speed machine. The aeronautical motor, to
run at the high speeds under full load demanded to-day, must of
necessity be designed with this fact in mind, and particular attention
paid to numerous weaknesses apt to develop under this treatment.

Adding to the above the necessity for minimum weight while still
retaining a sufficient factor of safety in all parts, it is evident that
an aeronautical motor must be designed as such and not be a modified
edition of an automobile engine with a few pounds removed here and
there.

PARTS OF CURTISS MOTOR–A COMPLETE LIST.

1-5, Breather Pipe Cap Screw & Flange, Collar, Cap & Clip; 6, Ball
Bearing (Radial); 7-8, Crank Case, Upper Half & Lower Half; 9-10, Crank
Case Bolt, Small & Large; 11, Crank Shaft.

12, Cam Shaft; 13-15, Cam Shaft Bearing, Front, Centre, & Rear; 16, Cam
Shaft Bearing Sleeve, Rear; 17-18, Cam Shaft Gear & Retaining Screw;
19-20, Cam Shaft Bearing Clamping Screw, Centre, & Retaining Screw; 21,
Cam Follower Guide Stud; 22, Cam Follower Guide Screw; 23, Cam Follower;
24-25, Cam Follower Guide & Plug.

26, Cylinder; 27, Cylinder Tie Down Yoke; 28-29, Cylinder Stud, Long &
Short; 30, Cylinder Stud Nut; 31-32, Connecting Rod & Bolt; 33,
Connecting Rod Bolt Nut; 34, Compression Tee for Oil Pipe; 35,
Compression Coupling Sleeve; 36-37, Cable Holder & Screw; 38-39, Cable
Tube & End; 40-41, Cable Tube Clip & Screw; 42, Carburetor Water Pipe
Clip.

43, Exhaust & Inlet Valve; 44, Exhaust Valve Spring; 45, Felt Oil
Retainer for Rear Thrust Bearing; 46, Felt Oil Retainer for Magneto
Gear; 47, Gasket for Intake Manifold; 48-49, Gear Case Cover & Screw;
50, Gear Cover Packing Nut; 51, Half Time Gear; 52, Intake Pipe Elbow;
53, Intake Pipe with 2 Union Nuts; 54-56, Intake Pipe Y & Support Base &
Cap; 57-62, Intake Manifold, & Bolt, Bolt Nut, Cap Screw, Union Nut, &
Elbow Cap Screw; 63, Intake Valve Spring; 64, Magneto Bracket; 65,
Magneto Gear; 66-67, Magneto Bracket Cap Screw, Large & Small; 68,
Magneto Base Cap Screw.

69, Main Bearing Stud Nut; 70, Main Bearing Stud, New; 71-73, Main
Bearing Cap, Front, Centre & Rear; 74-75, Main Bearing Babbitt, Front,
Upper, & Lower; 76-77, Main Bearing Babbitt, Centre, Upper & Lower;
78-79, Main Bearing Babbitt, Rear, Upper, & Lower; 80, Main Bearing
Babbitt Clamping Screw; 81, Main Bearing Liner, Front & Rear; 82, Main
Bearing Liner Centre; 83, Main Bearing Liners.

84, Nipple for Oil Pump; 85-86, Oil Pump & Leader Gear Shaft; 87-94, Oil
Pump Follower Gear, Cover, Drive Pinion, Screen, Support Bolt, Cover
Screw, Follower Gear Bushing, & Shaft Bushing; 95, Oil Pipe for Pump;
96-97, Oil Pump Compression Coupling & Nut; 98-99, Oil Sight, Base &
Glass; 100-101, Oil Sight Glass Guard & Cap; 102, Oil Splash Pan; 103,
Oil Bleeder Pipe; 104, Oil Bleeder Pet Cock.

105-107, Piston, Pin & Ring; 108-109, Pump Packing Nut, Large & Small;
110-114, Push Rod, End Bearing Pin Lock Screw, Spring, Spring Support,
Forked End, & End Bearing Pin; 115, Propeller Bolt; 116-121, Rocker Arm,
Support, Bearing Pin Set Screw, Tappet Screw, Support Cap Screw, &
Bearing Pin; 122-124, Spark Plug (Herz) Gasket,--& Wrench; 125-129,
Thrust Bearing, End Clamp, Lock Ring, End Clamp Screw, End Clamp Bolt,
End Thread Bolt Nut; 130, Valve Push Rod; 131, Valve Stem Washer; 132,
Valve Stem Lock Washer.

133-135, Water Jacket, Inlet Nut, & Inlet; 136, Water Pump; 137-140,
Water Pump Shaft, Support Stud, Impeller, & Driver; 141, Water Pump
Friction Sleeve; 142-143, Water Pump Friction Washer, Front & Rear;
144-145, Water Pump Bushing, Front & Rear; 146, Water Pump Gasket;
147-149, Water Pump Universal Joint Member, Male, Female, & Spring;
150-151, Water Pipe, Right Hand, Bottom, & Left Hand, Bottom; 152, Water
Pipe Outlet Elbow; 153-156, Water Outlet Top Pipes for Cylinders.

A VISIT TO THE FACTORY

A visit to the Curtiss factory is of interest to any one interested in
machinery and there you will see the latest machines of all types, from
powerful milling machines to a delicate modern "Printograph" that is
almost human in its manner of getting out letters and printing, for it
is a cross between a printing press and a typewriter. Another unique
machine is one that carves out propellers from a laminated block of
wood. One arm of this machine runs over a model, and the other, about
two feet away, arranged to move exactly with it, and provided with a
tool of cutting edge, forms the propeller blade with absolute accuracy,
out of a block of wood placed parallel to the model. The cutting tool
follows all the complex changes in the surface of the wooden propeller
with the greatest ease and rapidity.

The brazing room, where the oxy-hydrogen torch is used to braze metal
parts together, and the room where they weld the water jackets on to the
cylinders, are places of special interest; the nickel plating room,
japanning room, and the room where painting and drying are done, almost
complete the tour of the various departments, but there still remain the
wood-working shop, boat shop, assembling rooms, where the aeroplanes are
put together and completely set up, and the motor testing room, where
motors are run for whole days, ten hours at a time, driving an air
propeller and showing on scales the amount of thrust given at all times.

Here you may also see a machine to make "brake tests" of the motors, by
which is told how much horse-power the motors give. This machine
consists of a large drum with a brake fixed against it and cooled by
water so it will not get too hot. This brake absorbs the energy of the
motor, which is measured by an arrangement of scales and lever arms.

There is a tremendous racket when the big motors are running at full
speed in this small room, and the hillside rings with the roar of their
fiery exhaust.

In the laboratory of the factory, where the designs and drawings are
made, there is one of the most interesting pieces of apparatus in the
whole plant. This is a "wind tunnel," where models of aeroplanes are
tested and where experiments are tried to see what occurs in the stream
of air. Here tests are made which assist in determining what the best
form and shape of objects such as upright posts and exposed parts shall
be and where a measure of their relative resistances may be made. The
tunnel itself consists of a square box with a propeller or fan mounted
at one end to create a draft or current of air which passes through a
screen to cause it to assume uniform motion. There is a window in the
tunnel through which the observer can see the action of the objects to
be tested. Varying the speed of the fan varies the speed of the air
current and its pressure, and in this manner the stream-lines of air
under the varying conditions and the effect upon models of different
forms and shapes may be studied to enable refinements to be made in the
aeroplane's construction.

Down on the shore of Lake Keuka, about a half mile from the factory, are
the aeroplane sheds and the flying field. Here is where the aviation
school is situated, and where flyers are made. Over the smooth field,
the pupils start with the four-cylinder "grass cutters," or machines
hobbled so they cannot get but a little way off the ground. They hop,
hop, hop, almost all day long, one after the other taking regular turns,
and now and again varying the monotony by being called away by the
flying instructor to take a real flight in the hydroaeroplane out over
the lake to get accustomed to the upper air, and to the high speed of
the big machine.

Later in his course of instruction, the student takes out an
eight-cylinder machine and flies around in circles over the field until
he is able to take the test for his Aero Club of America License, which
requires him to make two series of figure eights around two pylons
fifteen hundred feet apart, landing each time within one hundred and
fifty feet of a mark and rising to an altitude greater than two hundred
feet.

This is the goal of the novice, and after his test, the student is ready
to fly as far and as fast as he likes. He has become the complete
airman.

[1] It is interesting to note that Lieutenant Frank P. Lahm, the sole
American entrant for the Gordon Bennett Balloon Cup in 1906; Mr. Edgar
Mix, the only representative of America in the balloon contest in 1909,
and Mr. Charles Weymann, the only entrant from America in the Gordon
Bennett Aviation Cup race of 1911, held in England, all won.

[2] Tod Shriver, or "Slim" as he was known to all American aviators
because he was very tall and slender, went to Rheims as a mechanic
before taking up flying himself. He was successful as an aviator and
accompanied Captain Thomas Baldwin to the Orient in the spring and
summer of 1911. This trip created great excitement among the Chinese,
who had never seen the "foreign devils" fly before. Captain Baldwin
tells a story of the crowd that witnessed the flights in Tokyo, Japan,
which he describes as numbering seven hundred thousand persons! In proof
of this he states that advices received from Japan in the spring of 1912
report that the crowd had not entirely dispersed even at that time!
"Tod" Shriver flew in many places in the United States and in the winter
of 1911 met his death in Puerto Rico. He fell while flying at Ponce. His
death was a shock to his many friends. [Note by AUGUSTUS POST.]

[3] NOTE BY AUGUSTUS POST While flying in the Chicago meet we had four
machines in the air at once. I was a novice at flying then but entered
the air while the other fellows were flying around. Circling the track I
was just passing the grand stand when Willard swooped down in front of
me having passed right over my head. I clung on to the steering post and
held the wheel as firmly as I could while to my great consternation the
machine rocked and swayed fearfully in the back draft from Willard's
propeller. He kept doing the Dutch Roll and the Coney Island Dip right
in front of me, which made it all the worse, as the wash of the
propeller wake would strike above and below my machine as he pitched up
and down in front of me. I stood it as best I could, hardly daring to
breathe but holding my course and balancing with all my might, until
Willard turned off, and then after a bit I made a good landing. When
Willard came down he rushed up to me and grabbed me by the hand and
said, "Oh, Post! will you ever forgive me for that? I ought to have
known better than to back-wash you but you know I thought you were Ely,
and I wanted to scare him!"–A. P.

[4] NOTE BY AUGUSTUS POST An interesting story is told of how the
hydroaeroplane came to be invented. During the period when he was
planning a new series of experiments, Mr. Curtiss, accompanied by Mrs.
Curtiss, attended a New York theatre in which there was being presented
a play much talked about just then. The curtain went up on the first
act, and the noted aviator was apparently enjoying the show when, just
as the scene was developing one of its most interesting climaxes, he
turned to Mrs. Curtiss and said: "I've got it." On the theatre program
he had sketched what ultimately became the design of the hydroaeroplane.
This is like a time when Mr. Curtiss was standing one day by the side of
one of his motorcycles talking with a customer. He kept turning one of
the grips of the handle-bar with his fingers while talking and after
finishing the conversation went into his office and developed the idea
of a handle-control which had come to him while apparently absorbed in
conversation.–A. P.

[5] The fame of the hydroaeroplane has reached the Orient and a
demonstration was recently given at Tokyo, Japan, for the benefit of the
Japanese Army and Navy officials by Mr. W. B. Atwater, of New York. Mr.
and Mrs. Atwater are on a tour of the world, carrying with them two
Curtiss hydroaeroplanes and giving demonstrations of a practical
character before the military authorities of all the countries en route.
On Saturday, May 11th, 1912, he made three flights at Tokyo, the first
hydro flights ever seen in the Orient. There was a great gathering of
military men to witness the flights, among them Prince Kwacho,
representing the Japanese Imperial Family; Admiral Saito, Minister of
the Imperial Navy, and Vice-Admiral Uryu. According to the statement of
the Japan Advertiser the Japanese Navy has followed the example of
Russia, and forwarded to America an order for four Curtiss
hydroaeroplanes.–A. P.

[6] The first start from a roof-top was made on June 12, 1912, when
Silas Christoferson in a Curtiss biplane rose from a platform built on
the roof of the Hotel Multnomah, Portland, Ore., and flew safely
away.–AUGUSTUS POST.

[7] A very important service was rendered only a short time ago by the
hydroaeroplane which might easily have served to save a human life if
the accident had been more serious than it actually was. Mr. Hugh
Robinson the instructor of the Curtiss hydroaeroplane school was having
Sunday dinner at the hotel in Hammondsport, where Dr. P. L. Alden, one
of the well-known physicians of that place, was also eating dinner, when
the doctor received a telephone message that Mr. Edwin Petrie's little
son had fallen from the steps of the Urbana Wine Company at Urbana, five
miles down the lake, and had a compound fracture of his thigh with a
serious hemorrhage. It was a very serious injury and the little fellow
was in intense pain, and Mr. Petrie asked the doctor to come as quickly
as he possibly could. Dr. Alden realised the urgency of the situation
and knew that delay might mean serious results from hemorrhage, so he
went immediately over to Mr. Robinson and asked if he would take him
across the lake in the hydroaeroplane right away. Mr. Robinson said, "I
will be ready in five minutes; just as soon as you can get over to the
field." Dr. Alden got his bandages and instruments and hurried down to
the shed where Mr. Robinson had already gotten out the hydro; he jumped
in and they were off without a moment's delay. They covered the five
miles in five minutes, at times running on the surface of the lake
because the wind was blowing so strong; as they ran up on the beach the
doctor jumped out and hastened to his patient. The boy was so much
interested in the fact that he was the first patient to be treated by a
hydroaeroplane doctor, and so fascinated at hearing Dr. Alden tell about
the trip, that he forgot for the moment the seriousness of his condition
and allowed the doctor to reduce the fracture without an anesthetic.
When all that could be done just then had been done, Dr. Alden and Mr.
Robinson returned in the hydroaeroplane as rapidly as they had come on
their errand of humanity, and at last accounts young Mr. Petrie was
getting well as fast as he could so he could have a ride in the
hydroaeroplane himself!–AUGUSTUS POST.

[8] In July, 1912, Captain Beck was granted by the War Department the
title of "Military Aviator"; the first time that any American has been
given this title, which implies finished skill in both aviation and
military tactics, and for which all the army aviators are to
qualify.–AUGUSTUS POST.

[9] Mr. Post is not only intimately connected with the development of
the aeroplane but also one of the most capable practical balloon-pilots
in the world. Mr. Post accompanied Mr. Allan R. Hawley in October, 1910,
when the balloon "America II," representing the United States, broke the
world's competition record and won the Gordon Bennett balloon cup by
sailing one thousand one hundred seventy-two miles from St. Louis to
Lake Tschotogama, in the wilds of Quebec. The trip took forty-six hours.
This record still stands as American distance record. Mr. Post also
holds, with Mr. Clifford B. Harmon, the American endurance record of
forty-eight hours, twenty-six minutes.–THE PUBLISHERS.

[10] Ralph Johnstone said in a conversation about experiences while
learning to fly, "I learned to fly all right but one day when I was up
in the air pretty high I seemed to forget all about it and how to
operate the controls. I tried them and tested how they worked and it
seemed to me that I learned all over again, but it did seem funny to me
for just a few minutes." Geo. W. Beatty said, "When I was flying at
Chicago, in the contest for duration, when the weather was calm, and I
had nothing else to do but sit and think while the machine flew on,
round and round, lap after lap, I would look out at a wire and watch it
as it vibrated and wonder if it was possible for it to break, while I
realised that I could not get out to fix it. This worried me more than
flying in a high wind. It seems more natural for me to fly than not to.
I have been in the air on an average of two hours every day for over a
year."

[11] To indicate the exact technical knowledge required in building an
aeroplane, a matter quite apart from the obvious dash and daring of the
aviator, nothing seems more adequate than to include the list of
aeroplane and motor parts.–THE PUBLISHERS.



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